Miraculously, it does. The roar of a rushing stream grows in my ears and the passage broadens in front of me. I step more gingerly, feeling the ground with my feet before I put my weight down. I can’t tell where the rock ends and the water begins with all the echoing noise. When I do find the drop-off, I fall to my knees and plunge my hands into the stream.
I clean my hands and scrub my face, shivering as the frigid water slips down my neck and chest. Then I drink. It tastes very clean, like sipping pure air, but with a slight metallic tang. I want to know where the underground river goes, if there might be a way to follow it outside, but all I can tell is there’s no more light here than in the passages behind me. The darkness is complete.
It’s not warm, but this has to be it, the Hidden Waters. It has to be.
I don’t have time to debate about it. Our water will be gone within the day, and it will be a long, hard walk for Peree to get here, if he can make it at all. I hurry back down the tunnel, berating myself for not bringing one of the empty water sacks to fill for him. I remember the crampberry pouch stuffed in my pocket. I shake out the last one or two berries, and rush back to the stream to fill the empty pouch. The water may not smell so good when he gets it, but it’s better than none.
I follow the foul smell of the berries back the way I came, letting my nose guide me this time instead of my ears. As the sound of the water diminishes little by little, my anxiety grows. Will Peree still be conscious? Will he even be alive? By the time I enter the cavern where I left him, the third one I passed through—I made sure to count them—I’m in agony. I stop and listen for his breathing.
“Peree?” His name taunts me, bouncing around the room.
“I’m here,” he finally answers, his voice weak. I allow myself to breathe again.
I kneel next to him and hold the pouch of sloshing water to his lips. “Here, drink.”
“Mmm, crampberries.” He tries to laugh, but ends up choking. I fumble around in the dark, repacking the torch, the untouched food, and the oilskin of water that I left for him. Then I search his pack. There’s no way he’ll be able to carry it or his bow and quiver of arrows now. I shove his remaining provisions, the medicine pouch, his knife, and the little carved bird into my pack and hoist it up, ignoring the throbbing of my shoulders.
“Come on, we’ve got to get you moving,” I say.
“Can’t do it,” he whispers.
“We agreed to stay together, remember?” He tries to speak, but I can’t make out what he says. “Please, Peree. Try.”
A moment passes, then I feel him lift his neck. I support his shoulders as he struggles to a sitting position.
“So dizzy.”
I cup his cheeks with my hands, like I used to with Eland when I really wanted him to listen. “Do you remember my first day with the Scourge, when I collapsed with the flesh-eaters all around me? I was terrified, and I wanted to give up, but you made me believe I could do it. Well, I believe you can do this. Find the strength.”
He leans back, like he’s going to lie down again, but instead he puts his hands under him and, gasping, pushes himself to his feet. I take as much of his weight onto my shoulder as I can.
“One step at a time,” I say. “Take it one step at a time.”
I sing to him as we shuffle forward, any song I can think of. Songs I haven’t sung since I was young; songs Aloe sang when I was frightened or upset. Peree doesn’t speak. His rasping breath and the movement of his feet are the only signs he’s still conscious. A few times he wavers, like he’s about to faint, and I wedge him between my body and the wall, trying to keep him upright.
When I run out of songs I talk to him. I tell him things I’ve never told anyone, like how frightening Sightlessness can be sometimes, and how exhausting it is to try to be brave, to do for myself, to not ask for help, to be more like Aloe. I tell him how I sometimes envy the sighted so much it hurts. And other times I’m so fiercely proud of my self-sufficiency, I wouldn’t be sighted if I had the choice. I tell him how much it meant to have him as my Keeper, to know he was there in the trees, watching over me. He doesn’t respond. I’m not sure he can hear me anymore, but I sing and I talk until I’m hoarse, and still we walk toward the water.
I lose track of time and distance again, thanks to the fatigue from carrying my pack and much of Peree’s weight, and the constant fear that he’ll pass out. I try to remember how many caverns we’ve passed through, but all the caves and passages we traversed in the last two and a half days blend in my memory. The days since I became the Water Bearer feel like one long, dark passage, with no end. In the blackest moments, my entire life feels that way.
The sound of rushing water brings me to my senses again. Fighting to hold Peree up, I focus the rest of my energy on reaching it. When I can feel the spray of water on my legs, I lower him to the rock floor.
I fill a water sack and hold his head up so he can drink. Most of the water slides down his face, but he swallows a little, and coughs. I cushion his head with a balled-up extra dress, and inch the dry, blood-crusted bandages off his leg. The swelling and heat beneath is appalling. I clean the wound with water until I can feel no more dirt or dried blood, then I squeeze more agrimony and yarrow paste from my medicine pouch and rewrap it. He doesn’t stir; I think he’s unconscious. When I finish, I wait. Wait for him to wake up, or to die.
I listen to the water rush by. It sounds like it emerges from the rock itself, and disappears back into it, dampening my hope that we might find a way out. Exhausted and dispirited, I curl up beside Peree, my hand on his chest to reassure myself that he’s breathing. Lulled by the constant stream of water, I sleep.
When I wake, the first thing I’m aware of is relief. Peree’s hand is on top of mine now, and it’s still warm, which means he’s still alive. I lean closer to listen to him breathe. He croaks, making me jump. I fill the sack, and hold his head again while he drinks.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I lay my hand against his cheek. “How do you feel?”
He shakes his head slightly. “Where are we?”
“The Hidden Waters. We walked here, do you remember?”
“I thought I was dead . . . dreamed I was a flesh-eater.”
“You’re alive.”
“I was only sure when I felt you next to me.” He presses his cheek into my palm. “Where's the torch? I . . . want to see what we came all this way for.”
It’s hard to find in my pack, there’s so little of it left. He struggles up, then helps me light it with shaking hands. The torch crackles to life, and the darkness fades a bit. Peree says nothing.
“What does it look like?” I ask.
“Like a cave. With water.”
“Where does the water go? Can you tell?”
“Through an opening in the rock on the far wall.”
“Do you see any light beyond, like the stream might go outside from here, or another way out?”
He doesn’t answer. The torch almost singes my hand before sputtering out, and the last of my hope goes with it. I have no idea what to do now. I can’t get Peree back home in his condition. There’s maybe enough food to last one more day. The water might keep him alive for a few days while I go back for help . . . unless the infection from his wound kills him first. Despair caresses me with frost-tipped fingers.
“Fennel?”
“I’m here.” I take his hands.
“Have you ever heard the story of how the first fish were created?” He sounds different. Resigned.
I fight to keep my voice even. “Maybe you should rest.”
“I will soon. Come lie next to me; you’re freezing.” I pull my bedroll over us and lay with my head on his chest. His voice echoes in my ear. “You know about fish, right? They swam in the waters.”
I had heard of fish. A few of the elders ate them when they were children, but the last of the fish died out over a generation ago. No one knew why.
“Long ago there were no fish; every animal live
d on the land. There was plenty of food, no danger. The people were happy. Everyone—except one boy. He’d loved one of the girls of a nearby community since childhood, and she loved him, but her father didn’t want them to be together. The boy was different, an outsider. So the boy gave up, and wandered through the forest for a time.
“He returned several years later, determined to ask the girl to be his partner. He found that although she still loved him, she was intended to another, a commitment she had to honor, according to the community’s laws. The boy wanted to fight for her, but the girl told him no. Instead, she would run away with him that night.
“When the sun left the sky, she stole away from her home and met the boy in the forest. They ran and ran, as fast and as far as they could. They ran so far they came to the edge of a vast water hole, where they spent the rest of the night, exhausted, but happy to be together.
“The couple woke at first light and, using driftwood, they made arrows and spears to defend themselves, knowing they would be pursued. Sure enough, men appeared at the top of the rocks overlooking the shore. The girl continued to make weapons while the boy shot the arrows and threw the spears with such accuracy that the men were forced to hide. They held them off this way all day, but by dusk they ran out of wood.
“As the boy held the last arrow to his bow, the girl told him she would go back with the men so he could escape. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we must stay together, whatever happens. If we can’t live together on land, then we must go into the water.’ She agreed, he shot his last arrow, and the boy and girl slipped into the water. The men ran down from the rocks, throwing their spears at them, and the spears stuck, becoming fins. They swam away, the first fish. And they never again left the water, because they knew death awaited them on land.”
Peree shifts his weight, and moans. My hands fly to his face, powerless to do anything else to help. After a minute, he speaks again.
“My mother said there were people who believed underground rivers were the boundaries between our world and the afterworld. They thought people crossed the river when they died. I don’t want to cross this one. I don’t want to stay in the cold and the dark forever.” Silent tears slip down his face. “Will you be sure I don’t? Let the river wash what’s left of me outside, into the sunlight.” I want to say he’s not going to die here, but I can’t lie, so I say nothing. “When you go back, tell Shrike . . . tell him he was a good father. He worried about that, since my mother left. And tell Petrel he won. He’ll know what it means.”
“I will. Is there anyone else you want me to give a message to? Other friends?”
“No other friends.”
“But, there must be others you were close to.” I hesitate. “What about . . . the girl? The one you told me wasn’t old enough to partner with yet.”
“There’s no one. No Lofty girl, at least.” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is even more hollow than it was before. “We had the same fever you did, and many died. Our numbers were already dwindling before the fever. Now we don’t have enough people to do everything that needs to be done. Hunt, gather food and wood, be the lookouts, watch the remaining children. That’s why we make decisions together; we don’t need a separate Council.”
I sift through the little information I have about the Lofties. “Not many of you came to the last few Summer Solstices. We thought you didn’t want to celebrate with us, but really there were less of you?”
“For generations we’ve given up more babies in the Exchange than we’ve received. Dark coloring seems to be more common than light. It’s ironic—our ancestors drove yours out of the trees and created the Exchange to protect our resources. Now we’re dying out, thanks to their narrow minds and our own fear and pride.”
“Does anyone else know about this? Aloe? The Three?”
“No,” Peree says. “It’s forbidden to speak to Groundlings about, but I don’t think they’ll get here in time to punish me.”
I can’t stand it. “Don’t say that, you’re not–”
He stops my lips with his fingers. “I want to tell truths now. Something has to change, and soon. My people are afraid, but we’ll have to strike some kind of bargain with your people, or we won’t survive. Do something for me, when you go back—tell Aloe what I told you. Persuade your Council to help.”
“Come back with me and tell them yourself,” I plead.
“Does your Sightlessness give you the power to cheat death?”
I shake my head, frustration and helplessness strangling me. “Only to walk among it.”
We lie in silence then. Numb with grief, I listen to his slow breathing. For a moment I consider giving up, staying here with Peree next to the Hidden Waters. But voices drift to me through the caves like the whispers of ghosts. The voices of my people, beseeching me to return with some hopeful news. And I have the Lofties to consider now, slowly dying out in the trees over our heads.
Can I do this? Can I go back and shake the foundation of what my people believe: that the Lofties keep us subservient? Would it change anything? I don’t know, but I have to find out. I make up my mind. I’ll stay with him as long as I can. Then I’ll go back.
I try to stay awake, but I’m depleted, body and spirit. I doze off, and I’m the girl from the story, my back to the edge of the water, my hair lashing around me in the gusting wind. I hand Peree the last arrow I’ve made, knowing the men are coming for us. I tell him I’ll go back with them. No, we stay together, he reminds me.
And suddenly I know what I have to do.
I try to wake Peree, to tell him my plan, but he doesn’t stir. So I stuff what I can into an empty water sack: food, the diminished medicine pouch, the scrap of fabric and the rabbit’s foot Bear gave me, Peree’s knife, and the little wooden bird. I secure the sack to my body. I don’t think about what might happen, or I won’t have the courage to do this.
I wrap my arms around Peree, and whisper in his ear. Then I roll us over the edge into the river.
Chapter Ten
The water is unbelievably cold. It takes my breath away.
I hold Peree under the arms, feet downstream. He flails as we sweep through the cave. I try to come up for air, but my head meets solid rock, my face still underwater. Panic smothers me—I fight it.
The water throws us into the rock walls. Peree slumps in my arms. We hit an outcropping and pain explodes through my side.
Sliding downwards. The water levels out, dragging us. My ribs are in agony, my lungs exploding. I clear the surface and gasp for breath.
My forehead slams into a rock and water dashes down my throat. I gasp and choke; I’m drowning.
Suddenly, light bursts around us. We plunge into a roaring, plummeting wall of water. Peree’s head ricochets against my brow. Stunned, I cling to him like a raft.
And as swiftly as it began, the terrifying ride is over. Calmer water surrounds us. Warm water. I try to hold Peree’s face above the surface, but his weight pushes me under. My hand brushes against something slimy, slender, and plant-like. I seize it. It's attached to solid ground. I pull myself, and Peree’s body, as far up as I can and collapse. Darkness overtakes me.
I wake to the faint sound of birdsong and the rusty taste of blood in my mouth. The water careening down nearby masks any other noise. It’s bright, too bright even for me, after so many days in the dark caves. Hazily, I realize we must be outside. I say a quick thanks.
I stretch my arms and legs. Pain greets every small movement. My forehead throbs and it hurts to breathe—the ribs on my left side crackle like a handful of kindling. Raising my head prompts a wave of nausea, so I stay low. I feel like I was thoroughly beaten, which isn’t far from the truth.
I hear a low moan, and I panic. Where’s Peree? If the Scourge is here, he could be gone already. We can’t have come this far for him to be taken by flesh-eaters. Battling the pain and nausea, I grope around my body, my hands sliding through mud and grass. I only breathe again when I realize Peree’s the one doing the moa
ning. He’s alive. I lie next to him, holding his hand.
Time passes. I drift in and out, only aware of his body next to mine. The light’s gone when I come to again. For a moment I think we’re back in the caves, but I smell the organic, peaty soil and the bitter nip of the greenheart trees, so much stronger now that I haven’t smelled them in days. We’re outside, I remember.
I push myself up to my knees with one arm, allowing the other to curl around my injured ribs. I probe my forehead gently. An enormous knot squats on my brow, crusted with hardened blood and mud. Every movement of my head creates fresh fault lines. I lean over Peree, listening for the sound of his breath. It’s there, weak but consistent. I’m grateful, and astonished. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting to survive myself.
I wish I could tell where we are. I can hear a few insects in the vegetation around us, but not much else, thanks to what must be the waterfall that spit us out here. Beyond that I’m terrifyingly ignorant. What if the Scourge does come?
I transfer our few belongings to my pockets, then crawl to the water hole and fill the sack. The water tastes pure, like its source, the Hidden Waters. As I pour a tiny stream into Peree’s mouth, I hear a new sound—shuffling feet. I freeze, my hands poised over his body, ready to pull him into the water and away from the creatures, but the shuffling is all I hear. Whatever it is, it sounds much smaller than one of the creatures.
An animal? Maybe a possum, or a squirrel? My stomach snarls. I imagine Peree waking to the mouthwatering smell of freshly cooked meat . . . as if I could catch an animal and make a fire with a bunch of broken ribs. The animal does mean one good thing—the Scourge must not be near. In our part of the forest the animals are indicators of how close the flesh-eaters are. They take to the trees or burrow under the earth at the first sign of the creatures.
I think about the tiger, or whatever she was. How long had she been hiding from the creatures in the entrance to that cave? She must have been desperate. Hatred for the Scourge boils in me again.
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