The Scourge (9 page)

I think often about my night in the trees, but Peree and I don’t talk about it as I collect the water. He finally tells me the story of sheep—dim creatures that gave their wooly coats to make warm clothes for people in cold climates—but he seems more distant, making me wonder if I dreamed the moment when we touched. I want to ask Calli what she thinks, but I don’t dare.

Sable’s droning on about how the Scourge has stayed this long before; how we should remain strong and wait them out. I lean my head against the wall, and close my eyes. Even after a full night of sleep, I’m exhausted. I drift off, until I hear my name.

“Fennel can’t keep bringing us water—look at her,” a woman is saying. It’s Pinion. I can hear people twisting around to stare at me. “She’s done in! We’re on restricted rations as it is. What will we do if she can’t collect the water anymore?”

“Then I will collect the water, as I have before,” Aloe says.

“That’s only a temporary solution,” Fox says. “You’re needed on the Council, and no offense meant, but collecting water is for the young. What if the Scourge doesn’t leave this time? Pinion is right. We need a plan.”

“The Scourge has always left,” Sable says. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“But what if they don’t? Our children are hungry and dirty!” Pinion’s two-year-old daughter, Yew, whimpers by her side. Others murmur their agreement.

“They have a point,” Bear whispers. “The fleshies aren’t showing any signs of clearing out, are they?” I shake my head back and forth against the rock, my eyes still closed. “And it doesn’t sound like the Three have another plan.”

“The smell in here alone may drive us out, Scourge or no Scourge,” I mutter.

Bear snickers. The small room we use as a toileting area is sufficient for short stays, but not for a lengthy imprisonment like this. The odor’s creeping through the entire cave system; my sensitive nose has been barraged by it for days. And it’s not only the caves. Bear smells like he’s been rolling around in the fertilizer pile in the garden. I don’t want to know what I smell like.

“Don’t go near Moray, whatever you do. He stinks like a flesh-eater,” Bear says.

“Are you two getting into it again?” I ask. “Ignore him. He’s an overgrown bully.” Moray is one of Thistles' three giant sons. Cuda is another, and I can never remember the third one's name.

“Exactly. And bullies need someone to put them in their place.”

“Of course that someone’s got to be you.”

“Give me a break. It’s incredibly boring in here, I need a little excitement.”

Someone shushes us, and we quiet down in time to hear Bream say, “What about the Hidden Waters?” People murmur at that.

“The Hidden Waters are a legend,” Adder says. “We have no proof they exist.”

“Let this be the time to find proof, then.”

I sit up. The legend of the Hidden Waters is familiar to all of us. The waters are supposed to be safe—safe to drink, and safe from the Scourge. It’s said they can be found by journeying through the caves, but no one knows where or how long it might take to get to them. Groundlings have searched for the Waters before. They returned disappointed, or not at all. We pretended to search, too, as children, playing in the caves while the Scourge was here.

Adder’s laughter is harsh, like the meeting of a switch and a bare backside. “It’s a fairytale, Bream! We don’t have the slightest idea where to look for the Waters, if they exist at all.”

Fox speaks up. “If we had another source of water we could move to, then we wouldn’t be at the flesh-eaters’ mercy when they come.”
Or the Lofties’
, he doesn’t say. “Even if we don’t find the Hidden Waters, maybe we’ll find another source.”

“Are you volunteering to go, Fox?” Adder asks.

“Yes, if need be.”

“No, Fox–” Calli’s mother, Acacia, says.

“Who will go, then? Who will search for the Hidden Waters?” Pinion calls out, excitement in her voice.

Sable speaks. “Patience—it is no simple matter to look for the Waters. The Council must discuss the idea before any decision is made. Let us meet in private, and we will speak again this evening.”

The meeting ends, and is followed by whispered conversations in the crowd.

Bear rips into some dried meat, and talks with his mouth full. “People must be feeling desperate, to want to search for the Hidden Waters again.”

“Can’t you feel it?” I ask, listening to the low, uneasy voices around us.

“What?”

“The desperation.”

“All I feel is my empty stomach and my dry throat,” Bear complains. “Oh, sorry, Fenn. I know you’re doing your best.” He must have looked at my face.

“It’s okay.” I stand up, brushing crumbs of bread from my lap.

He grabs my arm. “Really, I’m sorry.”

“I know.” I pull away, and hear him curse under his breath.

I’m not angry with him—it’s not the first time I’ve heard someone complain of their hunger and thirst—but I’m discouraged. Despite all my efforts to stock the caves with food when the flesh-eaters aren’t here, and collect the water when they are, there isn’t enough of either. I’m weary, body and spirit, from doing my duty, while the people still suffer from deprivation. I slouch toward the passageway. No one notices when I come and go now. Except Eland.

He stops me at the entrance to the tunnel. “Here, take some bread and dried meat with you.”

“I’m not taking your ration,” I say, “and anyway, I’m not hungry.”
Unlike everyone else.

“Mother’s worried about you. She said you’re losing weight.”

“You still need it more than I do.” I squeeze his hand. It’s covered in grime. “Ugh, Eland, you’re filthy. Why don’t you wash up?”

He hesitates before he answers. “No water.”

My melancholy deepens.

“Peree?” I call. “How are your people doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how are they feeling?”

“Angry, afraid, wondering when the fleshies will leave.”

“Really? I guess I didn’t think the Scourge would affect you so much.” The flesh-eaters seemed kind of unimportant when I was up in the trees, like so much background noise.

“Of course we’re affected. We’re used to having water when we need it, like you are.”

“But what are you afraid of?”

“Dehydration. Becoming permanent prisoners in the trees. More Groundling fires. And you.”

I stop short, then flinch, worried the creatures will run into me. “You’re afraid of
me?
”

“Afraid
for
you, really. That the Water Bearer won’t be able to keep up this pace.”

“My people are worried about the same thing. So am I, for that matter.” I start walking along the path again, trying to stick to the shade. It’s sizzling today, even under the sprawling canopy of greenheart branches. “Have you heard of the Hidden Waters?” He says he hasn’t. “What? I finally get to tell you a story?” I tease, and then I tell him what I know. “Someone suggested we look for the Waters again,” I say in conclusion.

“And?”

“And I’m thinking about volunteering.” He doesn’t respond. “What do you think?”

He swings between walkways before answering. “I think you’ve lost your mind.”

I bristle. “Why, because I want to help my people? What if the Scourge doesn’t leave this time? What kind of future will we have if we don’t find another source of water?”

“Why does it have to be you? You already stock the caves and collect the water. Why can’t someone else do this? And I hate to point out the obvious, but your Sightlessness might be a bit of a disadvantage when you’re searching for something and don’t know where to look.”

“My Sightlessness is my
only
advantage! How long do you think a sighted person will last, wandering through the caves with no light and precious little sense of direction? And if the caves ever end, the fleshies will be there. What good would their sight be then?” The creatures let loose raw howls of longing and need. They repulse me. “What, do you think I want to leave my home, my family, to search for some mythical water?”

“No,” Peree says, keeping his voice even. “But I think you’d do anything, go anywhere, not to have to do this anymore.” He pauses. “I would, too, if I were you.”

My anger fizzles. He’s right.

“Promise me you’ll think this through,” he says. “What you face in the caves could be worse than the Scourge, much worse.” I don’t see how that’s possible, but I promise anyway. I’ve reached the caves, but I hesitate before going in.

“I know I don’t get a say, but I don’t like this,” Peree says.

“We have to try something."

“There has to be another way. Let me think about it. Give me a day.”

“The community’s meeting tonight to hear the Three’s decision. If I do go, I’ll probably leave tomorrow. Aloe said she would collect the water . . . so, I might not see you for a few days.” I want to tell him I’m scared. I want to tell him I’ll miss him. But of course I don’t.
Coward.
“Be well, Peree.” I sidle into the cave mouth
.

“Fenn, please don’t go.”

To my horror I feel tears welling, so I hurry into the gloom of the tunnel. Later, I realize those were the words the hunter used as the cassowary woman flew away.

“Don’t underestimate the caves. They were forged long ago by natural forces as powerful and as inevitable as time. The caves are free of the Scourge, but the cold and the lack of light can be equally unforgiving. Your torch may not last more than a few days, and the passages are deceptive. Some lead away from a cavern only to return to it, with you none the wiser. Others end, forcing you to backtrack. And still others grow smaller and smaller until you can go no further. People have been known to wander for days only to find they’ve barely journeyed beyond their starting point. And if you do find an exit, the Scourge may be there.”

“So what’s the downside?” Bear asks, to nervous chuckles.

“This is serious,” Aloe says. “If someone chooses to look for the Hidden Waters, they need to know exactly what they can expect.” I feel like she’s speaking to me, like somehow she knows what I’m contemplating.

“You must take adequate food and water, and leave a trail for yourself,” Sable continues. “It will help you if you get lost, and if the waters are found you can then make your way back quickly.”

I remember a story, from the old days, about two children who enter the dark forest, dropping bread crumbs along the path so they can find their way back home. Animals eat the crumbs, and the children become lost. Nothing edible to mark my trail, then.

“Is there a volunteer?” Adder says.

I take a deep breath and . . . Fox speaks. “I volunteer.”

I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

“Fox–” Acacia pleads.

“Daddy, don’t,” Calli says. I haven’t heard her call him Daddy since she fell off a rock and broke her wrist a few years ago.

“Someone must go,” he tells them, his voice gentle.

“But it doesn’t have to be you,” Acacia says. She sounds a lot like Peree did.

“I’m afraid they’re right, Fox. We need you here,” Aloe says.

I’m not surprised. If the Three serve as the brain of the community, Fox is our heart. His optimism and good humor is infectious, even in the cheerless caves.

“Is anyone else willing to go?” Aloe asks.

No one speaks. I stand up, my heart hammering. “I’ll go.” The crowd murmurs, sounding dubious. “I work in the caves; I’m comfortable here. I’ve spent as much time exploring them as the oldest among us. I have as good a chance of finding the Waters as any.”

Sable says, “Child, thank you for your willingness to serve the community, but you must stay and collect the water.”

“Aloe can collect the water. She said so this morning.”

“But, Fenn, how will you find your way?” Calli asks timidly. She’s not used to speaking in front of the community.

“How will
anyone
find their way? Like Sable said, the torches won’t stay lit forever. I’m not afraid of moving in the dark, and when the caves end I can leave without fear of the Scourge.”

“And what then? Will you smell your way to the water?” Adder asks, his voice as irritating as a bee sting.

“If I have to,” I say.

“I’ll go with Fennel,” Bear says. “I’ll serve as her eyes.”

There are several outbursts, but the voice I hear is Thistle’s. “That’s outrageous! An unpartnered boy and girl traveling together?”

Aloe says, “Thank you for offering to assist my daughter, Bear. But as her mother, I cannot allow it.”

“Better luck next time, hero,” someone mock-whispers nearby.

“Shut up, Moray,” Bear mutters.

“I’ll go with Fennel!” Eland calls out from across the room.

“No!” Aloe and I say together.

“But–”

“No!”

After a moment’s pause, I hear him sit down again. I face the community, clasping my hands together in front of me to keep from squirming.

Sable says, “Fennel, are you willing to go alone?” I nod. “Aloe, are you willing to collect the water while she’s gone?”

“I’ll do what’s needed for the community, but I’d like a word with Fennel—in private—before this is decided.”

“Of course,” Sable agrees.

“Come with me,” Aloe says.

I pick my way across the main cave, listening to the hushed conversations of the people. I can’t tell if they’re for or against the idea of me going. Maybe they’re just relieved it won’t be them. I won’t say it out loud, but Adder is right. I don’t know what I’ll do when I leave the parts of the caves I know well. I remember how vulnerable I felt in the trees, without a map in my head to move by. My chest tightens, and I swallow hard.