The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,21

I want him to ensure I’m deader than dead.

“Send down the rope.”

Boards creak under his feet. “I’m making a loop in it, like when you swam. Can you climb into the sled?”

I feel around for it and fall, more than climb, inside. When I stand, I can tell the creatures have moved in around me.

“Here it comes,” he says, “reach up and grab for it. I don’t want to bring one of them up instead.”

I find the loop and pull it over my head, then under my arms. “Okay.”

The flesh-eaters shriek as I start to ascend. I accidentally kick one of them as I go up, and I take a perverse pleasure in hearing it grunt—hopefully in pain. The feeling of hanging in midair is unfamiliar and scary, but despite everything, also strangely exhilarating. I’m flying, like in my dream.

“Swing your legs, I’ll pull you in,” Peree says.

I do what he says, aiming for his voice, and scramble onto the walkway. I end up flush against his body, my face against his warm chest, my arms around his waist. I drop my hands, and he takes a step back, clearing his throat.

Relief surges through me, diluting the fear. I’m in the trees—safe from the Scourge. Then the walkway sways, and abruptly I feel vulnerable again. I’m in the trees—in Lofty territory. I have little fear of moving around on the ground most of the time, but this is different. There’s no map in my head of these walkways, and I know nothing of Lofty ways. I stand very still, afraid a step in any direction will cause me to plunge to the ground, or into some unknown trap.

“What is it?” Peree asks. “Do you feel different?”

“I don’t–” I don’t like asking for help. “Is there something to hold on to?”

“Oh, of course.” He steps beside me and takes my hand. “Let me see your arm . . . There’s a bite-shaped mark, but the skin isn’t broken. I’ll wrap it.” He tears some sort of cloth and binds my arm.

“Shouldn’t I be feeling something by now, if I was going to change?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I think so.” He takes a step closer. “You don’t look any different. No, I take that back, you look beat. Let’s sit.”

He guides me down the walkway to a small seat—rough wood planking secured against the trunk of an enormous tree from the feel of it. I hear the rattle of his bow on the walkway as he sits down a few feet from me. The pungent smell of the greenheart trees, always strong on the ground, is even more potent up here. No wonder the Lofties all smell like them—except Peree, with his honeysuckle scent.

“What now?” I ask.

“We wait. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Here, I have some bread, berries, and squirrel meat.”

He puts a cloth in my hand, with the food wrapped inside. I want to devour it, but I nibble instead. This may be the only food he has. When the weakness and hunger pangs subside a little, I wrap up the rest of his food and hand it back.

His callused thumb slides across my fingers as he takes the packet. “So many scars."

I shrug, embarrassed. “My hands see for me, but they pay a price.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes. Waiting. I’m conscious of his eyes on me, watching me, looking for any signs of the change.

“How do you feel now?” he asks.

“The same. My arm doesn’t hurt as much.”

I hear him exhale. “Maybe we’re in the clear. That flesh-eater just wanted to see how you tasted before it dug in.” There’s the sound of a smile in his voice.

I make a face. “Probably like salt meat. It’s practically all we eat in the caves. Keep your bow close anyway.”

I allow myself to relax a little as time creeps by, and to listen with more interest to the sounds in the trees. Branches creak, the flesh-eaters roam around below us, but I can’t hear the sounds of any Lofties. “I hope no one can see us,” I say.

“Not likely. I can barely see you now that the sun’s gone down. And no one sleeps this low to the ground.” From his tone, it sounds like that should somehow be obvious to me.

“How would I know? It’s not like I’ve ever been up here before.” It’s not like any Groundling has ever been up here before. “So where do you sleep?”

“Much farther up—our homes, the kitchens, the workplaces—everything is high up. This