Parched (10 page)

From a dim corner of her mind, from a time before the smoke and the guns and the blood, from a time when they had simply walked hand in hand across a slab of pale stone, her mother's voice prodded:

Rainwater tunnels through porous rock, like sandstone or limestone, until it is brittle as a sun-bleached bone; until one day the ground falls away, causing a sinkhole, a yawning pit in the ground that lays bare the world beneath.

A sinkhole.

It was from there that she had heard Musa shout, from there that Nandi had come running. Sarel limped toward it, her lungs wheezing with every step. A few sweet thorn trees still perched high on the cliff, the long taproots dangling in the air before her. The dogs scrambled around her, hopping from rock to rock, their noses high, sniffing.

And then she stopped, tilted her head, and listened. She heard a sound that made no sense. A sound that her smoke-hazed mind couldn't place. A sound like ripples of water lapping up against the sides of the grotto pool.

Sarel climbed over the last rock and stared down into a shadowed cavern. Nandi leaped up beside her, her paws sending grit raining down into the darkness. The pieces hit bottom with the unmistakable sound of pebbles plinking into water.

Nandi barked, a high-pitched yip, her tail thwacking against Sarel's legs.

“Sarel?”

Her jaw fell open and she shaded her eyes with both hands, peering into the glinting dimness below.

“Musa?”

His voice echoed against the cliff walls. “I'm down here!”

Sarel leaned over the edge, gasping as waves of relief rolled through her. Musa stood on a rock ledge that sloped down into water, which began as a shy turquoise and turned dark as midnight as it deepened. He stood with his hands reaching up toward her, drops of water running between his fingers, over the pink scars at his wrists and down his skinny arms.

He had done it.

He had found the water.

Wind comes. Blows fire scent away. Brings dust from here, from there.

Autumn scent.

Water scent.

Bird-legs-boy carves steps down, down. Down to water under ground.

No more thirsty pups.

Sarel-girl kneels in fire-black dirt, drips water over green things, growing. Pups sniff under her fingers, noses in dirt.

Sarel-girl pulls pups into her arms. Lifts face to wide sky. Makes laughter sound of wood hoopoe bird.

Khee-hee-ee khee-hee-aa-aa-aa.

I couldn't have written this book without the love and support of a few dozen wonderful people. First, to my family and friends who have cheered me on and celebrated with me every step of the way, thank you!

My writing was transformed through my studies at Vermont College. I am grateful to the wonderful faculty, staff, and students, and of course my brilliant classmates. Thanks to the workshop group who took a sparse setting and spare character sketch and helped me uncover the rich story beneath: Margaret Bechard, Maha Addasi, Kristin Derwich, Kate Hosford, Cordelia Jensen, and Matt Smith. And of course, my deepest gratitude goes to my exceptional faculty advisors: Julie Larios, Cynthia Leitich Smith, Franny Billingsley, and Shelley Tanaka.

I am so lucky to have found my fabulous agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette, and the effusive EMLA family.

As for my first readers, who are all excellent writers and excellent friends, my sincere thanks (and the hopes that I can be half as helpful in return) go to Anna J. Boll, Caroline Carlson, Tiffany Crowder, Kristin Derwich, Anna Drury, and Meg Wiviott.

Thanks also to the scholarship committee, who first sent this story to Jeannette Larson and her editorial team. I am grateful to everyone at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt who has worked to turn my manuscript into this beautiful book. And thank you, Reka, for believing in this story from the beginning. Your expertise and guidance has been invaluable.

Thanks to Kathi Appelt, Franny Billingsley, and Rita Williams-Garcia for their generous praise.

And finally, thank you, Whitney, for bringing laughter and love into my life every day.

M
ELANIE
C
ROWDER
is a ceramist, painter, and sculptor who received her MFA in writing for children and young adults from Vermont College. She lives in the foothills of the Rockies. This is her debut novel.