I was my parents' only child and, as such, the center of their world. When it was time for that exploration, the wardens never came for my father, possibly because they knew the north would be entirely explored, pillaged, and settled before they ever got his cooperation. Unfortunately for my sweet mother, I was far more like my father.
I had her long dark hair, lean frame, and round eyes, but that was where our similarities ended. The fire constantly beneath my skin belonged entirely to my father. Whenever trouble happened with the River People, everyone's first question seemed to be, "Where's Ani?"
We had ridden for some time in silence. The sun gradually shifted overhead, letting in less light from this angle. Because of that, I couldn't tell if Weevil had fallen asleep again. Finally, he said, "What is that sound you're making?"
"When I fell from the tree, my leg got tangled in the vines. It's starting to itch."
"Don't scratch it."
"Why not?"
"Because scratching is the second-worst sound in the world."
"Live with it, or I'll show you the worst."
He smiled, then came over to sit beside me. He took my hands and gripped them in his. "Now you can't scratch."
I pulled away and scooted to another part of the wagon. "You should stay back from me."
"You'll give yourself scars." He reached for me, and when I sat farther back, his brows pressed together. "What's wrong with you?"
"I just think you should stay back."
He was silent a moment. "Are the wardens right? Tell me again, could you have the Scourge?"
"Of course not."
He didn't believe me this time. The change in his expression was subtle, but even
with such little light, I saw the tilt of his brow. The problem was that he knew me too well, enough to sense when to doubt my words.
Still watching me, he said, "It probably takes more to get the Scourge than just sitting beside a victim."
"How sure of that are you?" I asked. Neither of us really knew the answer.
Finally, he leaned his head against the wagon. "I'll stay away, then ... unless you scratch."
I lowered my hands and clasped them together, forcing myself not to think about the pestering itch. "How's your head?" I asked.
"Every time this wagon drives into a pothole, I feel like that warden is hitting me with his ax again."
"If I had some thrushweed, that would help." The River People knew every plant and its uses. Pinchworms thought we were less educated than them because we didn't have their expensive medicines or tests like the governor would probably try to administer on us. I figured we were just differently educated. They knew the world that came out of books, but we knew the world that went into them. I'd have loved to see a hungry pinchworm challenge a water cobra for its fish. Mostly because no River Person I knew would ever try such a foolish thing. In river country, we all learned early to respect things that could swallow us whole.
"I hear you scratching again," Weevil said.
"The itch is so bad it stings," I said, but I stopped.
He raised his head and stared at me. "What will the governor think if you show up with a rash all over your leg? Rashes are a sign of sickness."
"They're also a sign of someone whose leg was caught in a sticky vine."
"Pinchworms don't know about sticky vines. All the wardens know is you refused an order to come down and talk to them."
"Well, in the first place, I couldn't obey his order because I was stuck in the tree. And in the second place--"
"In the second place, you wouldn't have obeyed it because you never do as you're told," Weevil finished for me. "Listen, the wardens are angry, and you probably will get some sort of punishment for refusing to obey them. Maybe it'll be a fine or work hours in the towns. But they won't send you to the Colony because neither of us is sick. We'll be home soon."
"I hope you're right," I said, though maybe he was wrong. There were things he didn't know, couldn't know.