The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,54
protected from the Scourge? None of our stories tell of such a possibility.
“How?” I ask.
“As I said, lorinyas have found their way to Koolkuna through the years, and like you, they want to understand how we are protected. We find it easier to show them than to tell them. We will show you, too, when the time comes.”
I’m not sure what he means by show me, but from his tone of voice I sense I won’t get any other answers now.
“You and your friend may stay until he recovers. Perhaps tonight you’d like to stay on the ground, closer to him? Nerang says you are healing well.” I agree, and Wirrim addresses the group. “Will any of the anuna take in our guest?”
Kadee speaks. “She may stay with me.”
I’m relieved. As fascinating as the trees are, being up in them makes me queasy.
“Then that is settled. Welcome to Koolkuna, Fennel.”
People begin to file out, conferring in low voices. Some greet me with shy words of welcome. Kadee comes to me, and Kora skids up a moment later.
“Thank you for taking me in,” I say to Kadee.
“I welcome your company,” she replies. “Kora, when you two tire of exploring, bring her to my home.”
“Fennel, do you want to meet Bega?” Kora hops up and down in excitement. “She’s waiting for us.”
“Yes, but on one condition,” I say, my voice grave.
“What?”
I muss her hair. “Call me Fenn, as my friends do.”
Chapter Twelve
I spend the afternoon wandering around Koolkuna with Kora and Bega. The doll knows an astonishing amount about the people in the village. She tells me all about them as we pass homes and workplaces, and I’m struck by how familiar the stories sound. She could be talking about our community, with one glaring exception: at home our conversations all come around to fleshies eventually, but Kora rarely mentions them.
I catch myself listening for the alarm calls, warnings that the Scourge is coming, as I would have at home. What Wirrim told me is still almost impossible to believe. I’m tempted to ask Kora if she knows how Koolkuna is protected, but it seems devious to interrogate a child.
People seem friendlier after the gathering. They speak to us as we go by, calling me by name. I meet some girls who sound about my age by the storehouse. They are curious, especially about my home, and what it’s like to be Sightless. We chat for a few minutes, answering each other’s questions. But one of them, Kaiya—Kora calls her Kai—doesn’t speak, even to say hello. Bega tells me later that she keeps to herself, but the doll won’t say more. It’s uncharacteristic for Bega.
Kora leads me to check on Peree late in the afternoon. I sit by his side, holding his hand. I long to tell him about Koolkuna: about the people and how they can live in the trees or on the ground, and most of all, how they’re protected from the Scourge. But he doesn’t stir, and I can only stay a few minutes in the heavily incensed room before I start to feel drowsy and a little sick to my stomach.
Nerang sits outside. The smell of something—cloves?—drifts around my head. I laugh. “You could just go breathe the air in in there for a few minutes, instead of smoking out here.”
“A good pipe is one of the pleasures of an old man,” he says. “How do you find your friend?”
I frown. “The same.”
“Try not to worry.” He inhales and releases a slow puff of smoke. “I hear you will stay with Kadee now? I’ll take you there. Kora was called home for her dinner.”
We stroll through the trees while the sun sinks lower, as if sitting down to its evening meal as well. I hear the rattle of wooden dishes, and the low murmur of conversation. It sounds like home.
“Do you have a family, Nerang?”
He stops to empty his pipe, tapping it against a tree. I hear him crush the remains of the herbs and spices into the dry ground. Very dry, now that I think about it. I can’t remember the last time it rained.
“A grave illness swept through the anuna years ago. Many were sick, and many died. Despite my efforts, my partner, Yindi, was among them.” His voice sounds more resigned than sad. “Her name meant ‘sun’ in our language. My son is Konol, ‘sky.’ Yindi and Konol—my sun and my sky. Konol’s grown now, a few years older than you.”