Shadows of the Dark Crystal by J. M. Lee

house.”
    â€œYes, my lords,” Kylan said. “My parents were taken by the Hunter when I was young.”
    Maudra Mera, standing near the end of the table, stiffened and grabbed the sleeves of her cloak, quickly shuffling forward to take Kylan’s shoulders in her hands and begin escorting him away from the gaze of the Skeksis Lords.
    â€œI’m sorry, my lords, he’s—”
    Lord skekOk held up a hand, the ruffles at the end of hissleeve flaring like webbed quills. He leaned forward so the tip of his needly nose nearly touched Kylan’s. Naia felt her whole body tense, imagining herself in Kylan’s place.
    â€œThis . . . Hunter. From song,” the Scroll Keeper said. “A myth? Some story, made by Gelfling?”
    â€œIt’s not a myth,” Kylan said, but Maudra Mera laughed nervously and clutched his shoulders tightly.
    â€œA story, yes,” she added. “To teach the children not to leave their homes after the Three Brothers have gone to bed. You know, they listen to the song tellers more oft than they do their own parents!”
    â€œSongs of brave heroes, thwarting villains,” skekOk said, almost humming the words. “Gives a Gelfling hope, eh? Gets a Gelfling through the night? Very well, very well.”
    Lord skekLach dug his claws under the front cover of his tome and, with an unceremonious gesture, flung the cover forward so the book shut with a cloud of dust and a resounding
thump
. He rose, leaving his quill, inkwell, and the tome to be taken away by one of his attendants.
    â€œLodging!” he cried.
    Rising with the Census Taker, Lord skekOk gazed at the song teller standing uncomfortably before him, clacking his beak and sucking his teeth. When Maudra Mera laughed, much louder than seemed necessary, Lord skekLach jostled her by the shoulder with another clanking, ear-rattling guffaw.
    â€œLodging, little Gelfling mother! And more wine.”
    â€œYes, my lords, yes— Kylan, run on home now. Good night.”
    With a peal of coaxing laughter, the
maudra
led the two lordsoff, and that was the last Naia would see of them. They entered the town hall that adjoined the square, the only place still lit by torches and alive with music and the sounds of wine barrels and clinking cups.
    Kylan, left standing at the table, let out a big breath. He held out his hand and looked upon it. It was shaking, nerves not yet calmed from his meeting with the lords. He pushed both hands into his pockets, looking around and meeting Naia’s eyes only briefly before departing the square, presumably to wherever it was he called home. Then all was still and the square was doused in silence, so Naia took her time making her way to Maudra Mera’s home.
    There, on the main floor of the generous two-story hut, she found a stack of blankets and cushions laid out for her by the hearth and curled upon their flat softness. She longed for her hammock, the sounds of her sisters whispering between themselves in the adjoining room, and for the distant echoing footsteps of the Drenchen tapping through Great Smerth.
    What were her parents up to? Her mother, tending to her father’s wounds, no doubt. Her father, trying to laugh off his pain and discomfort, telling jokes, flirting with Laesid while she told him to stop moving around, lest his wounds reopen. Pemma and Eliona, complaining that it was too early for bed. All this in the warm heartwood of Great Smerth, so far away, it seemed like a dream, or a song someone else might tell.
    Her mind inevitably wandered to Kylan and his tale. Jarra-Jen’s adventures took place all over Thra, though some songs spoke of his home in Stone-in-the-Wood. She wondered if Jarra-Jen hadever missed home or felt lonely on the long journeys alone. Naia snorted and rolled to her other side, her back sore between the shoulders no matter which way she lay. It didn’t matter—Jarra-Jen was a folk-hero, likely not even