Chapter 8 – The Lord Master

 

I don’t remember going back to my fern, but hardly a moment seemed to have passed before I opened my eyes to daylight. Yatol was already up, crouching by the azure pool. In the raw morning his skin seemed almost grey, with deep purple circles under his eyes. I wandered toward him, all the things I’d meant to say fading away to a sudden awkward silence. I couldn’t even get out a “good morning” as I knelt beside him.

Yatol wordlessly handed me a hollowed-out gourd. I was glad I had seen him scoop out water to rinse his hands and face away from the water’s edge, or I wouldn’t have known what to do. I might have dunked my whole head in the pool without thinking, and polluted all our drinking water. I peeled the bandages from my fingers, grimacing at the sight of the missing nails, and splashed my face and hands. As I dried them on my tunic Yatol turned to me as though to speak. My words returned in a rush.

“Don’t ask my forgiveness, Yatol! I’m the one who needs forgiving. I’m so sorry for what I said. And you can’t have known about the Ungulion…”

“I should have known that you’d be able to sense their presence, Merelin. It doesn’t matter if I could sense it myself. I shouldn’t have doubted you.” He hesitated, and suddenly his eyes flashed and he snapped his gaze away from my face. I heard him say, almost under his breath, “It might have taken you.”

I swallowed, then murmured, “You saved my life. Could I ask for more?”

“Yes,” Yatol said sharply. “I ought to be wiser than that.”

I shot him a quick glance, but he refused to look at me. And suddenly, somehow, I thought I understood what he needed me to say. I turned to him, clasping his hands.

“Yatol. I forgive you.” I hesitated. “But I want you to forgive me, too.”

He regarded me curiously before turning away with head bowed, but as he did the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Then he nodded. A chill of relief and joy tingled down my spine. He forgave me. Nothing is beyond mending.

I hugged my knees, watching him curiously. “How did you banish the Ungulion?”

“I fought him.” He touched the surface of the water, watching the ripples. “I can’t explain it. It wasn’t a physical fight. You know that. It’s a battle on every plane. Some contests I lost. I won enough to cast him from this place.”

“What do you mean, I know that?”

“It is indeed not a battle that can be described in mere words,” said Akhmar, joining us. “Merelin, you have already experienced it, to some degree. The Ungulion who dragged you to the Gorhiem Bolstoed – you did not go willingly. You vied with it strongly before it overwhelmed your senses enough to bear you away. That was the only battle it won against you. And you withstood their interrogation.”

I sat in astonished silence, staring at him. I hadn’t even been aware that I’d fought any kind of battle, or, in any sense of the word, won anything against the Ungulion. Yatol stood, offering me a small smile.

“Well, we can’t afford to linger here all day. Akhmar, how far will you carry us?”

“I will carry you to the borders of the Branhau,” he said. “It is close enough, and the land is mild. And by then Merelin’s feet may be relieved enough to let her walk.”

I stared at them both. “How’d you know about my feet?”

Yatol turned away, but Akhmar only gazed meaningfully at me. And I didn’t know why I hadn’t realized it before. Yatol had seen me limping. Somehow he had called Akhmar, just because of me. To help me. I caught myself smiling, and in some strange way I thought Akhmar smiled too.

We didn’t have a camp to clear, so our only real order of business before leaving was breakfast. More than anything I wanted a hot shower, but that wasn’t going to happen. I’d settle for food instead. We found some small, sweet fruits like dates or figs, which satisfied my hunger a lot more than I expected. After we ate Yatol put a soothing salve on my fingers and wrapped them in fresh bandages. Much as I wanted to be rid of the mummy-wraps, at least they would remind me not to smack my hands on things. And keep me from having to look at my hideously bare fingertips.

Akhmar gave us two stops along the way to rest and stretch, then around midday he made his final halt near the edge of a woodland. When I first saw it my heart sank, wondering if he had backtracked to the forest I’d already visited, but then I realized that these trees were unlike anything I’d seen so far. My eyes followed their trunks, higher and higher. Next to them our stumpy little Texas trees would have looked like shrubs in front of redwoods. And I felt so very, very small.

I slid from Akhmar’s back, welcoming the cushiony grass under my feet. Yesterday I hadn’t noticed if I had been sore from the ride, but today I couldn’t ignore the ache saturating my whole body. I just wanted to flop face-first into the grass and never move.

“You can find your way well enough from here,” Akhmar said.

Yatol bowed to him and I murmured my thanks, feeling strangely sad. Akhmar turned to go, but I broke and ran over to him. I wanted to embrace him, but somehow that didn’t seem like the best idea. Was it bad etiquette to hug an angel? Instead I stopped a few feet from him, hands dangling useless at my sides.

“We will see you again, won’t we, Akhmar? Will you come back to us?”

“I have done all you need of me, for now,” he said gently.

And with that he was gone. I sighed and trailed after Yatol, feeling suddenly lonely. But as we came into the forest I caught my breath, gazing around at the trees. At least I thought they were trees, but up close they seemed more like towering plants – their trunks were pliant and smooth, colored like marbled pewter. At the crown they erupted into a cascade of starlit blue, the color of the sky just after dusk and before the darkening of night. The fronds dripped down almost half the height of the trunk, and as the wind stirred them I caught a subtle, sweet scent, like magnolias.

My gaze drifted down to the tiny flowers lining our path, delicate cups of every hue and brimming with a honey-like fragrance. The light filtered through the starburst trees and flamed on the rainbow blossoms, while a sweet birdsong drifted toward us on the gentle breeze. Everything tumbled together in a kaleidoscope of scent and sound and sight. Even when I closed my eyes I still felt it surrounding me. I had never felt so lost to myself, but at the same time I felt more alive than I had ever felt before. The sensation was almost overwhelming. I felt giddy even while I felt the deepest, most restful peace, the kind that made want to lie on my back in the grass and flowers and simply be.

“Merelin!”

I jerked my head up only to find Yatol waiting for me.

“We’re here.”

“Already?”

Yatol glanced at the dusky sky, then skeptically at me. “Yes, already.”

I flicked a gaze upward. Time certainly had a way of escaping my notice around here. No wonder I felt so tired. I scanned the forest then, frowning in confusion.

“Yatol. We’re where?”

Yatol grinned and pointed straight ahead. Finally I saw it. The strange hut was almost invisible, it blended so well with the forest. But then I noticed four trees growing in a perfect line, like pillars. Behind them many smaller trees had been carefully pruned and trained to lean over the inner building, their crowns forming a fluid roof while their trunks grew close enough to form walls. Two small trees with sturdy branches formed the posts and lintel of an entryway. A cascade of deep green ivy served as a door, and just as we stepped toward it, it swung aside and a boy darted out.

“Yatol!”

He barreled full into Yatol, nearly bowling him over in an enthusiastic hug.

“All right, Tyhlaur, get off me!”

He shoved his brother away and Tyhlaur stumbled back laughing, but Yatol grabbed his arm to steady him.

“Look presentable,” he warned. “There’s someone for you to meet.”

He glanced back at me, a little smile touching his face before he beckoned me to join them. As I drew near I saw Tyhlaur’s eyes widen, and my face burned.

“But…who is this?” Tyhlaur shifted a searching gaze from me to Yatol. “She isn’t one of us?”

“That’s an interesting question.”

“Yatol, welcome!”

We both turned to the ivy doorway, where another man had just emerged into the twilight. Yatol moved Tyhlaur aside and went to greet the older man, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

“Enhyla, Lord!”

I waited breathless, both fascinated and terrified by the reverence of Yatol’s greeting. He summoned me as he rose, turning and extending his hand. I went forward, suddenly nervous, and genuflected like Yatol did.

“Ah, child, welcome!” Enhyla murmured, laying his hand on my head. “Most welcome, you most anxiously awaited!”

Me, awaited? I stared up at him, tongue-tied, but he only smiled at me. Tyhlaur must have been thinking the same thing, though, because he strode over to join us, looking as confused as I felt.

“What do you mean, Enhyla?” he asked. “What did you mean, brother?” Turning to me, “Who are you, anyway?”

Yatol folded his arms, a slight scowl settling on his face. “Three days ago I guarded her passage to Arah Byen.”

Apparently that was enough of an answer for Tyhlaur. He dropped a step back, staring from Yatol to me in wary disbelief. Enhyla laughed quietly and put a hand on Yatol’s shoulder.

“Come inside! The two of you must be weary. Take what food or rest you wish, and tell me what news you have.” He glanced back at me. “Though not all tidings come through words.”

We all followed Enhyla into the hut. I stopped short just inside the doorway, finding myself in a much bigger space than I’d expected. The whole hut was basically one huge room, all but a little bedroom separated at the back by a branch-woven partition. Two of the walls were filled in with clay and draped with rough tapestries, depicting fading legends with fading threads. The other two were living wood, letting the soft breeze drift through the little chinks and gaps into the room.

A cold fire pit stood in the very center of the room, filled with brush and twigs waiting to be lit with the approach of night. The hut didn’t sport much by way of furniture, but there were several heaps of bright cushions scattered around the pit. Near the far wall stood a chair and a small table mounded with books and a roll of velum. A collection of weapons leaned against the wall in one corner. Above it bunches of herbs and roots dangled from a woven lattice suspended between the walls.

I was still staring around when Tyhlaur lit the brush in the fire pit. Overhead the deep blue cascades caught and held the light, so that the roof seemed to dazzle like sapphires. Enhyla must have heard my gasp of surprise, because he glanced across the room at me, and his face creased with a gentle smile.

I wished Yatol had given me some indication of who Enhyla was, besides the enigmatic and unhelpful title of “Lord Master.” Lord Master of what? He was an older man, with a deep wisdom in his eyes, though he seemed nearly as strong as Yatol and Tyhlaur. And he had an inner strength that just radiated out of him. I’d never been in the presence of anybody really important, but suddenly I could imagine what it would be like to meet a king. But even that didn’t capture it. My great-grandmother once kept a painting of an old Indian chief – I still remember how his penetrating stare always arrested me, like he could see straight into my heart. That almost came close to how Enhyla made me feel.

Tyhlaur passed between us, interrupting my thoughts. I realized now that he was older than I had first guessed, probably my own age. He wasn’t as tall as Yatol, and he was slimmer too, less muscular. Somehow he also reminded me of an Indian, despite his white-gold hair. When we arrived he had been wearing only breeches and something like a loincloth – I tried not to look too closely – and leather bracers like mine on his wrists. Now, at a pointed glance from Yatol, he found a white tunic in a chest and pulled it over his head. But he glanced at Yatol with a mischievous spark of defiance, and left it unbelted. Yatol arched a brow and scowled at him.

I stifled a laugh, seeing their silent bantering. But then it reminded me so much of Damian and me that my heart ached with loneliness. I wished more than anything that Damian were with me now. I couldn’t remember ever being apart from him this long.

“Come, children!” Enhyla said suddenly, beckoning me closer. “Tyhlaur will make some of his splendid stew, and let us talk. Bring the bruhvir around.”

I assumed the bruhvir were the piles of cushions, and Yatol confirmed my guess when he rearranged a few – “rearrange” meaning he just kicked them closer to the fire.

“Tyhlaur, make stew!” he muttered. “What have they done to my brother?”

“You mean cooking doesn’t run in the family?”

Yatol swung around to glower at me, but when I met his gaze with a smile, he turned away laughing. Tyhlaur winked at me as he set a bronze tripod over the fire.

“Well, you see, Enhyla only thinks I know how to make stew. He’s never actually had it.” He balanced a cauldron of water on the stand. “So, I suppose you’ll all find out if I can or not!”

Yatol shot a dubious look at Enhyla, and Enhyla smiled.

“But you are not the only one to have praised your stew, Tyhlaur.”

“Well, Yatol didn’t have to know that. What will become of my reputation?”

Enhyla turned to Yatol as Tyhlaur started on his stew, and I sat down nearby to listen to their talk. They shared news about people and places I didn’t know, but I liked hearing the sound of their voices and the curious dignity of their words. Tyhlaur joined in occasionally, but I didn’t care much for what he had to say. He asked too many questions, and dismissed too many things that Yatol and Enhyla took quite seriously. For some reason that really bothered me.

But whatever his views on the political situation of his people, he did seem to be a good cook. The stew already smelled wonderful, and my stomach gurgled emptily. If my mom’s stews were any indication, I knew I was in for a long wait for dinner. Fantastic. Make me hungry, then don’t let me eat.

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.”