by A. G. Henley
"She came to me a few days before the Reckoning. She told me she thought there was a chance you'd still come back. That she trusted you and knew you would do whatever you could to help our people. She said if you came back, you would take care of me, and I should take care of you. I didn't know why she was telling me all that stuff. She sounded . . . like she'd given up. Mother never sounded like that." He sniffles.
"And she said something else. Something I haven't told you, because I didn't know why she said it. It didn't make any sense. But it makes more sense now, after you told me what the Three did to you.” He hesitates. “You know, to your eyes."
A foreboding feeling slithers through me—one I've learned the hard way to pay attention to. The rain beats on the wood over our heads now, and thunder snarls in the distance. The storm sounds louder and feels closer this high up in the air.
"What did she say?" I have to raise my voice over the noise.
"She told me, 'Don't trust the Three. Not now. Not ever.’"
I only have a moment to wonder at Aloe's message before lightning explodes over our heads, and the door creaks open.
"Groundlings, listen to me. We don't have much time."
I try to place the voice, but I don't think I've heard it before. She sounds younger than me, and her tone is soft and rushed. "I'll help you get out of here, but I need you to promise me something first. Promise you'll take a message to someone. One of your people."
"Who are you?" I ask, totally confused.
"It doesn't matter."
"Who's the message for?" Eland asks.
"Moray," she says.
I almost snort. "Moray? You want us to give him a message? About what?"
"We'll give him the message, whatever it is," Eland says quickly. "Please help us."
The eagerness and relief in his voice brings me to my senses. Of course he's more frightened than he was letting on before. He's twelve. And he's right. Whatever the message is and whomever it's for, we need to deliver it so we can get out of here. So much for not relying on other people to rescue me.
"I want your word, too, Water Bearer," the girl says.
I can't imagine what a Lofty would want to tell Moray, but I say, "We'll bring him your message. I promise."
She's quiet for a moment, probably deciding if she can trust a couple of dirty Groundling hostages. "Then follow me. Quietly. Osprey and the others are sheltering from the storm, but the moment it stops they'll be coming for you."
Her words focus me. We have to get out of the trees. Now. Eland helps me up and wraps my hand around his arm. Goosebumps rise on his skin like spirits called forth by the howling storm. The branches scrape and groan around us, whipped into a frenzied dance by the wind, and the rain soaks us in a matter of moments.
We move forward, the sound of our footsteps thankfully drowned out by the storm. I have to rely on Eland's sight because I can't hear anything. After a minute or so we stop, and he speaks into my ear.
"I think we're going a different way than the other Lofties took us. We have to use one of those ropes to swing." He can't hide the thrill in his voice. I can't hide my grimace.
We situate ourselves around the rope swing. I give it a strong pull to be sure it's tied securely, then I wrap my arms around Eland’s thin torso.
We take a few steps and push off. It's only when we're mid-swing, my feet dangling and my stomach trailing somewhere behind me, that I wonder if we can even trust this Lofty.
Too late now.
The storm rages over us as we walk on, following the Lofty girl. Instead of being frightened, I'm grateful for the cover it provides. I don't think anyone could possibly hear us. But seeing us is another problem entirely.
The girl mutters to hurry up in a tone so low it's almost lost in the wind. We pass a few homes. Narrow pools of light spill out in the darkness, probably from small fires lit inside as people wait out the surging storm.
"We're going through the main area now. Lots of shelters here," Eland whispers. "Be extra quiet."
I squeeze his arm to let him know I understand. I have to remind myself to ease up; I'm probably leaving bruises.
My shoulders brush the wet, wooden walls of the shelters as we creep along, hesitating at every squeak of the boards under our feet. At first I don't understand why we're staying close to the structures containing an untold number of hostile Lofties, rather than as far away from them as we can get.
Until I hear a door open in front of us. A new Lofty woman speaks, so close it sounds like I could reach out and touch her. I don’t know where our guide is, but Eland and I go rigid against the wall of the shelter next to us.
"I wonder what they'll do with the Groundlings," the woman is saying.
"Don't know," a man answers.
I imagine that the couple is standing inside their open door, looking out at the storm. The one we're standing a mere few feet from. I clutch Eland's arm, willing him not to move. From the tense set of his muscle, I needn't have worried. The scent of cooking food makes my stomach protest loudly. I hope they can't hear it.
"I suppose we have to do something," the woman says. "First there was the raid on the trees, then this fire. But it doesn't seem right. They're children. Even if they are Groundling children. What kind of people sends their young to do something like that?"
"Nothing happens down there without the approval of their Council. They had to know someone was about to set the fire. Or it was their idea." His voice is grim.
"I don't understand it."
The man grunts. "I don't understand half of what the bottom-feeders do."
"I feel badly for Peree, though. First his father, now the girl."
"He never should've gotten involved with her. This is what happens when we let young people have too much freedom. They make poor choices. Peree's old enough to learn that lesson. Don't think he'll forget it now—"
The man continues, but the door creaks shut, muffling his voice. I release the lungful of air I'd been holding on to.
"Did you hear all that?" Eland whispers, sounding younger than he has all night.
"We'll talk about it later . . . when we get back to our bottom-feeding friends," I say bitterly. Peree never told me about that lovely nickname. Or about their illegal hunting parties. Not that I really blame him, but what else isn’t he telling me? "Where's the girl?"
Our guide must have barely gotten out of sight when the couple opened their door. Eland leads us to her, and we continue across what seems like a very wide platform. There are lots of shelters here. We beetle from home to home, sticking to their wooden sides as much as possible.
I wish I could get a better fix on how close we are to the platform that overlooks the cave mouth. The rumble and clatter of the storm isolates me completely. I listen . . . and a long moan ghosts through the trees.
My heart sinks into my stomach. Why didn't I think of this before? Even if our mysterious Lofty girl-guide can get us out of the trees, how will Eland reach the caves safely?
He pushes me back against some kind of structure, interrupting my thoughts. He doesn't have to tell me to be quiet.
"You shouldn't be out here," our guide says. "Your sister will worry."
"I was tired of being inside." The other voice belongs to a boy. He sounds younger than Eland, but maybe only by a few years. My stomach churns when I hear his next words. "Who're they?"
My brother steps forward. "It's me, Thrush. Eland. I met you yesterday."
"What're you doing, Eland?" Thrush asks.
"We're on our way home."
"What are you doing up here, I mean?"
"Visiting."
"Did you start the fire?"
I cringe.
"Of course not," Eland says, sounding admirably relaxed. "We would never do something like that. But if anyone knows we were up here, they may think we did. Hey, remember I didn't tell Petrel about how you accidentally dropped your quiver off the platform? Do me a favor and don't tell anyone about seeing us in the tre
es. Deal?"
"I got it back," Thrush says. "I snuck out last night and climbed down to the branch it was hanging on."
"Nice work," Eland says, which makes me smile. He picked up that expression from Peree. "How about if I make some new arrows for it?"
"Groundling arrows don't fly straight. Everyone says so."
"Peree's been helping me make mine. His arrows are good, right?"
"Yeah . . . his are."
"So what do you say? I kept your secret. Keep mine? That's what friends do."
"Okay," the boy says reluctantly.
"You better get home before Moon makes you scrape the bird poop off your shelter again," Eland says. And I thought Aloe was hard on Eland sometimes.
"Don't forget about my arrows," Thrush says. We listen to him run off down the walkway.
"He won't keep his mouth shut," the Lofty girl says darkly. "Not that one. It isn't possible."
"It was all I could think of," Eland whispers defensively.
"You did great," I say. "And if he tells anyone, hopefully it will be Moon or Petrel. They won't give us away." I think.
"Let's keep moving," the girl says. "We're almost there."
We start walking again.
"What about you?" I ask her. "What if he says he saw you with us?"
"Let's hope he doesn't." Her words are clipped. It makes me worry a little about Thrush's safety.
"What will you do?" I ask warily.
"I'm not going to hurt an eight-year-old boy, if that's what you're thinking." She scoffs. "If I was capable of that, I would've let them get rid of you and your brother here."
"Why did you help us? What's the message you want us to give to Moray?"
She doesn't answer for a minute. She must have stopped walking, because Eland tugs me to a halt, too.
"It's okay," he says, his voice gentle. "Whatever it is. You can tell us."
I don't know what he's seeing that made him say that, but his words seem to have an impact.
She draws a shaky breath. "Tell Moray . . . that he's going to be a father."
My mouth drops open. "A father? You . . . you're expecting his—? How? When?"
"It's none of your business," the girl says, her voice abruptly turning fierce. "I'm only telling you because I have no other way to reach him. Especially now, after the fires. And I think he'll want to know."
"You sure about that?" Eland mutters.
"What do you mean?" the girl says.
I elbow him in the ribs. "It's only that Moray and his family . . . they aren't fond of Lofties."
"Well he seemed fond of me."
I'll bet. As obnoxious as Moray is, he can also be charming when he wants to be. That is, when he wants something.
"What would you like us to tell him?" I ask.
Whatever it is, I'm sure he won't respond the way she wants him to. I'm not sure anything matters much to Moray—except for Moray, of course.
"That I need to see him. We need to talk. Tell him I'll try to collect the water again as soon as the fleshies leave. Tell him to come to the water hole at the usual time."
Wow, there's a lot more action going on by the water hole than I thought.
"We're grateful for your help," I say. "And we'll give him your message."
"Thank you."
She sounds so worried and miserable I can't leave it at that. I step to her and search for her hand. I wish I could tell her Moray will support her, stand by her side. But I can't lie.
"It's okay. You'll figure something out."
She squeezes my fingers for a moment before drawing back. I can hear the sick ones roaming around below.
"Any ideas how I can get my brother inside the caves with the sick ones down there?" I ask.
"You could try to wait them out, but now that Thrush saw you there may not be time. Maybe you could run for it? I've got my bow. I might be able to take a few of the fleshies out. Then again, I'm not a very good shot."
Of course. Just our luck to be rescued by the one Lofty that can't shoot straight.
"You better go," I tell her. "I don't want you to get in trouble. We'll have to take our chances with your people and wait."
"No, I can do it. I can run for it." Eland says.
I remember Bear's reaction to being surrounded by the sick ones. Eland's much smaller, but I'm not sure I can carry him if he passes out. "No, Eland. We can't risk it."
"I only see a few fleshies down there," the girl says. "He just has to control his fear, right?" She says it like a challenge.
"Not exactly." Irritation leaks out of my voice. "And however it works, I don't want to test it on my brother."
Eland touches my arm. "I think I can do this, Fenn. I almost did before, when I was alone. With you there, maybe I can make it this time. I'm pretty fast."
I cup his cheek with my grubby fingers and palm. "And you're fearless. But it's not about courage." If it was, Bear should've been able to withstand the sick ones. He's one of the bravest men I know.
"Then what is it about? Trust? I trust you, Fenn. I believe in you."
And I love him for that. But I still don't think it's enough. "You have to have drunk the pure water, Eland. You know that." I turn to the Lofty. "Go. You shouldn't be seen with us. We'll wait. Maybe we'll get lucky and the sick ones will leave soon."
"I don't think you're going to get lucky."
The platform under our feet begins to vibrate. Someone's coming.
"Go now!" I say.
"Good luck." She slips away.
"C'mon, Fenn! I have the ladder. We have to get to the ground."
"No, Eland." But we have to do something. We're trapped. Panic carves a path through me.
"I don't think we have a choice," he says. "We know what they'll do if we stay up here."
"Maybe Peree's family would help us . . .”
"Fenn, we have to choose. Quick."
He's right. We can stay here and wait for the Lofties to catch and possibly execute us. Or we can take our chances with the sick ones. Which amounts to the same thing for Eland.
I grit my teeth and ignore the voice screaming at me not to risk Eland's life, telling me there must be another way. I shore up my resolve. I have to, because soft and vulnerable things don't survive in our world. They never have.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I climb down, my breath coming hard and fast. Eland's feet find the rungs above my head as soon as my hands let go of them. I can hear the creatures out there in the rain, their howls whipped around by the wind. How will they react when we reach the ground?
"Run. Flat out. Don't wait for me," I say to him for the fifth time.
He doesn't answer. I can only imagine what he's feeling. It has to be ten times worse than the first time I left the caves to collect the water.
At least he doesn't have to do this alone. I'll draw as many of them to me, and away from him, as I can. The rope ladder will still be hanging down, but there's nothing we can do about that. I'm sure the Lofties won't let the sick ones get far if they try to climb up.
"You're almost to the ground." If a voice could curl up on itself, Eland's would be in the fetal position.
"You can do it. Run, Eland. Don't look at them and don't think. Run. I'll meet you in the caves." I reach up and find his ankle on the rung above my hand, passing as much love and protection through my touch as I can. Then I let go.
I land with a squelch on the soggy earth and immediately race away from the caves, waving my arms and shouting. My feet twizzle under me and I almost lose my balance, but the distraction seems to work. The few creatures I can hear follow me, their feet sliding across the ground toward me.
After a moment, I hear Eland scrambling in the other direction. I listen for sounds of the creatures nearing him, but hear only the rain spattering the ground. A creature shrieks from the direction of the caves. Too close to Eland.
"Over here!" I pinwheel my arms toward where I heard the sick one. "I'm here! This way—I have food!"
I do
n't have food. I don't have anything, except a desperate desire to buy my brother time. The sick ones surround me, gnashing their teeth. Did they understand me?
"Eland, are you okay? Are you in the caves?" I shout.
The sick one by the caves screams again . . . and so does Eland. I cry out, too. I want to run to him, but I don't dare draw more of the creatures there.
My eyes water with dread and the hideous stench of the sick ones as I again wait to find out if my brother is alive or dead.
A noise drifts through the rain; it sounds like a body hitting the ground.
I slip and slide in that direction, hoping the creatures stay out of my way. I don't know if he's safely inside the caves, or outside of them. I lose my footing and fall in my hurry to get to Eland, barely noticing the mud that covers me.
"Eland!" I shout. There's no answer. I creep through the muck, arms outstretched, searching for his body. My knees scrape against the hard rock, dirt, and gravel inside the cave mouth.
I flail around, feeling only unforgiving stone.
And then I find him, slumped like a forgotten water sack. He made it inside. I pull him into my arms.
"Eland! Are you okay?"
Nothing.
"Eland?" I feel his face. His eyelids are closed, lips slack, breathing shallow. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
He turns his head and retches. I dodge out of the way just in time. Then I hold him, making soothing sounds like Aloe used to when we were ill. I smooth his shaggy, soaked hair back from his face. His forehead is clammy.
What's wrong with him? Is it shock, or exposure to the sick ones? Anxiety gnaws at me with sharp, needling teeth.
I can't leave him alone to go fetch help. What if he came to with the creatures right outside? I’m more grateful than usual that the sick ones seem to hate the dark and cold of the caves enough to never come in.
