The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,48
than when I was in the trees with Peree. A damp, smoky scent, like water poured over a cooking fire, hangs in the air. A few people line up along the walkway, speaking in their language. Their whispering stops as I go by, then restarts after I pass. I hear the word lorinya over and over. I keep my head held high, but my grip on Nerang tightens.
“Relax now. We’re here,” he tells me.
“Here” is a shelter, mostly dark, and a little cramped and boxy from the way our voices sound when we enter. It smells of things both sweet and bitter, some familiar, others very strange. I’m reminded of Marjoram’s workroom back home, where all the freshly picked herbs are dried, ground, and stored. I turn my head toward a particularly pungent scent, and sway with the sudden movement.
Nerang steadies me. “Sit,” he says firmly.
It’s a bed—an incredibly soft, thick bed—that feels like layers and layers of fluffy feathers. Compared to the stone floors I’ve been sleeping on for days, it’s heavenly. I sink down in it. Nerang moves away, and lights something. Soon, the soothing scent of lavender and some other harsher odor fills the cozy shelter. Water splashes in a basin, and a cool, minty-smelling cloth slides across my face and arms, cleaning away the dirt and blood. I relax under Nerang’s gentle touch.
“Where did you come from?” he asks.
My mind is fuzzy with fatigue and the strong scent of the burning incense. Sleep is approaching like a powerful storm. I won’t be able to avoid it. I don’t want to avoid it.
“Caves,” I slur.
“And before that?”
“Forest.”
His voice is soft, but insistent. “What are your people called?”
Should I tell him? Is it safe? I can’t think. I’m half-asleep already. “Groundlings,” I mumble.
“Yes,” he says.
I ask only one question before I succumb to unconsciousness. “Where am I?”
“Koolkuna. It means, ‘place of safety.’ Rest now, young one. You are safe.”
I sleep. And for the first time since I became the Water Bearer, I don’t dream. A welcome cocoon of peace and painlessness wraps around me.
Only a few sensations break through: the potent incense, the nutty taste of a thin gruel, Nerang’s voice. He sings to himself in his strange native tongue as he ministers to my injuries. Voices call to each other outside, the wind taps the door against its frame over and over, a persistent visitor. I don’t answer.
But a thought begins to prick at the edges of my consciousness. At first I try to ignore it, like I ignore the sun that tugs on my eyelids in the morning when I’m trying to sleep. But the thought gets louder and louder, repeating itself, forcing me to pay attention. There’s something important I need to know.
Peree. Did they find him? Does he live? I try to ask Nerang, but the words tangle up together in my mouth. So I give up and allow myself to drift again, idly wondering what kind of incense keeps me in this dream state.
At first, there’s only faint light kissing the darkness of the shelter. The moon? Someone’s sleeping nearby, breathing deeply.
I take stock of myself. I’m still in the feathery bed. My chest is wrapped in a tight binding. There’s a dull ache in my ribs, and I have a mild headache and a nagging itch on my forehead. I test my body, stretching it bit by bit. I’m tender almost everywhere, but I’ve had enough injuries to know what healing fractures and bruises feel like.
I sit up cautiously, slide my legs off the side of the bed, and stand. The wooden boards creak, but the breathing doesn’t change, so I take a few steps toward the source of the light. A faint breeze blows into my face. It must be a window.
Nerang speaks, making me jump. “How do you feel?”
“Much better, thanks to you. You must have strong healing powers.”
“It helps to have a strong patient. Several ribs were broken, and you had a nasty blow to the head, but you’re mending nicely.” He stands and pours something. “Here, drink.”
The water’s warm, but tastes bright and clean, like the Hidden Waters. “My friend . . . did they find him?” I ask.
“Yes, he’s here. He’s alive.”
My body tingles with relief. “Then I owe you much more than thanks. Where is he, will you take me to him?”
“In the morning. He’s on the ground. He couldn’t be moved to the trees in his condition.”