The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,51

whispering. They don’t sound suspicious so much as curious.

“They’re talking about you,” Kora informs me.

“I thought so,” I say, smiling at her honesty. “Tell me, what does lorinya mean? I keep hearing that word.”

“It means stranger. That’s what they call you, but I don’t. You’re not a stranger. You’re my friend.”

“Thanks, I can use one right now.”

I’m glad I can’t see their stares. Hearing their whispers is bad enough. I don’t like being the center of attention even among friends, and right now my friends consist of exactly one six-year-old girl.

We skirt the bustling center of the village, making our way to a quieter spot. The light is dimmer here, as if we’re under a thick awning of trees. I ask Kora if there’s a fence around the village, or some other kind of barrier, but she says no, clearly wondering why I’d ask such a silly question. As far as I can tell, no one seems a bit concerned about the Scourge. What kind of place is this?

The scent of Nerang’s strong incense hovers in the air, so I’m not surprised to hear his voice a moment later. “Hello, Kora, Fennel—I’m pleased to see you up and about. How do you feel today?”

“A little tired and sore, but otherwise well.”

“I’m glad to hear it. With rest and a little more time, your body will recover, like the forest after a fire.”

“How’s Peree? Is he awake?”

“He’s resting. You may come in, but use this to cover your mouth and nose.” He places a cloth in my hand. “Burning herbs have strong healing powers for the sick or injured, but they can be overpowering for the rest of us. Remain outside, please, Kora.”

He takes my arm, and a door scrapes open. I quickly understand why I need the cloth; the air that swirls out is cloying. Nerang takes me a few steps inside, and places my hand on what feels like a bed. I feel around until I find Peree’s arm. I kneel beside him.

“He’s so thin,” I whisper. Skeletal is more like it.

“He’s rarely awake long enough to eat, but he has been drinking more, and the infection is gone.”

My fingers take stock of his face. His eyes are closed over his now-prominent cheekbones, and his beard has grown, but his temperature feels normal. His breathing is slow and regular.

Nerang pats my shoulder. “Try not to worry. He is improving.”

“What about his leg?” I search for the cloth-covered wound on Peree’s thigh, and swallow hard. A large part of the muscle is missing.

“There was a severe infection,” Nerang says quietly. “I had to remove some of the tissue, to save his life.”

“Will he be able to walk?”

“We must wait and see. It was the only option, young one. If the infection had spread any further, I would have had to remove his entire leg.”

I grasp Peree’s hand again, bringing it to my lips. What if he can’t walk? How will he survive? I should have encouraged him to shoot the tiger. I shouldn’t have distracted him when he was taking aim. I should have taken better care of the wound, kept it cleaner. I shouldn’t have let him come with me to begin with. If I had done even one of those things, Peree would still be whole.

“This is my fault,” I mumble.

“Blaming yourself will not help him heal.”

“What will?”

“Your support, your encouragement, and your wisdom.”

I raise my head. “Wisdom?”

“Is not having the use of a limb so different from not having one’s sight?” Nerang asks. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your friend may walk again. Much depends on his will power.”

I touch Peree’s face, silently begging him for forgiveness, then Nerang takes me back outside. Suddenly dizzy, I sit down hard and cough as dust floats around me.

Kora sits, too, and pats my face. “Are you all right?”

“She will be,” Nerang assures her.

Her hair, coarse and curly, rubs against my cheek as she nestles into my side. She hands me something, a flower, with velvety, oblong petals. “Tell her a story, Nerang, to help her feel better.”

“Which one should I tell?”

Kora thinks for a moment. “The legend of the flowers?”

“A good choice.” He settles down next to us. “In the time before time, the Creator left the earth to return home to the Sacred Mountain. Before long, all the beautiful flowers that grew around the water holes, in the trees, and in the rocky crevices, began to die. The earth was colorless and barren, the bees were gone,