by A. G. Henley
My thirst grows, thanks to my exertions this morning and the acrid smoke that stole down my throat. I long for my water sack, thrown carelessly on a shelf in the storeroom. At least I'm close to the exit now. Daylight mingles with the darkness ahead. I pass out of the caves and into the forest, following the rock wall back toward our part of the forest.
Urgent voices slingshot through the air as I draw closer to home. From the sound of it, the fire was already discovered and is being extinguished. I skirt the cave entrance, having no desire to go anywhere near it again today, and step out of the trees. I'm on the path to the clearing, aiming for a drink of water and a change of clothes, when I hear Calli shout my name.
She embraces me, her hair flowing around my shoulders like a blanket. "Fennel's here! She's okay!"
People crowd us, firing questions at me faster than I can answer. How did the fire start? Did I know who might have set it? Was I hurt? How did I escape?
As I struggle to respond, I realize there's another commotion in the opposite direction from the caves. More raised voices and the unmistakable sound . . . of a second fire.
"The trees!" I say. "Are they on—”
"Yes," Calli says. Her voice is grim. "Someone set one there, too."
My heart convulses. "Have you seen Peree?" Surely he'd be with me by now if he were on the ground.
"No. A Lofty wouldn't be welcome down here right now."
I realize she’s right. A dark note of violence rumbles beneath the tenor of fear and confusion in the voices around me. I hope Peree is hunting far away in the forest somewhere.
I clutch at Calli's hand. "Eland?"
"With my mother. He's safe."
Someone asks again who set the fire. I shake my head and hunch my shoulders. I don't know who set the fires. All I know is that this could lead to all-out war. Again.
"Give us a few minutes, then she'll answer your questions." Calli puts her arm around me and guides us out of the crowd and toward our shelters. I lean into her. It's comforting to feel like our friendship is intact, at least for the moment.
I can hear the crackling of the Lofty fire more distinctly from the clearing. Luckily it isn't right above us, where I think their homes and important community spaces are mostly located. Instead, it seems to be somewhere farther along the perimeter. I hear Lofties shouting and their footsteps pounding along the wooden walkways, an unsettling echo of those I heard just now at the entrance to the caves.
Did the same person set both fires? Or was this some kind of retribution by a Groundling after they discovered the cave fire? It couldn't be a coincidence.
Calli takes me to a bench in the clearing and sits beside me, pressing a water sack into my hands. I drink deeply, easing my raw throat.
People bolt in both directions along the paths in and out of the clearing. Then we hear that the cave fire is mostly out; there was too little fuel for it to burn for long. The group that had gathered around us disperses, off to gawk at the Lofty fire, no doubt.
"Fennel, I'm sorry," Calli says.
I offer her the sack. She takes it, but I don't hear her drink. "For what?"
"For how I've been acting since you . . . you know."
I touch the side of my head to hers.
"All of this has been so hard," she continues. "Everything since the Solstice . . . it's like a nightmare that won't end."
I know what she means. Our people have suffered. I've had my fair share of awful experiences, too. But despite everything, I'd never call the past few months a nightmare. They brought me Peree and the hope of living in peace and safety.
"We'll be okay. We just need—" A scream from the other side of the clearing cuts me off. I jump up. "What now?"
Calli grabs my hand and jerks me forward so quickly I almost fall. Her fingers claw my arm. "Not again. Please not again."
Vines of fear slither up my body when I hear them. The moans and shrieks of the Scourge pushing toward us through the forest.
CHAPTER FOUR
Okay, this is a nightmare.
Calli and I run hand-in-hand toward the caves, following the same path Eland and I did the night of the Solstice. It's so overwhelmingly familiar that I catch myself listening for another weak plea for help from the bushes. But that cry won't come. Willow, the elder I half-carried to the caves, died before the Reckoning.
That's when it hits me.
This is not that night. The sick ones are not monsters. I'm the Water Bearer. And I've survived much worse than this.
I slow. "You go on, Calli."
"What are you doing? Come with me!" She tries to pull me forward again.
"I'm staying to help who I can. Tell Fox I'll collect the water tonight."
My voice is weary, but sure. I realize I sound a little like Aloe did that night the Scourge came. The thought gives me confidence.
Calli goes on, and I turn back toward the clearing. People part around me, barely slowing down. I listen for shouts of help or the sounds of a struggle. Mostly I hear gasping breath and footfalls on the hard ground as my people run. And I hear the sick ones close behind them, coming toward me.
I tell myself there's nothing to be afraid of. I've done this before. I've spent hours among the sick ones. They aren't monsters; they're ill. That's what I tell myself.
But the stench of decaying flesh is as bad as I remember. And as sickening as the smell is, their sounds are worse. I can no longer hear them speak, like I could in Koolkuna when I was drinking the pure water. I only hear their terrifying shrieks and groans. My heart stutters as the space between us closes. I slow to a stop, dry my sweating palms on my dress, and hold my breath.
The wave of creatures breaks over me, screaming in my ears. When I finally breathe, I gag. I cover my face with my shaking hands. The smell of rot makes my eyes water. My mind flashes to the stories of creatures tearing their victims’ heads off and bathing in their blood. As they dart in and out at me, hovering so close I can almost feel their damp hands on my skin, the terror is acute.
It takes every ounce of courage I have to remember who I am and what I've already lived through, so that I don't turn and sprint back to the caves. I remember Aloe. She did this every time the sick ones came. Every time. I must do my duty.
Part of me rejects that thought. Why should I? We could have already mobilized a group to go back to Koolkuna, where we'd be safe and protected. Instead the Confluence has wasted a colossal amount of time worrying about who might be double-crossing whom.
But if I don't collect the water, innocent people—Groundlings and Lofties—will suffer. Children. Elders. I can't ignore that.
Water is my first priority, because it’s the only thing we can’t store for long in the caves. The sick ones swarm around me as I hurry through the forest to the sled track. I follow it to the water hole.
Two empty sacks huddle in the bottom of the sled. I drag the first sack into the water to fill it, ignoring the creatures howling at me, their hot breath on my skin. The fire in the trees still rages as far as I can tell. The shouts of the Lofties occasionally reach me over the cries of the sick ones. I'm worried about Petrel, Moon, and Kadee. And where is Peree?
A sick one moans next to me while I load the full sack into the sled; I shiver with disgust. I step back into the water with the second sack, half-expecting to hear the gruesome but familiar sound of Peree's arrows penetrating the creature's flesh. Would I really want him to kill them, knowing what I know now? The creature presses closer, panting and making a revolting sucking sound. I grimace. Maybe I do.
I push the second sack into the sled, puffing and sweating with exertion. It's mid-afternoon, and the late summer sun is still pumping out heat like a cooking fire. My feet are the only reasonably cool parts of my body, submersed in the water as they are.
At least I seem to be able to remember that the sick ones are human. And they aren't touching me, thank the stars.
Something grabs my arm.
My scream is loud enough to revivify the
dead. And it startles the almost-dead enough to push them back.
"It's me, Fennel!" Kadee says. "I came down to help you."
I hug her, relief ushering the fear out of my body as quickly as it rushed in. I can't believe I didn't think about this possibility. Kadee is one of the rare people unaffected by the poison in the water. She's never seen the sick ones as monsters. She won't go mad being exposed to them.
I have help.
Grateful tears mingle with the sweat and dust on my cheeks. "I am so glad you're here. What's going on up there? Where's Peree?"
"Fennel, listen. We desperately need more water to fight the fire." Kadee’s voice is taut. "The firebreaks are containing it for now, but if the wind picks up it could reach our homes in a matter of minutes. Can we have these sacks? Petrel can bring them up."
I hesitate. The Three gave me no instructions, but it's hard to forget the last Council's outrage when I allowed the Lofties to take more water than I brought my people.
“The cave fire is under control," she reminds me. "I'll help you bring as much water to your people as they need. I promise. We'll work together, Fennel."
Work together. It's what I've wanted so badly for us all to do. And working together means putting someone else's needs first sometimes. I tip my head up to the night sky and take a deep breath. I guess I have to start somewhere, even if it means infuriating my people all over again.
We get to it. Pushing the sled up the hill, physically the most difficult part of my duty, is almost a breeze with Kadee helping. Having two people—and one set of functional eyes, I have to admit—makes every task so much easier. She ties the rope to the sacks and Petrel hauls them up. We hurry the sled back down to the water hole. The sick ones hover around us like a bilious cloud, but talking to Kadee provides an excellent distractor.
She tells me no one knows how the tree fire started. The Lofties had just heard the Groundling cries of alarm after the cave fire was discovered when they realized a shelter along the perimeter was also ablaze.
"Whose shelter?" I ask.
"That's the odd part," Kadee says as we fill two more water sacks. "It's one of the farthest away from the community, and hardly ever used. Petrel said Peree will be upset when he finds out it was destroyed. Apparently he went there to be alone sometimes."
Sharp nails of apprehension slide through my gut and my cheeks boil. "Lately he hasn't been alone. We've . . . been there a few times." I tell her about the warning I received in the caves. "Your fire was another message for me. And for Peree, too, I guess."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Kadee sounds worried.
"Have you seen him?"
"The hunting party will keep their distance as soon as they realize the sick ones are here." I must have looked worried myself, because she adds, "They're all excellent climbers. They have to be, growing up in the trees."
I hope she’s right.
We create a steady rhythm, filling sacks and pushing them up the hill for Petrel to collect and bring to the fire. Fill, push, lift, repeat. Kadee speaks to the creatures pressing in on us, offering them comfort. I wish I could still hear their words. It would make being around them bearable. Sort of.
The hungry flames devouring the trees slowly abate. Petrel finally sends word the fire is out. Their homes are safe.
We make several more trips to the water hole, and Kadee helps me drag the sacks back to the cave mouth. Petrel follows above, hauling more than his share. I tire with the weight of the water sacks, but I don't stop until we're safe inside the caves.
"Would you like me to come in with you to see if I can help?" Kadee asks.
I imagine my people's reaction to a Lofty entering the caves this soon after the fire. I shake my head. "I don't think that would be a great idea."
She seems to understand. “Then I'll send word as soon as Peree is back."
I reach for her hands. "Thank you."
"Of course. I'm here for you, Fennel."
Her words sound like an apology for all the times she wasn't here for me. I can't afford to think like that, though. Kadee's the only parent I have left.
I shuffle toward the main cavern, dragging one of the heavy sacks of water behind me. The others sit inside the entrance, waiting to be brought in. The fire in the cave is out, but thick smoke chokes the air, and me in turn, as I move through the passageway.
The flicker of torches and echo of muttering voices bring the interminable days in the caves back to me with alarming clarity. The sick ones can't stay as long this time. They can't. There's no chance my people will survive that. And I have doubts about my own ability to go back to the routine of gathering the water for them every day.
"Look who finally showed up? Our little Fenn."
I stiffen at the sound of Moray’s voice. I won't let him get the best of me again. I hear voices nearby, but I don't entirely relax.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"Nothing. Nothing at all." His voice is an aggravating concoction of concern and pure taunt. Why does he always have to sound like he's mocking me? It brings out the false bravado in me, which I hate.
I push past him. "There's more water sacks by the entrance to the caves. Make yourself useful and bring them in."
He steps in front of me. "Why don't I take this one for you instead? You look tired; you've got dark circles and everything." His blunt fingers skim under my eyes.
I smack his hand away and step back, almost tripping over the sack I'm dragging. "Don't touch me."
"Aw, c'mon, Fenn. Don't be like that. We're supposed to forgive each other, right? I forgive you for biting the hell out of my tongue. Now it's your turn."
Again he sounds genuine, like he thinks a simple apology will make me forget he tried to kill me. I take another big step away from him, fully aware I'm being driven back toward the dark, empty passageway.
My hands clench the neck of the sack. "Get out of my way, Moray."
"You heard her. Back off." Bear's voice, rumbling from behind Moray, is a welcome sound.
"Don't get all worked up, hero. I'm having a chat with my new friend."
"I'm not your friend," I say. "Go away."
Bear comes to my side. "Here, Fenn, I'll take that water."
"I've got it," Moray says. He takes the sack from my hand.
"What's he up to?" I mutter, after Moray saunters off.
"Who knows?” Bear says. “But I'll give you the advice you gave me once. Stay away from him."
"My pleasure. Hey, there are more sacks where that came from. Can you get some help to bring them in? I need to talk to the Three and find out what else I need to go fetch."
Bear takes my arm. "Fenn, wait. There's something you should know."
I stop cold. "What?"
"Fennel . . . I'm so sorry. I thought he was with me." Acacia, usually difficult to tell apart from Calli because their voices are so similar, sounds distraught. "I was collecting the younger children and I assumed he would follow us back to the caves. But when I turned around . . . he wasn't there."
"Wait . . . who?" I have a bad feeling I already know.
"We were washing up down at the water hole, when we heard the flesh-eaters coming. I had several of the younger children, and I thought Eland was with us. I never would have left him behind, Fennel, you know that . . ." Her voice fades as blood pounds in my head.
"No. Not Eland. Not. Eland." I turn and bolt back through the passage to the cave mouth, my hand bouncing painfully along the wall, panic snapping at my heels.
Bear follows, calling my name. As the cave opens up to the outside, I hear the sick ones. Their groans and shrieks fill the air. It's impossible to think of Eland among them. Or as one of them.
Maybe he found somewhere to hide. Maybe knowing I thought the sick ones weren't harmful was enough to protect him. I have to believe something, anything, other than that he's gone. Bear grabs my hand, yanking me backward.
"Fenn, wait . . . I want to help," he pants. But what can he do?
&nbs
p; "Let me go. I have to find him. It might not be too late."
"I'm sorry, Fenn. So sorry."
"Don't say that to me. Not yet." I try to jerk my arm away from him, but he hangs on. "If you think he's already gone, then you don't believe me about the Scourge. If you did believe me, you'd know there's hope."
Some logical part of me, buried under a rockslide of fear, knows that isn't fair. I'm terrified Eland is in danger myself. But I want to lash out at someone, and Bear is the only one here. "I have to go."
"I'm coming with you." His voice is equal parts determined and petrified.
"Bear, no. You can't." I put my hand over his on my arm. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I did. Don't put yourself in danger to prove you believe me."
"I won't be in danger. If we believe they can't harm us, then they can't . . . right?"
I walk toward the open air impatiently. The sick ones pace and howl at us a few steps away. "In theory. I'm not willing to let you test it, though. Go back inside. Bring the water."
"I'm going with you." His tone tells me he's done arguing. I try anyway.
"I don't know where Peree is, and now Eland is out there with them." I motion to the creatures. "If you set foot outside this cave, then every male I care about could be in danger. Please stay here. Please. I can't risk losing you, too." I hope he won't read more into that than I mean.
"So you do care what happens to me."
I step away again, moving outside of the shelter of the cave mouth. The sick ones shriek at my back; I raise my voice to be heard. "Of course I care, you stupid boy. You're one of my best friends."
"I'll hold your hand. If I can feel your hand in mine, I think I can do this."
"No! Don't—"
It's too late. He lunges out next to me, grabbing my arm. I can only stand there, too stunned to react. It even seems to surprise the sick ones. But not for long. They surround us.
Bear pulverizes the bones of my hand, but unbelievably he also manages to stand his ground . . . for a few seconds. His grip weakens, and he moans. He sounds like he might pass out from the fear.
“They’re going to . . . no, don’t . . . Fenn! Help me—”
