Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4

by J D Abbas

  The boy buried his face in his knees.

  “Waadar?” Mishon moved closer and put his arm around him. “What’d they do?”

  Waadar shook his head and leaned into Mishon. He cried so hard his body bucked in Mishon’s arms.

  The door opened and Charaq, Willowa, and a young Elrodanar man entered with more lanterns.

  Charaq pulled up short and gaped at Mishon and Waadar. “He’s awake?”

  “He’s better,” Mishon said. “The bleeding stopped.”

  “On its own?” Charaq didn’t look like he believed Mishon.

  “May I look at the injuries?” Willowa asked.

  Waadar shook his head. Mishon knew he didn’t like other people to touch him. “Waadar, they have to check you. You were hurt really bad.”

  “What if I examine the wounds while Mishon holds onto you,” Willowa said, gently stroking Waadar’s arm.

  The little boy peeked up at her and nodded.

  As Willowa pushed his hair back and forth and poked at his head, she kept muttering, “Interesting.” She turned to Charaq. “Are you certain it was an open head wound? I see no sign of one, only blood matted in his hair. Perhaps the blood was not his own?”

  “No.” Charaq’s jaw tightened. “I know wounds. There were two gaping gashes on the side of his scalp. They were bleeding profusely. And Terzhel was cold to the touch.” He knelt beside the boys and watched Willowa’s fingers as they searched for a wound. “Mishon, what happened after I left?” he asked.

  “Waadar was bleeding a lot. He got real cold. Then he stopped breathing.” Mishon pulled Waadar closer. “He ... I ... thought he was gone. And I ... cried.” He hung his head and refused to look at them. “Then I heard funny noises like sap crackling in a fire, and Waadar woke up. And he wasn’t bleeding anymore.”

  Willowa leaned back on her haunches and tipped her head at Mishon. “You healed him.”

  Mishon scrunched up his nose. “No. That’s silly. I can’t heal.”

  “He had large wounds to his head and had stopped breathing. Now he is sitting up, and I find nothing but blood in his hair. What do you think happened, dear Mishon?” Her brows were raised high, and she was smiling.

  Mishon looked down and found Waadar staring up at him. “You fithed me?”

  “Fixed not fithed. You gotta practice your sounds, Waadar.”

  “Buth you did?” The little guy’s eyes were huge. Then he hugged Mishon’s chest hard.

  “How could I do that?” he asked Willowa.

  Charaq was watching Mishon with a funny smile on his face, then he cleared his throat. “Your mother was a healer, remember?”

  “Yeah, but she had fire in her hands. You could see it when she healed people.”

  Willowa ruffled Mishon’s hair. “Sometimes when gifts pass down in families, they change from generation to generation. Apparently, your healing power is not with fire but with water—tears, to be precise.”

  Mishon’s face went hot, and he looked away. He didn’t like other people knowing that he cried. Charaq sat next to him and put his arm around his shoulder. “When your ada died, I cried like a baby.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “And with each of your sisters and your ama. I was a mess. But, Mishon, that’s what we’re supposed to do when we’re sad. Your ada cried many times, and no one ever thought he was a baby.”

  No, everyone thought his father was strong as an ox and stubborn as a jackass. He was a Guardian of Guardians, the men used to say. The best.

  Willowa messed his hair up again. “It seems your tears are healing tears. Not just for you, but for others. You’re a healer, Mishon. And you must learn how to use your gifts.” She flashed him a beautiful smile. “Fortunately for you, I housed you in the correct part of the academy.”

  A warm feeling crawled through Mishon’s body. “I’m a healer?”

  “Just like your mother.” Charaq squeezed Mishon’s shoulder. “Your father would be so proud.”

  Waadar looked up at Mishon and said the best words ever, “My bwother, you thaved my lithe.”

  Chapter 27

  Charaq sent word to Celdorn, Mikaelin, and Yaelmargon to come to the academy as soon as possible. He didn’t summon Elena or Silvandir, not wanting to burden them with this on the eve of their wedding. Willowa gathered the Elrodanar overseers of each dormitory, while Charaq sent for Dorrick, the head Guardian in the second building that housed the children from the valley. They gathered in a lower classroom in the central academic building.

  When Mikaelin arrived, he informed Charaq that Celdorn was with Elena, and he had made the decision not to disturb him. There had been some sort of incident that had required Celdorn’s attention. Charaq agreed that was probably for the best. Yaelmargon showed up a short time later.

  Charaq was uncertain what to do with the boys during the meeting. He didn’t want them to hear the discussion. Willowa suggested a classroom that had a small office attached. The room had no other access, so the boys would be safe inside and near at hand if needed for questioning.

  Once the boys were settled, he began. “I apologize for calling you out so late in the evening.” Those that had gathered were seated on the student benches while Charaq paced at the front of the classroom, unable to contain his distress. “We had an incident a short time ago relating to Terzhel, the Lady Elena’s son, which I felt must be addressed immediately.”

  Charaq ran his hand through his hair as he glanced toward the room where the boys were. “Can they hear us?” he asked Willowa.

  “I do not believe so. The door is solid.”

  He took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “While Terzhel was in a privy closet in the Healing Arts dormitory this afternoon, he was attacked by some older boys.” The Guardians sat up straighter, giving Charaq their full attention. “They beat him and ... and buggered him.” The heat rose in his cheeks even as the color went out of Mikaelin’s. “From what Terzhel remembers, there were four of them. He said they were older, maybe thirteen or more, and while he probably could identify them, he’s refused so far. Mishon met up with the boys as they were leaving, but there was too little light for him to be sure who they were.”

  Mikaelin leaned forward. “How badly was Terzhel injured?”

  “He had two large head wounds that bled profusely, and the boy was unconscious when we found him. Mishon believes Terzhel stopped breathing after I left to get help.”

  Mikaelin lost all color and swayed in his seat. “And now?”

  “He is healed,” Willowa said, a satisfied smile lighting her lovely face.

  Yaelmargon raised a brow at her. “By you?”

  “No.” She paused as if for dramatic effect then gestured toward the office door. “Mishon did it.”

  Mikaelin and Yaelmargon exchanged surprised glances, and Charaq’s chest swelled with pride.

  “It seems his tears can heal.” Willowa tossed her hair over her shoulder. She was enjoying this.

  “His tears?” Yaelmargon tugged at his beard, his gaze unfocused as if sorting through the lore in his mind. “How interesting. It is a rare manifestation of the healing gift.”

  The room fell silent for a time as those gathered absorbed the news.

  “Excuse me, Charaq?” Dorrick said. “I believe I may know who the boys are. There’s a group of five that have been slipping away from their Guardians and are often seen coming out of various buildings unescorted. We’ve suspected they might be breaking into rooms, looking for items to steal.”

  “With the histories these children have, there is bound to be a lack of morality and a great deal of rage. For some it may result in urges to hurt or control others,” Yaelmargon noted. “Add in the gifts they might have and sexual urges that have been awakened at too young an age, again without moral instruction or empathy for others, and we could have more episodes like this.”

  Charaq rubbed his neck. “These boys, or any of the children for that matter, should not be allowed to wander unsupervised. Dorrick, I want you to speak with th
e Guardians in your dorm. I’ll talk to those in the other. Each child was assigned a Guardian, let’s make sure they are taking that responsibility seriously.”

  “We should consider separating the children by age,” Yaelmargon said as he stroked his beard. “We need to make certain the younger, more vulnerable ones are not assaulted again.” The master glanced toward the room where the boys were waiting. “How much damage did it cause to Terzhel?”

  “He’s as skittish as a sheep who’s caught the wolf’s scent.” Charaq hung his head as he sat on the end of a bench. “This is my fault. I knew how defenseless he was, and I let him go alone.” He slammed his fist into his thigh then was up and moving again. “In spite of everything I’ve seen these last few months, I was lulled by the serenity of Queyon. I should have known better.”

  Mikaelin gave a harsh laugh. “We—Celdorn’s inner circle—have made the same mistake time and again, at Kelach, on the road, with Elena, Braiden, and Lillianna. We’ve underestimated Anakh and her minions’ malevolence and power, and the extent of the damage they’ve inflicted on those they held captive.” Fire lit his eyes as he met Charaq’s gaze. “You’re right. We cannot afford to be lax even here in Queyon.”

  An idea occurred to Charaq. “Perhaps we should consider sending the older boys, especially these five bent on causing trouble, to train at Marach. The discipline of Guardian training might be just what they need.”

  Yaelmargon frowned. “I hesitate to send them off too soon. Remember they have also been severely mistreated. In addition, we need to know what powers they may or may not have.” His frown deepened. “I suspect with most of the boys we will find limited abilities, if any at all, but I would prefer to be certain before we send them out into the world.”

  “True,” Charaq replied. “Keymar has expressed interest in doing some self-defense training with the children. We might consider that with the younger ones and a more disciplined regimen for the older.”

  “I know the Guardians here are frustrated with having too much time on their hands,” Mikaelin said. “I don’t think it would take much to convince them to help Keymar. We could send to Marach for equipment.”

  “I like that idea.” Charaq sat next to Willowa again and leaned his elbows on his knees. “So tomorrow, while the boys and I are at the marriage ceremony, I will have the Guardians rearrange the children. I think it wise not only to separate by age but, with the older ones, by gender. I know the boys who committed this attack showed no preference for girls, but I don’t want to leave them at risk.”

  Willowa patted his arm. “We can certainly use other buildings. We have spare rooms in all the dormitories. It will not be a problem.” She flashed him a reassuring smile, and he blushed as his body responded in an inappropriate way. Then she winked at him as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He would have gotten up and paced again, but he wasn’t sure he could hide his reaction.

  Yaelmargon saved him. “Would you allow Mikaelin and me to talk with the boys before we leave? I want to speak with them about tomorrow’s events and make certain Terzhel feels secure enough to face the day. Also, since we have not told Elena and Silvandir about his assault, nor do we plan to prior to the wedding, I think it best to inform the boys of that.”

  Charaq nodded. “Of course. I have no objection, and welcome the assistance.”

  ~

  Terzhel cowered into Mishon as soon as he heard someone at the door. He gripped Mishon’s arm and buried his face.

  “It’s probably just Charaq.” Mishon patted his head. “Don’t worry.”

  When Terzhel heard the sound of lots of boots, he peeked up and fought not to wet himself. It was Charaq, but Mikaelin was with him and an Elrodanar elder. There were lots more people in the other room, but they stayed away.

  The elder sat on the floor and crossed his legs. Terzhel expected him to groan or move slow, but he was graceful. Charaq and Mikaelin also sat, but were more clumsy, like soldiers.

  “My name is Yaelmargon,” the elder said to Terzhel. “I am a loremaster and serve on the council here in Queyon. I am good friends with your mother.”

  “I saw you at Kelach,” Mishon said. “You’re the one that explained about the light in the Lady Elena’s hands and ... and about where my family is.” Mishon rubbed his face and clenched his fists like he was mad at the elder.

  The loremaster nodded and tugged at his beard. His eyes drooped, full of sadness, as he looked at Mishon. “It was a difficult time to be introduced. I am glad you are here now and that you and Terzhel have found each other.” He had a gentle smile, this old man. He wasn’t too scary.

  “I understand that you were hurt today, Terzhel.” Yaelmargon looked at him as he spoke, and Terzhel hid his face again. “I was also informed that Mishon healed your head wounds. Charaq says you will not allow anyone to look at the rest of your body, which is your right. However, I am concerned that there may have been other injuries, and wonder if you will be well enough to attend the wedding ceremony tomorrow.” He stopped talking. When Terzhel peeked up, the master was leaning to the side, trying to meet his eyes.

  Charaq was more direct. “Are you bleeding anywhere else, Terzhel? Do you feel dizzy or weak?”

  Terzhel didn’t want to answer.

  Mikaelin leaned closer. “Are you afraid to tell us because of what might happen?”

  How did he know? Mikaelin had helped him before. Terzhel knew he was a good man, so he nodded.

  “Use your words,” Mishon said with a nudge.

  “Yeth, sir.” Terzhel’s cheeks went hot. He hated the way he talked.

  Mikaelin signaled for Terzhel to lean in, and he whispered in his ear. “I can heal the other wounds too without having to see them or touch them. I can take the pain away. Would you like that?”

  Terzhel pulled back. Scared. Sad. “Will it hurth you? Lith before?”

  Mikaelin looked down. “I’m not sure. But I’m willing to take that chance so you can be well for your parents’ wedding.”

  “You would do thath for me? Why?”

  Yaelmargon cleared his throat and signaled for Charaq to leave the room with him. He beckoned for Mishon to follow. Terzhel didn’t stop him.

  Mikaelin’s eyes were watery when Terzhel looked up. The Guardian glanced over his shoulder, waiting for the door to close, before he leaned in and said, “Because I was hurt like you when I was small, and I wished someone would have helped me.”

  Terzhel stared into Mikaelin’s sad eyes, surprised. Then he shook his head. “No, thank you. I don’t wanth you to hurth anymore.”

  Mikaelin grunted and tears spilled down his cheeks. “You are your mother’s son. That’s for sure.” The Guardian wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said, “Your parents are the two people I love most in all the world, and what I would like to do to celebrate their wedding day is to make it possible for their son to be there without fear of bleeding or pain. If you won’t let me do it for you, will you let me do it for them?”

  Terzhel thought about it. “I’m scareth,” he admitted.

  “No need. I will be fine. I promise.”

  “No blooth squirthing out of your mouth?”

  Mikaelin chuckled. “No. None of that.”

  Terzhel took a big breath and nodded.

  Mikaelin reached toward his knee, hesitated, then gripped it for just a moment. All the places that hurt in Terzhel’s body suddenly stopped hurting. Mikaelin squeezed his eyes shut tight and huffed like someone had punched him in the belly. His whole body went stiff, and then he didn’t move, not even a breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Um hmm. Would you ... could I be alone for a bit?” Mikaelin asked.

  Terzhel nodded and got up. At the door, he hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Mikaelin alone when he wasn’t okay, but he didn’t know how to help him either. He turned and ran for the elder and tugged on the sleeve of his robe. “I think he needth you.”

  The master looked down at him, startled, then hurried t
o the small room. He closed the door behind him, and Terzhel hoped Mikaelin would be all right.

  ~

  After Terzhel left, Mikaelin curled into the pain. It was not so much what ached in his body but what ached in his soul that devastated him. He knew all too well the feelings of helplessness and humiliation. But Terzhel carried a deeper sense of betrayal, that boys who should have understood his pain would inflict it and with such hatred and mockery. Terzhel, like Mikaelin and Elena, didn’t believe in safe places, but he had dared to hope in Queyon, with Mishon and Charaq’s love embracing him, that life could be different. And that hope had been shattered.

  The boys had not only sexually assaulted him, they had beaten him, told him they wanted to destroy his pretty face so he’d look as ugly and stupid as he sounded. Then they left him for dead when they realized they’d gone too far. They considered him no more important than the pile of soiled towels in which they’d left him.

  Terzhel’s pain latched onto the broken child inside of Mikaelin. His uncle’s words bludgeoned his soul; his pronouncements knifed Mikaelin’s heart with a pain more searing than the rending of his flesh.

  A hand gripped Mikaelin’s shoulder, and he swallowed down the scream that rose. He straddled two worlds and fought to find his way back to the present.

  “Mikaelin, I am here with you.” The voice was soothing, gentle, familiar. Warm arms lifted him into an embrace. “Come back to me,” the voice whispered.

  Mikaelin followed the voice, focused on the sensation of his head against Yaelmargon’s chest. He listened to the elder’s steady heartbeat and welcomed the peace that the master subtly pushed toward his soul.

  “I’m sorry,” Mikaelin whispered and tried to straighten.

  The master’s arms tightened around him. “Do not pull away. The venom of your uncle’s words must be sucked from your life’s blood. They continue to poison you.” Yaelmargon pressed his lips to the top of Mikaelin’s head. “You are a kind, generous man, who has chosen suffering again and again for the sake of others.” The master held him closer. “Receive the words deep into your spirit. You are a paragon of honor and virtue, just as your parents were.”