The Scourge (3 page)

Aloe interrupts him. “She knows her duty. Are you ready, Fennel?” I nod. She embraces me, and whispers in my ear. “Don’t forget—never forget—you are protected. The Scourge can’t harm you. Remember that when you’re afraid.”

“I’m afraid now.”

“Then remember it now.”

She leads me to the passage that will take me back to the mouth of the cave. People touch me as I walk, murmuring good luck. Eland clings to me, followed by Calli. Her tears moisten my cheek.

“Here, Fennel.” Bear’s voice is even rougher than usual. He presses something silky into my hand, his fingers lingering on mine. “The foot of a rabbit, for luck.” It’s a charm, left over from the old days, before the Fall.

Then his hand is gone, and everyone is gone, and I stand alone in the passageway.

I start walking, rehearsing in my mind what I’ll do when I leave the caves, as Aloe taught me.
Take the path to the clearing. Walk along the edge of the clearing. Find the sled track, and follow it down to the water hole, where the sled waits.
I go over the number of paces it should take to complete each part of my trip, repeating them to be sure I remember. Then I try to wipe my mind clean.

I try not to think of the cries of the creatures the night before. I try not to think of the many stories I’ve heard about the flesh-eaters tearing apart their victims, or the agonizing transformation into one of them—half human, half dead. Instead I focus on the cool, lumpy rock under my hand, or the musty smell of the passage, or how many steps I have left until I reach the mouth of the cave. Anything else.

But it’s impossible.

My heart is a desperate animal, smashing against my rib cage. My shivering now has nothing to do with the cold. I sing—another trick Aloe taught me—but the closer I get to the mouth of the cave, the slower I walk and the softer I sing. Then I stop walking and singing altogether, trying to work up the courage to take the last few steps necessary to reach the sunlight.

Something’s thrashing through the forest, coming closer. I hear shrieking, like the dying people of my imagination. I tuck the rabbit’s foot into my pocket, and tug a scarf Aloe gave me up over my mouth and nose, preparing for the stench.

For a moment I wonder if my protection will hold, but I push the thought away. It’s the gift of our Sightlessness, as I’ve always been told.

I think of Eland huddled in the gloom of the caves, eating the salty dried meat, waiting for his water ration. That does it. I take a deep breath, and step outside.

The creatures surge around me. Their howls pierce me. Even through the barrier of the scarf, I can smell their putrid breath. Something brushes my sleeve and I cry out, wrapping my arms tightly around my body like a shroud.

What if I’m not protected? What if everything I’ve been told about my Sightlessness—everything I’ve believed about myself—isn’t true? The Scourge will consume me, as they have so many others. Or worse, I’ll become like one of them, only knowing hunger, thirst, and the yearning for flesh. I yank the scarf down; it’s suffocating. I wait, shuddering, for biting mouths and tearing hands to find me.

“Fennel–” The word drifts down from the trees.

A long moment passes before I can speak, and then my voice shakes. “Peree?”

“I’m right above you.” He sounds steady, calm. “You’re all right. Stay still; let me give you some space.” Arrows zip across a bow. Two harrowing screams are followed by two thumps. “There, they’ve backed up a bit. Can you walk?”

I grew up in the forest. I know every path, and the position of every tree and bush. But I feel lost now, like someone moved all the familiar landmarks overnight. I take a step in what I hope is the right direction. The creatures follow, shifting to surround me again. My eyes sting from the smell of their rotting flesh. Singing under my breath, I take another cautious step. I don’t want to stumble or fall. I don’t want to do anything that might draw more of them to me.

“Watch yourself, there are bodies there,” Peree says. “Step a little to your left . . . that’s it.” He follows me through the trees above, using the Lofties’ well-maintained wooden walkways. They clear the lower branches up to the height of two grown men, so the walkways are too far up for humans—and more importantly, half-dead humans—to reach by climbing.

There are more creatures coming, hurtling toward me through the trees. Panic almost takes me again. I need to focus on something, anything, other than the flesh-eaters pressing in.

I call to Peree. “They’re keeping their distance?”

“Yes, but if they don’t I’ll take out a few more. Keep walking; you’re almost to the clearing now. It’s to your left–”

“I know where it is.” I might be terrified and disoriented, but I don’t need a Lofty to give me directions in the forest.

I hear creatures dart at me, stopping right before they reach me. Others pace alongside. If I were to run they would chase, quick as the fleetest animals. In the rare moments they’re quiet, I hear their tongues searching. The sighted say many of the creatures don’t really have mouths anymore, only gaping, seeping holes in what were once their very human faces. My stomach contracts, pushing up the little breakfast I managed to eat. I put my hands on my knees, and saliva pools in my mouth.

“Have you ever heard of a tiger?” Peree asks.

I swallow hard. “A what?”

“Hold still.” An arrow whistles by, followed by another thump. “A tiger, it’s an animal.” He sounds relaxed, like we’re sitting and chatting over a meal, instead of having a semi-shouted conversation from the ground to the trees, overheard by the creatures and who knows how many Lofties.

“
Uh
, no, I don’t think so.”

“They were big cats, amazing hunters, graceful and beautiful, and they had a wild scream that would put the fleshies to shame.”

I wince as a creature shrieks at my side. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“For me as well.” His voice is grim. “Are you able to see colors at all?”

“No, but I’ve heard some colors are warmer, like red, and some cooler, like blue, with others in between. So that’s how I picture them, as degrees of heat.” It snowed a few seasons ago. I guessed the soft, frosty flakes must be blue—to Calli’s everlasting amusement.

“Well, tigers would be warm, like a fire you don’t want to get too close to. They’re orange, with black marks all over their bodies. In ancient times, the tiger was chosen by the gods to protect humans. He did it so well, he was given three marks across his forehead to represent great battles he won against three evil animals. When the tiger won a final time, saving the human race, the gods placed a mark down his forehead, intersecting the others. They formed a word, ‘King,’ in the ancient people’s language. The word could be seen on all tigers from then on.”

I start walking again, following the line of trees circling the clearing. A branch creaks above my head. The Lofties leave spaces between some trees as firebreaks. Peree must have swung across a gap.

“I wish the gods would send an animal to fight the Scourge,” I say. “How do you know about tigers?”

“My mother told me—my foster mother. She knew a lot of stories from before and after the Fall. Stories about animals, and strange tales of our ancestors who lived in the City, in homes as tall as the tops of mountain peaks, and taller.”

“Our teacher told us about the City,” I say. “He said it was a nasty, crowded place, full of evil people. He told us that’s where the Scourge was born.”

“Mother never said any of that, only that it was large and lit up at night by specks of light, like mists of fireflies.”

“You said she
knew
those stories. Is she . . .?”

He’s silent.

“I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

I hear him load his bow. Another thump. The creatures howl in response. “The sled track’s in front of you,” he says.

I know that, but I don’t say it this time.

I’m amazed I made it this far. I was very close to losing my nerve and running back to the cave—until I heard Peree call to me from the trees. His arrows discouraged the flesh-eaters, and his story about the tigers distracted me. I’m beginning to understand why Aloe insists our Keepers are important.

I reach out to find the smooth wooden rails of the sled track, praying I don’t touch any of the creatures hovering around me. I’ll drag the sled and heavy oilskin sacks of water up the steep tracks, while doing my best to ignore the enraged creatures. This will be the most physically difficult part of the work. I can’t pull more than two bags in the sled each time, so I have to make three trips today: three sacks of water for us and three for the Lofties. Aloe said there will be more fleshies by the water hole.

The air is still temperate for summer, but I’m sweating like the sun’s been breathing on me for hours. I wipe my face, trying to pull myself together.

“Are you all right?” Peree asks.

“No.”

“You’ve done well so far,” he says. “Not many of the Sightless are brave enough to take more than a few steps among the flesh-eaters the first time. Shrike told me one woman refused to do her duty at all, and the people suffered for years because of her cowardice.”

I’ve heard of this Groundling. She took her own life. I’m ashamed for her, but I bristle at his words. How dare a Lofty criticize any Groundling from the perfect safety of his trees, much less a Groundling who’s Sightless and faces the Scourge alone? I’m about to tell him what he can do with his praise, when I remember Calli’s warning. I doubt any Lofty would kill their one source for fresh water, but I don’t want to tempt Peree. I swallow my anger, grimacing at the bitter taste.

I stalk away, following the sled track, leaving him well behind me in the trees. Under the low moans of the creatures, I hear gentle waves breaking on the shore and a bird trilling in the forest. Others join it, creating a joyful chorus of avian voices. For a moment the world feels peaceful and safe.

But only for a moment.

The flesh-eaters swarm around me. The small group that followed me through the forest was like nothing compared to this onslaught—the first crack of lightning before an electrical storm. Their rage and hunger grip me. I fall to my knees, my hands over my ears.

One time I asked Aloe why she still fears the creatures, after all the years she’s walked among them. She told me she no longer fears the Scourge, she fears her own fear. Now I understand. I curl up on the muddy ground and drift away for a time, lost in a place darker than the deepest, blackest cave.

After some time I hear something other than the terrible screams. Peree, shouting my name over and over. I ignore him. The cave in my mind is safe. But he keeps calling.

Go away. Go away and leave me
.

He doesn’t.

I have to get up. For Eland, Aloe, Calli, Bear, Fox, Rose and her baby. I hear the pleas of my people, each one in turn. Trapped in the caves, waiting for me to return with their life-sustaining water. Relying on me. I can’t fail. All these thoughts echo in my mind, and somehow, I’m standing again.

“Fennel! Are you all right?”

I raise my hand, and stagger down the slope to the water’s edge, the creatures following me like a fetid fog. Peree keeps shooting. The thumps mean one less nightmare I’ll have tonight, but I shrink from the thought of the bodies piling up, bodies that were once human. I grope along the end of the track until my hand finds the sled. Inside are two oilskin sacks.

I fill them, secure the tops, and roll them up onto the sled. Then I shuffle to the front to secure myself in the harness. The sacks were made to hold as much water as I can pull with the sled, but I still struggle. When I rehearsed with Aloe I was fresh and unafraid, not exhausted and petrified as I am now. I pull the sled forward a few feet, and have to stop to rest. I try again, straining as hard as I can in the harness, but the sled barely budges.

If I can’t make it up the hill, I’ll have to unload a sack. Which means I’ll also have to make twice as many trips as I now face. I put my hands on my knees again and choke back tears.

Peree calls to me. “Fenn, listen to me. You can do this. You have the strength. Focus on taking a few steps forward. Just a few, then you can rest. Pull the sled.”

I pull.

“That’s it, and again.”

I pull again. I do what he says, and focus on the next few steps. Step. Pull. Step. Pull. The sled inches up the hill, the water sloshing in the sacks behind me. I pray they don’t fall out.

“Good Fenn, very good, not much farther. Bring the sled to the end of the track. I’ll lower the ropes.”

Guided by his voice, I reach up for the ropes, and tie them to the sacks. He hoists them into the trees. The Lofties will deliver our portion to us at the mouth of the caves after nightfall, when it’s safer. The flesh-eaters don’t seem to see as well at night. I start again, skimming the empty sled back down the tracks, trying to ignore the creatures surging around me. I fill two more sacks and load them on the sled. Step. Pull. Step. Pull.

Peree talks to me as I rest, my back against the side of the sled and my head in my hands, but I don’t register what he says. When he finishes lifting the sacks up, I haul the sled back down to the water. I focus on the rhythm of the work as much as I can, trying to pretend I’m in the quiet caves, stocking the storeroom. But it’s not the same, not by a long shot.

When I finally finish, I step out of the harness and stumble back toward the clearing. The creatures still follow, but there are fewer now. Peree follows, too. I speed up when I reach the clearing. The trees on the other side are all that separate me from Aloe and Eland—from safety.

The flesh-eaters seem to sense my desperation as I near the caves. They encircle me again. Aloe calls from the entrance, and I dive into the darkness. She pulls me into her arms.

“Brave, brave girl,” she croons, stroking my hair. I let her soothe me, grateful to be alive. The scent of death recedes as the Scourge melts back into the forest.

“Peree,” Aloe calls. “Tell Breeze we’ll collect our water at dusk.”

“I’ll tell her. I’ll see you in the morning, Fenn.”

The morning. When I’ll have to do it all again. I crumple in Aloe’s arms, and the tears flow.