Chapter Five: A Budding Hope
When Marcel arrived at the old Yukes' cottage, he found a front garden that was alarmingly overgrown. A mayhem of shrubs encroached on the steps leading uphill from the dilapidated gate, and greenery climbed up the side of the house and over the roof. It took him several minutes to find what could be the front door, but it was blocked by a mound of soil and a sturdy sapling, and clearly hadn't been used in years.
Just as he concluded that the cottage must be long abandoned and turned to go, he heard a voice say, "Careful there—you're about to crush a snapdragon."
"A what—?" Marcel jumped up in surprise and backed away gingerly.
From behind an inconspicuous shrub, a tall figure stepped out of the undergrowth and pointed at a brightly hued flower at his feet. "A snapdragon. Antirrhinum. A colorful perennial that can be used as a mild sedative or for general stress relief."
It was a Yuke. Marcel blinked. He did not recognize this person, though he registered from the miniscule bat-like wings that they must be a male. He could not guess his age without seeing his face, but from his voice and his bashful, awkward demeanor, Marcel thought he might be young, maybe in his teens. The boy had simpler attire than Marcel had seen on other Yukes, bearing a gray patterned surcoat and a leather belt encircling his waist. Around his long, thin neck was a bronze gorget, from which hung a violet scarf, lending some color to his otherwise drab ensemble. His helmet was of similar bronze, with a visor that came to a beaklike point.
"I'm sorry…who are you?" Marcel asked, regaining his composure.
The Yuke stepped forward sheepishly and held out his large hand. "I'm Enselus. I don't believe we've met."
"I…no, we haven't," Marcel replied, grasping his hand and shaking it. He marveled at how much broader the Yuke's hand was, soft and covered in fur, oddly colored with stripes of ash brown and fawn streaking horizontal across his fingers. It was as if he was shaking an animal's paw. He realized at that moment he'd never had such close contact with a Yuke before. He looked up into the bronze visor. "I'm Marcel, the miller's son. Do you…live here?"
"Yes, with my grandparents." Enselus gestured with his enormous hands to the house. "You're here to see them, aren't you?"
It took Marcel a moment to remember why he was there in the first place. "Oh, yes. I was just trying to knock on the front door." He glanced over at the tangle of vegetation on the doorstep.
"You must not be a regular. Everyone knows that's not the proper door. Follow me," the Yuke said, and stepped back into the shrub from which he had emerged.
Baffled, Marcel stared after him. The forest seemed to have swallowed him up, and now there was not a leaf out of place, nothing to indicate the entrance to a path. He hesitated for a long moment, unsure of what he was getting himself into, until Enselus called out, "Are you coming?" Sighing, Marcel pushed aside the branches and followed after him.
After a couple steps and nearly tripping over a large tree root, Marcel found that there was indeed a path, if you could even call it that. It was merely a narrow groove of dirt snaking through the leaves. He could see the soft indentations of Enselus' shoes indicating where he had gone, sloping sharply down the hill and curving around the back of the cottage. He put out a hand to steady himself against the mossy wall on his left side while he made his way down. The wet, earthy smells of the forest enveloped him, and he felt almost like he'd stepped into another world.
Enselus was just up ahead, expertly weaving around roots and dodging spider webs stretched across the path. He was moving at a leisurely pace, and Marcel had no trouble catching up to him. The Yuke even stopped to briefly bend over a small white flower, looking closely at it.
Marcel realized that behind the house was not the wild, overgrown forest as was his first impression, but a thriving garden. Surrounding the cottage were clusters of flower beds, filled with bright blooms of all shapes and sizes, vivid colors standing out on a healthy backdrop of greenery. To the casual observer, the plants seemed to have grown up haphazardly; but if you looked closely, you'd notice there was order in the chaos, and all the flowering plants were neatly groomed.
He watched Enselus with interest now, who was tenderly inspecting the leaves of another shrub. "So, Enselus…you must know a lot about medicinal plants?"
Enselus straightened up and shook his head. "No, my grandparents are the experts. I only know a little here and there." He squared his shoulders, and Marcel could have sworn the Yuke was trying to puff out his chest. "Actually, my specialty is alchemy."
Marcel guffawed. He didn't know much about alchemy, but he did know it was supposed to be an extremely specialized skill that took years of schooling and apprenticeship to master. Alchemy was a useful and coveted craft, but dangerous because of the horrific effects of enchantments gone wrong. It was hard to believe a Yuke of his age could be an alchemist. He looked at Enselus skeptically. "So…what kind of things do you craft?"
Enselus seemed to deflate a little. "Um, nothing yet. I'm almost there—but uh, I'm still working the kinks out," he said sheepishly. "Well, the entrance is over this way." He beckoned Marcel further down the path, beyond the flower garden. They descended even lower, dipping far below the cottage windows, and Marcel saw that the cottage had a second story. The lower part of the house was hidden when only viewing the house from the front.
Marcel saw that the Yuke had stopped in front of a low door, painted a cheerful orange, and Marcel thought, Surely he isn't going to try to go through that door. It was Lilty-sized, if anything. There was a quaint, unlit lamp hanging next to the doorframe, and a silver ring for the door handle.
He pulled on the silver ring, and at first the door didn't move. Marcel watched as Enselus muttered under his breath before bracing his foot against the frame. The lanky character looked almost comical, struggling with the tiny door.
Just as Marcel stepped forward to give him a hand, Enselus gave the door one more hard tug, and it finally swung open with a crack, revealing a very small, dusty and dimly lit entryway. The Yuke straightened, seemed to compose himself, and then waved his large hand at Marcel a signal to follow him inside. He had to bend nearly 90 degrees in order to fit through the door. Marcel had to crouch as well not to prevent hitting his head on the doorframe, not quite as low as the tall Yuke, but still inconveniently so. Once past the door, the entryway had a surprisingly high ceiling, with even Enselus able to stand to his full height.
"Umm…Why is the door so small?" Marcel pulled the door shut behind him.
"What?" Enselus turned round to look at him, then glanced at the door. "Oh…well, it's just the garden door after all."
"But you don't use your front door?"
Enselus only shrugged and wrung his hands sheepishly. Marcel decided not to press him for any explanation, because it seemed he had none.
They walked through the narrow entryway and climbed a short flight of stairs, opening up into a large room. Marcel got the same impression in this room as the front garden—haphazard, overgrown, mild chaos; but instead of plants, it was cups and plates, pots and pans, throw blankets and pillows, an end table crammed up against an easy chair, a tall pile of books beside it. Someone's sewing project had taken over the sofa. There was an enormous wooden table in the center of the room. It could have been a dining table large enough to entertain twelve people, but its surface was covered with small bottles of liquids, all in various colors.
There was no one in the room. A large skylight in the ceiling directly above them illuminated the space with a warm, natural glow. Despite the clutter and the ancient aura of the cottage, the air wasn't close or musty at all; there was a faint, pleasant floral scent around them, as if they were passing by one of the flower beds in the garden.
"Pop? Nan?" Enselus called out as they approached the table. "You've got a customer."
Marcel peered down at one bottle at the edge of the table, with a liquid inside glowing an eerie bright blue. He reached down and spun the bottle around, trying to find a label.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," Enselus warned. "If you want to stay the same size and shape, at least." Marcel gulped and straightened, folding his hands behind his back.
"Who is it, dear?" A voice rang out from behind the tall double doors on the opposite side of the room, slightly muffled. After a moment, the doors swung open, and into the room stepped another Yuke, unlike anyone Marcel had ever seen before.
Enselus said, "Hi, Nan."
Marcel was taken aback. She was clearly an older Yuke, her voice light but gravelly with age, but she still stood very tall, even a foot taller than Enselus. She also seemed to be much wider than most Yukes that Marcel had ever seen, although he couldn't tell if it was her true form, or merely several layers of fabric. Because unlike any Yuke he had ever seen or heard of, she didn't wear any metal armor at all. Instead, she wore a billowing tunic, that looked like three or four quilted blankets woven together, swathed in colorful patterns down to the floor. A large apron of a beige color was stretched across her stomach. Instead of a helmet, over her head she wore a lampshade of blush pink, with yellow tassels. When she spoke, her head bobbing enthusiastically, the tassels swished back and forth. Marcel wondered how she could see; there didn't appear to be any holes in the lampshade. She seemed to take up the whole room, but not in a menacing way; Marcel felt as if her presence was one big, warm embrace.
"Oh my, I don't think you've ever dropped by here before, young man." She turned her gaze to Marcel, practically beaming through the lampshade.
"Um, hello. My name is Marcel. I'm the miller's son. It's nice to meet you," he offered. He moved towards her to shake her hand, but she waved him into a chair beside the large table.
"Don't worry about formalities here. I'm just so glad to finally get a new customer," her voice cracked as it rose with excitement, and she came around the table and started fiddling with the liquid-filled bottles. She plucked each bottle one by one with her furry fingers and held it close to the lampshade, where Marcel thought her eyes must be, as if she were squinting and peering at them. "We don't get many visitors around your age, you see. Usually the older folk, seeking out remedies for back pain, or something to help them fall asleep at night. But I know just what you're looking for. I'm embarrassed to say it, but we were famous in all of Shella territory for them, you see—tried and true formula."
"Actually—"
"A-ha! Finally found it. As I said, it's been a while." She handed Marcel the bottle she had been inspecting and leaned back with her large hands clasped, pleased. Marcel looked dubiously at the violet liquid, swirling it in the bottle. He looked up at Enselus for explanation, but Enselus only shrugged.
She clicked her tongue and said in a measured, lecturing tone, "Now, with these things you have to sneak it into their drink. Don't give them the entire bottle, mind. It's tasteless, but if you put too much, they'll be able to smell it. But you want to pour in just enough to do the trick, and the effects are nearly instantaneous."
Marcel's eyes widened. He hastily set down the bottle. "Is this…poison?" he choked out.
Nan and Enselus looked at each other for a moment, and then Nan let out a giggle. Enselus gave her a reprimanding look, or at least Marcel thought he did. "No, of course not," Nan scoffed. "This is the famous Elnara love potion. Guaranteed to make them head over heels for you, at least until the potion wears off." She still had the giggle in her voice.
Marcel blinked. "Oh, I don't have any need for that…"
"Nonsense," Nan said. "You must have heard all about how effective our love potions are. That's why you've come, right? Tell me, who is the lucky girl?"
Marcel blushed bright red. "I don't…"
He was saved from making excuses at that moment by a tabby cat that leaped onto the table, scattering bottles, surprising them all. Enselus lunged for the creature, but the cat dodged him and scampered to the other end of the table. Nan gave an exasperated cry and caught the bottles rolling off the table in her quilted skirt. Before the cat could spring off the table, a deep blue light pulsed right over it, and the cat froze in place. A faint orange ring encircled the cat where it was, and Marcel recognized it to be a magic symbol. The cat remained in a crouched position at the edge if the table, hind legs poised to leap to safety, but it did not move.
Marcel's jaw dropped. He'd seen elemental magic before—surges of flame and bolts of lightning. But he'd never seen this kind of magic before.
Nan shouted, "Pop, stop that! We have a guest."
A wiry Yuke came into the room, descending very slowly from a staircase that Marcel hadn't noticed before until now. He also didn't wear any armor, except for his helmet, which had long since lost its shine. He wore a dark green robe trimmed with brown, that seemed more about comfort than anything else. His large paws were bony, and his garments seemed faded from age. He was much thinner and smaller than Nan, and slightly stooped, but his voice was clear and jolly.
"I did Stop him. See?"
Nan sighed, and Enselus walked over to pick up the frozen cat from the table. He set the cat safely down on an empty armchair before returning to his seat.
Nan shook her head but reached out and patted Pop affectionately on the shoulder as the old Yuke shuffled over and joined them at the table. "Not many customers come by these days," she explained to Marcel. "He's gotten bored and practices casting spells on the cat—magic only works on living creatures, after all. But not anything that would hurt him, of course," she added quickly. She had a smile in her voice, before turning back to Marcel. "Well, look at me prattling on. We don't want to waste your time. Not keen on a love potion. Can I interest you in a strength formula?"
"No, actually, the reason I'm here…" He looked at their expectant faces—or what he imagined to be expectant expressions beneath their head coverings as they all faced him, leaning forward slightly. He took a deep breath. "I heard from—from someone…that you have a wagon and paopaopamus."
"I see…" Nan folded her hands across her apron, and regarded him for a moment. There was no anger or animosity in her voice; in fact, she sounded merely curious. "So you're asking if you can use our wagon to leave Tipa?"
"Well, no, I wouldn't want to take that away from you. Especially if you need it to get out of Tipa before the…." He cleared his throat.
He thought of his family. He thought of his conversation with Ra Lena earlier that day, about this idea of home. The little warm seed of hope had sprouted. He knew it was now or never.
"I'd…I'd like to borrow your wagon to travel out…there. Out of Tipa — to gather some myrrh, maybe a drop or two, and…and…I want to try to save the town." He ended the sentence in a breathless rush.
There was a short silence. Nan's tassels bobbed in surprise. "Oh, sweetheart. You do know it's dangerous out there, don't you?" She gestured to Pop. "We were caravanners for our own village for many years. We lost a lot of dear friends, and went through our own share of hardships, year after year. We were lucky to have each other." She spread out her hands. "That's very noble of you, but it's not easy, what you want to do."
Marcel shook his head. "I know, but…everyone is going to lose their homes. We're going to lose the town." He took a deep breath. "It's worth a try."
Pop and Nan looked at one another. Even with the lampshade and helmet, they seemed to share a knowing glance.
Then, suddenly and wordlessly, Nan turned around and walked to the back of the room. Marcel watched as she opened a drawer in the large, looming buffet cabinet stacked against the far wall. She bent over and rummaged around for a long moment. Finally, she turned around and walked back to them, holding something carefully in her hands.
It was a rectangular wooden box. Marcel thought it must be a jewelry box; there was a bronze hinge on one side, and a metal clasp on the other. On the top side of the box were delicate carvings and symbols he had never seen before. Nan cradled it carefully as she strode across the room, and set it down on the bare space of the table where the cat had been frozen in time earlier. Pop let out a long, noisy exhale as Nan reached down and opened the lid.
Inside was a velvet cushion of deepest red. And in the center of the cushion was only one object: a perfectly shaped crystal, slightly over a foot long. It was thicker on one side, though you could still hold it in one hand, and came to a slight point on the other end. It was familiar to everyone in the room: a crystal shard, one that you mount on the crystal chalice.
Marcel was speechless. He looked up at Nan, but everyone was still staring at the crystal with gravity. Suddenly, Pop hoisted himself up, also without a word, and shuffled out of the room.
"This is—" Marcel began, pointing at the crystal, but he could only gape.
"We brought it from our village," Nan explained. "After they voted to have the caravan dissolved. You see, the town council voted unanimously to migrate everyone to another village. Our crops had been failing for many years, and there wasn't much use in staying there any longer." She laid a hand lovingly on the top of the box. "The town gifted us with the wagon and crystal after many years of service as caravanners, so Pop and I decided to travel the world. Eventually, we came here, to Tipa."
Pop came back into the room, holding something in his paws. When he came closer, Marcel saw that he held a small vial with a clear, shimmering liquid. They all fell silent again. With a practiced hand, Pop opened the top of the vial. He stood over the box on the table and carefully poured its contents over the crystal shard. Marcel heard him murmuring words that he didn't understand, in a quiet, authoritative tone that revealed he had done this many times.
As he spoke, the crystal lit up, shining with a warm, bright light that filled the room. It was a familiar light, that Marcel had seen many times before, year after year, at the Ceremony of Light. Still, he had to squint, and it sent shivers throughout his body. He heard Enselus suck in a breath.
Finally, the light subsided. Pop stepped back from the table. Marcel could see that the crystal now had a warm, faint glow.
"It was barely enough," Nan said. "But it should last you a few months."
"That was myrrh, wasn't it?" Marcel said.
"You must've had that for years and years!" Enselus exclaimed.
Pop nodded. "It was the last of what we had when we arrived here in Tipa. Myrrh never expires nor loses its potency, so we always kept it just in case." He set the empty vial down on the table. "It's the most precious resource in this world, and I knew we would need it someday."
Nan closed the wooden lid firmly over the crystal, picked up the box, and walked over to Marcel. He gulped as he looked up into her lampshade, but her voice was sweet and calm as she said, "Here, my child. It is yours, now."
"I…" Marcel looked down at the box. He hesitated, but finally reached out and carefully took it into his hands. It felt heavy, not only because of its contents, but because of its meaning. He glanced back up at Nan, then over at Pop. "Are you sure?"
Nan folded her arms back over her stomach and bobbed her head, tassels going awry. Pop said heartily, but with a serious tone, "We gift you with our wagon and paopaopamus as well. We have two paopaopamus, incidentally—they are the children of the ones we traveled with long ago. They have plenty of youth and energy for your journey. Enselus knows how to take care of them." He scratched the nose of his helmet thoughtfully. "The wagon is another matter. A year ago, we had thought to sell it, so I had the blacksmith and woodworker do some repairs and upgrades. However, we did not sell it in the end. It may still be in good condition. Though I'll warn you, it's worth having the blacksmith take a look at it before you head out."
Marcel glanced over at Enselus, who seemed to be processing this information. "I only need to borrow it," Marcel explained. "I promise to take good care of it."
Pop shook his head. "Listen to me. The caravanners' life is extremely dangerous. We—" he looked at Nan, and took her hand. "We made that journey with our most trustworthy friends each year, for many years. You are a brave child, but you should not throw your life away when you have so much of it left." Nan nodded and squeezed his hand. Pop concluded, "We must let nature run its course. Take the wagon and the crystal shard, and use it to bring your family to safety. All we ask is that you take Enselus with you."
"Pop! What do you mean? Aren't you coming, too?" Enselus said.
Nan put her hands on Pop's shoulders, and he reached up and held her hands in his. "Your grandfather and I talked about it, and we've decided to stay here."
Marcel froze. He understood now, what they were giving up. Enselus shook his head. "No, don't joke about that!"
"We are being serious," Nan said. "Enselus, my love, we have lived a long life. We moved to Tipa to live out our days in peace and we did, enjoying our garden, our peaceful cottage, and our time together. We are happy to end our days here." She came around the table and reached out comfortingly, taking Enselus' hands in hers.
"I won't accept that!" Enselus squeezed her hands, his voice thick with emotion.
Marcel shook his head. "I can't leave you," he insisted.
"We have made our choice already," Pop said. "The wagon is yours, as well as the crystal shard." He laid a hand on the box in Marcel's arms and nodded gravely. "Take very good care of it."
Several minutes later, after some warm goodbyes and a bottled remedy for Davia's swollen feet that Nan insisted Marcel have without cost, it was with a heavy heart and determined steps that Marcel went out the door and climbed his way back to the front gate.
Enselus followed after him, his armor clanking noisily as he quickly climbed the hill. "You don't mean to leave my grandparents behind, do you?"
Marcel pushed past the shrub that he had dubiously followed Enselus through an hour ago, and emerged back on the front lawn. The wooden box with the precious crystal was tucked securely under his arm. He stopped and waited for Enselus to catch up, then looked the Yuke full in the visor. "Enselus, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to your grandparents. I'm going to take the wagon out of Tipa, find a myrrh tree, and get some myrrh."
"You mean…you're going to start a caravan?"
He hesitated. He hadn't thought of it that way before, but when Enselus put it that way, Marcel realized that was exactly what he meant to do. It seemed so much bigger than him, so beyond his reach, what Ramsey and the group did year after year. But the realization of what he had to do finally dawned on him. "I guess…yeah. That's what it is. Tipa's new crystal caravan."
Enselus stood there on the lawn with him, wringing his large paws, without reply. Marcel's heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. He took a deep breath and set his jaw. Well, it wouldn't be a crystal caravan without a very important basin with which to hold the myrrh. He spun on his heel and headed back to the main road.
"Where are you going?" Enselus called after him.
"The elder's house," Marcel said without stopping, and he picked up his pace.
"Well, I'm going with you," Enselus said, scurrying after him. They walked, Marcel holding the wooden box under his arm and the budding hope in his heart.