Down a Lost Road Read online

  “I thought you were asleep,” Yatol said softly. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since…” I wrenched my gaze away from Mykyl, turned to Yatol. “Since he came. I worried when you left and Enhyla prayed… Are you consoled, Yatol?”

  “Enhyla prayed that I be consoled?”

  I nodded, realizing too late what I’d said. I opened my mouth, dismayed, but Yatol smiled.

  “I’m not angry. If you listened in on our conversation, I can’t blame you. I’m sorry if we woke you up. We’re not used to having to keep our voices down.” He studied me a moment, then added softly, “Don’t take what Tyhlaur said the wrong way. He’s passionate and sometimes a fool, but he means well. But he has forgotten how to trust.”

  “I…” My voice died in a frown, and I stared fixedly at the ground. “I hope you don’t trust in vain.”

  “Hush! Don’t even think that.” I nodded mutely, and Yatol glanced back at Mykyl, saying, “What do you think of what Mykyl and I have been discussing?”

  “I have to go back.” The thought made me strangely sad. “And you?”

  Yatol sighed. “I remember the stories of when Davhur first went through the portal to your world. They say he came back so bewildered, so dismayed. When he said he wanted to go back, everyone was amazed. He had so much strength. So much devotion. He endured so much for his people. He was the greatest man I have ever known. I don’t know that I would have that strength.”

  “I knew he didn’t belong there. I could see it in his eyes, but I never knew what it meant. And I never felt…”

  My throat tightened. Yatol prompted me to finish, but I didn’t know if I could find my voice. I frowned, giving a little exasperated gesture with my hand.

  “My mother always said I was more like him than anyone.”

  It was all I could manage, but I trusted Yatol would understand what I meant. From the expression on his face, I could tell he did.

  “I won’t ask you to come with me,” I added. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to find the answers. I don’t really understand the questions.”

  Someone was standing behind me. A warm golden glow sifted across my arms and the ground at my feet, mingling with Mykyl’s pale blue radiance. Mykyl gazed past me, meeting another’s eyes. Some deep meaning passed between them, something I couldn’t understand. Yatol inclined his head and took a step back. I stared at him in panic.

  “Now? But Yatol, we just got here. I can’t leave yet. I don’t know what to do!”

  He gave me a thin, tense smile, but he was already fading from my view. “You do, you always have. Don’t be afraid!”

  “But I’m not ready…”

  I stumbled and slumped forward.

  * * *

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Someone was shaking me. I muttered something, dragging my eyes open against a harsh glare of sunlight. My back ached, and one of my legs had fallen asleep, heavy and numb. The rough bark of a tree scraped my arms as I sat up.

  “You’re awake! Man, you all right? You don’t look so good. I was just thinking, you know, maybe I should call a doctor or something.”

  I squinted at the figure hovering over me. He looked about Tony’s age, but unlike Tony’s annoying habit of dressing up every single day, this guy wore army green shorts and a faded orange T-shirt that totally didn’t match, with a patch-plastered backpack slung over one shoulder. Since he seemed so concerned I made an effort at a smile.

  “Yeah, just a little disoriented, sorry,” I said, forcing the words out.

  “But, um…” He gestured at his face. “You’ve got a bit of a bruise there. I mean, if I can walk you to the nurse’s office…”

  Think fast. I laughed. “Nah, not necessary. Tae kwan do. Not my best, uh, day.”

  Did they call it a bout or a match…? The guy just smiled uncertainly. I was apparently not the world’s best liar.

  “Crazy. I came out here to think. Guess I must have fallen asleep.”

  I braced myself against the tree and pushed myself to my feet, wincing at a shaft of splintering pain in my head. The ground churned. I staggered a step. It felt like someone had fixed ten of those athletic weights to my feet, and I was afraid to walk. I knew I must have looked totally out of sorts, drunk even, the way I could hardly keep my balance. I almost mentioned my headache as an excuse, but clamped my mouth on the words before they could escape. Like that wouldn’t just make things worse.

  “You a student here?”

  “What, who me?”

  I shielded my eyes from the intense sunlight and cast a quick glance around. The university. I should have known Onethyl would leave me here. I put both hands on my head and shook it back and forth, slowly, feigning a neck-ache.

  “Sorry. I just can’t believe I fell asleep.” I rubbed a numb spot on my spine, adding with a grim smile, “And that I didn’t wake up with all the tree roots sticking in my back.”

  The student laughed. “No kidding. Well, if you’re sure you’re okay…”

  “Yeah, I am, thanks. And thanks for waking me up.”

  “No charge. Well, hey, I have to get to class.”

  I almost asked how he could be going to class, but remembered that summer term was on and bit my tongue on sounding stupid. “Yeah, I need to hit the library.”

  He told me to have fun and sauntered off. I was glad he did – I still didn’t trust my legs, and was afraid for anyone to see it. I took a few cautious steps, baby-like, and gradually my balance adjusted. Still fighting the nauseating headache, I made my way across the campus to the old brick library.

  It had always been my favorite place at the university. My dad used to take me with him when he had research to do, and I would wander around the stacks and stare at thick, musty books as if I could understand them. I vividly remember sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding some huge heavy book that could probably serve double-duty as a weapon, sounding out single words at a time into the dusty silence. Sometimes Dad took me down to the archives in the basement, but I always found the pristine rooms rather boring. I discovered some old industrial-type rooms down there, with strange lights, curving cement passages, and mysterious, forbidden doors. Those had been fun. Sometimes I still went there to escape the mundane. But never without pain. In those quiet moments among the books and stacks I missed my dad the most.

  I practically tiptoed into the library. The foyer always intimidated me – it was a huge, marble-clad room, cool and dim under its high domed ceiling. I stepped under the rotunda and heard my sandals tapping gently on the white stone floor. The sound brought me up short. I hadn’t even realized that I still wore the clothes Yatol had given me. I almost panicked. Great. As if wobbling around like a drunk wasn’t bad enough, now I looked like I’d gotten lost somewhere between the Ren Faire and a fantasy convention. On top of it all, I almost felt as clinically crazy as I must have looked.

  My mind raced. Tony had told me once about a guy who wore kilts to school, and a girl who wore capes – big flamboyant things, with fur. Maybe the student workers would mistake me for one of that clique. I tried to act natural, and escaped with only a few smiles of condescending amusement from the students behind the reference desks. I bristled under their gazes and took the elevator up to the third floor.

  I don’t know why I went there. I never really paid much attention to what books were on which floors, and didn’t try to find out when I got out of the elevator. I wandered over to the windows and stared down at the campus below. I had never felt so close to my father as at that moment. But I was born here, in this world. It was my world. Somehow I still felt like an exile. The thought tormented me. I sat down in one of the study chairs, burying my head in my hands.

  “Yatol,” I whispered to the air. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Someone knocked a book off a nearby table.

  “Mer!”

  I started up, saw Damian stumbling over to my chair. He was on the verge of tears – he, Damian, who hadn’t shed a te
ar that I’d seen his whole life, not even the day the cops told us they were calling off the search for Dad. Seeing him like that made me burst into tears. I threw myself into his arms, sobbing bitterly. I couldn’t tell what he would do, if he would demand an explanation, or yell at me for disappearing. I should have known, though. It was Damian. Only one thought was on his mind.

  “Are you all right?” He stepped back to study me intently, brushing the tangled hair from my face, touching my still-sore cheek. “What happened, are you okay?”

  “I’m okay…” I said, taking a deep breath to steady my voice. “You have no idea! Dad, and Arah Byen…and Mykyl! But I’m supposed to…I don’t know what to do…but they need me!”

  I was nearly in hysterics, trying to put into words the thousands of thoughts that tumbled through my mind. Damian shook his head firmly.

  “Don’t worry. Don’t say anything. You can explain when you can. Let’s just get you back home…”

  He put his hands on my shoulders but I wrenched away in frustration.

  “No, D, I can’t! I can’t go home, because I’ll have to leave again. I can’t do that to Mom. Can’t you see?”

  I clenched my hands in fists, seeing how hurt and confused he was.

  “Merelin, let’s get you home.”

  “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not sick, and I’m not crazy. Look at me, Damian. Look at these clothes! Where do you think I’ve been?”

  He shook his head again, almost wincing. “You always had such an imagination…”

  If anyone else had said it, I would have flown into an indignant rage. But it was Damian, and hearing those words from him made my heart break. Suddenly something switched off – or on – in me, and I swallowed back my grief.

  “So, where’s the search party? Aren’t you going to call and tell them you found me?”

  “Mom didn’t call one out. She went to town. She said was going to the police.” He stared, not at me, but through me, narrowing his hazel eyes as he thought. “I followed her. I couldn’t help it. But she went to Mr. Dansy’s shop instead. I don’t know why. She talked to him, then came home. I asked her if they were going to send out a search. She just said she was sure they would find you, but she was so distant, and sad. I couldn’t make myself ask her anything else.”

  “Does she know?” I asked, wide-eyed.

  “Know what? Mer, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “I have to explain it, then. Now.” I pointed to the chair, and Damian sat down silently. It was big enough for the two of us, so I sat beside him and fixed my gaze on my hands. “Damian, it’s about Dad. About his disappearance.”

  Chapter 10 – Kurtis

  Only the sound of tree branches clawing at the window broke the silence. The wind had picked up, and the sky flooded over with grey, blocking out the hideously sharp sunlight. Neither Damian nor I moved, though I kept glancing at him as the minutes slipped by. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking – he had that aggravating talent for wearing an expressionless mask when he was deepest in thought. After about the hundredth time looking at him and seeing him still blank I slouched as deep into the chair as I could.

  “You haven’t said a word.”

  “Did you want me to?”

  “You could at least say something.” I plucked at the chair’s threadbare upholstery. “You could at least say if you believe me.”

  “Mer, how could I not? My God, you know I’d never doubt you. It’s just overwhelming. To hear all this.”

  I smiled, bitterly. “You think it’s overwhelming hearing it? Try living it.”

  He reached over and took my hand. He had a strong grip, like Dad’s, and its firmness was steadying. The rain began to fall, pattering against the glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I had always loved our violent Texas thunderstorms, but now all I wanted was the desert, or the quiet stillness of the Branhau. I’d lived on Earth almost seventeen years, but somehow the few days I’d spent in Arah Byen felt far more real.

  “Damian, will you help me? I need your help.”

  “What do you suppose they want you to do?”

  It seemed rather an effort for him to say it. You still don’t believe me, I thought, but I let it pass.

  “They need to know what Dad learned. What he came to find out. Yatol said he came to learn about their past.” I got to my feet. “So, how would we know what he was looking for? He always came here, to the library, to do research, but was that just for his work here or for the people of Arah Byen?”

  “Or were they the same thing?” Damian asked, sitting up. “What did he teach? Did he teach the very things he was trying to study? I mean, why did he even want to become a professor?”

  “To have an excuse to continue his studies?”

  We both started pacing, scanning the stacks and probing our memories for some insight into his motives. I went through my most vivid recollections of my dad, and mentally walked through his den and his office here at the university. The details were all vague. I wished I could ask my mom to tell me more about him.

  Thinking of that, I said, “Mom met him in college. He must have come when he was about our age, and studied really hard to get into the university. I remember Mom said he was an international student. She said she had a crush on him because of his accent!”

  It struck me as funny, and I giggled. And then I blushed, because I remembered what I’d thought about Yatol’s accent the first day I’d met him.

  “That’s right, I’d forgotten that!” Damian laughed, shaking his head. “Did she ever find out what country he was from?”

  “I think she thought he was from the Middle East. But I wonder if he eventually told her the truth.”

  That got Damian thinking. “They called him David. The Bible! Are there clues in the Bible? Like, the Psalms or something?” He pounded his hand on a shelf. “No, no, that’s just dumb. I’m thinking too hard about it.”

  “Yeah you are,” I joked.

  “Okay, genius, what’s your theory?”

  I grinned. I wanted to smack him and hug him at the same time, I was that happy to be back with him.

  “My theory is we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Back up. What did he study in college? Obviously when he came here, he must have thought he could learn what he needed at college.”

  “History! If he wanted to learn about the past, he must have studied history.”

  “Yeah…no. It wouldn’t have been history, because we wouldn’t find any clues to Arah Byen’s past in Earth’s history books. Right? Or would we?”

  “We never learned anything remotely like it in any of our history classes.” He grinned. “Might’ve been more interesting if we had.”

  He paused by one of the stacks, running his fingers over the old bindings. I joined him and began reading titles. Something clicked, and I snapped my fingers.

  “He taught literature, right? So maybe that’s what he studied in college?”

  “It must have been. Or at least what he got his doctorate in.”

  “Doctorate?”

  I felt dumb for asking. How did Damian know more about these things than me?

  “Ph.D. If he taught at the university, he must have gone through graduate school.”

  “Oh. Yeah, it was literature. I just remembered that’s what his diploma said, on the wall in his den. Wasn’t it from Oxford? Maggie and Tony were born in England.”

  “Oxford. If he went to Oxford, then how did he ever end up here? And why?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe they’ve got a good library here?”

  “But…literature!” Damian cried, going back to that frustration.

  A grouchy older student just happened to pass by at that moment, and directed a scowl and a “shh!” in our direction. Damian rolled his eyes at the man’s retreating back, but he lowered his voice.

  “Why on earth did he study literature?”

  “It’s…fiction.” I met his gaze and shrugged again. “We can’t have hit a dead end already.�
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  “Maybe we’ll have to ask someone.”

  “Ask – who? About what?”

  “Someone who knew him professionally, maybe. Someone who knew what he studied and taught.”

  “That was a while ago. Four years. Are any of the same professors still here?”

  “I don’t know. Yearbooks! We can find the yearbooks from when he taught. Look at the faculty pages. Professors usually stick around for years, right? Tenure or something.”

  Tenure, right. I felt dumb again – it was only a year or so ago that I realized “tenure” wasn’t Texans’ way of saying “ten-year.”

  Damian had already sauntered off, so I stumbled after him as quickly as I could. We eventually found the archived yearbooks, not in the library at all but in the Admissions Office of the university, where they had several decades worth decorating the bookshelves. We pulled the last five and divvied them up. I could feel the secretary watching us as we sat on the couch thumbing through the pages, and felt sorry that she had nothing better to do than sit staring blankly at us through thick red-rimmed glasses. I sent Damian to ask her for paper and a pen, and she wordlessly handed them to him and went on watching our efforts.

  “Here,” I whispered, trying to ignore her. “This professor has been in all three of the books I’ve checked.” I grabbed the latest yearbook from the stack and flipped through it.

  “Is he in there?”

  I slammed the book shut and tossed it aside. “Of course not.”

  He picked it up and started searching for other names. I got an idea and started working backwards, looking for the names of current professors in the older yearbooks.

  “Hey Damian,” I said. “Check it out. This professor, Dr. Hurtsinger, was a student when Dad taught. And he teaches literature now.”

  “Do you suppose he took any of Dad’s classes?” Damian asked, peering over my shoulder.