The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,75

black, and the floors are firmer than wood. Something in here absorbs the sound. I stretch out my arm, feeling for anything recognizable.

“What is this place?” I ask.

Kadee places something in my hand. It’s rectangular, flat, and smooth—like a piece of sanded wood—but softer, with some weight to it. I explore it with my fingers. The top pulls up, revealing another smooth, featureless surface underneath. And there are more beneath that one. When I move my fingers across their edges, it sounds like a bird fluttering, stretching out its wings to fly.

“What is this?”

“A book. These are called pages.” She crinkles one under my fingers. “It has the little markings I told you about. They’re called letters. When you know how to read the letters, the pages tell you the stories. This one’s called Viennese Silver: Modern Design 1780–1918. It has pictures, but not all books do.”

“Viennese silver? What’s that?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t read this one. The room is full of books and I’ve only read a fraction of them. Here, feel this stack.” She guides my hand to more of the books, piled on top of each other. “There are hundreds like it.” I take a few steps forward, moving my hand from place to place, and everywhere I find more piles.

“How did you learn to–” I yelp. A book fell on my foot. A hefty one, judging from the throbbing in my toes.

“How did I learn to read them?” Kadee guesses, after checking to see if I was okay. “Do you remember Wirrim told you about the woman who explained the significance of the Myuna to us? She arrived weak and sick, like you and Peree, only she wasn’t so young as you. She stayed for some time recuperating.”

“Wirrim said she came from the City?”

“Yes, or what was left of the City after the Fall. Her people survived by hiding in small groups, mostly underground. It was very difficult. There were more runa in the City—many more, and it was hard to hide from them—but there were also more survivors. They helped each other. The woman called this a library. People came here to read books for knowledge, and to entertain themselves. Her people remembered and passed down the ability to read, and she taught Wirrim while she was here. When he saw my interest, Wirrim taught me.”

I’m fascinated. Until a few days ago I didn’t know there was a way to live other than how we did. To find Koolkuna, with people like ours, yet so unlike them too, and now to hear about other survivors from the City . . . it’s like one of Peree’s stories. Too fantastical to be true.

Kadee continues, “Reading has been my love and my duty ever since, along with working in the gardens. I read as much as I can about the world before the Fall, the world this building was once a part of. And when Wirrim goes on, I’ll become the Memory Keeper for the people.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” I try to hide it, but I’m surprised. While Wirrim doesn’t seem to be a leader in the way the Three are, he’s obviously a well-respected member of the community, sought after for his opinion. For the anuna to allow a lorinya not only to stay, but to inherit a position of honor, only highlights how different Koolkuna is from home.

Kadee wanders through the room. “The first book I ever read on my own was a collection of simple children’s tales called Animal Fables and Stories from Around the World. I heard Wirrim tell the people stories from it when I was first here, then I told them to Peree." I smile. So that's where the stories about tigers, the cassowary woman, and the first fish came from. "I’m using the book now to teach Kora and a few of the other children to read. Some of their parents don’t see the need, but they humor me.”

I set down the book about modern silver, whatever that is, and trail my hand along the piles. The dust makes them feel like they're coated in flour.

“Come over here, there’s something else I want to show you,” Kadee says. I make my way, cautiously this time, around the stacks to where she stands. She hands me an open book. “Feel this one.”

I run my fingertips across the surface of the page. “It’s bumpy.”

“I found it a while ago, and remembered it when I met you. It’s a book for the