The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,41

that warm, then it must be outside. Because nothing in these caves could be described as warm.

And if the water can find its way outside, so can we. I hope.

The smell of the caves is changing. It’s musty, like Eland’s shirt when he comes in from the rain, and every so often I feel a little moisture under my hand. I press on through the dark, willing water to appear.

Miraculously, it does. The roar of a rushing stream grows in my ears and the passage broadens in front of me. I step more gingerly, feeling the ground with my feet before I put my weight down. I can’t tell where the rock ends and the water begins with all the echoing noise. When I do find the drop-off, I fall to my knees and plunge my hands into the stream.

I clean my hands and scrub my face, shivering as the frigid water slips down my neck and chest. Then I drink. It tastes very clean, like sipping pure air, but with a slight metallic tang. I want to know where the underground river goes, if there might be a way to follow it outside, but all I can tell is there’s no more light here than in the passages behind me. The darkness is complete.

It’s not warm, but this has to be it, the Hidden Waters. It has to be.

I don’t have time to debate about it. Our water will be gone within the day, and it will be a long, hard walk for Peree to get here, if he can make it at all. I hurry back down the tunnel, berating myself for not bringing one of the empty water sacks to fill for him. I remember the crampberry pouch stuffed in my pocket. I shake out the last one or two berries, and rush back to the stream to fill the empty pouch. The water may not smell so good when he gets it, but it’s better than none.

I follow the foul smell of the berries back the way I came, letting my nose guide me this time instead of my ears. As the sound of the water diminishes little by little, my anxiety grows. Will Peree still be conscious? Will he even be alive? By the time I enter the cavern where I left him, the third one I passed through—I made sure to count them—I’m in agony. I stop and listen for his breathing.

“Peree?” His name taunts me, bouncing around the room.

“I’m here,” he finally answers, his voice weak. I allow myself to breathe again.

I kneel next to him and hold the pouch of sloshing water to his lips. “Here, drink.”

“Mmm, crampberries.” He tries to laugh, but ends up choking. I fumble around in the dark, repacking the torch, the untouched food, and the oilskin of water that I left for him. Then I search his pack. There’s no way he’ll be able to carry it or his bow and quiver of arrows now. I shove his remaining provisions, the medicine pouch, his knife, and the little carved bird into my pack and hoist it up, ignoring the throbbing of my shoulders.

“Come on, we’ve got to get you moving,” I say.

“Can’t do it,” he whispers.

“We agreed to stay together, remember?” He tries to speak, but I can’t make out what he says. “Please, Peree. Try.”

A moment passes, then I feel him lift his neck. I support his shoulders as he struggles to a sitting position.

“So dizzy.”

I cup his cheeks with my hands, like I used to with Eland when I really wanted him to listen. “Do you remember my first day with the Scourge, when I collapsed with the flesh-eaters all around me? I was terrified, and I wanted to give up, but you made me believe I could do it. Well, I believe you can do this. Find the strength.”

He leans back, like he’s going to lie down again, but instead he puts his hands under him and, gasping, pushes himself to his feet. I take as much of his weight onto my shoulder as I can.

“One step at a time,” I say. “Take it one step at a time.”

I sing to him as we shuffle forward, any song I can think of. Songs I haven’t sung since I was young; songs Aloe sang when I was frightened or upset. Peree doesn’t speak. His rasping breath and the movement of his feet are the only signs he’s still conscious. A few times he wavers, like