Authors: A.G. Henley
“In Koolkuna, it’s customary to wait for the guest to begin eating, before we start,” Kadee says in a low voice.
Thankful for that particular convention, I take a bite of the stew. It’s hot and delicious. The rabbit meat is succulent, cooked in a rich, spicy gravy stuffed with potatoes, carrots, and onion. After days of cured meat, the simple, nourishing meal is more than satisfying. I don’t refuse seconds.
I listen to the conversations around me while I eat. I can’t understand them, but from the tone of their voices I figure they’re speculating about me. I hear
lorinya
often.
Their questions will start soon. I’m afraid to tell them what they’ll want to know—that is, everything about me and Peree, and how we came here. But we need the help of these people, and so far they’ve given it freely. So I eat, building the courage to be honest in the face of uncertainty.
I sop up the last of the gravy with my final bite of bread and put my bowl down. As I do, the conversations around me die. The logs settling into the flames are the loudest sound in the room.
“I’d like to tell you the story of the
anuna
,” a man says from the other side of the fire. His voice brings to mind an ancient tree, stooped and covered in folds of wrinkled bark and wispy leaves, but still holding its branches proudly.
Kadee says, “This is Wirrim, our Memory Keeper. He remembers and passes on the stories of the people.”
When Wirrim speaks again, his voice has changed. It has a clear, ringing authority to it, like Willow’s voice did, like the voices of all gifted storytellers. “Before the time of the sick ones, our people lived far apart from each other. Few spoke the first language, our native tongue, anymore. Most spoke the second language—your language. We gathered from time to time to celebrate, and to pass the stories of the
anuna
to the young ones. It was during one of these celebrations that we received the news that the
runa
, the sick ones, were coming. The world fell into chaos—homes burning, families torn apart—and everywhere, the sick ones roamed. Death surrounded us. We lost many. The
anuna
were frightened, but together we found our way here, to our ancestral home of Koolkuna.
“Here we have lived for generations. We renewed our use of the first language, as a bond between our people, while keeping our knowledge of the second language. We live in peace and safety, taking care of each other with sustenance from the forest and the Myuna—our water hole. Through the years,
lorinyas
have come to Koolkuna. Some stay, grateful to have found a place of safety. Others leave again, haunted by memories of lost loved ones. Now you have come to Koolkuna, and we ask ourselves: will she stay? Or will she leave? What is she searching for?” He pauses, obviously waiting for an answer.
My mouth is dry despite the cool water Kadee gave me with my meal. “I search for . . . hope. Hope for my people. I came from the forest, some days’ walk away. We live on the forest floor, where we grow our food and hunt what we can. But we must hide from the Scourge, what you call the
runa
. When they come we hide in caves until they leave again. We can’t leave the forest because we need the water from our water hole. I came in search of a new source of water, to give my people a chance for freedom from the Scourge.”
“And your friend?” Wirrim asks.
“His name is Peree. His people live in the trees above us. They depend on the water, too, and he came for the same reason, to find a place where his people can live free from fear.”
“You came from the Dark Place?”
“Our legends tell of water in the caves that’s protected from the creatures. Peree and I searched for days. We found it, the underground river that feeds your water hole, but he was injured, so we couldn’t go back home to tell our people.”
“How was he injured?” Kadee asks.
“He was attacked by an animal we came across in the caves.” The listening people murmur at that. “She was trapped between us and the sick ones. She protected her young, and Peree protected me.” I swallow again, thinking about what it cost him.
“What kind of animal?” a woman asks.
“We thought it might be a tiger.”
“Tiger? There are no tigers here,” a man says.
“Peree wasn’t sure. He’d never seen one before. He said the animal was big and yellowish, with black markings on its body.” There are more excited murmurs. I hear the words
lynx
and
cougar
, but they must be the first language because I don’t know what they mean. “The wound became infected, and Peree was suffering terribly. We couldn’t go back. He didn’t want to die in the dark, so I took a chance on the river, hoping to find the sun. Luckily, the sun found us—Kora.” I smile toward where I think Arika is sitting. “And . . . you know the rest.”
“I am sorry your friend was injured, but it is good news that you came across a big cat. Very good news,” Wirrim says. “The predators are returning.”
I hope they won’t mind if I ask a few questions now. “What about the sick ones? Where do you hide when they come? The trees?”
“Hiding is not necessary in Koolkuna,” Wirrim says. “It is protected.”
It takes a moment for the significance of his words to sink in. A whole
village
protected from the Scourge? None of our stories tell of such a possibility.
“How?” I ask.
“As I said,
lorinyas
have found their way to Koolkuna through the years, and like you, they want to understand how we are protected. We find it easier to show them than to tell them. We will show you, too, when the time comes.”
I’m not sure what he means by
show
me, but from his tone of voice I sense I won’t get any other answers now.
“You and your friend may stay until he recovers. Perhaps tonight you’d like to stay on the ground, closer to him? Nerang says you are healing well.” I agree, and Wirrim addresses the group. “Will any of the
anuna
take in our guest?”
Kadee speaks. “She may stay with me.”
I’m relieved. As fascinating as the trees are, being up in them makes me queasy.
“Then that is settled. Welcome to Koolkuna, Fennel.”
People begin to file out, conferring in low voices. Some greet me with shy words of welcome. Kadee comes to me, and Kora skids up a moment later.
“Thank you for taking me in,” I say to Kadee.
“I welcome your company,” she replies. “Kora, when you two tire of exploring, bring her to my home.”
“Fennel, do you want to meet Bega?” Kora hops up and down in excitement. “She’s waiting for us.”
“Yes, but on one condition,” I say, my voice grave.
“What?”
I muss her hair. “Call me Fenn, as my friends do.”
I catch myself listening for the alarm calls, warnings that the Scourge is coming, as I would have at home. What Wirrim told me is still almost impossible to believe. I’m tempted to ask Kora if she knows how Koolkuna is protected, but it seems devious to interrogate a child.
People seem friendlier after the gathering. They speak to us as we go by, calling me by name. I meet some girls who sound about my age by the storehouse. They are curious, especially about my home, and what it’s like to be Sightless. We chat for a few minutes, answering each other’s questions. But one of them, Kaiya—Kora calls her Kai—doesn’t speak, even to say hello. Bega tells me later that she keeps to herself, but the doll won’t say more. It’s uncharacteristic for Bega.
Kora leads me to check on Peree late in the afternoon. I sit by his side, holding his hand. I long to tell him about Koolkuna: about the people and how they can live in the trees
or
on the ground, and most of all, how they’re protected from the Scourge. But he doesn’t stir, and I can only stay a few minutes in the heavily incensed room before I start to feel drowsy and a little sick to my stomach.
Nerang sits outside. The smell of something—cloves?—drifts around my head. I laugh. “You could just go breathe the air in in there for a few minutes, instead of smoking out here.”
“A good pipe is one of the pleasures of an old man,” he says. “How do you find your friend?”
I frown. “The same.”
“Try not to worry.” He inhales and releases a slow puff of smoke. “I hear you will stay with Kadee now? I’ll take you there. Kora was called home for her dinner.”
We stroll through the trees while the sun sinks lower, as if sitting down to its evening meal as well. I hear the rattle of wooden dishes, and the low murmur of conversation. It sounds like home.
“Do you have a family, Nerang?”
He stops to empty his pipe, tapping it against a tree. I hear him crush the remains of the herbs and spices into the dry ground. Very dry, now that I think about it. I can’t remember the last time it rained.
“A grave illness swept through the
anuna
years ago. Many were sick, and many died. Despite my efforts, my partner, Yindi, was among them.” His voice sounds more resigned than sad. “Her name meant ‘sun’ in our language. My son is Konol, ‘sky.’ Yindi and Konol—my sun and my sky. Konol’s grown now, a few years older than you.”
“I’m sorry about Yindi.”
“As am I. But like the legend of the flowers, life goes on and hope blooms again.” We walk a little farther among the trees and pause in front of what must be Kadee’s home. The door squeaks as it opens, and the aroma of cooking food greets us. “I’ve brought Fennel to you, Kadee.”
“Would you like to stay for dinner, Nerang?”
“Thank you, no. I need to speak with Konol before he leaves with the hunting party. There’s much to do to prepare for the Feast of Deliverance.” Then he says to me, “I’ll be checking on your friend in the morning, if you’d like to visit him again?”
“I’ll bring her,” Kadee offers.
“That's okay, I think I can find it myself,” I say, not wanting to create work for her.
“After only one day?" Nerang says. "Impressive. I’m beginning to understand how you found your way through the Dark Place.”
“Oh, Peree helped. He had torches, and we used crampberries to mark our path–”
“I meant your tenacity, young one,” he says, and shuts the door. I turn to Kadee, smiling self-consciously after Nerang’s compliment.
“Would you like me to show you around my home, so you know where things are?” she asks.
I accept her offer. Her home has smooth dirt floors and wooden walls, like ours, but it’s larger. It has two rooms: a sleeping room, and the sitting area, situated around a small fire pit. I wash my hands in the basin against the wall as Kadee ladles our dinners onto plates. We take them outside to eat.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” she says, when we're settled.
“I already am. It reminds me of home.”
“And you miss your home, no doubt. Will you tell me about it?”
I describe our part of the forest. I tell her about Aloe, Eland, and my friends. I tell her of the freedom of summer afternoons swimming in the water hole, my love of dancing and baking bread, the expectant silence of the caves that makes me feel they’re only quiet when no one is around to hear their hushed conversations. Conjuring my home helps me feel less homesick. The pungent scent of the greenhearts and the breeze tousling the leaves overhead almost convince me I’m there.
“It sounds like a peaceful place,” she says.
“It could be, without the Sc—the sick ones.”
Or the Lofties
, I almost say, before thinking of Peree. I take another bite instead. Leftover rabbit stew, and it’s still delicious. “So, what’s the Feast of Deliverance that Nerang mentioned?”
“Every summer the
anuna
celebrate the anniversary of finding Koolkuna, and deliverance from the fate of the sick ones. The hunting party will gather enough meat for all, and we’ll harvest the first summer crops in preparation.”
I swat at a mosquito buzzing close to my ear. “When is it?”
“At the next full moon, and we have much to do before then, as Nerang said. Would you like to come to the gardens with me tomorrow? We can certainly use your help.”
“I’d love to, after I check on Peree.” We laugh, because she said, “After you visit your friend, of course,” at the same time.
We talk through the cool evening, until the mosquitos’ persistent questing drives us indoors. Kadee is a good listener, quiet, but with a surprisingly exuberant laugh. I like her. As I fall asleep I realize I did most of the talking; she said very little about herself.
I enjoy wandering through the rows, handling and sniffing each plant as we tend them. Many of the herbs and vegetables are familiar, like the carrots and potatoes in the stew; others are foreign to me. Kadee tells me their names and uses. I try the leaf of something called a turnip, and make a face at the bitter taste. She assures me the roots are delicious when cooked, and I tell her I’ll take her word for it. At one point I smell rosemary, and I can almost hear Aloe scolding Eland for throwing clods of dirt at his friends in the next row. Homesickness backhands me, leaving me off-balance the rest of the morning.
Kora finds me in the gardens and invites me to their home for lunch. I meet her little brother, Darel, and Arika’s partner, Derain. Derain has a big booming voice. He sounds huge, but somehow he’s not intimidating. I like him right away; he reminds me of Bear. Derain, Kora, and Darel wrestle after we eat. The children giggle as their father pretends to be felled like a tree by their punches. Kora and Arika ask if I’d like to help them with the laundry duties. I agree—reluctantly—when I learn the
anuna
hang the wet laundry to dry up in the sunlit trees.