The Gatherer (Brilliant Darkness 2.5) by A. G. Henley

1.
    Not long now, the child will come—the one I will Gather.
    Crouched in the living embrace of a greenheart tree, one arm around the trunk for stability, I stare down at the water hole on which the girl's village relies, waiting for her.
    My hair, painted white, hangs stiffly down my back. My dress, made of fine leather and adorned with a single colorful feather threaded into the seam at my waist, pulls up my thigh, revealing the smooth muscles there.
    I admire my body the way I would a well-made weapon. It is strong, efficient, deadly, tightened by years of daily training with staff and spear. My muscles, my mind, my blade—the tools I use to do what I must for my people, the Fire Sisters.
    Nascent rays of sun sweep the treetops around me at a sharp angle. They strike the waterfall that feeds the pool, shattering it into a million shards of blue and white. A rolling ridge of hills cradles both the water hole and the girl’s village beyond, which I cannot see but know is there. My nostrils flare. The air is thick with the sharp tang of sap, the decay of the slick foliage around the water pool, the smoky hints of cooking fires starting up.
    The trees in this remote part of the forest are crowded and close. Bursting with leaves at full summer, they are simple to move through without being detected. Over the last few days I have crept among them, around the village called Koolkuna, observing the people, cataloging their daughters.
    They live well. They have more food than others I've seen, and they seem peaceable, with well-maintained homes and enough families to spread out their work. If it weren't for the presence of men, it might be perfect.
    This group must have few enemies, and they do not seem to fear the wailers. There are no walls or other protective barriers against the rabid flesh-eating creatures. No adults accompany the children who collect water in the early mornings. How they are not consumed when the wailers come, I do not know. Do they have some unknown power or protection? I must be cautious.
    My body stills as the girl meanders into the clearing from the path to the village, swinging her bucket. I think she sings to herself; it is hard to know for sure over the crushing noise of the waterfall.
    I look her over one last time. She is the right age: not very young, but not yet old enough to be entirely set in her people's ways. She seems healthy, and she is built sturdily, the way the Teachers like our girls to be. I chose her for all of these qualities, but also because she has a boldness in her posture and movements that promises physical prowess and athleticism.
    She kneels at the edge of the water hole, back to me, filling the bucket. Her black hair, cut shorter than some of the other girls her age, sticks out in sleepy tufts from her head.
    Quietly, I inch down the trunk of the tree, landing softly on the ground. I am ready, but I listen and watch a little longer. I am here by myself. If her people catch me, my life will be forfeit.
    The girl is alone. Vulnerable. It is time. I dip the point of my knife into the small sack of jewel wasp venom at my waist.
    Focusing on her neck, I move toward her on the balls of my feet, avoiding any patches of mud or soft ground that might hold an impression. She hears me bare seconds before I strike. Turning quickly, she brandishes the bucket—the only weapon she has. Her instincts please me, but she is an untrained child. No match for a Fire Sister.
    Dodging the blow, I tuck myself in behind her and press her back against my body. My free hand clamps over her mouth, and I wrench her head to the side so the veins and tendons pop under her taut skin. She struggles, but she doesn't cry or howl as others have.
    My confidence in my choice grows. If her mind is sound, and she is willing to learn, she could be a prized member of the Sisters one day.
    I murmur in her upturned ear. "It will only hurt for a moment."
    With the tip of my blade, I prick the exposed vein in her