“Will you be okay?” I ask Kadee, already turning to leave.
“I’ll be fine. Go to your family.” She sounds wistful.
My family. My natural parents are standing beside me for the first time since I was an infant. But it's not how I imagined it. Not at all.
I pass into the mouth of the cave, leaving behind the last rays of the sun and any hope of warmth for the near future. As I trail my fingers along the familiar rugged walls of the passageway, I’m slapped by the overpowering stench of human waste. It’s not quite as bad as the Scourge, but close.
My chest is tight with anxiety and anticipation. I haven’t begun to process all I learned today, and now I’m faced with yet another crisis. I need rest, and time to think, but I don’t think I’ll get it anytime soon. If Adder won’t step down, and the Lofties won’t back down, I may have to try to lead everyone through the caves to Koolkuna. If I can persuade them to go. One impossible task after another.
I can sense the wavering light from a torch ahead.
“Hello?” I call. The torch moves closer.
“Fennel? That you?” The man sounds astonished. I better get used to people thinking I’ve come back from the grave.
“Believe it or not.”
He laughs. “I don’t.”
I struggle to place the voice. “Moray? What are you doing way out here in the passage?”
“Guard duty, watching out for Lofties.” I hear the clunk of a spear shaft being leaned against the wall. “So where ya been?”
“You definitely wouldn’t believe me if I told you."
“Try me.”
“Later, okay? I’ve been walking all day and I really want to find my family.”
“Come on, I’ll take you. I’m dead bored anyway. I could use the excitement.”
I’d rather go on alone, but I don’t want to be rude. Moray strolls next to me, the torch floating at his side. “How are things?” I ask cautiously.
“Could be better," he answers nonchalantly. His tone confuses me.
“Why? What happened since I left?”
“A lot.”
“Is everything okay . . . in here?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
I give up. Clearly I’m not going to get much out of this one.
We’re at the fork. I can hear voices ahead to the left, through the short passage to the main cavern. To the right is the tunnel leading deeper into the caves, where Peree saw me kissing Bear. Bear. What am I going to say to him?
“Ugh, the smell in here . . .” I pinch my nose.
“Yeah, it’s bad. We all stink like a bunch of fleshies. Hang on for a second.”
I’m impatient now that I’m so close, but I wait, listening to him set the torch into a holder on the wall.
“Okay, let’s go,” he says. I turn toward the cavern, hideous smell and all.
My head jerks back as Moray’s hand slams over my mouth. He presses me into his chest.
“Don’t fight, sweetheart. I’ll just make it harder on you,” he whispers, choking me for emphasis.
My heart pounds in my throat as he drags me backward, deeper into the caves. I barely manage to keep my feet under me and breathe.
My nerves are screaming, but I make myself focus on where we’re going. Moray pushes me into a new tunnel. I think it's the one that follows close to the outer edge of the caves, eventually exiting into the forest. It’s hardly ever used. Moray must want privacy.
He releases my mouth. “Can I trust you to keep quiet? No screaming.”
I nod. He moves us down the passage, his arm tight around my neck.
“Why are you doing this? What do you want?” My voice is raspy.
“No questions.”
“But–”
“Shut it, or I’m gagging you. You’ll figure things out soon enough.”
He pushes me along in front of me. I can barely focus through my panic. I’d forgotten how long this passage is, but finally I smell fresh air. We must be near the opening. Moray ties my hands behind me with what feels like a thin but strong piece of rope.
“Please, you don’t need to do this,” I whisper.
“Yeah, I do, actually. Orders. You’re banished for colluding with the enemy, or something like that. Tell you the truth, I wasn’t listening all that close.” He jerks the knot tight.
“Orders? Whose orders?”
“Who gives all the orders around here? The Three. Now, hold still and keep quiet. Fight me, and I promise I won’t be any kind of a gentleman about this.”
He pushes me back on the ground, my hands pinned under me. I’m even more confused—for about a second. He kisses me, his lips covering my mouth like slabs of meat. His tongue thrusts into my mouth and I gag. When his hands rove down from my chest to my abdomen, I do the only thing I can think of. I bite down. Hard.
Moray roars and rears back. I turn my face away, expecting the blow, but his fist lands in my stomach instead. Tears leap to my eyes.
He paces around, cursing me, but he can’t really form the words. I try very hard not to cry. He leans over me, a revolting mixture of blood and spit dribbling across my face. Then he slaps me.
“You blind bith. I don’t want Bear’s theconds anyway.”
I would laugh if I didn’t think he might kill me. He yanks me to my feet and I turn to face him. My next move will be a knee between his legs.
I don’t get the chance. Moray pushes me backward out of the cave. Then he spins me around, and herds me into the trees. Branches whip my face and arms, but I don’t make a sound, and he sure doesn’t stop.
Suddenly the ground drops out from under me. I don’t fall far, but there’s a sickening pop in my ankle when I hit, and blinding pain. The lower part of my leg shakes with it. I grit my teeth and hold in a moan. I don’t want Moray to know how much it hurt. Something falls next to me.
“Thu bad you don’t have any food or wather in there.” It must be my pack. “Poor Bear, he’th worried about where hith intended got to. But maybe ith better thith way conthidering who you were with, looking for the Wathers.” He spits, hitting my bowed back. “Good luck, traither.” His footsteps retreat.
I lie on my side, stunned from the blows to my stomach, face, and ankle—not to mention the sudden change in my circumstances. I take slow, deep breaths, controlling the urge to vomit. I don’t want to be stuck with a pile of stinking sickness.
When the nausea subsides I try to crawl, hoping to figure out where "here" is. My ankle throbs as I creep around. It’s obviously some kind of hole in the ground, roughly circular, and a little more than a man’s height in each direction. The floor beneath me is hard-packed dirt. I know I’m not near our clearing, or the Lofty walkways, given where the tunnel we traveled lets out. This is an uninhabited part of the forest.
I stand with effort, keeping most of my weight on my good ankle, and turn my face up to the surface. It’s pretty much night now; only a weak, watery light trickles in. I run my bound hands around the smooth sides of the pit. I can’t find any rocks, roots, or other signs of vegetation. From what I can tell, the top of the hole is no more than a few feet over my head, but even with two healthy ankles and unbound wrists this probably wouldn’t be an easy climb. The pit seems man-made. Was it dug just for me?
I slump back down, minding my aching ankle. How long can I last in here, without food or water, and with no hope of rescue? I’m already thirsty and hungry from walking all day. A dullness steals through my mind and panic scrabbles in my chest, making it hard to breathe or think. I fill my lungs and scream as loud as I can, hoping someone might hear it. Or that it might chase the smothering fear away. My mind clears a bit with the piercing sound, but the tight feeling in my chest doesn’t lessen.
The earth around me swallows some of the sound, like our blankets when Eland and I used to giggle into them at night. Eland. I was so close to being with him again. Did he think I should be banished? Did everyone? And why would they? I didn’t collude with anyone. I didn’
t even invite Peree to come with me to search for the Waters, although it might look that way. Is this what banishment really means? Binding someone’s hands and throwing them in a pit until they die of dehydration? Or was this a special sentence just for me, because I’m protected from the Scourge? Tears run down my cheeks. I can only absorb so many horrible revelations about my community today.
I have no idea why the Three would want to banish me, and I can’t believe Aloe would be part of it. Adder yes, Sable maybe, but not Aloe. Something terrible must be going on in the caves. There’s no other explanation.
I scream again, louder this time, hoping someone might be able to hear. Someone does, but it’s not who I was hoping for. I hear a groan, followed by the scent of death. A large group of the sick ones gather at the edge of the hole. One minute I hear the moans and screams of the Scourge, the next I can make out words—the pleading and pitiful cries. Like there are two different types of creatures above me. I listen, unable to do anything about their misery, or my own.
I lay on my side, the pack beneath my head. It’s hard to get comfortable with my hands bound behind me. The earth is cold, and there’s little room to move around. The darkness is complete. I curl up, shivering.
One time I left a loaf of bread baking too long in the oven. The gooey, fragrant blob of dough that went in came out an ashy, inedible rock. At this moment it feels like the same thing has happened to me. The people, places, and predictable routines—the flour and shortening of my life—have transformed into something strange and foreign. Something unrecognizable.
Lying in the dark with only the moans and entreaties of the sick ones to listen to, my mind plays tricks on me. The trees overhead whisper and mutter to each other. I hear things I don’t think are possible, like soft laughter or singing. I imagine torch light touching the darkness.
A white-hot fury builds in me as I huddle at the bottom of the pit. How did I end up here? I followed Aloe's example, never questioning her commitment to duty. I always assumed being Sightless was the honor people told me it was; an honor that brought certain hardships and specific responsibilities with it. Aloe performed her role as the Water Bearer without complaint, and I accepted that one day it would be my role too. But really I was being used. I was deliberately blinded to provide a service to my community. A service that, it turns out, isn’t even really needed or helpful, since it’s the poisoned water that created the Scourge and kept us prisoners all these years.
I could have stayed in Koolkuna where I was safe. Instead I returned home to my people. Now, thanks to them, I’m banished without even a chance to defend myself. So where does all that commitment to duty leave me?
Alone. Thirsty, hungry, and in pain, in the bottom of a pit. And growing more furious by the minute. The anger seethes through me, making my arms and legs quiver. I’m angry at the Three; angry at Aloe for not treating me like the adult I was becoming and preparing me for my difficult role; angry at the people who must have turned a blind eye to the things being done in the name of our community.
Surrounded by darkness and silence, anger and fear take on physical forms, and a destructive will of their own. They crouch next to me in the pit with toothy grins and clawed hands, waiting to tear into me. When they begin to pace around and around me in circles like predators stalking prey, I start singing. Like I did when I first faced the Scourge, or when I half-carried, half-dragged Peree to the source of the Hidden Waters.
I sing to keep the darkest thoughts away. The ones that make me wonder if my people are even worth trying to save.
I sing every song I can think of, until I’m out of songs, then I sing them again. The sick ones are quiet, as if listening. When I finally finish I feel hollow and empty, my throat and mouth terribly parched. The simmering rage burns through me like a grass fire.
I close my eyes, and water surrounds me. The hole is filling with water, rushing in from above. I lap it up, tasting earth and salt and rust. But no matter how much I drink, I can’t slake my thirst. The water creeps up my chest to my neck. I need to start swimming, but when I try to move my arms and legs in the familiar ways, my limbs don’t respond. Panic prickles along my scalp. I’m not going to starve or die of dehydration in here. I’m going to drown.
In the odd way of my dreams, I can see. The sick ones gaze down at me in uncharacteristic silence. Only it's not the sick ones now, it's the Three—Aloe, Sable, and Adder. Others surround the hole, too. Eland, Bear, Calli, Fox and Acacia, Bream, Pinion, Yew. I call to them for help, but they just stare back at me, their faces impassive. Then, one by one, they turn away. Eland is the last to leave. He smiles at me and a tear falls from his eye, joining the deluge. Then he goes away, too, as the water covers my face. It pours into my mouth and nose and throat. I dissolve, not into dust, but into more and more and more water.
Chapter Nineteen
I wake with a start. There's light. Morning. My first feeling is relief that I’m not drowning, but the relief only lasts a moment when I hear a low groan. I realize what woke me—something is in the pit with me. I scramble back until I’m pressed against the wall.
The sick one must have either just jumped in, or fallen. It’s not touching me—yet—but with horror I realize that if it’s hungry enough, it might attack, like the one that bit me. My hands are bound, and it’s only a matter of time before my body shuts down from fatigue, leaving me defenseless. I stay pressed against the dirt wall as the creature paces in the small space in front of me.
I can feel something sharp poking into my leg. Peree’s knife. Why didn’t I remember it was in my pocket when Moray first grabbed me? I manage to ease my dress far enough around to pull it out. Then I press the rope binding my wrists against its sharp edge. I can’t put much pressure on the knife with my hands bound, but I begin to saw as best I can. It’s insanely tricky. The knife keeps slipping and twisting. I nick my wrist, and a trickle of blood joins the sweat on my palms, making them extra slick. The sick one moans again and moves closer. Can it smell my blood, like an animal?
I keep at it, praying the sick one will keep its distance until I get the binding off my hands. Thank the stars Moray used a thin bit of rope. It’s strong, but there’s less of it to cut through. There’s a cold touch on my leg. I kick out, and the creature backs off.
I work furiously, sweat coating my face. I cut myself again, and suck in my breath at the pain. The sick one groans and presses closer. My flailing foot meets flesh this time, but the creature isn’t deterred. It hovers over me, its foul breath in my face, its tongue searching. I make myself as small as possible, still working on the rope.
It finally gives. I grab the handle of the knife and scurry around the creature to the other side of the hole.
“I don’t know if you understand me, but here’s the deal,” I say, panting, “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. So you stay on your side of the hole, and I’ll stay on mine, and maybe we can both get out of here alive.”
The sick one howls in frustration. The ones above scream and mutter in response. I wasn’t expecting it to answer me, but I was hoping it might be closer to human, like the ones I’d heard speak. No such luck. At least my hands are free, and I have a weapon to defend myself with. Not that it will help if the creature really decides to take me. It sounds big, and sick one or not, it’s probably the stronger of the two of us.
I crouch against my side of the pit, knife in hand. My ankle aches; I have to shift my weight often. The sick one goes back to pacing. Maybe it could understand me. I wait, wary and watchful.
As the sun follows its agonizingly slow path in the sky, my thirst becomes unbearable. Water is all I can think of. As my tongue slowly swells from dehydration, I start to imagine things again. The sick one speaks to me, only it sounds like people I know—my family and friends, even some from Koolkuna. One groan morphs into Nerang’s quiet chuckle. I slap my hands over my ears, almost dropping the knife. It takes all my energy to fight the despair that fills me, drop by drop, li
ke a slow but inevitable trickle of water. As night falls again, I don’t know how much more I can endure.
I drift, half-asleep, through memories of happier days: playing tag in the forest with Calli and Bear, sitting around the fire listening to the elders tell their stories, taking walks in the garden with Aloe as she teaches me to identify plants from their feel and smell.
One memory has remarkable clarity: Aloe and I alone by the water hole. She rarely relaxed when I was a child, always busy with her responsibilities, or helping someone else with theirs. But this day was different. No washing to do or water to gather. Just her and me on the shore. I snuggled against her, the scent of rosemary filling my nose as the sun warmed her skin.
Aloe asked if I was happy. That was unusual, too. She usually didn’t waste time wondering about things that made no difference. Happy or not, life went on and duties had to be done. I said I was, and she asked what made me happy. I don’t remember exactly what I said. I probably chattered about the small things that pleased me at the time—the squirrel Bear captured and caged as a pet for us to share, an evening swim the Three allowed, wildberries we gathered for dessert. Aloe listened, stroking my hair as I spoke.
“Ask me what makes me happy,” she said, and I did. “You and Eland. Without you, there would be no happiness or joy for me. Not even a possibility of it.”
I don’t know why this particular memory comes up, except that there’s water in it. But there’s some comfort in knowing there was a time, however long ago, when I made Aloe happy.
The night wears on, terrible and interminable, and my world shrinks to two needs: water and sleep. I’d give anything for a few dribbles of water on my tongue, poisoned or not. I can feel it now, pooling in my mouth, coating my tongue, sliding down my dry throat . . .
I jerk awake as the sick one moans. Is it closer than it was a few seconds ago? Fear pumps through my body, buying me a few more minutes of wakefulness. I clutch the knife.
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