Brogg knelt in front of me. He ran a finger along my lower leg where the vine had already irritated the skin. "Rash here, and the skin is warm. Fever."
"I don't have the Scourge," I said. "I'm not sick."
When I squirmed, Gossel tightened his grip on me and said, "We're taking you in to be tested, but just from looking at you, it's obvious how that test will come out."
"You can't take me away!" I wiggled free, but he got me again. "Don't do this!"
"Get her quieted down," Gossel ordered. Then my arms were pulled behind me, and Gossel began tying them with rope while Brogg stuffed a rag into my mouth and tied it in place with another rag. I fought them, but at that point, it wasn't hard for them to carry me out of the clearing to where I saw an isolation wagon parked.
My panic rose. They really were taking me, without reason, without explanation, without even telling my parents. As far as they'd ever know, I'd have just disappeared.
The back of the wagon was already open, and they tossed me inside. Then Brogg hefted himself in to tie me to one wood-paneled wall. I struggled against it, but with every passing moment, their hold on me was increasing.
I had done nothing wrong, and nothing was wrong with me. They couldn't possibly believe that the signs they were seeing on my body were symptoms of the Scourge. It was only because of the vinefruit--surely they knew that! This couldn't be happening.
"Untie her," a voice ordered.
I sat up while Brogg turned around and slowly raised his hands. Beneath my gag, a smile widened on my face. It was my best friend in the world, holding a hunting knife. Late to meet me,
as always, but at least he was here now. Weevil had come to help.
Admittedly, Weevil's parents had given him a name that hardly helped with the fact that my people were known as grubs. But Weevil didn't seem to mind, so neither did I. He was strong, and friendlier than he looked at the present moment, and most important, he would never let the wardens take me away.
"This poor girl has got the Scourge." Brogg's sympathy was as fake as a painted coin. "We're taking her to be tested. If it turns out she's healthy, she comes home."
"She's plenty healthy," Weevil said. "The Scourge hasn't come to the river country."
"What if it has?" Brogg was slowly oozing his way out of the wagon. "It'd wipe out you grubs within a month. Only way you can be safe is if your people let us test you."
"We'll take care of ourselves," Weevil said. "And we'll take care of Ani. Let her go or I will throw this knife. I never miss."
Privately, I rolled my eyes. Weevil often missed. Hopefully, Brogg wouldn't test his aim, especially if he was standing anywhere near me.
Weevil was so intent on Brogg that he failed to notice the other warden who was sneaking up behind him. I squealed and gestured with my head for him to look back. Weevil turned, and Brogg dove from the cart and pounced on him. Weevil rose up for the fight, but Gossel took the butt of his ax and crashed it down on his head.
I screamed, muted by my gag. Weevil had stopped moving, but they grabbed his body and threw him into the back of the wagon with me. Blood seeped from a wound on the side of his head. I tried not to panic. Head wounds bled a lot; that didn't always mean they were serious.
Sometimes they were very serious, though. Weevil wasn't moving.
"These are only children," Brogg said. "If this is how the grubs are going to be, we'll need more than just you and me."
Gossel nodded. "Let's take these two. If the governor wants five, she can come get the rest herself."
And the door slammed shut behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness. Minutes later, the wagon began driving away, taking us from our home.
A knife was in my boot. I had expected it to fall out while I was hanging upside down in the tree, but by the angels' mercy, it had somehow stayed in place.
I kicked that boot off now and then contorted my body in any way necessary to slide the knife closer to my hands, which were tied near the floor of the wagon. It wasn't easy, and the lack of grace I showed in managing that trick would've made my mother's hair curl. She had given up on me acting like a respectable young lady years ago.
Once the knife was in my hands, I twisted it around to saw at the ropes. In the process, I jabbed myself more than I would've liked, but when the last piece of rope snapped apart, I immediately forgot about the sting from the cuts. I pulled the gag off my mouth, then used the fabric to press at the wound on the side of Weevil's head.
Weevil had too much hair--that was the problem with stopping the bleeding. He only got around to cutting his hair when I teased him, although, secretly, I liked it longer. His was lighter in color than most of our people's and stubbornly straight, making it stick out sideways after a haircut. But I liked that too. It fit his mischievous grin and the sparkle that always danced in his brown eyes.
Except for now. Nothing about him was dancing right now, and that worried me.
"Weevil?" I whispered. "Weevil, wake up."
He stirred, thankfully, but his eyes weren't open, and soon he went quiet again.