The Scourge

  Truly, though I was nervous for him to raise that rod against me and Weevil, that wasn't my biggest problem. More concerning was the growing pain inside my gut to accompany the ache in my head. I didn't want to take any medicine yet--once it was gone, there'd be no more--but the way I felt now, I knew I wouldn't make it to the end of this day before I gave in and took another sip.

  The warden said, "There are very few wardens here at the Colony. You can understand why--it's difficult to get men as stupid as me who will work with the diseased." He had looked at Weevil when he said that, which I thought was entirely unfair, since Weevil was probably the least sick of anyone on this island. Then I thought of what the governor had said, that the River People were the Scourge of Keldan. Maybe the warden also thought of Weevil as a disease, just because of who he was and where he was from. The warden continued. "Therefore, the responsibility for keeping order largely falls on the sick to take care of themselves. Here at the Colony, you work for the benefit of others and then accept their work for your own good. Do you understand?"

  I nodded. Not only did I understand, this was the way the River People functioned. Nobody had very much, so the only way any of us survived was if we helped one another. Weevil's family was the exception amongst us. After his father was lost on the exploration, and with so many siblings to take care of, Weevil's mother felt there was little her family could do to contribute equally. It was a foolish pride, but a pride Weevil shared too. So after refusing the help of the River People, Weevil did what he could for his family, but it was never enough.

  Finally, under the warden's glare, Weevil nodded too.

  "Good," the warden said. "There is one other rule here in the Colony, and that is respect. You are not free people anymore; you cannot think of yourselves that way."

  "Is getting sick a crime now?" I asked. "We're no better than the prisoners who used to be here?" Of course we weren't any better. We would even be housed in the prison. All that we lacked were their chains.

  "You are servants of the healthy citizens of Keldan. It is your duty to keep the disease away from them and see that Keldan succeeds."

  "I'm not a servant," I said. "I'm a free person who happens to be sick. Every last bit of strength in me will go to getting better, not serving a country that has pushed my people farther away each year."

  He stepped toward me. "If the River People really are free, then how have we pushed you away?"

  That was something I had not considered. Were we free? My people had been known by many names over our existence, all of them signifying rejection by our own countrymen. We built temporary homes on land we could not own, paid higher prices in pinchworm markets after earning half their salaries, and when the wardens came and said it was time to move into even higher country, we went.

  Weevil's father wasn't free, certainly, nor the other River People who had been forced onto the governor's expedition.

  The wardens had come to us a year and a half ago, asking for three volunteers for a voyage into the northern seas in search of resources for Keldan. Their pleas were met with silence. Weevil's father stepped forward and said he had been there before, and that if we thought the storms that collected around Attic Island were bad, it was nothing compared to what happened farther north.

  "The River People will not join your voyage," he had told the wardens. "Collect your volunteers amongst the townsfolk."

  That speech had sealed his fate, my parents later explained. Weevil's father was taken from his home by force late that night, while his family tried to stop the wardens. Weevil had shown up at my door the following morning with a swollen eye, bruised lip, and a broken heart. It didn't matter how hard he had fought for his father. He only cared that he had failed.

  "If I'd been stronger," he had said to me. "Or if any of the River People had come to help us, this wouldn't have happened."

  "We didn't know," I had replied. "We thought the wardens had left the river country, or we'd have come. But we'll help you now."

  "You won't," Weevil had said. "I failed my father. I'll take care of my family now. I owe him that much."

  If only Weevil knew how they survived. He would be stripped of his pride and his honor. It would devastate him.

  The warden continued. "Part of your duties as a servant of Keldan is to respect the other people here. You will not harm them, not for any reason."

  "Della wasn't harmed when she fell into the water," I protested. "She was already wet, so I didn't even do that much to her. And for that matter, she deserved it."

  The warden's mouth tightened. "Hold out your hand, Ani. Palm up."

  I licked my lips and did as he said. Behind him, Weevil had shifted his position so that he could see me. I knew Weevil's mind was working, but this punishment wasn't his to prevent. What I'd done to Della was my own fault. I didn't know how many times the warden intended to strike my hand with that rod, but I wouldn't make a sound when he did. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

  The warden raised the rod, and Weevil cried out, "Wait! Do that to me instead. Not her."

  The warden turned, lifting an eyebrow as if amused. "Don't worry, grub, you'll get your punishment next."

  "I know that," Weevil said. "But I want hers first."

  "No," I said. "The only reason you're even on this island is because of me. I'll take the full punishment for you."

  The warden smiled. "There's no need for either of you to worry. I'll give you both as many strikes of the rod as you can stand."

  "Stop!" a man called. "I know these two. The rod is not enough."

  We turned to see Warden Gossel hurrying toward us. Seeing him again left the same taste as a mouthful of mud. The bottoms of his trousers were still wet, so he could not have arrived long before us, though he had obviously gotten here on another boat. A real boat that went all the way to the shore.

  The warden holding the rod acknowledged him with a slight tilt of his head, so I knew Gossel was the superior officer. But Gossel was also here as punishment of his own. If Gossel had disliked us before, getting sent here because of us would hardly make things better.

  "These two were just competing for who should take the other's punishment," the warden said.

  "Oh?" Gossel held out his hand for the rod and then curtly dismissed the other warden. Once he'd left, Gossel nodded at us. "I'm surprised to see such honor amongst grubs. But here in the Colony, you must live by a different set of rules. There is no room for such foolish loyalties here."

  "Friendship is not foolish," I said.

  Gossel stepped closer to me. "Here, it is. There is only so much medicine to go around. You'll have limited food, limited beds. There are ways to keep yourself alive a little longer." He glanced at Weevil. "But not if you're always looking out for someone else first. Before you can join the others, I will have to break the friendship out of you."

  Weevil and I looked at each other. "You can try, but you won't succeed," he said. "Nothing can break a true friendship."

  I believed that. I also believed that Weevil had always been the truest friend to me, perfectly loyal and good. But that didn't mean our friendship was perfect. If Gossel found the flaws, he could worm in between them and divide us.

  "We'll see," Gossel said, turning the rod in his hands. "Here is how this works. If you truly want the other's punishment, then you must earn it. Whoever can prove him--or herself--to be the worse friend will receive the full punishment. The other one is free to leave." He looked from me over to Weevil. "So who is the worst between you?"

  I immediately thought of the way the River People talked about me and Weevil. Everyone knew he was the better person and, thus, the better friend. I knew the truth of that better than anyone. It wouldn't take long before that was obvious to the warden too.

  I spoke first. "I'm the worse friend, sir. And I can prove it."

  Weevil immediately reacted to my words, jumping in with, "I want the whole punishment. Let her go free."

  Gossel arched a brow. "The fir
st point is against you, grub. A sacrifice like that only proves you are a better friend."

  I should have taken that hint and said if Weevil wanted the whole punishment, then he should get it. That would've proven I was the worse friend and, ironically, set him free. But I couldn't say it, because a part of me feared that if I agreed with Weevil, Gossel would still punish him, and maybe worse than just the rod. Did Gossel know what the governor had ordered for Weevil? I couldn't risk it.

  So instead I said, "I am worse. A few months ago, Weevil was diving in the river for clams and ended up with a fish bite right on his nose. It swelled up to the size of his fist for two days. I couldn't help but laugh every time I saw him."

  Weevil smiled at the memory. I'd left out of the story how hard Weevil had laughed at himself. We had joked that if the swelling never went down, his snoring would become the new worst sound in the world. But in hindsight, I shouldn't have laughed. The swelling had probably hurt more than I'd realized at the time.

  "I'm the worse friend," Weevil said. "I make fun of Ani's singing every chance I get. You have no idea how bad it is, how it drives you to wish you were deaf, just to get away from it. A better friend would overlook her singing, but I never do."

  He always did. Whether Gossel knew it or not, Weevil was proving again how great he was to me. Of course he teased me about my singing. Everyone else just covered their ears and tried to ignore me. I loved that he would tell me the truth and make me laugh about it at the same time.

  "I'm much worse than that," I said. "My family has more food than his. There are only three of us, so it's easier to provide for ourselves. He has five younger brothers and sisters and no father in his home. Yet I never share from our table. Ever."

  "I've never asked you to share, or wanted what you have," Weevil said, directly to me. "Even if you tried to share your food, we'd never accept it."

  How well I knew that.

  "Anyway, I can still do worse," Weevil continued. "There was this one day, a couple of weeks ago, when you looked really pretty. Not just pretty, but beautiful, like the angels in the heavens must look. I should've told you. That's the kind of things girls like to hear, right?"

  "I don't care about that," I whispered. But I knew exactly which day he meant. I had dressed up in my very best to go down into Windywood to sing. He had caught me unexpectedly. Even if he'd wanted to compliment my looks, there had been no chance for it before I hurried him out the door. I didn't want him to know where I was going. I still didn't want him to know.

  "I never tell you those things," Weevil said. "Such as how much I admire the person you are, your strength and your courage to do anything you believe is right. I used to think I wouldn't say those things because it might embarrass you. But that's not it. I don't say those things because it'd embarrass me. That's not a good friend."

  "I don't say them to you either," I said. "And that never matters because we're friends. We already know that about each other."

  "You seem to be a very good friend," Gossel said to me. "But when all is laid open, is he an equal friend back?"

  "I'm not," Weevil said. "The other night, when we escaped the cell, I wasn't far away when Warden Brogg recaptured you. I would've helped if I could, but there was nothing I could do. A good friend would never have left you alone in that cell."

  "I hoped you would go back home," I said. "I didn't want you back in that cell with me, and certainly didn't want you here now. I wish you had not come back."

  And at the same time, it was my greatest wish to never have to be here without him.

  "The decision is made, then," Gossel said to me. "You are the better friend because you had hoped to spare him from the Colony." He turned to Weevil. "Raise your hand, grub, palm out."

  I had hoped our game wouldn't get this far, but it had. I whispered, "I did want to spare him." Now tears formed in my eyes. "I am the worse friend. I said I can prove it, and I will."

  I reached into the pocket of my dress and pulled out the few wet wheat kernels that were in the bottom, the ones I'd discovered when Weevil had given me the dried meat strips.

  Weevil shook his head. "It's just wheat. What is that supposed to prove?"

  "Your mother makes poor man's bread for your family every day," I said. "Where does she get the wheat?"

  "We buy it."

  "Who buys it? From where?"

  Weevil tilted his head, confused. "We have money. I work hard every day, and I catch fish in the river whenever I can. My mother sews for the River People, and sends my sisters to the market for salt and eggs and--"

  "Not wheat," I said. "They never buy wheat. It's too expensive in the river country."

  Weevil's eyes darted away, then came back to me. "Your family has nothing either."

  "I have no brothers and sisters. We don't need as much."

  He shifted his balance on the ground, clearly uncomfortable. "We had an agreement, Ani. Whatever we found as we fished or hunted, we would keep for our own families. That kept everything fair and equal."

  "It was never fair and equal." The first tear fell on my cheek. "Never."

  "You took home your fish, just as I took home mine." Then his eyes locked on the wheat again. It was something, obviously, that we never fished for, never hunted for, something we never even gathered. Wheat could not grow in the river country. It only grew in the lowlands. "Where did you get that?"

  "I told you that I had to be home with my family each evening," I said. "That wasn't true. Each evening I went into the town and sang. With the coins I earned, I bought wheat for both of our families. I left a jar of it outside your mother's window each night. She never knew it was me."

  Weevil's expression had stiffened. "How long has this been going on?"

  "Since a few weeks after your father was taken away on that ship."

  His hands had formed into fists now, and his face had reddened. "You were giving us food, when you needed it too? We were your charity, your duty to the needy family?"

  "You were my friend. You are my friend. Your family needed this wheat!"

  He yelled, "How dare you? The day my father left, it became my duty to take care of my family. Not yours!"

  I'd never seen him so angry, and he'd never been angry at all with me. But I wasn't angry when I yelled back at him, only frightened. "You were doing your best, but it wasn't enough!"

  "Who made you the judge of what's enough for my family?" he asked.

  "Your mother was becoming too thin," I said. "Did you notice that she wasn't eating at suppertime? There wasn't enough food, not until I brought the wheat."

  "And when you were at my home and we offered you the bread from our table, did you secretly gloat over the fact that you were the one who had really given it to us?"

  "Never!" I said. "Wouldn't you have done the same for me, if my family had needed help?"

  "I would've respected our agreement, or if I was giving you food, then I'd have been honest about helping you."

  "If I had said anything, you never would've accepted it. You won't accept help from our people because your family can't give back. I know you were doing your best, but your best could not keep them alive. You needed my help, even if you didn't want it."

  "Thank you, then," Weevil said stiffly. "Thank you for taking care of my family. Obviously, I couldn't."

  "And so you are the better friend," Gossel said to me. "You are saving him and his family."

  Weevil remained silent and only continued staring at me, utterly wounded. This was exactly how I knew he'd react.

  "I just took away his pride," I said. "And if that is not bad enough, I can do even worse. There is only one way I could have gotten this sickness, and that is from the coins the townspeople paid me each night for singing. One of the coins that dropped into my jar must have come from a Scourge victim. When I picked it up, I got the disease too. Then, along with the wheat, I brought that back to my best friend." Tears filled my eyes. "I'm so sorry about that, Weevil. It's my fault you're here, my f
ault that you will eventually get this disease too. I am sorry for breaking our promise. But I am not sorry for my reasons for doing it. I couldn't go to sleep every night with a full stomach, knowing you were only a few houses away and slowly starving to death."

  "Then you saved me from that death," Weevil said, shrugging. "And gave me this death instead."

  Silence fell between us. Then Gossel said, "We're done here. Ani, you are the worse friend. Weevil, you may go."

  When he was dismissed, Weevil didn't move. He was scuffing his foot against the ground and looking anywhere but at me.

  "Leave," Gossel ordered him.

  "I won't," Weevil said, though he still would not look up.

  Gossel grabbed my arm and pulled me to his side. "Leave, or I'll double her punishment."

  "Double my punishment," Weevil said. "I want it."

  I didn't care about whatever Gossel would do to me. The sting on my palm would pass quickly enough. I cared that Weevil looked so broken, and because of me. That sting, the one in my heart, might never fade.

  "If you are still here when I count to five, this rod will strike elsewhere than her hand."

  "Go, Weevil," I said. "We played his game. I won."

  And I lost.

  "One," the warden said, raising the rod again.

  Now Weevil looked at me, but said to the warden, "If you really want to punish her, then let her see me be hit with that rod. Look at how she's hurting now, and that's only after words between us. Make her watch if you must, but give it to me."

  "Two."

  "Go," I told him. He was right about what he said. I'd much rather take the punishment than see it happen to him.

  "Three."

  Weevil mouthed something, but it was too soft for me to hear.

  "Four." He raised the rod higher.

  "Listen to me, sir. I want her punishment."

  The warden's hand tightened around my arm. "Five."

  "I want you to leave!" I yelled at Weevil. "I broke my promise to you, I lied to you, every single night. It's my fault you're here, my fault you'll get the Scourge." I choked back a full sob. "My fault you're going to die. Just leave!"

  The warden stared at Weevil. "Stay here and I promise that it will only get worse for her. Now what will you do?"

  Weevil nodded at me and stepped back to leave the yard. I was so sad by then, and in so much pain from the disease spreading through my body, that my legs collapsed beneath me. The warden released my arm, which I used to wrap around my aching side. If I were smart, I would eat the wheat kernels still in my other hand. Now that they were wet, it wouldn't be long before they were ruined.