The Scourge (A.G. Henley)

CHAPTER Sixteen



I wake early the next morning, and carefully untangle my arms and legs from Peree’s. I have to put some distance between us; I can’t think with him so close. I go to the only woman in the village I can talk to. It’s my bad luck that she also happens to be his mother.

“Fennel, I’m so glad you came.” Kadee takes my hands in hers. Her skin feels dusty.

I rub my fingers together and a smile crosses my face. “Flour?”

“I’m doing some baking for the Feast. How are you?”

“Still shocked about everything, I guess.”

“And upset with me, for not telling you sooner about Peree.”

I shrug. “I was, a little, but I know you had to tell him first.”

“He was so badly injured, and then when he woke up, I didn’t know how to say the words.”

I nod. “I wouldn’t know either.”

“Somehow I doubt that. You don’t seem like you’d shrink from a difficult situation.”

My cheeks flame, thinking about the night before. “Um, would you like help with the baking?”

“Please—I have so much to do still.”

I’m as much of a failure at cooking as I am at sewing, but I do love to bake. When I was about eight, I pestered the baker unmercifully one afternoon until he finally shoved ingredients at me and showed me what to do with them. I fell in love with kneading the dough, feeling the soft mush slowly thicken under my fingers. Over time I learned how dough feels when it’s the right consistency, and how bread smells when perfectly baked—spongy and warm inside, crusty outside. I still sometimes join him at the clay oven near the roasting pit when I finish early in the caves.

As Kadee and I work, blending and forming the lumps of dough, my mind wanders back to Peree. Suddenly I realize the dough I’m working with has become more rock than loaf. She takes it from me with a chuckle. “Do you want to talk? You must have a lot on your mind.”

“It’s about Peree.”

“Is he all right?”

“Yes, it's just . . . I think he wants . . . more from me than I can give him.” I squirm with embarrassment, but I have to talk to someone, or I’m going to explode. “I’m sorry, I know you probably don’t want to hear this about your son.”

“I want to hear anything you have to tell me, Fennel,” she says. “Anyway, I’m not surprised. I won’t claim to know Peree or his feelings as I once did, but I do know young men. And the way he looks at you–”

I groan. “Not that again. What does that even mean?”

“He watches you. All the time. When you move, he moves. When you smile, he smiles. When you walk away, it seems hard for him not to follow. Clearly he has strong feelings. But do you feel the same way?”

“Does it matter?” I grab my head in frustration, remembering too late that my hands are covered in sticky bits of dough. “No matter how we feel about each other, there’s no future for us! Not one I can see, anyway. I’m a Groundling. He’s a Lofty. That’s not going to change, no matter what happens when we get home.”

“The future can be hard to predict,” Kadee says. “I certainly never saw Koolkuna in my future, when I was your age. And after I came here, I didn’t allow myself to hope I might see my child again, but that too was meant to be. Who knows what might happen to any of us? All we can do is follow our hearts.” After a moment she says, “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.”

“That sounds like something Wirrim would say.”

She laughs. “Those words were written long ago, before the Fall.”

“Written?” I wonder if that’s a Koolkuna word.

“Writing is . . . marks on a piece of cloth. Marks that can be read and repeated. People used to write down what they thought and said, so that it could be passed on to other people. I can show you what I mean, if you’d like. It won’t take long.”

We clean the dough and flour off our hands and leave the village, walking along the path to the water hole. A bird shrills from a tree beside us and I automatically tense. I wonder if I’ll ever quit listening for the Scourge, or if it will always be part of me, as permanent as my Sightlessness.

“When I came to Koolkuna the first time, I was entranced by Wirrim’s storytelling,” Kadee says. “I was especially intrigued by stories from before the Fall, when the world was a vastly different place. After I went home, I was afraid to tell people the stories, worried they’d ask where I learned them. So I whispered them to Peree at bedtime, night after night.”

I smile. “He told me some to distract me as I collected the water.”

“They distracted me, too, and they helped me remember my time in Koolkuna.”

We pass the turn to the water hole. I can hear the crashing waterfall as we go by. I didn’t even know the path continued on. “Where are we going?”

“To a special place—for me, at least. The place where I learned many of the tales.”

Some minutes later we enter a large clearing that’s unimpeded by trees, judging from the bright light. Tall grass sweeps across my legs. It’s quiet, except for the chitchat of the birds. They sound like they’re gossiping about us.

“When I returned,” Kadee says, “Wirrim didn’t have enough stories to distract me from my misery over leaving Peree. So he brought me here.”

She leads me forward, placing my hand on something solid and rough, like rock, but too even to be natural. It feels man-made, like clay. I explore up, down, and across, but the rock feels the same all over.

“It’s an old building, from before the Fall,” she says.

Excitement bubbles through me. “Really? An actual pre-Fall building? Our teacher, Bream, talked about them. Is this one as high as the sun?”

Kadee laughs. “No, but it’s taller than our homes. There are other buildings here, too. This was a village once, like ours, but larger. When the people arrived in Koolkuna, it was already abandoned—except for the runa. Come in, but watch yourself, the building is old. It does its best to crumble while we’re not looking.”

I immediately notice the smell as I step inside. It’s dusty and dank, and makes my nose itch. There’s an intriguing odor, like the rows of pouches and pots on the shelves in Nerang’s room in the trees. The building is dark, but not pitch black, and the floors are firmer than wood. Something in here absorbs the sound. I stretch out my arm, feeling for anything recognizable.

“What is this place?” I ask.

Kadee places something in my hand. It’s rectangular, flat, and smooth—like a piece of sanded wood—but softer, with some weight to it. I explore it with my fingers. The top pulls up, revealing another smooth, featureless surface underneath. And there are more beneath that one. When I move my fingers across their edges, it sounds like a bird fluttering, stretching out its wings to fly.

“What is this?”

“A book. These are called pages.” She crinkles one under my fingers. “It has the little markings I told you about. They’re called letters. When you know how to read the letters, the pages tell you the stories. This one’s called Viennese Silver: Modern Design 1780–1918. It has pictures, but not all books do.”

“Viennese silver? What’s that?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t read this one. The room is full of books and I’ve only read a fraction of them. Here, feel this stack.” She guides my hand to more of the books, piled on top of each other. “There are hundreds like it.” I take a few steps forward, moving my hand from place to place, and everywhere I find more piles.

“How did you learn to–” I yelp. A book fell on my foot. A hefty one, judging from the throbbing in my toes.

“How did I learn to read them?” Kadee guesses, after checking to see if I was okay. “Do you remember Wirrim told you about the woman who explained the significance of the Myuna to us? She arrived weak and sick, like you and Peree, only she wasn’t so young as you. She stayed for some time recuperating.”

“Wirrim said she came from the City?”

“Yes, or what was left of the City after the Fall. Her people survived by hiding in small groups, mostly underground. It was very difficult. There were more runa in the City—many more, and it was hard to hide from them—but there were also more survivors. They helped each other. The woman called this a library. People came here to read books for knowledge, and to entertain themselves. Her people remembered and passed down the ability to read, and she taught Wirrim while she was here. When he saw my interest, Wirrim taught me.”

I’m fascinated. Until a few days ago I didn’t know there was a way to live other than how we did. To find Koolkuna, with people like ours, yet so unlike them too, and now to hear about other survivors from the City . . . it’s like one of Peree’s stories. Too fantastical to be true.

Kadee continues, “Reading has been my love and my duty ever since, along with working in the gardens. I read as much as I can about the world before the Fall, the world this building was once a part of. And when Wirrim goes on, I’ll become the Memory Keeper for the people.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” I try to hide it, but I’m surprised. While Wirrim doesn’t seem to be a leader in the way the Three are, he’s obviously a well-respected member of the community, sought after for his opinion. For the anuna to allow a lorinya not only to stay, but to inherit a position of honor, only highlights how different Koolkuna is from home.

Kadee wanders through the room. “The first book I ever read on my own was a collection of simple children’s tales called Animal Fables and Stories from Around the World. I heard Wirrim tell the people stories from it when I was first here, then I told them to Peree." I smile. So that's where the stories about tigers, the cassowary woman, and the first fish came from. "I’m using the book now to teach Kora and a few of the other children to read. Some of their parents don’t see the need, but they humor me.”

I set down the book about modern silver, whatever that is, and trail my hand along the piles. The dust makes them feel like they're coated in flour.

“Come over here, there’s something else I want to show you,” Kadee says. I make my way, cautiously this time, around the stacks to where she stands. She hands me an open book. “Feel this one.”

I run my fingertips across the surface of the page. “It’s bumpy.”

“I found it a while ago, and remembered it when I met you. It’s a book for the Sightless. You read it by feeling the raised dots. There are others like it.”

I can almost feel a pattern to the raised portions of the page. Recurring patterns, although I have no idea what they might mean. A meaning just beyond my touch that unlocks a world of stories. “I want to learn,” I whisper.

“Maybe you can.”

“How?”

“You create your destiny, remember?”

I think about everything that’s happened since I became the Water Bearer. Not so far, I don’t.

We wander through the piles a few minutes more, as Kadee tells me about books she’s read and others she wants to. I like this peaceful, disorderly place with its musty smell. I’ll miss it when I leave, like so many other things about Koolkuna.



I find Peree at the allawah deep in debate with Konol. Nerang introduced them earlier in the day, and from the sound of it, they spent most of the day arguing about the advantages and disadvantages of bows versus spears for hunting on the ground. Konol’s voice is loud and his speech is fiery, nothing like his father’s, but I like him.

Peree tells me they still need more meat for the feast. He’s going out with a few of the hunters. And Kai’s going with them.

“What about your leg?” I ask, keeping my voice low. I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his new friend.

He picks a bit of dried dough out of my hair. “My warden okayed it. Anyway I’ve got to start testing it sometime, and we won’t go far. We’ll camp tonight, and hunt at first light.”

Although I’m not thrilled to hear that Kai’s part of the hunt, I’m relieved Peree’s going. I don’t think I can survive another night as tense as a bowstring, pretending to sleep.

I’ve never slept alone. I don’t relish the silence of Peree’s empty shelter, so I spend the night at Kadee’s. She lights a cheery fire, and reads to Kora and me from Animal Fables and Legends. I dream of chimerical talking animals.



The next day the village hums with activity, as the people get ready for the Feast of Deliverance. I help Arika, Kora, and some others repair woven baskets to carry food in. They tell me about the feast as we work. It's held by the water hole. Offerings are made to the runa to start. Wirrim and Kadee tell the story of the people, and all the babies born over the past year are blessed. Then the feasting and dancing begins. “And it may not end,” Arika adds, laughing.

The people tell stories from past feasts—like how one man drank so much plum wine he passed out stuck in the mud around the water hole and had to be pulled out the next morning. Or the time some of the children accidentally set fire to the feast table and charred a week’s worth of food. Their laughter is infectious. I’m as excited as anyone in Koolkuna by the time I bathe and change into one of Kadee’s freshly laundered dresses.

Peree returned in early afternoon. As I passed through the clearing on an errand for Arika, I found him giving Kai an archery lesson. They were teasing each other and laughing, like before. Having fun. Kai slipped away again, barely taking the time to greet me. I really don’t think I like that girl, I thought to myself. Peree and I talked briefly, then he left to help Konol prepare the clutch of rabbits and several possums they shot. He sounded tired but content, more like himself.

I feel more like myself, too, as Kadee and I follow the path to the water hole, carrying baskets stuffed with fresh bread and newly harvested vegetables from the garden. Kora skips beside me, and before I know it, I’m skipping, too.

“Finally!” she crows. We skip madly, until we collapse in a giggling pile of arms, legs, and stray lettuce leaves.

We arrive at the water hole, and I help Arika prepare food for the sick ones. Feeding the Scourge is still such a bizarre idea, not to mention that in Koolkuna they make them part of the celebration. Nerang finds me as I work, and asks if I’d like to have a chat. We stroll along the edge of the water, toward the waterfall, and sit on a downed tree trunk.

He sighs. “Ah, it’s good for an old man to rest after being on his feet all day.”

I shake my head and smile. “You make it sound like you have one foot in the grave, but you never even seem to sleep. How old are you, anyway?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. But complaining about my infirmity prompts regular dinner invitations from the widows.”

“Nerang! You’re terrible!”

He’s unapologetic. “I never learned to cook. I have to beg for my meals.”

“I doubt Konol lets you go hungry.”

“He is a good son, if a bit reckless at times. He and Myall appear to have much in common.”

Wild boy. I snort. “Peree seemed happier today after hunting with Konol.” And Kai.

“He is improving quickly, but he’s too thin and easily winded. He tries to hide it, but I think his wound continues to cause him pain. Still, I doubt I’ll be able to keep him here for long once you leave.” He mutters about pigheadedness. “It will be quieter, when you go. Your presence in the village caused quite a stir.”

“I appreciate all that the anuna—and especially you—have done for us. I’m sorry if we created any problems by being here.”

He pats my arm. “Causing a stir doesn’t necessarily equate to a problem. The presence of lorinyas over the years has not always been easy, but we learn from the experience. We learn more about the world beyond Koolkuna, and about ourselves, reflected in the gaze of an outsider. Tell me, what do you think of us?”

I think for a moment, then answer honestly. “I think you’re people who live peacefully with each other, who welcome strangers, who care for the creatures that could be their worst enemies. You embrace kindness and cooperation. Koolkuna is what I’d like my community to become.”

Nerang chuckles. “We hide our blemishes well, then. It’s not always as idyllic as you give us credit for, but we do strive for peace and kindness.”

“Have you had any brilliant ideas about how to convince my people the water is poisoned?” I ask hopefully.

“Without the Myuna to clear their minds, it will be difficult. Even if they trust you, their fear of the runa will be strong. You can’t bring the Myuna to them, so perhaps the only solution is to bring them to the Myuna.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke to the anuna. You may bring your people here to take the waters. Those who wish to may stay. The same offer will be extended to Kadee and Myall’s people.”

“But there are so many of us. And I know you’re worried about a drought.”

“We’ve always been provided for,” Nerang says. “There’s no reason to think we won’t be now.”

“It’s too much to ask. You can’t–”

He quiets me. “We’ve enjoyed good fortune. We would like to share it with others.”

I’m humbled by the generosity of the offer. It’s everything I’d been hoping for, but didn’t dare admit. To know my family and people are safe, and not under the influence of the poison, to not have to hide in the caves, to choose to live on the ground or in the trees—it’s a stunning vision.

Would the Three even consider it? I think about it. They would have to be persuaded to allow me to lead everyone through days in the dark caves, culminating with a suicidal swim. All to convince them that the reality they’ve always known isn’t real. It’s ludicrous.

I shake my head. “They’ll never do it.”

Nerang is quiet for a moment. “Did you not walk among the creatures, trusting the assurances of your people that you would be safe?”

“That was different.”

“Why? Don’t discount your authority so easily, young one.”

I fling out my hands. “Young one! That’s my point! I’m not one of the Three, or one of the elders. I’m not even an adult yet. No one will listen to me.”

“They trusted you to collect their water, and to search for the Myuna.”

They didn’t have a choice. “Thank you, Nerang, truly. I’ll present your offer to my people. But I don’t even know how I’m going to get home yet.” I gesture to the plummeting waterfall. “Is there another way into the Dark Place? I don’t think I can get in the way I got out.”

“Kadee knows the way through the forest. She agreed to guide you.”

“Really? She’s willing to go back?” I ask.

“It surprised me as well.”

While we talked, the last of the light faded from the sky, and was replaced only by the brighter, more focused glow of the bonfire. A babble of voices was audible over the waterfall before, but now I only hear two.

“Well,” Nerang says, standing, “we’ve successfully avoided the last of the preparations for the Feast. Shall we return and enjoy the fruits of their labor?”

“You really are terrible, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m hungry.” He takes my arm, and his voice is abruptly serious again. “Be cautious when you return home, young one. Change can be frightening, and fear makes people dangerous.”

We walk back along the edge of the water hole, and the two voices grow clearer. Wirrim and Kadee are telling a longer, more detailed version of the story of Koolkuna that I heard when I arrived. We stand at the perimeter of the circle of light and listen.

“Where were you?” Peree whispers in my ear, startling me.

“Talking with Nerang,” I whisper back. “Did I miss the offering?”

“Yeah. Lucky you.” He pauses. “I don’t know, feeding the Scourge. It’s disturbing.”

“I know.”

“You missed the blessing of the children, too,” he says. “They call them gurus, or something. It was strange, sort of the opposite of the Exchange.” One more difference between here and home.

I have renewed admiration for Wirrim and Kadee’s gifts as they tell the story of the early days of Koolkuna. I can feel the terror of the anuna as they escape the City and make the dangerous journey to their ancestral home, their fear slowly changing to relief as they realize what they’ve found in the Myuna: refuge, salvation, deliverance.

Peree slides his arm around my waist. Standing in the glow of the fire, with the soothing flow of the waterfall, surrounded by people who accept me despite my being a lorinya, and held by someone who cares for me, I feel secure. Not a common feeling for any Groundling. I want this for Calli, for Eland, for all my people.

Wirrim blesses the Feast, and a few moments later the music starts. The instruments and rhythms sound similar, but not quite the same as our own. All around us people begin to pair up.

Peree takes my hand. When he speaks, his voice is formal. “Fennel, would you like to dance?”

I smirk, and lower my voice, trying to imitate his melodic voice. “Groundlings and Lofties don’t dance together.”

“Why not?”

“Tradition, I guess.”

He pulls me close, his hands spread against my back, and he whispers in my ear. “To hell with tradition.”

Then he kisses me. A brief touch of his lips against mine, but enough to send lightning bolts streaking across my body. Before I can react, he spins me around and we’re off. I didn’t know the Lofties danced much, up in the tops of the greenhearts, but Peree clearly learned somewhere.

I can’t stop grinning. I finally got my dance.