The Scourge (11 page)

“They’re unbelievable,” he says, “like drops of rain frozen while falling. Others splash up from the ground, or fan out like a palm frond. Some are bright white. Some have colors shot through them. You heard right: they’re beautiful.”

No one ever described the formations to me before. I can’t picture them, but I know what falling rain and palm fronds feel like, and it adds depth and dimension to the rock beneath my hand. I make my way through the space to the other side of the cavern, sweeping my arms in front of me, as he looks around. I’m trying to find the passage on the other side.

Peree comes toward me, pausing a few feet away. “Will you let me help you if I offer, or bite my head off, like in the forest?” His voice is still chilly, but I hear a note of teasing behind his words.

“Ask me and find out.”

He takes my hand. “May I be of assistance?”

“Yes, please.”

As I would with Eland, I automatically slide my hand up to grip his arm more securely in case I stumble. He tenses. Embarrassed, I keep my hand still. He guides me in silence into the next passage, then walks away.

I grope around in my pack for the pouch of crampberries and pull it out. Holding my breath, I crush a few and rub them on the stony wall to mark the entrance.

Peree makes a gagging noise. “What’s that smell?”

“Crampberries,” I say. “I thought I’d use them to mark my route.”

“Good idea,” he says, his voice returning to the flatness I already despise. “Ready to go?”

I slide my fingers along the rock as we walk, missing the warmth of his skin.

“So what’s your plan for finding the Waters?” he asks.

“I’m not sure it’s a plan, exactly. I thought I’d go farther into the caves than I have before, listening for water.”

“You’re right, that’s not much of a plan.”

“Well, no one else had a better one. No one else even volunteered. At least, no one the Three were willing to part with. So it’s just me.”

“Us,” he amends quietly.

“How do you stand this? The dark, and the quiet? Talk to me, will you? I can’t listen to my own thoughts another minute.”

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.

“Anything, as long as I can hear your voice.”

“Can I ask you questions? About your life?” I don’t wait for him to say no. “What do you do when the Scourge isn’t here? Like, I work in the caves. What’s your duty?”

When he speaks again, he sounds closer to normal than he has all day. “I’m a lookout. I walk the perimeter and watch for signs of the flesh-eaters. I also do a little trapping and hunting while I’m out, and I look for parts of the walkways that need repair. I fix them myself if I can, but sometimes a woodworker’s needed, so my cousin Petrel comes with me.”

“You have a cousin?” Peree’s never mentioned family other than his parents before.

“Cousin, and best friend."

“He’s your age?”

“Two years older. He partnered last year. Moonlight finally realized he wasn’t joking every time he told her he worshipped her. She’s expecting now.”

“
Moonlight?
” I try—too late—not to snicker.

“Yes,
Fennel.
”

“I’m sorry, but it sounds strange to me.”

“Your names sound strange to us too.”

I shrug. “They’re having a baby? When?”

“Late fall. Petrel’s thrilled.”

“I wouldn’t be,” I say, thinking of Rose. I crush more berries as we enter a new passage.

“Why? You’re good with children.”

I stop mid-smear. “How do you know?” I can’t think of a time we even talked about children.

“I just think you would be. Why don’t you want them?”

I wipe the remains of the berries from my hand along the wall. “It’s not that I don’t want them, so much as I don’t want to go through the Exchange.” I’ve listened to the sobs of too many mothers night after night for months—years—after having to give up their babies to the Lofties at the Winter Solstice. Why would I put myself through that? “But plenty of people still seem willing to take their chances, so I don’t think the community will miss having one less mother. Do you want children?”

“I don’t know, I think so.”

“Are you intended?” I blurt the question, but now I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

“No.”

I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Then I almost choke when I hear what he says next.

“She’s too young. We don’t partner until the girl is at least eighteen.” Suddenly I don’t want to know any more about Peree’s love life.

We enter a new cave that sits along the fuzzy edge of the map in my head. The churning of my stomach tells me it’s almost dinnertime, and my throbbing shoulders and legs insist it’s time to stop for the day.

“Should we make camp?” I ask. “This is almost as far as I’ve explored. We’ll have to decide which direction to go from here.”

“Better to decide after we’ve slept,” he agrees. “I’ll make a fire.”

I dump my pack and rub my stiff, aching shoulders with my stiff, aching hands, still brooding about what he said. Why did he touch me that morning in the trees, when he has a partner all picked out? Maybe I completely misinterpreted his touch. Maybe he was just being friendly. I think about his warm hands covering mine, and heat spreads over my body like a liquid blanket. I yank one of the oilskin sacks of water out of my pack, much smaller than the ones I fill at the water hole. It’s almost empty.

We share a meal of bread, berries, and a little cured possum meat in front of a welcome fire. It’s not much food. My stomach still grumbles as we clean up. Peree’s hunger must be even worse, but neither of us bothers to complain. I hear him searching through his pack, and a minute later, there’s a sharp scraping sound.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Carving.”

“Carving what?”

He hands me a smooth piece of wood, about the size of a greenheart seed pod. I touch it, and feel the contours of a perfectly shaped little bird, from its beak and wings right down to tiny wooden feet.

“That’s amazing. How did you learn?” I ask.

“My grandfather, Shrike’s father. He was a woodworker, like Petrel. If you like it, you can have it when it’s finished.” I thank him, and hand the bird back. The scraping continues. “Grandfather wouldn’t have liked it here, in the caves. He always said the trees are our caretakers. They provide our shelter, our safety, our food, our amusement. It’s so strange to be away from them. And I’ve never slept with more than a wooden roof over my head, much less solid rock.”

“What are your homes like?” I ask. As far as I know, no Groundling has ever had more than a glimpse. The platform we spent the night on in the trees was a glorified walkway, according to Peree.

“They’re made of wood, like yours, but they’re circular, and built around the trunks of the trees. The ones on the perimeter are pretty basic, only good for one person. That’s where I stay when I’m on lookout. Others are large enough for extended families.”

“How many families are there?”

“I don’t know, I haven't counted them,” he says, his voice guarded again. What does he think, that I’m gathering intelligence about the Lofties? Maybe he does. “You haven’t told me much about
your
friends,” he says. “What are they like?”

I tell him about Eland, Calli, and, after a moment’s pause, Bear.

“Is he the one from the passageway, the one you’re intended to?” he asks casually.

“We’re just friends,” I mutter.

“Looked to me like he wants to be more than that.”

“Maybe so, but we’re not intended, and I don’t . . . intend . . . to be intended.” My face is burning. “It’s hard to even think about partnering, or having a family, with the Scourge around.”

I sit and listen to the fire as he works. Then I pull out my bedroll, and wince. My fingers are chafed from running them along the wall all day.

“Let me see your hands.” He takes my fingers in his. “I have a salve that might help. Frond, our healer, mixed it up for me before I left.” He rummages around in his pack again, then spreads a thick paste on my fingers. It’s cool, and has a pleasant tingly effect on my skin. He wraps cloths around each of my hands and ties them off. I sigh.

“Better?” he says.

“Much, thank you.”

I lie back on my bedroll as the fire begins to sputter and die. Peree lies back too. The feeling of utter nothingness surrounding our little camp is oppressive.

“Fennel,” he whispers after a few minutes. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“What will your Council do if we find the Hidden Waters?”

I hesitate before answering. We played a game as children called Snake in the Grass. Two teams try to steal a small sack of water from each other, while defending their own water at the same time. What makes it interesting is that before the game starts, one person from each side is secretly chosen to be the Snake, who waits for the chance to sneak away with their own side’s water and win for the other side. We would be ready to grab our opponents’ water for the win, when the Snake would suddenly slip from behind us, carrying our sack for the enemy. Calli was a surprisingly good Snake. No one ever remembered to suspect her. I heard Adder was the best Snake of his generation, hands down.

I want to trust Peree. He acts like he’s on my team. But he’s a Lofty—and he might be a snake in the grass.

I answer him. “We didn’t discuss it. I don’t think they believe I’ll find the waters. What do you think your Council will do?”

“Thank me for being the brave, selfless sort who would venture through enemy territory to help my people. After punishing me for sneaking off."

“Do you have a Council of Three, like us?”

“No, ours is different.”

“How?”

He hesitates. “We all make decisions together.”

“Really?” I curl on my side, pulling my bedroll up to my ears. “I never knew that. And it works?” We wouldn’t get anything done if we made decisions as a group.

“Most of the time,” he says.

It’s fascinating to hear about the Lofties. They’re like the tree-tops themselves—always nearby, part of our lives—but entirely a mystery. I shiver as the frigid air creeps through my bedroll.

“Cold?” Peree asks.

“Freezing. You?”

“Can’t feel much below my elbows and knees. How about another bedtime story, to take your mind off it?”

My face is too stiff to smile. “Please.”

“This is the story of how the world was created—according to my mother, anyway . . . In the time before time, when all was darkness and silence on the earth, the ancestors lived in caves underground, like this one. One day they got tired of the dark and the cold, and they broke through to the surface, and created the sun to warm and light the world. They made water, air, fire, mountains, rivers, deserts; they created the people, plants, and all the different animals. When the ancestors were tired, they returned under the earth to rest, but they left their spirits in all living things, to bind us together.”

I think about that. “Did the ancestors create the Scourge?”

“I don’t know. The Scourge isn’t part of the story.”

“They never are, are they? Like there are no new stories since the Scourge came, none worth telling, anyway.” I blow warm air into my curled palms. “I wish we had stories about where they came from, and why. Maybe if we knew, we could find a way to stop them.”

“Defeating the flesh-eaters. That would be a good story,” he agrees. “Sometimes, when I watch them, I wonder if some part of the people they were is still there, like they aren’t willing to let go completely, even if it means living like that. It would make sense, given what you thought you heard.”

I think of the people I’ve known who were dying. They do cling to life, despite the suffering. I shiver again, as darkness swallows the last pinpoint of fire. “Thank you for coming with me, Peree.”

“I’m your Keeper; where else would I be?”

“Let’s see, at home in the trees by a warm fire, eating a meal with Shrike; or in a little shelter on the perimeter, watching the sun set over the forest–”

He laughs. “Okay, okay, don’t remind me.”

I laugh, too. Then I turn over and try to sleep. As unsettling dreams beckon me, I think I hear him murmur, “Anyway I’d be watching the Scourge, not the sunset, and wondering where you were. I’d just as soon be here.”

His words warm my heart, while every other part of my body ices over in the never-ending night of the caves.

“I’ll make a fire again, to warm us up for a few minutes,” Peree says, his voice hoarse from sleeping. The sound of it gives me the odd feeling of fingers tickling me on the inside.

“Let’s pack up and get moving. Walking will warm us up.”

He agrees, and lights a torch to see by while we gather our things. A few minutes later, packs on our protesting backs, we’re ready to go.

He tugs my sleeve. “Which way then, fearless leader?”

“You’re asking me? I’m Sightless, remember?”

“Hasn’t stopped you yet. I trust your judgment.”

“I’m really not sure,” I say. “This is as far as I’ve been.”

“Then pick a direction.”

“Okay.” I spin around twice and point. “That way.”

“
Um,
that’s the way we came,” he says.

“Well, I told you not to ask me!”

“Just kidding . . . that way looks good.”

“Bird-waste-for-brains,” I mutter, smiling.