The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,16

for me. But the real reason I disobeyed was that I disagreed with the Three’s decision to cut off the Lofties’ water. I don’t know how those sacks of water ended up being less than full, but I don’t believe the Lofties had anything to do with it. I’m not going to condemn them to thirst for something they didn’t do, whatever the Council says.

I lie with one arm pillowing my head, and listen to the people settle in for the night. I wonder what Peree’s doing, if he’s sleeping. I wonder about his family, if he has many friends, if he’s already partnered, or intended for someone. I didn’t think of that possibility when I asked him to dance at the Summer Solstice. I asked on a whim. What would it have felt like to have his bow-callused hands on my waist, leading me around the fire?

I frown. Dancing, and particularly dancing with a Lofty, isn’t on the agenda now or anytime soon. Surviving the Three is, and so is getting through another day of the Scourge. The creatures should be leaving soon. Unless they don’t. The unpredictability of their behavior is what makes staying in the caves so frustrating—we have no control. The darkness and deprivation is difficult, and each day that passes creates a greater strain on the people. Not to mention on our stores of food and supplies.

I hear footsteps, and the quiet tapping of a cane. Aloe.

“Fennel,” she says, and I know she knows of my deceit. I don’t even pretend to be asleep. “Come with me. Now.”

I rise and follow the sound of her stick, trying to avoid the small groups of sleeping people. I’m nervous, but resigned. I made a decision. I’ll have to live with the consequences.

Aloe doesn’t speak as she leads me into one of the passages off the main cave. It’s even darker here, and colder. I’m wrapped in an extra blanket from the storeroom, and I burrow into it, my hands trembling. I sense the low-but-concentrated light of a torch ahead. Whispering voices fall silent as we approach.

“Fennel, did you give your Keeper our message?” Sable asks. He sounds as unfazed as always, but there’s an unexpected note in his voice, like stepping into what you think is lukewarm water and finding it’s chilled.

I take a deep breath. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t sure I’d filled those sacks to the top. I didn’t think it was fair to accuse the Lofties of stealing the water, when it might have been my mistake.”

“So you deliberately disobeyed our orders?” Adder almost hisses. I think it’s fairly clear that’s the situation, so I don’t answer. “How much water did you give them?”

“What they asked for—two sacks,” I say.

They all gasp. “Two? Two sacks?” Aloe says. “When you only brought one to us?”

I hadn’t thought about how that would sound. “I was following the rest of your orders, to bring one sack back with me–”

“You bring more water to the Lofties than to your own people?” Adder says. “Are the flesh-eaters affecting your mind?”

“No!” My shout rockets back and forth across the narrow passageway. Adder touched a nerve. The Scourge has been known to drive people mad from seconds of exposure, and I’ve had more than my fair share of intimate contact with the creatures in the last few days.

“Why did you act against our wishes?” Aloe asks.

I think of telling them about Peree’s gift to me. I want to explain how much that swim meant, how it helped return me to myself, so I could do my duty for my people. But if the Lofties hear about it, Peree could be punished. He might be replaced as my Keeper. And I’m not sure I’m ready to admit, even to myself, how much I already rely on him being in those trees.

I reach for Aloe's hand, but I can’t find it. I turn my palm up in a gesture of pleading. “I did what I thought was right.”

There’s a sound behind me, in the tunnel.

“Who’s there?” Sable calls. Footsteps shuffle away.

“Stop!” Adder demands, moving toward the sound. There’s a short scuffle, then two sets of footsteps come back.

“What’s this about?” Sable asks.

“I thought she knew something about when they were leaving,” a familiar wheedling voice says.

It’s Thistle, a middle-aged woman who helps with the washing and repairing of the community’s clothing. She isn’t well suited for laundering—she’s known to be careless and prone to laziness—but she enjoys her duties. The constant stream of people dropping

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