Journey to Queyon: The Innocence Cycle, Book 3

by J D Abbas

  She did. There was more power, but it still felt inadequate. Elena doubted she could do it without the warrior inside coming near.

  “Again,” he said. “Better. Again.” He kept increasing the intensity of his voice with each kick. “See what you hate. Again. Come on, Elena, let go of the fear.” She felt the power increasing, but was afraid to give in to it. “Use your anger!”

  ~

  Silvandir watched the transformation. With each increase in the power of her kicks, Elena’s form darkened and the fighter began to appear. Tobil glanced at Haldor with a nod.

  The woman’s actions became more fluid. Every kick hit its mark. Tobil began to move, forcing her to intuitively travel with him. She didn’t miss with a single stroke. Silvandir was impressed.

  Tobil worked with her on adding arm thrusts, using the heel of her hand. As she punched, he asked, “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to kill him. I want him dead.” With her eyes still closed, she twisted and kicked along with the punches. No matter which direction Tobil moved, she found him. Suddenly her foot thrust straight toward his throat. Tobil blocked it. Then a barrage of rapid movements burst from her until her body sagged with exhaustion.

  Elena, or whatever part of her was out, screamed in frustration and dropped to her knees. “I can’t kill him,” she cried, her chest heaving from the effort.

  Haldor moved to the floor and knelt in front of her. “If your father were here, he would no doubt be dead. You did well.”

  “Her father.” She glared at him from dark eyes. “But it does no good. I want to feel his bones break. I want to see his blood flow. This does nothing. I’m fighting air.”

  “But you are fighting.”

  “And you think that’s good? I’m surprised. That’s not usually what men want from us, unless it is part of some twisted fantasy.”

  Haldor hesitated as if uncertain how to dialogue with this part of Elena. “Were you trained to use these skills, or do they come naturally?”

  “I have been trained in some skills. I will not say more about that.”

  He chose a different tack. “You are not the one we saw last night.” This woman was younger and not as well-endowed as the other.

  She scoffed. “Siuna is a whore. I would rather sever a man’s implement than allow it inside me. We are nothing alike.”

  “Hmm, you call her ‘Night.’”

  “Appropriate, is it not?”

  “Did she choose the name, or was it given?”

  She glared at him, lifting her chin. “It was given, but she likes it.”

  “Does she?” Haldor’s piercing gaze seemed to probe her soul; she looked away.

  After a long pause, she scanned the room. “You don’t fear me as you do her.”

  “We fear only the embarrassment and shame her behavior brings to Elena. We do not want to see her naked or have relations with her. No one here wants that with any of you."

  “That’s not entirely true.” She eyed the men, focusing longer on Silvandir, which made him squirm. What did she see?

  Haldor corrected himself. “No one in this room will use you against your will, and no one wishes to be used against his. Are we clear on that?”

  “You’re a strange group of men.”

  “Are we clear?”

  “We’re clear,” she replied, her tone mocking. “What is it you want from me?” She sat back and crossed her legs to appear more at ease, but Silvandir felt her agitation rising.

  “What is your name?”

  She studied him carefully but did not answer.

  “We know that Siuna did not like being called Elena or Giara, but we do not know how else to address you. It is not our intent to offend.”

  The woman scowled at the other names then replied, “I am Dhajhara.”

  Haldor’s body sagged, and he dropped his gaze. “No one should be given such a name.”

  She lifted her chin, one brow raised. “You speak Khradak?”

  “There are some words I have learned studying the lore. I will not call you by this name.”

  “It is the story of my life—my effect on others.”

  “It is a story someone else wrote and a character you are no longer required to play.”

  “And what would you call me?”

  Haldor held her gaze for a long while. “Dhokha.”

  The woman laughed, deep and throaty. “You are either grossly naive or maliciously calculating to some undisclosed end.”

  “I see what I see,” he said, undaunted by her response.

  The woman grew serious. “You have no idea of the hatred and cruelty I carry in me. The role you would write is unrealistic.”

  “It is reasonable that you are full of anger and—”

  “What do you know of it?” she interrupted. “You can’t possibly understand what I feel? Giara has told you tiny bits of what happened. She hasn’t spoken of the humiliation, the degradation, the horrific things she was made to watch or do.”

  “You.”

  “What?”

  “You were made to watch and do ... not just Giara.”

  She glared at him again, hatred in her eyes. “I wasn’t some helpless victim; I fought,” she snapped.

  “And yet you were powerless to stop them. That is why you are so full of rage.”

  “Do not pretend to know my mind.”

  “But I have looked inside your mind. There are things I clearly see.” His eyes seemed to pierce her defenses. The woman stiffened. Silvandir didn’t think this was going to end well.

  “That doesn’t mean you understand.” She defiantly matched his gaze. “When you’ve been passed around among ten drunken men, who smell as foul as a donkey’s stall, and had every orifice of your body invaded by whatever body part or object they choose; when you have feared you will die because some man is in your mouth blocking your breath, forcing you to swallow his filth; when you have been beaten and burned and held underwater until you pass out to punish you because you could not control your tears or your bladder; when you have been buried alive to teach you that someone else holds the power over your life in their hands then you may tell me you understand.” She turned and spat.

  Haldor had lowered his gaze. Silvandir was so horrified by the images that assaulted his mind, he had to fight the urge to break something, cause some damage. The other men held their heads and stared at the floor as the woman vented. Silvandir closed his eyes as overwhelming pain erupted in the room—Elena’s pain. He could not block it out, nor did he want to.

  When he opened his eyes, Silvandir saw tears spilling down Haldor’s cheeks. “You are right. We understand little, but we are making every effort,” Haldor said, as he held up a placating hand toward the woman. “You have not had a place where your anger was welcomed, and you were at liberty to express it. We want you to feel free to do so here. We will listen to whatever you have to say and honor your right to be angry. We want to help you direct the energy of your rage and use the power and skills you have. We want you to become Dhokha.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we care about you.”

  She scoffed. “No, you care about Elena.”

  “It is difficult for us to separate you in our limited minds.”

  She looked at Haldor intently, then around at the other men. “I don’t know how to do this.” Fear suddenly shadowed her countenance, and she inched back.

  Silvandir noticed her beginning to shift. Haldor reached forward and said, “Do not leave yet.”

  “What more do you want from me?” she asked, her shoulders dropping as if weighted.

  “Will you spar again before you leave? I do not want you to shift when you are feeling powerless and—”

  “I never feel powerless.” Silvandir felt her wrath rekindle.

  “Sorry. I meant no offense.” Haldor paused as if weighing his coming words. “I do not want you to leave when you feel overwhelmed or backed into a corner. Please, show us more of your skill, with the conditi
on that you not hurt anyone intentionally. Agreed?”

  Silvandir sensed something rumble at the core of this woman, but she agreed to continue to work with Tobil. When she rose to face him, she stood straight and proud, her strength evident. It was amazing to watch them fight together, both with their eyes closed, moving intuitively; Dhokha never missed her mark.

  Tobil increased his intensity, intending to provoke her. Dhokha responded with power and flawless maneuvers. Tobil slipped behind her at one point and wrapped his arms around her chest, locking his wrists and pinning her arms to her sides. Silvandir wondered if she would fight or collapse. Dhokha struggled and tried in every way to free herself. Silvandir sensed her rage building.

  With a sudden, loud cry, Dhokha pulled her arms up and out. An explosion of energy burst from her with a thunderous roar, rippling outward in a circular wave, throwing Tobil back against the wall and knocking the other men to the ground. Moving past them, it shook the walls. The guards stumbled in from the hall and the balcony, the flagstone floor still quaking beneath them.

  All eyes were drawn to Elena—the only one still on her feet.

  ~

  When Elena returned to herself, she stood alone in the middle of the training area. Celdorn’s inner circle lay scattered on the floor staring up at her. Guards surrounded them, gawking as if frozen in place.

  “Wh-what did I do this time?”

  “I see why you are being pursued so relentlessly,” Haldor said, as he rose to his feet. “You possess powerful gifts.”

  Elena put her hands over her ears. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I can’t endure any more truth.” She ran toward the balcony door and pushed past the guards that stood in her way.

  She hated this feeling, hated that she’d done something that had shocked the men—yet again—hated that she was a mystery even to herself. All she really wanted was to be normal.

  ~

  While Elena sat on the balcony, hugging Sasha and shivering in spite of the warmth of the evening air, Silvandir approached Haldor. “What does Dhajhara mean?”

  The former priest stroked his golden beard, his eyes fixed on Elena. “It is a complex word, difficult to translate. Roughly, it means something that is malignant, that destroys what is around it, like a poison or a plague. To us it is vile; in Khradak lore, it is a virtue.”

  Silvandir was grieved that another part of Elena had been devalued in such a way. “Who would give such a name to a child?”

  “Those who shattered her life and framed her internal world,” Haldor replied solemnly.

  “And Dhokha?”

  The older man smiled. “Vanquisher or victor. It carries with it the idea of a champion of virtue, which is why she objected so strongly.”

  “You saw something.” Silvandir eyed Haldor suspiciously. “Is it a prophetic name then?”

  Haldor grinned again. “I think you are beginning to know me too well.” He glanced toward the balcony then back at Silvandir. “I have seen several images in Elena’s internal world, images similar to the crest etched into her scabbard, of her wielding a power that destroys the enemy—but it is not a sword. What she wields, I cannot see, but I see her triumphant.”

  Chapter 14

  The morning following the Andiwan attack, Celdorn climbed the rocks above the source of the insects with three of his men. They found five large mounds, each as tall as a Rogaran male. The surviving ants were quickly rebuilding their empire.

  “Pour oil over the mounds and set them afire again,” Celdorn said to Borgin, one of the men stung by the Andiwan. “Watch over them throughout the day and make certain all are dead. We don’t want any of these creatures to rise up.”

  “With pleasure, my lord.” Borgin gathered a group of men to assist him while Celdorn joined those who were preparing to enter the gap.

  At the edge of the woods, Zarandiel’s men were packed and ready to move. Elbrion and Shatur waited with them.

  Celdorn called Zarandiel and Elbrion to him. “If I remember correctly, after we enter the ravine the road is divided by a massive rock wall.” He squatted and drew a rough map in the dirt. “The separate paths continue for eight miles or so and then converge again just prior to entering Penumbra. I will lead those that take the eastern side and Zarandiel will ride with me; Elbrion, you will lead those on the west with Shatur. We won’t enter Penumbra until both companies have arrived. Any questions?”

  Zarandiel tugged at his dark, bushy beard. “Shouldn’t we send scouts ahead?”

  “I will send no one into danger before me. If we face opposition, I’ll forge the way.”

  Elbrion laid a restraining hand on his forearm. “Celdorn—”

  “This is not open for discussion. We will move as a whole, and I will lead the way. If our foes await us, so be it.”

  Elbrion dipped his chin and said no more.

  Zhalor approached at a slow trot as if summoned. The men stepped back to clear a path for the stallion. He stopped in front of Celdorn, bowed his head and placed his forehead against Celdorn’s. They stood silently, unmoving. The other Ilqazar approached their Guardians and waited. A potent energy surged between Celdorn and Zhalor that left every nerve in Celdorn’s body abuzz. The encounter stirred something deep within Celdorn—was it fear, foreboding, a finality?

  “Together. For Elena,” he whispered, laying his hand on the stallion’s muscular neck.

  When Celdorn finally stepped back and mounted, the other men quickly followed and fell in line. Celdorn was flanked by Elbrion and Zarandiel as they moved forward.

  It was a short distance to the entrance of the Gap. Celdorn rode swiftly, studying the rock formations that rose above them, watching for movement. He saw a flash on the far side of the opening to the ravine. Reining in Zhalor, he studied the source.

  “Did you see that?” he asked Elbrion, who stopped alongside him.

  “I did.”

  He joined Celdorn in searching the rocky foothills, but they saw no further evidence of movement. After a few minutes, Celdorn signaled for them to proceed, this time more slowly. They arrived at the entrance to the Gap without seeing anything else of concern.

  The opening to the ravine wasn’t more than ten feet wide, but the sheer cliffs on either side rose to over five hundred feet. The men rode two by two following Celdorn, who rode alone, the hairs on his neck standing on end, though he saw nothing to warrant it.

  When they had traveled nearly a quarter of a mile, the trail widened into a spacious ravine, divided by a rock wall down the center as Celdorn had remembered. The two companies formed their ranks.

  “If you arrive first, wait for us,” Celdorn reminded Elbrion. “Be careful, my friend; I sense something amiss.”

  “As do I.” Elbrion eyed Zarandiel. “Guard him well.”

  “I will. Do not fear,” the big man replied. “And watch your backs. Our enemy could easily squeeze us from both sides in this gap.”

  Elbrion gave a stiff nod, looking ill at ease as he led his company to the west, into the shadows of the narrow canyon.

  ~

  Celdorn’s company rode to the east. The walls of the ravine had risen to nearly a mile high, blocking out the sun. There were numerous boulders along the sides of the trail that would provide cover to any who chose to lie in wait, but they encountered no one. It would be over two hours before they met up with Elbrion’s group again, plenty of time for Celdorn to imagine what his encounter with Elena’s father would be like.

  The hoofbeats of the Ilqazar echoed against the sides of the canyon creating such a clamor the men couldn’t hear each other; it was even difficult to hear oneself think. Because of this, Celdorn didn’t hear Shatur until he’d drawn alongside him.

  “Lord Celdorn!” The young man looked out of breath. His stallion’s chest heaved.

  Celdorn’s stomach clenched as he signaled for the company to halt. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Elbrion. He’s hurt.” Shatur sucked in deep breaths. “We were ambushed. The
others have gone on ahead, but Elbrion couldn’t continue. Famon is with him, tending his wounds.”

  “How badly is he injured?”

  “He was pierced by several arrows. His light is dim.” Shatur looked on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, my lord. I was right beside him.”

  “What of those who ambushed you?”

  “We killed many, but some may have escaped. They were scattered in the rocks, so we aren’t sure. Our men are scouring the area as we speak.”

  “Zarandiel, lead the men on. We’ll join you as soon as possible.” Celdorn immediately urged Zhalor to follow Shatur and was surprised when he reared his head several times and didn’t respond.

  “It’s all right Zhalor. The threat has been dealt with. I’ll be safe with Shatur.” An urgency pressed on Celdorn’s heart. “I must go. It’s Elbrion.”

  Zhalor glanced back at Celdorn but rode forward. He and Shatur pushed the stallions to a gallop and retraced their path. At the end of the wall that divided the canyon, they came around to the western side.

  “How far in?” Celdorn called.

  “Two miles or so.”

  A short time later, Shatur pointed to a cluster of rocks on their right. “We put him over there so he’d have some shelter.”

  Zhalor stopped abruptly, nearly throwing Celdorn. The stallion stepped backward, ears flattened, muscles taut. Celdorn urged him to move on, but he refused and continued to retreat slowly as if watching or listening for something. Frustrated, Celdorn dismounted and was again surprised when Zhalor stepped in his path, blocking his way.

  “What is it?” Celdorn demanded, irritated and impatient, wishing he could hear the stallion’s thoughts. “Elbrion’s in there. I have to go.”

  Zhalor snorted and shook his head. He refused to move from Celdorn’s path.

  Shatur dismounted and watched the exchange. “Perhaps he senses some threat nearby.” He scanned the area around them and drew his sword. “I’ll enter first.”