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

neck. Then I hold her, ignoring the trickle of blood, allowing the venom to do its good work. After a few moments, she slumps in my arms. Carefully, I set her on her feet again and let her go.
    She doesn't move until I tell her to turn around. A positive sign.
    "Follow me." I beckon her with the weapon as I return to the tree line. She walks behind me without question or hesitation, and I allow myself to relax.
    "You have been stung," I explain when we reach the trees again. "I have control of your mind and body for a time, but it will pass."
    The girl's wide eyes grow round and dart toward the path to the village, but she doesn't speak. The sting will not allow it.
    "I am Alev," I tell her. "I will take you to my home, the Cloister, where you will be safe. Climb up into the tree now."
    After sheathing my knife, I lift her until she can reach the lowest branch of the tree, then I help hold her weight as she brings herself up. Trembling, she hugs the trunk. I pull myself onto the low branch and stand, one hand on the limb above me for balance.
    Although the girl’s face is slack, her eyes show her fear. She can still think and feel, but she cannot speak or move, argue or fight. Her free will and ability to make decisions belong to me for the moment. She will only do what I instruct her to. It is the dark brilliance of the sting.
    "Come."
    Holding her hand, I bring her along to where we can take a simple step to the next tree. We may move on the ground safely after a time, but for now we will stay hidden in the treetops.
    It is a relief to have this Gathering, my third, underway. Other Sisters conceal themselves near other communities, selecting other girls. Each Gatherer brings a girl or two back to the Cloister. We do not visit the same communities often; we do not invite attacks or rescue attempts. Yet we must have daughters.
    The Fire Sisters choose a life of freedom and safety, a life without men. We must Gather to survive. I pray to Mother Asis that we have a good harvest this year.
    I love having the freedom to explore the world outside the Cloister as a Gatherer. But I hope to reach home quickly this time. Our leader, Niran, is ill. My sister Adar—though we are only a few years out of girlhood ourselves—will succeed her. I want to be at her side when she takes power.
    Movement on the ground catches my eye. A boy stands in the clearing clutching two buckets, the girl's and his own.
    "Kaiya?" His high voice echoes questioningly around the water hole. He does not see us.
    She is lost to you.
    A firm hand on the girl, I lead her swiftly through the treetops and away.

2.
    I knew it would not be long before the girl's absence was noted. The boy will have to return to the village and fetch help. By the time the people return to the clearing, we will be well into the forest, and I do not leave tracks to follow. Still, I push us faster than I planned.
    The girl is silent as we move from branch to branch, tree to tree, ascending as high as I dare. She is probably afraid. The Gathered girls do not understand that we mean them no harm, that we are saving them, delivering them from harsh treatment at the hands of men.
    I have little personal experience with the weaker sex. Adar and I were born and raised in the Cloister. But Sisters who came from the outside have told us stories. My blood burns when I consider the abuse and injustice of men—even fathers, grandfathers, uncles, and brothers.
    The child and I climb with the sun, moving through the tops of the trees, taking only brief breaks. Her skin looks sallow. No one follows yet, so I pause to allow her to drink from my oilskin sack and take a few bites of cured meat.
    We go on—stepping, sliding, jumping, and swinging from tree to tree. She is strong, but the way can be treacherous. As we inch along one narrow branch, her feet slide off. I drop to my seat, cinch my legs around the limb, and reach out to her as she falls.
    She bumps down and twists frantically onto