The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,46
swept away by the events of the last few weeks, no sense of direction in my own life. I’m at the mercy of the water, as I’ve always been. As we all have been.
Footsteps behind me—this is no possum. I stay very still, afraid to move in case it draws the flesh-eater’s attention. I’m about four or five paces from where Peree lies, too far to reach him and drag him into the water to safety. If I can’t run, I’ll fight. I clutch my side, ready to jump to my feet. I don’t know why the creature hasn’t already attacked.
“She’s here,” Peree murmurs. Relief shoots through me at the sound of his voice, followed by dread at his words. He recognizes one of the fleshies? “She’ll take you home.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I hiss.
“Go . . . please.” The sadness, the futility in his voice tears at my heart. I wait, and listen.
A high-pitched, human voice breaks the silence. It sounds like a child, a little girl, but I can’t understand her. What’s she doing out here by herself? She pauses, then speaks again. This time I recognize the words.
“You aren’t one of them, are you?” the girl says.
“One of who?” I ask.
“Runa. Sick one.”
“No, I’m not sick.”
“But there’s blood on you, and you’re dirty, like them.”
“I know, I’m sorry if I scared you. I’ve been traveling a long time and I’m injured. I won’t hurt you.” I stand gingerly, and face her. “What’s your name?”
“Kora.”
“That’s pretty. My name’s Fennel.”
“You can’t see, can you?” she asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was born this way.”
She considers my words. “So, you can’t see what I’m doing right now?”
“No—what are you doing?” I ask warily.
“Waving at you.”
I smile, and wave back to her. “Are you here all alone? Where are your parents?”
“In the village. I’m getting water for my mother.”
My heart thumps in my chest. “How far is your village?”
“Not far. I can skip all the way there if I want to.” She sounds proud.
“Can you take me there?”
“Do you want to skip with me?”
I cringe at the idea. My head is already splitting. “Maybe later. Can we walk fast instead?”
“Okay. Is your friend hurt, too?”
“Yes. Do you think we can get help for him in your village?”
“Sure, come on.”
I don’t want to leave Peree alone. What if the Scourge comes? But I don’t think I have a choice. I try to tell him I’ll be back, but he doesn’t respond. I think he’s unconscious again. I step toward Kora, and she puts her small hand in mine, leading me away from the sound of the waterfall.
I want to interrogate her as we walk: where are we; who are her people; why do they allow a small child to wander through the forest on her own? But I’m afraid of frightening her, so I stumble along silently, barely able to contain my impatience. The sound of the water fades behind us, replaced by our footsteps and the busy noises of birds. No vegetation touches me as we walk; it must be a cleared path.
“Why are you holding your side like that?” Kora asks.
“I hurt my ribs.”
“You should see Nerang, he’ll help you. He can help your friend too.”
“Is he your herbalist?”
“What’s an herbalist?” She pronounces the word herb-list.
“Someone who helps people who are sick, or hurt.”
“Oh yes, he’s our healer, but he helps well people, too. He makes funny faces and tells me stories when I’m sad, and I feel better.”
I hear faint voices ahead of us. I imagine what my people would do if a bloody, filthy stranger came out of the forest holding the hand of one of our children, looking for all the world like one of the flesh-eaters. I stiffen, and pray that Kora’s people are different.
“It’s okay,” she says, concern in her voice. “Nerang will help you feel better, too.”
“I know.” I smile for her.
I try to notice as much as I can about where I am before we’re spotted. The sun isn’t as bright as by the water hole, but I can feel it on my shoulders. I hear the wind pushing the leaves around far above. The voices sound like they’re coming from all around me—the ground and the trees. Bread is baking somewhere nearby. The delicious scent makes my empty stomach contract. I smell freshly cut wood, turned soil, and among it all, the pervasive greenheart trees. My guess is I’m in a community similar to ours at home, but larger, from the sound of it.