Parched Read online

  Sarel hacked off a few knobby husks that rattled with dried seeds, then picked the rest of the ripening fruit. Chakide and Bheka nosed the dirt beneath her fingers, rooting under her hands to sniff out whatever she was hiding.

  Before, Sarel would have laughed. The pups would have licked her face and wiggled their way onto her lap. But that was before.

  Instead, she exhaled in a patter of breaths, the lines that creased her brow smoothing for a moment. Nudging their snouts away, Sarel tucked the gourds inside her satchel and turned toward home.

  She jogged easily, glad to have the city at her back. Sarel cradled the contents of her satchel, her mind working as her feet shushed across the dirt. The cucumber wasn’t the only drought-hardened plant her mother had grown in the garden. And it wasn’t the only one that still grew wild.

  There was the bitter aloe. And thatches of sweet onion hiding in pockets of shade, and sour figs sprawled wild out on the sandy flats. Maybe she could even grow a mangosteen tree to shade the tilled earth.

  As Sarel walked, tufted clouds stretched across the sky, soft and cool as a cotton bed sheet. When they arrived at the homestead, she jogged straight to the garden.

  Kneeling down, she brushed away the top layer of fire-blackened earth and raked the soil with her fingers, combing it into neat rows. She pried open the husks and scattered seeds into the shallow channels. She scooped handfuls of dirt to cover them and pressed the ground flat again, the imprints of her fingertips crisscrossing like bird tracks over the buried seeds.

  The sun dipped below the horizon as Sarel finished her work. She knew her garden needed water—as a child she had walked often to the river with her mother, hand in hand, and watched as she raised the sluice gate, watched water fill the narrow channel and flood into the planted furrows. But that was before the river went dry.

  Sarel’s hand closed on empty air. No matter how badly she wanted to see her mother’s garden blooming again, she wouldn’t use a drop of their drinking water for this. There was no way to know how much longer the old well that fed the grotto pool would have water left to give.

  She squinted through the failing light along the half-buried channel to where the sluice gate hung, holding back nothing but air. Sarel knew it wasn’t enough, burying a handful of seeds and wishing for rain. But she didn’t know what else to do.

  She lay down and pressed her cheek into the charred soil.

  17

  Musa

  It wasn’t until the fourth day that he felt it—a low hum, like a cloud of buzzing gnats, pulsing through the ground to the west and rising through the soles of his feet to settle at the base of his skull. A hum so slight, it could have been just a headache.

  Musa stopped and listened. His body turned toward the sound like a needle on a compass.

  Fresh water.

  Faint, far away.

  But it was there.

  18

  Sarel

  Sarel woke to the wet pattering of drops against her cheek. The air was charged with a musky, moist smell. She lay still for a moment, her mind blinking into focus. Nandi was up, her nose pressed through a gap in the chainlink fencing, a high-pitched whine rising from her throat.

  Sarel jumped up, a word forming on her lips.

  Rain.

  She dashed to the gate, lifted the bolt, and sprinted outside. Above, tearing winds whipped dark clouds across the sky. The dogs burst into the yard, lunging and swatting at each other, rolling in the wet dust, lifting their snouts to the air and barking at the rain as it fell.

  Sarel ran back inside and dragged the trough to the front of the kennel, where a steady line of water dripped from the edge of the roof. She grabbed her buckets and placed them at the corners. Hurrying inside again, she untied the two bladders she had saved, catching them as they fell from the roof and re-tying them under channels of rainwater.

  The dogs stopped their play and sat in a tidy row around the edge of the kennel, licking the drips that coursed down the steel bars. For once, their tails thumped the dirt without lifting a cloud of dust. Sarel gripped the chainlink and pulled herself up to catch a stream of gritty, metallic raindrops in her upturned mouth.

  Mirrored in the drops of water running down the fence, a white flash split the sky behind her. Lightning.

  The chorus of insects that had risen to greet the rain fell silent.

  “No,” she whispered, whipping around, her eyes scanning the desert for smoke. “No, no, no.”

  A low rumble of thunder moved through the earth and Nandi came to stand beside her. Sarel buried her hand in the fur at Nandi’s neck and gripped tight.

  Flashes of light danced through the clouds, but none struck the ground. No sheets of fire raced through the grass toward the homestead.

  The storm blew past.

  Breaking through the clouds, the sun sucked the moisture out of the air. The dogs wandered from puddle to puddle, noses in the dirt, licking up bits of pooled water. As the last few drops slid between cracks in the ground and disappeared from sight, the dirt paled as if it had never even rained.

  Sarel tore her gaze away from the storm clouds. Her grip loosened and she smoothed the damp fur at Nandi’s neck. It was always the same once a storm passed. Fear drained from her blood, leaving prickling relief. Relief—but regret, too. Regret that the clouds were gone, that they hadn’t let loose their full weight of water.

  Sarel peered over her shoulder at her garden. A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

  It had rained, and maybe it would even be enough.

  19

  Musa

  Musa stumbled and fell. He rolled onto his back, arms falling limp at his sides.

  Even with his eyes closed, the sun burned into him, round black spheres boring into the backs of his eyelids. His skin was caked with filth, and the sores at his wrists and ankles had begun to fester, shooting burning pain up his arms and legs.

  The air was dead.

  The wind filled his mouth with ashes.

  Up. He had to get up now, or he never would. Musa rolled over. He scrabbled to his hands and knees and pushed himself upright.

  He was close. He could feel it.

  Spots floated across his vision and Musa lifted a hand to shade his eyes. He looked west. The earth was a brown blur straight to the horizon. It was mad, searching for water in the driest corner of the desert. But then, who would bother to look for him there?

  Maybe the Tandie would just let him be.

  20

  Sarel

  Sarel squatted by the edge of the grotto pool, arms wrapped around her shins and her chin perched on her knees. She traced the chalky water lines that started at the tips of her toes and circled downward like rings marking a tree’s years.

  She dipped a finger into the pool. It touched bottom before the water reached her wrist.

  Sarel lurched to her feet, crossing to the pump handle. Even though she had already tried a dozen times, she yanked the ribbed steel down and back up again, grunting with the effort. Down and up, down and up, like a needle stitching without thread.

  The well was dry.

  They had been so careful. For years, so careful with every single drop. But none of that mattered. It was all gone.

  Sarel scooped a palmful of water into her mouth and rolled it around inside her cheeks and under her tongue before letting it slide slowly down her throat. She filled one bucket half full and walked up the curving stairs. Each slow footfall scraped against the stone steps as she made her way aboveground.

  She crossed the yard, not looking at the slab of cement where her home had been, or at her parents’ bare graves, not looking to where cucumber shoots, thin as blades of grass, peeked out of the garden soil.

  What did that matter if they had to leave this place? Beside the path, a beetle burrowed into the ground, its hind legs skittering against the hard earth.

  Sarel emptied her bucket into the trough. The dogs came running at the sound of the water splashing against the tin
walls. She waded between their sinuous bodies, tails thwacking her shins and calves as she passed.

  Collapsing onto her woven grass bed, Sarel blinked back the stinging in her eyes and counted the water skins hanging from the ceiling like slumbering bats. There were two that needed stitching and sealing before they could hold water. In the morning, she would fill the rest. That might last the pack a few days.

  They had to go. But the thought of leaving this place made the air burn in her lungs, as if she were still drinking down smoke with every breath.

  Her mother had taught her to read the landscape, to look for hollows and shadows that might hide the next day’s meal. Sarel had to believe that if she looked hard enough, she would find water somewhere out in the desert. Somewhere they hadn’t looked yet. Plants with taproots like the sweet thorn trees could find water anywhere. Or she could follow the tracks of the grazing animals. Anything still alive out there was getting water somehow.

  Sarel rose to her feet. There was enough daylight left for her to gather a few needles and begin stitching. Pushing her hair out of her face and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she walked toward the dry riverbed. The dogs followed her, sniffing at the dust-clogged bedrock and running up, then leaping off the cut bank.

  As they neared the low rise, the height of the

  riverbanks on either side fell, until at last, at the base of the hill, the ground leveled off completely. The sweet thorn trees at the top cast long shadows in the dimming light.

  On top of the hill, the dogs trotted beyond the reach of the branches, well clear of the divots that riddled the ground and the long thorns that gave the trees their name. Every time Sarel came up here, the ground seemed rougher, the divots sinking deeper, exposing more of the trees’ dark roots. She placed her feet carefully, stooping to pick a dozen thorns out of the dirt. The small ones made the best needles, and she always split a few thorns down the middle before she notched a clean eye.

  Sarel looked out through the curtain of green leaves that surrounded her. Beyond the trees, a raptor circled on the cooling currents of air, its mournful cry lapping against the barren earth. Maybe she should have started her garden up here, where growing green things didn’t seem to mind the drought.

  Not that it would have mattered. She couldn’t keep her dogs alive on fruit. They needed water. Sarel turned in a slow circle. She squinted, tried to see as far as she could—looking in the distance for a glimmer of anything wet, anything green.

  Which way should they go?

  Not toward the city. Not toward the coast, where the rising sea made everything it touched undrinkable. Not south, where nothing lived, where even the animals wouldn’t go.

  West, then.

  Sarel moved from tree to tree, slicing off strips of gum that seeped out of the bark. When she had two handfuls, she stuck a piece in her mouth, chewing as she plodded downhill.

  They would leave in the morning.

  She called the dogs to the kennel for the night. Nandi swiveled an ear back at the sound of her name, but she didn’t come. Sarel walked to where the dog sat, staring east into the growing dark. She rubbed a hand over Nandi’s blunt head and tugged gently at her ruff.

  Nandi followed, but she paused every few steps to look back over her shoulder.

  21

  Nandi

  Sarel-girl says, “Come.” Makes pile of water skins. “Nandi, come!”

  I turn away. I sit, eyes watching sun-up side.

  I do not come.

  Icibi, Thando sit, heads swing side-side. Sarel-girl says, “Come,” command of Man-with-whistle.

  I say no.

  Pups make low whine, uneasy whine.

  Sarel-girl flaps arms. Returns water skins to kennel. Sits on ground. Puffs air through nose.

  Not anger scent from Sarel-girl. Fear scent. Worry scent.

  Buttu bumps water skins with snout. Licks nose. Licks empty trough. Thirsty whine. Buttu lies with Sarel-girl, head on lap. Thirsty whine.

  I lift nose, sniff-sniff.

  Boy coming soon.

  Boy with the water song inside.

  Sarel-girl rubs snout of Buttu. Gets up, empties water skin to trough. Pups jump up, old dogs run like pups, slurp-slurp. All drink.

  Water gone.

  Sarel-girl looks at empty skin, thirsty dogs, throws skin to dirt.

  Rustle sound from unwele bush.

  Ears prick. Pack all stand and point, hackles up.

  Boy steps from bush, stumble-walks. Sun on dark skin, glint-glint.

  I stay, tail down, no fear. Chakide, Bheka lie down, ears up. Eyes to me, eyes to boy. Eyes to me, eyes to boy. I lick paw slow, no anger, no fear. Thando, Icibi, Ubali lie down.

  Slap-slap-slap. Sarel-girl sees boy, runs to me, eyes, scent, all, fear-fear-FEAR. Shakes like isundu leaf. Points finger, yells, “Attack! Nandi—attack!”

  Buttu jumps up, snarls, tail up.

  I show teeth.

  Buttu lies down, belly to dirt. Bheka whines. Eyes to me, eyes to girl. Eyes to me, eyes to boy.

  “Nandi,” Sarel-girl whines like pup.

  Boy stumble-walks close. Sour scent, blood scent. Legs thin, wobble like onogola bird.

  I stand, walk to Sarel-girl. Look into her fear-fear-FEAR. Walk to boy. Sniff blood at hands, blood at feet. Circle. I stand in front of boy, show to pack.

  Bird-legs-boy with water song has come.

  22

  Sarel

  Sarel balled her fists, the breath stuck in her lungs. Nandi stood in front of the boy, the coarse hair on her back nearly reaching his ribs. Sarel knew that stance, the protective set of Nandi’s shoulders.

  The boy just stood there, arms hanging limp at his sides. Wide brown eyes darted around the pack of dogs that surrounded Sarel. His skin showed through caked dirt like fissures in the earth. He said something—something about water. And then he swayed and crumpled to the ground in a puff of dirt.

  Sarel stared at the heap of skin stretched over too-thin bones. She knew that sound—the sound a body made collapsing in a heap, the dust settling over it, the life slipping away from it. She knew the silence that followed.

  Nandi stood over the boy. She sniffed his face and licked his sores, first at the wrists and then the ankles. She circled the body once, her tail swinging low.

  “Nandi,” Sarel pleaded.

  Nandi settled onto her haunches beside the boy, lowering her chest slowly to the ground. She watched Sarel under heavy lids.

  Sarel spun on her heel, kicking the pebbles out of the path on her way to the kennel. Chakide followed behind her, nipping at her heels and chasing down the bouncing pebbles, only to spit them out again, lick and sneeze the dust off his muzzle. Sarel pulled out her knife and sliced down the center of her sleeping mat. She stared, hands on hips, at the two mats lying side by side on the dirt.

  Sarel tucked a toe under the boy’s half and kicked it to the opposite corner of the kennel.

  Stalking over to where the boy lay, she grabbed him under his arms and stumbled backwards, his heels drawing twin lines in the dirt. The skin over the boy’s ribs pulled tight and his shorts slid down, revealing sharp hipbones that jutted out to each side. Sarel squatted down and rolled him off her, wrinkling her nose at the stench.

  She lurched to her feet, her eyes roving from the boy’s festering sores to his bony elbows and knees. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and his eyelids hung slack, the whites of his eyes yellowed and tacky. His pulse raced beneath paper-thin skin and his legs twitched as if he were still stumbling across the desert.

  What was he running from?

  The sores on his wrists and ankles looked like the marks a collar might leave, if it was bound too tight. Sarel’s father had told her of people who collared their dogs, chaining them to one place so long that sores sprung up on the skin.

  Who would do that to a little boy? A shiver rippled across her shoulders.

  Who was he running from?

  The dogs swiveled, all at once, ears pricked
, eyes fixed on a jumble of rocks just past the homestead. A chittering alarm sounded, and the small hairs at the back of Sarel’s neck stood on end. Seconds later, a dark blur dove out of the clouds. The raptor screamed, then banked away from the rocks, a wriggling dassie rat trapped between its claws.

  Sarel’s hands were still clenched as she turned back to the boy lying at her feet. “I don’t know why you want to keep him.”

  Nandi ducked her head under Sarel’s fingers, twisting her neck to look up into the girl’s face.

  Sarel felt the resistance leave her body in a long breath. The boy would need water, and food. Not that they had any to spare.

  Sarel opened her woven grass satchel and frowned at the clump of fruit and aloe she had gathered that morning. Food that she had planned to take with her when they left the homestead for good. She spilled it all onto her mat and began cutting the aloe spears into short, juicy strips.

  Fine. She would get the boy healthy.

  But then he was on his own.

  23

  Musa

  Light lay across Musa’s face in uneven stripes. He could feel it warm on his cheeks and glowing orange against the insides of his eyelids. He lay on his back, on something almost soft, his legs and arms splayed at all angles.

  He blinked. There wasn’t ever any light in his shack, and Sivo never let him just lie around without his hands and feet chained.

  Musa blinked again and rolled his head to the side. His breath caught in his throat with a rasping sound and he coughed, his whole body seizing.

  Lying nose to nose with him was the largest dog Musa had ever seen. She had a black snout and soft wrinkles puckering the space between rich, brown eyes. Her coat was cinnamon-colored, lying like a thick blanket over hard muscles. The hair ran backwards along her spine, all the way up to her neck.

  The dog whipped her tail through the air, and a pink tongue shot out and licked Musa on the nose. He jerked back, his hands flying up to protect his face. The air filled with dust from the dog’s thumping tail, and Musa sneezed.