The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,50

are you?” I ask.

“Six. Mama made me a new doll for my birthday. I named her Bega, because she’s beautiful. Do you want to meet her?”

I wasn’t sure if she meant her Mama or her doll. “I’d love to, after I talk to my friend. I want you to meet him, too.”

“He’s not awake yet.”

I frown. “He’s not?”

“He was hurt really bad. Nerang’s been with him even more than with you. Mama said your friend’s lucky the men found him when they did.” Kora lets go of my hand. “We’re here—ready to go down?”

“What do I do?”

“Hold the ropes with your hands. Step on the board. Don’t let go.” She sounds like she’s repeating directives she’s heard many times before.

I reach out and grab two ropes Kora is holding for me. “What will happen when I step on the board?”

“The rock will go up, and you’ll go down,” she says. I must have looked less than enthusiastic, because she added, “Don't worry, I’ll be right next to you.”

Okay, if a six-year-old can do this, so can I. My feet find the board and I step onto it, hands trembling. I begin to fall, but falling isn’t as quick or terrifying as I thought it would be.

“See?” Kora says when we reach the ground. “It’s not scary.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” I agree, but I’m still happy to be standing on the earth again.

“Watch out, here comes the rock.”

I jump back, and hear a thud as the weight that provided my controlled descent crashes to the ground. I can feel the impact in my feet. Overall, the platform ride with Nerang seemed a lot safer.

Kora takes my hand again, but we don’t get far.

“Hello . . . where are you taking our guest?” a woman says. I don’t recognize her voice, but she sounds friendly.

“To Nerang.”

“Your mother’s looking for you. Why don’t you find her and tell her where you are? Then you can go to Nerang,” the woman says.

“Okay,” Kora says. “I’ll be right back!”

“I hope I haven’t caused trouble with her family,” I say, listening to her small feet slap against the ground as she runs off.

“We don’t have many strangers here, it’s true. But Nerang felt you could be trusted, and his opinion goes a long way with the people.”

“I’m Fennel.” I hold out my hand.

She shakes it. “My name is Kadee. How are you feeling?”

“Very well. You’re lucky to have Nerang as a healer.” I say, remembering what Kora called him.

“Yes, he’s very gifted. Every family in the village owes him at least one life.” She pauses. “When you’re ready, the anuna would like to talk with you. We have many questions.”

“What’s the anuna?”

“The people. That’s what we call ourselves in Koolkuna.”

“Can I go to my friend first?” I have questions for the people, too, but Peree is my first priority.

“Of course. Ask Kora to bring you to the allawah, the gathering place, afterward. You must be hungry. We’ll eat, and we’ll talk.”

Kora arrives breathlessly back at my side. “I told Mama I’m taking you to Nerang . . . are you ready?”

Kadee laughs. “I’ll see you soon.”

I say good-bye, and Kora leads me on through Koolkuna. Deciphering the layout of the village is surprisingly easy, thanks to Kora’s ceaseless commentary. Koolkuna’s central clearing is roughly circular, like ours at home. There are work places: a spacious cooking shelter with two large fire pits for boiling water and preparing meals, a place where the launderers clean and mend the clothes, a workshop for the builders—the clattering coming from inside gave me a clue on that one—and a large storage shelter where food and supplies are kept. The gathering place Kadee mentioned is an enormous rectangular shelter used for meetings and feasts, large enough to fit the whole community.

“From the trees,” Kora says, “the village looks like a face.” She draws a circle around my palm with her finger, then jabs inside it. “The kitchen and laundry for eyes, the workshop for a nose, and the allawah is a mouth.” I chuckle. Only a child would notice that.

The arrangement of homes in Koolkuna is different, too. Our shelters huddle together around the clearing, but here they range out into the trees, providing more space and privacy for each family, although little security. From the noise of the village, it seems that people are doing exactly what we’d be doing at home—working and talking. We walk by a group of women who were chatting together a moment before. Now they’re