by J D Abbas
“Or was it, Yabéha, that you were trying to prevent more children from dying like that little girl? Was it not better to hurt them than to watch them being murdered?” He cupped her chin. “It seems to me that you adapted out of necessity.”
Elena held his gaze, trying to absorb his words.
“Many of us carry guilt for things we have done, things no one forced us to do, ways that we have hurt others, but what you carry is not for you to bear. The guilt belongs to those who controlled you—you were the child. Not that you have never done wrong, Elena, but these wrongs, these are not yours.”
“You may not blame me, but others would. How do I look into that little girl’s face and not believe I caused her death?”
“There are a dozen men in this room who heard your confession.” Haldor turned to the others. “Who finds Elena guilty?”
“Not I,” replied Celdorn immediately.
“Nor I,” added Elbrion.
The nay responses continued around the room, several of them wrought with tears.
“You see, no one finds you guilty, Elena.” Haldor shook her chin. “What will it take for you to accept the truth?”
She slowly studied the men surrounding her and pondered Haldor’s words. “Time, I suppose.” It seemed such a feeble answer. “You are again turning upside down and inside out things I have believed for so long. I need time to absorb it, to adjust.”
Haldor smiled. “That is a fair response.” He pulled her back in his arms and laid his hand on the top of her head. Elena felt the exquisite warmth from his touch flow through her body.
“Forgive me for exposing you, Yabéha,” he whispered. “I did not know how else to help you see things differently.”
“I know my head is often like a rock. Sometimes I can only see what I see and am not able to break out of that perspective. Thank you for caring enough to shock me like that.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “You’re very adept at giving bold lessons.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Elena saw Silvandir slip into the back part of the cave. She heaved a sigh, wondering if this had been too much for him, seeing her exposed in front of all the men, unable to stop it, hearing her confession, on top of all the other confessions she had made to him. It was too much to expect of such a noble and good man. Her chin quivered.
Silvandir returned, standing between the sections of the cave, and lifted his chin at her, a soft smile on his lips, eyes red-rimmed. He held up his hand. In it were spare clothes. He signaled for her to join him.
Elena hurried to him, blanket dragging on the ground, and he pulled her into a fierce embrace, his chest heaving.
“I hate this,” he whispered into her hair.
“I know. I’m so sorry I shamed you again. Perhaps—”
“No!” His tone was sharp. “I meant I hate that you feel such guilt, that you are forced to carry this pain. I hate what was done to you.” He squeezed her again. “You didn’t shame me. You’ve never shamed me. I just want you not to hurt anymore. I wish I could let you see through my eyes, my heart.” His lips pressed into her hair. “I love you.”
“Oh ...” Elena’s voice squeaked, and she buried her face in his chest.
After a few moments, Silvandir cleared his throat and pulled back. “Here, I’ll hold up the blanket while you put on the clothes. Then I think you need to get some rest.” He gripped her face and kissed her brow. “But I’m staying right beside you.”
As Elena dressed, she wondered if this was another dream and if she would awaken alone again. She grabbed Silvandir’s arm and squeezed it. It felt real. But then, so had the other world.
Chapter 37
Celdorn made sure Braiden and Elena spent the next two days resting quietly and healing. It took some time to convince Elena that although she’d seen a vision of her children, they would not return to search for them. That she’d seen their otherworld guardians seemed to be of little comfort to her. He supposed he’d feel the same way if their roles were reversed. In truth, they were his grandchildren, and he did want to rescue them but knew it would mean putting Elena and her unborn child in far worse danger. So he would choose what he was certain he could protect over a vague possibility. But not without deep grief.
After sunset on the second day, the men returned from Kelach with the cart they would use to transport Braiden when they moved on.
The company hadn’t encountered any opposition or strangers on the road. They reported that Giyon had sent a unit to retrieve Elena’s brothers and their families. Per Celdorn’s orders, this company had waited until all the brothers were safely within the walls of Kelach before returning to Roth Rock.
On the morning of the third day, Celdorn and Dalgo assessed the situation with Braiden and Elena. Braiden felt he could manage the movement of riding in the cart as long as he was able to lie down. Dalgo concurred. He did not, however, agree with Elena that she was ready to ride Nakhona.
“If you travel in the cart for a few days, you’ll heal more quickly,” Dalgo said.
“I’m fully capable of sitting astride my mount. I can endure the discomfort. I want to ride,” Elena argued, arms crossed, chin up.
Celdorn stepped in. “You will travel in the wagon for the first two days, Elena.” When she started to object, he held up his hand. “If you ride Nakhona and your stitches rip open again, then we will have further delays, which we cannot afford.” She glared at him. “You would put everyone at risk by your stubbornness, little one,” he added, with a look of gentle reproach. “And I know you do not wish that.”
Elena huffed. “No, I don’t want that at all. I will obey.” She rolled over and gave Braiden a half-smile. “Well, I suppose we’ll remain side by side.”
The men busied themselves packing the supplies from the cave, and by the time Elena and Braiden limped their way down to the camp, the tents had been removed and the Ilqazar loaded.
As they lifted Elena into the cart, a shout of “Riders!” came from the far end of the clearing.
“Surround the wagon,” Celdorn ordered, as he and Elbrion moved toward the approaching company.
When the riders drew nearer, he could clearly see the crossed sword and axe, the sigil of Kelach, shimmering on their royal blue tunics. Within a few yards of Celdorn, the Guardians reined in their steeds, dismounted and dropped to one knee.
Celdorn noted their solemn expressions. “Malqor, what brings you here?” He nodded for them to rise.
“Lord Celdorn, Giyon sent us. He thought you would want to be informed immediately.” He stalled and glanced across at the cart.
A knot formed in Celdorn’s stomach. “What happened?”
Malqor cleared his throat. “A box was found outside the gate this morning.” His face turned gray as he spoke. “It contained... a child’s body, a young boy. He had been... dismembered.” His voice trailed off to a whisper.
Celdorn closed his eyes as his chest tightened. He turned his back to the men and walked several feet away. Dropping to one knee, he slumped. It felt as if a heavy weight were tied around his neck. He put his face in his hand. Elbrion came alongside him and gripped his shoulder.
Celdorn stifled a sob. “What do I tell her, Elbrion?”
“The truth, my friend.”
“It will destroy her.”
“She was expecting this.” Elbrion gave a heavy sigh. “She will survive. She is strong.”
“Could we have prevented it?” He looked up at Elbrion, who gazed off into the distance, his light flickering dim and slow.
“No, it was inevitable. And Elena knows that.”
With a heavy heart, Celdorn rose and wiped his eyes. He turned back toward the camp, trying to summon the strength to move. Elbrion put his arm across his shoulder, gently nudging him, and together they prepared to deliver the horrific news to their daughter.
~
Elena had been watching carefully from the moment the sentry announced the riders. She’d attempted to climb out of the wagon, but Silvandir s
topped her. He hopped into the cart instead, and made her lie down, shielding her with his body in case of attack. She wasn’t able to see, but Silvandir was watching. At one point, his body stiffened; she was afraid to ask him why.
When her adai approached the wagon, Silvandir helped her to stand. She took one look at Celdorn’s expression and buried her face in her hands with a squeak of a cry. Silvandir wrapped her in his arms as she collapsed. He eased her down to the floor of the cart and cradled her close.
Elbrion moved to the side of the wagon and laid his hands on her head, singing softly. Elena’s body convulsed, and she struggled to breathe. Part of her wanted to scream and wail, while another part wanted to pound her head against the side of the wagon until every thought and feeling were crushed into oblivion, and yet another wanted to withdraw into an internal cave and never come out.
Gradually the chaos quieted, and she went numb.
She looked at Elbrion. “I thought they had guardians,” she rasped. “Was I shown that just to taunt me, to give me false hope?”
“Sheya, we do not know that it was indeed one of your children.”
“Was it a boy or girl?”
Elbrion held her gaze. “A boy.”
“What did they do to him?”
Elbrion drew a breath; his light flared then flickered in an odd rhythm. “It may be better not to know.”
She stared back at him as a curtain opened in her mind. A hollow voice, which sounded nothing like her own, spoke. “They cut him up while he was still alive, after they had slowly tortured him, burning his flesh from his bones with fire and acid.” She felt empty, wooden, as she spoke the words, as if she were just a vessel, her real self a spectator. When the vision passed, she collapsed into Silvandir’s arms and fell silent.
Celdorn turned a questioning gaze to Malqor, who nodded. Her ada abruptly turned and stormed off into a nearby clump of trees. The others stood in silence, as stunned and appalled by her revelation as she was.
~
When Celdorn was out of sight of the others, his rage erupted. He lashed out at an aging stump, attacking it with ferocity, first with his fists then his heavy boots, until it crumbled beneath the force. Then, he found a large stick and beat everything in sight with vicious blows. He continued until his strength gave way, and he could no longer lift his arms. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving, sweat pouring from his brow. In the wake of the anger, the grief swelled. His heart twisted in his chest, and tears mingled with sweat, burning his eyes.
As the intensity of Celdorn’s wrath subsided, Elbrion appeared. He silently approached Celdorn, put his arm around his hunched shoulders, and waited.
“I fully understand the feelings Elena expressed a few days ago. I, likewise, feel too small for this task, Elbrion. How do I lead these men? How do I protect our daughter? How do I fight an evil of this nature? The images of Shefali are churning in my soul, and I feel that same utter helplessness I felt then. These enemies don’t seem to have any weaknesses; I don’t know how to defeat them.”
“Nor do I, Celdorn,” Elbrion replied in a whisper. “I have no wisdom to offer, only my love.”
Celdorn’s shoulders shook as a new wave of grief erupted.
“My friend, I once told you I felt the heart of a lord beating in you—a heart like your father’s. You are a lord who has risen from the fires of suffering, even more so than he. I believe it is for this reason that you have been called to this task at just such a time. It is not only because you are a great warrior nor a great strategist or tactician, but because you are a man of great depth and heart. It is just such an ada that Elena needs to help her to find her way through her own suffering.”
Celdorn raised his head and studied Elbrion, weighing his words. “I’m so grateful you have stayed by my side. I couldn’t have done it then, or now, without you.” He rose and wrapped Elbrion in a firm embrace.
“Our daughter needs us,” Celdorn finally said huskily, pulling back and patting Elbrion on the shoulder. “I am ready.”
The two emerged from the cover of the trees and approached the wagon where Silvandir cradled Elena’s limp body. The young Guardian lowered her into Celdorn’s waiting arms.
“Elena Celebriana, our precious daughter.” Celdorn spoke gently as he held her close and caressed her lifeless face. “I have no words to ease your grief, and I have no great wisdom to offer you. I know when I encountered the destruction of my family in Shefali there was nothing that could be said that I would have heard. The evil that swept through our village and eliminated my family is the same evil that has attacked in Rhamal. It is a power so much bigger than we are.
“But out of that devastation I was called to be lord and to do battle against this cruel enemy. I likewise believe that out of the destruction and torment of your life, you have been chosen to fight these same forces—only you are far more gifted than I could ever hope to be. I believe you and I have been brought together to strengthen and empower one another.” He set Elena on her feet and cupped her face in his hands. “We cannot give in to despair, little one, we must keep moving forward. I believe you—we—are being called back to Queyon, and there we will find answers.”
~
When Elena stared into her ada’s grief-filled eyes, she could see all the way to his tormented heart. There was an understanding between them. Shefali was decades in the past, and it was twenty minutes ago when the riders arrived. He understood her agony; he’d lived through this anguish. She placed her tiny hand flat against his heart.
“You have endured this for twenty-four years. I can make it through the next few hours,” she whispered. Her hand curled around his tunic, gripping it firmly. “Teach me how, Ada. Lend me your strength.”
Celdorn’s chest shuddered. “I am so very proud of you,” he rasped out. “You have more strength than I will ever know. You teach me.” He smiled down at her.
Elena let out a feeble laugh. “We are quite the pair, aren’t we?” She sighed heavily. “Help me back into the wagon, and let us move on. There is nothing left for us here.”
Celdorn lifted her up to Silvandir. He kissed her head tenderly then laid her next to Braiden, who immediately reached for her hand. She was indeed surrounded by love.
Silvandir jumped to the ground, and the men mounted up. Celdorn sent Malqor and his company back to Kelach with instructions for the burial of the boy’s remains.
Elena clung onto the tiny shred of hope that it might not be her son, that hers yet lived and someday they would be reunited.
Those who were traveling on to Queyon moved out in solemn silence, not knowing what other sorrows awaited them.
Chapter 38
Mishon clutched the hilt of his sword, listening, waiting for something to tell him what had happened. The darkness was so dense he couldn’t see his own hand. Children whimpered around him. Someone just wet himself. Again. Mishon gathered his courage. He didn’t believe the trees were trying to trap them. Everything inside him said Alsimion was a good forest. “Don’t worry,” he said to the others. “I think the trees are helping us. We just have to be brave and wait to see how.”
Just then, Waadar gasped and grabbed Mishon’s arm. A soft green light mixed with smoke swirled in one side of the tunnel. A face gradually appeared in the middle of the smoke. It looked like a lady. A beautiful lady. Mishon broke into a smile and whispered, “A fairy.”
Soft giggles, like tinkling chimes, filled the tunnel. “We’re not fairies, young sir.” The lady spread her arms and more lights appeared. “We’re liorai.”
“Liorai? What’s that? You look like fairies to me.”
More laughter—girly laughter. “Fairies are from your world. We’re from the middle realm.”
Mishon’s eyes went wide. “Like where angels and the spirits of the dead live?”
“Angels, yes. The spirits of the dead, no, unless they’re lost or have been trapped by some foul power. They usually go straight to Elondhur or Umbradhur.”
“So
if you’re not angels and you’re not left from the dead, then what are you?”
The liora moved closer and touched Mishon’s face with a long, skinny finger. It was soft and light and tickled, like a feather. “We are children of the ancient Guardians. It used to be we could not interact with your world, but someone has been using arcane magic and the walls between our realms have grown thin. Creatures are passing between worlds with hardly a thought.” Her mouth pulled down, and she looked like she might cry. Mishon hoped not. Tears made him feel funny. “The ones who tried to trap you in the thicket have been doing so.”
“They’re not from our world?”
The lady straightened to her full height. “Certainly not. Qho’el does not create such creatures. Someone, and we think we may know who, has been dabbling in—”
A shimmering hand went over the liora’s mouth. Another brighter mist-lady had joined them. “They are children, Yolinda. We need not burden them with such news.”
Mishon hiked up his sword belt and stood taller. “I’m Guardian trained, I am. Not some child to be doted on.” The tittering came from every direction now, which made Mishon bite his tongue. Hard. Guardians controlled their tempers.
“We do not doubt your fortitude, young sir, but it is not wise to share suppositions and suspicions without proof. It might only fuel unnecessary fears.” Her hand swept toward the other children. “Not all are as hardy as you.”
Mishon took a deep breath and nodded. He didn’t understand all of what she said, but one thing was clear: the ones he guarded didn’t need more things to be scared of. They had wagonloads already. “You are wise, my lady.”
She smiled—a brilliant, luminous thing—and bowed deeply. “You may call me Withia.” After she straightened, she added, “And you, young sir, are destined for greatness.”
He dipped his chin, but had to pinch the skin between his thumb and first finger. His father was great. His mother as well. Heroes to their people. He pinched harder. Greatness hurts too much.