The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,4
the falcon he’s named for. All the Lofty men are named for birds, while the women have ridiculous names like Sunbeam, Dewdrop, and Mist.
“Though I don’t wish the Scourge to return,” Aloe says from behind me, “they will. It’s good that you’ve met.”
“Congratulations on your acceptance into the Three,” Shrike says. “You’ll serve your community well.”
“Thank you,” she says.
Aloe’s voice is different, gentler, the voice she reserves for Eland. She has a bond with this Lofty. I wonder if I’ll have a similar bond with my rough-handed, soft-voiced Keeper.
“So,” I say to Peregrine, “were you chosen because you’re a good hunter? Aloe says Shrike is deadly, as deadly as she’s ever known a man to be.”
“I can use a bow and arrow.”
“Ha, don’t let him fool you. Peree’s one of our best archers. We’re counting on him tomorrow.” Shrike sounds proud, like he’s talking about his own son. Maybe he is. We don’t know much about the Lofties.
Fox’s voice booms across the clearing. “Come, eat, and let the dancing begin! We have some anxious boys here, waiting to find out if the girls they’ve had their eye on for the past year will dance with them.” The crowd laughs, even a few of the Lofties. People all around the fire begin to talk normally again, and the music starts up. I’m relieved that the collective attention seems to have turned away from me.
I smile politely at my Keeper. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Peregrine, like Aloe said.”
“Call me Peree. Everyone does.”
I nod. “My friends call me Fenn.”
The music starts up. I should go. Bear, or someone else, may be waiting to dance with me. Whether I want to or not. I turn away . . . and a mad idea grabs me.
Ask the Lofty to dance.
I hesitate. Is Aloe still nearby? Can she hear us? She’s one of the Three now, tasked with managing our complicated relationship with the Lofties. There’s no rule against dancing with them, but that’s only because no one has ever tried. Aloe—not to mention the rest of my people—might be furious with me. I decide I don’t care. At least I’ll have made my own choice.
“Peree? Would you like to dance?” He doesn’t say anything. I bite my bottom lip. “You know, dance? I’m not bad, really. I won’t even step on your feet much.”
“Lofties and Groundlings don’t dance together.”
“Why not?”
He’s quiet again. “No idea. Tradition, I guess.” I half expect him to say it in Bream’s voice.
I hold my hand out, palm up this time, challenging him.
I never get an answer. Shrill birdcalls rip through the air—Lofty warning calls. The music dies, and for a moment the clearing is quiet. Then the screaming starts.
The Scourge is here.
Chapter Two
I listen for the cries of the creatures, my hand still stuck out in front of me. I need to move, to get to the caves with everyone else. I map out the best way to get there in my head. Run along the edge of the clearing—avoid being trampled or knocked in the fire. I break for it, and someone grabs my hand. Peree.
“Come on.”
He jams my arm under his and drags me around the fire. People careen off us, yelling to douse the flames, find children, gather up supplies. Someone shouts for help, but I can’t stop with Peree towing me along.
“Fennel!” Eland yells, grasping my free arm. Peree’s gone before I can thank him.
“Where’s Aloe?” I shout.
“Over here!” Eland pulls me away from the spitting, hissing bonfire. “Mother, I’ve got her!”
“Get to the caves." Aloe's voice is calm, but weary. "I’ll be there shortly.”
I hang on to Eland’s arm as we run. People jostle around us. The trail from the clearing to the mouth of the caves is endless.
“Almost there,” Eland pants.
I hear a cry off the path; so weak I doubt anyone else can hear it. “Someone’s hurt. Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”
“Fenn–”
“Go!” I push him and plow into the bushes. I could fall on whoever it is if I move too fast so I creep forward, sweeping my arms in front of me. A bush gropes me, tearing my skin. I hear the moan again, just in front of me.
“Fennel, thank the stars.” It’s Willow, one of the elders.
I lift her up gently and set her on her feet like a toddler. Clasping her frail body to me, I stagger back to the path. Willow whimpers in pain, and I slow to loosen my grip.