The Gatherer (Brilliant Darkness 2.5) (3 page)

I clean and sheath my knife and look for the girl. The fog has thinned enough that she is now visible. She crouches where I left her, but she must have seen everything.

Her eyes brim with silent questions but little fear as she stares at the man sitting obediently against the tree. I help her up. I have chosen well.

The mist clears completely, revealing the river country. The Restless is wide and dark. Her banks curve through the forest, holding the mad rushing water tenderly between them. The other side lies far enough away to be a difficult swim, but near enough to be easily seen. Thanks to the turbulence, the water is opaque. The Teachers told us the fish that ruled the Restless in the old days died out when the wailers came.

Trees—much smaller than greenhearts—arch over the river. The girl and I climb around them, stepping past downed trunks and low bushes. There is no path along this stretch of the Restless as there are along others. Few communities are nearby, and the wailers do not seem to know or care how to keep a trail cleared.

At a high point, I stop to peer behind us. To my dismay, the three men are there, miniaturized in the distance.

We could enter the forest to our right and hide, but I don't want them to pass us, separating us from the Cloister. I could fall back and sting the men, but the odds of that fight are not good. And I would have to kill at least one in order to subdue the others. The girl's integration to the children's compound will be difficult enough without witnessing me slitting the throats of her kinsmen. It is best to stay ahead of them.

I push her faster. It is a race, one I will not lose.

The ground begins to undulate in front of us. This stretch of land rises up, well above the river. We run straight up a hill.

The last bit of the climb is steep. We use rocks and exposed roots to pull ourselves to the top; I help the girl when she requires it. As we scramble to our feet at the crest, I notice the vicious stink.

Wailers
.

A small group of the creatures shambles around the almost-bare plateau. Blood smeared and grimy, with infected sores on the skin of their bare limbs and disfigured faces, their veined eyes roll to the girl and me.

Their moans turn to screams of rage and hunger. They hurtle toward us.

Get to high ground.

Dragging the girl, I sprint for the few paltry trees perched at the edge of the cliff, leaning over the river. They will have to do.

The creatures close the distance between us with always-astonishing speed. Their shrieks pull chill bumps from my skin. When the child's feet slide in the dewy grass, I hold her upright.

The trees hanging out over the Restless are not nearly lofty enough to be completely out of reach when climbed. We have no choice. I squat next to the tallest and sturdiest and lace my fingers together for the girl.

"Give me your foot! Jump!"

She steps into my hands, and I launch her up. As soon as I'm sure she will not fall, I leap and grab the lowest branch with one hand. The wailers are there a moment later, clutching at my legs.

I kick one and slash at another with my knife, biting into the meat of its shoulder. It screams, and blood spurts from the wound onto my hand and weapon. My body twists, and the muscles of my arm feel as if they will tear from the bone. The limb groans and cracks under my weight.

I strain to bring my knees and feet up to the branch.
Shaking, 
I hook my heels over and thrust my body onto it. A moment later I am climbing again. The knife is in my mouth; the creature's blood tastes of rotting meat. My stomach lurches, and I spit as soon as I can.

The girl is above, panting, her movements jerky.

"Climb!" I shout.

We move as high as possible. The tree bends with our weight, pushing us even farther out over the river. It leaps and crashes far below.

The wailers swarm the bottom of the tree, screaming at us. Their faces are blood and fury. But my attention is not on the creatures or the river or even the girl. Instead, I watch the three men clamber up the hillside to the plateau. They do not run away from the wailers, as most would. They run
toward
them.

The creatures surge around the men, howling and clawing at their clothes. The men shriek as the wailers tear their skin and gouge their eyes. Bloody teeth clamp onto their necks. They are being consumed.

My vision blurs and my head aches, and suddenly it seems as if the men are walking calmly among the creatures, prey among predators. I blink, trying to clear my sight.

Are they being consumed or not? How do they
do
this?

Pain splits my head; I feel sick. I cannot reconcile what I see from one moment to the next. It makes no sense.

"Kaiya," one of the men says.

The girl's resemblance to her father is obvious. And even from a height I can see the pulse in his neck throbbing frantically. He is afraid for her.

"Come down. Come with us," he pleads to her. "Come home."

Clutching my roiling stomach, I growl at the girl. "Stay where you are."

Her head swivels from her father to me. The two other men—one with light hair sprinkled with silver and one with skin dark as basalt—disappear around the back of the tree. I keep the girl close. The creatures follow the men, surrounding them, their mouths working hungrily and howls tearing from their throats.

"Let my daughter go.” The girl’s father pays no attention to the wailers. He steps to the bottom of the tree, his liquid, soulful eyes searching my face. "Please. Her mother is dead; I cannot lose my child, too. Give her back to me."

"Men are not fit to raise daughters."

"Why do you say that?"

His question rings with genuine curiosity. I'm inclined to explain, but before I can, a creature screams in his face, spittle bursting from its mouth. It rips his scalp away from his head with claw-like nails.

Saliva and acid burn my throat at the sight of his skull. I reach to cover the girl's eyes, but it is too late.

Only . . . a moment later, her father is whole again. The ache in my head flares.

"Some men are not good fathers, it is true," he says, "but I love and cherish my daughter."

"So you say," I whisper. My eyes roam over his head, searching for the damage that's no longer there.

"Ask her," he urges. "Ask Kaiya."

The girl stares at her father with a longing I cannot explain away. She wants to go to him; that is clear. But would she still if she knew there was another way to live?
Our
way?

"She cannot speak," I say. "She has been stung."

A thundercloud of anger passes over the man's features. I watch him warily.

He reaches up toward her. "Come to me, love. I'm here."

Nothing happens for a moment, but then her fingers stretch toward him. I am amazed; she thwarts the sting, if only for a moment.

The man's gaze twitches behind me, holding a message. I read it just in time and fold myself over the girl as the other two launch their spears at me. Her father bolts into the tree below, climbing quickly toward us, calling for his daughter. The creatures groan.

"Jump, Kaiya!" I shout, already in motion myself. "Now! Into the Restless!"

“No!” her father cries.

The girl's mouth opens, her face a picture of agony, but she cannot resist my direct order. She leaps into the air, far over the river, arms and legs thrashing. And a moment later, I hurtle after her.

Kicking and pushing up for air, I immediately search for Kaiya. She is ahead of me, struggling to keep her head above the swift current.

My strokes slice through the water between us. Grimma taught Adar and me to swim when we were both Initiates. I hear her gruff voice now, ordering me to stay calm even as the river breaks over my head, rocks rip past my face, and water dives into my throat, choking me.

"Roll onto your back, put your feet in front of you, and lie still," I tell the girl when I reach her. I get behind her, 
thread one of my arms under each of hers, and begin to scissor kick, towing her toward shore
.

Something splashes upriver. Blinking hard to see, I look back. Two men stand silhouetted at the edge of the bluff overhead. Kaiya's father is in the river. He tries to follow us, but he is clearly unaccustomed to such a fierce swim. The heavy current fights him.

The shore curves ahead, creating a small pocket of calm water. If I can maneuver there, it should slow us. I grit my teeth and strain toward the smoother surface, willing my taxed muscles to reach it before the river hauls us past.

A tree root flashes by; I grab it. The drag is incredible—black spots dance in my vision and my knuckles whiten—but slowly I pull Kaiya to land. Although the shore is slippery, she is able to scramble out. With one last effort I follow her, squirming onto dry ground on my belly. For a moment, we lie there breathing heavily.

Her eyes turn to the far shore.

Her father is tangled in a bush that grew out into the river instead of above it. I shake my dripping head. Mother Asis protects him for some mysterious reason.

He heaves himself onto land. The girl's face tightens with worry as she watches him. What would she say to me if she could speak freely? Why does it concern me?

We rest for a little while, allowing the sun to dry our clothes and hair. I give the girl nourishment, and after a few moments of reluctance, I sting her. I do not dare allow the venom to wear off with her father trailing and the Cloister a day’s walk away.

Something—an emotion I would rather not examine—wriggles in my gut. I was told a girl's family might pursue after a Gathering. But my Sisters’ stories confirmed everything the Teachers ever taught us about men: they will only want their property back, offended a woman had stolen from them.

Kaiya's father does not seem the same. I picture his face again as he pled with me to release her. Would he go so far as to walk among the wailers and brave the raging Restless to retrieve a belonging? Or does he genuinely care for the girl as he said? The doubt unsettles me.

My Sisters would advise me to kill him and be done with the distraction, but unlike the man with the missing thumb, I don't believe
this
one deserves that fate. The possibility a father exists who might truly love his daughter intrigues me.

Yet I cannot hesitate in my duty. The Cloister and my Sisters are relying on me. I must bring Kaiya home and return to Adar's side.

I get the girl to her feet, and we march on along the river. Her father follows, a persistent shadow drifting down the other shore as the day wanes. Thankfully the Restless is too wide and wild for him to cross—for now.

As light gives way to dark, I make a nest of musty-smelling leaves at the base of a tree and direct Kaiya to sleep. I dare not close my own eyes. Instead I listen to the sounds of the night—the frogs and crickets and the fluttering sound of owls on the hunt. My ears prick with every noise; I half expect to see the girl's father.

I wake her before dawn and we walk on, taking a path used just enough to prevent the forest from reclaiming it. I keep my knife in hand.

In the thin light I spot someone or something stealing between the trees. Wailers? Her father?

Neither. A man and a woman follow us, their expressions dull and hungry. A boy about Kaiya's age trails them.

They are shoeless, toothless. Their weapons are little better than sticks stripped of leaves. Keeping the girl close, I make certain they see my weapon and my confidence, and then I pay them no heed.

Kaiya stares at the other child. She has probably seen few outside her own remote village. The boy’s face is as blunt and bland as a chunk of rock, but she watches him intently until the people finally drift away, apparently deciding we aren't worth the risk of an attack.

Although my Sisters typically stay close to the protection of the Cloister, it is not uncommon for us to roam farther away for Gatherings and occasional hunts. Mother Asis provides for us, but we must also provide for ourselves.

Like all of our daughters, I did not leave the walls of the Cloister until I became an Initiate. The Teachers taught us to expect ignorance and weakness and the brutality of men, and that is what I've mostly found as a Gatherer. But not entirely. I've witnessed moments of tenderness and joy, gentle words and caring. They are few, but they exist. I hope to see more.

I search the far shore of the Restless for Kaiya’s father. I do not see him, but somehow I know he follows still. He seemed different. Koolkuna seemed different. What else might I find outside that would surprise me?

Kaiya and I must make do with a few handfuls of wild lettuce and berries for breakfast. At least we have plenty of water.
I breathe easier w
hen we finally move into the trees a few hours later.

Grimma told us the massive greenhearts of the forest might have been here for eons. I thank the one Kaiya and I scurry up for its stubborn persistence. We slip through the sturdy branches using old walkways built generations ago by people escaping the wailers. Our own stories tell us we secured the Cloister by chasing away those very same tree dwellers. Only the occasional transient is ever seen among these branches now.

Melancholy creeps through me as we pass over the platforms that once must have supported whole communities.
The weak do not survive
, the Teachers assured us. These empty places are proof of their wisdom. My Sisters and I are fortunate to possess the Cloister. It has rarely been breached; it is the source of our strength.

I see Kaiya's father only once more as we walk along a stretch of platform with a clear view of the Restless and the shore beyond. He is well behind us, weaving between trees and staggering around shrubs.

Why does he continue? What does he hope to do? Storm the Cloister to retrieve his daughter? He will be killed.