The Scourge (2 page)

I’m supposed to be safe from the Scourge, like Aloe, but I haven’t been tested. I will be soon. To hear the agony of their hunger, smell their disease, feel their hot breath on my skin . . . the idea fills me with dread and loathing. But Aloe has never shown her fear to others, and neither will I.

“I won’t be completely alone, anyway. I’ll have my Keeper,” I say. Calli snorts. The Lofties say the Keeper’s job is to kill flesh-eaters and deter other fleshies—our nickname for the Scourge—from getting too close to me. But everyone knows the Keeper’s really there to ensure the Lofties get their share of the water while the Scourge is here. Secretly I’m just happy
someone
will be with me, even if it’s a Lofty in the trees. “Aloe insists her Keeper was important.”

“
Self-
important,” Calli mutters. “And devious. Don’t trust them, Fenn.” We all know the fate of Groundlings who cross Lofties. They’re found with arrows in their chests. Or in their backs. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens.

There’s a rustling, more deliberate than the wind, in the leafy branches above our heads. I sit up.

“What is it?” Calli asks.

“The Lofties are here.”

The talking and shrieking abruptly cease. The clearing is silent except for the chattering of the fire. Fox finally speaks, sounding stiff and formal—and more sober than I expected.

“Welcome. Please join us.”

The woman who answers sounds equally uncomfortable. “Thank you. We brought food to contribute to the feast.”

“Our Council hasn’t arrived yet . . . so I’ll just say a few words in their absence.” Fox clears his throat and continues in his best speechmaking voice—the one Calli and I have heard many times when we were in trouble. “Groundlings and Lofties come together once a year on this day to feast, to dance, and to engage in friendly competition.” I smile as some of the boys quietly scoff at the word
friendly
. “The Summer Solstice celebration is a reminder that every year given to us since the Fall of Civilization is a blessing, something for us to treasure. It’s a time to reflect on the year that has passed, and to anticipate the year that will be. We honor those who came before us, our elders, many of whom gave their lives to ensure we would have a future.” He pauses. “And we offer a prayer of protection for those who come after us—our children, and our children’s children. May they always be safe from the Scourge.”

The Lofty woman responds to Fox’s traditional words of welcome with their customary response. “We appreciate the hospitality of our Groundling neighbors. We too pray for peace and protection, and for a year of prosperity for all forest-dwellers.”

A respectful silence follows, promptly broken by Bear’s less-than-respectful whisper that the Lofties will need a prayer of protection tomorrow. Calli giggles.

“What are the Lofties doing?” I ask as conversations around the fire slowly start up again.

Bear answers. “Standing around, looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. As usual.”

“It’s kind of sad. They come to the Summer Solstice celebration every year, but they never seem to have any fun,” Calli says.

“They should invite us up to their little nests if they aren’t comfortable down here,” Bear says. “Wouldn’t kill ’em.”

“Why do we bother to celebrate together, when we all keep to ourselves?” I ask. “We can do that anytime.”

“
Tradition,
” Calli and Bear intone.

“Maybe it’s time for a new tradition.” I stand up, shaking out my skirt. “Where are they, exactly?”

“Over by my family’s shelter,” Calli says. “What are you doing, Fenn?”

Finding out who will be in those trees when the Scourge comes
. I weave around the clusters of people, listening for voices I don’t recognize. But I smell the Lofties before I hear them—the intense, slightly bitter resin of their homes, the greenheart trees.

“Welcome.” My voice sounds too loud in my ears. “I’m Fennel. I’ll be taking Aloe’s place collecting water for our communities when the Scourge returns.”

The Groundlings behind me fall silent again, their stares heavy on my shoulders. A Lofty speaks, his voice deep and gravelly.

“Fennel, it’s Shrike. Has Aloe joined the Council then?” Shrike is Aloe’s Keeper. She doesn’t talk about him much, but I’ve always gotten the sense she thinks well of him.

“She was accepted this evening. She should be here soon.” I worry the pocket of my dress with my fingers. “Shrike, could I . . . I’d like to meet my Keeper.”

There’s silence, then someone moves toward me, crunching leaves under their feet.

“This is Peregrine,” Shrike says.

I hold out my hand. It stays extended in front of me for what seems a very long time. I think of myself frozen that way, a welcoming statue found years in the future by someone who happens across the clearing. Embarrassed, but determined not to show it, I thrust my hand out even further.

A hand finally brushes mine. I can tell it belongs to a man. There are calluses on the ends of his long fingers. This Lofty smells different from the others, more like . . . honeysuckle. I liked playing around the honeysuckle in the garden as a child, avoiding the preoccupied bees and soaking in the sweet, sunny scent. It’s the fragrance of summer.

“Hello, Fennel.”

I’m surprised. I pictured my Keeper middle-aged, like Shrike, but this Lofty doesn’t sound much older than me. And while his hand is rough, his voice isn’t. It’s quiet, almost melodious. More like the calls of the warblers that wake us each morning than the predatory screech of the falcon he’s named for. All the Lofty men are named for birds, while the women have ridiculous names like Sunbeam, Dewdrop, and Mist.

“Though I don’t wish the Scourge to return,” Aloe says from behind me, “they will. It’s good that you’ve met.”

“Congratulations on your acceptance into the Three,” Shrike says. “You’ll serve your community well.”

“Thank you,” she says.

Aloe’s voice is different, gentler, the voice she reserves for Eland. She has a bond with this Lofty. I wonder if I’ll have a similar bond with my rough-handed, soft-voiced Keeper.

“So,” I say to Peregrine, “were you chosen because you’re a good hunter? Aloe says Shrike is deadly, as deadly as she’s ever known a man to be.”

“I can use a bow and arrow.”

“Ha, don’t let him fool you. Peree’s one of our best archers. We’re counting on him tomorrow.” Shrike sounds proud, like he’s talking about his own son. Maybe he is. We don’t know much about the Lofties.

Fox’s voice booms across the clearing. “Come, eat, and let the dancing begin! We have some anxious boys here, waiting to find out if the girls they’ve had their eye on for the past year will dance with them.” The crowd laughs, even a few of the Lofties. People all around the fire begin to talk normally again, and the music starts up. I’m relieved that the collective attention seems to have turned away from me.

I smile politely at my Keeper. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Peregrine, like Aloe said.”

“Call me Peree. Everyone does.”

I nod. “My friends call me Fenn.”

The music starts up. I should go. Bear, or someone else, may be waiting to dance with me. Whether I want to or not. I turn away . . . and a mad idea grabs me.

Ask the Lofty to dance.

I hesitate. Is Aloe still nearby? Can she hear us? She’s one of the Three now, tasked with managing our complicated relationship with the Lofties. There’s no rule against dancing with them, but that’s only because no one has ever tried. Aloe—not to mention the rest of my people—might be furious with me. I decide I don’t care. At least I’ll have made my own choice.

“Peree? Would you like to dance?” He doesn’t say anything. I bite my bottom lip. “You know, dance? I’m not bad, really. I won’t even step on your feet much.”

“Lofties and Groundlings don’t dance together.”

“Why not?”

He’s quiet again. “No idea. Tradition, I guess.” I half expect him to say it in Bream’s voice.

I hold my hand out, palm up this time, challenging him.

I never get an answer. Shrill birdcalls rip through the air—Lofty warning calls. The music dies, and for a moment the clearing is quiet. Then the screaming starts.

The Scourge is here.

“Come on.”

He jams my arm under his and drags me around the fire. People careen off us, yelling to douse the flames, find children, gather up supplies. Someone shouts for help, but I can’t stop with Peree towing me along.

“Fennel!” Eland yells, grasping my free arm. Peree’s gone before I can thank him.

“Where’s Aloe?” I shout.

“Over here!” Eland pulls me away from the spitting, hissing bonfire. “Mother, I’ve got her!”

“Get to the caves." Aloe's voice is calm, but weary. "I’ll be there shortly.”

I hang on to Eland’s arm as we run. People jostle around us. The trail from the clearing to the mouth of the caves is endless.

“Almost there,” Eland pants.

I hear a cry off the path; so weak I doubt anyone else can hear it. “Someone’s hurt. Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Fenn–”

“Go!” I push him and plow into the bushes. I could fall on whoever it is if I move too fast so I creep forward, sweeping my arms in front of me. A bush gropes me, tearing my skin. I hear the moan again, just in front of me.

“Fennel, thank the stars.” It’s Willow, one of the elders.

I lift her up gently and set her on her feet like a toddler. Clasping her frail body to me, I stagger back to the path. Willow whimpers in pain, and I slow to loosen my grip.

Then I hear them, crashing through the forest behind us, shrieking as they come.

I start to run, supporting Willow, trying to stay on the path. Hands seize me, and I cry out.

“I’ve got her!” Fox yells. He sweeps Willow into his arms and sprints forward, his feet pounding the path.

I run too, terrified I’ll trip and fall. People call to me from the mouth of the cave, giving me a sound to aim for.

I hear the flesh-eaters just behind me now.

Then, warm arms and bodies catch me. I’m safe. Eland finds me and we hold each other. The people are quiet, listening to the creatures groan in the darkness outside the cave. Aloe’s voice rises above their hungry cries.

“Come,” she directs us.

And we do, following her through the passageway to the still, black cavity that will be our home until the Scourge leaves again.

The Lofties usually give us more warning when the Scourge is near. It’s their part of our uneasy bargain. We provide them with small game and skins, produce from our gardens, and access to the water. In return, they allow us to cut down certain trees for wood, and they warn us when the Scourge is coming so we can hide out in the caves. What they never do is offer to share the safety of their airy homes.

The caves are safe. The flesh-eaters don’t come in—they don’t seem to like dark, confined spaces any more than we do—but we can’t leave either, until the Scourge is gone. They only move on when they’ve exhausted their food source, the animals—and humans—who rely on the fresh water to survive. Groundlings have tried over the years, but we’ve never been able to find another source of water. It’s risky to explore very far from the caves, because we never know when the flesh-eaters will come. So we’re stuck, with the Lofties, with the Scourge.

“I hate the caves,” Calli says. “And I hate the fleshies. We never even got to dance.”

I put my arms around her. “We’ll dance again, when they’re gone.”

“I know Bear was going to ask you. You should’ve seen his face while you talked to that Lofty.” She pulls the bedroll up under our chins. “We couldn’t believe it when you went over there. You do the strangest things sometimes. Who was he, anyway?”

“My Keeper, Peree.”

“Peree? What kind of bird is that?”

“Short for Peregrine.”

“Oh. Well, what was he like?”

“I don’t know; I barely spoke to him.” I think of his callused hands and his musical voice. I won’t tell her I asked him to dance. “What did he look like?”

“Tall, fair-haired, feathers sticking out all over the place. Looking down his nose at everyone. You know, like a Lofty. They all pretty much look the same. Ugh, I think my toes are frostbitten.” She grabs my leg. “The Three are here.”

We jump to our feet, and I feel Aloe take my hand. Sable, the oldest of the Three, speaks to me, his voice splintering like desiccated wood. He’s been on the Council for as long as I can remember. Some call him Sable the Unstable, because he totters when he walks, and because there’s been quiet speculation about how sound his mind is these days. Aloe said his time on the Council is probably limited, but he would stay on until she settles into her new role.

“I understand you rescued my mother last night, Fennel,” Sable says.

“Fox really did. How
is
Willow?”

“Alive, thanks to you,” he says. Aloe squeezes my hand, and my cheeks warm.

He continues in a clearer voice. “We were only able to bring in a little water last night, so I’m afraid we’ll need you to collect three sacks today. I’m sorry to ask you to make more than one trip on your first day among the Scourge, but we have no choice.”

“Three sacks,” another man repeats, emphasizing each word. It’s Adder, the last of the Council. His voice is raspy and harsh. I’ve always disliked it. I decided I didn’t like Adder period when I heard he was unhappy that Aloe was chosen by the people to be one of the Three. “And don’t let that Lofty Keeper talk you into any more than their equal share of the water. They’ll not get one drop more than they’re due—”