Down a Lost Road Read online

  After a while, he came and sat beside me, silent for a few moments as we both listened to Yatol and Enhyla.

  “Not very interesting for you, I suppose,” he said at last, nodding toward them.

  I didn’t find the politics of my own world very interesting, but I didn’t want to admit that to Tyhlaur.

  “I don’t understand very much of it, but it seems interesting.”

  “It’s boring and idiotic, even if you understand it.”

  I seethed inwardly, but then he flashed me a grin and my anger fizzled. He had a really nice smile, the kind that made his grey-green eyes light up, like someone had strung them with sparkly Christmas lights. Though he and Yatol looked a little alike otherwise, their eyes were totally different. Tyhlaur stared at me through those eyes now, and I blushed and dropped my gaze.

  “I guess your world isn’t that different from mine,” I said.

  He laughed. “I have to tell you, I never wanted to believe the stories. There really is another world! That’s mad.” He touched me on the arm, just a little poke. “Well, you look like a real person. You’re kind of pale though.”

  “What? I’m not that…” I glanced from my arm to his tanned finger and made a face. “All right. Maybe I am.”

  I turned back to Yatol, trying to hear what he was saying, but Tyhlaur wouldn’t leave me alone. I wasn’t used to that kind of attention, and I’ve never been good at the whole flirting game. I tried to hide behind my hair, but it made no difference. Tyhlaur just hitched around so that he could see me again.

  “So, what is your role?”

  “My role? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He waved his hand vaguely. Like that helped.

  “What do you do?”

  “Um, I go to school. I’m a teenager, what else should I be doing?”

  Tyhlaur rolled his eyes. “School’s for infants. Unless you’re like Yatol. Study, study. What’s the point?”

  Right now I couldn’t see any point to what I’d learned all those years in school, at least not as far as my current predicament went. But I couldn’t get past the fact that Tyhlaur had just insulted Yatol. My blood boiled. I wanted to slap the mischievous grin off his face.

  “Beats being an errand boy.”

  Ouch. Did I say that with my outer voice? Tyhlaur stared at me, stung.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.

  I shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze. After a moment he left me – finally – to check on his stew. I realized Yatol had been watching us out of the corner of his eye, and for some reason I felt the color rise to my cheeks. I resented Tyhlaur, and felt embarrassed and unhappy and confused. More than anything I wanted Yatol to come and talk to me, but he only continued his quiet conversation with Enhyla. Any other time I would have appreciated being left alone, but not right then.

  Finally the stew was ready. Tyhlaur ladled it into polished wood bowls, distributing them with a triumphant flourish. No one spoke through the meal. I thought about saying something once or twice, but the silence seemed to be a matter of form so I decided to wait. And as soon as the bowls had been cleared away, Enhyla turned to me.

  “There is something you wish to ask me.”

  I glanced up in surprise, but when I met his gaze my shock faded. Of course he would know that. I studied my hands briefly, gathering my courage, then found myself again staring him straight in the eye.

  “What does my father have to do with all of this? With all of you?”

  “She is like him, isn’t she?” he said to Yatol. “Direct, especially when she already knows the answer.”

  My gaze snapped from him to Yatol. I didn’t know if I was more astonished by the question or the statement. I decided it was the question.

  “Yatol! You knew my father?”

  “Yes, though not as well as I would have liked. He came back when I was seven or eight and spent some time with us, then I became a little better acquainted with him when he returned in later years. But yes, everyone knew Davhur.”

  Tyhlaur, who had been cleaning up from supper, spun suddenly around, staring first at me, then at Yatol, then at Enhyla who shook his head. My gaze followed his, shifting from one face to the other, finally returning to Yatol’s. Why didn’t you tell me?

  “Davhur?” I echoed finally. “My mother called him David.”

  “And she calls you Mer, too, or Merry, doesn’t she?”

  “Well, yes, but how’d you know that?”

  Yatol just smiled.

  “Because Davhur told us – or at least Yatol – so much about you when he came back to us. He wanted him to know you so…”

  “Tyhlaur,” Yatol said sternly. “That’s enough.”

  “He wanted you to know me? Why?” But I knew I wouldn’t get an answer from Yatol, so I turned back to Enhyla. “He was one of you. Somehow I think I already knew that. But what was he doing living in my world, working as a professor?”

  “He was searching for answers,” Enhyla said. “I wish I had them, that I could give them to you myself, but I cannot. I do not know them.”

  I met Yatol’s gaze, dissatisfied and curious. He offered me a small smile.

  “Your father was a scholar here, too. He was an apprentice ayshak, raised among the lore masters.” Seeing my confusion, he said, “I don’t know what you would call it in your language. The ayshkahl pass on our history and legends in songs and poems. The lore masters have charge of the written histories, so they always work closely with the ayshkahl.”

  Enhyla leaned onto his knees, thrumming his fingertips together. “Your father was still learning the Fragments when the Ungulion first arrived on our shores. I was only the Guardian Master of Lore at the time, but I worked with Davhur on many occasions. He had insight into the old legends that none of us did. Most of us had started seeing the ancient tales as mere myth, and had stopped caring what they said. We recited the formulas, and lost the meaning. It happened so slowly, over generations, that before we realized it, our carelessness had blotted out all the truth of our earliest history.

  “Your father valued those tales as more than story, though. He was never content with our explanations. He knew that they held the truth. He was only about your age at the time, Merelin. I remember the day it all began so clearly. Shariv, the Master Ayshak, was reciting the second fragment, the Judgment of King Verym. He chanted the line, The Circle of Judgment / in the Judgment Seat’ and Davhur jumped up and said, ‘Is it still there?’ We all wondered what he was talking about. We had always interpreted the Circle to mean the Council of Seven, who hear cases and complaints with the King and advise his responses. But Davhur thought it meant something entirely different.”

  The fire was flickering low, so Tyhlaur got up silently to lay more brush in the embers.

  “He thought the Circle was Pyelthan?” I asked.

  “Well, not quite. We had no recollection of Pyelthan at that point. But he understood circle to mean something quite tangible, rather than a figure of speech.”

  “How did he find it?”

  “He got permission to go to the King’s Seat, and that’s where he found Pyelthan. It was there in the actual throne, in a cage of bronze inlaid in the right arm, exactly where the king’s hand would rest. Now, this all happened just as King Serakh found himself targeted by the rebels who had been stirred up by the Ungulion. When he and Davhur discovered Pyelthan, he urged Davhur to take it to the academy for safekeeping, in case the worst should happen at the capitol. Apart from the King’s Seat itself, the academy is the most jealously guarded, and most secure, place in all of Arah Byen. Serakh was right. Two days after Davhur’s departure, he was assassinated.

  “Your father began studying the Fragments more carefully. He was the first to insist that ‘the land across the stars’ didn’t refer to a distant place in Arah Byen but an actual other world – a world once somehow connected to ours. He believed that if he could just discover the link, he would find the answers to our past. Most people didn’
t believe him, even at the academy. They thought he was mad. But then he found his proof. It was a more dangerous venture than he ever imagined.”

  I rubbed my temples, staring fiercely at the dusty ground. I wanted to be alone and sob for all the grief of my heart, but I couldn’t let myself break down in front of them. My vision blurred. I tried to wipe the corner of my eye without anyone noticing, but I think Yatol saw because at that moment he got to his feet.

  “I think Merelin and I ought to get some rest. We’ve been traveling for a long time.”

  I didn’t hear him say anything else, but I heard Tyhlaur and Enhyla both moving away to begin setting up their beds. I had my hand shadowing my face now, to hide the tears that were streaming down my cheeks. Yatol crouched in front of me.

  “Merelin, you don’t have to be ashamed with me. I…I know your grief.” He paused, then said, “Take the room at the back, and try to get some rest.”

  I lowered my hand. “I just remembered, he used to tell stories to Damian and me when we were little, to get us to sleep at night. He would sing them.” I drew a shaking breath. “Yatol, when did you see him last?”

  He met my gaze steadily for a moment, then he sighed and turned away. I thought I saw his throat tighten, but he only stood and helped me to my feet.

  “Good night, Merelin.”

  Chapter 9 – Questions and Answers

  I woke up some hours later, shaken from sleep by a horrific dream. Water and wind. Drowning. Even when I found myself safe in Enhyla’s hut, the fear clung to my mind, and I had to draw several deep breaths to convince myself I wasn’t suffocating. The room had grown quite dark, but as my eyes adjusted I could make out the shifting patterns of shadow in the canopy above. I rolled over. The flickering light of a small fire and a soft murmur of voices drifted in from the other room. I edged toward the partition until I could hear more clearly.

  “But it is too uncertain,” Tyhlaur was saying. “Yatol, I only just came from there.”

  “And you came through, didn’t you? You’re here now.”

  “I must agree with Tyhlaur,” said Enhyla, so quiet that I almost couldn’t hear him. Then, louder, “It is most direct, that is true, but it is far more treacherous.”

  “And is she even ready?” Tyhlaur asked. “I admit, I don’t know everything there is to know about this task, but even so it seems to me that whoever undertakes it would need strength and courage beyond what normal men have.”

  I inched forward, curious.

  “She already knows where we are going,” Yatol said.

  “So? She may know, but is she ready?” Tyhlaur insisted. “She’s so young, and untried. Why did they send for her so soon? She didn’t even know her father’s role here. And if he couldn’t help us, how could a child like her—”

  “She’s as old as you are, Tyhlaur. Don’t judge her rashly or you judge yourself, too. Besides, do you think Onethyl would have brought her if it wasn’t time?”

  “I can’t say it gives me much hope.” His voice was sharp, rebellious.

  “That’s your problem, not mine,” Yatol hissed. “Don’t lay blame on her or anyone else for that.”

  I peered through the cracks in the partition. Tyhlaur shrugged, running a hand through his shock of wheat-blonde hair. Enhyla glanced from one to the other.

  “Well, Tyhlaur, I would also tell you this: do not doubt her.”

  Yatol lowered his head. Enhyla studied him gravely. But neither of them said a word, and Tyhlaur seemed oblivious to them both.

  “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Yatol. Remember what Davhur said.”

  “Could I forget it?” His voice sounded almost bitter.

  “Nothing is certain,” Enhyla interjected.

  “Yatol would have us think so. He would have us believe…”

  “Tyhlaur, be silent!” Yatol got to his feet. “You know nothing of these things. You know nothing!”

  Tyhlaur’s eyes flamed. “He converses with angels and thinks himself all-knowing.”

  Yatol stared down at him, and I could see his face in profile. There was the strangest expression on his face, wroth and wounded at the same time. Finally he shook his head and strode out of the hut, leaving the ivy tendrils swaying in the doorway behind him. Tyhlaur didn’t watch him go.

  “Get some sleep,” Enhyla said. “The fire will burn down soon enough.”

  Tyhlaur nodded, his lips still pursed with muted anger.

  “Tyhlaur.” Enhyla stopped beside him, gesturing for him to get up. As Tyhlaur rose, Enhyla said softly, “Do not rest on angry thoughts. Sleep clears the mind. Perhaps what angered you at this late hour you will find reasonable at last.”

  Tyhlaur looked skeptical, but he nodded out of respect and disappeared from view. I thought Enhyla turned his head ever so slightly toward me, and lifted his hands as if in prayer.

  “Let him be consoled. He conducts himself in wisdom,” he murmured, then he too vanished beyond the wall.

  I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out cautiously and crept back to the furs, but I couldn’t go to sleep. Not now. I desperately wanted to know where Yatol was, to find out what they were talking about. What had my father had told them? Why was Tyhlaur so anxious about me? His words made me feel small and inadequate. Or, smaller and more inadequate than I already felt.

  I sat cross-legged in the dark, wide-awake and keenly aware of every noise. For a while all I heard was the crackle of the fire and the wind in the roof, but presently I caught a faint rustle of underbrush outside. I tried to peer through the narrow slats in the living wall, but I couldn’t see a thing. I wondered if I could sneak out the front door without anyone hearing. But then I discovered a gap between the trunks in the corner of my room, just wide enough for me to slither through.

  A tiny voice in the back of my mind asked how I would find my way back in the dark, but I ignored it. Details. I slipped out of the hut, and once clear, followed the rustling until it stopped abruptly. I kept on in the direction it had been heading, and soon the trees give way to a broad clearing. There in the center I glimpsed Yatol’s vague silhouette, standing with head bowed and hands pressed to his forehead. My heart ached, and I quickened my pace.

  “What troubles you, Farseer?”

  I stopped short, fading behind a nearby tree as quietly as I could. A soft light filled the clearing, silver blue like the shimmer of stars on the sea. The low, resonant voice seemed to thread off into the night, never really dying until it spoke again. It reached me hiding behind the tree, and some sliver of my heart hoped it was speaking to me. My curiosity got the better of me, and I peered around the trunk.

  A lump caught in my throat when I saw who had spoken. Silver-white hair streamed around a face radiant with starshine, eyes more piercing and gentle than a dove’s gazed on Yatol’s bowed form. His skin shimmered like sapphire pearl, or blue-hot flame, and many translucent wings curled around his figure. He reached out his hands and clasped Yatol’s arms, lifting him to his feet.

  “What is it that troubles you?”

  “You know what brought me here?” Yatol asked, gesturing back toward the hut.

  Two wings lifted like hands toward the sky, and a beautiful smile flooded the serene face. “A time long awaited has come at last! But does this then cause you grief?”

  “I’m uncertain,” he murmured. “And I have a duty… He shouldn’t have chosen me. I’m afraid I will lead us astray, and we have no opportunity for a second chance now.”

  “Why do you believe that? You do not know all things, Yatol. Do not think that what is beyond your wisdom to grasp, is impossible to accomplish.”

  I could tell the reply didn’t satisfy Yatol. He cast his head back to gaze at the sky, sighing. “I don’t even know what to say, to explain the task ahead of us. I don’t know where we must go, or how we must get there…or if we are even ready to do it. Tyhlaur thinks this is all premature, and I can’t help wondering if he is right.”

  “Tyhlaur is a child, im
petuous like a child. His heart is true but he lacks wisdom. It would not be well to let his judgments alter yours.”

  “Mykyl, I don’t even understand what Davhur set out to learn. Don’t you know what happened to our people from the beginning? Haven’t you seen it all unfold? If he sought the truth of our past, why couldn’t you just tell him?”

  Mykyl laughed, the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. “The way we perceive things, child, is not the way of man. We see things both now and always Now. We could not speak such things through any language of man, nor bring you to understand if we could. Yes, Davhur went to learn of your past. Some things he discovered, but not all. If you worry that you and she are not prepared, perhaps it is because you have not gained the knowledge that Davhur found. There was a reason he sought those answers. Merelin will know where to find them. Until she does, of course you will not understand where you are going or how you must get there – or what you must do when you arrive.”

  “But it isn’t safe.” His voice caught, and he turned away. “I can’t do that to her. I saw what happened…”

  “She will not be made to take that passage more times than she can bear.”

  “And I?”

  Mykyl folded his arms, studying Yatol with a soul-piercing gaze. “I tell you neither to stay nor to go. There is nowhere she can go now that is free of peril.” He turned his head and stared straight at me. “But perhaps you should ask her what she would like.”

  Yatol swung around. I knew there was no point hiding, so I crept out from the shadows. I took three steps toward them but couldn’t force myself to go any farther. I wasn’t exactly afraid. Awestruck. Power just radiated from Mykyl, like nothing I had ever seen or felt, like a lure and a barrier all at the same time. Finally Yatol came to my side, drawing me with him toward Mykyl.

  I was still staring at Mykyl when he spoke to me again.

  “Hail and well met, Daughter of the Exiles!”

  I jolted. Daughter of the Exiles…ele eklethir. It sounded so familiar. It seemed to echo something deep in my memory, like a faint refrain of music that lingers in your mind when you can no longer recall the melody. I frowned, wracking my thoughts and recollections for its source. Ele eklethir…iell egledhruir. I gave a little gasp, turning wondering eyes on Mykyl.