In the end, I set her to collecting bitter vetch, as it could not easily be mistaken for something that would kill us. I apologized, as much for the end result of the job as for the tedium of it, but she only smiled and reminded me that once Tariq came back, our diet was bound to improve. I laughed and went to set snares for rabbits along the tree line.
It was, I decided, reassuring to have a plan again, even if that plan was less than solid. I hoped to have made some progress on it by the time Saoud returned, as he would be highly skeptical of it; but at the same time, I knew it would be easier with Tariq to help us. Talking with Tariq always seemed to straighten out details. I tried to recall the clues that would help us find the creatures we sought. I knew that piskeys liked flowers, and there were certainly flowers here. I would watch for the golden dust, like that which Arwa had found, because I didn’t know if piskeys left any other trail.
“Yashaa!” called the Little Rose, and I could tell that she had tried her best not to sound alarmed when she shouted. I ran to her side anyway.
“What?” I asked.
She had made good progress, collecting the vetch in that damned blanket and dragging it behind her as she moved along the upper edge of the glade. Now she was at the far side of it, looking over the edge into a hollow I had not seen when we first arrived.
“It’s a garden,” she said.
I looked, and saw that she spoke the truth. This was no wildflower garden like the glade, with flowers and trees. This was a vegetable garden, with plants I knew to be food planted in straight furrows. This part of the glade was completely hidden until you were very close to it. Arwa had only spent a brief time scouting, and she must have only seen the wildflowers, and maybe some of the bees.
“Look at how small it is,” the Little Rose said, and for a moment I was confused. The garden was large enough to feed a family of four for the winter. But then I saw what she meant.
There was a fence around the edges of the garden, too fragile to be of any use at keeping the rabbits out, but definitely made by hands that had loved it. Knotted reeds held the small wooden crosspieces in place, and each tiny fence post was set in the ground quite deliberately. It was as though a child had made it.
“The stories say that the mountains are where the gnomes build their gardens,” I said, my voice cracking on the words. “That sometimes they come down into the world to help farmers who need them, but their greatest joy is gardening in the mountain air.”
“The gnome who came to my birthday party went to the garden when she visited.” The Little Rose’s voice was as awe-filled as mine. “That garden still prospers, though we have little enough to plant it with.”
“We should leave this place,” I said. “It is not for us.”
“No, it is,” she said.
“We should at least step away from the garden.” I took her elbow and forced away the flood of strange emotion that accompanied the touch. “We don’t want to disturb it.”
“The gnome won’t mind.” She sounded very sure. She saw my discomfort and laid her hand on my arm. “Yashaa, gnomes are the kindest of the Storyteller Queen’s creatures. Their payment is help.”
“How can we possibly help?” I asked. “The creature isn’t even here for us to ask.”
“Look,” she said, and pointed farther down the fence line. I saw a place where the reeds had failed, either due to a determined interloper or because of the weather, leaving a rather large gap. “We can fix the fence. That will be our gift.”
She went to gather the greens she had discarded earlier, and I returned to the tree line for the appropriate wood. It still made me nervous, but the Little Rose was so sure. And so help me, there were pomegranates along the back of the gnome’s garden.
When I came back, she handed me the shoots and sticks, and I did my best to replicate the gnomic work. I could manage the new fence posts, digging carefully so as not to disturb any of the plants, but when it came time to tie the knots, my spinner’s fingers failed me. They were too broad, and I tore the stalks instead.
“Give it to me,” said the Little Rose, and there was iron in her voice, and some of the anguish that had been there when she spoke of others suffering for her sake.
“Princess,” I said, even though I knew she wouldn’t heed the warning, “this will be making.”
“I am aware, Yashaa.” I was already moving to obey her; such was her grace.
I should have argued more. We didn’t really need the food out of the garden. It wasn’t spinning, which would have been the end of her, but it was making, and we knew that even something as small as a few knots would start to open the pathway for the demon. But she sounded so sure, and even though I had lived away from her for almost a decade, I still followed her orders out of habit. She wanted to make something, wanted to take her own risks, and so I helped her.