The Scourge (A.G. Henley)

CHAPTER Seventeen



Later, we escape the noise and the warm crush of twirling bodies. I barely had a break, dancing with Peree, Kora and Bega, even Konol and Nerang. My head spins a little from the wine, but otherwise I’m euphoric, holding Peree’s hand as he guides me out of the crowd.

“Take a walk with me?” he asks, when we reach the cooler air close to the water. I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s not to sleep. I don’t want the night to end. He whistles to the music as we stroll through the trees that surround the water hole. After passing a few other couples seeking solitude in the darkness, we’re alone.

“Nerang’s quite the dancer,” Peree says. “He’s full of surprises, isn’t he?”

I laugh, thinking about how he gets his meals. “Yeah, he is.”

“So what did you two talk about for so long?”

I hesitate. I don't want to ruin the mood. “Tomorrow.”

“What’s the plan?” he asks casually.

I fill him in on my conversation with Nerang. His offer surprises Peree, too, but the news that Kadee will take me back doesn’t.

“I asked her to be your guide,” he says.

“You did?”

“What did you think, that I’d let you go by yourself? Wandering through the caves or the forest all alone, when she knows exactly how to get there? What kind of Keeper do you think I am?”

“A devious one.”

“Well, you’re still going to have a tough job once you get there. Koolkuna will be about as real to our people as camels and cassowaries. But Nerang’s offer is generous.”

We amble down the path to the village, our hands still linked.

“Dark out here,” Peree says. He pulls me to a stop. “Wait, I want to try something.”

“What?”

“I want to feel what it’s like to be Sightless.”

“Close your eyes and you pretty much have it,” I joke.

“No, really. I’m going to walk for a while without looking where I’m going.”

“But you can open your eyes any time. That makes it different.”

“I promise I won’t for at least thirty paces. Would that be more real?”

Nope, I think. But I don’t say it out loud. I’m touched that he’s trying to empathize.

“Okay, here goes,” he says. I hear him limp away several paces, already veering off the path. “Ugh, reminds me of being in the caves.”

“Be careful. Your leg–”

Sure enough, he stumbles over something, cursing. Well, he wanted to know what being Sightless feels like. Injuries go with the territory. I go to him, but he shrugs me off.

“Hang on, I still have twenty-four more paces to go.”

“I think you got the idea.”

He’s already walking again, straying even farther away from the path. A bruised shin, scraped hands, and two more heartfelt curses later, he returns, grumbling. We skirt the village, heading in the direction of the little clearing where he found me the other day.

“Well, what did you think?” I ask, trying not to sound amused.

“I think I wouldn’t last long if I was Sightless. Do you ever wish you could see?”

His question surprises me. “Of course, all the time, but it’s sort of pointless. Like wishing to be taller, or to have blonde hair, or to be able to fly. Why do you ask?”

“You almost never want to know what things look like, so I wasn’t sure.”

“I can’t always picture it when someone describes something, even if I can touch or hear it too. It’s like tasting something when you aren’t sure what it is, and no one can confirm that you’re eating what you think you’re eating.”

Peree laughs. “I know what that’s like. Shrike’s cooking leaves a lot to be desired.”

When we reach the clearing, I sit in the grass at the base of the rock and pull my legs into my chest. A warm, dry breeze blows the stray hairs around my face. The nearby stream gurgles like a contented baby.

“I guess I don’t like to ask what things look like. It feels weak,” I say.

“What’s wrong with being weak sometimes?”

“Grow up with Aloe, and you’ll know. She’s a rock. I only remember her crying once, when my foster father died. I was young; Eland was a baby. I didn’t know what to do to comfort her.” I smooth my dress over my knees. “I wish she’d open up to me more.”

“Yeah . . . I know the feeling.”

I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Open. Not a word I’d use to describe you, either.”

“What word would you use?”

“I have a few.”

“Like what?”

“Like stubborn.”

I straighten up, my hair flying around me. “Stubborn? That’s my word for you. You can’t take it.”

He scoffs. “You don’t think you’re stubborn? We wouldn’t be out here, days away from home, if you didn’t insist on finding the Hidden Waters yourself.”

“Who insisted on coming with me? And who insisted we keep going despite a life-threatening injury? And who insisted he get up and walk against the healer’s advice? You’re stubborn,” I say.

“Unusually, annoyingly responsible–”

“Grumpy, ungrateful–” I’m about to say something about how two-year-old Groundling children swim better than him, but his next word stops me.

“Beautiful.” He slides my hair back over my shoulder. “Especially in the morning sun, or by firelight, when the red in your hair heats up like burning embers.”

“And what about my dirty eyes?” The words pop out before I can stop them.

His hand rests on my shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing,” I mumble, mentally banging my head against the rock behind me. “Something you said when you were describing our water hole.”

“I wasn’t talking about your eyes. I’d never describe them as dirty. Muddy maybe–”

I choke. “First I’m slimy or scaly or whatever, and now I’m muddy? You have a way with compliments, don’t you?”

“I said you were strong, competent, and beautiful. Can I help it if that’s not what you heard?”

“Now I don’t listen?” I try to look offended.

“Wow, Fenn, you’re hard work. Just . . . shut up for a few minutes. Please. I have a story to tell you.”

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood,” I tease.

“And I’m stubborn and grumpy? Listen, I really want you to hear this one.”

I settle back against the rock. “All right, I’m listening.”

“So, there once was a boy who lived in the forest, high up in the trees. He was devilishly handsome, damn good with a bow and arrow, and better-than-average at storytelling.” I groan, and he shushes me. “Okay, okay, he was an amazing storyteller—satisfied? So, this boy. He was pretty happy at first, but as he got older, he was lonely. He found himself watching the ground, and not for prey. He was watching a girl. Every day he watched her, hoping he’d have the chance to meet her.” He pauses. “I know the boy sounds kind of creepy, but really he’s not.”

“Oh no, of course not.”

“Anyway, one day the boy got lucky. He met the girl, and talked to her. Not only was she beautiful, but she was brave and kind, and yes, a lot like a lizard.” I smack his arm. “When he had the chance to go on a long journey with her, he didn’t hesitate. But then she dragged him through ominous, pitch-black caves, made him battle wild animals and frostbite, and almost drowned him in a raging river, before they washed up on the shores of a magical village, where an evil old man first tried to suffocate the boy with incense before he finally relented–”

“Peree! That is so unfair!”

“Anyway, the boy recovered, mostly, and together he and the girl learned many strange and wonderful things about the village. And every day the boy spent with the girl, he saw how she was even more incredible than he first thought. He realized she was the most incredible girl he’d ever known, or ever would know.”

My heart thrums and heat spreads through my body. I’m giddy from the wine, the dancing, and the turn our conversation is taking.

“The problem is,” he says, “I don’t know how this story ends. The girl has to go back home to the forest, and the boy can’t go with her. And she has obligations at home, to her family, and her friends, and maybe even to another boy. And to make matters worse for our hero, even if he’s really, really lucky and the girl feels the same way about him, he’s not sure how they can stay together, because their people aren’t exactly friendly. But the boy wants to stay with the girl, very much.”

“Peree, I–”

He presses his lips to mine, softly, then again, his sweet scent clouding my head even more. Whatever I was going to say drifts away like a dream upon waking. “You don’t have to answer now. I know you can’t make any promises. But I want you to know what I want. And that’s you.” He traces my collarbone with his fingers. “You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing when I go to sleep. You’re my sun and moon and stars, my past and present—and I hope you’ll be my future.”

He kisses me then, a real kiss this time—slow, soft, searching—a kiss that asks questions, but without words. His lips are on my lips, his hands on my skin; his body presses mine down into the grass. His freshly shaved cheeks and chin are soft and smooth. I weave my hands through his hair, and pull him closer. To touch someone—him—so freely, calls tears to my eyes.

His voice is hoarse as he murmurs in my ear. “So take that with you tomorrow as you travel home. Know that I love you, and I want you, and I want you to choose me.” His lips move against my ear like the wings of a moth. I shiver under him. “No pressure.”

I laugh, but his hands and lips and tongue make me forget what I thought was so funny.



We wake early the next morning, our arms and legs jumbled like an unruly ball of thread. I kiss him, and whisper good morning.

“Was it a good night, too?” His voice has that rough edge of disuse that makes my blood dive headlong through my veins. I press my lips to his again in answer. He rolls on top of me, pinning me, and I wrap my legs around him. A little later, he flops onto his back, groaning.

“You can’t leave today,” he says. “I’m going to be in a very bad mood every minute of every day until I can follow you.”

“Nerang will be happy to hear that.” I sit up, and try to smooth my frenzied hair. “If it’s any consolation, no matter what I find at home, I’ll be miserable, too. I’ll miss you.” I frown, realizing that even when he comes back to the forest I’ll still be missing him, separated as we’ll be by the trees. “Peree, about what you said last night, what you told me–”

“Don’t say anything now. Maybe it doesn’t make much sense, but if you want me, too—I mean more than using me for one night–” he laughs at my protests and goes on, “I want to know it’s without any strings attached. I need to know you’re mine alone and nothing can keep us apart. And you can’t honestly tell me that right now. Not without going home first.”

He’s right, I can’t. I reach for his hand, a large lump in my throat. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He kisses me lightly. “Bad luck, I guess.”

We walk back to the shelter with our hands locked together, the sun patting our backs. He helps me pack my bag with my few belongings for the trip home. Home. I’ll be with Aloe and Eland again by the end of the day. They must have given up on me by now, unless Shrike told Aloe about the possibility of Koolkuna. I hope he did.

“I have something for you,” Peree says. He places a heavy object wrapped in cloth in my hand. A knife.

“Um . . . thanks. Is there some reason you think I’ll need this?” I ask.

“You never know.”

“Don’t you need it?”

“I can borrow one from Konol.”

I take it reluctantly. The overwhelming longing to stay—in Koolkuna, in safety, in Peree’s warm arms—threatens to overcome me again. I swallow hard and run my thumb along the blunt edge of the knife.

“Here, I have something else for you.” He walks behind me and puts something around my neck. I feel the weight of the little carved bird against my chest before my fingers confirm that’s what it is. The cord feels strange against my neck. I’ve never worn a necklace before, except the daisy chains Calli and I used to make when we were little.

“Show the bird to Shrike,” he says. “Tell him I trust you.”

“Come home soon and tell him yourself.”

“I will.”

I put my arms around him. “Promise?”

He kisses me one last time. A solid, upfront kind of kiss. “I promise.”



The sun is too hot as Kadee and I press through the thick forest. Insects hum, but I don’t hear a single bird. They must be holed up out of the heat, like any reasonable creatures would be. Sweat spreads under my pack, making my dress itchy and uncomfortable. I’m grateful for the shade of the trees. The heat would be unbearable without it.

We’re following the curve of the mountain ridge that contains the cave system. Kadee says if we keep it on our right, we’ll eventually get to our part of the forest. We’ve already been tramping for hours through the gnarled underbrush. I was holding her arm at first, but now the trees are too dense to walk side by side, so I walk behind her. She tries to warn me of obstacles on the ground like stumps and fallen branches, but there are too many. I’ve tripped several times and bounced off more than one tree. Vegetation yanks my hair and tries to snag my pack. I moved Peree’s knife from my pack to my pocket, to cut away the vines and brambles.

Kadee’s been quiet since we said our good-byes to the small party who saw us off from Koolkuna. Nerang gave me a small pouch of medicinal herbs for treating bruises and scrapes. “You’ll need these, I think,” he said cheerfully as he handed them over. Peree’s right—the man can be exasperatingly smug sometimes.

Peree promised to follow quickly, and Konol joked that he’d carry him back to get rid of him if he had to. A scuffle ensued, a sure sign of male friendship. Kora sniffled as she and Bega hugged me good-bye. I said I’d be with them again soon. I hope I told the truth.

Peree’s knife in my pocket and the bird nestled against my chest are the only physical reminders I carry of him. But I have memories, and the best of them were from last night: dancing and laughing with our friends, then kissing him in the long grass of the moonless clearing. I try not to think about how it could be like that every day—in Koolkuna.

I push a branch out of my way. It slips out of my hand and grazes the side of my face. Kadee checks on me, and I assure her I’m fine for the forty-second time today. An insect buzzes closer to investigate my stinging cheek; I must be bleeding.

Soon after we started out, I asked Kadee how she was feeling about going home.

“Nervous, excited, worried. Mostly nervous, I think,” she said.

“What made you decide to go back now?” I’d been wondering about her reasons since Nerang told me she would take me home.

“Other than that you needed a guide?” she said. “When I was younger, people thought my lack of fear of the Scourge was courage. They thought I was brave, and I let them believe it. But I’m not. Not in the ways that count. I knew it was wrong to run away from my family that night, but I didn’t have the nerve to tell my people what I saw and accept the consequences. I didn’t have the strength to brave Shrike’s anger, or to stay with my son who needed me. I think I do now. I’m hoping I can make amends and return to Koolkuna free of the guilt I’ve held close to me for years.”

I think about that as we walk. Do I have the courage now to tell my people what I know about the Scourge, and about Koolkuna? Or will I be like Kadee, and shy away from their anger and fear?

Kadee suggests we take a break. I hunt around for a little shade and dump my pack on the ground, then pull out one of my water sacks. We’re each carrying two, enough for a day of walking. After that, we should be home—and drinking the poisoned water again. I wonder how long it will take for the poison to convince me the sick ones are the Scourge again. Will I gradually slip into the madness, or will I wake up with it one morning?

“Are you hungry?” Kadee asks. “Nerang gave me some treats. He dries berries the children collect, pounds them flat, then rolls them into sticks.”

“I didn’t know he could make anything, he told me he hits up all the widows for dinner!”

“Well, it’s no fun cooking for one. I should know. Here, try one.”

I take a bite. It’s sticky, seedy—and tasty. “He’s been holding out on me.”

Kadee laughs, and tells me of other people’s hidden talents. Amarina, a woman we worked with in the garden with a high, thin voice like birdsong, can coax a fire from a soggy pile of rotting wood. Derain, Kora’s father, has a knack for soothing crying babies. Sleep-deprived mothers at their wits’ end often call on him in the middle of the night.

“Who knew?” I laugh.

“We all have secrets,” she says, and I can tell she means something more than being good with fires or babies. The chorus of insects breaks off, as if to hear what she’ll say next. I wait, too, giving her time, while something slithers forebodingly through my gut. “You know Peree came to Shrike and me in the Exchange, don’t you? He was such a beautiful baby, strong-willed but smiley, with sparkling green eyes and yellow curls sprouting from his head like forsythia. I thought he might be a new beginning for me: something to care for and love, something to distract me from the misery of not being able to tell anyone what I knew to be true about the Scourge. He was all of that . . . for a time. But as he grew older, I longed for another child. I thought having a baby with Shrike might bring us closer, strengthen our relationship in ways we hadn’t been able to manage ourselves.”

Blood pumps in my head, beating out a warning, and my breath speeds up as if I’m in danger. I can’t make sense of my body’s reaction. It’s like I know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.

“I gave birth to a daughter when Peree was two. She was beautiful, like him, but with a full head of gleaming dark hair and watchful brown eyes. We named her Daybreak—hoping, more than believing, that her hair and eyes would lighten, like the sun brightens the night sky.”

“You had to give her up in the Exchange?” I whisper.

“To my unending guilt and anguish.” Kadee’s voice is pitched low. “Shrike told me her foster parents named her for a sweet, delicate herb. Then we never spoke of her again.”

I gasp, unable to take a full breath. Suddenly light-headed, I grab a handful of dirt and rub it between my hands, trying to keep myself grounded.

“For several years I didn’t know what became of our baby,” she continues. “Then I saw her one day, far below, playing near the gardens. She was spinning in the tall grasses, her hands skimming over the tops of the stalks. It had to be her—the same dark hair, the same fine-boned face. My child. I wanted to climb down and swoop her up, tell her I was her mother, and that I loved her. Then, I’ll never forget, her foster mother came, calling her name. My daughter touched the woman’s face, searching it, feeling her smile . . . and I realized she couldn’t see. Somehow, my child had lost her sight.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“I was devastated. I couldn’t understand how my perfect, healthy baby became Sightless. Was it an illness? An accident? I went to our Council. I asked them to tell me the truth. And nothing was the same for me after that.”

I’m stunned. “I can’t believe it . . . you’re my mother?”

She cups my cheek in her hand. “Yes, love.” She speaks to me gently. “And, unfortunately, there’s more to tell you.”

My head swivels back and forth against her palm, before I realize I’m moving it. “I don’t want to know any more. This is enough. I’ve always wanted to know who my natural mother was, and now I do”

Kadee’s voice is gentle. “You need to know the rest and I need to tell you. Not to be cruel or spiteful, but because I won’t collude with lies anymore. I can’t. You’re almost an adult, and you need to hear this before you return home. You should know what they did to you.”

“What who did?”

“Your people.”

My stomach twists like a wrung-out rag. I feel sick. “What did they do?”

Kadee lays her hands across my eyes, and her voice breaks with a soft sob. “Blinded you. My baby girl. They took your sight.”

“They wouldn’t. Aloe wouldn’t let them.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment. “I’d like to think she didn’t have any part of it. After all, the same thing happened to her.”

“You mean . . . they blinded Aloe, too?”

“Do you think Sightlessness is so common that babies would be born without sight, generation after generation? If so, why aren’t any Lofties Sightless?”

I can barely catch my breath to speak. I’m breathing hard, and bile fills my mouth. “Why? Why would they do that to us?”

Kadee’s words are fissured with grief. “For the good of your community. So you could bear the water when you came of age. And I suppose they thought they were giving the gift of protection from the Scourge.”

“But why me?”

“Because you were a Lofty baby.” Her voice is suddenly hard, her meaning clear. No Groundling would destroy the sight of their own child.

I scramble around the tree and throw up the berry stick and what’s left of my breakfast. I wave Kadee away, but she won’t go. She holds my hair back from my face, rubs my back, and tells me how sorry she is. I stay on my hands and knees, panting and spitting, until my stomach is empty.

After a few minutes I crawl back and collapse against the tree again, my head in my hands. I feel like someone placed a rock on my shoulders that’s forcing me down, down, down into the ground. I don’t know if I can bear up under its weight.

“After I saw what they did to you, the idea of leaving the trees forever took hold of me,” Kadee says. “The Exchange was bad enough, but I couldn’t stay among people that allowed their children to be maimed, even for the good of all.”

I consider her words. What happened to me wasn’t Kadee’s fault any more than any other parent over the years that cooperated with the Exchange. But she could have said something about what she knew. Did Aloe know I would be blinded, and allow it to happen? Or even suspect? I’m not ready to deal with that possibility yet.

“Does Peree know you’re my . . . mother? Does Nerang?”

“Both Peree and Nerang know I had to give up a child, but neither know that child was you. When I saw how you and Peree felt about each other, I thought you might want to be the one to tell him.”

Peree and I aren’t related by blood, but the man and woman who raised him are my natural parents. That’s practically family. I think about telling him that, and my stomach twists again. “And Shrike?” I ask.

“He knows. He may have even asked Aloe to foster you. She wanted a child. I’ve often wondered if you were part of the reason Shrike wouldn’t go to Koolkuna. If he left the forest, he’d have to leave you, too.” She pauses. “Fennel, I’m going back today because I failed as a mother. I failed you when I gave you up in the Exchange, and I failed Peree when I left the trees. It’s time for me to stand up, not only for my children, but for all the children of the forest.”

I told Peree I expect surprises, that I’m used to them, but nothing could prepare me for all of this. Kadee is my mother, Shrike is my father, and Peree is sort of my brother. My people intentionally blinded me, and Aloe fostered me as some kind of favor. I pitch to the side again, retching.

When my stomach empties, tears well up like blood from a wound. I cry for our world, destroyed by people who recklessly believed they could control a deadly poison. I cry for the sick ones, doomed to walk the earth hungry and wretched, shunned as monsters. I cry for our people, who hide in caves or trees because they can’t see the world as it really is. And I cry for myself. Because for no good reason, I can’t see at all.