“And for you, Yag-Morah? What are you seeking?”
She glanced at him. “At the moment? I’m seeking the rest of my people.”
Solomon laughed, then saved his breath for keeping up with her.
♦ ♦ ♦
A short while later they left the forest and walked across open grassland. In the distance, Solomon could see tall wagons, like boxes balanced on large wheels. Off to the side several immense animals grazed contentedly. Huge horns grew from their square heads, and long hair covered their powerful bodies as it did Yag-Morah’s.
“Ah,” she said. “There they are. Exactly where I left them.”
“Did you really think it would be otherwise?”
“Who could tell? If it became time to move, the Mar-trollid would have no choice. It would simply be time.”
“They’d leave you behind?”
“And trust in me to find my way back to them. If not, then it was meant to be that I would find something else instead.”
It was a philosophy that Solomon, raised inside large stationary trees, the furthest thing from mobile, had a hard time with. For the Folk, someone lost in the Greenweald took priority over anything else. No House rested until the lost one was found and returned to their home.
Here, things were obviously different.
His arrival caused a few curious looks, but no excitement in the camp. Mar-trollid sat, walked or stood in groups all around, and mostly paid no attention to him. Apparently, the arrival of a stranger was not the event that he might have believed it would be.
Yag-Morah led him to a wagon, almost identical to the others. Large, boxy and made of a dark wood, with steps leading to a door in the rear. In the front was a seat, placed high above the ground, with long leads leading down to the double yoke.
Solomon stopped and looked at the huge conveyance. “Wow. This must take some serious muscle power to move. I’m guessing that’s what those animals out there are for?”
“Yes,” Yag-Morah answered. “They are valued members of our families.”
“What are they called?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, mouth twisted. “Cows.”
Yag-Morah turned away, climbed the steps and opened the door. “Welcome to my father’s house.”
Solomon slowly climbed the oversized steps, his legs protesting. Inside, the wagon was well-lit and comfortable, with thick cushions placed on the floor. Books lined one wall and were stacked on the floor, and a small, woodstove burned, warming a kettle placed on top.
But it was the occupant who drew Solomon’s attention. Like both the Guardian and Yag-Morah, he was large and covered in dense, matted hair, only more so. Even seated, he towered over Solomon. He looked up when they entered, and his eyes were milky-white.
“Daughter,” he rumbled, “you’ve brought someone here. Another of the Folk, unless I miss my guess.”
“Yes, father,” Yag-Morah replied. “Perceptive as always. Gan-Solomon, allow me to introduce my father, Gan-Rowe.”
“Greetings, Gan-Solomon,” the elder said. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you,” Solomon replied. “And greetings to you, also.”
“Come in. Sit. Daughter, tea for our guest.”
Solomon slowly sank into a cushion. Despite his apparent blindness, Gan-Rowe followed his progress easily.
“And what is it that brings one of the Folk so far from the Greenweald?” he asked.
“I’m looking for someone,” Solomon said. “Someone who…well, she’s…”
Gan-Rowe smiled. “I understand. And yes, we’ve seen her. Assuming, of course, that the one you seek is of your kind.”
“She is.” Hope bloomed in Solomon’s heart. This was the right world. “When was she here?” he asked eagerly.
“Several weeks ago, now. She stayed with us for a few days. We clothed her, made sure she was healthy, and she went.”
“You let her go on her own?”
“She was seeking. As most are. It is not the way of the Mar-trollid to interfere in that. And now you come to us, also seeking. We will not impede your journey either.”
Solomon nodded, then remembered that the blind creature couldn’t see him do it. “Yeah, that makes sense. But does that mean you won’t help me either?”
“Of course not,” Gan-Rowe laughed. “Your people and ours have had a long friendship, although you may not know of it. There is still one of us who lives among you.”
“The Guardian. I know him well.”
“Yes, the one you call the Guardian.”
Solomon stopped to consider. “Then what is the Guardian seeking?”
“Who can say? It could be knowledge. It could be security for others. Perhaps he does not even know himself. Ah, thank you, daughter.”
Yag-Morah handed her father a large steaming mug, then returned with another for Solomon. He needed both hands to hold it, while it appeared tiny in Gan-Rowe’s hand. He sipped it carefully, and a relaxing, soothing feeling flowed through him.
“Thank you,” he said to Yag-Morah. “It’s very nice.”
“It will help you recover from your journey here. Be careful with it. It’s powerful for one such as yourself.”
“I can believe it.” The slight disconnected feeling he was getting from one sip was enough to convince him.
“Drink, Gan-Solomon,” Gan-Rowe said. “At least a little more. Let it take you into sleep. It will heal the rigors of your journey and refresh your mind and spirit. When you wake, we will discuss Yag-Celia, and where she has gone.”
The sip he took was making Solomon sleepy, soothing his aches and pains. He took another, then carefully set the mug aside and leaned back into a cushion. “Only for a few minutes,” he mumbled, and a curtain of darkness gently fell on him.
Chapter 13
Jocasta walked into the library to find Childress already there, flipping through a book and waiting for her. She was beginning to understand her cousin’s love for this room. There was something relaxing about being in here, surrounded by the rich wood and
