“Maybe so. It’s a story. Who knows which ones are true and which aren’t? But this is the story Mother told me.” He settles back against the tree next to me. “There once was a hunter who could take down any animal in the forest. He would sit in the trees for days, waiting for prey, without stirring or even blinking. At first the animals avoided him, but eventually they forgot he was there. When they came a little too close, he’d raise his bow and arrow and strike.
“One day, the hunter went into the forest to hunt for game. He found a tall tree next to a water hole, and prepared himself for a long wait. At midnight he saw his prize. Five giant cassowaries came to the edge of the water hole and circled around it in a happy dance. Very slowly, the hunter took aim at the plumpest bird. Suddenly, all five birds slipped off their feather coats to swim, revealing themselves to be five beautiful sisters. The hunter, who’d trained himself to be completely still while hunting, trembled at the sight. The youngest woman, in particular, was so beautiful, he knew he had to make her his partner. At midnight the next night, the cassowaries came to the water hole again. The hunter watched as they slipped off their coats of feathers. When the youngest sister swam across the pond, he left the trees, and stole her coat.
“After their swim, the women returned, and the youngest sister realized her coat of feathers was not where she left it. Her sisters tried to help her find it, but they were sleepy and wanted to go back to their nest. ‘Go home,’ the youngest sister told them. ‘When I find my coat, I'll join you.’ Once her sisters were out of sight, the hunter walked up to the girl, holding her coat in his hand. ‘Is this what you're looking for?’ he asked, smiling. ‘Yes,’ the cassowary woman replied, ‘May I have it back?’ The hunter shook his head, and walked away. The girl followed, begging him to give back her feathers. He led her far away, to his home. When they reached it, she fell down in exhaustion. The hunter carried her to bed and covered her in a warm blanket.
“When the young woman woke up days later, the hunter fed her hot soup and tended to her every need. But she asked only for her coat of feathers. ‘It’s lost,’ he said. ‘I can’t find it.’ So the cassowary woman decided to stay with the hunter until she regained her strength and could find her lost feathers. Slowly, the girl’s memories of her life as a cassowary began to fade until, when the hunter eventually asked her to partner with him, she couldn’t think of a reason to refuse him. Within the year she gave birth to a child. For three years, the hunter, the cassowary woman, and their son lived happily together.
“One day, while the young woman was cleaning their home, she discovered a box hidden in a hole in the dirt floor. She pulled the box out of the ground, opened it, and found her coat of cassowary feathers inside. As she stroked the black feathers, the woman remembered she had once been a bird, living free with her sisters. She slipped the coat on and instantly turned into a cassowary again. Flapping her wings with joy, she raced outside as her family was coming back after a day in the forest. ‘Look,’ said the little boy, pointing to the cassowary. ‘What a pretty bird!’ Recognizing the feathers, the hunter shouted, ‘Please, don’t go!’ But it was too late. The cassowary had remembered who she was.” Peree stops. The crickets are silent too, as if they were listening.
“Such a strange story,” I slur, already half asleep.
I dream of flying again. But this time when I take to the air, my head and neck are a brilliant blue, my feathers a glossy black. And nothing impedes my powerful wings as I soar across the sparkling water.
I wake to the sound of birds calling to each other. My head rests on something soft. Suddenly remembering I’m in the trees, I jump up. The walkway creaks and sways under my feet. I throw out my arms in panic, but then Peree’s there.
He grips my arms, steadying me. “Easy, you’re all right.” His voice is husky with sleep, his hands warm against my chilled skin.
“I need to go, I need to get down. Someone might see us.”
“It’s early, no one’s awake yet.”
“Still.” I was so frightened and exhausted last night; I would have gone anywhere the Scourge wasn’t. Now that I’m safe, well-rested—and still human—being in the trees feels very wrong.
His hands stay on my arms. “Was it that bad, then, spending the night with me?”
I laugh nervously, and turn my back to him, finding a rope handrail running above the edge of the walkway. I hold it with both hands to settle myself. Peree stands behind me and places his hands on top of mine. My heart lurches, but I don’t move away.
Instead, I turn my hands over and braid my fingers through his. Scars covering calluses covering scars. I listen for sounds of the flesh-eaters below, but I only hear birds singing in the swaying branches.
“I should go,” I say again.
He leads me down the walkway and helps me loop the rope around myself. I wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. As he lowers me down, I don’t feel like I’m flying so much as falling. And instead of being happy when my feet finally touch the ground, I’m disappointed. I want to be up in the trees again, with him.
Chapter Six
Two days later, and the Scourge is still here.
The community is meeting, trying to decide what to do. I sit with Bear in my usual spot, leaning back against the rock wall. I’m only half-listening. It doesn’t matter what they decide; I’ll still have to collect the water.
Unbelievably, no one discovered I spent the night in the trees. I slunk back to the cave that morning, the bite wrapped and hidden under the sleeve of my dress. Unsure what kind of reception I would receive, I was astonished when the Three publicly forgave me. Grudges lead to hostilities that a small community like ours can’t afford, Aloe explained. I try to let go of my hard feelings, too, but it’s not easy.
I think often about my night in the trees, but Peree and I don’t talk about it as I collect the water. He finally tells me the story of sheep—dim creatures that gave their wooly coats to make warm clothes for people in cold climates—but he seems more distant, making me wonder if I dreamed the moment when we touched. I want to ask Calli what she thinks, but I don’t dare.
Sable’s droning on about how the Scourge has stayed this long before; how we should remain strong and wait them out. I lean my head against the wall, and close my eyes. Even after a full night of sleep, I’m exhausted. I drift off, until I hear my name.
“Fennel can’t keep bringing us water—look at her,” a woman is saying. It’s Pinion. I can hear people twisting around to stare at me. “She’s done in! We’re on restricted rations as it is. What will we do if she can’t collect the water anymore?”
“Then I will collect the water, as I have before,” Aloe says.
“That’s only a temporary solution,” Fox says. “You’re needed on the Council, and no offense meant, but collecting water is for the young. What if the Scourge doesn’t leave this time? Pinion is right. We need a plan.”
“The Scourge has always left,” Sable says. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“But what if they don’t? Our children are hungry and dirty!” Pinion’s two-year-old daughter, Yew, whimpers by her side. Others murmur their agreement.
“They have a point,” Bear whispers. “The fleshies aren’t showing any signs of clearing out, are they?” I shake my head back and forth against the rock, my eyes still closed. “And it doesn’t sound like the Three have another plan.”
“The smell in here alone may drive us out, Scourge or no Scourge,” I mutter.
Bear snickers. The small room we use as a toileting area is sufficient for short stays, but not for a lengthy imprisonment like this. The odor’s creeping through the entire cave system; my sensitive nose has been barraged by it for days. And it’s not only the caves. Bear smells like he’s been rolling around in the fertilizer pile in the garden. I don’t want to know what I smell like.
“Don’t go near Moray, whatever you do. He stinks like a flesh-eater,” Bear says.
“Are you two
getting into it again?” I ask. “Ignore him. He’s an overgrown bully.” Moray is one of Thistles' three giant sons. Cuda is another, and I can never remember the third one's name.
“Exactly. And bullies need someone to put them in their place.”
“Of course that someone’s got to be you.”
“Give me a break. It’s incredibly boring in here, I need a little excitement.”
Someone shushes us, and we quiet down in time to hear Bream say, “What about the Hidden Waters?” People murmur at that.
“The Hidden Waters are a legend,” Adder says. “We have no proof they exist.”
“Let this be the time to find proof, then.”
I sit up. The legend of the Hidden Waters is familiar to all of us. The waters are supposed to be safe—safe to drink, and safe from the Scourge. It’s said they can be found by journeying through the caves, but no one knows where or how long it might take to get to them. Groundlings have searched for the Waters before. They returned disappointed, or not at all. We pretended to search, too, as children, playing in the caves while the Scourge was here.
Adder’s laughter is harsh, like the meeting of a switch and a bare backside. “It’s a fairytale, Bream! We don’t have the slightest idea where to look for the Waters, if they exist at all.”
Fox speaks up. “If we had another source of water we could move to, then we wouldn’t be at the flesh-eaters’ mercy when they come.” Or the Lofties’, he doesn’t say. “Even if we don’t find the Hidden Waters, maybe we’ll find another source.”
“Are you volunteering to go, Fox?” Adder asks.
“Yes, if need be.”
“No, Fox–” Calli’s mother, Acacia, says.
“Who will go, then? Who will search for the Hidden Waters?” Pinion calls out, excitement in her voice.
Sable speaks. “Patience—it is no simple matter to look for the Waters. The Council must discuss the idea before any decision is made. Let us meet in private, and we will speak again this evening.”
The meeting ends, and is followed by whispered conversations in the crowd.
Bear rips into some dried meat, and talks with his mouth full. “People must be feeling desperate, to want to search for the Hidden Waters again.”
“Can’t you feel it?” I ask, listening to the low, uneasy voices around us.
“What?”
“The desperation.”
“All I feel is my empty stomach and my dry throat,” Bear complains. “Oh, sorry, Fenn. I know you’re doing your best.” He must have looked at my face.
“It’s okay.” I stand up, brushing crumbs of bread from my lap.
He grabs my arm. “Really, I’m sorry.”
“I know.” I pull away, and hear him curse under his breath.
I’m not angry with him—it’s not the first time I’ve heard someone complain of their hunger and thirst—but I’m discouraged. Despite all my efforts to stock the caves with food when the flesh-eaters aren’t here, and collect the water when they are, there isn’t enough of either. I’m weary, body and spirit, from doing my duty, while the people still suffer from deprivation. I slouch toward the passageway. No one notices when I come and go now. Except Eland.
He stops me at the entrance to the tunnel. “Here, take some bread and dried meat with you.”
“I’m not taking your ration,” I say, “and anyway, I’m not hungry.” Unlike everyone else.
“Mother’s worried about you. She said you’re losing weight.”
“You still need it more than I do.” I squeeze his hand. It’s covered in grime. “Ugh, Eland, you’re filthy. Why don’t you wash up?”
He hesitates before he answers. “No water.”
My melancholy deepens.
I trudge up the path to the clearing, six sacks of water safely ensconced in the trees. Peree follows above my head, stopping often to shoot at the most insistent of the flesh-eaters. He’s quiet again today, but the creatures aren’t. They crowd around me, shrieking and moaning in my ears. I’m too tired to react. I think about the Hidden Waters as I work—if the legend is true; where the Waters might be; if someone will search for them; and if so, who?
“Peree?” I call. “How are your people doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how are they feeling?”
“Angry, afraid, wondering when the fleshies will leave.”
“Really? I guess I didn’t think the Scourge would affect you so much.” The flesh-eaters seemed kind of unimportant when I was up in the trees, like so much background noise.
“Of course we’re affected. We’re used to having water when we need it, like you are.”
“But what are you afraid of?”
“Dehydration. Becoming permanent prisoners in the trees. More Groundling fires. And you.”
I stop short, then flinch, worried the creatures will run into me. “You’re afraid of me?”
“Afraid for you, really. That the Water Bearer won’t be able to keep up this pace.”
“My people are worried about the same thing. So am I, for that matter.” I start walking along the path again, trying to stick to the shade. It’s sizzling today, even under the sprawling canopy of greenheart branches. “Have you heard of the Hidden Waters?” He says he hasn’t. “What? I finally get to tell you a story?” I tease, and then I tell him what I know. “Someone suggested we look for the Waters again,” I say in conclusion.
“And?”
“And I’m thinking about volunteering.” He doesn’t respond. “What do you think?”
He swings between walkways before answering. “I think you’ve lost your mind.”
I bristle. “Why, because I want to help my people? What if the Scourge doesn’t leave this time? What kind of future will we have if we don’t find another source of water?”
“Why does it have to be you? You already stock the caves and collect the water. Why can’t someone else do this? And I hate to point out the obvious, but your Sightlessness might be a bit of a disadvantage when you’re searching for something and don’t know where to look.”
“My Sightlessness is my only advantage! How long do you think a sighted person will last, wandering through the caves with no light and precious little sense of direction? And if the caves ever end, the fleshies will be there. What good would their sight be then?” The creatures let loose raw howls of longing and need. They repulse me. “What, do you think I want to leave my home, my family, to search for some mythical water?”
“No,” Peree says, keeping his voice even. “But I think you’d do anything, go anywhere, not to have to do this anymore.” He pauses. “I would, too, if I were you.”
My anger fizzles. He’s right.
“Promise me you’ll think this through,” he says. “What you face in the caves could be worse than the Scourge, much worse.” I don’t see how that’s possible, but I promise anyway. I’ve reached the caves, but I hesitate before going in.
“I know I don’t get a say, but I don’t like this,” Peree says.
“We have to try something."
“There has to be another way. Let me think about it. Give me a day.”
“The community’s meeting tonight to hear the Three’s decision. If I do go, I’ll probably leave tomorrow. Aloe said she would collect the water . . . so, I might not see you for a few days.” I want to tell him I’m scared. I want to tell him I’ll miss him. But of course I don’t. Coward. “Be well, Peree.” I sidle into the cave mouth.
“Fenn, please don’t go.”
To my horror I feel tears welling, so I hurry into the gloom of the tunnel. Later, I realize those were the words the hunter used as the cassowary woman flew away.
The decision is made. The Council will allow a volunteer to search for the Hidden Waters. We listen as Sable tells us what the lucky person will be in for.
“Don’t underestimate the caves. They were forged long ago by natural forces as powerful and as inevitable as time. The caves are free of the Scou
rge, but the cold and the lack of light can be equally unforgiving. Your torch may not last more than a few days, and the passages are deceptive. Some lead away from a cavern only to return to it, with you none the wiser. Others end, forcing you to backtrack. And still others grow smaller and smaller until you can go no further. People have been known to wander for days only to find they’ve barely journeyed beyond their starting point. And if you do find an exit, the Scourge may be there.”
“So what’s the downside?” Bear asks, to nervous chuckles.
“This is serious,” Aloe says. “If someone chooses to look for the Hidden Waters, they need to know exactly what they can expect.” I feel like she’s speaking to me, like somehow she knows what I’m contemplating.
“You must take adequate food and water, and leave a trail for yourself,” Sable continues. “It will help you if you get lost, and if the waters are found you can then make your way back quickly.”
I remember a story, from the old days, about two children who enter the dark forest, dropping bread crumbs along the path so they can find their way back home. Animals eat the crumbs, and the children become lost. Nothing edible to mark my trail, then.
“Is there a volunteer?” Adder says.
I take a deep breath and . . . Fox speaks. “I volunteer.”
I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.
“Fox–” Acacia pleads.
“Daddy, don’t,” Calli says. I haven’t heard her call him Daddy since she fell off a rock and broke her wrist a few years ago.
“Someone must go,” he tells them, his voice gentle.
“But it doesn’t have to be you,” Acacia says. She sounds a lot like Peree did.
“I’m afraid they’re right, Fox. We need you here,” Aloe says.
I’m not surprised. If the Three serve as the brain of the community, Fox is our heart. His optimism and good humor is infectious, even in the cheerless caves.
“Is anyone else willing to go?” Aloe asks.
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