The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,66

error.

When he finishes, he slings the bow across his back. “I’m going out to practice. Want to come?”

We stumble through the predawn to a nearby clearing. I lean against a tree, shivering in the cold wind that snakes through the branches, while he sets up a target. There’s no sign of the sun, and the birds are silent. The air around us feels heavy and tense, as if it’s holding its breath.

“A storm is coming,” I mutter.

Peree notches the first arrow and releases it. It slices through the air, but skitters across the ground somewhere beyond the target. He adjusts the bow then shoots again, releasing each arrow in turn, making small modifications after every shot. The last few drive into the target. He retrieves the arrows, then stands in front of me and brushes a few wind-blown locks of hair back from my face.

“It’s time.”

People leave their homes, moving in hushed groups toward the water hole. I hear the platforms drop slowly in the trees, carrying others to the ground. The sun doesn’t penetrate what must be dense clouds overhead. My hair flaps around my shoulders, then clings to my face, buffeted by the wind. I wish I had something to tie it back.

Kora slips in next to us, holding my hand as usual. I introduce her to Peree as we follow the path from the village to the water hole. I wonder if I was wrong that this has to do with the Scourge. At home we would never bring children near the flesh-eaters. But nothing in Koolkuna is as I would expect.

We turn toward the water hole, and the roar of the waterfall grows. It’s hard to hear the sounds of the forest now. The anuna are gathered, and more come. Arika greets us quietly, then speaks to Kora. I hear Kadee and Nerang. People stand in small groups, passing around cups of water from the water hole. We drink, too.

“What’s going on?” Peree mutters. “Nerang didn’t say this was going to be a public apology.”

“It’s the offering,” Kora says.

“What offering?” I ask.

“To the runa.”

Peree whispers in my ear. “I don’t like this.”

I don’t either. Huddling closer to Peree, I pull Kora into me. I can’t hear the creatures between the waterfall and the wind. I feel horribly exposed.

The trees quiver and shudder, thrashed by the wind. No rain yet. Wirrim’s voice suddenly rises above the elements. I didn’t think he sounded strong enough to walk all the way here.

“When the anuna came to Koolkuna many years ago, we knew it to be our ancestral home. We did not know it would also provide the sanctuary we required, away from the sick ones. We hid in the trees, sending only the quick and the brave to the water hole to gather our life-sustaining water—”

A vicious crack of lightning interrupts him. I shield Kora as well as I can. Then I smell them.

The Scourge is near.

Peree drops his crutch and draws his bow tight. I clutch Kora. Wirrim speaks more urgently.

“When we came to Koolkuna, we were afraid of the runa. But quickly we realized they were changing. They were different.”

The flesh-eaters are close, in the trees around us. I hear them . . . but instead of moans and shrieks, I hear voices. Human voices. Pleading for food, for water. For someone to help them die.

“What’s happening?” I ask Peree.

He sounds haunted. “I don’t know.”

“You do know,” Nerang says. “See them. See them as they really are."

“But these creatures limp instead of sprint, their skin is cut and bleeding and bruised. Their hair is dirty and twisted. They look . . . ill. What happened to them?”

Nerang answers. “They are the same. You are different.”

“They can’t be the same. I’ve watched the Scourge tear people limb from limb,” Peree says. “I’ve seen them surge in packs over their prey. These things aren’t capable of that.”

“What you saw was an illusion. An illusion caused by a strong poison, poison in the water you drink and the meat you eat,” Wirrim explains.

“Poison? What are you talking about?” Peree says.

Wirrim’s voice is gentle, like he knows this is difficult. “When I was a child, a lorinya came to Koolkuna from the City, searching for lost loved ones. Before she moved on she told us many stories, and among them, how the runa came to be. In the days before the sick ones, the people of the world were at war. When neither words nor weapons satisfied their hate, they used