by A. G. Henley
THE GATHERER:
A Brilliant Darkness Story
By
A.G. Henley
Alev is proud to be a Fire Sister, one of a fierce group of women who live on their own terms in a flaming mountain compound called the Cloister. The Sisters live without men, so Alev Gathers young girls to replenish their numbers.
After she plucks young Kaiya from the remote village of Koolkuna, the girl’s father follows them into the wilderness. Alev keeps him at bay, but over time she suspects that this man, at least, isn’t the monster she was taught all men are.
When he manages to reach the Cloister, the Sisters want to put him to death. Alev can look the other way, or she can heed the growing whispers of her heart to help Kaiya and her father escape. But to defy the Fire Sisters is to revoke the only life and family Alev has ever known—and to face certain death herself.
The Gatherer is an exciting 50-page novella in the young adult fantasy Brilliant Darkness series. The first novel, The Scourge, was a finalist for the 2013 Next Generation Indie Book Award.
The Brilliant Darkness series by A.G. Henley
Recommended Reading Order:
The Scourge (#1)
The Keeper: A Brilliant Darkness Story (#1.5)
The Defiance (#2)
The Gatherer: A Brilliant Darkness Story (#2.5)
The Fire Sisters (#3)
Copyright © 2015 A.G. Henley
All rights reserved
Cover Design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
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Table of Contents
1.
2.
3.
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10.
The Fire Sisters - Chapter One
About the Author
1.
Not long now, the child will come—the one I will Gather.
Crouched in the living embrace of a greenheart tree, one arm around the trunk for stability, I stare down at the water hole on which the girl's village relies, waiting for her.
My hair, painted white, hangs stiffly down my back. My dress, made of fine leather and adorned with a single colorful feather threaded into the seam at my waist, pulls up my thigh, revealing the smooth muscles there.
I admire my body the way I would a well-made weapon. It is strong, efficient, deadly, tightened by years of daily training with staff and spear. My muscles, my mind, my blade—the tools I use to do what I must for my people, the Fire Sisters.
Nascent rays of sun sweep the treetops around me at a sharp angle. They strike the waterfall that feeds the pool, shattering it into a million shards of blue and white. A rolling ridge of hills cradles both the water hole and the girl’s village beyond, which I cannot see but know is there. My nostrils flare. The air is thick with the sharp tang of sap, the decay of the slick foliage around the water pool, the smoky hints of cooking fires starting up.
The trees in this remote part of the forest are crowded and close. Bursting with leaves at full summer, they are simple to move through without being detected. Over the last few days I have crept among them, around the village called Koolkuna, observing the people, cataloging their daughters.
They live well. They have more food than others I've seen, and they seem peaceable, with well-maintained homes and enough families to spread out their work. If it weren't for the presence of men, it might be perfect.
This group must have few enemies, and they do not seem to fear the wailers. There are no walls or other protective barriers against the rabid flesh-eating creatures. No adults accompany the children who collect water in the early mornings. How they are not consumed when the wailers come, I do not know. Do they have some unknown power or protection? I must be cautious.
My body stills as the girl meanders into the clearing from the path to the village, swinging her bucket. I think she sings to herself; it is hard to know for sure over the crushing noise of the waterfall.
I look her over one last time. She is the right age: not very young, but not yet old enough to be entirely set in her people's ways. She seems healthy, and she is built sturdily, the way the Teachers like our girls to be. I chose her for all of these qualities, but also because she has a boldness in her posture and movements that promises physical prowess and athleticism.
She kneels at the edge of the water hole, back to me, filling the bucket. Her black hair, cut shorter than some of the other girls her age, sticks out in sleepy tufts from her head.
Quietly, I inch down the trunk of the tree, landing softly on the ground. I am ready, but I listen and watch a little longer. I am here by myself. If her people catch me, my life will be forfeit.
The girl is alone. Vulnerable. It is time. I dip the point of my knife into the small sack of jewel wasp venom at my waist.
Focusing on her neck, I move toward her on the balls of my feet, avoiding any patches of mud or soft ground that might hold an impression. She hears me bare seconds before I strike. Turning quickly, she brandishes the bucket—the only weapon she has. Her instincts please me, but she is an untrained child. No match for a Fire Sister.
Dodging the blow, I tuck myself in behind her and press her back against my body. My free hand clamps over her mouth, and I wrench her head to the side so the veins and tendons pop under her taut skin. She struggles, but she doesn't cry or howl as others have.
My confidence in my choice grows. If her mind is sound, and she is willing to learn, she could be a prized member of the Sisters one day.
I murmur in her upturned ear. "It will only hurt for a moment."
With the tip of my blade, I prick the exposed vein in her neck. Then I hold her, ignoring the trickle of blood, allowing the venom to do its good work. After a few moments, she slumps in my arms. Carefully, I set her on her feet again and let her go.
She doesn't move until I tell her to turn around. A positive sign.
"Follow me." I beckon her with the weapon as I return to the tree line. She walks behind me without question or hesitation, and I allow myself to relax.
"You have been stung," I explain when we reach the trees again. "I have control of your mind and body for a time, but it will pass."
The girl's wide eyes grow round and dart toward the path to the village, but she doesn't speak. The sting will not allow it.
"I am Alev," I tell her. "I will take you to my home, the Cloister, where you will be safe. Climb up into the tree now."
After sheathing my knife, I lift her until she can reach the lowest branch of the tree, then I help hold her weight as she brings herself up. Trembling, she hugs the trunk. I pull myself onto the low branch and stand, one hand on the limb above me for balance.
Although the girl’s face is slack, her eyes show her fear. She can still think and feel, but she cannot speak or move, argue or fight. Her free will and ability to make decisions belong to me for the moment. She will only do what I instruct her to. It is the dark brilliance of the sting.
"Come."
Holding her hand, I bring her along to where we can take a simple step to the next tree. We may move on the ground safely after a time, but for now we will stay hidden in the treetops.
It is a relief to have this Gathering, my third, underway. Other Sisters conceal themselves near other communities, selecting other girls. Each Gatherer brings a girl or two back to the Cloister. We do
not visit the same communities often; we do not invite attacks or rescue attempts. Yet we must have daughters.
The Fire Sisters choose a life of freedom and safety, a life without men. We must Gather to survive. I pray to Mother Asis that we have a good harvest this year.
I love having the freedom to explore the world outside the Cloister as a Gatherer. But I hope to reach home quickly this time. Our leader, Niran, is ill. My sister Adar—though we are only a few years out of girlhood ourselves—will succeed her. I want to be at her side when she takes power.
Movement on the ground catches my eye. A boy stands in the clearing clutching two buckets, the girl's and his own.
"Kaiya?" His high voice echoes questioningly around the water hole. He does not see us.
She is lost to you.
A firm hand on the girl, I lead her swiftly through the treetops and away.
2.
I knew it would not be long before the girl's absence was noted. The boy will have to return to the village and fetch help. By the time the people return to the clearing, we will be well into the forest, and I do not leave tracks to follow. Still, I push us faster than I planned.
The girl is silent as we move from branch to branch, tree to tree, ascending as high as I dare. She is probably afraid. The Gathered girls do not understand that we mean them no harm, that we are saving them, delivering them from harsh treatment at the hands of men.
I have little personal experience with the weaker sex. Adar and I were born and raised in the Cloister. But Sisters who came from the outside have told us stories. My blood burns when I consider the abuse and injustice of men—even fathers, grandfathers, uncles, and brothers.
The child and I climb with the sun, moving through the tops of the trees, taking only brief breaks. Her skin looks sallow. No one follows yet, so I pause to allow her to drink from my oilskin sack and take a few bites of cured meat.
We go on—stepping, sliding, jumping, and swinging from tree to tree. She is strong, but the way can be treacherous. As we inch along one narrow branch, her feet slide off. I drop to my seat, cinch my legs around the limb, and reach out to her as she falls.
She bumps down and twists frantically onto her stomach to clutch the branch. I steady her, holding the back of her clothes until her breathing slows and the panic subsides from her face. When she sits up, I squeeze her damp palm.
"Good girl."
We stay in the trees throughout the morning and afternoon. Tomorrow we will descend to the ground beside the River Restless, where we will travel faster, if not more safely. The wailers often congregate around the water, as do other travelers. These wanderers are almost all men, but most have heard of the Sisters and wisely give us a wide berth when they see us.
Evening falls. Before it’s too dark, I find a massive tree trunk that can hold us as we sleep. The spot is excellent: the curved palm of an upturned hand, wide and mostly flat, with leafy-fingered branches sprouting from the edges to provide cover from the ground.
"Sit." I point at the space in the center. She does.
A small portion of meat and a hunk of brown bread is her dinner. She eats, watching as I untangle a coil of rope. Her onyx eyes are less glazed and more wary—the sting is wearing off.
In nature, the female jewel wasp uses her venom to paralyze and control a cockroach. She leads it to a burrow so she can lay an egg in its flesh, which allows her larva a live host in which to grow. The Sisters observed and then harnessed this astonishing power. Like the wasp, we use the venom to defend ourselves and to control others when necessary.
The girl speaks, her voice soft but not timid. "What are those ropes for?"
"To tie us up with."
"I don't want to be tied."
I smile at her pluck, but her quivering lip tells me she is not so unafraid. She is likely working up the courage to ask the even more difficult questions, like where and why I am taking her.
"We must tie ourselves so we won't fall out of the tree while asleep." And I cannot have her sneaking off in the middle of the night.
Shadows drape over my back and shoulders as I tether her gently but securely to a thick branch. I bind myself to another, making sure I can reach my knife to loose myself if necessary.
The girl shifts, trying to make herself comfortable, but I lie still. I'm accustomed to sleeping in this way. The swollen moon slides up in the sky, taking the place of the weary sun. I am weary myself, but I wait for the girl to succumb first.
"Why are your face and hair so white?" Her voice drifts out of the watery darkness.
"I paint them with a mixture of mud and limestone dust. It helps me blend into the forest."
Along the coast of the Shivering Sea, where the Cloister lies, powder trees are more common than greenhearts. Vast swathes of them sweep down from our mountaintop home to the edge of the water. The white-dusted trunks appear snow covered after the leaves fall, giving the sea its name.
"You look like a ghost."
I laugh. "You are not the first to think so."
The pale paint makes us seem bloodless, like corpses, and thus fearsome, which doesn't hurt our purposes.
"Wirrim sometimes tells us stories about ghosts around the fire in the allawah at night." Her voice swoops, swallow-like, as if she might cry.
"Tell me your favorite," I say to distract her. "The Sisters are fond of stories."
"I don't want to."
That she is able to defy me, even in a small way, is a testament to her mettle. After a minute, her voice steadies.
"Where did that feather come from?” she asks. “I've never seen one so bright."
"You will see more soon. We keep a cage of colorful birds in the Cloister. The Sisters all wear one of their feathers to remind us of our shared history."
I tell her the story of the bird whose bright feather became a spear, giving my Sisters of long ago the weapon they needed to fight the tyranny and cruelty of men. Our mothers established the Cloister, vowing never to be controlled by others again, and my Sisters and I maintain that vow. The Teachers will be pleased that I began the education of this one early.
The story ends, and I listen to the child breathe in the silence, broken only by the low calls of the owls. When the moon is almost above us, she asks the questions I've been expecting.
"Why did you take me away?"
I glance at her. Her features are murky in the dark, but a bit of starlight is reflected in her eyes.
"Because we need you."
"What for?"
"To grow powerful and strong like a Fire Sister."
I hear her sniffle. She must feel anything but powerful right now.
"When can I go home to Koolkuna?" she asks.
Her question is simple. The answer is, too. Why do I hesitate to tell her?
"You will not return."
If I did not hear her quiet gasps, I would not know she was crying.
3.
I wake in the night to low mutters and the soft cracks of sticks underfoot. A torch flickers in the darkness—not near, but not far, either. From the sound of the voices, men push through the forest below.
Silently, I slice my ropes, abandoning them to the tree branch. I dip the tip of my knife into the pouch of venom, crouch beside the girl’s head, cover her mouth, and carefully sting her neck again.
Her eyes fly open with the pain. I would not sting her if I did not have to, but I cannot risk her crying out or alerting our pursuers that we are here. For pursuers they must be.
"Follow," I whisper.
I shoulder my pack and begin picking my way across the tree branches, making as little noise as possible. She trails me, as she was told, although she's not as careful when placing her feet. I take her hand to lead her, cautioning her to be quiet.
A slice of thin, waxy moonlight reveals enough of the treetops for us to make progress, but only slivers of light slip through to the ground. These men likely aren't accustomed to traveling at night; they cannot possibly move as fast as we.
Still, I am cross. I do not know how they tracked me from the ground—few can. But they are here now, and I must find a way to keep them behind us.
I tug the girl quickly through the branches, sometimes pulling her onto my back. It is dark, and a few of the gaps are wider than I'm comfortable with, but I have no other choice. The men cannot be allowed to overtake us.
From time to time I hear them, well behind us now. Once, in a stronger shaft of light, I see them. Three men from the village, armed with bows and spears. One has the same black hair and easy athleticism as the girl. He slashes through the undergrowth with a wickedly curved knife. Is this her father? I have heard men don't give up their possessions easily.
Mid-dark falls. We're enough ahead of our pursuers that I no longer hear them, but the forest is thinning as it approaches the Restless, and finding pathways through the branches has become increasingly difficult.
The water gibbers ahead, yet we cannot reach it. I don't dare move to the ground with the men nearby. We must wait them out. With any luck, they'll think we've gone on along the river. I can watch where they go and then take a different route.
I find the saddle of a tree wide enough to rest comfortably in and with thick vegetation to conceal the girl and me. Settling onto my heels, I pat the space and whisper to her to sit. We wait.
The moon skates too slowly across the sky. Finally a mockingbird calls, then another, and another. Water birds squawk. Frogs discuss the dawn. And leaving no doubt where they are, the three men crash noisily toward us.
They stop to confer, sounding like chittering ground animals. I could have searched the river and been back again in the amount of time they take.
The people of Koolkuna speak the common tongue, but they also share another language—rare but not unheard of in the more remote parts of the land. The Teachers speculated that these communities spoke both languages before the Fall of Civilization many years ago. When they scattered, driven into the wilds by the initial, deadly waves of wailers, they brought both with them.
