Tata's Quest
By John Funk
Prologue
598 AD
Merian Engles paused, hearing an oddly familiar noise. Slowly, warily, she looked around. With a sharp exhale, the woman straightened up from her position at the washtub. In her youth Merian had been tall, vibrant, with eyes that sparkled with life, but now she was older, slightly shorter and more frail. However, the glimmer of energy still lingered in her pale brown eyes.
The maddeningly familiar noise sounded again, and this time Merian was able to tell the direction from which it was coming. "Jorge?" The woman called out for her husband.
"Yes, Merian?" Her husband, Jorge Engles, was a heavily built man, with a bushy black beard and frizzy hair that made him look as if he had been stuck on top of a mountain during a lightning storm. Currently, Jorge was carrying a large axe with which he had been chopping wood only moments before. "Why did you call me—" He stopped as he too heard the noise. "Do you hear that?"
Nodding, Merian turned to him, pointing into the thick forest that surrounded their remote little cabin. "It came from there…"
Once again, the two of them heard the noise, and Jorge hefted the axe into both of his hands, and held it as if he were ready to strike. "I bet it's one of those Mystic monsters…" he rumbled in a throaty bass voice. "I'll show him…" Like a soldier ready for battle, he began to dash into the underbrush as the noise sounded again, but a sharp gasp from his wife stopped his charge before it even started. "Merian?" He turned, worried, expecting to see his beloved wife injured at the very least, but she was fine.
"No, Jorge, don't!" Merian had now recognized the very familiar sound for what it was. Slowly, tentatively, she walked past her husband and into the forest. Merian had taken barely ten steps when she stopped, and motioned for Jorge to come to her. The large man did, a look of puzzlement on his face. Before he could ask what was going on, Merian brushed several branches out of the way, exposing a small hollow in the ground.
In that hollow, a young girl, who appeared to be seven or eight at the very most, was curled up into a ball, head buried in her hands, weeping. The girl had long blue hair that was gathered at the top of the back of her head into a large ponytail. She was dressed in a purple robe that looked so soft, so incredibly silky, that it almost appeared fluid. The robe was much too large for her, however, looking better suited for a much older and bigger girl.
Merian's kind heart immediately took pity on this poor child. She had always loved children, had always wanted one of her own, but her and Jorge's attempts to create life had never been fruitful. All of her heart immediately went out to this poor abandoned girl. "Honey?" She whispered, crouching down beside the crying tot. "Sweetie, are you okay?" Merian vaguely noticed Jorge sitting down beside her and slipping his large hand around her own, but all of her attention was on the child.
Slowly, sniffling, the young girl looked up at the couple, and the two of them were taken aback. The most noticeable thing about the girl was how the curve of her ears gently rose into soft upswept points. However, what both Merian and Jorge both assumed was a birth defect did not mar the beauty of her face. Even at this young age, the elderly couple could tell that the girl would be absolutely gorgeous when she came of age. She had brilliant emerald green eyes, puffy from crying, but that captured the dim light of the sun and reflected it in intricate patterns that were always changing.
The second thing that Jorge and Merian noticed was the necklace she wore. On a silver chain around her neck hung a large blue stone that sparkled with an inner fire. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it, and they had seen a lot in their years. The two of them shared a glance, both wondering if she was a member of a wealthy family or possibly even royalty. "Are you okay, sweetie?" Merian asked, turning back to the girl. "Are you lost?"
Again, the girl sniffed. "I…I…I don't know…" she spoke in a high-pitched, melodic voice. "I…I can't remember…"
"Where did you come from?" This time, Jorge asked the girl the question, and she seemed to shrink away, as if she were terrified of his bulk. Slowly, as to not startle her, Jorge reached out to touch the pendant. "Where did you get this?" he inquired. Before he could actually touch it, however, the girl jerked away with a yelp.
"No, don't touch!" She began to cry. "It's mine…"
In a soothing voice, Merian tried to calm the girl down. "Yes, we know it's yours…but where did you get it? Where did you come from?"
The girl looked as if she were going to start bawling again, so Jorge quickly interjected with another question. "What's your name?"
It took the girl what seemed to be ages to answer, as if she had to dig that knowledge up from deep within her mind. Shivering, the girl responded, "Schala…"
"Well, Schala, why don't you come with us and we'll get you taken care of…we'll find your parents, don't worry, honey." Merian said, offering the girl her hand.
Schala looked up, and tentatively took the woman's hand with her own, pulling herself up into a standing position. However, she hadn't taken more than a step before she collapsed into a pile underneath the silky purple robe. Fearing the worst, Jorge and Merian both knelt beside the young girl. "The poor dear's exhausted…" Merian said. "Quickly, Jorge, help me carry her inside!"
That night, the couple stood in the doorway to the bedroom, watching the small girl named Schala sleep. "We're not going to find her parents, are we, Merian?" Jorge whispered. "Who knows where she came from?"
Merian sighed softly, and leaned against her husband for support. "I don't even think she knows…you heard, she can't remember a thing, except for her name…"
"Oh, I'm sure she knows. She was just very distraught this afternoon, that's all."
However, Merian shook her head. "No, Jorge. She's eight. She was calm enough to be able to remember her parents, but she couldn't. Why do you think that is?" Jorge could only shrug. A long silence passed. "Jorge…Schala needs someone to raise her."
Looking down at her, Jorge raised a bushy eyebrow. "Merian…" he began, looking concerned.
"No, hear me out." Merian explained, looking her husband in the eyes. "She can't remember where she came from or who her parents are…she's lost, alone…we've always wanted a child, Jorge. We can raise her as our own granddaughter…it's the best way," Merian paused. "For her and for us. Please, trust me, Jorge." She pleaded.
Jorge took his wife in his arms, and gazed through half-closed eyes at the slumbering form in the bed. "I guess you're right, Merian. I guess you're right…we'll take care of her. She's our Schala now…"