by J D Abbas
Mishon had led them into a thicket of coarse bushes, through an opening he’d found earlier in the day. The ground sloped downward and the space broadened into something like a cave, covered over by thorns. In the dark, no one would see them, and only a small man would be able to enter the tight entrance. If they were quiet, their enemies wouldn’t find them.
Waadar curled into Mishon’s side, quivering. His hands were moving, but Mishon couldn’t tell what he was trying to show him. He tugged on Mishon’s ear just before a branch snapped, then another.
Something sniffed around the outside of their shelter, and he prayed they wouldn’t smell Waadar or any of the other children who peed themselves each night. Mishon knelt by the entrance and drew his sword. Any man who entered would have to crawl, and Mishon would greet him with a blade to the back of his neck. No one was going to hurt these children again. Not while he was there to protect them.
Without his eyes, Mishon had to depend on his other senses. He heard movement. More twigs snapped. A quick shush. Silence. The ground vibrated under his feet. Something was moving just outside the shelter. A sniff. The scrape of a blade unsheathing. A stifled yelp. They’d found the thorns. Movement backwards. A torch burst into view, lighting up the dark outside the thicket. Mishon could make out three shapes.
A howl went up, sending a shiver through him. Waadar nearly knocked him over as he curled into him, his hands flapping wildly. He tugged at Mishon’s shirt, pulling him away from the opening. A picture exploded in Mishon’s head, and he knew what Waadar feared: they were going to light the thicket on fire.
Mishon scrambled to the back of the group of children and searched for a way out. On the far side of the thicket, three massive trees stood side by side with vines from the thicket connecting them, climbing over their roots and up their trunks. There was no other exit.
“Come out, and we’ll let you live,” a voice commanded.
The children froze in place. No one answered. Mishon continued to search for a break in the thorns where they encircled the tree trunks. Maybe they could escape by climbing the trees.
A whoosh of fire shot up by the thicket’s opening. Another howl split the night. Dozens of padded feet scurried toward the blaze.
“Help us,” a tiny girl said next to Mishon. But she wasn’t talking to him. She was facing the tree.
There was a groan and a crack. A hollow opened in the tree. The girl gaped at the fissure, frozen with fear. Mishon didn’t take time to think. He pulled the girl gently aside and stepped into the space to see where it led. Stretching his hands out to guide him, he moved forward. Each time he felt a wall, it moved back. He knew he was in a tunnel now, burrowing his way into the heart of Alsimion.
Mishon hurried back and called for the children to follow. As the fire grew behind them, some of the little ones froze in place, choking on the smoke. Mishon pushed and shoved and carried, whatever he had to do to get them away from the intense heat. After stubbing his toes several times on a large rock near the entrance, he tried to roll it out of the way. But it weighed almost as much as he did. He gave up. Finally, when the last of the children were in the tunnel, he looked for Waadar. He hadn’t seen the boy come inside.
Mishon ran back into the burning thicket searching for him, being careful not to trip over the rock this time. No curly blond head. “Waadar, where are you?” he called, no longer caring about being quiet. A tug on the back of his tunic. And there was Waadar, big turquoise eyes gazing up at him with flames dancing in their depths. Mishon grasped the boy’s small shoulders. “You scared me half to death, you did,” he scolded, then he wrapped his arm around him and ushered him toward the shelter. “Watch you don’t trip on the rock.” He pulled Waadar to the side, but the rock was gone. Mishon swung his head from side to side. “Did you move it?” But Waadar only shrugged and looked confused.
After Mishon checked to make sure all of the children were now inside, he stood at the entrance and watched the blaze. Dozens of dark shadows moved on the far side of the thicket, no longer quiet. They argued and howled, tossing more wood onto the fire.
Over the roar of the flames, Mishon heard the thunder of distinct hoofbeats. His heart thrilled at the sound. The Guardians were coming.
The tree started to moan and the wood creaked around them, growing louder and louder until it drowned all else. Then the opening snapped shut, and with gasps all round, the children were plunged into a deeper, denser darkness.
~
“Fire in the woods!” a sentry called into the night.
Charaq spun around. A smoky red glow burned to the south of him. He ran along the edge of Alsimion shouting, “Stand your posts,” to the Guardians in the children’s camp. “Qalam’s men, to the fire.” His heart raced along with his legs. He knew even before he got there what they’d find.
Dark shadows danced around the flames, snarling and howling in celebration.
Until the trees started to move.
Charaq pulled up short when the earth rumbled. The leaves of a hundred trees clanked in flat, discordant tones, a steady rhythm of tinny war drums. The trees nearest the fire yanked up their roots. Giant feet with dangling appendages squelched the flames that climbed around them. One gnarled foot after another rose and fell, making the earth shudder. Tromping, stomping, squashing every bit of the fire—and any Zakad who stood too near. Other wolven creatures flew through the air, kicked by misshapen feet. Qalam’s men gawked and a few squealed like maidens when massive limbs swept down to snatch hold of Zakad who tried to flee, branches brushing just past the Guardians’ heads.
The battle was brief. The Guardians only witnesses. Silence again filled the night as the trees returned to their places—as if none of this had happened.
Charaq and his men glanced at each other, verifying their sanity. Then his mind snapped into focus. “The children!” He raced toward the burned thicket. “Mishon!”
There, leading up to the thorny undergrowth, was that same slithering trail he’d seen by the camp, and a few feet inside the entrance to the burned out heap lay a child’s singed blanket.
Charaq sucked in a breath, willing his mind not to give in to the panic.
Qalam put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t smell burned flesh, Charaq. Only burned fur. And we would have heard their cries. I don’t think the children are in there.”
Charaq turned a confused gaze to him. “Then where are they?”
Chapter 32
Elena woke to a thunderous noise. Her heart pounded in rhythm with the ground beneath her. She sat bolt upright as everything around her rattled and shook. She saw Celdorn, Dalgo, and Silvandir standing in the mouth of the cave, which was alight with the morning sun. They appeared to be arguing.
“What’s happening?” Elena asked Braiden, who leaned on his elbow observing the men.
“C-Celdorn wants to s-see what’s causing the earth to quake, b-but Silvandir believes he should g-go and leave C-Celdorn here with you.” After observing for a few moments longer, he added, “Apparently, C-Celdorn has pr-prevailed.”
Her ada left and a disgruntled Silvandir plopped down next to her.
As the vibrations continued, Elena feared the walls of the cave would come down. “Are we safe in here?” she asked Silvandir.
“Safer than Celdorn,” he grumbled, then caught himself. “We’ll be fine.” He erased the concern from his face as if to prove it.
A short time later, Celdorn called into the cave. “Silvandir, Dalgo, bring Elena and Braiden. You have to see this!”
Silvandir raised Elena to her feet, and Dalgo put his arm under Braiden’s shoulder and supported him as he rose. They emerged from the cave, squinting in the bright sunlight that flooded the rocks.
Celdorn motioned for them to follow. “This way.”
They were on a path that wound upward. The mountain continued to shake and shudder as they climbed. Finally, Celdorn stopped on a flat platform of rock, where Zhalor awaited them. Celdorn bowed to the stallion then s
wept his arm toward the east with a broad smile.
Elena followed his gaze. At first, her vision was obscured by the movement, but just as she started to make sense of what she witnessed, the earth stopped quaking. She gasped as she took in the view below.
Silvandir stood behind her, his hands gripping her arms. His jaw dropped.
Scattered in the foothills below them and in the forest beyond—everywhere the eye could see—were hundreds of Ilqazar. They had been galloping through the area almost frenetically, their massive weight causing the earth to shudder, but when Celdorn’s group appeared, they immediately stopped and turned toward the rocks, pounding their mighty hooves on the ground. Then, as if on signal, the pounding ceased and in the thunderous silence that followed, they bowed.
Zhalor stepped alongside Elena. We are here to serve you, my lady.
Elena turned to Zhalor in surprise. “This...is for me?” She gazed out over the gathered Ilqazar. “I don’t understand.”
Because you are moving to Queyon, they felt they must move with you, Zhalor replied, though his answer gave her no more clarification.
“All of the Ilqazar have left Kelach?” she asked, surprised and dismayed by his words.
Yes, my lady, except for those who remain to serve the warriors they have chosen. Our time there is finished.
“Zhalor, I don’t understand,” Elena said again, this time with frantic tears. “Why would they do that?”
Zhalor bowed his massive head and placed his forelock against Elena’s heart. Light exploded between them and, again, a sorrow that shredded her heart consumed Elena. She grasped Zhalor’s neck to steady herself, then leaned into him sobbing. She wanted to ask him what this sorrow was that she felt every time he touched her, but she wasn’t sure she could endure the answer.
Zhalor stepped back and nodded toward the assembly below. They have come to render service to you, my lady. You are in need of our protection.
As Elena gazed at the breathtaking beauty of the Ilqazar in every direction, she was humbled.
You once told me that our destinies were entwined, yours and mine, and that together we would rise or fall, and with us all that is good. The stallion nudged her with his muzzle. You spoke the truth, and so, instinctively, the other Ilqazar have pursued us, he added, following Elena’s gaze. It is their duty and their destiny.
~
Elena didn’t notice when the smile slid from Celdorn’s face nor when he quietly slipped away. Elbrion, however, must have been watching because he followed Celdorn to the niche in the rocks, where he paced back and forth, arguing with himself. When he saw Elbrion, he stopped and turned toward him, his heart filled with a torment.
“What did you see?” Elbrion asked gently.
Celdorn shook his head but couldn’t speak. He paced again.
Elbrion laid his hand on Celdorn’s shoulder. “My friend, what did you see?”
“Perhaps it is only my fear,” Celdorn replied, frustrated he couldn’t keep the rasp from his voice. “I’m not given to visions. I-I don’t trust it.”
“Tell me and together we will reason.”
Celdorn stared at his friend, his eyes weighted with sorrow. “We can’t save her,” he whispered. “We’ll watch her die.” He stopped talking and paced some more. “Even the Ilqazar can’t save her. The force of the shadows is too powerful.” He shook his head, trying to break free of the images.
Elbrion stepped in front of him, stopping his movement; he grasped his arms and locked gaze. “What did you see?” His tone was sharp, tinged with a rare fearfulness.
Celdorn heaved a sigh. “I-I saw the black void. I saw Elena ride... willingly into the void. Then the world was consumed in darkness.” He stared at the ground. “She’ll return to that which is familiar. She’s being drawn home.” His voice had gone flat, distant, as hollow as he felt. “And the Zhekhum will win.”
His friend studied him carefully. “This is not the first vision you have had.”
“No.”
“Why have you not spoken of it?”
“Because I pushed it away the first time, certain it was my own doubts. But this time it was more vivid.”
“The vision may be accurate, but I doubt your interpretation.” Elbrion seemed resolute, sharing none of Celdorn’s fear and doubts. “Elena would not willingly give herself to Anakh. I know it with every ounce of my being.”
“And yet, I saw what I saw.”
“But you could not see inside her heart. Perhaps she was in a trance. Perhaps she was drugged. I do not believe she was given to us only for us to watch her destruction. The Zhekhum is strong, but the Jhadhela is stronger. It led us to her. It led the Ilqazar here. I do not believe that this has happened only to end in the annihilation of all that is good.” Elbrion stood straight and his words snapped, “You are wrong.”
Celdorn held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, my friend.” Rarely had he seen Elbrion angry, and it unnerved him a bit. “I didn’t mean to offend. You deserved an honest answer.”
Elbrion turned away, and his shoulders sagged. “I believe in her, Celdorn,” he whispered. “She is our daughter. She is of our lineage now.” He turned back to Celdorn and a fire appeared behind his translucent tears. “This vision is only a tiny thread in a vast tapestry. There is more to the picture that we have not yet seen. I believe in her.”
Celdorn bowed his head. “What’s wrong with me, Elbrion? Why does my faith in her continue to waver? You’re right. It can’t be the whole picture. I need to trust in that. I need to trust in her.” He shook his head. “How do we help her if I continue to doubt?”
“Your faith must go beyond her.” Elbrion’s gentleness returned. “You must believe that the Source of All Light has his own plans and purposes, and he will not fail us. Ultimately, it is his power and his victory, not Elena’s.”
“You know I’ve struggled with that ever since the destruction of Shefali.” Celdorn turned and started pacing again. “Evil won a great victory that day, and I saw no evidence of the Jhadhela’s intervention or the presence of the Source. I saw only darkness and destruction. Even his brightest servants in Queyon turned away.”
“And yet you and I were spared, as well as Haldor, Mikaelin, Shatur, and others. Look at what we have done. That is not insignificant.”
“But is that evidence of the Jhadhela or just our own tenacity?”
“While I agree that we are all stubborn men, I can only speak for myself in saying that there is not that much goodness in me. I must draw on another source. If left to myself, I would have struck out in hatred, devoting my life to tracking down the guilty and punishing those who turned their backs and refused aid.” Tongues of fire suddenly lashed out from Elbrion, startling Celdorn.
And just as abruptly, Elbrion closed his eyes and breathed, deep and steady; the flames disappeared. “On my own, I would not have chosen this path.” He fell silent, stood motionless, except for the iridescent drops that slid down his cheeks.
When he again opened his eyes, he said, “As for evidence, Celdorn, I have seen things the last few months that cannot be explained away. The powers of both the Jhadhela and the Zhekhum have been blatantly real and tangible. I have no doubt that we are in the midst of a fierce battle.”
Celdorn nodded to himself and quietly paced for several minutes, until nods turned to wags. “Why do you persist in being my companion? Am I not just a thorn in your shoe?”
“No. You are my friend, and I love you through all things. Moreover, I made a vow.” He smiled with an affection that wrapped itself around Celdorn.
“Don’t you ever regret it?”
Elbrion shrugged and gave a half-grin. “Perhaps once or twice.” Then he sobered. “But in the same way Zhalor’s destiny is tied to Elena’s, so mine is tied to yours, for good or ill.”
Celdorn embraced his friend. “I know it is for my good, and I hope in the end it is for yours as well.”
“I have no doubt.” Elbrion returned the hug.<
br />
~
Celdorn and Elbrion rejoined the others. It appeared their absence hadn’t been noticed.
Elena seemed lost in thought as she gazed at the herd of Ilqazar, which stretched as far as the edge of Alsimion. Silvandir looked like he was listening for their thoughts as he studied the scene below. Dalgo spoke quietly with Braiden, who was void of color and leaned against a rock for support—too weak to stand, but unable to endure the pain of sitting. He needed to return to the cave.
Zhalor stood to the side, also observing the others.
“In light of our change in circumstance, we need to hold a council.” Celdorn gazed at the thousands of Ilqazar and couldn’t help but wonder how this move would alter the future of the realm. “We’ll meet at the stone table in half an hour. Silvandir, find the companions and inform them.”
Silvandir gave a quick nod.
Celdorn turned to Zhalor. “We would welcome your presence at this council as we decide how to proceed from here. If you are willing.”
Certainly, Lord Celdorn, he replied through Silvandir. The Ilqazar have surrounded the area. We will be secure and undisturbed.
Celdorn put his arm around Elena. “Let’s get you back to the cave.”
She must have sensed something of his turmoil for she immediately looked up at him, her brow furrowed. He forced a smile and nudged her forward.
~
The Stone Table was not truly a table, rather a massive polished slab of black granite embedded at the peak of Roth Rock. Set in the ground, it looked more like a beautiful marble floor than a table, surrounded by ten large, squat boulders that looked as if they were set there as seats for giants. The entrance to the site was a stone gateway made of two granite columns set ten feet apart, connected at the top by a roughly hewn cylinder. No one really knew the origins of this place, but it had a mythical air, giving those who approached a sense of being transported in time and space, most commonly evoking a response of reverent awe.