Journey to Queyon: The Innocence Cycle, Book 3

by J D Abbas

  Mikaelin stared at his friend from the blackened bulges that engulfed his eyes, but he stopped resisting. Silvandir held him upright as his body continued to convulse from the torrents of pain passing through it. Gradually they subsided and the blood flow ceased. Mikaelin breathed more easily.

  But then the torment of the internal pain began. Mikaelin’s hand clutched the back of Silvandir’s tunic as if he were the only thing keeping him from falling into an abyss of unfathomable depth. Mikaelin held his breath and clenched his fists.

  “Stop fighting it,” Silvandir whispered. “I have you. I won’t let go.”

  Mikaelin turned into his friend’s arms and gave way. Silvandir felt along with him the agony of the eight-year-old boy. The terror, the humiliation, the isolation he endured for years, returned in full force exacerbated by the emotions he had absorbed from Braiden. Silvandir realized this must be what it’s like to have your innocence ruptured, to feel dirty, polluted, a canker walking among men. Years of Mikaelin’s grief spilled forth and flooded Silvandir’s awareness.

  Then, abruptly and without warning, a shift happened. Mikaelin pulled away from Silvandir as rage took over.

  Then it erupted.

  “Ah!” Mikaelin screamed out as he turned and punched a tree. Silvandir tried to stop him before he broke his hands, but Mikaelin shoved him away with a ferocity that caught him off guard. Silvandir quickly recovered and came behind him, embracing him and pinning his arms to his sides. Mikaelin twisted, with a strength and finesse that surprised Silvandir, and broke free.

  Mikaelin lunged at Silvandir and tackled him. They hit the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of Silvandir. Mikaelin raised himself up, straddling Silvandir’s body, and was about to strike a murderous blow to his jaw when lucidity returned. He stared at his friend as if searching for recognition. With a sudden look of horror, he rolled off Silvandir and plopped onto the ground. He closed in on himself as he grasped his legs, panting heavily.

  “I-I’m sorry.”

  Silvandir brushed himself off. “It is all right, my friend.”

  Mikaelin hugged himself and sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry.”

  Silvandir sat beside Mikaelin, who turned to him with tormented eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry,” he babbled.

  Silvandir’s chest constricted when he saw the jagged scar that ran vertically across Mikaelin’s eye and his jaw that was now crooked—injuries that had not passed with the others. Silvandir put his arm over his shoulder. “What is this? For what do you beg absolution?”

  Mikaelin stared at him with puzzlement then his gaze turned distant, as if searching for an answer. “For... for being alive,” he finally whispered.

  His confession punched Silvandir in the gut, and his chest caved in at the impact of Mikaelin’s words. He looked at him with new understanding. “Oh, my friend, it grieves me to know that you have carried this sorrow and guilt inside you for all these years. You were meant to survive Shefali. You were meant to survive your uncle. The Jhadhela has been with you and gifted you in great ways. It was no mistake, no mere happenstance. Your life is a gift—to many—to me!” he added, squeezing Mikaelin’s shoulder.

  He stared at Silvandir, his brows drawn down, eyes flitting. “I-I didn’t realize until I gave voice to it just now that I felt guilty for surviving, that I felt like it was a mistake.” He stopped and pondered his own words. “When my uncle... hurt me...” He stopped and glanced at Silvandir, his cheeks reddening. “I-I guess I thought it was punishment for not being good enough, for not having earned my survival, that I was a disappointment to... to everyone, to the Jhadhela, to the Source of All Light. I didn’t deserve to be alive, to be treated well.” A new wave of grief swept over him and his shoulders shook. “I was only eight. That is so young—too young.”

  “You’re right,” Silvandir agreed. “It’s beyond anyone’s ability to endure, especially at that age. Losing your parents alone was more than a heart can bear...being orphaned—” He squeezed Mikaelin’s shoulder again, his own words choked by emotion.

  They fell into silence, overcome by the moment.

  “Mikaelin?” Celdorn’s call came from somewhere to their right.

  “Over here,” Silvandir responded for him.

  Mikaelin wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face behind them.

  Celdorn came into view, Dalgo with him. “How are you?” Celdorn squatted in front of Mikaelin and laid his hand on his arm. He jerked and shrugged it off. “Sorry.” Celdorn pulled his hand back. “How are you?”

  “Braiden’s injuries have passed through me,” he answered matter-of-factly, not looking up.

  Celdorn glanced at Silvandir.

  “It was a vicious process.”

  “I would like Dalgo to examine you,” Celdorn told Mikaelin.

  “It’s not necessary. I told you the injuries passed through.” He would not lift his head as he spoke. “How is Braiden?”

  “He is well, but... angry that we allowed this. He felt this was an unfair burden to lay on you, one he would have refused.”

  “That’s why I didn’t allow him—or you—the opportunity.” Mikaelin squirmed as if sitting were uncomfortable. “He was dying. I could feel it. We couldn’t lose him. He’s a gifted young man—the best among us,” he added, talking into his knees.

  “And I am looking at another who is a tremendous gift among us,” Celdorn said with great tenderness. “Look at me, Mikaelin.”

  “No, my lord.” Mikaelin’s arms tightened their grip on his knees. “I would appreciate it if you and Dalgo would leave me to myself. I will mount up in a few minutes, and we will move on.”

  Celdorn turned his gaze to Silvandir. “Is he fit to travel?”

  Silvandir studied his friend. “He will be, Celdorn. The rest will require time.”

  Celdorn nodded. “All right. We’ll wait for you on the road.” Celdorn started to pat Mikaelin’s arm, but his hand froze midair. He and Dalgo left with no further comment.

  “Do you want to attempt to stand?” Silvandir asked him after the others were gone. He stood and offered his hand to Mikaelin.

  “I can do it.” Mikaelin turned onto his hands and knees and struggled to his feet, groaning as he straightened his frame. He was soaked with sweat from the effort.

  Silvandir waited, letting him manage on his own. When Mikaelin looked ready to mount Lazhur, he spoke up. “You might want to change your clothes before we rejoin the others.”

  Mikaelin glanced down and cringed at the sight of his blood-stained clothing. He pulled a fresh shirt and trousers from his saddlebag. It required a great deal of effort to do even such a simple task as dressing himself. Silvandir feared he was going to pass out from the strain. His movements were stiff and awkward, as if every joint in his body ached. By the time he was done, however, most of the swelling and bruising had disappeared and with his fresh attire, he looked significantly better. Only the scars, the drooping eye, and the distorted jaw line remained.

  When they came out of the trees, everyone was waiting. Braiden, mounted and ready to travel, seemed anxious to see Mikaelin and discover what damage had been inflicted. The young healer looked grief-stricken when Mikaelin emerged with the hood of his cloak pulled up, his face hidden in shadow. He made it clear he didn’t want to be approached as he turned and rode to the rear of the regiment.

  Chapter 40

  The company made better time once they no longer had to concern themselves with further injury to Braiden. Elena managed well lying on her side in the now more carefully padded wagon bed, though irritated she still wasn’t allowed to ride Nakhona. With Braiden gone, there was little to focus on besides the whorls in the wood of the cart.

  By early evening, they arrived at the junction for the road to Dussendor, which rose steeply to their left. Celdorn decided they would set up camp on the northwest side of the River Tomillan where the foothills offered more protection. There were several large clearings that would accommoda
te most of the company. Elena and her guardians were to shelter under a secluded rock shelf, providing an almost cave-like protection.

  Silvandir rode up to the wagon as Elena was climbing out. He leapt from Windam and hurried to place his hands around her waist while her boot searched futilely for a foothold. Elena was frustrated and embarrassed when he set her on the ground.

  “Well, no wonder I couldn’t find a place for my foot. These rungs are set three feet apart to accommodate a giant’s legs.” She huffed as she studied the end of the wagon.

  Silvandir started to laugh but swallowed it down when Elena glared at him. “You’re right. They aren’t suitably constructed for the Wallanard,” he replied, rubbing the sides of his mouth which still wanted to curl upward. “How did you survive the afternoon travels?” He glanced at the side of her trousers.

  She turned her hip away, not appreciating the undo attention to her buttocks. “Every part of my body aches from being tossed about, but I think I’m fine,” she said, more weary than irritated this time. “It is good to be on my feet on solid ground.”

  “Would you like to walk around and explore the area? I’m sure it will feel better to move your limbs, and it’s a beautiful location. There are waterfalls not far from here.”

  A thrill ran through Elena. “I’ve never seen a waterfall.”

  Celdorn approached.

  “Lord Celdorn, I was just asking Elena if she’d like to see the waterfalls, with your leave, of course,” Silvandir said.

  “I have no objection, but I would like Dalgo to check Elena’s wounds first.”

  Elena let loose a growl of frustration and gave Celdorn an obstinate frown.

  “And...” he added, smiling in spite of her cheekiness, “you must have more guards with you. Shatur and Tobil should suffice.”

  Elena narrowed her eyes. “Are they guards or chaperones?”

  Celdorn straightened and arched a brow, looking almost offended, by her question. “I fully trust you, little one, and Silvandir as well. My concern is the enemy who may be pursuing you, nothing else.”

  Elena softened. “Sorry for being so disagreeable, Ada.” She grabbed Celdorn’s hand and squeezed it, smiling up at him. “I’ll comply without complaint.”

  Celdorn kissed her head. “I merely want you to be safe, my child. Now, go see Dalgo then explore the area before we lose our light.”

  ~

  After Dalgo told her she was free to explore as long as she didn’t overdue it, Elena set off with her three companions. They climbed a steep trail that followed the course of the Tomillan. Silvandir led the way, using his sword to clear the overgrowth on the seldom-used path. The beauty enthralled Elena.

  The foliage along the riverbanks was dense and lush. Massive limbs from century old trees hung over the water as if reaching for a cool drink. Thick, broadleaf vines wrapped around their trunks and wound their way through the branches, where dozens of varieties of birds perched, chirping at the travelers as they passed. A beautiful azure bird with a bright crimson stripe on its back let out a series of whistles that created a mesmerizing tune. Eyes wide with wonder, Elena stood motionless for several minutes until Silvandir reminded her that they had limited time before the sun set.

  A while later, as they followed a curve in the river, they came to a magnificent, broad pool with water so clear Elena could see the rocks and creatures that inhabited its floor some fifteen feet below. But more enticing was the roar of waters not yet visible. Elena saw mist rising above the tops of the trees where the waters tumbled down, but another bend in the river blocked the view of the falls themselves.

  When they made the second turn, Elena’s mouth dropped open in blissful amazement. A six-hundred foot cliff towered above them over which the river’s waters plunged in broad white ribbons of foam, exploding into diffuse clouds as they hit the rocks below, creating rainbows in every direction. A second waterfall spilled from there, wider and more fierce, churning the waters at its base. She could feel the spray even from the far side of the enormous, turbulent pool stretched before them. She had never seen water so active, so alive, so violent.

  Elena felt Silvandir’s eyes on her. He was enjoying this as much as she was. She tugged at his hand insistently, urging him to lead them closer to the waterfall, her voice of no use against the roar of the falls.

  Twenty yards ahead their path was blocked by a fallen tree that crossed the trail and hung over the swirling waters, suspended by thick vines that wrapped around its trunk and kept it hanging just inches from the ground. Its charred bark indicated that lightning had been its downfall. It must have been a powerful strike because the tree was at least three feet in diameter.

  Tobil scaled the obstacle first, then reached for Elena’s hand while Silvandir and Shatur steadied her from behind. Tobil tried to lift her down on the other side, but she brushed his hands away, insisting on doing it by herself. The other two men leapt unto the trunk ready to assist, but their weight made the tree bounce, and Elena lost her balance. She fell backward with a shriek and slid to the ground rather unceremoniously. She stood and brushed herself off with a laugh of delight. She turned to see Silvandir grinning at her, sharing in her fun.

  He and Shatur jumped down yelling words she couldn’t quite hear. Nor did she care, she was already focused on the magnificent power of the waterfall. A hand on her shoulder drew her attention. Tobil pointed to her injured hip where a circle of blood was quickly growing. Silvandir signaled for her to undo her pants. She shook her head, neither willing to stop exploring to deal with this nor wanting to expose herself, yet again. Tobil yelled that they just needed to take a quick look and make sure she hadn’t done more damage. He motioned that she need only pull her trousers down a few inches. Elena finally agreed knowing they wouldn’t let her go further until she cooperated.

  Silvandir tugged the side of her waistband, protecting her modesty the best he could. When he pushed the bandage down, he discovered the stitches had ripped open at the center of the wound. He told her it looked like she’d landed squarely on the injury, splitting the skin above and below the original site.

  They had no supplies to deal with the wound, so he thought they should head back to camp. Elena argued that she wanted to continue, that there wasn’t much blood, and she’d be just fine, though most of her words were lost in the roar of the waters. Silvandir reluctantly agreed but wanted to pad the wound before they moved on. They had no extra bandages, so he tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt and folded it into a neat square. He slid it under the linen strip that wound around her hips. Elena paid little heed to what he was doing as she was so captivated by the beauty surrounding her. Silvandir raised her trousers, and she fastened her belt without taking her eyes off of the roiling waters.

  Silvandir pressed on her foot, and she shook it free, not wanting to delay any longer. When he gripped and yanked at her knee, she looked down, her attention finally pulled away from the waterfall. At the same moment, she noticed Tobil shake his leg as if a snake had climbed up it. Within seconds, the three men had their swords drawn and were striking at thick, tentacle-like vines that were quickly wrapping around each of their feet. Before Elena realized what was happening, the vines were dragging the men away from her. When she tried to move toward them, the vines held her back.

  The men hacked at the plant and yelled to Elena to draw her dagger. By this point, the vine was slithering toward her waist. She reached for her weapon, but a tendril wrapped around her wrist and yanked her hand downward before she could grasp the hilt. The plant constricted around her legs as it climbed, sending an odd tingling sensation through them. Her mind grew fuzzy, and she tottered. The next moment, she toppled into the vines, no longer in control of her body.

  Elena watched helplessly as Shatur managed to disentangle himself from the creeping tendrils and climb to the top of the fallen log before another vine could snag him. Silvandir lunged toward her with all his strength, ripping a vine from its root. He snatched hold of her,
severing the offshoots from her left leg while Tobil attacked the ones that entwined the right. As soon as she was free, more tendrils wrapped around her. Silvandir tugged Elena toward him, and the vines tugged back. He swept his sword around her and gave a strong yank, pulling her limp body loose.

  “Give her to me,” Shatur called. Silvandir tossed Elena to him as if she were just a sack of grain. Shatur caught her, but lost his balance as the log bounced under their weight. Elena sucked in a breath as he caught himself.

  Silvandir and Tobil continued to battle with the vines that now attacked them with a vengeance. “Get her out of here,” Silvandir yelled.

  Shatur threw Elena over his shoulder and scrambled down the other side of the log. He ran the rest of the way back to the camp, yelling for assistance when he drew near. By the time they reached the others, she had to fight to keep her eyes open, afraid that if she slept she might never wake.

  ~

  While Dalgo and Braiden worked on treating Elena, Celdorn sent two dozen men to find Silvandir and Tobil with Shatur leading the way.

  Shatur’s heart was in his throat as they raced along the riverbanks. When they arrived at the spot where they’d been attacked, the Silvandir and Tobil were no longer there. Drag marks etched in the earth indicated they’d been pulled into the forest. Heart pounding, Shatur followed the tracks and found the two men more than fifty feet from the river, entwined up to their necks, with tendrils ready to enwrap their faces. The vines squeezed so tightly, their captives’ were unable to breathe, their faces blue. Shatur prayed they were not too late.

  The men hacked away at the vines and unwound their victims, while at the same time avoiding the tendrils that reached out to ensnare them. When they were certain that Silvandir and Tobil were able to breathe, four men dragged them toward the river to rouse them while the others followed the vines, seeking to destroy the plants at their roots.