Chapter 1
A Fever?
MY EYES SHOT OPEN AFTER a long night’s rest. My nightdress was damp with sweat and my head throbbed. Pushing down my sheets, I rolled out of the pile of blankets on the floor I called a bed. Dirt scratched at my bare feet as I stumbled toward the back corner where my washing bowl sat on the ground.
I cupped my hands and scooped up some water. A sigh of relief escaped my lungs as it dripped from my face and back into the bowl. I wiped off the liquid, slowly walking toward my suitcase. A burst of bright light blinded me for a second, causing me to fall back a couple of steps.
I rubbed my eyes and instinctively scanned the small tent for the cause of the light. There weren’t any windows, the tent flap had remained closed, and the only oil lamp was sitting on the floor by my bed. I shook my head and changed clothes. Just as I’d pulled a dress over myself, my brother popped through the tent flap.
“Hasn’t anybody taught you to knock?” I groaned.
“It's a tent,” he sassed. “Mom wants you to know that breakfast is ready. Oh, and nice backwards look.” He darted out. For a second, I had no idea what he was talking about, then I glanced down. Somehow I’d managed to put my dress on . . . backward.
“Why you little . . .” I muttered and chased after him. Giggling, he ran into the next tent with me on his tail.
The scent of breakfast stopped me dead in my tracks.
Mom was in the tent we used as a kitchen/living room buttering bread. “Breakfast is almost ready,” she told us without looking up. I quickly straightened my dress and took a seat at what would’ve been the dining room table. It was really just a spot on the ground where we sat to eat.
Mom glanced at me as she set my plate down. Her expression quickly changed to shock. “Lindsay, your face!” she gasped. “It’s pure red!”
Dad came in from outside, probably curious about what was going on.
“Whoa!” His eyebrows shot up at the sight of me. “Do you have a fever, honey?”
I touched my forehead, only to swiftly yank away my hand. Mom did the same. My skin was so hot it burned to touch.
“Tom, could you please run get a doctor?” she asked Dad without looking up from me.
A doctor? I mean, sure I had a fever, but a doctor? The last thing I wanted was to be seen by some medic. I’d be the talk of the town.
He nodded and turned toward the tent flap.
“Is that really necessary?” I blurted before Dad could leave. They both stared at me. I licked my lips nervously. “I mean, I only just woke up, and we didn’t see any signs of, well, anything last night. Not to mention I’m only fourteen, so I can fight off a fever easy! Maybe we should wait a couple more hours.” I held my breath, waiting for their responses. After what felt like ages, Mom finally nodded.
“You can skip group. Go get some rest. We’ll see if your fever breaks,” she instructed. I grabbed a piece of toast from my plate and made my way back to my tent before she could change her mind.
Truth was, I didn’t really feel sick. Just tired and dirty. I was sure whatever it was would go away in a little while.
Blades of grass made shadow marks across the tent. They swayed, making the tent walls seem to dance. When the tribe set up camp here, they hadn’t really bothered to find a clear spot. We were pretty used to living in the grass, anyway.
I grabbed a couple towels from the ground next to my bed, then strolled over to a stream. The birds called from high in the treetops, alerting everyone that it was morning, and the air gave everything a sense of freshness.
I approached the stream and examined the area to make sure I was alone, which I was. All the kids were at group, and the adults were busy working.
I shoved the last bite of toast into my mouth and placed the towels on the ground before stepping into the calm stream to wash. I splashed the cool summer water over my arms and legs, washing away the dirt, sweat, and grime. After about a minute, I left the water’s comforting embrace and dried myself with the towels.
The stream gleamed from the bright summer sun. With every ripple, the light moved.
I looked down into the water, and my reflection greeted me. My normal reflection.
"Odd," I mumbled to myself and touched my forehead. No fever. I shook my head, picking up the towels, and hurried back to my tent.
I slipped into the tent and threw the towels in a corner. "Mom!" I yelled.
"In the living room!" she called back.
"I feel better," I said as I got to the living room. Sure enough, Mom was sitting in a corner, reading a book.
She glanced up and smiled. "You look better. Do you still have a fever?"
"Nope. May I go on a walk?"
She stifled a laugh. "You already went down to the stream."
My eyebrows shot down in curiosity and surprise. "How did you know?"
"Your hair is still damp." She gestured toward my unbrushed strands.
I tugged on one of my curly brown locks. She was right. It was still wet. She smiled and winked at me. I smiled back. It was her way of saying “No harm, no foul,” and that she wasn’t going to punish me.
“You may go on a walk, but stay away from the Upperlanders. I want you alive. Oh, and stay away from people, too. We don’t want whatever it is you have to spread.” She went back to reading her book as I left the tent with a sort of skip to my step. I called my lizard and waited. After a minute, a black spiny-tailed reptile scurried up excitedly.
"Hey, Lucifer." I stroked his scaly neck. "Wanna go on a ride?" He responded with a short series of clicking sounds. I mounted him and squeezed my legs, urging the creature forward. He quickly obeyed and scurried off toward the Upperlander village. My hair wisped around in the breeze as he hurried along.
"Easy," I commanded as the Upperlander village came into view. The noise of their shuffling rang in my ears as Lucifer fidgeted anxiously. I took a tight hold of one of his spikes and urged him up a tree. My knuckles were white as I clung to him. We rested on a tree limb about five feet up. I dismounted and watched the giants cut down the brush around their camp. It seemed everywhere they went, something died. I shook my head. When would they ever learn to leave nature alone?
Voices from behind me caught my ear and I turned around. A group of about twenty people from my tribe was circled evenly around a pine sapling. I watched as they stuck their hands in the soil. A dim yellow light came from the dirt, and the sapling began to grow. Centimeter by centimeter, it proudly rose toward the sky. After a few minutes, it was six feet tall. The group stood and dusted off their hands, smiles across all of their faces. A smile sneaked across my face, too. It was always inspiring to watch the adults help plants grow.
I slipped my fingers between a piece of bark on the trunk of the tree I stood on. Slowly, a thin layer of moss started to grow over an eighth of an inch of the tree but died after a few seconds. I frowned. When was I ever going to get it right? Almost everybody from my group had mastered gardening. Why couldn't I?
I shook my head and focused my attention back on the Upperlanders. Most of them were still clearing brush while others were setting up tents. A blacksmith shaped metal over to the right of the camp while a baker worked over on the left. A painter swiped her brush across a canvas as she studied the scene before her. I followed her gaze down the large hill that the camps rested on. Trees danced in the breeze, and far off over the horizon, a river stirred.