Journey to Queyon: The Innocence Cycle, Book 3

by J D Abbas

  Quite clear. I take it, then, that you will be riding Malak. He eyed the stallion, who stood unflinchingly beside Celdorn.

  “Yes.”

  Zhalor gazed at Celdorn, his light dimmer than usual. One day you will understand, Celdorn, and perhaps then this breach will heal. With a sorrowful nicker, he loped away to rejoin his kinsmen.

  Celdorn followed with his eyes, enraged, saddened, confused. He leaned his head into Malak’s neck and patted his faithful steed. Then with a sharp shake of his head, he turned and mounted.

  His inner circle moved out, engulfed in melancholy and an uncharacteristic silence, each lost in his own struggle with grief and anger. The remainder of the afternoon was a slow progression up the steep slopes toward the summit where Elena’s life had been swallowed whole.

  The closer they drew, the more Celdorn and Elbrion’s hearts ached. Though they did not speak of it, they were both acutely aware of the other’s distress.

  ~

  Silvandir took up his stony mask and set it firmly in place.

  Inside, he wrestled to control the emotion that welled in his belly. His thoughts, he could not master. Every moment he’d had with his love came back to torment him, from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in the entrance to Kelach to when she vanished here on the mountain. Less than half a year had elapsed, yet it seemed so much longer. Part of him did not want to forget a moment, not a single word that had passed between them; it was all he had left to hold onto. But part of him didn’t think he could survive the pain.

  Pain? He derided himself. He knew nothing of pain compared to what she had endured. He glanced sideways at his friend. Mikaelin knew. Mikaelin had experienced her agony in a way he never could. Silvandir had no right to try and spare himself from that torment. He deserved every moment he suffered. He had promised her joy, held out hope to her, asked her to trust him and grasp onto it. And she had. She had clung to his vicious, torturous lies. Had she been thinking that as she faced the final agony of the void?

  Silvandir bit the inside of his lip until it bled. He ran his tongue over his teeth, embracing the metallic taste, and prayed some enemy awaited them. He hoped Anakh would attack and give him opportunity to wreak havoc. He wanted blood. Her blood. Any blood.

  Qho’el, I don’t deserve to ask, but if you have any mercy left for me, let me bleed and die where my love did.

  ~

  Mikaelin was glad he wore a mask. It left him free to weep with no one the wiser. Elena’s cries for help had left his soul and with it all hope that she still lived. Now he struggled to remember every image, every detail of his interactions with her. He chided himself for never telling her the truth. He’d owed her that. He had wounded her, most unwillingly, but he had done it nonetheless; he’d watched her shrivel and felt the ache she carried even on this journey. How he wished he had kissed her, at least once, so he could have that to hold onto. Who cared if it was not the noble thing to do? There was nothing noble about him. He sighed and pulled his cloak tighter around his face.

  Chapter 56

  It was close to sunset when Celdorn and his companions drew near the summit pass. An icy wind howled around them, biting at their faces and tossing skiffs of snow from the mountain peaks above, which now looked ablaze as the crimson sun edged closer to the western horizon, setting flame to the evening sky and creating an eerie, albeit magnificent, backdrop.

  “Celdorn!” Haldor called out as the first of the shadows breached the summit.

  The silhouette of a horse bearing the form of a tall, thin man brandishing a dual-bladed poleaxe stepped onto the flattened area at the crest of the trail. Celdorn reined in Malak and studied the darkening horizon. The stranger was quickly joined by four other riders who fanned out beside him. It was difficult to judge who the men might be as the sun behind them erased all identifying detail. When the wind gusted again, their shapes flapped and crimson beams pierced right through their bodies, making them appear more specter than flesh.

  Celdorn understood. “Braiden, stop the rest of the company before they get to the Pyramid Stone. We don’t want the children near this battle.”

  “Y-yes, sir.” Braiden rode off at a gallop.

  The rider at the center of the silhouettes dismounted and stepped forward. Celdorn did likewise. The four other phantom forms slid to the ground and stood in front of their steeds. Celdorn’s men did the same, unsheathing their swords.

  “You may go no further,” a sonorous voice boomed as the eidolon raised his vile poleaxe.

  The wind picked up speed and whipped itself around the Guardians with a frigid snap, stinging their flesh and sending icy fingers scraping for their bones.

  Simultaneously, Elbrion on Celdorn’s right and Haldor on his left began to sing. Light burst around them and the eidolon flinched. Celdorn’s sword flashed as he ran forward and swung with all his might. His sword met with no resistance and passed right through the eidolon.

  The creature burst into a raspy, cackling laugh. “You have learned nothing.” He swung his axe directly at Celdorn, who brought his blade around to block the blow. The weapons clanged. “You cannot defeat us with mere swords, you fool,” he taunted as he made a second advance.

  Celdorn made a counterattack. The two parried back and forth for several minutes before Celdorn managed to wrap his blade around his opponent’s weapon, and with a sharp twist, wrested it from his grip. His axe hit the ground, burst into flames, and vanished.

  “And what will you do now?” the eidolon sneered. “Run me through?” His hideous laughter filled the summit, echoing off the surrounding peaks.

  Before Celdorn could answer, Silvandir, Shatur, Tobil and Keymar advanced against the other four eidola, engaging them in swordplay, even though they knew they could not defeat their enemies in this manner. Mikaelin remained mounted as there was little he could do with his limited vision and a left side that would not cooperate. Celdorn could feel his intense frustration and empathized. They all wanted the opportunity for vengeance.

  Elbrion and Haldor continued to sing, and although Celdorn believed it a vain effort, he called on the light as he plunged his sword into the center of his opponent. This time, there was resistance. Surprised, Celdorn wrenched his blade free and attacked again. The sword vibrated as it struck something solid, yet the eidolon showed no sign of distress. Elbrion and Haldor increased their volume.

  One by one the Guardians relieved the eidola of their weapons. They now stood before them defenseless, and yet relatively unaffected by their blows. The two lines stared at each other, but no one moved.

  Haldor stopped singing. Celdorn glanced over his shoulder when something caught his eye. Haldor, whose eyes were focused on the deepening sunset, moved forward, his body aglow with dazzling light. His face bore a radiant smile as if he were looking through the veil to the other world. Haldor placed a hand on Celdorn’s shoulder with a mighty grip, and Celdorn immediately moved to the side. Haldor advanced and stood boldly in front of the lead eidolon, who was surprised by his impudence. Without a word, Haldor thrust his hand into the center of the shadowy form. A deafening boom split the air. The burst of energy that erupted from the eidolon was so potent it catapulted Haldor and the rest of Celdorn’s company, man and beast, ten yards through the air. They hit the ground with a collective thud that nearly knocked them senseless.

  The Guardians rose bloodied and confused. When they managed to stagger back to the summit, all that remained of the eidola were piles of ash where each had stood. The wind quickly scattered what little remained of the foul creatures.

  “Celdorn!” Dalgo’s sharp cry grabbed his attention.

  The healer was kneeling next to where Haldor lay, surrounded by a pool of blood. There was a shredded stump where Haldor’s arm should have been, and the flesh on his head and chest was blood-spattered and mangled.

  Celdorn ran to him and gently lifted his head into his lap. Haldor’s eyes were smiling as he gazed into Celdorn’s. His lips moved, trying to tell him
something, but he did not have the breath to push out the sound. Haldor’s eyes flicked to the side, and his brow puckered into a scowl as a glimmering shadow moved toward them. Celdorn looked up as Haldor’s body tensed, struggling to push out a feeble, “No.” His troubled eyes were fixed on Mikaelin, who was limping determinedly to Haldor’s aid.

  “Silvandir, stop him,” Celdorn ordered.

  Silvandir stepped in front of Mikaelin and grabbed his shoulders. “Not this time,” he said evenly.

  “Get out of my way,” Mikaelin yelled. “You need Haldor more than me!”

  “No. It will kill you, Mikaelin. Haldor doesn’t want this.” In the end, Silvandir was forced to wrestle with his wounded friend, who would not be deterred.

  When Mikaelin continued to fight his way forward, Shatur and Tobil joined in, forced to pin Mikaelin to the ground while he screamed in protest.

  Haldor’s gaze turned back to Celdorn. His countenance began to glow even as his body drained of fluids. “Take...heart.” He struggled to force the words from his lips. “She... she is... here.” His gaze turned to the side, and with a serene smile he breathed his last.

  The men let go of Mikaelin. He jerked away from them and pulled himself onto his knees, hunched over, his body heaving.

  Braiden rode up at that moment and took in the scene. He slid from his mount and hurried to Dalgo’s side, whispering as he embraced his mentor. The healer pulled the young man close and kissed the top of his head.

  Celdorn stared into Haldor’s death-shrouded eyes as the shifting light of the sunset mingled with the glow that was fading from his face. Never completely of this world, Celdorn hoped Haldor was now in the place he longed for. He wondered if Elena would be the first to greet him. Celdorn lifted and embraced Haldor’s lifeless body in a way he had not been able to with Elena, and broke into inconsolable weeping. The two losses merged into one as the father’s heart and the friend’s heart shattered in unison. Elbrion knelt next to him and enwrapped them both.

  ~

  Silvandir squatted next to Mikaelin and laid his hand on his friend’s back. No tears would come for him. Perhaps no tears would ever fall from his eyes again. He glanced over at Haldor then off into the distance, his jaw locked tight.

  As the sun’s final rays passed over the summit, he noticed a glint between two rocks. Curious, he rose and stepped toward it. When he gazed into the cleft, his mouth dropped open and a wail erupted from his lips.

  There, stuck in the ground, was Elena’s sword.

  Silvandir fell to his knees and dissolved. Until that moment, he had clung to the tiniest of hope that she had somehow survived. Reality came crashing down around him, and he was undone.

  The others quickly surrounded him and stared in disbelief at what appeared to be a makeshift memorial. Elena’s cloak, with the unmistakable clasp bearing the insignia of Elbrion’s line, was draped behind the sword and upon it was laid her bejeweled scabbard and her sheathed dagger. Hanging over the hilt of the sword was the medallion Celdorn had given her on the day of her adoption.

  “Wh-why would Anakh leave this here f-for us?” Braiden asked. “T-to mock us? T-to tell us sh-she has won?”

  “I am certain Anakh was not responsible for this,” Elbrion said evenly. “She would have desecrated her things first. Furthermore, I doubt Anakh expected us to survive.”

  Elbrion’s brow pulled down in a frown as he stepped forward and wrested the sword from the earth. He held the blade close to his face, using the light cast from his own flesh to inspect the surface. Sparkling tears splashed on the metal.

  Celdorn came alongside him. “What is it?”

  “There is a new word etched on the blade.” Elbrion looked at Celdorn then pointed.

  Celdorn’s eyes widened. “Briende...” he rasped. Elbrion nodded. “Believe? Believe what? That she wrote this? But how? What...” All breath seemed to leave his body, forcing him to inhale sharply.

  Elbrion pondered. “Perhaps she wants us to know with certainty that the other world exists and that she continues, so we will not lose heart.”

  Celdorn’s chest shuddered as he dropped to his knees and scooped up her cloak. He buried his face into the folds of the fabric and breathed deeply as if grasping for her scent lest it fade from his memory. “Oh, little one,” he sobbed, “even in your death you are speaking to us. Help us hear and understand.”

  ~

  The men spent the remainder of the night pondering the turn of events and mourning their losses. Zarandiel kept the children and the rest of the company a good distance behind, to give them privacy in their sorrow. No one slept.

  At sunrise they paid tribute to Haldor and with grief-stricken hearts burned his remains. Their company would never be the same without him. He was the closest thing to an angel any of them would ever experience.

  Celdorn gathered the pieces of Elena’s memorial and stowed them in his saddlebags. With a weary heart, he mounted Malak and called for his men to follow him over the summit and down into the Halucian Valley.

  No matter how many times Celdorn made the journey, this descent pricked old grief. Today it was magnified by his more recent losses. The weight on his chest grew heavier and heavier. He reluctantly gazed to the east, to the ebony mountains which housed Queyon. He had so looked forward to sharing this view with Elena. Now it was empty and lifeless, like his soul.

  It was a day’s journey from the summit of the Pallanors to the gates of Queyon. Because of the injured, the company could not hurry however much they longed to be done and to collapse into the oblivion of sleep.

  It was near sunset when they came to the crossroads where Celdorn’s company would part ways with those from Marach. Celdorn and his men would take the wounded and the children to Queyon. The rest would go on to Kelach.

  “Lord Celdorn, I will come to see you soon,” Zarandiel promised. “I pray you find some comfort in the confines of Queyon.”

  “Thank you, Zaran—”

  “Ada!”

  Celdorn’s heart jolted at the cry.

  Against the setting sun, the silhouette of a young woman galloped toward them, her hair flying freely in the breeze. “Ada!”

  When the girl reached the company, she slid to the ground, and Celdorn’s shoulders slumped.

  It was Lizella, Haldor’s oldest daughter.

  She gave a deep bow then smiled up at him. “Lord Celdorn, I was told my father was with you.” Her eyes scanned the company, bouncing on her toes to see over the stallions.

  Celdorn jumped from Malak’s back and approached Lizella just as she caught sight of her father’s Ilqazar. She turned to him, brow wrinkled. “Didn’t he come with you?” Fear leapt in her eyes as if she already knew the answer.

  “I’m sorry...” Celdorn began, leaning in to embrace her.

  Her wide eyes grew frantic, confused. “No, no!” she wailed, shoving Celdorn away with stiff arms. “No, not my ada. No, that’s not possible. He’s supposed to be safe with you.”

  Celdorn gently grasped her outstretched arms and lowered them to her sides. It was only then he saw she was great with child. He quickly enfolded her in his arms to rid himself of the sight.

  “I’m so sorry, Lizella.” He stroked her back as much for his comfort as for hers. “Your father died nobly, saving us all. He was the best of men. He’s been my dear friend since before you were born.”

  Lizella stepped back and held her swollen belly. “This is his first grandchild. Now he’ll never know him.” Her body shook with sobs.

  Celdorn leaned against Malak, his eyes blurring, his strength gone. He was relieved Mikaelin was at the back of the company and didn’t hear that exchange. It would have destroyed him to think he could have saved Haldor and sent him home to his family.

  Zarandiel gripped Celdorn’s shoulder and said, “Lizella, I’m going to take you home. I need to inform your mother.”

  Celdorn nodded his thanks. Zarandiel lifted the young woman onto his Ilqazar then mounted behind her. His regim
ent moved out without another word, Lizella’s mare following behind.

  As their silhouettes faded into dots on the horizon, Celdorn turned his face into Malak’s mane and wept.

  Chapter 57

  A small hand patted Celdorn’s thigh. “Lord Protector, he’s awake.” The voice was impatient as if he had repeated the words many times.

  Celdorn pulled back from Malak and quickly wiped his face on his sleeve. He glanced down to find Mishon looking back at him, wide-eyed, expectant. Celdorn’s mind, still reeling from Lizella’s grief, was too muddled to grasp Mishon’s meaning. “Who?”

  The boy’s brow creased. “Waadar. He’s awake.”

  “Oh. Good. That’s good.” Celdorn’s eyes shifted to Elbrion with a plea for help; Celdorn had nothing left to offer Mishon.

  Just then Charaq arrived, winded from running. “I beg your pardon, Celdorn. Mishon ran off, disobeying my orders.” The leader from Greenholt gave the boy a stern, disapproving look. “I told you not to trouble the Lord Protector right now. It’s been a very difficult day.”

  Mishon stomped his boot on the ground. “But Waadar’s trying to tell us something important. I know it. His arms are flapping like a bird trying to get off the ground.” Mishon’s lip bowed out, and he glared at Charaq.

  Celdorn gave a weary sigh and patted Mishon on the head. “And how can I help?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Prince Elbrion there”—his chubby finger pointed—“can make out what Waadar’s trying to say.”

  Just then, a small commotion erupted at the back of Celdorn’s company. Apparently, his orders that his inner circle not be disturbed were not being heeded.

  “Waadar,” Mishon said with exasperation, “you were supposed to stay in the cart. You almost died back there.”

  The blond boy’s hands darted through the air, creating shapes and punching motions that Celdorn could not decipher.