Maia nodded happily, pleased to be accorded such importance.
His hand hesitated before making a mark, though. He didn’t know how far off his trail he might have wandered in the fog. He drew a quick map of the valley and the surrounding peaks and ridges, put an X as a best guess, then added some notes about the statue and Maia. “I suspect some of the elders would like to visit your father and meet Grus. Is your mother nearby?”
Maia nodded again.
“May I meet her?”
The girl’s brow pinched into a frown, her lips puckered in thought. “I don’t think she will see you.”
Daen pulled upright. “Why ever not?”
She crossed her arms. “You don’t belong here.”
Daen felt indignation rising, but he struggled with the voice of Mer in his head, warning him to stay polite, to consider his words wisely. Even as he swallowed his anger, the girl said, “Why are you here really? Not just to look at statues. Are you lost?”
Perceptive child. He slumped and nodded. “Yes, I admit that I am a little bit lost. The fog disoriented me…” He shrugged. “I’m supposed to collect berries for the priests.”
Her face brightened, if only a little. “We’re gathering berries too! We come here sometimes to picnic, but today we’re gathering berries for the Waeges’ Day banquet.” She held up her little basket as proof. He now saw that it was full of dark red bunchberries.
“So you are! Do you know where to find the best berries?”
She nodded. “Where you’re from…you get to eat berries?”
“Of course, sometimes. I’m looking for a very specific kind of berry, though. Do you know cinderblack?”
“Nooo…” Said like a question.
“They’re very dark, not shiny like some berries. They grow in the shadows, on vines with blazing red leaves. Do you know of these?”
“Do you mean charberries? They’re not very good. Birds and faerie dragons like them, but that’s ’cause they swallow them whole. Then their poop stains never come clean.”
Daen leaned forward in excitement. “That sounds right. Yes! Do you know where some are, right now?”
She nodded again, slowly. Apprehension now seemed to jostle with her interest, so he pulled back. “Can you show me? I would be very grateful.”
She scrutinized him for a moment. “Why do you want those awful things? I can show you good berries.”
He considered how to answer such an innocent question. He could invent something simple, but he suddenly felt concern for this wilding child and her family. Her guileless curiosity put an unexpected lump in his throat. She deserved the truth. She should know the truth. “We are hard-pressed by the Dahak’s forces, and we need every advantage we can get—”
She looked truly puzzled now. “You’re pressed? Like squashed?”
She didn’t understand at all. How could she not have been touched by war? Were they so isolated that the Dahak hadn’t found them yet? It seemed impossible.
“No…Yes. The Dahak squeezes us. All of us. We need the…charberries because they make the best ink for the priests. The best inks make the strongest gravings.”
She nodded. “My father has gravings.”
“Does he? Is he a warrior?” He stood, and she took a step back, shaking her head.
“Maia—our people are at war, and whether you realize it or not, you are in great danger. The Dahak won’t stop until its armies have taken everything. Have you seen strange and horrible armies, with dragons that are…dark and misshapen?” He reached out to her, but she took another step back. Was it possible that her family had already been turned? Is that why Maia’s mother might refuse to meet him?
“If you’re at war, why are you here gathering berries?”
Her voice in that moment seemed wiser than her years, her face so pinched with distrust that Daen regretted his surge of honesty. “It…It’s my duty. They are needed. Please, Maia…Can you show me where the berries are?”
She pointed to the west without taking her eyes off of him. “Up there, in the rocks.”
“Thank you! And now, may I meet your mother? I would love to talk to her…”
Maia shook her head again. “She won’t see you. You should go back where you came from. I think you’re scaring me.”
“Maia, no! I’m not scary…I…I’m scared for you. I really need to talk to—”
“I think I should go now.” She turned and headed into the forest, into the mist.
“No! Please don’t go! Maia—wait!” He stuffed his pen and his record book into his tunic, stoppered his ink and poked it in too, then snatched up his basket and followed after. He suddenly found himself surrounded by soft gray shadow, as if the edge of the courtyard defined a boundary between light and gloom.
The fog had swallowed her. It still lay thick under the trees, but he thought he heard footsteps and cracking twigs ahead. “Maia! Please don’t go! Please take me to your mother!” He stopped to listen for her, but the dense air muted all sounds. Beneath this canopy of shadows he felt disoriented again, and cursed himself for a fool.