The Scourge (28 page)

I have no idea why the Three would want to banish me, and I can’t believe Aloe would be part of it. Adder yes, Sable maybe, but not Aloe. Something terrible must be going on in the caves. There’s no other explanation.

I scream again, louder this time, hoping someone might be able to hear. Someone does, but it’s not who I was hoping for. I hear a groan, followed by the scent of death. A large group of the sick ones gather at the edge of the hole. One minute I hear the moans and screams of the Scourge, the next I can make out words—the pleading and pitiful cries. Like there are two different types of creatures above me. I listen, unable to do anything about their misery, or my own.

I lay on my side, the pack beneath my head. It’s hard to get comfortable with my hands bound behind me. The earth is cold, and there’s little room to move around. The darkness is complete. I curl up, shivering.

One time I left a loaf of bread baking too long in the oven. The gooey, fragrant blob of dough that went in came out an ashy, inedible rock. At this moment it feels like the same thing has happened to me. The people, places, and predictable routines—the flour and shortening of my life—have transformed into something strange and foreign. Something unrecognizable.

Lying in the dark with only the moans and entreaties of the sick ones to listen to, my mind plays tricks on me. The trees overhead whisper and mutter to each other. I hear things I don’t think are possible, like soft laughter or singing. I imagine torch light touching the darkness.

A white-hot fury builds in me as I huddle at the bottom of the pit. How did I end up here? I followed Aloe's example, never questioning her commitment to duty. I always assumed being Sightless was the honor people told me it was; an honor that brought certain hardships and specific responsibilities with it. Aloe performed her role as the Water Bearer without complaint, and I accepted that one day it would be my role too. But really I was being used. I was deliberately blinded to provide a service to my community. A service that, it turns out, isn’t even really needed or helpful, since it’s the poisoned water that created the Scourge and kept us prisoners all these years.

I could have stayed in Koolkuna where I was safe. Instead I returned home to my people. Now, thanks to them, I’m banished without even a chance to defend myself. So where does all that commitment to duty leave me?

Alone. Thirsty, hungry, and in pain, in the bottom of a pit. And growing more furious by the minute. The anger seethes through me, making my arms and legs quiver. I’m angry at the Three; angry at Aloe for not treating me like the adult I was becoming and preparing me for my difficult role; angry at the people who must have turned a blind eye to the things being done in the name of our community.

Surrounded by darkness and silence, anger and fear take on physical forms, and a destructive will of their own. They crouch next to me in the pit with toothy grins and clawed hands, waiting to tear into me. When they begin to pace around and around me in circles like predators stalking prey, I start singing. Like I did when I first faced the Scourge, or when I half-carried, half-dragged Peree to the source of the Hidden Waters.

I sing to keep the darkest thoughts away. The ones that make me wonder if my people are even worth trying to save.

I sing every song I can think of, until I’m out of songs, then I sing them again. The sick ones are quiet, as if listening. When I finally finish I feel hollow and empty, my throat and mouth terribly parched. The simmering rage burns through me like a grass fire.

I close my eyes, and water surrounds me. The hole is filling with water, rushing in from above. I lap it up, tasting earth and salt and rust. But no matter how much I drink, I can’t slake my thirst. The water creeps up my chest to my neck. I need to start swimming, but when I try to move my arms and legs in the familiar ways, my limbs don’t respond. Panic prickles along my scalp. I’m not going to starve or die of dehydration in here. I’m going to drown.

In the odd way of my dreams, I can see. The sick ones gaze down at me in uncharacteristic silence. Only it's not the sick ones now, it's the Three—Aloe, Sable, and Adder. Others surround the hole, too. Eland, Bear, Calli, Fox and Acacia, Bream, Pinion, Yew. I call to them for help, but they just stare back at me, their faces impassive. Then, one by one, they turn away. Eland is the last to leave. He smiles at me and a tear falls from his eye, joining the deluge. Then he goes away, too, as the water covers my face. It pours into my mouth and nose and throat. I dissolve, not into dust, but into more and more and more water.

The sick one must have either just jumped in, or fallen. It’s not touching me—yet—but with horror I realize that if it’s hungry enough, it might attack, like the one that bit me. My hands are bound, and it’s only a matter of time before my body shuts down from fatigue, leaving me defenseless. I stay pressed against the dirt wall as the creature paces in the small space in front of me.

I can feel something sharp poking into my leg. Peree’s knife. Why didn’t I remember it was in my pocket when Moray first grabbed me? I manage to ease my dress far enough around to pull it out. Then I press the rope binding my wrists against its sharp edge. I can’t put much pressure on the knife with my hands bound, but I begin to saw as best I can. It’s insanely tricky. The knife keeps slipping and twisting. I nick my wrist, and a trickle of blood joins the sweat on my palms, making them extra slick. The sick one moans again and moves closer. Can it smell my blood, like an animal?

I keep at it, praying the sick one will keep its distance until I get the binding off my hands. Thank the stars Moray used a thin bit of rope. It’s strong, but there’s less of it to cut through. There’s a cold touch on my leg. I kick out, and the creature backs off.

I work furiously, sweat coating my face. I cut myself again, and suck in my breath at the pain. The sick one groans and presses closer. My flailing foot meets flesh this time, but the creature isn’t deterred. It hovers over me, its foul breath in my face, its tongue searching. I make myself as small as possible, still working on the rope.

It finally gives. I grab the handle of the knife and scurry around the creature to the other side of the hole.

“I don’t know if you understand me, but here’s the deal,” I say, panting, “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. So you stay on your side of the hole, and I’ll stay on mine, and maybe we can both get out of here alive.”

The sick one howls in frustration. The ones above scream and mutter in response. I wasn’t expecting it to answer me, but I was hoping it might be closer to human, like the ones I’d heard speak. No such luck. At least my hands are free, and I have a weapon to defend myself with. Not that it will help if the creature really decides to take me. It sounds big, and sick one or not, it’s probably the stronger of the two of us.

I crouch against my side of the pit, knife in hand. My ankle aches; I have to shift my weight often. The sick one goes back to pacing. Maybe it could understand me. I wait, wary and watchful.

As the sun follows its agonizingly slow path in the sky, my thirst becomes unbearable. Water is all I can think of. As my tongue slowly swells from dehydration, I start to imagine things again. The sick one speaks to me, only it sounds like people I know—my family and friends, even some from Koolkuna. One groan morphs into Nerang’s quiet chuckle. I slap my hands over my ears, almost dropping the knife. It takes all my energy to fight the despair that fills me, drop by drop, like a slow but inevitable trickle of water. As night falls again, I don’t know how much more I can endure.

I drift, half-asleep, through memories of happier days: playing tag in the forest with Calli and Bear, sitting around the fire listening to the elders tell their stories, taking walks in the garden with Aloe as she teaches me to identify plants from their feel and smell.

One memory has remarkable clarity: Aloe and I alone by the water hole. She rarely relaxed when I was a child, always busy with her responsibilities, or helping someone else with theirs. But this day was different. No washing to do or water to gather. Just her and me on the shore. I snuggled against her, the scent of rosemary filling my nose as the sun warmed her skin.

Aloe asked if I was happy. That was unusual, too. She usually didn’t waste time wondering about things that made no difference. Happy or not, life went on and duties had to be done. I said I was, and she asked what made me happy. I don’t remember exactly what I said. I probably chattered about the small things that pleased me at the time—the squirrel Bear captured and caged as a pet for us to share, an evening swim the Three allowed, wildberries we gathered for dessert. Aloe listened, stroking my hair as I spoke.

“Ask me what makes me happy,” she said, and I did. “You and Eland. Without you, there would be no happiness or joy for me. Not even a possibility of it.”

I don’t know why this particular memory comes up, except that there’s water in it. But there’s some comfort in knowing there was a time, however long ago, when I made Aloe happy.

The night wears on, terrible and interminable, and my world shrinks to two needs: water and sleep. I’d give anything for a few dribbles of water on my tongue, poisoned or not. I can feel it now, pooling in my mouth, coating my tongue, sliding down my dry throat . . .

I jerk awake as the sick one moans. Is it closer than it was a few seconds ago? Fear pumps through my body, buying me a few more minutes of wakefulness. I clutch the knife.

A thought comes to me. I could kill the creature.

It would be dangerous—I might fail, and end up enraging it. But if I kill it, I could sleep. And anything is better than this waiting game. Waiting to succumb to sleep or thirst. Waiting to die. I’m sick, starving, frightened, wretched. I’m ready to die or to kill.

Slowly, I exhale through parched lips. This is a human in the pit with me. The word echos in my mind.
Human.
And I can't do it. With a trembling hand, I place the knife in my lap, lean my head against the wall, and go back to waiting.

Up, young one. It’s time for you to go
.

“Can’t. Too weak.” My tongue’s so swollen, I sound like Moray. I turn my face to the wall.

Yes, you can
, he insists.

I shake my head, and dirt dribbles down my nose.

Up now. You’ve found your coat of feathers
.

“Feathers?”

They were buried, but you found them. Put them on and fly away.

"Don't know how to fly."

Fennel. Get up.
It’s Kai’s voice now. That’s odd.

“Go away,” I whisper to the ghosts in my head.

Gladly, if that’s what you want.
Kai sounds impatient.

“So thirsty,” I mumble.

I hear something slide down the side of the pit. It lands next to my head with a sloshing sound. My fingers close over a sack. Water. I fumble with the tie and choke down a few sips. Then I gulp down several long pulls.

You’re going to make yourself sick
, the Kai-ghost says.

I ignore her, and drain half the sack. A minute later half of it comes back up.

Told you,
the ghost says with no hint of compassion in her voice.

I frown. This doesn’t sound like a hallucination, this sounds like Kai in the ever-unfriendly flesh.

“Kai?” I whisper. “Is that really you?”

“Who did you think?”

I shake my head, trying to clear it as the water works its magic. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. I saw the sick ones. Thought I’d see what was so interesting.” But she sounds like she doesn’t find me, or my predicament, interesting at all.

“What are you doing here?” I take a few more cautious sips.

Her voice drops to a mutter. “Peree went crazy after you left. Wouldn’t wait until Nerang told him it was okay to go. I caught him sneaking away, and told him I’d bring him back. Now his leg’s pretty bad again.”

I have to work to hide my relief and excitement that he’s back. I don’t think it will help Kai’s mood, or my chances of getting out of here. A Groundling or Lofty would have run from the Scourge, not have come closer. It was total luck that Kai found me. If she leaves, I’ll die here.

“Can you help me get out?” I ask.

The sick one is pacing and almost growling, clearly more agitated since Kai arrived. At least my head is clearing a little, and my thirst could be described as outrageous instead of atrocious now.

I don’t hear anything from above. “Kai?”

She couldn’t have left.

Could she?

A magpie screeches in the trees. I wait, holding my breath. Finally I hear rustling, followed by a thump in the space next to me. I reach down to find a coil of rope. I exhale gratefully.

“Tie it around you,” she orders.

“What about the
runa
?” I ask.

“It won’t bother you.” She scoffs as if it’s a ridiculous idea. Next time
I'd like to see
her
stuck in a tiny hole with one.

I don’t know how she’s going to get me out of here. She doesn’t sound very tall or big. She tugs and pulls, and eventually I dangle in the air. The rope bites into my armpits as I rise one excruciating finger-length at a time. The sick one below me moans, and the ones above murmur in response. I hope they don’t pick this moment to attack. I keep the knife poised just in case.

When my head finally clears the top of the hole, I grab onto the lip and scramble out. Kai pants somewhere ahead of me. I stand when I’m able to, pocket the knife, and limp over to her. The sick ones shuffle out of my way.