The Scourge (26 page)

“Who knew?” I laugh.

“We all have secrets,” she says, and I can tell she means something more than being good with fires or babies. The chorus of insects breaks off, as if to hear what she’ll say next. I wait, too, giving her time, while something slithers forebodingly through my gut. “You know Peree came to Shrike and me in the Exchange, don’t you? He was such a beautiful baby, strong-willed but smiley, with sparkling green eyes and yellow curls sprouting from his head like forsythia. I thought he might be a new beginning for me: something to care for and love, something to distract me from the misery of not being able to tell anyone what I knew to be true about the Scourge. He was all of that . . . for a time. But as he grew older, I longed for another child. I thought having a baby with Shrike might bring us closer, strengthen our relationship in ways we hadn’t been able to manage ourselves.”

Blood pumps in my head, beating out a warning, and my breath speeds up as if I’m in danger. I can’t make sense of my body’s reaction. It’s like I know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.

“I gave birth to a daughter when Peree was two. She was beautiful, like him, but with a full head of gleaming dark hair and watchful brown eyes. We named her Daybreak—hoping, more than believing, that her hair and eyes would lighten, like the sun brightens the night sky.”

“You had to give her up in the Exchange?” I whisper.

“To my unending guilt and anguish.” Kadee’s voice is pitched low. “Shrike told me her foster parents named her for a sweet, delicate herb. Then we never spoke of her again.”

I gasp, unable to take a full breath. Suddenly light-headed, I grab a handful of dirt and rub it between my hands, trying to keep myself grounded.

“For several years I didn’t know what became of our baby,” she continues. “Then I saw her one day, far below, playing near the gardens. She was spinning in the tall grasses, her hands skimming over the tops of the stalks. It had to be her—the same dark hair, the same fine-boned face. My child. I wanted to climb down and swoop her up, tell her I was her mother, and that I loved her. Then, I’ll never forget, her foster mother came, calling her name. My daughter touched the woman’s face, searching it, feeling her smile . . . and I realized she couldn’t see. Somehow, my child had lost her sight.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“I was devastated. I couldn’t understand how my perfect, healthy baby became Sightless. Was it an illness? An accident? I went to our Council. I asked them to tell me the truth. And nothing was the same for me after that.”

I’m stunned. “I can’t believe it . . .
you’re
my mother?”

She cups my cheek in her hand. “Yes, love.” She speaks to me gently. “And, unfortunately, there’s more to tell you.”

My head swivels back and forth against her palm, before I realize I’m moving it. “I don’t want to know any more. This is enough. I’ve always wanted to know who my natural mother was, and now I do”

Kadee’s voice is gentle. “You need to know the rest and I need to tell you. Not to be cruel or spiteful, but because I won’t collude with lies anymore. I can’t. You’re almost an adult, and you need to hear this before you return home. You should know what they did to you.”

“What
who
did?”

“Your people.”

My stomach twists like a wrung-out rag. I feel sick. “What did they do?”

Kadee lays her hands across my eyes, and her voice breaks with a soft sob. “Blinded you. My baby girl. They took your sight.”

“They wouldn’t. Aloe wouldn’t let them.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment. “I’d like to think she didn’t have any part of it. After all, the same thing happened to her.”

“You mean . . . they blinded Aloe, too?”

“Do you think Sightlessness is so common that babies would be born without sight, generation after generation? If so, why aren’t any Lofties Sightless?”

I can barely catch my breath to speak. I’m breathing hard, and bile fills my mouth. “Why? Why would they do that to us?”

Kadee’s words are fissured with grief. “For the good of your community. So you could bear the water when you came of age. And I suppose they thought they were giving the gift of protection from the Scourge.”

“But why me?”

“Because you were a Lofty baby.” Her voice is suddenly hard, her meaning clear. No Groundling would destroy the sight of their own child.

I scramble around the tree and throw up the berry stick and what’s left of my breakfast. I wave Kadee away, but she won’t go. She holds my hair back from my face, rubs my back, and tells me how sorry she is. I stay on my hands and knees, panting and spitting, until my stomach is empty.

After a few minutes I crawl back and collapse against the tree again, my head in my hands. I feel like someone placed a rock on my shoulders that’s forcing me down, down, down into the ground. I don’t know if I can bear up under its weight.

“After I saw what they did to you, the idea of leaving the trees forever took hold of me,” Kadee says. “The Exchange was bad enough, but I couldn’t stay among people that allowed their children to be maimed, even for the good of all.”

I consider her words. What happened to me wasn’t Kadee’s fault any more than any other parent over the years that cooperated with the Exchange. But she could have said something about what she knew. Did Aloe know I would be blinded, and allow it to happen? Or even suspect? I’m not ready to deal with that possibility yet.

“Does Peree know you’re my . . . mother? Does Nerang?”

“Both Peree and Nerang know I had to give up a child, but neither know that child was you. When I saw how you and Peree felt about each other, I thought you might want to be the one to tell him.”

Peree and I aren’t related by blood, but the man and woman who raised him are my natural parents. That’s practically family. I think about telling him that, and my stomach twists again. “And Shrike?” I ask.

“He knows. He may have even asked Aloe to foster you. She wanted a child. I’ve often wondered if you were part of the reason Shrike wouldn’t go to Koolkuna. If he left the forest, he’d have to leave
you
, too.” She pauses. “Fennel, I’m going back today because I failed as a mother. I failed you when I gave you up in the Exchange, and I failed Peree when I left the trees. It’s time for me to stand up, not only for my children, but for all the children of the forest.”

I told Peree I expect surprises, that I’m used to them, but nothing could prepare me for all of this. Kadee is my mother, Shrike is my father, and Peree is sort of my brother. My people intentionally blinded me, and Aloe fostered me as some kind of favor. I pitch to the side again, retching.

When my stomach empties, tears well up like blood from a wound. I cry for our world, destroyed by people who recklessly believed they could control a deadly poison. I cry for the sick ones, doomed to walk the earth hungry and wretched, shunned as monsters. I cry for our people, who hide in caves or trees because they can’t see the world as it really is. And I cry for myself. Because for no good reason, I can’t see at all.

When the rage comes, it snakes through my veins, hardening my resolve. Who did they think they were, treating innocent children this way? All of them—Lofties and Groundlings. Who decided babies could be traded like so much meat or grain? Used to serve their purposes? That people could be separated and kept in their place with threats, brute force, and fear, supported by antiquated traditions?

Kadee. Aloe. Shrike. The Three. Every adult in my life, everyone who ever had the responsibility to protect me, failed me instead. I’ve spent my life trying to live up to what my family and my people expected me to be. What they
made
me. The Water Bearer. Until now, I didn’t allow myself any other choice but to do my duty. Until now.

I stand and wait for the dizziness to pass, then I swing my pack on my back. It’s time to go home. And Kadee’s right. It’s time for the secrets and lies to end.

Clouds wander in front of the sun, dispelling the heat. When the trees thin out, Kadee offers me her arm again. My mother’s arm. I pay more attention to it now. It’s thin, but not so bony as Aloe’s. Her skin is softer, too. I wonder if I look like her at all. No one ever said so, but they wouldn’t have unless the resemblance was striking.

There’s rustling in the woods, and soft moans. I stiffen.

“Don’t worry,” Kadee murmurs, catching my hand. “It’s only the
runa.
”

I clamp my lips together, pushing down the panic. In my seventeen years, no one ever said, “Don’t worry, it’s only the Scourge.” They were too busy running.

I focus on keeping the same steady pace as the creatures draw near us. The stench threatens to gag me again. My throat tightens and the hair bristles along the back of my neck. As more of the sick ones shuffle up, Kadee pulls food from her pack, offering it to them. These creatures don’t give thanks, but they do eat. Or try to eat. It sounds like the food dribbles out of some of their mouths. I try to summon any feeling more compassionate than disgust. I fail.

I can’t yet forget the horrific stories of the Scourge I grew up hearing, the memories of the many times they pursued us to the caves, or the hordes of them pressing in on me, their tongues worrying the flesh where their lips should be. The foul smell brings the memories back so clearly. I press Peree’s little bird against my chest, wishing he was here.

The creatures follow us, muttering and moaning for help. When one of them stumbles toward me I shrink away, trembling with the desire to run. Run anywhere. It doesn’t matter which direction, as long as it’s away from anything familiar. I want freedom. I want to escape. Like in my dream.

As usual, it’s the thought of Eland that keeps me moving forward. Despite everything I learned today, or maybe because of it, I need to know if he’s all right.

“How much longer?” I ask, my voice stiff and unrecognizable.

“Not long. I recognize the shape of the hills here. We’re close.”

That brings a question to mind. “Why don’t the
runa
go into the caves? They would at least offer protection from the weather.”

“Because of the cold and the dark. They’re even less prepared to deal with it than we are. I know it’s hard to think of them as people, but that’s what they are. Sick, confused, sometimes dangerous, but people.”

One of the creatures mimics her, repeating the word
people
several times, like a young child just learning to speak. “Can they ever be brought back? Their minds, I mean?”

“The
anuna
tried caring for a few of the sick ones, to see if they could reverse the process of the poison. It seemed to depend on how long they had been sick.” She hesitates. “Kaiya was one of the few successes.”

That stuns me. “What?”

“We don’t speak of this often,” Kadee says. “As a young girl, Kai wandered away from her parents, into the forest. The tracking party found her, but she had become
runa
. In time, Nerang was able to bring her back.”

“Is she . . . normal, now?”

“Yes. For the most part. But I’m sorry to say she was never quite treated the same after that. People feared her, I think. She’s always kept to herself—a loner either by choice or necessity.”

“She liked being with Peree.”

“He was kind to her. He didn’t know about her background. And, well, she’s a young girl, and he’s a handsome boy.”

So I keep hearing.
I scowl, feeling the familiar irritation, but it’s followed by guilt that I didn’t try harder to befriend Kai. I know how isolating it can be to feel different.

Kadee squeezes my hand tentatively. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, when it comes to Peree’s feelings about you.” She stops, and I hear her drop her pack on the ground. “Take out any food and water you have. We need to leave it here.”

“Why?”

“For the
runa
. Otherwise they’ll follow us home. Anyone who sees them will think we’re in danger of being consumed.”

At that, I do what she asked, and we walk away as the sick ones surround the small pile. Lost in my brooding, I start to wonder if we’re close enough to home now for me to recognize anything. I’m accustomed to retracing my steps when I’m away from the community, not approaching it from a completely unknown direction. The truth is, I could stumble right into our clearing and not realize it. So I’m not too surprised when that’s exactly what happens.

The sun is setting, intensifying the darkness, when Kadee slows again. “Welcome home,” she says.

Really?
I hurry forward, groping in front of me to find anything that feels familiar. It smells like home, but then again the entire greenheart forest smells like home. There are no voices, or sounds of fires being kindled, or smells of food being prepared. I only hear a few plaintive bird calls from the trees. My heart sinks. Everyone must still be in the caves. But why? The Scourge isn’t here.

“The shelters look like they haven’t been used,” Kadee says. She sounds worried. “Fennel, perhaps we should–”

An arrow slices the air beside my ear. Another divides the narrow space between us.

“Stop right there,” a man says from the trees. “Unless you want to be under the ground by morning.”

We freeze. A moment later, someone snickers.

“Then they’d be Undergroundlings, Petrel,” a boy says.

“Quiet,” the man mutters.

“Petrel? Is that you?” Kadee calls.

The leaves above us tremble as someone moves closer, following a walkway. “Who’s there?”

“It’s your Aunt Blaze,” Kadee says. “And Fennel, the Water Bearer.”

“Try again,” he says bitterly. “Blaze is dead, and so is the Water Bearer."