The Scourge (A.G. Henley)

CHAPTER Fourteen



My mind spins. Kadee is Peree’s mother?

“What are you doing here?” He sounds like he’s seeing a ghost. I guess he is.

“This is my home.” Kadee’s voice is quiet.

“Since when?”

“Since I left the trees.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment. “All this time you’ve been here? We thought you were dead! Or worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Kadee says. “I know I have much to explain, but I’ve been waiting until you were stronger. Will you come in and talk with me now?”

“Oh, is it a convenient time for you, then? Are you sure you don’t want to wait a little longer? It’s been ten years, what’s another day?”

“Please, son–”

“Don’t call me that. You gave up that right when you left us.” The astonishment in his voice is gone, replaced by a barely controlled rage.

Kadee takes a step toward us. “Peree–”

“You know what, don’t bother explaining now. It’s too late.”

He’s gone, into the forest.

“Peree, wait!” I move to follow him, but Nerang touches my shoulder.

“Let him go, young one. He’s had a shock. He may need some time.”

I turn on him. “You knew about this, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me, so I could prepare him? And Kadee—I thought you were my friend! Were you using me to get information?”

“No!” She sounds miserable. “I planned to tell you both. I was waiting for the right time.”

I shake my head. “Well, somehow I don’t think this was it.”

I wander around for a while in the forest, listening for Peree, but I don’t hear him. I literally stumble onto a knee-high, flat rock in a quiet patch of grass, and I stop to sit. A small stream bubbles nearby, but the sounds of the village are faint from here. I’m not sure where else to look for Peree. Maybe Nerang was right; maybe he needs to be alone. Nerang is usually right—except about this. He should have told me about Kadee.

She must have found Koolkuna somehow after she left the forest. But why didn’t she go back, or at least let her family know she wasn’t dead? I know her well enough to believe she’s not cruel or uncaring. She must have had a reason. What could it be? What would drive her to leave her child like that, without a word?

A few nights ago, when Kai came to tell me Peree was awake, Kadee was going to tell me about her family. So maybe she wasn’t deliberately trying to keep me in the dark. I guess there isn’t a good time to spring something like this on someone. Poor Peree.

When the heat becomes unbearable, I cross to the shaded stream and step in. Flies dance around my head as I wade across the slippery stones. I think about our swim, and touching Peree as he floated in the water. The stream isn’t particularly cold, but I shiver. If the recent electrical current between us is permanent, things are going to be a lot more interesting from now on. A stick cracks in the forest in front of me.

“Peree?” I call.

Something—something not human—moans. I clamber back out of the stream and stand on the opposite side from the creature, poised to run.

“Is someone there?” I say, my voice shaking a little. Whatever it is moves through the underbrush toward me. It sounds too heavy to be an animal. I turn and rush back to the village, not waiting to find out if the creature follows.



I'm curled up in a chair in Peree’s shelter, shivering in my soaked dress. I wasn’t sure where else to go. I’ve been listening, but everything in the village sounds normal. At one point I heard Kora asking after me, but I didn't go out. I don’t want her to see me like this.

I’m not sure why I’m so unsettled. I knew the flesh-eaters were still out there. No one said they weren’t. I guess I’d let my guard down a little, stopped listening for them. Hearing one again brought back memories I’d as soon forget. The smell of rotting flesh, and the sound of agonizing hunger. Memories of Rose and Jack and their unborn child. Even after I begin to breathe easier, I stay curled up in a ball. It feels safer this way.

Eventually I hear Peree’s uneven steps outside, and Nerang’s serene voice. Kai’s with them, too. Is she always around when I’m not? The door opens and something solid raps my head. I yelp.

“Oh, sorry Fenn, I didn’t see you there,” Peree says.

I rub my scalp. “What was that?”

“My crutch—I tossed it at the chair when I came in. Are you okay? You look . . . strange.”

I tell him what happened, and he wraps me up in his arms. “I’m sorry you were alone.”

“I’m better now,” I mumble into his shirt. “How are you feeling?”

He flops onto his bed. “Angry. No, furious. I can’t decide if I’m angrier that she left, or that she let us think she was dead.”

I sit on his bed, too, and gently lift his bad leg onto my lap. “Did you talk to her?”

“Why should I? The situation’s pretty clear, isn’t it? She left us to come here. What else is there to know?”

“Why she left? She must have had a good reason.”

“Like what?”

“You said she was restless in the trees, that she wanted to have more freedom. Maybe she found that here, because Koolkuna’s protected.”

“We protected her!” For a moment I hear the wounded ten-year-old boy Peree was when his mother disappeared. A moment’s enough—it’s painful. “She liked it here. She didn’t like it at home. Either way, it doesn’t change anything. She didn’t love us enough to stay.” He thumps the wall with his fist. “Whatever. I’ll probably find out, whether I want to or not. Nerang says she’s all broken up, and I should give her a chance to explain. He wants us to meet them at the water hole at dawn.”

“The water hole? Why?”

“Who knows? Something about seeing clearly there. It’s Nerang—the man can’t just say what he’s thinking.”

“But the water hole is less protected in the morning.”

His laugh is short and sharp, like the rap of a woodpecker. “Maybe they’re planning to get rid of us now that we know the truth about her.”

“I’m sorry, Peree. I mean, I’m glad she’s alive, but I’m sorry you found out the way you did. I don’t know if this will help you, but she seems lonely. And I think she was going to tell me about you the night you woke up. I don’t think she meant to keep it from you for long.” I reach for his hand and find his knuckles are wrapped in cloth. I hold them up. “What happened here?”

“I couldn’t see straight for a few minutes after I took off. A couple trees are a little worse for wear.”

“I didn’t know you had such a bad temper,” I say, and I’m only half teasing.

“I don’t, usually. I think it’s . . . everything. My leg, Koolkuna, and now my moth– Blaze, Kadee, I don’t even know what to call her. But you’ve been through at least as much as me, and you seem to be handling it a lot better.”

I shrug. “I’m a Groundling. We learn to expect change. Especially me, being Sightless. Things surprise me all the time. I’m used to it.”

He slides his fingers between mine, braiding them together. “Will you stick with me a little longer, bad temper and all?”

In answer, I brush my lips over his bandaged knuckles. I want to say we’ll be like the fish people in his story, and stay together no matter what. But then I think of Aloe’s warning before I left home, and I remain silent. If I’ve learned anything since I became the Water Bearer, it’s that what I want and what I have to do rarely coincide.



We spend the afternoon in Peree’s shelter, avoiding mothers, healers, and nosy dolls. Hungry and thirsty, we venture out as evening falls, but discover someone left food and water for us outside the door. I wonder if it was Kadee.

While we eat, I think about where I should sleep. I don’t feel right going back to Kadee’s, considering how Peree feels about her. But picturing spending the night with him makes my stomach clench. Things have evolved between us since that first night in the trees, and the freezing nights in the caves. The swim today only confirmed it.

His thoughts aren’t far away. “If you want to stay here tonight, I’ll sleep on the floor and you can have the bed.”

“Not with your leg,” I say. “I’ll take the floor.”

“I won’t be able to sleep, knowing you’re uncomfortable.”

“I won’t stay at all if you don’t take the bed.”

He chuckles. “Hmm, what to do? I suppose we could share the bed . . .”

I hesitate. I don’t know if there are rules about unpartnered boys and girls spending the night together in Koolkuna, but there sure are at home. I cringe at Thistle’s shrill accusations of impropriety, then I push her out of my head and slam the door shut. “We could.”

Peree takes his time cleaning our dishes, while I wash my face and hands with the last of the clean water. I try to detangle my hair with my fingers, but I give up halfway through when I realize he’s waiting by the bed, probably watching me.

“After you,” he says.

Thanking the stars that I’m relatively clean from the swim this morning, I climb in. He joins me, holding his breath as he eases his leg up, and pulls his bedroll over us. We lie on our backs, no part of our bodies touching. Not easy to accomplish in a narrow bed. I don’t move a muscle, ultra-aware of the length of his limbs beside me and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Locks of his wavy hair mingle with locks of mine. A hot, prickly feeling slides over my skin.

He snickers. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep like this, either.”

I laugh too, fighting the urge to giggle like the girls in the garden this morning. Peree turns on his side and gathers me into his body, sending jolts of energy through me again. Surprisingly it feels more natural this way, though—like I belong here. We lie quietly for a few minutes, getting used to the feeling of being together. When he finally speaks, his breath tickles my ear.

“You know the story of the cassowary woman?" I nod. “I think my mother was trying to tell me she was leaving, with that story, without really telling me. And to tell me how she felt.” His voice is tight. “I want to hate her for going away. But I can’t, not completely. I’m not the little boy anymore; I’m the hunter. And a part of me understands and forgives her, even if the boy doesn’t want to.”

I hug his arms with my own. He draws me in even closer.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, as if reassuring me he is planning to go to sleep. It takes me a long time, but I finally do.



I wake to the sound of scraping. It’s early, still dark, and I’m alone in the bed.

“Peree? What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Making a bow. If the flesh-eaters might be at the water hole, then I’m going armed.”

I tuck the bedroll around me against the chill, and listen to him work. “Need help?”

“Untie a few feathers from my hair?”

I slide my fingers through his tousled hair and find the sleek feathers. He tells me how to attach them to the sticks he’s gathered, while he strings the bow. I do the best I can, but I have him check my work, afraid the arrows won’t fly straight if I make an error.

When he finishes, he slings the bow across his back. “I’m going out to practice. Want to come?”

We stumble through the predawn to a nearby clearing. I lean against a tree, shivering in the cold wind that snakes through the branches, while he sets up a target. There’s no sign of the sun, and the birds are silent. The air around us feels heavy and tense, as if it’s holding its breath.

“A storm is coming,” I mutter.

Peree notches the first arrow and releases it. It slices through the air, but skitters across the ground somewhere beyond the target. He adjusts the bow then shoots again, releasing each arrow in turn, making small modifications after every shot. The last few drive into the target. He retrieves the arrows, then stands in front of me and brushes a few wind-blown locks of hair back from my face.

“It’s time.”



People leave their homes, moving in hushed groups toward the water hole. I hear the platforms drop slowly in the trees, carrying others to the ground. The sun doesn’t penetrate what must be dense clouds overhead. My hair flaps around my shoulders, then clings to my face, buffeted by the wind. I wish I had something to tie it back.

Kora slips in next to us, holding my hand as usual. I introduce her to Peree as we follow the path from the village to the water hole. I wonder if I was wrong that this has to do with the Scourge. At home we would never bring children near the flesh-eaters. But nothing in Koolkuna is as I would expect.

We turn toward the water hole, and the roar of the waterfall grows. It’s hard to hear the sounds of the forest now. The anuna are gathered, and more come. Arika greets us quietly, then speaks to Kora. I hear Kadee and Nerang. People stand in small groups, passing around cups of water from the water hole. We drink, too.

“What’s going on?” Peree mutters. “Nerang didn’t say this was going to be a public apology.”

“It’s the offering,” Kora says.

“What offering?” I ask.

“To the runa.”

Peree whispers in my ear. “I don’t like this.”

I don’t either. Huddling closer to Peree, I pull Kora into me. I can’t hear the creatures between the waterfall and the wind. I feel horribly exposed.

The trees quiver and shudder, thrashed by the wind. No rain yet. Wirrim’s voice suddenly rises above the elements. I didn’t think he sounded strong enough to walk all the way here.

“When the anuna came to Koolkuna many years ago, we knew it to be our ancestral home. We did not know it would also provide the sanctuary we required, away from the sick ones. We hid in the trees, sending only the quick and the brave to the water hole to gather our life-sustaining water—”

A vicious crack of lightning interrupts him. I shield Kora as well as I can. Then I smell them.

The Scourge is near.

Peree drops his crutch and draws his bow tight. I clutch Kora. Wirrim speaks more urgently.

“When we came to Koolkuna, we were afraid of the runa. But quickly we realized they were changing. They were different.”

The flesh-eaters are close, in the trees around us. I hear them . . . but instead of moans and shrieks, I hear voices. Human voices. Pleading for food, for water. For someone to help them die.

“What’s happening?” I ask Peree.

He sounds haunted. “I don’t know.”

“You do know,” Nerang says. “See them. See them as they really are."

“But these creatures limp instead of sprint, their skin is cut and bleeding and bruised. Their hair is dirty and twisted. They look . . . ill. What happened to them?”

Nerang answers. “They are the same. You are different.”

“They can’t be the same. I’ve watched the Scourge tear people limb from limb,” Peree says. “I’ve seen them surge in packs over their prey. These things aren’t capable of that.”

“What you saw was an illusion. An illusion caused by a strong poison, poison in the water you drink and the meat you eat,” Wirrim explains.

“Poison? What are you talking about?” Peree says.

Wirrim’s voice is gentle, like he knows this is difficult. “When I was a child, a lorinya came to Koolkuna from the City, searching for lost loved ones. Before she moved on she told us many stories, and among them, how the runa came to be. In the days before the sick ones, the people of the world were at war. When neither words nor weapons satisfied their hate, they used poison.”

Thunder bursts. The creatures almost echo Wirrim, murmuring “war” and “hate.”

“She said the poison was created many years before the Fall. It was so dangerous it was locked away, but later it was found by others who thought they could control it. They destroyed their enemies, and our world, in the same damning blow. The poison spread, uncontrolled, through the air and water, settling in the ground and the crops. It killed many people and animals. And it had another devastating effect: It caused people to lose their minds, their understanding—they went mad. No longer able to care for themselves, they became like senseless wild animals, desperate in their hunger and fear. These people joined growing groups of the similarly afflicted, and they became the runa. The woman who told us these stories called it a ‘madness of many.’ They have roamed the earth since that time.

“Pockets of survivors like your people, those who do not die or go mad, are still vulnerable. Instead of seeing the runa as ill, you see grotesque, flesh-eating monsters—what you call the Scourge. You kill them, and you separate yourselves from them, in trees or caves, and so you avoid succumbing to the madness yourselves. But you live immersed in your fear, and the poisoned water feeds your illusions—sip by deadly sip.”

He’s saying we’re all poisoned? Eland accidentally hit me in the head once with a rock. This sensation is similar, like whatever force keeps me upright and centered just wandered away. I speak for the first time, struggling to be heard over the wind, and the pleas of the creatures.

“Why do they look and sound different to Peree and me now? What protects Koolkuna?”

“When the anuna arrived here,” Wirrim says, “we drank from the Myuna and we no longer suffered from the madness. We could see the runa for what they were—people in great need of help. The Myuna comes from the Dark Place deep beneath the earth. It is pure; the poison did not contaminate it. Now you have drunk from it for many days, and eaten only the meat of animals who drink from it. The poison no longer controls your minds.”

The sounds of the Scourge have changed. It’s as if I should have understood them all along, if I’d only been listening properly. Mesmerized, I take a step toward the creatures.

“Fennel,” Peree growls. “Don’t.”

“It’s okay,” Kora says, stepping with me.

I stop. Walking into the Scourge myself is one thing, but allowing a child to get any closer is another. I’m about to tell her she can’t go, when Wirrim speaks again.

“Bring the offering.”

Kora moves forward. I try to pull her back, but Arika touches my arm.

“Please don’t worry. She’s given the offering before.”

“What is the offering?” Peree hisses.

“Food for the runa.”

“Food? You feed them?” he asks.

“I’m going with Kora,” I say.

The sickening smell grows with each step. That hasn’t changed. The instinctive terror from being close to the creatures crashes through me, but Kora and the others don’t hesitate. They walk to the edge of the clearing and stop in front of them. Dishes rattle as they’re laid on the ground.

One of the runa speaks, its voice weak and feeble. “Thank you.”

I reach out to it, pity overcoming fear. My trembling hand meets cold flesh for only a moment. It feels human, yet lifeless at the same time. The flesh of a corpse.

“They don’t like to be touched,” Kora whispers, pulling me back.

The sick ones take up the food. And as they melt back into the trees, every truth my life was built on vanishes with them.