The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,40

I touch his leg. It’s scorching.

“I was dreaming,” he says, “about swimming in the water hole. The water was warm, no flesh-eaters. You were there.”

“You swim?” I’ve never heard of a Lofty swimming before.

“Always wanted to. I watched you swimming with the others, wished I could, too.”

“The others?”

“You and your friends. Swim, work, cook, play, dance, argue, joke. Everything you did. Watching you for years.”

I’m stunned into silence. He’s quiet too, except for his labored breathing. When he speaks again, he sounds more lucid. “Years ago, you were lost in the woods. Do you remember?”

“That wasn’t exactly an uncommon thing for me,” I say warily.

“Your friends were looking for you. A boar charged you.”

I tense. “How do you know about that?”

“I was there, in the trees. I shot it.”

“I’ve always wondered . . . I should’ve died.”

“After that I watched you. Watched after you. I was the lookout, for the Scourge, for you.”

I think back to all the times I heard movement in the trees and knew a Lofty was there. It happened so often I took it for granted we were being watched, but “we” being the key word—not just me.

“Why did you watch me?”

“Curious at first, about you, your Sightlessness. How you managed.” He moves his leg, and moans. I want to comfort him, but I’m literally frozen. “After the boar, I felt responsible for you, worked hard at archery, hoping to be your Keeper. I wanted to protect you, even if we were separated by the trees.”

“I . . . I didn’t know.”

He takes my hand, fumbling for it in the dark. “Didn’t want you to know. I wouldn’t have told you, except it doesn’t matter now.”

“I’m not letting you die here.”

“Who said anything about dying?” His voice cracks in an attempt to laugh.

“I’m finding a way out.” I crawl to my pack, and pull it over to him. Then I tuck my bedroll around him, and situate my last oilskin sack and the rest of the food by his side.

“Fenn. No use.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not too late.” I take out the pouch of crampberries, weighing it in my hand. It’s almost empty. “I’m leaving my pack; I need to move quickly. Here’s the torch.” I place the piece of wood in his hand. “You saved my life once, Peree. Let me save yours. Please.”

He presses my cold knuckles to his lips. “If you insist.”

I allow myself to do something I’ve wanted to do since our night in the trees. I touch his face, exploring his features. I trace the ridged arches of his eyebrows with my fingertips, smooth his eyelids with my thumbs, and follow the firm line of his jaw. His cheeks and chin are forested in stubble. I memorize his face, both the beauty and the small imperfections, like a scar along one cheekbone where his beard doesn’t grow, a small lump across the bridge of his nose, as if it had been broken. He lies still, his breathing becoming more even with my touch. I smooth his hair back from his face, and find the feathers Calli said he wore.

I kiss his cheek, and whisper in his ear. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll try not to wander off,” he whispers back. “Be safe.”

Safe. All this time he was worrying about me, wanting to protect me. Now it’s my turn. I only hope I’m not too late.

Chapter Nine

I rush through the passages, running my hand along the freezing, jagged rock walls, listening for the water with every step. I try not to think of Peree lying alone in the dark, his leg burning like a lightless torch. I try not to think about what he told me, and what it means. And most of all I try not to think about what will happen to him. I focus on the water.

I have a theory. I remember Willow telling us the legend of the Hidden Waters as we dozed around the fire as children. She said the waters bubble up from underground, like rainwater seeping from saturated earth. Only this water isn’t muddy, it’s clean, pure—and most important—safe. Protected. It’s what makes me so sure the source is somewhere in the caves. Where else would water be safe from the Scourge?

Willow told us something else. I remember her words clearly, as if she’s whispering them to me now. She said the water came from underground and pooled in a water hole. A water hole as warm as the air in summer. If the water was really