Miz doesn’t know exactly how to use the herb. Nor do the people of Greencloak, at first. But they send enough people south to harvest the herb, and enough of the herb is brought back, that they can afford to experiment.
Miz finds himself able to contribute to this process, by applying a logical and scientific approach. He takes charge of listing the ways you might use an herb in context: setting it out for its natural odor, burning it to produce smoke, mixing it into the stuff you’re making, and so on. And he records the results as they come in.
Setting out the herbs does nothing. The acorn pixies cross over the boundary made by the herbs with no apparent discomfort.
MIxing the herb into the process of dye-making and brewing ruins the result. Even if that kept pixies away, it would make the whole process meaningless.
Burning the herb around the pixies also seems to do nothing. Then one of the younger villagers asks, “what if it needs to be burned around what we’re doing, and not around the pixies?”
Sure enough, that works. When the villagers perform their preparations with the herb’s smoke masking the scent, the pixies don’t take notice. Unfortunately the smoke of the herb is easily blown away by the wind, and it’s noxious to breathe.
Finally some of the women and girls come up with a solution. “We’ll weave some thick cloth that’ll hold the smoke,” they suggest. “Burn the herb in a trench and let the smoke rise into the screens.”
It takes them a few days to accomplish the work. At the end of it, they try it - and it works.
Miz isn’t the only person who contributed to this plan. But he’s definitely included in the celebration.
He’s gotten used to helping around the village, and he’s learning some of the basics of cooking and brewing acorns. He isn’t sure how long his welcome will last here, but it’s kind of nice not to have to travel all the time.
The boy he first spoke with approaches him one day. “Why are your boots fulla holes?”
Miz looks surprised. “Because I’ve been traveling a lot, and boot leather wears out.”
“Aren’t your feet sore?” the boy asks.
Miz hangs his head and smiles. “Yeah. Honestly, all the time.”
“Why don’t you get new boots?” The boy points across the village. “Terin over there works with leather.”
Miz sighs, and looks down at his boots. “I don’t have any money to pay for it. Or any money for anything.”
The kid frowns. “Wait right here,” he instructs, and runs off.
The father returns, and looks critically at the boots, and gathers some of the other men and women of the village. They come back with a leather pouch, and hand it to Miz.
“We figure this is about the money you saved us, by helping us with the degweed and the pixies.”
Miz counts it out. There’s nearly a thousand zenit in the sack. Enough for new boots, and much more.
He looks up gratefully. “I sure do appreciate this. I really do. And - and I hate to say that I should leave, sooner or later, but I should. You see, I’m looking for a certain book–”
One of the women brightens up. “Oh! You want the Book? You should have asked when you came here!”
Miz is climbing the steep slopes of one of the twin mountains. He isn’t sure how to climb mountains - it’s really his first time - so he’s brought plenty of food and water. The villagers assured him it would only be a matter of hours. But it’s their mountain.
He could have brought someone along. But he doesn’t want to take any more of their time or resources than he already has. Now that he has money, he’s spending it for everything - new clothes, food, and supplies for the road. He isn’t getting any closer to his goals by staying in the village, and he can’t think of anything else to contribute.
He comes out onto a sub-peak of the mountain, where it’s relatively flat. Despite the altitude, he can see almost nothing around him. Trees, bushes, and grass grow everywhere here.
Finally he sees what he was told to expect: a pair of bright sashes, red contrasting with the eternal green of the mountain, tied around two large trees.
A handful of acorn pixies have followed him up the mountain during his climb. As he crosses between the markers, one of them flies along beside him.
There’s another tree beyond the markers. It’s remarkable in that it’s gnarled and twisted the way the other trees aren’t - they grow tall and straight. But it’s not unhealthy. It’s simply… different. Unique.
There’s a hollow space inside the tree’s trunk, a deformation that must have come from the tree’s own growth rather than being hewn out by human hands. And inside this natural niche, a book has been carefully placed. Vines grow over the book’s top cover.
Curiosity prevails immediately over caution, and Miz reaches for the book. The vines tighten as he does so, forbidding him from taking the book away. As he pulls more, the vines tighten further. And as he lets go, the vines likewise release their grip on their prize.
A trap? A defense? He’s not sure. He’s read plenty of stories, but he’s learning that reality does not need to work the way stories suggest.
Science. Reason. Methodical investigation. This is what helped him unlock the secrets of the herb for the villagers.
“Maybe there’s a spell… maybe an incantation.. maybe a device, or an item…”
He makes a list in his journal, exhausting his book-borne knowledge of how such a protection could be bypassed. From its perch on a nearby tree, the acorn pixie watches.
He has a list. And he realizes sadly that almost all of these options are beyond him. He’s no spellcaster, no hero. He has none of the things the tales call for.
Well. There’s one thing that the stories do talk about. Tests.
I was selfish about a book. I wasn’t careful with it. I could have read it in a library.
What is he here for? Curiosity. What does his curiosity demand?
I only want to read this one. I don’t want to take it with me. If I read it and leave it here, others can read it too.
He reaches for the book again, and the vines tighten. But he doesn’t reach for the spine. He reaches for the other side - the cover.
He lifts it, only slightly. The vines loosen, but not entirely.
He lifts it more. The vines slacken.
He lifts a final time, and the vines withdraw entirely. The book is now open to him.
He starts reading, and continues reading. The sun, filtered through the leaves of the surrounding trees, crosses from one side of the open book to the other.
By the time he realizes he can’t read without light, it’s because the light in the sky has gone out entirely. But shortly after that, he hears huffing and puffing, and sees the light of torches. The villagers have come to find him.
Rather than make the long hike day after day, Miz is now camped out at the book. The villagers, who knew of it but never knew how to open it, are intensely curious about their local wonder. Miz has explained the basics, from what he’s seen and read.
“It’s a gift. It’s not to be taken from here. It’s meant to be found, by people curious enough to make the climb, and who can figure out the secret to opening it.”
There’s enough in the book to profit the village - descriptions of local herbs, wildlife, and other things that include mention of the herb that Miz had independently noted, for example. But there’s much more, and much to whet Miz’s own appetite.
His little journal isn’t enough to hold the entire book, and the village doesn’t really sell blank tomes. He makes as many notes as he can, about the most important things he can find, and struggles to memorize as much of the rest as he can.
The grateful villagers make periodic treks up the mountain to keep him fed, and bring fresh firewood for a campfire. Sometimes they stay with him, one or two people at most. And all the while, the acorn pixie hovers about.
Finally, Miz finishes the book.
Something about it still lingers with him. There’s some presence waiting for him to acknowledge it. And finally, he does.
What do you want?
It’s like he’s asking himself a question, but it’s not him asking.
He has to think about that.
The village is in much better shape thanks to the use of degweed. But how do the pixies feel about it?
“I wish I could ask them,” he tells himself, honestly.
He feels a change within himself. It’s like he’s diving into the ocean around the whale-turtle-thing back home, only things get lighter the deeper he goes.
He turns, in a daze, and talks to the pixie in the tree. “Hey.”
“Hey,” it says.
He draws back in shock.
“Could you always talk?” he asks.
“Yes! But you couldn’t. Babble babble babble, that’s all you groundlings ever do! Except you.”
He frowns. Finally, reason prompts him to ask the actual question he wanted to ask all along.
“How do you feel about the villagers? The, uh, groundlings, that live in houses down in the valley?”
The pixie stomps a tiny foot. “Confusing! Every time they make things out of acorns, we get silly-dilly and it’s time for tree-kissing. Very confusing, every day. We think they’re offering tree-kissing and then they flail at us like they want us to stay away! Very mixed messages. Very rude.”
Miz isn’t sure he understands all of that, but okay. “Do you.. mean them any harm? Or do you think they mean you any harm?”
The pixie snorts and folds its arms. “Not any more! Now everything back to normal.”
It rises from its perch and flutters around Miz. “What about you? Why you living on top of mountain, unlike rest of groundlings?”
Miz gestures at the book. “To learn stuff, I guess. It’s my passion.”
The pixie pirouettes. “Passion good, keep wings healthy and glowy. So you live here now?”
“No, actually… I finished reading the book. I feel like it’s time to leave.” He looks down. It’s been so nice, honestly, having a place to live again. But he doesn’t belong here.
“I come with you,” the pixie announces.
Miz blinks in surprise. “Why? Don’t you live here?”
The creature waves its arms around, indicating the forest at large. “Born here. Live here. But curious too. About that strange thing.” They point at the book in particular. “About groundlings. About lots of things.”
It rises into the air and flutters around, in a circle around Mizzle. “Why have wings, if not fly?”
Miz grins. He has to appreciate that. But-- “Aren’t you sort of, well, fragile? Traveling is hard. Are you sure you’d be up to it?”
The creature responds by pelting him with darts. They hurt, and Miz is forced to flee and take cover behind another tree.
“Come here,” the pixie directs.
“You’ll shoot me again with those things!” Miz protests.
“Done shooting. Come.”
Warily, he emerges from his cover. The pixie swoops down, and places a tiny hand on him. The pain of the dart fades, replaced with a warm golden glow. “See? Better.”
“So… I guess you’re better at defending yourself than I am,” Miz admits meekly. “Well, I don’t mind if you come with me.”
He tries to assert himself, just a bit. “But if you want to go back home, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
“No go home,” the pixie says cheerfully. “Find new forest, maybe. Time enough to find out!”
Miz nods. It sounds like a bargain. “Then let’s head down the mountain and call it a day. Tomorrow, we set out.”
Hours later, he’s fast asleep.
The dream comes to him, the way the voice did at the tree.
What do you wish to know?
In his dream, he wonders what it would be like to magically fly back home on pixie wings.
Where is the Gallimaufry located? his dream self asks.
It is moored, east of the Isle of Harmony.
Miz finds himself gliding over it in the dream, seeing the whale-turtle-thing lazily munching on kelp fronds, seeing the hustle and bustle of people aboard the floating city.
He’s homesick. He wants to fly down, land on the restaurant roof, climb down, announce that he’s back.
Back without a book he lost.
Back without anything to show for his disappearance, not even the one book he’s managed to find in his travels. And it wasn’t even the book he was looking for.
Back without deserving to return as a librarian.
Back, with the knowledge that he’d want to leave again. To meet the villagers, to talk to pixies, to find magical books atop mountains. To make food and drink out of acorns, to buy new boots and break them in, to tighten the straps of his satchel as it wore loose from the constant jostling of walking.
He wants a place to call home. But he isn’t ready to claim one. Not yet.