The Keeper: A Brilliant Darkness Story

by A. G. Henley

  She brings up another pair of bags and sits, head in hands, against the side of the sled while I bring them up. I keep a worried eye on her as I babble about whatever comes to mind. The weather mostly. Why’s the weather the only thing people talk about when we can’t think of anything else to say?

  Another round of filling, pulling, and lifting, and we’re finished. Six bags of water sit at my feet. Shrike and Breeze will be happy.

  Fennel staggers down the path to the clearing and on to the caves, the creatures still trailing behind her. She moves faster—not exactly running, but close—as she nears the entrance. The flesh-eaters close in around her, drooling and snapping their jaws.

  Aloe calls to her from inside the cave mouth, one hand on her cane. Fenn makes a final push to reach her and wilts into her mother’s arms. The fleshies stop and turn away, disappearing back into the trees.

  Aloe speaks to me. If she’s upset or worried, I can’t tell. Her face and voice give nothing away. “Tell Breeze we’ll collect our water at dusk.”

  “I’ll tell her,” I answer, my eyes on her daughter. “I’ll see you in the morning, Fenn.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  Aloe holds her in her arms, whispering to her, comforting her. For one moment I imagine holding Fenn in my arms. Whispering to her, comforting her.

  It’s a very dangerous thing to imagine. And very stupid. But as I move back through the trees toward home, I can’t get the thought of it—of her—out of my head.

  5.

  Morning comes all too soon. As I listen for the screams of the Scourge, I’m torn. If I don’t hear them, the fleshies are gone and things can go back to normal. If I do hear them, I get to see Fenn again.

  I hear them.

  A thrill stabs my gut, followed by a healthy dose of guilt. Yesterday was clearly torture for her. How will she get through another day with the Scourge?

  The Covey peppered me with questions when I got back yesterday. They wanted to know how the new Water Bearer performed, how I was holding up, if we got all the water we were supposed to.

  Shrike, on the other hand, stood quietly by my side, watching me. I think he could tell how confused I was feeling no matter how hard I tried to hide it.

  For her first time among the flesh eaters, Fenn was amazing. And I helped her a little, talking her through the hard parts and taking out as many fleshies as I could. We did our duties, and I’m proud of that.

  But is it normal for me to feel this . . . fascinated . . . with her? Is it one of those Keeper and Water Bearer things that Shrike’s always been so vague about? Or is it this girl’s particular effect on me? I’m not sure, and I hate being unsure. Confidence is more my style.

  I meet her at the cave mouth again. She looks haggard when she emerges from the darkness, with smudges on her face and dress and her hair slumping over her shoulders. But even haggard doesn’t look all that bad on Fenn. Damn.

  “Where are they? Are they gone?” She sounds desperate for me to say yes.

  What did I expect? That she’d be as eager for them to stay as I was?

  “No. You’d better start moving toward the clearing.” At least it was normal for me to sound disappointed.

  She doesn’t go. Her gaze is fixed somewhere to my right.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Not really.”

  Stupid question. “I’m sorry. I wish–”

  She frowns. “What?”

  I wish she didn’t have to do this. I wish I didn’t have to do this. I wish I could understand why I’m so drawn to an untouchable Groundling girl.

  And I wish I didn’t see the fleshies coming. They pour around the trees like dirty water from a wash bucket, pushing each other in their desperation to get to Fenn. The first ones stop inches from her body, panting and moaning.

  “I wish the damn things would go burn in whatever hell they came from,” I say, whipping my bow into position. “Don’t move.”

  I cut down more of the fleshies than I probably need to, tensing my upper body to keep from shaking with anger and disgust. The creatures shriek and moan as they fall. One howls up at me, blood spattered across its distorted face like a crimson web, but it backs off from her.

  I grimace when I finally look at Fennel. The blood sprayed on her, too.

  “Okay, I cleared a little space,” I tell her. “You can go now. Watch it, though. There are a few of them on the ground to your right, and one behind you—”

  She stands there, surrounded by the carnage, and giggles. Is she unraveling already?

  “Are you laughing?” I ask.

  “Yes . . . no . . . I mean, I’m not laughing about this.” She gestures around her. “You were shooting so fast, I pictured you firing the arrows out of your mouth, like we spit watermelon seeds in the summer.”

  I chuckle at the unlikely comparison. At least her sense of humor’s still intact. She starts down the path with careful steps. I tell her a story about an animal called a camel, which was an unlikely mix of a bunch of other animals.

  “Did your mother tell you about these . . . what are they called again?” she asks.

  “Camels.”

  “How did she know so much about animals?”

  That really is a mystery; I have no idea. But I don’t want to get on the subject of my mother again so I change the subject. It’s not hard to do—the fleshies are pressing in on her again.

  She makes it to the water’s edge and stands ankle-deep for a moment, the sack trailing from her stiff fingers. She looks desperate to dive in. To escape. My chest aches, watching her struggle with her own fear.

  I wanted to be the Keeper. Born Sightless, Fenn had no choice but to be the next Water Bearer. Now she has to face the Scourge for the rest of her life. Most people would complain that it’s not fair. I’d complain. Not her.

  She should get something better than a Lofty telling her she’s doing a good job. But I tell her anyway, because I can’t think of anything else to do. I encourage her as much as possible, prodding her when she needs it. And I kill even more creatures than yesterday. She works steadily, her lips pressed together and her nose permanently wrinkled from the smell.

  She gets through it, collecting all the sacks, but I can see how much it costs her. By the time she finishes, her head hangs low and sweat soaks her dress. She looks even worse than she did yesterday.

  “See you in the morning,” I say as she disappears back into the caves.

  I think she said, “I hope not.”

  I’m a whole lot more disappointed than I should be to hear that.

  I shoulder my bow and stare at the empty cave mouth. I wish I could think of a way to make this easier for her.

  #

  I head home early for bed that evening. There’s no chance I’d admit it to anyone, but my new duties are wearing on me. Killing fleshies all day isn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. It’s pretty damn gruesome for one thing, and every day that goes by will be harder on me and on Fenn.

  I flop onto my pallet, not bothering to get undressed, and stare at the warped wood of our roof. It’ll need replacing soon. The cicadas’ hypnotic song almost puts me to sleep, but Shrike opens the door before I’m fully out.

  “Peree, wake up.” I can tell from his tone that there’s trouble.

  I push myself upright. “What is it?”

  He sits on his pallet and runs a slow hand over the top of his head. “That fool Kestrel and his sons took some of the Groundlings’ water.”

  My feet hit the floor with a thump. “What?”

  “The Covey assigned them to deliver the water sacks to the caves this evening. A mistake, in hindsight. Kestrel’s been complaining about the Groundlings not giving us as much time at the water hole. He apparently thought they wouldn’t notice if a little was skimmed off the top.” Shrike kicks at an unwashed food bowl on the ground between us.

  I slam a fist into my pallet. “What did they do, drink the extra water themselves?”

  He frowns. �
�Give them a little credit, son. They put it into our community water.”

  “Can’t we just put the water back in the sacks?”

  “Too late. The Groundlings already have them.”

  I stand and pace—not easy when you have long legs and a tree trunk takes up most of the room. “What will the Three do if they figure it out?”

  “Oh, they’ll figure it out. Sable’s eyesight might be failing, but nothing slips by Adder—or Aloe either—where we’re concerned. They’ll probably order the Water Bearer not to collect water for us tomorrow.” He props his forearms on his knees and stares at the floor. “I’d like to think Aloe might give me the chance to explain first, but they may not allow it.”

  I pace faster. Kestrel and his brood dumped me in it, well and good. “Fennel’s going to think I had something to do with this!”

  Shrike eyes me shrewdly. “She probably will. But that’s not really the point, is it?”

  I turn on him, my fists clenched. “You said yourself the relationship between Water Bearer and Keeper is built on trust.”

  He watches me for a moment and nods. “I did.”

  I throw a hand out. “Well? How the hell is she going to trust me after this?”

  My father doesn’t answer. His pinched face tells me he’s more concerned about my reaction than he is about the Groundlings’. I don’t care.

  I spot a rope coiled up in the corner. Rope . . .

  It’s long enough to reach from the trees to the water hole. Jackpot. I know what I can do to try to keep Fenn’s trust.

  But doing it might destroy my people’s trust in me.

  I stare at the length of rope, trying to decide. Am I the Keeper of the Water Bearer or the Keeper of my people? Being both doesn’t seem possible anymore.

  Breeze was dead wrong. I don’t feel like it’s my duty to protect Fenn, as if she’s some kind of weak, helpless child.

  My duty is to help her use her own strength, to help her wrap it tightly around herself, a shield.

  Suddenly the choice is easy.

  I choose her.

  THE END

  Want more Peree and Fennel? Read Fenn’s side of the story in THE SCOURGE, Book 1 of the BRILLIANT DARKNESS series.

  Available at Amazon:

  http://www.amazon.com/The-Scourge-ebook/dp/B0073O59OI

  Book 2 is coming in Summer 2013.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek of Chapter One …

  Sneak Peak of Chapter One of BRILLIANT DARKNESS #2

  In the place where a tree meets the earth, roots grow. They twist and twine together through the ground, stabilizing the tree. The soil provides the nutrients the tree needs to survive. In return, it shelters the land around it, protecting the earth from the erosive power of winds and water. When the tree dies, it sustains the earth and allows it to bring forth new life.

  They work together. Cooperate. That's what our teacher, Bream, taught us. It's a beautiful thought.

  My people, the Groundlings, live on the earth. Peree's people, the Lofties, live in the trees above us. We have common roots. What we can't seem to find is a way to shelter and sustain each other.

  When I decided to come home after finding the protected village of Koolkuna, I hoped I’d find a way to persuade our people to cooperate for long enough to get them safely back there. I wanted to believe when they experienced that kind of peace, and they were free of the delusions about the Scourge caused by the poisoned water, they would let our violent past die a quiet death. Like Peree and I have.

  But it’s been a week since the Reckoning, and we haven’t even persuaded our people to shake hands, much less to work together. The Confluence hasn’t gone well. Not at all.

  The Lofties refused to leave their homes unprotected and come to the ground to meet with us. They only allowed the new, hastily assembled Groundling Council of Three—Fox, Pinion, and Bream—to enter the trees for the Confluence. An entire meeting was wasted negotiating that. At least the Three aren’t under armed guard during the meetings anymore. But I’m learning that words can pierce a fragile peace as absolutely as a spear or arrow.

  Peree and I spent the first few days after the Reckoning enduring the disapproving silences and openly hostile barbs about how unnatural it is for a Lofty and a Groundling to want to partner. Why can't they see how unnatural it is for our people, related by blood and by place, to live apart?

  Peree and I are intended. We want to spend time together without feeling uncomfortable, so we’ve taken to sneaking around. In the trees, we hide out and talk in a lonely shelter far away along the perimeter of the walkways. On the ground, a dense grove of greenheart trees will do. Today we sought out the thick swathes of maiden grass along the banks of the water hole.

  A duck honks irritably as we slip through the stiff stalks of its home. The tops of the late-summer grasses shiver well above our heads, concealing waterfowl and lovers alike. We emerge from them now.

  With my lips pressed against Peree's, as they were only moments ago, I can ignore the pain of losing my foster mother, Aloe. I can forget the disappointment in our people. These fleeting moments with him are gifts, like the heady scent of the greenheart trees after a storm, or the feel of a silky, unblemished stone from the water hole. Unremarkable to others, maybe, but precious to me.

  Peree and I slink through the shadowy forest toward the gardens, our arms around each other. He still limps, thanks to our harrowing journey through the caves. He doesn't complain, but I can hear in his shallow breathing and feel in the tension of his torso how much it cost him to follow me home from Koolkuna before his leg was fully healed.

  "What are you thinking about?" His musical voice is a soothing compress for my troubled thoughts.

  "Nothing I want to talk about."

  He tugs me to a stop. "What kind of nothing?"

  "I just wonder how long we can keep this up."

  "Keep what up?” He kisses me playfully. “This? Forever, I hope."

  I smile half-heartedly. "I mean I wonder how long we can be together. Here. In this place.”

  "What are you saying? Are you ready to go back to Koolkuna?"

  "I don’t know. Maybe.”

  "Say the word and we're gone.”

  I cock my head. "Really? What about your people? You were so focused on finding a way to help them."

  He smoothes my hair. "I have other things to focus on now.”

  His lips find mine again, and I feel woozy when we finally break apart, as if I've been swimming underwater for too long.

  We walk on, my scarred hand in his bow-callused one, but I pull away as soon as I hear Groundling voices. Peree hates my strict no-touching-in-public rule, and I detest it. Still, I don't think we should make things harder for ourselves by flaunting our relationship. Deciding to partner was flaunting enough.

  "Fennel . . . Peree!" Eland's feet thump across the ground toward us.

  My little brother doesn't take my hand like he might have before. Any childishness about him was stamped out by Aloe’s death, and the hardship our people faced in the caves. But there are flashes, like his willingness to let me tuck him in at night when no one else can see. That's when he feels her loss the most. No matter how busy or preoccupied she was she never missed saying goodnight to him. So now, neither will I.

  "I strung my bow," Eland says proudly.

  "Nice work.” Peree helped him choose a likely tree branch yesterday and they shaped the bow together. "We can tighten it up a bit, and I'll show you how to make arrows next. Good arrows, like we use."

  "Can we do it now?"

  "Sure, if your sister can stand to let me go." Peree’s voice is teasing; he nudges me.

  I snort. "Eland, you aren't neglecting your work, are you?"

  He's helping clear and replant the beds in the garden. He grumbles that it's work for children and elders, arguing that at almost thirteen-years-old he should be allowed to go out scouting for game with the hunting party now. So far the Three haven't agreed.

  “Ac
acia said I could go. C’mon, Fenn,” Eland pleads.

  I sigh. "Fine. You boys go have fun playing with your instruments of death and destruction."

  Eland tears off toward the archery range, hooting like an owl. I haven't heard him so excited since I returned from Koolkuna. It's a beautiful sound.

  Peree leans in very close, pausing a breath away from my face, as if to kiss me again. My cautious, responsible side instantly frets about who might be watching. The rest of me, tingling with anticipation, couldn't care less.

  I soak in his summery scent, so much like honeysuckle, trying desperately to keep my traitorous arms from snaking around him. I'm sure he's smirking, watching me get all flustered. I wish I could touch his mouth to find out for sure, but I don't dare.

  He doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he touches the pendant at my neck, the bird he carved for me. Technically, it violates my no public touching rule, but I don't care. I love the gesture—an unspoken reminder of his feelings for me, and our commitment to each other. I want to hold on to him and never let go. But I point myself toward home instead, and he follows Eland.

  The rhythmic sound of wood being dissected meets me as I approach the clearing. My people have pushed hard since the Reckoning to clean up the gardens, fix our neglected shelters, and hunt for small game. The forest reclaimed our homes with astonishing avidity while we hid in the caves. It took Eland and I hours to march the dust and dirt out of our shelter at broom-point.

  Bear's husky voice mingles with those of the axmen in the clearing. I tense, tempted to go back the way I came. He hasn't been treating me differently since I told him I would partner with Peree, but something's definitely off in his voice, and he vanishes like freshly cooked meat whenever Peree's around. I understand, but it still hurts. He’s one of my best friends. Or he was.

  Calli, my other best friend, shouts from the direction of her shelter, a baiting note in her voice. "Oh, look, it's Fennel! Where do you think she's been?"

  My lips flatten into a hard line as she comes toward me. She knows exactly where I've been.