The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,10

Sightlessness. It’s all part of the same curse.

I think about this as he sleeps beside me, and I wonder how I’ll survive the day.

Chapter Three

I tremble as I approach the mouth of the cave. Invisible hands—rotting, diseased, and smelling of death—clench my throat. I stroke the velvety rabbit’s foot in my pocket to calm myself, and step out into the sun.

Birds call from high in the treetops, and the wind plays with my hair, but otherwise it’s quiet. I take a few tentative steps toward the tree line, hoping Peree is waiting.

“Fenn.”

The compression in my chest loosens a little when I hear his voice. “Where are they? Are they gone?”

“No. You’d better start moving toward the clearing.”

I stand still, struggling with my cowardice. He’s right. I might as well get as far along as I can before they find me—I have to make at least two trips with the sled today—but I still don’t move. I don’t want to admit how much I was hoping the flesh-eaters had gone overnight. And I don’t want to admit how happy I am Peree’s here with me again.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry. I wish–”

“What?” What does a Lofty wish for?

Branches snap in the forest in front of me as something hurtles through the underbrush. Many somethings. I start trembling again.

“I wish the damn things would go burn in whatever hell they came from,” he says, as the creatures explode out of the trees. “Don’t move.”

Bodies fall all around me, pierced by Peree's arrows. I try to block out the sickening smell, and the hideous screams, while a detached part of my mind admires the swiftness of his archery. The arrows don’t seem to let up, as if he’s found a way to loose them without the use of his bow. I picture them shooting from his mouth, the way we spit watermelon seeds in the summer, and a hysterical giggle escapes me.

“Okay, I cleared a little space. You can go now,” he calls. “Watch it, though. There are a few of them on the ground to your right, and one behind you . . . are you laughing?” I tell him what I pictured, and he chuckles. “Speaking of spitting, have you ever heard of a camel?”

“Another strange beast?” I move forward, my hands outstretched to find the familiar tree trunks along the path to the clearing. I dread finding something else, like the dripping flesh of the creatures. “What color are these?”

“Nothing like tigers. Camels were supposed to be a light brown, same as the sands of the deserts where they lived.”

“Deserts?”

“Hot, sandy places with no trees or grasses, and little water.”

“Sounds idyllic,” I say sarcastically. “But maybe no water means no Scourge?”

“Then again, no water means nothing to drink, and nothing to water crops with.”

I raise an eyebrow. What would a Lofty know about watering crops? It’s not like they’ve ever tried—

A scream rips the air beside me. I slap my hands over my ears. A second later there’s a muffled thump. I shiver and move forward again, into the clearing.

“Camels,” Peree continues, “were odd looking, with parts from many different animals, like the ears of a mouse, the coat of a sheep, and the nose of a rabbit.”

“Sheep?” Mice and rabbits abound in the woods, thanks to being small and easily hidden from the flesh-eaters, but I have no idea what a sheep is.

“Sheep . . . are a story for another day. Camels were interesting animals. They stored nutrients in great humps on their backs to use when food was scarce, and they could go a long time without fresh water.”

“And the spitting?” An arrow parts the air in front of my face, and I jerk back. “Remember, no water for anyone if you kill me,” I joke weakly.

“Sorry, I was demonstrating the purpose of camel spit. It was a warning, like my arrows, for others to back off. Although it wasn’t spit so much as, well, stomach contents.” He sounds like he might regret having brought it up.

“Humped backs and projectile vomiting? Lovely.” I reach the far side of the clearing, behind Calli’s shelter, and walk to the beginning of the sled track. The creatures follow, of course. “Did your mother tell you about these . . . what are they called again?”

“Camels.”

“How did she know so much about animals?”

“She knew a lot about a lot of things, but she never said how she learned it all. I think my father knew, but he’s never told me