I blow on the meat and then test it out with a nibble. Delicious. Not many large animals are left on the forest floor, and hunting them is always a risk because of the Scourge, so boar’s a special treat. The muscular texture and rich, smoky flavor evoke cherished memories of past feasts: music, dancing, rare carefree moments.
“Maybe this is your old friend, Fenn,” Calli says, like she does every time we eat boar. I smile and agree, like I do every time she says it.
I was almost killed by an animal when we were about ten. We were playing hide-and-seek in the forest, and I was the seeker. Aloe made me memorize every path, bush, and tree in the area around our homes, so most of the time I could pinpoint where I was when we played. But on this day I was lost. As I wandered around hunting a familiar landmark, I heard what sounded like a gigantic boar snorting and charging toward me through the underbrush. Just before the animal reached me it squealed as if in pain and ran back the way it had come, leaving me shaking but alive. I don’t know what caused it to turn around.
“So Bear, who will you ask to dance tonight?” Calli teases.
“Better worry about who’s asking you,” Bear says. “From what I hear, Cricket’s got you in his sights. That is, if he can see you from way down there.”
We laugh at Calli’s tortured moans.
“Don’t you think it’s unfair that only boys can ask girls to dance?” I say. “Why can’t it be the girls’ choice for a change?”
“Tradition,” Calli says, in a high-pitched imitation of our teacher, Bream’s, voice.
“Our traditions protect us from the Scourge,” Bear says in the same voice. He leans closer to me, the smell of toasted wood clinging to his hair, and murmurs, “Who would you ask, if you had the choice?”
I chew a mouthful of meat to buy time. A voice bellows right above us, saving me from having to answer. It’s Calli’s father, Fox. He isn’t one of the Three, but he’s sure to be eventually, when Sable or Adder either die or become too infirm to do their duties.
“Ready for tomorrow, Bear?” Fox sounds like he’s had one too many cups of the spiced wine.
“I still want to know,” Bear whispers to me, before pushing himself to his feet. “We’ll do our best,” he says to Fox. “I hear the Lofties have a new crop of–”
“Rumors, rumors,” Fox says. “Pay no attention. We have the advantage, as always.”
Soon they’re debating which shape of knife is best to use in the fights, or what spear grip will produce the most accurate throw. Other men join them to strategize. Some of the younger children run around us, shrieking with excitement. I lean back on my hands, enjoying the sounds of the people enjoying themselves.
“Fenn?” Calli says.
“Hmm?”
“Aren’t you scared?”
I know what she’s asking about. Now that Aloe joined the Three, I’ll take over her duty and collect the water for our people when the Scourge comes again. I spend hours in the caves every day stocking the storeroom with supplies and food so we’re ready, but we’ll still need water. I shrug, feigning confidence. “Aloe says protection is the gift of our Sightlessness.”
Which may be true, but I’m still terrified. The sighted say the creatures’ bodies are open in patches, weeping pus and thick, dark blood. Their deformed faces are masks of horror. They roam the forests, reeking of festering flesh, consuming anything living. People who survive the attacks become flesh-eaters themselves. Death is better.
I’m supposed to be safe from the Scourge, like Aloe, but I haven’t been tested. I will be soon. To hear the agony of their hunger, smell their disease, feel their hot breath on my skin ... the idea fills me with dread and loathing. But Aloe has never shown her fear to others, and neither will I.
“I won’t be completely alone, anyway. I’ll have my Keeper,” I say. Calli snorts. The Lofties say the Keeper’s job is to kill flesh-eaters and deter other fleshies—our nickname for the Scourge—from getting too close to me. But everyone knows the Keeper’s really there to ensure the Lofties get their share of the water while the Scourge is here. Secretly I’m just happy someone will be with me, even if it’s a Lofty in the trees. “Aloe insists her Keeper was important.”
“Self-important,” Calli mutters. “And devious. Don’t trust them, Fenn.” We all know the fate of Groundlings who cross Lofties. They’re found with arrows in their chests. Or in their backs. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens.
There’s a rustling, more deliberate than the wind, in the leafy branches above our heads. I sit up.
“What is it?” Calli asks.
“The Lofties are here.”
The talking and shrieking abruptly cease. The clearing is silent except for the chattering of the fire. Fox finally speaks, sounding stiff and formal—and more sober than I expected.
“Welcome. Please join us.”
The woman who answers sounds equally uncomfortable. “Thank you. We brought food to contribute to the feast.”
“Our Council hasn’t arrived yet ... so I’ll just say a few words in their absence.” Fox clears his throat and continues in his best speechmaking voice—the one Calli and I have heard many times when we were in trouble. “Groundlings and Lofties come together once a year on this day to feast, to dance, and to engage in friendly competition.” I smile as some of the boys quietly scoff at the word friendly. “The Summer Solstice celebration is a reminder that every year given to us since the Fall of Civilization is a blessing, something for us to treasure. It’s a time to reflect on the year that has passed, and to anticipate the year that will be. We honor those who came before us, our elders, many of whom gave their lives to ensure we would have a future.” He pauses. “And we offer a prayer of protection
