The Scourge

by Henley, A. G.

  “I think I should take things slow. Walk with me instead?”

  “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

  “To Nerang. Do you know where he is?”

  “I think he’s with your friend.”

  “Take me to him?”

  “Sure, let’s use the ropes.” She tugs me forward and I tense, expecting the movement to hurt my ribs, but it doesn’t.

  “The ropes?” I ask.

  “To get down.”

  I don’t know “the ropes,” but I’m relieved we’re going down. I’m not at all comfortable up here. I stiffen every time a branch creaks or the trees sway. Kora still holds my hand, but I feel around for something else to hold onto. Another tree branch sits waist-high above the walkway, forming a barrier. I run my other hand along it gratefully. We pass a shelter, and I hear a woman singing inside.

  “Does your family live in the trees, or on the ground?” I ask Kora.

  “The ground,” she says, as if that should be obvious. “My brother Darel’s only four, he isn’t old enough to live in the trees yet. It’s not safe for the little ones—they can fall.”

  Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t consider herself part of any group that could do something so careless. I smile to myself, but wonder how dangerous the possibility of a fall is, compared to the constant threat of the Scourge.

  “How old 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 whispering. They don’t sound suspicious so much as curious.

  “They’re talking about you,” Kora informs me.

  “I thought so,” I say, smiling at her honesty. “Tell me, what does lorinya mean? I keep hearing that word.”

  “It means stranger. That’s what they call you, but I don’t. You’re not a stranger. You’re my friend.”

  “Thanks, I can use one right now.”

  I’m glad I can’t see their stares. Hearing their whispers is bad enough. I don’t like being the center of attention even among friends, and right now my friends consist of exactly one six-year-old girl.

  We skirt the bustling center of the village, making our way to a quieter spot. The light is dimmer here, as if we’re under a thick awning of trees. I ask Kora if there’s a fence around the village, or some other kind of barrier, but she says no, clearly wondering why I’d ask such a silly question. As far as I can tell, no one seems a bit concerned about the Scourge. What kind of place is this?

  The scent of Nerang’s strong incense hovers in the air, so I’m not surprised to hear his voice a moment later. “Hello, Kora, Fennel—I’m pleased to see you up and about. How do you feel today?”

  “A little tired and sore, but otherwise well.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. With rest and a little more time, your body will recover, like the forest after a fire.”

  “How’s Peree? Is he awake?”

  “He’s resting. You may come in, but use this to cover your mouth and nose.” He places a cloth in my hand. “Burning herbs have strong healing powers for the sick or injured, but they can be overpowering for the rest of us. Remain outside, please, Kora.”

  He takes my arm, and a door scrapes open. I quickly understand why I need the cloth; the air that swirls out is cloying. Nerang takes me a few steps inside, and places my hand on what feels like a bed. I feel around until I find Peree’s arm. I kneel beside him.

  “He’s so thin,” I whisper. Skeletal is more like it.

  “He’s rarely awake long enough to eat, but he has been d
rinking more, and the infection is gone.”

  My fingers take stock of his face. His eyes are closed over his now-prominent cheekbones, and his beard has grown, but his temperature feels normal. His breathing is slow and regular.

  Nerang pats my shoulder. “Try not to worry. He is improving.”

  “What about his leg?” I search for the cloth-covered wound on Peree’s thigh, and swallow hard. A large part of the muscle is missing.

  “There was a severe infection,” Nerang says quietly. “I had to remove some of the tissue, to save his life.”

  “Will he be able to walk?”

  “We must wait and see. It was the only option, young one. If the infection had spread any further, I would have had to remove his entire leg.”

  I grasp Peree’s hand again, bringing it to my lips. What if he can’t walk? How will he survive? I should have encouraged him to shoot the tiger. I shouldn’t have distracted him when he was taking aim. I should have taken better care of the wound, kept it cleaner. I shouldn’t have let him come with me to begin with. If I had done even one of those things, Peree would still be whole.

  “This is my fault,” I mumble.

  “Blaming yourself will not help him heal.”

  “What will?”

  “Your support, your encouragement, and your wisdom.”

  I raise my head. “Wisdom?”

  “Is not having the use of a limb so different from not having one’s sight?” Nerang asks. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your friend may walk again. Much depends on his will power.”

  I touch Peree’s face, silently begging him for forgiveness, then Nerang takes me back outside. Suddenly dizzy, I sit down hard and cough as dust floats around me.

  Kora sits, too, and pats my face. “Are you all right?”

  “She will be,” Nerang assures her.

  Her hair, coarse and curly, rubs against my cheek as she nestles into my side. She hands me something, a flower, with velvety, oblong petals. “Tell her a story, Nerang, to help her feel better.”

  “Which one should I tell?”

  Kora thinks for a moment. “The legend of the flowers?”

  “A good choice.” He settles down next to us. “In the time before time, the Creator left the earth to return home to the Sacred Mountain. Before long, all the beautiful flowers that grew around the water holes, in the trees, and in the rocky crevices, began to die. The earth was colorless and barren, the bees were gone, and there was no honey. The people were sad, so they traveled to the Sacred Mountain to plead with the Creator. Everywhere they looked, there was an abundance of flowers, more and more, strewn like rainbows around the camp. They cried that they had lost this, the beauty of the flowers, and the Creator took pity on them. She told them to gather as many armfuls of flowers as they could hold, and to return to earth to sprinkle them on the land. She promised them that the earth would never again be barren.

  “The people did as they were instructed. Suddenly the land, the trees, and the rocky crevices were covered with beautiful blooms. And from then on, when the flowers died, the people did not fret, for they remembered the promise that was made to them by the Creator. Always, always, no matter how harsh the summer sun, or how biting the winter wind—the flowers will return.” Nerang pauses. “There’s always hope, young one. Renewal is all around us, every minute of every day. It’s the gift of the Creator.”

  I try to look appreciative, but his story hits too close to home, reminding me of Peree’s tales. I want to cry, but now isn’t the time. I need information and a plan, so I’m prepared when Peree wakes. “I met a woman, Kadee, on my way here,” I say. “She asked me to come to the–” I stumble over the word, “allawah? . . . after I saw Peree.”

  “I’m not surprised. The anuna have been chittering about you for days. I imagine they want to find out who you are and where you came from. Kora, will you take her? I must stay with my patient.”

  I take his hand. “Thank you, Nerang. I know you’ve done all you can for him.”

  “There’s always more to do, young one. Remember what I said. Your friend will need you, when the time comes.”

  Kora and I walk back to the village. Apparently word got out that I was coming. People are milling around the gathering place, talking, but they grow silent as we approach. My fingers flutter nervously over my hair and dress.

  “Mama!” Kora cries. “This is Fennel.” She presents me proudly.

  Someone comes closer. Her voice is barely louder than a whisper when she speaks. “I am Arika.”

  “Thank you for allowing Kora to show me around. I have a younger brother, and I know how hard it would be to trust him with a stranger.” I try to smile.

  “What’s hard is stopping Kora from doing what she wants.” Arika sounds like she’s smiling, too. “I think she's decided that since she found you, you’re hers now.”

  “I'm happy to have a friend,” I say.

  “Welcome, Fennel,” Kadee says from somewhere nearby. “Come in.”

  Following her voice, I step inside the shelter. The space feels open and airy, as if the roof is high above our heads. There’s a fire lit in the center, where something tantalizing is cooking. Kadee helps me find a spot to sit as others come in, taking seats around the fire. My stomach rumbles as a plate of food is placed in front of me.

  “Rabbit stew, with fresh bread,” Kadee says.

  I want to attack it, but at home we wait until all are seated with their meals before we eat. From the sounds around me, people are still getting settled. I clench my hands together in my lap.

  “In Koolkuna, it’s customary to wait for the guest to begin eating, before we start,” Kadee says in a low voice.

  Thankful for that particular convention, I take a bite of the stew. It’s hot and delicious. The rabbit meat is succulent, cooked in a rich, spicy gravy stuffed with potatoes, carrots, and onion. After days of cured meat, the simple, nourishing meal is more than satisfying. I don’t refuse seconds.

  I listen to the conversations around me while I eat. I can’t understand them, but from the tone of their voices I figure they’re speculating about me. I hear lorinya often.

  Their questions will start soon. I’m afraid to tell them what they’ll want to know—that is, everything about me and Peree, and how we came here. But we need the help of these people, and so far they’ve given it freely. So I eat, building the courage to be honest in the face of uncertainty.

  I sop up the last of the gravy with my final bite of bread and put my bowl down. As I do, the conversations around me die. The logs settling into the flames are the loudest sound in the room.

  “I’d like to tell you the story of the anuna,” a man says from the other side of the fire. His voice brings to mind an ancient tree, stooped and covered in folds of wrinkled bark and wispy leaves, but still holding its branches proudly.

  Kadee says, “This is Wirrim, our Memory Keeper. He remembers and passes on the stories of the people.”

  When Wirrim speaks again, his voice has changed. It has a clear, ringing authority to it, like Willow’s voice did, like the voices of all gifted storytellers. “Before the time of the sick ones, our people lived far apart from each other. Few spoke the first language, our native tongue, anymore. Most spoke the second language—your language. We gathered from time to time to celebrate, and to pass the stories of the anuna to the young ones. It was during one of these celebrations that we received the news that the runa, the sick ones, were coming. The world fell into chaos—homes burning, families torn apart—and everywhere, the sick ones roamed. Death surrounded us. We lost many. The anuna were frightened, but together we found our way here, to our ancestral home of Koolkuna.

  “Here we have lived for generations. We renewed our use of the first language, as a bond between our people, while keeping our knowledge of the second language. We live in peace and safety, taking care of each other with sustenance from the forest and the Myuna—our water hole. Through the years, lorinyas have come to Koolkuna.
Some stay, grateful to have found a place of safety. Others leave again, haunted by memories of lost loved ones. Now you have come to Koolkuna, and we ask ourselves: will she stay? Or will she leave? What is she searching for?” He pauses, obviously waiting for an answer.

  My mouth is dry despite the cool water Kadee gave me with my meal. “I search for . . . hope. Hope for my people. I came from the forest, some days’ walk away. We live on the forest floor, where we grow our food and hunt what we can. But we must hide from the Scourge, what you call the runa. When they come we hide in caves until they leave again. We can’t leave the forest because we need the water from our water hole. I came in search of a new source of water, to give my people a chance for freedom from the Scourge.”

  “And your friend?” Wirrim asks.

  “His name is Peree. His people live in the trees above us. They depend on the water, too, and he came for the same reason, to find a place where his people can live free from fear.”

  “You came from the Dark Place?”

  “Our legends tell of water in the caves that’s protected from the creatures. Peree and I searched for days. We found it, the underground river that feeds your water hole, but he was injured, so we couldn’t go back home to tell our people.”

  “How was he injured?” Kadee asks.

  “He was attacked by an animal we came across in the caves.” The listening people murmur at that. “She was trapped between us and the sick ones. She protected her young, and Peree protected me.” I swallow again, thinking about what it cost him.

  “What kind of animal?” a woman asks.

  “We thought it might be a tiger.”

  “Tiger? There are no tigers here,” a man says.

  “Peree wasn’t sure. He’d never seen one before. He said the animal was big and yellowish, with black markings on its body.” There are more excited murmurs. I hear the words lynx and cougar, but they must be the first language because I don’t know what they mean. “The wound became infected, and Peree was suffering terribly. We couldn’t go back. He didn’t want to die in the dark, so I took a chance on the river, hoping to find the sun. Luckily, the sun found us—Kora.” I smile toward where I think Arika is sitting. “And . . . you know the rest.”