by J D Abbas
“Like the Elrodanar, however, the energy of the Alraphim could not die. A few learned how to absorb the zhadhar or life-force of those whose earthly forms were lost, ever increasing their own strength and abilities—in essence, feeding off the souls of those who fell. Anakh is one of the few who remain. Who and where the others are, I do not know.”
Elena stared at him in horror.
“How do you know these things, Toreno?” Celdorn asked.
“I told you I spent time in the north and was acquainted with some of the Elrodanar. What I did not tell you is I sought them out because I had foreseen things I did not understand. I had visions of the void that absorbs all others—I had seen Anakh.” Toreno gazed steadily at Celdorn. “There is a member of the council who is a master of this lore. I learned from him.”
“Which elder?” Elbrion asked.
“Yaelmargon. Do you know him?”
“I do. He is a master of many kinds of lore. I am surprised he would speak so freely with you.”
“He would not at first. He tested me for some time before giving me this information. I likewise was cautious when you came to me. Those who serve the Zhekhum are devious. I have nearly been consumed several times. I am more vigilant now.”
“I-I don’t understand what all this means except they’re never going to stop pursuing me.” Elena’s voice shook. “I don’t want these… gifts. Can’t I get rid of them somehow? I just want to be an insignificant, normal person.”
With compassion in his gaze, Toreno said, “Unfortunately, Elena, we do not get to choose our lineage nor our destinies. We are set on a journey that is ours alone to travel.” He paused. “For some, the journey is agonizing.”
Chapter 8
Confused and distressed by the things the Yadar had said about her family line, Elena’s mind was lost in her other life, an alternate world. She sorted through times she’d shifted or seen through her father’s or grandmother’s guise. If these powers weren’t passed on to the men then how was her father able to use them? What was different about him? Other than the ugly depravity that consumed him.
Elena glanced at the priest who represented that former world, that life of shame. He was talking with Celdorn and Dalgo about the care of the children from the encampment. She wondered what else he knew about her that he hadn’t revealed? Would he suddenly turn on her and condemn her to the realm of the endless shadows that she so deserved?
The men’s conversation lulled. Toreno turned and met her gaze. “What is it you wish to ask me?”
Elena’s eyes widened. Had he heard her thoughts? She shook her head.
“What is it you need from me, Elena?” the priest repeated, his voice soft and beckoning.
Her eyes searched his. “C-can I be forgiven?” An unwanted tremor threatened to expose her inner torment.
“For what, my dear?” There was no change in his expression.
Elena’s eyes darted. “For what I’ve done? For… for what I am?”
Celdorn and Elbrion exchanged a pained look. Apparently, they thought the diagmatz had taken care of these feelings; it hadn’t. They still tormented her, especially when the horrors visited her in the night.
“What are you?” The Yadar’s gaze was steady, unwavering, which must have come from his many years in the priesthood—years of people confessing to him in the streets, in dark hallways, on their deathbeds. He was so old he’d probably heard most everything by now.
“You know,” she whispered, leaning toward him in confidence. “I know you’ve seen.”
Toreno was silent, his eyes searching hers. “I cannot offer you absolution for that.”
Elena turned her gaze to the ground and sighed, nodding feebly. She’d expected that answer and should have been braced for it, but when the shadowy gloom wrapped around her heart, she realized she’d secretly hoped for another. Sasha nuzzled her arm and licked her hands as if to offer the only comfort she could.
“I see you misheard me, Elena,” Toreno said. “I cannot forgive you for what you have not done.”
She lifted her eyes, uncomfortably close to collapsing into tears. “I-I don’t understand.”
His lips pulled into a tight frown as he nodded, gazing at her from kind, sagacious eyes. “You seek absolution for things for which you are not culpable. The things you did, you were forced to do. And you ask forgiveness for what you are—which is what? I know what you think my answer would be, but you are wrong. You are not, nor were you ever, a harlot.” He paused, his eyes delving deeper. “Nor a murderess.” Elena gasped. “You are right. I see.” His copper-crowned head bobbed. “I see who controlled your body. I see who controlled your hands. And I see who was the manipulated child.” He paused again as if to choose his words carefully. “There is a proverb in the sacred writings that says, ‘It would be better to have one’s eyes gouged out and live in perpetual darkness than to extinguish the light of an innocent, leaving him to flounder in the shadows.’ The clear implication is that severe judgment awaits those who cause little ones to lose their light. Do you understand?”
Elena shook her head, gnawing at her lip. “But I’m dirty… If someone doesn’t absolve me, how can I become clean?” She avoided Haldor’s eyes.
Toreno’s shoulders sagged as he gave a deep sigh. “That is the battle of shame, dear girl, the battle every victim faces—victims of beatings, rape, sodomy, torture, and every other vile thing that the powerful do to the powerless. The shame of those abhorrent deeds somehow lands squarely on the innocent ones—leaving a filth the victims cannot wash away, no matter how hard they scrub and no matter how undeserved.
“I have seen it too many times in my years, and it is one of the things that frustrates and grieves me most, for I know that Qho’el, the Source of All Light, sees no filth. He sees only his wounded child. Try as I might, I cannot find a way to express it so that it will be received by those who need it most.” He paused to wipe his eyes. “I wish with all my heart I could help you to embrace the truth.” Glancing around the room, he added, “But perhaps in time, with the help of these good men, you will.”
~
A short time later, when Toreno had said his farewells and Celdorn prepared to escort him out, Elena approached with Sasha on her heels. “May I go with the Yadar to see my brothers?”
“No, Elena, it’s not yet safe,” Celdorn replied.
Elena pulled Sasha in front of her, which somehow made her feel more bold, as if they shared strength. “Can they come here then?”
Celdorn paused to consider. “How many watchers do you think there are, Yadar?”
The priest stroked his chin. “I would say perhaps a dozen, given the various sightings.”
“And they haven’t attempted to approach or harm her brothers?”
“No, they appear to be waiting. I think they seek Elena but do not have an inkling as to her whereabouts. Perhaps they are hoping she will just appear one day.”
Celdorn exchanged a puzzled glance with Elbrion then addressed the priest. “Anakh knows where she is. How can they not know?”
“I cannot answer that, Lord Celdorn. Perhaps they do not work for Anakh but serve some other power.”
Elena’s heart sank along with Celdorn’s expression. Could there be other enemies out there wanting to use her as a pawn? She wrapped her arm around Sasha’s neck.
“If your brothers are being watched and followed, it would expose your whereabouts if I brought them here. I can’t allow that.” Celdorn dropped the statement with finality.
Elena leaned into Sasha, disappointed. The dog turned her massive head and licked Elena’s chin. Her warm breath seemed to stir a new resolve. “Is there no way to do it secretly? I miss my brothers. I want to see their faces, hear their voices, know they’re well. Can’t we find some way?”
Toreno addressed Celdorn. “I could bring them out through the doqajh compound in a way that no one would suspect, if you have the means to bring them inside without being seen.”
Celdorn
looked at Elbrion and Haldor. “There are ways, but is it wise?”
In the end, after discussing many possibilities and weighing the risk, the men decided that they would make the attempt to bring Elena’s brothers to her. Toreno agreed to contact them and make arrangements for them to come on the first day of the following week.
~
Before the Yadar left, he turned to Elena. “It has been a blessed privilege to see you again. Thank you for what you have entrusted to me.” When she frowned, he added, “For sharing your dreams and your most private fears. I am honored.” He gave a little chuckle when her frown deepened. “I know you do not understand. Perhaps someday you will.”
When the priest stepped toward Elena, Sasha placed herself between them. He laid one hand on the dog’s head, as if to acknowledge her presence as guardian, and the other on Elena’s. His eyes closed and his lips moved intermittently as he prayed in silence.
Elena startled at the tingling that moved from her head, down through her torso and into her extremities. Her palms suddenly pulsated with white light. She glanced around to see if anyone was looking, but they all had their heads bowed along with the priest. She slid her hands between Sasha and her to hide their glow, but as soon as Toreno released her head, the tingling and light disappeared. She flexed her fingers, puzzled.
“May the Light of Life drive away all shadows, child,” the priest said. “And may you find deep and lasting peace.”
“Thank you, Yadar…for everything.” Elena’s tears welled as if this were a final farewell.
~
Celdorn walked the priest to the door and reached to clasp his wrist. “Yadar, thank you for coming and for trusting us with the information you have.” Nodding toward Elena, he added, “And for offering understanding and hope.”
“I pray I have succeeded on both counts. She is a precious girl. I wish she could see it,” he replied, keeping his voice low.
Celdorn smiled as his gaze followed the priest’s. “She is that.” His face grew stern as he turned back to Toreno. “I must caution you not to let anyone know that she is here—no one. Am I clear?”
“I realize the risk, Lord Celdorn. Perhaps more than you. I will protect the information with my very life.” And Celdorn knew he would.
Celdorn sent five of his men to escort the priest back to the village, to make certain he wasn’t harassed along the way. He couldn’t shake the sense that by coming to Kelach the Yadar had put himself in danger.
Chapter 9
Later that day, at Celdorn’s request, Silvandir, Mikaelin, and Shatur escorted Elena to the arena in hopes that working on her training might help her regain a sense of her own strength and confidence.
Silvandir noticed the intensity of Elena’s shame had been rekindled by seeing Toreno and by the somewhat delayed realization she had disclosed to Celdorn’s entire inner circle that she’d borne a child. Silvandir still reeled from that news himself. The thought of her being used as a breeder appalled—no, infuriated him. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Did they have to take every bit of her dignity and future away from her? He gave his head a sharp shake and regained control of himself. It would do Elena no good for him to indulge his fury.
He glanced down at the petite girl next to him. Although bearing her sword and dagger like a true Guardian, she didn’t look quite as confident as last time; in fact, there seemed to be more dread than anything. After seeing her attacker in the arena, she hadn’t wanted to return there. Instead, she trained in Celdorn’s room or in the courtyard. Celdorn didn’t want her experience to paralyze her, so he’d encouraged her to face and overcome her fear. She had agreed, but now seemed to be rethinking the decision. Silvandir knew she could do it, if only she would tap into the iron will that had helped her endure her horrific childhood.
Mikaelin was also quieter than usual as they walked. Silvandir’s gut still twisted each time he saw the droop of his friend’s eye and his misshapen nose. He could only suppose that Elena’s scars covered his entire body, along with the other children’s. Mikaelin had always been a private person, never allowing others to see his bare body, and now even more so; he wore long-sleeved shirts at all times with the necks laced to his throat.
Just after they arrived at the arena, Shatur left them to go to the equipment room in search of the staves he wanted Elena to learn to use. Dozens of men and boys were already present, working on their daily drills and engaged in practice bouts. Silvandir felt an odd swell of pride when, after only a moment’s hesitation, Elena squared her shoulders and stepped into their designated training ring. While she fastened the blade blunts to her weapon, she announced she’d work first with Silvandir on the use of the sword then with Mikaelin on skills with the dagger.
Silvandir watched the life return to her eyes as she conquered the new techniques he taught her. She seemed to enjoy the power she felt when brandishing a weapon. He understood; it was the same for him. But perhaps there was a deeper significance for her. She’d spent the majority of her life in helplessness, unable to defend herself. Now she wielded power, regained some control. He imagined it must be a rather heady experience, of which he was glad to be a part. And to think, he would have denied her this. He shook his head at his own foolishness. Celdorn had been right, yet again.
While she was working on a new drill with Mikaelin, Silvandir watched as his friend made an advance expecting Elena to block his move and turn his blade aside. Instead, Mikaelin nearly stabbed her in the chest when she made no countermove.
“Elena, what are you doing? I would have pierced you. Even with the blade guards, I can give you a good bruise.”
Elena didn’t respond. She stood motionless, her eyes wide and fixed on the far side of the arena.
“What is it?” Mikaelin followed her gaze.
“I see him again,” she whispered, grabbing his forearm.
Silvandir jumped up to join them. “Where?”
“I don’t see anyone tall enough,” Mikaelin said.
“He’s there; I’m not imagining it. He’s looking at me.”
“Which one?” Silvandir asked.
“In the group of five near the door. The one farthest to the right.”
“That’s Giyon. He’s been in charge of the guard on your floor. Perhaps you recognize him from there.”
“No, Silvandir. I know Giyon, and I know the man who attacked me. You’re not seeing what I see.”
Just then, Shatur sauntered up, twirling a set of wooden practice staves. “Why so serious, Silvandir?” He nudged his arm playfully. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Elena sees her attacker,” he replied. “But we don’t.”
“Where?”
“By the main door, in that group of—”
“I see him,” Shatur interrupted, all joviality gone. “The tall one. We need to be careful. He’s watching us, and he’s armed.”
Silvandir startled at his response. “What do you see?”
“I see a man, close to seven feet tall with dark, curly hair, shorter than most of us wear ours.”
“That’s him!” Elena’s voice squeaked. Her knees collapsed, and she sagged into Mikaelin.
“Mikaelin, take Elena back to Celdorn’s using the side door,” Silvandir said. “Elena, look away so he doesn’t suspect.” When she didn’t respond, he repeated it more sharply and turned her. “Shatur, go out with them and circle around to the main entrance. See if there are any men in the corridor to assist you, but do it quietly.”
As the others left through the side door, Silvandir approached two men who were practicing nearby. “Franor, Kendil, I require your assistance.” He spoke briefly with them then they moved toward the main door as if to leave.
Silvandir gradually worked his way to the right. When he saw Shatur outside the door, ready to charge in, Silvandir darted through the crowd and put his dagger to the neck of the man who appeared to be Giyon. “Don’t move.” It took all he had within him not to slit the bastard’s throat.
The man raised his hands in surrender. “What’s the problem?”
The other Guardians edged away from Silvandir, exchanging confused glances and giving him a wide berth.
“You’re the scum who attacked Elena,” Silvandir growled, “and you are fortunate I obey orders and don’t kill you on the spot.”
“Me? Silvandir, you’ve known me for years. How could you think I would do such a thing?”
Silvandir glanced over his shoulder. “Shatur!”
His friend stepped forward, and as soon as he touched the man, a giant appeared. The others stepped back with a collective gasp.
“You buggering son-of-a-bitch.” Before anyone could stop him, Silvandir dropped his dagger and swung his fist, focusing all its raw power on the man’s nose. With a loud crack, the stranger’s head snapped back. Silvandir followed with a blow to the stomach. When the man bent over in pain, he grabbed him by the hair and smashed his knee into his face, sending him to the ground in a heap. Silvandir pulled his head up, ready to pummel him some more.
“Silvandir, stop!” Shatur said as he and Franor grabbed his arms. “You’re going to kill him.”
Silvandir’s fury was so great, he barely heard the words. He couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to annihilate the man, crush his body, watch his blood spill.
When his friends finally succeeded in pulling him back, he stood huffing, muscles twitching, working to regain control. For the first time, he understood what it meant when others talked about seeing red in their anger. The rage pulsed through him like an out-of-control fire. He’d never felt anything like it, and it frightened him that he didn’t want to let it go.
“Bind him,” he growled as he retrieved his dagger from the ground.