The Scourge (4 page)

Adder met Aloe and me in the passage as we came in last night, already hurling questions at me. Did I fill six sacks of water? How many of the flesh-eaters did there seem to be? Did I hear any Lofties other than Peree?

Aloe guided me past him. “Later,” she said.

Calli and Bear grabbed me next, hugging me to them. Eland drove into us so hard we all crashed to the stone floor of the cave. Our shouts caused others to come running, thinking there had been a cave-in.

Once I was seated, people brought me food and water. They touched me, speaking in whispers, sounding . . . reverential. My protection from the creatures was confirmed, and it gave them a new respect for me. Some asked questions about the Scourge, or about my Keeper, and I answered as well as I could. But no matter what else they asked, everyone wanted to know the same thing in the end: did the flesh-eaters show any signs of leaving?

The Scourge typically stays for two or three days, but they could stay longer. Sometimes even a week or more. The elders didn’t speak of those times.

A week. I’d been through one day.

I won’t think about it. One step at a time, one minute at a time.

Before we fell asleep, Eland asked me what it was really like to face the flesh-eaters. He seemed to sense I was holding back with other people, and he was right. But I wouldn’t tell him the truth either. Because the more I thought about it, the more shameful the truth became.

I was afraid of the Scourge, and of my own fear, as Aloe had been. Dreadfully afraid. The only thing that forced me to my feet when I was crushed by my fear, persuaded me to move again when I was paralyzed by it, was a Lofty. A
Lofty
—oppressive and superior. They keep us in our place, literally, with their bows and arrows. But I wouldn’t have done my duty without Peree talking me through it. I would have failed my people, and myself.

And what about Peree? He’s kind. Concerned. Funny, even. Things Lofties aren’t supposed to be. I’m not supposed to like him.

So I told Eland a different truth. I told him Aloe was wrong. Protection from the Scourge isn’t the gift of our Sightlessness. It’s all part of the same curse.

I think about this as he sleeps beside me, and I wonder how I’ll survive the day.

Birds call from high in the treetops, and the wind plays with my hair, but otherwise it’s quiet. I take a few tentative steps toward the tree line, hoping Peree is waiting.

“Fenn.”

The compression in my chest loosens a little when I hear his voice. “Where are they? Are they gone?”

“No. You’d better start moving toward the clearing.”

I stand still, struggling with my cowardice. He’s right. I might as well get as far along as I can before they find me—I have to make at least two trips with the sled today—but I still don’t move. I don’t want to admit how much I was hoping the flesh-eaters had gone overnight. And I don’t want to admit how happy I am Peree’s here with me again.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry. I wish–”

“What?”
What does a Lofty wish for?

Branches snap in the forest in front of me as something hurtles through the underbrush. Many somethings. I start trembling again.

“I wish the damn things would go burn in whatever hell they came from,” he says, as the creatures explode out of the trees. “Don’t move.”

Bodies fall all around me, pierced by Peree's arrows. I try to block out the sickening smell, and the hideous screams, while a detached part of my mind admires the swiftness of his archery. The arrows don’t seem to let up, as if he’s found a way to loose them without the use of his bow. I picture them shooting from his mouth, the way we spit watermelon seeds in the summer, and a hysterical giggle escapes me.

“Okay, I cleared a little space. You can go now,” he calls. “Watch it, though. There are a few of them on the ground to your right, and one behind you . . . are you laughing?” I tell him what I pictured, and he chuckles. “Speaking of spitting, have you ever heard of a camel?”

“Another strange beast?” I move forward, my hands outstretched to find the familiar tree trunks along the path to the clearing. I dread finding something else, like the dripping flesh of the creatures. “What color are these?”

“Nothing like tigers. Camels were supposed to be a light brown, same as the sands of the deserts where they lived.”

“Deserts?”

“Hot, sandy places with no trees or grasses, and little water.”

“Sounds idyllic,” I say sarcastically. “But maybe no water means no Scourge?”

“Then again, no water means nothing to drink, and nothing to water crops with.”

I raise an eyebrow. What would a Lofty know about watering crops? It’s not like they’ve ever tried—

A scream rips the air beside me. I slap my hands over my ears. A second later there’s a muffled thump. I shiver and move forward again, into the clearing.

“Camels,” Peree continues, “were odd looking, with parts from many different animals, like the ears of a mouse, the coat of a sheep, and the nose of a rabbit.”

“Sheep?” Mice and rabbits abound in the woods, thanks to being small and easily hidden from the flesh-eaters, but I have no idea what a sheep is.

“Sheep . . . are a story for another day. Camels were interesting animals. They stored nutrients in great humps on their backs to use when food was scarce, and they could go a long time without fresh water.”

“And the spitting?” An arrow parts the air in front of my face, and I jerk back. “Remember, no water for anyone if you kill me,” I joke weakly.

“Sorry, I was demonstrating the purpose of camel spit. It was a warning, like my arrows, for others to back off. Although it wasn’t spit so much as, well, stomach contents.” He sounds like he might regret having brought it up.

“Humped backs
and
projectile vomiting? Lovely.” I reach the far side of the clearing, behind Calli’s shelter, and walk to the beginning of the sled track. The creatures follow, of course. “Did your mother tell you about these . . . what are they called again?”

“Camels.”

“How did she know so much about animals?”

“She knew a lot about a lot of things, but she never said how she learned it all. I think my father knew, but he’s never told me either. He doesn’t really talk about Mother now.”

I remember he said he was fostered, mostly because he told me so casually. The subject of fostering isn’t really taboo among Groundlings; we just avoid talking about it. We don’t talk much about the Exchange, either. It only reminds us why we hate the Lofties.

As Bream is fond of telling us, countless people were consumed by the Scourge after the Fall, generations ago. The scattered, frightened survivors saw that birds and tree-dwelling animals were safe. So they took to the trees, building homes in the tops, complete with rope ladders that could be raised when the flesh-eaters came. They fashioned bows and arrows and learned to use them with lethal accuracy to provide food and to protect themselves. But the trees were crowded and food was scarce. Resources had to be protected. People with dark coloring were arbitrarily forced to the forest floor to become Groundlings. The Exchange began soon after.

Once a year all the weaned Groundling and Lofty babies are sorted. The fair-haired, light-eyed children are taken by the Lofties to live high above the ground, in the sunlit warmth and security of their tree-top aeries. The dark babies are taken by us, to live in fear of the Scourge.

I was a Lofty baby, born with the wrong coloring, and without sight. I often wonder who my natural parents were. If they were relieved to see me go. Raising a Sightless child in the branches of trees can’t be an easy prospect.

Peree swings between two trees, the branch he hangs from groaning under his weight. “There’s the track . . . but you know that already.”

The sled’s at the top of the track, where I left it yesterday. I pick up the harness and begin dragging. The bottom grates against the wooden tracks. Almost instinctively I know the noise is attracting attention of the wrong kind. The hair on my arms stands up as if preparing to run.

“Here they come,” Peree says bleakly.

Flesh-eaters throng around me like flies on a carcass, and fear shoots through the top of my head, blocking out almost any other thought or feeling. It’s all I can do not to sink under the weight of it. I sing under my breath, a song the men sing as they prepare for hunts, meant to build courage. The whistling of arrows and the sound of bodies hitting the ground are my accompaniment.

I pull the empty sled down to the water’s edge and fill the first sack while the water laps around my ankles. It’s cool and enticing. I want to swim out. All Groundlings can swim, and I’m no exception, but as far as I know the creatures can’t. One survivor supposedly escaped the flesh-eaters by treading water for hours before slipping safely back onto land after nightfall.

I’ve never swum alone, but I think about trying it now. I take a few steps farther into the water, the sack slipping out of my hand. The urge to dive in is powerful. After a moment I grasp the sack more firmly, and turn around.

Dragging the sled, with the sounds and smells of the creatures fueling my fear, is almost unendurable. I want to cry, or scream, or commit some terrible act of violence as I pull. But each time I near the top of the hill, Peree’s calm voice—equal parts encouraging, coaxing, and soothing—keeps me moving forward. Still, by the time I tie off the last sack, I feel like one of the creatures—miserable, and mostly dead.

I trudge back through the forest to the caves. Peree speaks as I step into the darkness. I’d almost forgotten he followed me.

“See you in the morning.”

More to myself than to him, I mutter, “I hope not.”

“Bream was even more boring today than usual,” Calli complains. Eland snorts in agreement. “Between the darkness and his voice, I barely stayed awake. Bear kept poking me when I drifted off, thank the stars.”

“He was talking about the Fall
again
,” Eland moans.

We could all recite Bream’s rotating lectures about the Fall of Civilization—and we sometimes did when we were confident we wouldn’t be overheard mocking him. But I have to admit that experiencing the cause of the Fall firsthand over the last two days gave me a new appreciation for the terror our ancestors must have felt as the Scourge overtook them, turning them one by one into the vast numbers of creatures that now roam the earth.

“Have you ever noticed that he almost seems happy about it? Like we brought it on ourselves or something?” Calli’s voice is pitched low. “Sometimes I wonder if he thinks we all deserve to be, you know, consumed.”

“Calli!” Eland says, sounding scandalized.

“Well, he
is
obsessed!”

“Aren’t we all?” I say. “Without the Scourge we wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. We wouldn’t have to hide in these caves. We wouldn’t even have to live on the ground. We could live in the trees, or in the City, or even in deserts, if we wanted. Maybe we could find a camel, or a tiger–”

“What? What are deserts? And tigers? What are you talking about, Fenn?” Calli asks.

I feel them staring at me, and I wish I hadn’t said anything. Suddenly, loud voices ricochet across the cave.

“They cheated us, I tell you!” Adder shouts.

“We can’t be sure of that,” Fox says. His voice is calm. More calm than Adder’s, anyway.

“The sacks aren’t full! What else could it be?”

“Where’s Fennel? We should ask her what happened.” It’s Aloe.

I stand, willing my tired legs not to wobble, hoping I look stronger than I feel. “Over here.”

Adder reaches me first, moving so silently I’m sure he must have slithered. “Did you fill all four sacks today?”

“Yes.” I try to keep my voice even, but a defensive note creeps in. People gather around, their whispers reverberating against the walls of rock.

“All the way to the top?” Sable asks. “Each of them?”

I hesitate. Between fighting my fear of the creatures, and resisting the urge to swim away from them, I can’t remember whether I did or not.

“Fennel,” Aloe says, “I know you did your very best. But the sacks the Lofties brought to us were only three-quarters full. To the best of your knowledge, did you fill them all the way up?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“You see?” Adder explodes. “They’re cheating us, pulling off extra water! Fennel, tomorrow you’ll collect one sack for us. Don’t give it to the Lofty Keeper to hold. Drag it back here instead.”

“So you’ll put us on water rations to punish the Lofties?” Fox still sounds composed, but there’s a sharp edge to his voice.

“I’ll do what it takes to show them we won’t be taken advantage of,” Adder says.

“We should discuss this. The girl isn’t sure,” Sable says.

“There’s nothing to discuss! We won’t tolerate Lofty deceit.”

“Adder, Sable, we should speak somewhere more private.” Aloe's voice holds a warning. The crowd has grown. She squeezes my shoulder reassuringly before the Three move away. People disperse, muttering in worried voices.

I sink back down to the freezing floor. My one responsibility was to fill the bags and deliver them to the Lofties. Did I fill them completely? Could I have been so distracted that I only filled them part of the way? Wouldn’t Peree have pointed it out if I had? How could I have failed to do the one thing that was expected of me? Calli and Eland go back to their meals, but I push the rest of mine aside. What little appetite I had is gone now. Someone drops down next to us.