by J D Abbas
The three continued to look off toward the trees, though the riders were long gone. Without a word, Silvandir slipped his hand into her other one, his thumb tracing circles, as if to steady her.
Mikaelin continued. “You remember how you were after seeing Loqarad?” She nodded. “It’s like that. I-I can’t stop the images.” He let go of her hand and ran his fingers through his hair then squeezed his head as if to keep it from shattering. “Then when ...then when Braiden told them about what his attackers said ...” His voice trailed off.
So he had been nearby, listening.
Mikaelin’s whole body started to visibly shake.
“What is it?” Elena turned toward him, sensing he was on the verge of collapse.
“I didn’t tell you before. I couldn’t. I...” Mikaelin faltered, his eyes darting back and forth. Then he heaved a breath, glanced at Silvandir, and continued in a wisp of a voice. “I was ashamed. Back then, when I was with my uncle, when ... I ran away from him, I left my younger brothers behind. My plan was to enlist the help of my other relatives and come back for them. But when we returned, he had run off and taken my brothers with him. No one knew where they had gone. I exposed my secret. They all knew what happened to me. I was humiliated, shamed, and yet it did no good for my brothers. That’s why I ran away to Marach.”
He glanced at Silvandir again and then focused on the ground. “Until today, I’ve been able to lock that memory away. But when I heard Braiden, all I could think of was my little brothers being beaten and raped by my uncle. I left them to that.” He stifled a sob. “What kind of person does that? What kind of person leaves them to be tormented?”
Mikaelin suddenly looked at Elena, eyes wide with dismay. “You didn’t abandon them.” He grabbed her forearm. “You didn’t even know you had children. They were taken away. And you were taken from them. I left my brothers. I can’t imagine what they think of me. They must hate me.”
“And you were a child and doing the best you could to get help.” Elena placed her hand on his scarred cheek. A vivid image shone in her mind: A dungeon door swung open, the place where the emotions of a damaged little boy had been imprisoned for countless years. Their release came with such force it drove Mikaelin to his knees. The tormented child leaned into her breast sobbing. She let go of Silvandir and wrapped her arms around him, overwhelmed by matching grief. And together they wept.
When the emotional wave subsided, Mikaelin abruptly pulled back and scrambled to his feet, wiping eyes and nose on his sleeve. He leaned over, hands on knees, and took several deep breaths. He glanced sideways at Elena then Silvandir, his cheeks inflamed above his beard, as if just realizing what he’d done.
“I’m sorry, Elena. I didn’t mean to add to your troubles. I meant only to tell you that I understand the agony and helplessness you feel in this situation. I didn’t intend to tell you the rest.”
“You don’t need to apologize, my friend. Don’t ever be ashamed of your tears or your history with me ... not with me.” She looked him straight in the eye. “As always, it is a strange comfort to hear your pain. Do you understand?”
He nodded but wouldn’t look at her.
Silvandir cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but we need to move you to the cave, Elena. I’m nervous about you being out in the open. You two can talk more there.”
“I want to see Braiden first.” She gripped Mikaelin’s arm. “Come with me.”
“I don’t know if I can bear it.”
“Try,” she said and pulled him toward the tent. Silvandir followed.
They entered quietly. Braiden was lying naked, his wounds clearly visible. It looked as if he’d been trampled in a stampede. Every part of his body was either bruised or bloodied.
When Dalgo noticed Elena, he threw a cloth over Braiden’s midsection, but not before she saw the damage. Braiden had been repeatedly punched or kicked in the abdomen and groin. His genitals were swollen to twice normal size, the tissue almost black. It looked as if they were intent on destroying his manhood.
“How is he?” she asked Dalgo.
“He’s been badly beaten. Most of it is superficial, meant to inflict pain not permanent damage, except for his hands and perhaps that,” he nodded toward the covered area.
Elena's heart sank. Braiden was a young man. He still had hopes of starting a family.
“He has a couple of cracked ribs, a broken jaw, and many shattered bones in his hands,” continued Dalgo. “Everything else will heal fairly quickly.”
“At least on the outside.” Mikaelin reddened when he realized the thought had escaped his lips.
Dalgo’s face softened. “At least on the outside,” he agreed.
The healer studied Mikaelin. “Are you able to help him?” Then quickly added, “Without harm to yourself?”
Mikaelin shook his head with stiff movements that looked more like a tremor. “I can’t. Please don’t ask it of me.” His face drained to a ghostly white as he turned and stumbled out of the tent. Outside, it sounded like he fell or collapsed. Then the thud of his fists pounded the ground so hard Elena felt the reverberations beneath her.
“I shouldn’t have laid that burden on him.” Dalgo massaged the back of his neck. “What was I thinking?”
“He has memories stirring,” Elena said. “He’s in torment himself, or I’m sure he would consider it.”
Braiden started to squirm. Waking meant consciousness of the pain, and his body was reacting.
Dalgo has resumed stitching several of the larger gashes, but he stopped when Braiden opened his eyes. “Do you want some cordial?”
“N-no.” Braiden’s voice rasped as sweat beaded up on his forehead. “Just w-water.”
“It might be better to be numb.”
“N-no,” he snapped. “I don’t w-want to sleep.”
“Are images haunting you?”
“Y-yes.” Braiden turned his face away.
Dalgo lifted the water pouch to his lips. “Here, drink this.” Braiden attempted to swallow but choked. When he coughed spasmodically, the healer rolled him onto his side.
“Dalgo!” Elena gasped, then clasped her hand over her mouth as she caught herself. When he glanced at her, she nodded toward the blanket underneath Braiden. There was a large puddle of blood under his thighs. Dalgo searched for the source.
When Braiden stopped coughing, the healer asked, “Did your attackers do something else to you that you haven’t told me?” He gently touched the boy’s cheek, and Elena’s skin prickled. Braiden didn’t answer but pulled his face free. Dalgo looked up at Elena and nodded toward the exit.
“I’m going to go to the cave now.” She lowered herself cautiously down to one knee, reached for his hand and stroked the mangled mess. “Thank you for what you’ve done to protect me. I’m so sorry for ... for what happened to you. Please know I love you, my friend ... my brother.” She kissed his hand, her tears bathing his wounds.
When their eyes met, she sensed all that he was hiding. From the shift in his expression, he realized she knew.
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met inside and out. I am ...” She swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”
His chin quivered, and he took a shaky breath. It seemed to hurt him to speak. “I-I love you too and ... w-would do it again ... all of it ... f-for you.”
Elena was dumbstruck. She continued to stroke his hand, not wanting to leave his side.
Silvandir gripped her shoulders. “We need to go to the cave, Elena.”
She patted Braiden’s hand and rose. “I’ll come to see you again soon. Try to rest.”
Braiden gave a feeble nod.
~
When Silvandir and Elena came out of the tent, she yanked her hood up as if angry again. Silvandir looked for Mikaelin but didn’t see him.
“You know something,” Silvandir said, adjusting his hood. “What is it?”
She turned and stomped toward the hill. He noticed she wasn’t limping, her own pain forgotten, as if she’d
separated from her body again.
“They raped him.”
Silvandir stopped. “Are ... are you certain?” Then he hurried to keep up with her. “How do you know that?” He stepped ahead of her, so he could lead her toward the path to the cave.
“I just know. That’s why Mikaelin ran out; he knew too.”
“Why would they do that?” He didn’t know quite how to say what he was thinking. “He’s a man ... why would ...?” He was unable to finish.
“They did it to humiliate him. It’s the most degrading thing they could have done other than using an object, which may be how they did it. I don’t know. I’m not sure which is worse.”
Silvandir was startled by Elena’s cold, flat answers.
“Like what they did to you ...” His voice trailed off. He still struggled with comprehending what had happened to her during her all-too-brief childhood. “I don’t understand how men can do that.”
“Good. I’m glad you don’t understand. I don’t want you to understand that kind of evil. I’m glad that you’re innocent and trusting.”
“Elena, I’m far from innocent. You know some of the terrible things I’ve done, but there’s much you still don’t know about me ... trust doesn’t come easily for me either.”
She looked at the ground then glanced up at him as if pondering his words.
They walked on in silence. Silvandir’s mind drifted to another time.
~
Elena’s mind wandered too—into dark places. She hated the way it worked: thoughts turned immediately to visual images, which became physical sensations. Her sorrow for Braiden brought up graphic pictures of his attack. She could feel each fist that struck his face, snapping his jaw and jarring his brain; each kick that knocked the wind out of him, leaving him curled in a ball, gasping for breath; and each degrading thrust of his assailants that sent fire burning through his body, ripping his innocence from him, and crushing his sense of manhood.
From there it was a small step to seeing her children and her brothers being tortured in much the same way. Her body reacted to each blow as if it were happening to her at that very moment. She shook her head trying to loose herself from the grip of these invisible enemies. She struggled to stay with Silvandir, willing her feet to move, forcing herself to focus on the sensation of the rock beneath them.
Though no trail was visible, Silvandir seemed sure of their course. They entered into a maze of large rocks, creating walls on either side of them. After winding around a dozen turns, they came to a cave. A huge boulder covered the entrance so it wasn’t visible until you stood at the threshold.
The opening to the cave, set at an angle, was narrow and short. Elena had to stoop and move to her right to enter. Once inside, there were two spacious chambers, which could easily house fifty people. Mikaelin had already set up lanterns and prepared a bed for her in the foremost section. Food and water were by the wall. It was cool inside but dry.
“Elena,” Silvandir’s voice startled her, “you need to rest now.” He studied her with concern, “You look ready to collapse.” He took her trembling hands in his and caressed them with his thumbs.
“I’m all right. I’m just tired,” she lied, unable to meet his gaze.
“And you need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you need to eat, nonetheless.”
“Not now.” She jerked her hands away. “Just help me lie down.” Realizing how rude she sounded, she added, “please.”
He eased her to the ground, turned her to the side, then put another blanket behind her to keep her from rolling onto the wounded hip.
“Will you at least drink some water?” he asked, grabbing a water pouch.
“Yes.” She took only a small drink. “I’m sorry, Silvandir. My mind is seeing horrible things, and my stomach is reacting. I’m afraid if I put anything in me, it will only come back up.”
“All right, I won’t push you. Perhaps later.” He covered her with a blanket and lay down behind her. He put his arm over her and snuggled in close, kissing her hair.
Elena immediately stiffened.
“What is it?” He propped himself up on his elbow, trying to see her face.
“I’m sorry, again, Silvandir.” Her voice shook. “When you did that, my mind went back to the second attack in the keep.” She hesitated. “H-he was behind me, and he did that.”
With a growl, Silvandir moved to the other side of Elena and lay down facing her. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t know.”
She felt the sadness and anger with which he struggled. “You did nothing wrong. I just couldn’t stop the reaction.” She shuddered again. “Sorry.”
“It’s been a difficult day.” Brushing the stray hairs back from her face, he half-laughed to himself. “Day? More like weeks ... months.”
Elena laughed wearily. “Life ... Silvandir, it’s been a difficult life.”
“I don’t know how you’ve kept going.”
“Maybe there has always been a buried hope that someday it would be like this. Someday I would be free. I would know safety, have friends, feel loved. I don’t know if I ever dared to allow myself to even dream of such things. Since they had access to my mind, anything I could imagine, they could take; so I never hoped lest they destroy it ... and yet, something called me toward the future, toward one day ... out there ... somewhere ...”
~
Elena’s voice grew softer and softer until Silvandir realized she had drifted into sleep. He stroked her face and kissed her forehead, then he wandered into his own thoughts.
A short time later, Mikaelin came to check on them. Silvandir quickly sat up.
“Do you need anything?” Mikaelin asked, unable to look at him.
“No, I think we’re fine.” Silvandir rubbed his hands on his knees. “Are ... are you all right?”
Mikaelin stared at the ground and his face reddened. They had been friends for nearly fifteen years, but suddenly it was awkward. Mikaelin scuffed his boot in the dirt. “Yes, I’m fine. All of this with Braiden just caught me off guard, but I’m better now.”
Silvandir didn’t believe him, but he didn’t want to press him either. “You know, it’s all right if you’re not. You can be however you need to be around me. You don’t need to hide.”
Mikaelin lifted his eyes. “I appreciate that. You’ve always been such a good friend.”
“Though I’ve hidden many things from you as well. Things for which I now fear you would despise me.” Silvandir gazed up at his friend sadly. “Things I tried to confess to you when I thought I was dying.”
“Silvandir, we all carry shame from the past. I would never judge you.”
“But you were a victim, Mikaelin. I was not.”
“And you think I have never intentionally inflicted harm on another?”
“You would never rape.”
Mikaelin studied him, rubbing his neck. “My history and my ... disfigurement would have kept me from ever choosing that route, but I don’t think for a moment that I’m beyond such things. I know the anger and violence of which I’m capable, and I in no way see myself above you. Whatever you did was a long time ago. We’re different people now. Elena trusts you with her life and safety. I trust you. Now you must forgive and trust yourself.”
Silvandir considered his words. “I wish my heart were as pure as yours,” he said, his voice a choked whisper.
Mikaelin laughed. “You misunderstand me, my friend. My heart is far from pure. It’s full of hatred, bitterness and cynicism. I don’t avoid judging because I’m pure and forgiving but because I’m aware of my own corruption. Who am I to stand in judgment of another? My words aren’t spoken out of great virtue; I can assure you of that.”
“And yet I see great virtue in you, Mikaelin. I’ve seen your willingness to take on the suffering of others time and again. Look at your face and body; you’re covered with scars from other people’s wounds. You’ve sacrificed your health and your sanity so others might be
unburdened. That is true greatness.” Silvandir wondered why Mikaelin winced at his words. He thought they would encourage him. “Perhaps you also need to forgive and trust yourself.”
The corner of Mikaelin’s mouth pulled up in a half-grin as he crushed a dirt clod with his boot. “This may be why we’re such good friends: we both suffer the same malady. I’ll work on granting myself pardon, if you’ll do the same.”
“I can agree to that.” Silvandir smiled in return. “I must tell you, though, I’m relieved. I was afraid that once I confessed to you, I would no longer have you as my dearest friend. Thank you.”
Mikaelin nodded and a strained silence followed.
“Well, I’d better get out there. I’m supposed to be keeping watch. Until the reinforcements arrive, we’re vulnerable.” With that, Mikaelin made an abrupt exit.
Chapter 28
Silvandir leaned his head against the wall, strangely weary after his conversation with Mikaelin. He glanced at Elena, glad she’d slept through it.
He gently stroked her forehead with his thumb. The muscles of her face were taut, as if she struggled with demons even in sleep. She carried such a burdensome load on her tiny shoulders. How he longed to help, to protect her from further onslaught.
Silvandir suddenly jumped up. In all the upheaval, he’d forgotten his sword. He was alone and unarmed. Then he realized he’d left Elena’s dagger behind as well. Where was his head?
He stepped out of the cave and called softly for Mikaelin. No answer. Silvandir wasn’t sure where his friend was keeping watch. He glanced back into the cave, torn. He wasn’t supposed to leave Elena alone, but with no sword they were defenseless. In the end, he decided Elena was safe for the moment, but without their weapons she might not be later.
Silvandir wound his way down through the rocks. It was near dark, the way covered in deep shadow, but he knew his path well. He called for Mikaelin again, still no answer. When he came out by the camp, all was quiet. He headed to the tent.