Chapter 13 – Friends and Family

The night breeze wafted gently over me, fanning my burning face and eyes. I couldn’t hear anything at all – no night animals stirred, and the fronds of the treetops made no sound as they danced on the air. Calming silence. I let myself soak up the sensation of peace for a few moments, then made my way back to Enhyla’s hut.

As I drew near, I caught sight of Tyhlaur entering the hut ahead of me. If Yatol and Enhyla hadn’t returned…

Suddenly nervous, I hurried after him.

“Enhyla!” I heard him calling out, and just as I came to the doorway he grabbed a spear from against the wall and leveled it at Damian and Kurtis. “Who the hell are you?”

Damian and Kurtis both jumped half a foot back, staring at Tyhlaur.

“Um,” Kurtis said, waving his hands. “Friends! Friendly!”

Tyhlaur frowned at him, then with a grunt of exasperation or anger he shoved the spear back against the wall. Convinced he wouldn’t try impaling one of them, I lingered a moment longer in the doorway to watch the encounter.

“More foreigners,” Tyhlaur muttered, slanting them a peevish glare. “Fantastic.”

He crouched down in front of the fire, grabbing a stick and stabbing it into the basin to stir the embers.

“Who do you suppose he is?” Damian whispered, still watching Tyhlaur with bewildered caution.

“I have no idea,” Kurtis said. “But he seems to be at home here. He looks a little bit like Yatol, doesn’t he?”

“All right, do you want anything to eat?” Tyhlaur asked, but Damian and Kurtis only stared at him blankly. “Eat? You know, food? Do you want something?”

“He asked if you want anything to eat,” I said, going in.

“Mer! Thank God you’re back. This is so awkward. Not to mention I thought he was going to gut me.”

I laughed, and Damian scowled.

“Sorry, D,” I said. “You have to admit though, it is rather funny. You should have seen your face.”

“How long have you been watching?” he cried. He tried to maintain his frown, but finally gave up and cracked a smile. “Okay, now that my life isn’t hanging in the balance, I guess it is. But I’m still glad you’re back.”

“He said this is awkward,” I told Tyhlaur.

“I suppose,” he said, grinning. “But are they hungry? There’s bread, and the stew is on the fire.”

I translated again for Damian and Kurtis.

“Awesome. I’m starving,” Damian said, and Kurtis nodded.

“Where are Yatol and that older man?” he asked.

“Enhyla. I’m not sure where they are.”

I relayed the question to Tyhlaur.

“Enhyla is walking alone, I think. And Yatol…” He shrugged, stabbing the fire, and I wondered if they were back on speaking terms yet. “They should be back soon, though. See, we’ll have the scent of my stew wafting all through the forest, and as soon as they smell it, they’ll have to return!”

I went and sat down near Kurtis and Damian, leaning in toward the fire though I wasn’t really cold. Or at least I didn’t think I was. But my arms were all covered with goose bumps, and I felt a little achy and unsettled, like the first signs of the flu. I watched Tyhlaur tearing up a few leaves of some sort of herb, sprinkling them over the stew and stirring carefully. A faint, spicy aroma drifted my way. For a moment I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts shift back to my conversation with Yatol.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked Tyhlaur.

He nodded.

“How long has Yatol been the portal guardian?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I was just curious.”

He set down his spoon and sighed. “A long time. Years.” I arched a brow at him. “You asked how long! It’s been years.”

“What’s been years?”

Yatol stood in the doorway, holding back the ivy curtain. Enhyla came up behind him, so Yatol stepped into the hut to let him enter, but then he just waited there, watching me. I felt my face drain of color and then flush, and I stared at the ground. I told myself there was nothing wrong with my question, but for some reason I didn’t want Tyhlaur repeating it. Maybe it was the pain in Yatol’s eyes, or his grave still stance. He’d had enough pain. No more.

My fingers rubbed the mark on my wrist, fiercely, until the skin turned as red as the birthmark. Tyhlaur fixed me with a brief glance, and then turned back to his brother.

“Since I last used the gift. She asked if I also had it.”

I let out my breath. Yatol’s expression didn’t change, and I knew he wasn’t quite convinced. Apparently I wasn’t alone in the world’s-worst-liar category. But to my relief Yatol came to the fire and sat down, and asked no more about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” I said to Damian and Kurtis, eager to change the subject. “This is Tyhlaur, Yatol’s brother.” To Tyhlaur, I added, “This is Damian, my brother, and Kurtis, a friend of my father’s.”

Tyhlaur nodded to them both, but Yatol studied Kurtis curiously.

“You too knew Davhur?”

“Davhur? You mean Dr. Lindon?”

“His name was Davhur. They only called him David on Earth,” I explained in undertones.

“Yes, I was one of his students.”

“Kurtis,” I said suddenly. “Did anyone around the campus ever call my father Davhur?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“I just remembered, Mr. Dansy called him Davhur before the Ungulion arrived. I didn’t even notice at the time. How would he have known his real name?”

Kurtis rubbed his jaw, then shrugged. “I don’t know. He seemed to know a lot about the whole business, though, didn’t he?”

I frowned and glanced back toward the fire, only to notice Yatol watching me curiously.

“He never told you?” he asked. When I only shook my head in confusion, he smiled. “Tyhlaur, you remember the stories of Charlon, don’t you?”

“Of course. Everyone knows them. He was the greatest thief ever to have lived. Most of the stories say he never kept a single ztat that he stole. It was all a game, an art. They called him the Dancer because he was like an acrobat. No one could ever catch him. Or keep him locked up if they did. No one knows what happened to him. He just disappeared one day almost thirty years ago, and that was the last anyone ever saw of him.”

Yatol had never stopped watching me while Tyhlaur spoke, like he was waiting for my reaction. I met his gaze, mentally trying to reason out the connection.

“You mean Charlon the Dancer somehow came to my world and became Mr. Dansy? The boring mousy little man who talks like he’s been in Texas his whole life? But why?”

Yatol’s mouth twitched. “He…had a change of heart. He finally got caught in the act, trying to steal something… invaluable…from the academy. It was about the time that your father was preparing to go through the portal. It was Davhur’s doing – he told the Lord Master Kayaf not to punish Charlon, if Charlon would agree to help him. There were other circumstances that made the whole event a bit more colorful, but that’s the essence of it. And of course Charlon would have done anything for his brother. Even live in exile in another world.”

“His brother?” I gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding! Mr. Dansy is my uncle?”

Yatol laughed, while I just sat there gaping at him, speechless. I turned to see Damian’s reaction, only to realize he still hadn’t understood a word of the discussion. I tried three times to get the words out before I succeeded.

“Mr. Dansy is our uncle.”

“What?” Damian cried. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

I told him what Yatol and Tyhlaur had said, still trying to wrap my head around the idea that not only was Mr. Dansy a blood relative, but that he had lived such a colorful life. It was almost impossible to imagine. And yet it made perfect sense.

“But what happened to him back there?” Damian asked. “Is he okay?”

Yatol grew suddenly serious, dropping his gaze to his hands. “We could not find him. I do not know if he managed somehow to escape, or if the Ungulion captured him.”

“No!” I cried. “Yatol, we have to find him!”

“It may be some consolation, that what Tyhlaur said is true. No one has ever been able to keep him confined. Whether he be here or in your world, there is yet a good chance he has escaped already.”

“A good chance?” Kurtis said. “A chance isn’t good. He’s their uncle!”

“I am sorry, but there is nothing further I might say to comfort you.”

His gaze caught mine, flickered toward Tyhlaur, then he got to his feet abruptly and beckoned me. He stopped just outside the hut, drawing me away from the pool of light filtering past the ivy curtain.

“I don’t want to scare them, either by telling them where I’m afraid Charlon is, or by letting them know you’ve been there.” His eyes flickered away from mine, a thin tense breath escaping his lips. “I have a feeling your brother wouldn’t be very happy to know that you were taken prisoner once already. My brother doesn’t need to know either.”

I swallowed and nodded. He had a point. Maybe that was why I had left out that part of the story when I told it to Damian.

“You think they’ve taken him to Azik?”

“Yes. I don’t think Azik has arrived yet, but I’m sure he’s been summoned.”

“There’s no way we can try to rescue him?”

“Let me think it over.” He smiled strangely. “I’ve been in the tower a few times. I may even have gone intentionally once or twice. Right now let’s just focus on what’s at hand.”

I nodded and followed him back into Enhyla’s hut. My stomach churned with hunger or fear, but it had gotten to that point where the thought of food made my gut knot up. I clamped an arm around my waist and stood absently near the fire, not really thinking about anything. Tyhlaur joined me after a moment, putting a hand on my shoulder and peering at me anxiously.

“You all right, Merelin?”

I nodded, trying not to edge away from him. He was concerned. Nothing else.

“Just hungry,” I murmured.

“Well, I’ll tell the stew to cook faster. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

I smiled in thanks and sat down next to Damian, trying not to stare at Yatol as he and Enhyla leaned over some browned piece of parchment on the little table. After a moment Tyhlaur went to join them, leaving the three of us still sitting near the fire. Damian elbowed me, leaning his head close to mine.

“I don’t know, Mer, he doesn’t seem like your usual type.”

“What?” I gasped, my cheeks burning.

His eyes glinted mischief. “Thought you were more into the clean-cut, preppy type.”

I stammered something incoherent, just praying that Kurtis wasn’t listening. Or Yatol. The thought made my face burn fiercer, and I buried my head against my knees. Why was I feeling so dizzy? It couldn’t just be embarrassment. Maybe it was the hunger. Damian elbowed me again.

“Though a guy with a spear must be pretty hard to resist. And he can cook.”

I jerked my head up. “You mean Tyhlaur?” I cried, more loudly than I meant.

Luckily none of the three at the table seemed to have heard me. Damian just looked at me, confused, and I stared back, trying to think of something to say and failing epically. Then a little light of understanding flashed in Damian’s eyes, and he leaned toward me again.

“Yatol? Really?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” I muttered petulantly.

Damian watched Yatol for a moment, then shot me a grin. “Makes more sense than Tyhlaur, actually. Yeah, he’s more your type.”

I scowled, but wasn’t about to argue. Damian laughed and turned away to say something to Kurtis. I was just glad that Tyhlaur decided at that moment that his stew was done, and ladled it out into the smooth wood bowls. Yatol helped distribute them.

Again silence reigned over the meal. Damian kept looking like he wanted to speak, but noticing that no one else was talking, he kept his thoughts to himself. I fixed my eyes on my bowl. My stomach rumbled but my throat closed down. I could hardly swallow. I don’t know why. The stew smelled as good as I remembered it, and I couldn’t think of a time all that day I hadn’t felt hungry. Maybe the bread would be easier. But I could hardly lift it to my mouth.

The world blurred and greyed. The bread and the bowl clattered to the ground. I stared at my hands gone weak and numb.

And then everything fell into shadow, and someone was holding me up.

“Merelin, Merelin!” Damian cried.

He cradled me against his chest, one hand against my cheek holding my head close to his shoulder, just like Dad had always held me when I was upset or afraid. As my vision returned I saw Yatol standing up, paralyzed with alarm. I wondered why he was so upset. He’d seen me in worse condition before.

Enhyla said something to him, and he stirred at last to tell Damian to take me to the bedchamber. Soon I found myself nestled in the pelts with my face buried in the warm fur. Damian stayed with me, asking me repeatedly if I was all right. I hardly heard him, but Yatol’s voice from the other room was painfully distinct.

“It’s begun,” he said, bitter and tense.

“She will endure it,” Enhyla murmured. “She has the strength.”

“She shouldn’t have to! It’s too much. It was too much for him, and it is too much for her…”

They kept talking, but their voices faded from my mind. I could sense Damian still crouching beside me, but had neither the will nor the strength to move at all. I felt myself drifting toward sleep.