Down a Lost Road by J. Leigh Bralick

Author:J. Leigh Bralick [Bralick, J. Leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Mythology, Atlantis, portal, parallel world
Publisher: J. Leigh Bralick
Published: 2011-11-02T01:27:57+00:00

Chapter 16 – Camp

We left Lohka and the other rebel with Verin’s body. Yatol asked them to come with us to the camp, but couldn’t get any agreement out of either of them. Eventually we just told them goodbye and set off. I have never been in so much pain. Every step felt like my back would crumple, and every time I flailed out my arm for balance the world shuddered in grey shadows. Yatol never left my side. Kurtis, ecstatic about his new ability, walked ahead with Tyhlaur and Enhyla, talking about God knows what. For all that had just happened, he seemed remarkably happy.

Yatol wouldn’t say a word. I kept glancing at him, torn between wishing he’d speak and hoping he wouldn’t. He just kept his head down, his arm tight around me, his steps as slow as I needed them to be. After a while even that snail’s pace got to be unbearable.

“Yatol, I need to rest.”

“It’ll hurt a lot worse if you stop now. It’s just a little further.”

And he still wouldn’t look at me. Whatever tangle of emotions was weighing on him seemed to seep right through his hand into me. Confusion, grief, anger. I wished I could understand. I wished I could make everything better. I couldn’t even figure out what I felt. I tried to force away that image of Verin, his head twisted, eyes blank and unseeing. He tried to kill me. He tried to kill Yatol.

I closed my eyes. Stumbled at a sudden searing shaft of pain. Didn’t even realize I was falling until Yatol caught me. The next thing I knew, he was carrying me.

“Damian,” I whispered. “Yatol, they’re doing something to him. It’s like I can feel it.”

He didn’t answer.

“Where’s Akhmar? Why can’t Akhmar come?”

“We’re here.”

I craned my neck back to look, saw the tents and fires and a buzz of activity near the center of the camp. Tyhlaur, Kurtis and Enhyla made straight for the large pavilion, and I made a noise of surprise when Yatol turned suddenly aside. He carried me toward a small tent nearby, identical to all the others except for the pole planted outside the entry. Ten carved gourds dangled from it, knocking dully against each other in the mild breeze.

“Shan!” Yatol called as we approached. He bent over me as he ducked into the hazy dark. “Shan?”

When no answer came, Yatol dropped carefully to the ground and deposited me on a soft bed of furs. I grimaced, as much from feeling like a useless lump as from the searing pain.

“I can walk, Yatol,” I said, snatching his hand. “Let’s just go to the pavilion. I’m all right.”

He hesitated, then suddenly knelt beside me, holding my left hand in both his own. “You’re in no condition to go after Damian, Merelin. If you want to come with me, then let Shan treat you.”

That shut me up. I watched him go, cringing at the numb clawing ache in my back. And that other pain, the one I knew wasn’t mine, burning and stinging all across my back and arms.

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