The Scourge (14 page)

“You’re alive.”

“I was only sure when I felt you next to me.” He presses his cheek into my palm. “Where's the torch? I . . . want to see what we came all this way for.”

It’s hard to find in my pack, there’s so little of it left. He struggles up, then helps me light it with shaking hands. The torch crackles to life, and the darkness fades a bit. Peree says nothing.

“What does it look like?” I ask.

“Like a cave. With water.”

“Where does the water go? Can you tell?”

“Through an opening in the rock on the far wall.”

“Do you see any light beyond, like the stream might go outside from here, or another way out?”

He doesn’t answer. The torch almost singes my hand before sputtering out, and the last of my hope goes with it. I have no idea what to do now. I can’t get Peree back home in his condition. There’s maybe enough food to last one more day. The water might keep him alive for a few days while I go back for help . . . unless the infection from his wound kills him first. Despair caresses me with frost-tipped fingers.

“Fennel?”

“I’m here.” I take his hands.

“Have you ever heard the story of how the first fish were created?” He sounds different. Resigned.

I fight to keep my voice even. “Maybe you should rest.”

“I will soon. Come lie next to me; you’re freezing.” I pull my bedroll over us and lay with my head on his chest. His voice echoes in my ear. “You know about fish, right? They swam in the waters.”

I had heard of fish. A few of the elders ate them when they were children, but the last of the fish died out over a generation ago. No one knew why.

“Long ago there were no fish; every animal lived on the land. There was plenty of food, no danger. The people were happy. Everyone—except one boy. He’d loved one of the girls of a nearby community since childhood, and she loved him, but her father didn’t want them to be together. The boy was different, an outsider. So the boy gave up, and wandered through the forest for a time.

“He returned several years later, determined to ask the girl to be his partner. He found that although she still loved him, she was intended to another, a commitment she had to honor, according to the community’s laws. The boy wanted to fight for her, but the girl told him no. Instead, she would run away with him that night.

“When the sun left the sky, she stole away from her home and met the boy in the forest. They ran and ran, as fast and as far as they could. They ran so far they came to the edge of a vast water hole, where they spent the rest of the night, exhausted, but happy to be together.

“The couple woke at first light and, using driftwood, they made arrows and spears to defend themselves, knowing they would be pursued. Sure enough, men appeared at the top of the rocks overlooking the shore. The girl continued to make weapons while the boy shot the arrows and threw the spears with such accuracy that the men were forced to hide. They held them off this way all day, but by dusk they ran out of wood.

“As the boy held the last arrow to his bow, the girl told him she would go back with the men so he could escape. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we must stay together, whatever happens. If we can’t live together on land, then we must go into the water.’ She agreed, he shot his last arrow, and the boy and girl slipped into the water. The men ran down from the rocks, throwing their spears at them, and the spears stuck, becoming fins. They swam away, the first fish. And they never again left the water, because they knew death awaited them on land.”

Peree shifts his weight, and moans. My hands fly to his face, powerless to do anything else to help. After a minute, he speaks again.

“My mother said there were people who believed underground rivers were the boundaries between our world and the afterworld. They thought people crossed the river when they died. I don’t want to cross this one. I don’t want to stay in the cold and the dark forever.” Silent tears slip down his face. “Will you be sure I don’t? Let the river wash what’s left of me outside, into the sunlight.” I want to say he’s not going to die here, but I can’t lie, so I say nothing. “When you go back, tell Shrike . . . tell him he was a good father. He worried about that, since my mother left. And tell Petrel he won. He’ll know what it means.”

“I will. Is there anyone else you want me to give a message to? Other friends?”

“No other friends.”

“But, there must be others you were close to.” I hesitate. “What about . . . the girl? The one you told me wasn’t old enough to partner with yet.”

“There’s no one. No Lofty girl, at least.” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is even more hollow than it was before. “We had the same fever you did, and many died. Our numbers were already dwindling before the fever. Now we don’t have enough people to do everything that needs to be done. Hunt, gather food and wood, be the lookouts, watch the remaining children. That’s why we make decisions together; we don’t need a separate Council.”

I sift through the little information I have about the Lofties. “Not many of you came to the last few Summer Solstices. We thought you didn’t want to celebrate with us, but really there were less of you?”

“For generations we’ve given up more babies in the Exchange than we’ve received. Dark coloring seems to be more common than light. It’s ironic—our ancestors drove yours out of the trees and created the Exchange to protect our resources. Now we’re dying out, thanks to their narrow minds and our own fear and pride.”

“Does anyone else know about this? Aloe? The Three?”

“No,” Peree says. “It’s forbidden to speak to Groundlings about, but I don’t think they’ll get here in time to punish me.”

I can’t stand it. “Don’t say that, you’re not–”

He stops my lips with his fingers. “I want to tell truths now. Something has to change, and soon. My people are afraid, but we’ll have to strike some kind of bargain with your people, or we won’t survive. Do something for me, when you go back—tell Aloe what I told you. Persuade your Council to help.”

“Come back with me and tell them yourself,” I plead.

“Does your Sightlessness give you the power to cheat death?”

I shake my head, frustration and helplessness strangling me. “Only to walk among it.”

We lie in silence then. Numb with grief, I listen to his slow breathing. For a moment I consider giving up, staying here with Peree next to the Hidden Waters. But voices drift to me through the caves like the whispers of ghosts. The voices of my people, beseeching me to return with some hopeful news. And I have the Lofties to consider now, slowly dying out in the trees over our heads.

Can I do this? Can I go back and shake the foundation of what my people believe: that the Lofties keep us subservient? Would it change anything? I don’t know, but I have to find out. I make up my mind. I’ll stay with him as long as I can. Then I’ll go back.

I try to stay awake, but I’m depleted, body and spirit. I doze off, and I’m the girl from the story, my back to the edge of the water, my hair lashing around me in the gusting wind. I hand Peree the last arrow I’ve made, knowing the men are coming for us. I tell him I’ll go back with them.
No, we stay together
, he reminds me.

And suddenly I know what I have to do.

I try to wake Peree, to tell him my plan, but he doesn’t stir. So I stuff what I can into an empty water sack: food, the diminished medicine pouch, the scrap of fabric and the rabbit’s foot Bear gave me, Peree’s knife, and the little wooden bird. I secure the sack to my body. I don’t think about what might happen, or I won’t have the courage to do this.

I wrap my arms around Peree, and whisper in his ear. Then I roll us over the edge into the river.

I hold Peree under the arms, feet downstream. He flails as we sweep through the cave. I try to come up for air, but my head meets solid rock, my face still underwater. Panic smothers me—I fight it.

The water throws us into the rock walls. Peree slumps in my arms. We hit an outcropping and pain explodes through my side.

Sliding downwards. The water levels out, dragging us. My ribs are in agony, my lungs exploding. I clear the surface and gasp for breath.

My forehead slams into a rock and water dashes down my throat. I gasp and choke; I’m drowning.

Suddenly, light bursts around us. We plunge into a roaring, plummeting wall of water. Peree’s head ricochets against my brow. Stunned, I cling to him like a raft.

And as swiftly as it began, the terrifying ride is over. Calmer water surrounds us.
Warm
water. I try to hold Peree’s face above the surface, but his weight pushes me under. My hand brushes against something slimy, slender, and plant-like. I seize it.  It's attached to solid ground. I pull myself, and Peree’s body, as far up as I can and collapse. Darkness overtakes me.

I stretch my arms and legs. Pain greets every small movement. My forehead throbs and it hurts to breathe—the ribs on my left side crackle like a handful of kindling. Raising my head prompts a wave of nausea, so I stay low. I feel like I was thoroughly beaten, which isn’t far from the truth.

I hear a low moan, and I panic.
Where’s Peree?
If the Scourge is here, he could be gone already. We can’t have come this far for him to be taken by flesh-eaters. Battling the pain and nausea, I grope around my body, my hands sliding through mud and grass. I only breathe again when I realize Peree’s the one doing the moaning. He’s alive. I lie next to him, holding his hand.

Time passes. I drift in and out, only aware of his body next to mine. The light’s gone when I come to again. For a moment I think we’re back in the caves, but I smell the organic, peaty soil and the bitter nip of the greenheart trees, so much stronger now that I haven’t smelled them in days. We’re outside, I remember.

I push myself up to my knees with one arm, allowing the other to curl around my injured ribs. I probe my forehead gently. An enormous knot squats on my brow, crusted with hardened blood and mud. Every movement of my head creates fresh fault lines. I lean over Peree, listening for the sound of his breath. It’s there, weak but consistent. I’m grateful, and astonished. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting to survive myself.

I wish I could tell where we are. I can hear a few insects in the vegetation around us, but not much else, thanks to what must be the waterfall that spit us out here. Beyond that I’m terrifyingly ignorant. What if the Scourge does come?

I transfer our few belongings to my pockets, then crawl to the water hole and fill the sack. The water tastes pure, like its source, the Hidden Waters. As I pour a tiny stream into Peree’s mouth, I hear a new sound—shuffling feet. I freeze, my hands poised over his body, ready to pull him into the water and away from the creatures, but the shuffling is all I hear. Whatever it is, it sounds much smaller than one of the creatures.

An animal? Maybe a possum, or a squirrel? My stomach snarls. I imagine Peree waking to the mouthwatering smell of freshly cooked meat . . . as if I could catch an animal and make a fire with a bunch of broken ribs. The animal does mean one good thing—the Scourge must not be near. In our part of the forest the animals are indicators of how close the flesh-eaters are. They take to the trees or burrow under the earth at the first sign of the creatures.

I think about the tiger, or whatever she was. How long had she been hiding from the creatures in the entrance to that cave? She must have been desperate. Hatred for the Scourge boils in me again.

The animal moves off, having drunk its fill. We must look and smell half dead, for it to have come so close to us. I take Peree’s limp hand and, ribs screaming at the movement, I lie back in the scrubby grass.

The forest sounds are louder now. Magpies hop around us, their screeches audible over the crashing water. I sit on the bank and think about slipping in to wash the grime off my body, but I can’t find the energy.

I try to form a plan, but what can I do? I doubt I can carry Peree when I’m fresh and uninjured, much less now. I can try to get help, but I have no idea which way to walk. I didn’t think about how I’d get home when I slid into the Hidden Waters. I wanted to get Peree out of the caves he hated, to let him die under the sun. Now it looks like that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

I can’t think about the things he said in the caves. It hurts too much, more painful than the aching in my body. I feel like I’m back in the freezing river, being swept away by the events of the last few weeks, no sense of direction in my own life. I’m at the mercy of the water, as I’ve always been. As we all have been.

Footsteps behind me—this is no possum. I stay very still, afraid to move in case it draws the flesh-eater’s attention. I’m about four or five paces from where Peree lies, too far to reach him and drag him into the water to safety. If I can’t run, I’ll fight. I clutch my side, ready to jump to my feet. I don’t know why the creature hasn’t already attacked.

“She’s here,” Peree murmurs. Relief shoots through me at the sound of his voice, followed by dread at his words. He recognizes one of the fleshies? “She’ll take you home.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I hiss.

“Go . . . please.” The sadness, the futility in his voice tears at my heart. I wait, and listen.

A high-pitched, human voice breaks the silence. It sounds like a child, a little girl, but I can’t understand her.
What’s she doing out here by herself?
She pauses, then speaks again. This time I recognize the words.