Table of Contents

  Foreward

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2023 by E.S. Barrison

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  E.S. Barrison

  www.esbarrison-author.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Content Warning: This book is rated 14+ due to violence and death.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Mapping the Mist/E.S. Barrison. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 979-8-9873602-3-1

  Dedicated to Grandma Rhoda & Grandpa David

  I think you would both love Malaika.

  I wish you were here to meet her.

  See a more detailed map in the back of the book.

  al•ma•nac

  a publication containing astronomical or meteorological information, as future positions of celestial objects, star magnitudes, and culmination dates of constellations.

  Not every story has a dark beginning.

  Some begin with a flicker of light.

  Those are the stories that keep the world beating.

  And why I’ll continue to tell these tales even when all seems lost.

  Over the years, I’ve collected a series of misfortunes. Death has threatened me on countless occasions, stringing me in the air by tendrils of smoke while threatening to take my mind. It is hard, sometimes, to find the light in this darkness, and even more difficult, it is harder to find people who I can trust.

  Especially within the Council of Mist Keepers.

  When I first met my teacher, Caroline, and she introduced me to the world of the Mist Keepers, I truly believed I had found the place where I belonged. Little did I know, almost every single Mist Keeper nurtured their secrets in a way that threatened not only my life but the world.

  Only one person ever held her truth out to me, wearing it with pride and a grin on her face: Malaika Nuru Jelani.

  While Malaika wanders the world as if lost, she has saved me on more than one occasion with her insight. Without question, she is a good person, something that most Mist Keepers lack in constructing their god complexes. She has not abandoned what she loves, and that is admirable.

  With darkness and smoke a constant force across the world, it is easy to forget there is good in the world. But Malaika always enters a room with a smile on her face that promises that things will get better.

  This is something the world needs.

  I know this better than anyone.

  Because I am the Story Collector.

  And I will keep searching for happy endings.

  -Brenton Rob Harley

  Ninth Member of the Council of Mist Keepers

  The Story Collector

  Malaika climbed to the roof to watch the sunrise while her older brother slept, counting as the last stars set behind the horizon. There, she watched as the flittering lizards disappeared into the trees and the drakes wandered back to their caves. Her heart, as always, landed on her family’s dragon, Pam, as she paced in her enclosure.

  The dragon’s obsidian scales cast rays of fool’s gold across the air. Around Malaika’s neck, she bore one of the dragon’s scales. She held it to the light and grinned. People came from all over Leega to visit Ol’ Pam—and someday, Malaika hoped, she would ride that dragon across the sky, so everyone could see her glory.

  Once the sun passed the trees, Malaika hurried from the roof, nearly toppling into her older brother as he stepped out of the bedroom.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he grunted.

  “Sorry, Joshi. Was gonna go help Papa with Ol’ Pam.”

  “Don’t think so. Papa’s got some visitors today—you gotta stay here with Mama.”

  “What about you?”

  “Papa’s showing me the ropes of everything, so I gotta go with him.”

  “Can’t I come?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

  “No, ‘cause you’re a child.”

  “I’m sixteen!”

  “And I’m eighteen, so this farm is gonna be mine someday. And you’ll marry some nice man from town, and everything will be all okay.” Joshi patted Malaika’s head. “Now go comb your hair and help Mama.”

  Malaika scowled to herself and pulled on a few of her curls before letting them bounce back into place. My hair is fine. We’re not kids anymore. When she was a child, Joshi used to chase her with a razor, threatening to cut her curls. Only when he ended up cutting his own hand did their parents finally hide all the blades.

  She retired to her room to change out of her nightgown, then tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. Her mama sat at the table, sorting through a collection of dragon eggs, while Joshi pulled his boots on by the front door. Malaika glowered again in his direction as she sat down with her mother at the table.

  “Pam laid three eggs last night,” her mama said with a grin. “Didn’t think the ol’ girl had it in her.”

  “I think Pam’s got a few years left in her.” Malaika took one of the eggs from her mother and stared at its scaled shell. “Shame they don’t have any life to them.”

  Joshi interjected as he opened the front door, “We don’t go having these eggs to breed dragons. They’re what fetch us money so we can live like we do.”

  “I know that, Joshi!” Malaika barked.

  “Yeah, doubt it.”

  “I know things!”

  Joshi chuckled as he left, the door swinging behind him.

  Malaika crossed her arms and sank into the chair. Her upper lip twitched.

  Her mama placed the eggs to the side and took Malaika’s hand. “Don’t let your brother get to you, alright, girly? He’s trying to get you steaming.”

  “He doesn’t get me steaming!”

  “Oh?”

  Malaika sank deeper into the chair, frowning more.

  “You and Joshi never got along. I know he can be—”

  “A self-righteous prick?”

  “I was going to say a handful.”

  “That’s a mild way to put it.”

  Her mama laughed. “I suppose it is. But you can be the better person and not play into his games.”

  “But it’s not fair, Mama! All my life, I’ve helped around the farm and behaved, but Joshi gets to inherit the farm. He just messes things up!” Malaika argued.

  “Once you marry, you’ll have to move, Malaika. You know that.”

  “I told you before, I’m not marrying!”

  “You just haven’t met the right man—”

  “I don’t like no one!”

  “That’ll change, girly. Trust me. I was like you once… until I met Abedi.”

  Malaika groaned. She’d heard her mother’s story plenty about how she fell in love. It didn’t encourage Malaika to be excited about marriage. Rather, she squirmed at the thought of marrying any man in her town of Emrys. After being taken from her home, she would become the woman of some house, surrounded by her own children.

  It contradicted everything Malaika had ever imagined.

  She wanted to fly like Ol’ Pam. Was that so hard to believe? Was that such a ridiculous dream?

  Her mama smiled at Malaika, then placed the three dragon eggs on the table. She rose and approached the window, staring out at the farm before them. Neither she nor Malaika spoke, letting the silence sift through the air.

  Then, her mama exclaimed, “Oh! I forgot!”

  “Hm?”

  “Joshi’s supposed to sheer the sheep this afternoon…and I planned to weave new balls of yarn once the wool is clean. But I forgot to pick up the dyes from town yesterday. I’ll have to go there unless—”

  “I can go for you, Mama.” Malaika jumped to her feet. The idea of getting out of the house held more appeal than anything.

  “Are you sure, Malaika? You don’t want to help clean the dragon eggs?”

  “No, I can go, really!”

  “You won’t get lost?”

  “That was only…” Malaika counted on her fingers. “Four times. Please, Mama? I’ll make sure I don’t get lost!”

  “Okay. But be back by sunset, okay? Don’t need your father knowing you were out there. Understood?”

  Malaika grinned and said, “I completely understand, Mama.”

  As Malai ka promised, she traveled into town without getting lost. She ignored the courting of a few men in town, stopping by the local artisan shop to pick up the dyes. With bottles of blue, red, and yellow in her bag, she hurried back from town, taking no time to make small talk. She just had to keep on the path back home, and her father would never know she had left.

  “Straight on the path. No turns. Don’t get distracted.” Malaika recited to herself as she hopped over a couple stones. It was so easy to get sidetracked by the different features of the forest lining the path. While her home country of Leega enamored itself with grassy plains, her papa had traded over the years for countless unique items. Baobab trees from Yilk, black and white patterned flowers from Evylain, camellia bushes from her papa’s family in Gonvernnes, and of course, dragons from Spinoza. People from across the country came to their farm to marvel at it.

  Even after growing up on it, Malaika still found hidden secrets along each acre. But she had to stay focused. Now was not the time to get distracted.

  She had to get home before her papa and Joshi—

  She froze.

  Just down the path, her papa and Joshi stood with a couple traders, arms crossed, heads together in negotiations. No one saw Malaika, and with dexterity, she vanished into the surrounding trees.

  As she snuck through the trees, she kept her eyes on the path. The mere waving of branches or the snapping of twigs distracted her. Don’t get lost. Stay focused. Don’t get lost. Malaika reminded herself every few steps as her papa’s voice worked its way through the trees.

  At first, hidden, she moved closer until finding a hiding spot a few paces away from them.

  “Three for one? What wool are you pulling over my eyes, Monsieur Beaufort?” Her papa asked.

  “No wool, Meneer Jelani. No wool at all. You will have three new babes to produce all the eggs, and we’ll take the girl off your hands. I think that is a fair deal for us both,” Monsieur Beaufort remarked, his hands wrung behind his back. “My partner here, Monsieur Dubois, could bring them by in the next fortnight if you so desire. Or, you can get your pick if you come with us to Château de’la Bêtefumée.”

  Malaika eyed her papa, rubbing his graying beard and scowling to himself. “She might not be agreeable to this exchange.”

  Does he want me to marry one of those old mutts? Malaika clenched her hands.

  “We can tame any beast, Meneer Jelani. We are not worried about a stubborn pute.”

  Her papa continued to rub his beard, exchanging a glance with Joshi. Her foolish brother looked on, a smirk on his ridiculous face. Oh, I am sure he is excited to get rid of me! Malaika eyed the two men again. If she had to marry one of them, Monsieur Dubois was the younger, far cleaner looking of the two… but not by much. Even from where she stood, Malaika could tell the two men both wreaked of manure and sweat.

  “Papa, I can go with them and choose the best of the hatching,” Joshi remarked, standing up tall as he finished his sentence.

  “Joshi, I appreciate the offer, but I fear you are too green. You gotta have some more experience dealing with men like these.”

  A scowl crossed Joshi’s face. Malaika covered her mouth to restrain her own laughter.

  Her papa finally spoke. “I shall leave with you in the morning to observe the stock. I must tell Ayanna, though. She will not be happy about this arrangement.”

  What about me? This is my life! Tears filled Malaika’s eyes. Why did her father never care about what she thought? Shouldn’t she have a say in her own marriage?

  “Until then, I offer you a room for the night,” her papa continued, “we would be honored to have men of such high regard staying with us. It will give you time to get familiar with her as well.”

  “Very good. We appreciate this,” Monsieur Beaufort replied, placing a hand on her papa’s shoulder.

  The group of men walked away, leaving Malaika shaking in her hiding spot. How dare her father give her away like livestock? It had to be her they were talking about—no one else made sense. It wasn’t like they were giving away her mother or any of the animals. They were worth far too much!

  No, she was always going to be the outlier in the family.

  “Well,” Malaika grunted to herself, “I’m not gonna let ‘em get rid of me so easily.”

  She glanced back into the forest, then smirked.

  No. She knew exactly what would get these men running.

  Just like all the rest.

  As a child, Malaika pretended she was Uzyma of the Forest. Garnished in roots, leaves, and moss, she ruled the forest with confidence and guile. And now, she returned to Uzyma, blending clumps of mud into her skin, then sticking the brightest leaves on her skin. She wove sticks into her hair, using her curls to keep them sticking out at all angles. Finally, she grabbed clumps of moss, forcing their dirty roots to latch onto pieces of her colorful dress.

  If they want to marry me, they have to accept me in full. Malaika laughed to herself, kicking off her shoes so her feet could immerse themselves in the mud.

  Every night, her mama used to tell her stories of Uzyma of the Forest, Kifo Kibaya of the Smoke, Asani Azzan of the Flame, Ambar of the Sky, and Nea Reth of the Ocean. She would act out the scenes with Malaika’s yarn dolls before leaving her to dream of the tales. Malaika loved the stories, especially those of Uzyma and Kifo Kabaya. Uzyma, the queen of the forest, summoned green with a wave of her hand. Then Kifo Kabaya came to help, tall and proud, kindness as his virtue. Joshi thought the stories silly, but Malaika held to every word, imagining the adventures she might go on if she were like those deities.

  The closest she could get was dressing as Uzyma. And now, she could only pray that Uzyma might protect her from a life with those men. After all, Uzyma controlled her life with the magic of the earth in her heart, moving mountains and commanding forests. Uzyma never got lost; she always led with no fear or apprehension.

  So Malaika would do the same.

  At least once she found her way home.

  After sticking the last few branches on her head, she poked her head out of the forest and glanced down the path. With the sun turning orange, the farm took on a life of its own, glowing with orange and bronze. She loitered along the outskirts of it, searching for her home in the haze. Was she even at the right farm anymore? Many times before, she had wandered deep into the forest only to arrive at the neighboring farmland. Joshi never understood how she easily lost her way. The farms all looked the same from a distance! It was easy to get lost on one—at least until the unique fixtures became obvious.

  Upon noticing the large barn beneath a set of baobab trees in the east, Malaika knew she had returned to her family’s farm. Just to the west of the barn, sitting against the trees, her home waited for her. Shadows—most likely her father, brother, and the traders—vanished into the doorway.

  Malaika snuck along the edge of the farm back home. In the distance, Pam’s shadow lurked by the barn, her long head bowed. A puff of smoke escaped her nostrils, coating the field around her in a miasma. Every now and again, she extended her wings but never took flight. The entire time Malaika had known the old dragon, not once had the creature flown. Rather, it loitered in its pasture, feasting on its meals and laying eggs.

  Just like her papa wanted.

  I wonder if Pam misses flying… Malaika rubbed her hands together. Imagine how easy flying would make everything.

  Her attention fell back on her home. Her heart thudded with every step, excitement bubbling in her throat. Be confident, just like Uzyma. You are the forest. You are the earth.

  She opened the door to the house, letting the dim light of the parlor greet her. Her father, brother, and mother sat with the traders in the sitting room.

  And as everyone turned to her, she took a dramatic bow,

  “Hullo there, my dears! It is I—the pute you have come to tame! Well, catch me now if you can!” Malaika smiled.

  Monsieur Beaufort and Monsieur Dubois stared at her.

  Her father rose to his feet, eyes bugging from his head. “Malaika! What are you doing!?”

  “Just showing who I am, Papa. Can’t go wrong with that.”

  “This is ridiculous!”

  “What is ridiculous is you giving me to these mutts without talking to me first! I’m your daughter!”

  “Who said anything about giving you to them?”

  “I heard you when I was coming back from town—”

 

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