Down a Lost Road (3 page)

The alarm on his face silenced me. He seemed
to be listening, alert like a police dog when it hones in on a
scent. His eyes roved over the shop, toward the windows, searching.
They fixed on something – his whole body tensed. I could literally
see the blood drain from his face.

“
They’re here,” he
whispered. “I should’ve known they’d come. How’d they know? Must’ve
followed. Must’ve been watching.” He turned to me so abruptly that
I flinched away. “Get out of here now!”

“
What? Who?”

“
Don’t ask, no time! Hurry,
you got to get away safe before they find you, before they find you
and take Pyelthan from you!”

He closed his eyes, his lips twitching
noiselessly. I took one step back, but that was as far as I could
go. Mr. Dansy shook my arm.

“
He’s ready. He’ll explain
it all. Trust me, darlin’, go!”

I wanted to protest but I just stood there
like a lump, staring at him slack-jawed.

“
You’ve got to be kidding,
right? Go where? I don’t even have a car!” I managed to gasp. “No,
wait a second. How well did you know my dad? Do you know where he
is? How’d you get his coin? What does this have to do with
him?”

“
Merelin, go! Go or he and
you and all the others will be in danger. Now!”

I didn’t get a chance to ask him anything
else. The shop door crashed open with the sharp shattering of
glass, but before I could see what happened my vision gave way to a
grey blur. I thought I’d fainted, but at the same time I knew I was
awake. I didn’t hit the ground – if the ground was there, it was
like I fell right through it. I couldn’t move my arms, couldn’t
catch myself. Just kept freefalling. Couldn’t feel any direction.
Up, down, side to side all gave the same sickening surge in the
stomach. Too fast for terror, but it felt unending. Then all was
still. I was still. And it was hot.

* * *

The heat registered first, then the light,
blindingly bright against my eyelids. I forced open my eyes.
Dazzling gold-white and blue stretched as far as I could see, the
whole image swimming from the curls of heat that sweltered over the
gold. I blinked, focusing on my hand beside my face. Sand cushioned
it, sifting between my fingers, hot and coarse.

Sand
.

Sand? I scrambled to my feet, dizzy,
terrified. My balance gave way, like the world’s gravity had
shifted. I steadied myself, concentrating on the wheeling sands and
trying to calm the nervous race of my heart. My stomach churned
again, blood pounding in my ears. I thought I would be sick.

It’s not possible.
But it wasn’t
convincing with the sand whipping up into my face. I must have
fallen asleep. When or how, it didn’t matter. Or I
had
fainted. But I had to be dreaming now. There was no way I could be
here, in a desert, when a moment before I had been in Mr. Dansy’s
shop on Main. The sane voice in the back of my mind said, quite
rationally:
Close your eyes, count to ten, and open them, and
you’ll see you haven’t gone anywhere
. I did. I squeezed my eyes
shut, counting slowly to ten, trying to ignore the hot buffeting
wind and the sting of tiny grains of sand on my cheeks. I counted a
few extra seconds to be sure, then nervously opened my eyes.

Nothing had changed.

Where
was
I? I turned a slow circle,
scanning the horizon until I glimpsed a dark shape in the corner of
my view. I jolted around stifling a scream. A man stood in front of
me – or I assumed he was a man, since the hood of a thin dark cloak
shadowed his features too much to tell.

In that first moment of shock, running never
even occurred to me. One glance around and there was no way I’d be
stupid enough to try. There was nothing but sand as far as I could
see.

Nothing but sand, and this strange man at my
exact spot as if he’d been expecting me.

But he didn’t pay any attention to me at
first. His head canted to the side, like he was staring intently at
some spot past my shoulder. He didn’t move at all. Even his hands,
poised in front of him, were tense, the veins standing out between
the tendons. Was he going to attack me? Was he even aware of me
standing there, right there, two feet in front of him?

I glanced over my shoulder but couldn’t see
anything interesting. Only the shimmers of heat seemed a little
thicker in one particular spot, like a mirage hanging in the air.
But even as I stared, the wavering light seeped away. I frowned and
turned back, only to find that the man had finally shifted his
attention to me.

“
Do you have
it?”

I jumped. My first thought was one of sheer
relief.
At least he speaks English
. And even if the question
was abrupt, he had a nice voice – warm, low, and strangely
accented. For a good minute I stared at him. Finally I stuck my
hand in my pocket, racking my memory for the name Mr. Dansy had
given the coin.

“
Pyelthan?”

“
Aye, but you should not
have spoken that name so readily. You do not know who I
am.”

“
What difference would that
make?” I countered, terror making me bold. “It’s mine.”

“
Aye,” he said. I couldn’t
tell from his tone if he was more amused or amazed.

“
This place can’t be real,”
I blurted. “Where is Mr. Dansy? And who are you?”

He hesitated. His head roved from side to
side, scanning the horizon, then he brushed back his hood. And I
blushed. I couldn’t help it. I’d expected someone much older, or
maybe some being that didn’t even resemble a man…but he was fully
human, and very young. He looked about Maggie’s age. His hair was
the color of the sand, shaggy and a bit of a mess, and his eyes
were startling. Flecks of golden light shone against the clear dark
of his irises, like the light of stars. I’d never seen anything
like it. After a moment I realized I was staring at them and jerked
my gaze away. I must have been bright red by then.

“
I am Yatol,” he said. “I
am
sev thyna
. I do not know how it would be in your
tongue.”

“
My tongue?”

“
Yes. You have much to
learn.” He studied me briefly, while I frowned at the sand, hoping
my blush had faded. “You’re younger than I thought.”

My eyes snapped up to his face, flaring with
indignation. “I’m almost seventeen.”

Well, not quite. I had a few months to go,
but it made me feel older. For some reason right then I
wanted
to seem older – that was new for me. At the same time
a wisp of confusion hovered in my thoughts. I was younger than he
thought? What was he expecting? Or
who
?

He still scrutinized me, his face blank and
expressionless. Only I thought he had one brow slightly lifted –
skeptical.

“
Do you know who I am?” I
barely whispered.

The corner of his mouth twitched, then he
turned and started walking. When I didn’t move he turned and
beckoned to me.

“
Yentsi!
There is
still much danger.”

“
Why should I trust
you?”

He paused, then came back to me. His gaze
shifted past my shoulder again, alert and wary.

“
I could say nothing to
prove myself,” he said. “They were coming, weren’t
they?”

“
What?”

He stared at me blandly.

“
You mean in Mr. Dansy’s
shop? He thought somebody was coming. And someone broke the glass
just before…”

I made a face and shrugged. Describing what
had happened was totally beyond me. But it made me remember Mr.
Dansy’s words, and I studied Yatol in surprise.

“
You
were the one he
was talking about? He said, ‘he is ready.’ Did he mean
you?”

“
Do you trust him?” Yatol
asked, and when I nodded he turned away again. “He will do what he
can, but they won’t stop.
Yentsi
.”

I followed. I didn’t know what else to do,
and I was too terrified of the desert – and Yatol’s warning – to
stay behind alone. The sand shifted under my feet as I tried to
keep up with his long strides. We’d hardly gotten anywhere when my
shins started aching. Then my calves. I still felt strange,
unbalanced, and it took all my strength to keep pace with him. I
couldn’t see anything that looked like a destination, but much as I
wanted to ask where we were going, I didn’t dare. At least Yatol
seemed to know where he was going. I bent my head and focused on
forcing each step.

The heat saturated me, drawing a slick glaze
of sweat to my skin, parching my mouth until my tongue felt rough
as a cat’s. I decided jeans were the curse of my existence. Thought
about Bedouins as I trudged along. Stared absently at the thin
fabric of Yatol’s cloak, wondering what it was made of. Dreaded the
sunburn I would have later on.

I don’t know how long we walked, but my
thoughts had flitted over a thousand random things or more when the
light began to fade to a silver-blue twilight. I glanced up, then
stumbled a step and stared in surprise. Somehow we’d almost come to
the edge of the sand. A narrow expanse of shrubby land like a
strange meadow spread in front of us, and beyond rose the dark
smudged line of a forest.

The meadow seemed fairly typical, though I
didn’t recognize any of the plants. But the trees were completely
unreal. Squat and smooth-trunked, they seemed to have skin instead
of bark, some pale indescribable color. I couldn’t see any leaves,
but the branches divided again and again into a fine spray of
tendril-thin beards. Between the trunks laced sad curtains of
gossamer and delicate ivy. The whole forest seemed to breathe with
the light breeze, tendril-leaves and mossy veils all inhaling and
exhaling in time.

I stared at the panorama, and a strange
sinking feeling nudged away all the awe and wonder. This wasn’t
Earth. It really wasn’t.
Oh God, where am I?

Shivering uncontrollably, I forced myself to
keep walking. We were tracking through the grass now, and the tough
creeping stalks tugged at my feet. Yatol picked his way steadily
along a barely visible path, and as I nearly tripped for the third
time I wondered how he managed to avoid the creepers. He never
slowed down, so I ran to catch up, half-skipping to escape the
plants. I was breathless, my throat sore from the sand.

“
Where are we
going?”

“
Yentsi
.”

I assumed that meant to follow, so I stayed
close as the trees marched toward our path. Almost before I
realized it, we were deep in the forest, out of the meadow with its
horrible clinging grasses. I laid my hand on the pale skin of a
tree and felt it thrill beneath my fingers. Everything in this
place seemed so alive, but so melancholy, from the soft swaying of
the drooping tree boughs to the strange hostility of the grasses,
to the clinging vines that made a labyrinth of the wood. The deeper
we forged into the forest, the heavier the darkness grew around us.
Only the faintest traces of pale half-light filtered through the
lacy canopy overhead, but it seemed like some of the tree skins and
grey-green moss reflected a residual radiance. It gave at least
enough light for us to see the path – or at least for Yatol to see
it. I was too tired to pay attention.

I was staring intently at the ground when
Yatol stopped abruptly, and I barely caught myself before I
stumbled into him. A veil of gossamer hung in front of us, making a
dead-end of our path. Yatol hesitated, listening and scanning the
path behind us. From the other side of the curtain I could hear a
murmur of voices, and I stared anxiously at Yatol, trying to figure
out if I should be afraid. But he seemed more concerned about what
was on our side of the veil. Suddenly I found myself following his
gaze, surveying the forest behind us nervously. I couldn’t make out
anything but the silhouettes of the trees. After a moment Yatol
offered me a faint smile that didn’t comfort me.

He parted the curtain and ducked through,
holding it back so I could follow. On the other side I straightened
up, and staggered back. A company of men stared back at me, all of
them silent. Wondering.

My face must have mirrored theirs. I
knew
them. I don’t know why I felt it, but looking at them I
suddenly felt at home.

Yatol strode forward, lifting his hand in a
greeting. Then he turned toward me and – I’m sure I didn’t imagine
it – stooped in a slight bow. The others said nothing to him, but
they exchanged glances and hushed whispers with each other. I
wondered what Yatol had indicated with that bow. I wondered what
they thought of me.

Yatol touched my arm. I followed him into
the camp, winding between clusters of seated men. Open fires heated
pots of savory stew, and past them I could just make out haphazard
rows of tents. Hanging vessels of flickering flame scattered light
over the ground, and here and there I glimpsed half-shadowed
figures moving about. Somewhere I thought I caught the faint
strains of music from a stringed instrument, maybe like a zither or
a kind of strange fiddle. The soft sounds seemed to float down from
the tree boughs – ethereal, foreign, haunting.

Yatol walked slowly now, and suddenly I
realized that two men stalked silent on either side of me, never
looking at me and never saying a word. They were armed. I stared at
one of the burnished spears with growing alarm, almost
instinctively edging closer to Yatol. We passed a sprawling
pavilion, dark and empty, and came to a dazzling row of bright
torches that marked the entrance to a large tent. It was made of
the same rough leather as the others, but with faded embroidery
gleaming halfheartedly in the guttering light. Yatol stopped in the
entry to wait for me.