Dagan frowned. A failed guard, then? Had he been exiled for the death of his charge? What was all this about inheritance?
“Apologies, I’m suddenly tired.” Hendrik unfolded his long legs and stood gracefully. “Thank you for dinner. And the wine. It’s all delicious.”
Dagan watched, bemused again. “My pleasure. Another cup of wine before bed?”
Hendrik shook his head. “Thank you, but no.” And he disappeared into his little shelter.
Dagan, as was his custom, stayed on his blanket by the fire. He finished his own wine and covered the stew—it’d do for breakfast. Then he pulled the soft, gorgeous blanket from Alexia and Erron out of his pack and wrapped it around himself.
It didn’t smell of goat armpits anymore, but of woodsmoke and fresh leaves. If he was at home, he would’ve bundled himself in it tightly. But here, in this clearing near the ocean with a strange and clearly troubled stranger, Dagan kept his knife arm free.
Chapter 4: Apricot Grove Conservancy, Heart Wood
When Dagan woke, Hendrik was still a shapeless lump in his shelter. Dagan shook off his sleep, stretched, and carefully put away his blankets after shaking them out. Then he sat again, this time on the bare earth, and slid his fingers into the crushed grass. Hopefully, this was far enough from the estuary to avoid being knocked unconscious but near enough to glean some information.
The clearing was welcoming enough, life beneath the grass buzzing as expected. Dagan followed the filaments of fungi through the soil in every direction at first, until he felt the weight of Hendrik and his breath on the grass. Content that he’d know if the other man stirred, Dagan stayed with him and simultaneously followed the pathways of nutrients and information directly east. At first, all was well: the business of sugar-and-water transfer that characterized summer in the forest as fruits swelled and plants thrived.
A tinge of rot slipped past his consciousness, so quickly and smoothly Dagan almost missed it. He was near the surface, where the ground teemed with insects and fungi, smells and sounds pulsing everywhere. And then, when he followed just a little farther, the busyness of the soil suddenly grew silent. The sub-soil networks had gone brown and slimy, and the particles of water that were meant to carry life had a sulfuric burning quality. Dagan pushed past this initial rot, though it gave him a creeping sensation like centipedes scurrying down his spine.
He’d felt death intimately, when disease threatened the groves or some patch of carefully crafted berries or deer-brush. Death quieted things at first but almost immediately gave way to the buzz of life again, as new organisms fed on or took the place of the dead. This wasn’t like that; this was death that had rushed through and somehow stayed, fending off anything else that dared to tread in its wake. A burning sensation, acidic rather than hot, lingered around it, warning off everything. Including him. He tried to push through it. His skin tingled unpleasantly, as if he were actually, physically there, rooting through the decimated soil.
Dagan shuddered and pulled back just as Hendrik rolled over, his breathing changing slightly. Dagan returned to himself feeling oddly slime-coated. His hands were dry and clean but the sensation of wrongness and rot clung to them. “Good morning,” he said in a croaking voice that didn’t sound like him.
Hendrik grunted something. After a moment, during which Dagan tried to shake off the lingering foulness, Hendrik came to sit near the last embers of last night’s fire. It was warm, almost too warm, already, and yet Dagan understood. Fire drew him, too. “How did you know I was awake?” Hendrik asked.
“Do you know about lifecasting?”
Hendrik frowned and shook his head.
“It’s the ability to feel the rhythms and communications of the living world around us.”
“Feel?”
“With your consciousness,” Dagan elaborated. He’d heard the Stone City people had long since forgotten how to use their lifecasting, among other senses. “If you like, I can show you on the way.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” Hendrik said doubtfully.
“Possibly,” Dagan admitted. After so long cut off from nature, it was possible to lose track of one’s lifecasting, he’d heard. “But most likely it’s in there somewhere. Breakfast?”
Dagan heated up the leftover stew, which had become something of a pudding by then, and told Hendrik to eat up. “I’m not hungry this morning. Bad dreams.” It was simpler than explaining to someone who had never heard of lifecasting.
Hendrik side-eyed him but accepted this time. He ate in silence for a few moments as Dagan prepared his pack for travel again.
Then Hendrik surprised him by saying, “I’m sorry if I seemed abrupt last night. I haven’t—I haven’t actually spoken to another human in moons. I think I forgot how.”
Dagan shot a smile over his shoulder. “You were very polite, actually. Thank you for telling me a little bit about you. It did help me sleep better,” he joked. Hendrik was clearly a serious sort, but he’d responded to humor well enough yesterday. Time to see if it could set him at ease today.
“I didn’t think of that.” Hendrick snorted, almost a laugh. “My little paring knife isn’t that threatening, is it?”
Dagan laughed out loud, though. “No, it’s not. But you were right, yesterday. You’re not little.”
Hendrik made a face. “Smaller than I was, I think.”
Yes, Dagan had suspected as much. “We can help with that, too, don’t worry. The Apricot Grove settlement is known for its—”
Hendrik perked up. “Apricots?”
Interesting. “Yes, have you had them? Delightful, just the right mix of sweet and sour.” He made a mental note to have his father make his apricot cake for them, if they ever visited the Black Walnut Grove Conservancy.
Hendrik shook his head. “Only dried. With honey.”
“They’re nice dried, but they don’t really need honey.” No accounting for taste, of course, but perhaps the Stone City people had a sweet tooth. “I’ll have to try it. Anyhow, the winery there does a particularly good spread, according to some of the older scouts, and they have rooms and baths.”
“You have houses? I mean, with rooms?” Hendrik’s eyes went wide.
Dagan laughed before he could stop himself. “You didn’t think we slept in the rain under the trees, did you?”
Slowly, cautiously, the corner’s of Hendrik’s mouth pulled up slightly. “I guess I never thought about it.”
“I’m sure you’ve had plenty to think about these past moons here, all alone.” Dagan was careful not to make it sound pitying, just matter-of-fact.
Hendrik seemed to take it in the proper spirit, looking comfortable enough as he finished his breakfast. He ate with that same rigid self-control from last night, taking each spoonful and chewing it thoughtfully before swallowing.
When he finished and Dagan had packed up, he said, “What will you take?”
Hendrik shrugged. “I have a pack, but there’s not much in it. Except some sharp sticks.”
“We can find you a real knife if you like,” Dagan offered. He’d feel half-naked without his, and this boy was obviously comfortable with weaponry.
