The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,33
assistance?”
“Yes, please.”
As I would with Eland, I automatically slide my hand up to grip his arm more securely in case I stumble. He tenses. Embarrassed, I keep my hand still. He guides me in silence into the next passage, then walks away.
I grope around in my pack for the pouch of crampberries and pull it out. Holding my breath, I crush a few and rub them on the stony wall to mark the entrance.
Peree makes a gagging noise. “What’s that smell?”
“Crampberries,” I say. “I thought I’d use them to mark my route.”
“Good idea,” he says, his voice returning to the flatness I already despise. “Ready to go?”
I slide my fingers along the rock as we walk, missing the warmth of his skin.
“So what’s your plan for finding the Waters?” he asks.
“I’m not sure it’s a plan, exactly. I thought I’d go farther into the caves than I have before, listening for water.”
“You’re right, that’s not much of a plan.”
“Well, no one else had a better one. No one else even volunteered. At least, no one the Three were willing to part with. So it’s just me.”
“Us,” he amends quietly.
We spend the next several hours moving through passages that lead to caverns, smaller caves, and ever more passages, trailing foul-smelling crampberries behind us. We stop for a few minutes to rest and eat. Then Peree puts his torch out to save the light for when we reach parts of the caves I’m unfamiliar with. I have a good idea where I’m going for now. I’ve explored the passages off our main cave many times, although never beyond a day’s walk. But Peree stumbles often in the dark, so I keep our pace slow. We walk mostly in silence. Lulled by the quiet, I jump when he suddenly swears.
“How do you stand this? The dark, and the quiet? Talk to me, will you? I can’t listen to my own thoughts another minute.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.
“Anything, as long as I can hear your voice.”
“Can I ask you questions? About your life?” I don’t wait for him to say no. “What do you do when the Scourge isn’t here? Like, I work in the caves. What’s your duty?”
When he speaks again, he sounds closer to normal than he has all day. “I’m a lookout. I walk the perimeter and watch for signs of the flesh-eaters. I also do a little trapping and hunting while I’m out, and I look for parts of the walkways that need repair. I fix them myself if I can, but sometimes a woodworker’s needed, so my cousin Petrel comes with me.”
“You have a cousin?” Peree’s never mentioned family other than his parents before.
“Cousin, and best friend."
“He’s your age?”
“Two years older. He partnered last year. Moonlight finally realized he wasn’t joking every time he told her he worshipped her. She’s expecting now.”
“Moonlight?” I try—too late—not to snicker.
“Yes, Fennel.”
“I’m sorry, but it sounds strange to me.”
“Your names sound strange to us too.”
I shrug. “They’re having a baby? When?”
“Late fall. Petrel’s thrilled.”
“I wouldn’t be,” I say, thinking of Rose. I crush more berries as we enter a new passage.
“Why? You’re good with children.”
I stop mid-smear. “How do you know?” I can’t think of a time we even talked about children.
“I just think you would be. Why don’t you want them?”
I wipe the remains of the berries from my hand along the wall. “It’s not that I don’t want them, so much as I don’t want to go through the Exchange.” I’ve listened to the sobs of too many mothers night after night for months—years—after having to give up their babies to the Lofties at the Winter Solstice. Why would I put myself through that? “But plenty of people still seem willing to take their chances, so I don’t think the community will miss having one less mother. Do you want children?”
“I don’t know, I think so.”
“Are you intended?” I blurt the question, but now I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“No.”
I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Then I almost choke when I hear what he says next.
“She’s too young. We don’t partner until the girl is at least eighteen.” Suddenly I don’t want to know any more about Peree’s love life.
We enter a new cave that sits along the fuzzy edge of the map in my head. The churning of my stomach tells me it’s almost dinnertime, and my throbbing shoulders and legs insist it’s time to stop for the day.