by J D Abbas
Silvandir cringed as he watched Dalgo stitch a large gash by her ribs. He glanced at the crimson water in the tub and the pink puddles on the floor, and his jaw tightened. He laid the clothes near her feet and hurried out, looking disgusted.
Tears burned in the back of her eyes at his reaction, or maybe it was just the pinch of Dalgo’s needle.
When the healer finished, Celdorn and Elbrion helped her to dress in the clothes Silvandir brought, which looked like they’d come from a young boy. The brown trousers were already prepared with a slit in the left leg to accommodate her splint.
Celdorn offered her a silver comb. As she struggled her way through the massive tangles, he asked, “How did you do that?” He pointed to the stitches. “The bravest of my men would have collapsed in pain under that needle, yet you didn’t so much as flinch.”
She thought for a moment. “My body is often separate from me.”
Celdorn looked like he didn’t believe or understand her answer but was polite enough not to push for more.
These men had helped her undress, relieve herself; they had bathed her and mended her wounds, yet not once did they look at her with hunger in their eyes or paw at her body or make demeaning remarks. They seemed to be sincerely focused on helping her. She didn’t know what to make of it. Was she in some sort of dream or state of delirium?
They’re only cleaning you up so they can use you. They don’t care about you. They’re warriors and you’re just a stupid girl—a weak, ugly, used-up thing. They have no reason to care about you except for what you can provide them. Your only worth is between your legs.
Elena winced at the truth of the words, though she longed for a different reality.
Chapter 11
When Elbrion carried Elena into the room, all the joy and camaraderie fled Celdorn’s chamber. Only Sasha and Bria seemed happy to see her.
Elbrion placed her in a chair next to Celdorn’s at the head of the table, propping up her feet. She’d heard conversation and laughter from down the hall, but now the men stood silent and somber. She sighed and stared at her damaged knee, absently massaging her heart. Elbrion laid his hand on her head and gave her a warm smile. Luminous tears swirled in his pale blue eyes, and something inside her softened.
Sasha plopped her huge head in Elena’s lap and stared at her with those gorgeous dark eyes. Her fur was an interesting color; the bluish tint on the black fur made her coat shine almost like the dark metal used for some weapons. She stroked Sasha’s ears, glad to have her ally back in this room full of threatening men.
The food arrived, carried on large platters by boys who looked no more than thirteen or fourteen. They seemed healthy and strong, unafraid as they laid out the meal. As she watched them, Celdorn spoke.
“Do you have a question?”
Elena blushed. “I was just noticing how healthy your slaves look.”
Celdorn laughed outright and she startled. “I’m sorry, Elena, but Rogaran don’t keep slaves. It’s against our laws. These boys came here voluntarily to train as Guardians.”
“But they’re so young.”
“Those who choose to train come here at various ages, though they must be at least thirteen to begin working with weapons.”
“If they’ve come to train as warriors, why are they serving tables? Is this punishment or is humiliating them part of the process.”
Celdorn’s smile faded. “We don’t consider serving a punishment, nor is it meant to humiliate. We believe one must learn to serve if one wishes to lead.” He paused to stroke his beard. “The young ones often think being a Guardian will gain them respect or power over others. We want them to learn that the best use of power is in service. Being a Guardian is a life of sacrifice for the good of the realm. So we have the boys help prepare food, serve at table, sweep and wash floors, and even clean latrines. We hope to remove any idea of privilege before their training is complete.”
Elena frowned. This is not what she had been told about the Morah. In fact, nothing she had seen so far matched with the information she’d been given.
After the serving boys left, the men took their places at the table. As they ate, Celdorn formally introduced them to her and gave her the opportunity to ask questions, which she didn’t—although a thousand clamored in her head.
She learned there were two hundred plus men living in Kelach, the southern-most Guardian stronghold. They had a smithery for forging weapons and facilities for training recruits. Young men from every region came to Kelach to train in all forms of weaponry and battle skills. As Celdorn said earlier, there were no women here and hadn’t been since soon after he became Lord Protector. The women trained in Marach, their northern stronghold.
Elena noticed a shadow pass over Celdorn and a bitter edge to his voice at that point. She wondered if perhaps he didn’t like women. Some men didn’t. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t like them either.
She found herself observing everything as the men talked: body gestures, tone of voice, eye movement. Years of necessity had taught her to quickly measure people as a matter of survival. Her initial assessment told her that Celdorn was a rather intense, serious sort, with an obvious tender side—so contrary to the stories she had heard. Elbrion was calm and thoughtful, not given to quick emotion or word, but capable of great depth—again, a far cry from the malevolent specter of the rumors. Haldor shared some of those same qualities but was even more…elusive, ethereal, difficult to define. Dalgo, on the other hand, was earthy, simple, quick with a smile and an encouraging word. Tobil was a seasoned warrior with many scars to prove it, and though his face was stern, he had a hearty laugh and a twinkle in his eye. Braiden was difficult to fathom as he was so quiet among the men he almost faded into the background, more an observer than participant. She wondered if his stammer added to his timidity. When he did choose to interact, his bright eyes and gestures were gentle, thoughtful. Silvandir was careful with his words and proper in his actions, always the stolid soldier, and with his massive frame, intimidating. There was a somber, morose air about Mikaelin, even with his friends; though Shatur—who seemed to be the most jovial one of the bunch, quick with a funny story or genial banter—managed to coax a few grins from him.
These men were so unusual: polite, kind, even with each other. And they treated her with respect as if she were actually a person. She found herself drawn to them and terrified of them at the same time.
Her surroundings were likewise strange. Everything was built on such a large scale. When she sat in the chairs, her feet couldn’t touch the floor, and the table came almost to her chin. Even the plates and utensils were oversized. Doorframes were a foot taller, and the latches were level with her chest. It left her feeling like a child, diminutive and insignificant. No wonder Celdorn called her little one. Her body sagged.
Celdorn noticed. “I think it’s time we allow our guest to retire for the evening. We have much to tend to in the morning. After Elena is settled, I’ll return, and we’ll meet for a short time. We have a few items that need to be addressed before we turn in.”
When Celdorn rose, Elbrion moved around the table to pick up Elena but stopped when Celdorn shook his head and lifted her himself. After he paused to allow each of his men to bid her good night, he headed toward the door. Elbrion followed. The dogs jumped up to join them, but Celdorn ordered them to their own beds. Bria obeyed. Sasha, on the other hand, trotted to his side and nuzzled Elena’s arm.
“I’d like her to come, if that’s all right,” Elena told Celdorn.
He chuckled. “You may regret that decision. She tends to take over beds.”
They crossed the hall and entered a room two doors to the left, which was much smaller than Celdorn’s and yet was more adequate and well-furnished than any room Elena had ever stayed in. The bed set in the far left corner was half the size of Celdorn’s, though still large enough to sleep three of her, and of a simpler design, most markedly missing the canopy and curtains but not lacking the intricate carvings in
the dark wood frame. She was eyeing the legs of the bed when she noticed Celdorn watching her.
“What is it?” His gaze followed hers.
“I-I was just admiring the woodwork.” She didn’t want to tell him that she was looking to see if there were shackles attached to the bed, which thankfully, there weren’t. She turned her attention before Elbrion could read her mind. Sasha wasted no time in jumping up and making herself comfortable. Celdorn just shook his head at her and chuckled.
At the foot of the bed, directly in front of them, was a beautifully crafted chest. Cut into the wall beyond that was a tall window with a cushioned seat set in the frame. Since the casement was closed, she would have to wait for morning to see what the view might be. Next to this was an ornate wardrobe with a washbasin stand beside it. On the other side of the room, to their immediate left, were a small, rectangular table and a high-backed chair.
“I hope the room is acceptable,” Celdorn said as he laid her on the bed, ordering Sasha to move over. The nightstand held an oil lamp, which cast a soft amber glow through the room, creating ominous shadows in the corners.
“It’s very nice.” In truth, the room frightened her. She was grateful when Sasha snuggled in closer.
“There will be someone on guard just outside your door at all times. If you need to relieve yourself during the night or if you require anything else, you need only call out. Normally, we would leave you with a chamberpot, but in your condition, you won’t be able to use one. Someone will have to carry you to the garderobe.” Her ears burned. “I know it’s embarrassing to have to ask for such assistance. I don’t know how to ease that for you. We’ll protect your dignity the best we’re able.” He paused, watching her with concern. “Is there anything else you need before we leave you for the night?”
“May I ask you something?” She played with Sasha’s ear, frustrated she couldn’t keep the quiver out of her voice or hold Celdorn’s gaze.
“Certainly.”
“What is it...” She faltered, struggling to find the words. “What are you...expecting from me while I'm here?”
“I'm unclear what you're asking.”
“What...duties do you expect me to perform for you...or for the men of the keep...when I'm able?”
“Oh, Elena.” His words almost groaned. “Forgive my insensitivity. I can’t even imagine how frightening the thought of being the only woman among two hundred men must be for you, especially after what you have endured.
He glanced at Elbrion then knelt by the side of the bed. “We didn’t bring you here to serve our needs in any way. No man in this keep is expecting sexual favors from you and, in fact, will suffer the penalty of death if he takes advantage of you. They are to protect you, your body and your heart; they are to serve you, not use you. These are honorable men.”
“But you have done so much for me, you must want something. I’m not trained in cooking or sewing or even cleaning. My duties are always...personal.”
“We require no services.” Celdorn’s voice was low, his expression grave. “Elena...” He stopped; his mouth worked but no words came out. He looked upset again. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. “Little one…what was done to you, how you were treated is wrong—dreadfully, horribly wrong on so many levels. It's against the laws of the Shalamhar to treat a child, or any other person, in the ways you have been. I want to assure you that we brought you here for your sake, not ours. If anything, the realm owes restitution to you for failing to protect you. I want you to be free here, to find peace and healing—nothing more. I’m sorry for not making that clear and leaving you to wonder and fear.”
She stared up at him, not understanding, nor quite believing him. Unable to find words to respond, she retreated to the familiar and safe realm of silence. Her world had turned upside-down, and her mind reeled again. She hugged Sasha closer.
Celdorn tucked the blanket around her and patted Sasha’s head. “You need to rest now. I’ll be meeting with my men for a short time. If you require assistance, call for the guard outside your door. His name is Malqor.”
Her hand, as if acting on its own, sprang out and latched onto Celdorn’s. “W-would you be willing to stay with me until I fall asleep? Please?” She asked, wishing she didn’t sound so desperate and pathetic.
Celdorn took her icy hand in both of his and squeezed gently. “I’m more than willing.” He pulled the chair next to the bed and sat down.
Elbrion, who’d stood to the side observing and humming softly, moved around Celdorn to lay his hand on her head and whisper, “May Qho’el light your dreams.” A warm smile spread across his face as he gazed down at her. Her heart twisted. She blinked back tears as he turned to leave.
Elena pulled her longing gaze away from the door and tried to settle into the bed, moving back and forth to find a way to lie that didn’t put pressure on an injury. Sasha inched back as if sensing her discomfort. Elena couldn’t seem to find a spot that didn’t have a bump or a bruise.
“Celdorn, will you sing for me, like Elbrion did? It seems to help quiet my mind.”
“I can't sing light in the way that Elbrion does, but I’d be happy to make an attempt at a melody if it would be helpful for you.”
“Perhaps a song of your people?”
Celdorn paused to consider. “Hmm. How about this one? It’s a Garan melody that tells of the beginning of Qabara and the creation of all that is beautiful and full of light.” He sang haltingly at first. His voice was deeper than Elbrion’s but the tone was soothing. As he sang, she held onto his hand and even dared to close her eyes. Images of rolling hills and wildflowers filled her mind. For the first time in more than a decade, she fell asleep without feeling tormented.
Chapter 12
Celdorn returned to his chambers and found his men sitting around, feet up, or lying on the floor in quiet conversation. When he entered, they rose.
“Sit down, my friends; it’s too late for formality. Join me at the table.”
While he waited for the eight men to be seated, Bria claimed his thigh. He patted her side, grateful for her presence and her good manners.
“Today has brought a strange turn of events, most unexpected,” Celdorn began, petting Bria as he collected his thoughts. “We have many things to discuss concerning this girl who has come under our care. I’m in need of your wisdom.” He paused for a moment and looked around the table. These were good men, the best. He trusted each one with his life.
“Some justice was meted out earlier today, but it seems there are others more culpable than the mountain men.”
Elbrion broke in. “From the fragments I was able to gather from Elena’s mind, there is a group of men—and women, I should add—who are training and selling children as gillei d’zhajh.”
“Until you used that term earlier, I hadn’t heard it in a long time.”
“Because the practice was eradicated in our realm centuries ago, though it is still practiced in places to the east.”
“What sort of training is it?”
“It seems they teach the erotic arts to the children from a very young age in order to perfect their skills in eliciting pleasure. They also train them not to react to pain, or any humiliation thrust upon them, but rather to smile and comply, as if pain were their pleasure. Torture and intimidation are used to control the children and to keep the adults from being exposed. Elena is only one of many who suffer at their hands.”
There was a rumble around the table.
Celdorn gaped at Elbrion. “Are you saying this isn’t just the acting out of perversions within Elena’s family or village but an organized...trade?” he asked, searching for a word that fit.
“From what I have seen, it goes far beyond her family. I have not encountered evil of this kind since Shefali.”
At the mention of Shefali, Mikaelin’s head shot up and the color drained from his face.
“The images I have seen inside her are horrific. She—”
“How can this be?” Silvandir interr
upted. “We aren’t some primitive realm. This isn’t Penumbra or Bardulah. Those of us in the Shalamhar obey the Qarhelon. In the doqajhi, the priests teach our people to follow the Jhadhela. The selling of people is forbidden. Torture is forbidden. Using someone carnally against his will is forbidden—especially children. Such base practices were left behind at the Nasara. Who would rape and torture a defenseless child? This cannot be!”
Celdorn shot him a look, and Silvandir fell silent.
“And yet it is,” Elbrion replied. “Elena is evidence of that, as is what I saw in her mind.”
Silvandir shook his head in response, his jaw rigid, eyes flashing, but he held his tongue.
Celdorn rose and walked the length of the room, unable to contain his own agitation. Bria followed on his heel.
“What we lack is specific information.” Celdorn grew more incensed as he paced. “We know which village Elena is from, but we don’t know the name of her father or the identity of any of her assailants. The Farak certainly deserved to die for what they did to her. Ten men using one woman—one very young and very slight woman—really only a girl. It’s so despicable.” His fists slammed on the table. “Their deaths were too swift and painless.”
He sat down suddenly and was quiet, angry at himself for losing control. Chagrined, he glanced at Silvandir. Like the younger Guardian, he didn’t usually have a problem staying detached, objective, but he couldn’t seem to enter into that cold, hard place right now either. “If you had seen,” he said in a low, steady rumble, gazing around at his friends, “you would understand my outburst.”
“Celdorn, I didn’t see the camp nor the men, but I saw the girl’s body,” Dalgo said in a deep growl of a voice. “I fully understand your rage. She is still a child—or should be...”
“Her childhood was ripped from her,” Silvandir snapped. “Since she could walk? Dear Qho’el, what is wrong with these people? It’s against our laws to sell an adult man or woman in these ways. But-but a small child? What can they even do with one so young?” It was clear the words had flown out of his mouth before he’d taken time to think. Silvandir’s face blanched and he groaned, leaning forward and holding his head. “I don’t want to know.” He raked his fingers through his hair as if to uproot the thoughts. “And the girl claims she has been sold dozens of times since then?”