Journey to Queyon: The Innocence Cycle, Book 3

by J D Abbas

  Charaq’s chest deflated. “Ah, Mishon ...” That first day when he had shown up at the gates of Greenholt, he was already carrying that burden. Why hadn’t Charaq talked to him about it?

  “Your own guilt blinded you.” He was surprised that this woman could so easily read his thoughts. She dropped to her knees in front of him and clasped his face. “No regrets, dear friend, you will have a long future together to talk and to mend. Alsimion offers you a place of new beginnings.”

  The grief overwhelmed him, and he fell into the lady’s arms and let it drain. The pressure subsided in his chest as he stopped fighting the pain. How long he cried, how long she held him and whispered sweet words, he didn’t know. It seemed like days. Eventually, the tears ceased and his eyes grew heavy.

  “Sleep, dear one. Time stands still for you here in Alsimion. Have no fear.” She eased his head into her lap, and he drifted peacefully away.

  ~

  “What did you do to Charaq?” Mishon demanded.

  Wistia stroked Charaq’s head, which rested in her lap. “He is sleeping, Mishon. He was very weary and sad. He has been looking for you and the other children.”

  Charaq’s eyes slid open, and he looked up at the lady, a smile tugging at the sides of his mouth.

  “Are you well, Charaq?” Mishon asked. Charaq startled at the sound of Mishon’s voice. “Did she put some kind of spell on you?” He gazed down at Charaq, tipping his head to the side.

  “Mishon! You’re alive.” Charaq scrambled to his knees and threw his arms around him, squeezing a little too tight. “Oh, thank Qho’el.” The big man’s body was shaking.

  Mishon hugged him back, relieved to see his friend. Then he remembered others were watching. He got his hands in between them and pushed Charaq back. “Of course, I’m alive. But I’ve been kind of busy trying to keep the rest of them safe.” He nodded toward the children who followed after him, like always.

  Charaq stood, wipe the sleep from his eyes, and rubbed at his face. His gaze swept over the children as he clasped Mishon’s shoulder. “You’ve been herding this bunch, have you?”

  Mishon stood tall. “It wasn’t easy. That fire almost did us in. If the trees hadn’t helped us, if Zinia”—he pointed to the little girl who had talked to the trees—“hadn’t asked, we’da been done for. And those fairy-ladies took good care of us.” His arm swept toward the other liorai. “They fed us the best food and gave us great places to sleep.”

  Charaq’s mouth gaped as he noticed the liorai for the first time. He even staggered a little before he got control of himself. “Well done, little man,” he said, patting Mishon on the back.

  “How’s the rest of the camp?” Mishon asked.

  Charaq’s smile fled. “The Zakad hurt a few and took some with them. I’m not sure how many just yet.”

  Mishon glanced at his group then looked down. He wondered if he knew any of the ones that were gone. Charaq’s warm hand gripped his shoulder, but neither of them wanted to talk.

  After a while, Charaq knelt beside him and said, “When things settle, you and I need to talk.” He brushed the hair off Mishon’s forehead and gazed into his eyes. Charaq swallowed hard before looking away. “We’ve been through some tough times together, lost some important people. We...” He stopped to clear his throat. “You and I need to spend more time with each other, yeah?”

  Mishon tipped his head. His ada’s face flashed in his mind, followed by his mother’s and sisters’. The big hole in his heart suddenly ached something fierce. He knew Charaq had a hole like that too, from being his ada’s friend. Mishon put his hand on Charaq’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” Mishon blinked hard as Charaq’s eyes met his. His big, strong friend’s chin quivered and a couple of tears rolled down his bearded cheeks. “We’re going to be all right, Charaq. We’ve got all these fairy-ladies on our side, and we’ve each other. We’re going to okay.”

  “We are, little man.” Charaq pulled him into another tight hug. “We are indeed.”

  Chapter 45

  Although pleased with the progress they’d made on the trail that day and relieved there’d been no further delays, Celdorn was plagued with a sense of imminent doom that grew stronger as the evening approached. He found himself scanning the woods, searching every shadow, and praying for Elena almost incessantly. By the time they set up camp, he was exhausted.

  The first night Keymar spent with Celdorn’s group, his nightmares of the Zakad returned. The young man was embarrassed when Celdorn shook him awake and informed him that he’d been crying out in his sleep. He was further humiliated when it happened two more times before the dawn put an end to his misery. Keymar rose the next day looking as haggard and harassed as Celdorn felt.

  After they hit the trail, Celdorn and Elbrion questioned Keymar about the nightmares.

  “When did the dreams begin?” Elbrion asked.

  “The first night when I reunited with you by the Tomillan. I hadn’t had nightmares since you went into my memories in Kelach.”

  “Do you think they might be visions?” Celdorn asked, as much to Elbrion as to Keymar.

  Keymar glanced between the two. “I’m not given to visions.”

  “With Elena present, new possibilities abound,” Elbrion reminded him. “They might very well be visions. Is there anything that repeats in the dreams? Something you see? Something said?”

  Keymar gazed off into the distance. “I seem to be the only one who ever sees the creatures, and no one heeds me. The nightmares always end just before the Zakad attack.”

  “We’re listening and taking your warnings seriously, Keymar,” Celdorn assured him. “I’ve been experiencing an increasing dread the last two days. Perhaps the two are connected.”

  “Is that what they are?” Keymar asked. “Warnings?”

  “It could very well be,” Elbrion replied. “All we can do is continue to watch for signals as to what may be coming. Please tell us if you have more dreams or remember any other details that might give us more direction.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man hunched in his saddle, and although he agreed, Keymar looked as if the last thing on Qabara he wanted to do was to think any more about the Zakad.

  ~

  Elena and Lillianna spent the hours in the cart getting to know each another. In spite of a four-year difference in their physical ages, with Elena well into womanhood and Lillianna just beginning the changes to her body, they had both been forced into an adult world far too young, making them more equal.

  “Why are they so protective of you?” Lillianna asked.

  Elena deliberated before answering. She found herself reluctant to tell the girl anything about her lineage or her gifts. “I suppose it’s because I’m with child.” A half-truth.

  Lillianna’s eyes widened, and then she glanced, none too discreetly, at her belly. “Which of them is the father?”

  Elena scowled. “None of these good men, I can assure you.” A sadness tugged at her as she looked toward Silvandir. “Apparently, I was pregnant before they found me.”

  “From the camp?”

  Elena reddened. “I don’t know whose child it is.”

  “Is that why they’re taking you to Queyon? So you can have the child there?”

  “Yes, among other things.”

  Lillianna tipped her head to the side, ready to ask something else, but then thankfully changed her mind. She clamored to her knees, peeked over the side of the wagon, and studied the riders, plying her with questions about all of them. Elena answered with cautious discretion. She told her what histories she knew, leaving out personal information that they might not want shared.

  “One of them is in love with you,” Lillianna observed bluntly.

  “You can see that?”

  “Of course.” She plopped down next to Elena. “Though he never approaches you and rarely speaks with you, I could see him broodingly watching you every moment we were in the camp. He thinks no one notices, but I do.” She pulled herself
up proudly, her expression more serious.

  “Broodingly?” Elena repeated with a laugh. “Really?”

  Lillianna shrugged. “Maybe it just seems that way because of all his disfigurements.”

  “His disfigurements ...?” Elena’s breath caught as it dawned on her what the girl was saying.

  “Oh, look at the deer on the hill!” Elena pointed, genuinely amazed to see such a large herd of the beautiful creatures but also grateful for the diversion.

  Lillianna followed her gaze with little interest. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you distressed?”

  “I’m not distressed,” Elena replied as evenly as she could, “but you’re mistaken, Lillianna. It’s Silvandir who’s in love with me. We’re to be married in Queyon. Mikaelin is just a friend. He stares like that sometimes.”

  “Oh, I guess I was wrong.” But Lillianna didn’t look convinced. She knelt again, looking over the back of the cart to the rear of their company, where Mikaelin rode alone. “Why is he so covered with scars?”

  “It’s from helping others.” Elena lay on her side, watching Lillianna. “He’s a very good man.”

  “It looks like he’s been beaten, maybe even tortured. Did he anger the wrong people?” she asked innocently enough.

  Elena struggled with how to best limit her answer. “No, he has a healing gift. Sometimes when the Jhadhela is with him and he touches people, their wounds move into his body. Eventually they pass through but not without leaving scars.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like that. That’s amazing.”

  “He’s a good man,” Elena repeated. Tired of dodging questions, she feigned a yawn and stretched. “I think I’ll rest for awhile. I’m exhausted this afternoon.” Pulling a blanket over her, she turned her back to Lillianna and pretended to sleep. In truth, she was worrying about Mikaelin and wondering if she’d made a mistake asking for Lillianna to accompany them.

  ~

  That evening, as Celdorn’s inner circle sat around their campfire quietly eating and discussing various topics, Elena watched Lillianna scrutinizing the others. At one point, the girl slipped into the spot next to Mikaelin, as subtle as a shadow, eyeing him sideways. When he immediately rose and stepped into the darkness, Lillianna hunched over her knees and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head—but not before Elena saw the tears that welled.

  “Don’t let it upset you,” Elena whispered as she sat next to her. Although she hurt for the girl, she was glad Mikaelin had left. “He’s just like that. He’s very guarded.”

  “I would think his scars would make him not despise mine quite so much,” she murmured.

  Elena winced. “It’s not you, nor your scars. It’s his own struggle. I can’t explain better than that, but please believe me.”

  “When we’re traveling with the entire company, I notice that he moves to the rear and keeps his hood up,” Lillianna observed. “And at those times, he looks average. But at night, it appears as if he’s on fire. I don’t understand.”

  Elena’s breath caught. So the girl was still seeing the glow around Mikaelin. No one else had seen it; even he seemed unaware. Surely he wouldn’t be forced into another encounter, not after all he’d recently endured.

  “I can’t explain that either,” she told the girl. “Perhaps someday he will speak to you about it.”

  ~

  Mikaelin noticed that Braiden had slipped out into the dark once again. He followed him this time, taking advantage of the opportunity to get away from Lillianna.

  “Braiden?”

  The young man jumped as if he hadn’t heard Mikaelin’s approach.

  “Sorry,” he said as he came alongside Braiden. “Are you all right?”

  Braiden wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He cleared his throat and swallowed, but didn’t answer. A shaft of moonlight cutting through the treetops landed on the young healer’s face, illuminating his torment. Mikaelin’s gut twisted in recognition.

  “Can I help?”

  Braiden glanced sideways at him. “It w-wasn’t enough to take the w-wounds?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “They’ve passed.”

  “They have n-not,” he snapped. “Show m-me your f-face.”

  Mikaelin reluctantly pulled back his hood. Even in the limited moonlight, Braiden would be able to see the damage. The young healer’s mouth hung slack as he gingerly traced the jagged scar that ran across Mikaelin’s eye.

  “You have s-sensation with the w-wounds?” It was more a statement than a question.

  “Yes.”

  Braiden searched his eyes. “Then y-you know—you felt—what they d-did to me?”

  Mikaelin sighed and his chest ached with the effort. He wished with all his heart he could take the internal damage away from Braiden—could somehow give him back his innocence, his sense of manhood. How would he endure it? He was too sensitive—too pure.

  Was I not that pure, that vulnerable when my uncle first raped me?

  Mikaelin shoved the thought away.

  Braiden stifled a sob. “P-please answer m-me.”

  He owed him the truth. “Yes, I felt it.”

  Braiden covered his face with his arm. Then his legs went weak and he dropped to his knees, doubling over. Mikaelin knelt beside him and tentatively put his arm across Braiden’s heaving shoulders. The young healer tensed, but Mikaelin didn’t pull away. He longed to speak some sort of comfort, but there were no words to ease this torment. He knew. So he remained a silent witness.

  “N-now I understand what Elena m-meant. It’s like b-being stripped n-naked and having someone w-watching your greatest humiliation, your-your greatest failure. But ... but it’s w-worse than just w-watching, you felt it. It’s like y-you were in m-my skin. I can’t h-hide anything.” He sounded horrified.

  “I know it’s of little comfort, but I saw nothing. I only felt. And they were sensations I was all too familiar with. I understand the pain and all the internal torment that accompanies it. I have known them for twenty-four years of my life.”

  Braiden stared at him. “I-I can’t speak of this w-with the others. They’re g-good men—not that y-you aren’t. Y-you understand what I m-mean. I feel so d-dirty, so vile, so... so weak. Even El-Elena. She tried. B-but she’s not a m-man.” His desperate eyes searched Mikaelin. “It crushed s-something inside m-me.”

  Mikaelin nodded. He understood all too well.

  Braiden curled in on himself again, and Mikaelin’s gut twisted along with his. “They c-could have beaten m-me ten times longer, and it w-would have meant n-nothing. I w-would have felt n-no shame. B-but this—the cowards. They held me d-down,” he whispered into the dirt. “It d-didn’t occur to m-me what they were going to d-do, even as they p-pulled down m-my trousers. I-I thought they were stealing m-my clothes. They d-didn’t speak their intent. It w-was like a p-pack of animals wh-who knew their objective, working in c-concert. I had no w-warning. Not until—” He stopped, then gagged.

  “I still f-feel it. Over and over. When I s-sit. When I ride. When I-I try to sleep. The searing p-pain. The invasion. The cr-crushing humiliation. Their m-mocking laughter. ‘The b-beautiful Braiden, such a g-gorgeous b-boy.’ They know wh-who I am. They know I-I have never b-been with a w-woman. How d-do they know that? They’re m-mocking. They’re f-fondling, groping, t-taunting.” Braiden fell silent as he got lost in the memories. Mikaelin tightened his grip on his shoulder.

  “The f-first... he is... it’s like ... a fiery p-pole axe is being r-rammed all the way to my head where the p-pain explodes. Over and over. I’m ch-choking. A d-different one is in m-my mouth. Can’t ... can’t breathe. I w-want to vomit. I can’t. He f-forces me to swallow his f-filth.”

  Braiden gripped his throat and gagged as he gulped in breaths. “I-I use every b-bit of strength I have to b-break free, but there are too m-many. The c-cowards. At least f-four are holding me d-d-town while they take turns. I d-don’t
even know h-how many. How m-many?” He turned to Mikaelin, breaking out of the frenzy. “How m-many times d-did they d-do it?”

  “I didn’t count.”

  He looked away. “T-too many,” he whispered to himself. “T-too many.”

  Silence.

  “The last thing I-I remember: I-I’m being turned over and a b-boot comes down between m-my legs.” Braiden curled onto his side in remembered pain.

  The wounds on Mikaelin’s body throbbed in empathy. His head spun. His stomach flipped. He’d been experiencing these very things since he took on the wounds. But he was calloused. He didn’t know how this sweet boy could endure it.

  Suddenly Braiden lifted his head and stared into his eyes. “W-why? W-why did this h-happen? W-why didn’t the Jhadhela protect m-me?”

  Something rumbled in Mikaelin’s gut. “Give up that question, Braiden.” His reply was more snappish than he’d intended. “There’s no answer to that lousy little word, and you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to find one. It’s a useless quest.”

  Braiden stared at the ground—not moving, not speaking, barely breathing.

  Finally, after a deep intake of breath, Braiden raised his eyes; the agony, the pleading in them took Mikaelin’s breath away. “W-will I ever feel clean a-again?”

  He begged for relief. Mikaelin had none to offer. Braiden would know if he lied.

  “You and I are cut from different cloth, Braiden,” he finally replied. “I can’t say what it will be like for you.”

  “Have y-you ever felt clean—s-since?”

  Mikaelin lowered his eyes. “No.”

  “I-I thought n-not. I don’t think we’re s-so very different, you and I. I-I know you think you are j-jaded and calloused, b-but that isn’t true. Y-you try to be. Y-you want to be. B-but, in truth, y-you are tender, g-gentle. I’ve just h-had the privilege of m-more years of innocence than y-you.” He hung his head. “B-but that’s ended.”