The Sahara Chronicles #1: The Young Foreigner (Available in full on Amazon)

PART VI: OLD FAMILY, NEW FRIEND

Present day

As soon as she spotted the black-haired young lad, the lady froze.

She locked eyes with him for only Lady Celia knew how long. Her breathing became ragged, but she did not bother about it.

John noted her unease and said to her kindly, "Don't worry, sweetheart, he's a nice one. He's the one who cured your Aunt Alia."

Her eyes grew wide as saucers at this revelation. Yes, she had heard of the famous physician, all right – they were talking all about it in the market.

'So, this is the one,' she thought.

She felt as if a heavy weight had lifted off her chest; her legs began to feel weak, although she eventually did manage to hold her ground.

Uncle John's voice pierced her thoughts: "Come here, sweet heart."

She broke her gaze away from the stranger and walked up to her uncle with small, hesitant steps, quite conscious of herself. Not that her uncle frightened her, but it was the stranger in the room whom she was not sure about.

"The man you behold," her uncle went on, "is a foreigner, who had chanced upon our blessed country on his travels, and has been here ever since he cured your aunt. By Lady Celia's Grace, he has accepted our humble home as his own for as long as he wants to stay. I hope you don't mind. In fact, I wish you'd take to him."

"Yes, he's great friend of ours!" chorused the young children in encouragement. She thought she could practically see stars of admiration in their eyes and suddenly, a giggle erupted that she stifled in time.

The young woman stared once more at the man and this time, he smiled pleasantly at her. Out of sheer habit than anything else, she smiled back. But the very next second, she grew conscious of herself and her smile disappeared, her head turned away. Her cheeks coloured and she ducked slightly behind her uncle. She peered around John's shoulder to see that that smile of the young foreigner's never once faded...

In fact, if anything, it only grew amused.

"His name is Yor Castel," Uncle John was saying, quite oblivious to this exchange, it appeared. "He is here from the Glorious Grant, and has set out of there in pursuit of his fortune." Then, he turned to the young man and went on, "Yor, meet Elmeida Yuri, Alia's niece."

"Hello," said Yor; she thought he looked fascinated.

She attempted and failed to gather the courage to reply, so simply nodded once in acknowledgment, still almost hidden behind her uncle.

Later that day, Elmeida Yuri became a little relaxed and contented herself by playing with her little cousins.

Of the two boys, Jim was the oldest, she remembered, having preceded the other by two and a half years. Elmeida was happy to be reunited with them, although she was a little upset about the events that had brought her here in the first place.

The events of her past, just a week ago, haunted her whenever she was left alone, even for a moment. Being in company of other mortals always seemed to ease her nerves. So, she decided that she would help in the Spring Festival preparation as well, just so her mind will be occupied with other thoughts. Right then, she did not want to think about how she came to be here.

And neither did anybody ask her about it. It seemed that her aunt and uncle didn't bother to know; and that the other denizens of the island trusted them too much to find out. It was all perplexing for someone who had endured all that she had, but very resolutely decided to keep her mouth shut.

It was the presence of the young foreigner in the house that distracted her each time: her heart rate uncreased ever so slightly, her body grew warmer than it usually was. She could not help but wonder if the prophecy she had been told seven years ago was talking about him. What was his name again? Castel... Yor Castel.

'Perhaps it is him,' she thought whenever she spied him helping around the house.

Elmeida loved to pick the flowers in the garden each morning. Even without her aunt requesting her, she would pick up a bunch of flowers of varied colours, loop them up with a thread to make a garland, and put it around the miniature painting of Lady Celia on the living-room wall. She would then close her eyes and pray for a minute, before she resumed her chores. This was something she had never failed to do for the past ten years and especially now, after all that she went through.

***

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