Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4

by J D Abbas

  “Nakhona brought me here,” she replied. “Yaelmargon was waiting for me.” She smiled at the master. “Nakhona didn’t betray me, Ada. She spoke the truth. I had greater power after passing through the void, and she brought me here, though I don’t know if I am prepared to call this home.”

  “She was not speaking of Queyon, Elena,” Yaelmargon corrected.

  A chill ran up Elena’s spine. “You mean the other realm. That is my home? But … but I don’t want to go there. I want to remain here with you.” Her chin quivered as she spoke. She grabbed for her adai’s hands, afraid she might be snatched away from them at any moment.

  “And so you shall, Yaena,” the master assured her. “But, in truth, the other realm is your home to which you will one day return, or it will return to you. I am not quite certain which it will be.”

  Elena frowned. “I’m so confused, Master. You told me I am Alraphim and that Yabwana was the home of my people. But Yabwana was destroyed and all of the Alraphim were absorbed by Anakh and the six with her. So who are these other creatures who claim they are my family and what is that place I visited? Am I Alraphim? Or am I something else? Or … or … am I just a blessed mess?”

  “My dear girl, if you are a mess, as you say, then you are the most delightful mess I have ever encountered.” Yaelmargon broke into an expansive smile. “Your heritage is a great mystery with which you need not concern yourself just now. In time,” he said with a nod, “in time.”

  “Don’t tell me that,” Elena snapped, to the surprise of the other elders. “I’m so tired of being told that I’m not allowed to know the truth about myself or my life or my future. I was told I would know more when I came to Queyon. That you”—she gestured toward the elders—“would be able to explain, to give me more information.”

  “Elena, we are not trying to be uncooperative,” Yaelmargon countered. “We do not wish to overwhelm you in our first meeting. There is no urgency, other than your impatience.” His eyes sparkled with affection. “And we do have other business to address. Will you allow us to leave this mystery for a later discussion?”

  Elena looked down and sighed. “I beg your pardon for being so self-absorbed and impatient. I forgot this council was not solely for my benefit.” She smiled sheepishly at the loremaster. “I am duly chastised. I will be quiet now.”

  “Elena, what you speak to this council is of great value,” the Xiander clarified. “This focus of this meeting is you. I am not at all certain you grasp the magnitude of your presence here. You are a Rahima.” He said the word with emphasis, almost reverence. “You are of the Alraphim line and perhaps have some other ancient blood as well. As far as we know, you are the only one of your kind, who is so gifted and yet not locked in the grip of the Zhekhum. You—and possibly your offspring—are key to our ongoing battle with and ultimate victory over Anakh and her horde. Others among the children may have inherent, undeveloped gifts, but yours have clearly matured. So you must understand that you are of great value to us, dear child.”

  “You make it sound as if I am—we are—tools for your use,” Elena replied, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

  “Oh my.” The Xiander arched his brows. “Then I have either misspoken or you have misheard me. If anything, we are tools at your disposal.”

  Elena glared at him, expecting him to break into mocking laughter at any moment, but his gaze was unwavering. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.

  “Of course, you do not. And that is what is so engaging about you,” Abathor said, nearly rocking in his chair with delight. Elena frowned at him. “You have power. You are magnificently gifted, and yet you are as simple and guileless as ever. I have never seen such.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands. He looked like a child who’d discovered his first firefly.

  “Abathor, let the girl be,” Jerekhum said. “You are making her feel like a specimen, an oddity for our perusal.”

  Elena shivered and stared at the elder with dismay, feeling as if her thoughts had been exposed once again. Then she felt Silvandir’s anger wrap around her, and her attention pulled his way. He looked as if he might damage Abathor or anyone else who pushed her any further. Had it not been for Tobil and Mikaelin, who sat on either side of Silvandir and grabbed his arms, Elena had no doubt he would have acted.

  The council was not through with her yet.

  Chapter 12

  Silvandir squirmed in his seat, longing to intervene. He reminded himself that the council wanted to help Elena. They were not the enemy.

  When Elena glanced his way, he gave her a stiff nod and mouthed the words, “I love you.” He tried for a reassuring smile but knew he failed.

  “Elena is no specimen or oddity,” Yaelmargon said, agreeing with Jerekhum. “She is a person.” The loremaster scrutinized her with a look of fondest pride, and Silvandir was reminded of the first time the elder had met Elena. She had shifted twice, exposing both her internal protector and the powerful child. It had stunned them all. Yaelmargon had used the same words that day, to remind Elena of her value and to soothe her fears.

  “Neither is she a power nor an entity, but a young lady with her own unique personality and foibles.” The master directed these comments to his fellow council members. Then he refocused on Elena. “We will let this discussion of your gifts be for now, Elena. Forgive us for being a bit too enthusiastic.”

  Elena’s head bobbed, but she didn’t speak.

  Celdorn sat through this discussion with a frown, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Suddenly he straightened, laid his hand on Elena’s, and spoke up. “Lamreth, I’ve been puzzling over something. A few moments ago, you mentioned the ongoing battle with Anakh. Is she not eliminated?”

  Elena turned and stared at her ada, her eyes wide. Her fear exploded in the chamber, altering the light pulsations. Silvandir longed to wrap his arms around her.

  “It would be premature and naïve for us to believe so,” the Xiander responded. “Anakh is a timeless being. Unless someone absorbed her energy, she will move on.”

  “Move on? To what?” Celdorn asked. “Another deviant form?”

  “We cannot know,” Lamreth replied calmly.

  Wezhar turned his ancient eyes onto Elena. “Do you know, child?” he asked, his voice crackling with age.

  Elena stiffened. “H-how would I know?”

  Markhum sat forward on his chair, his eyes lit with a strange spark. “Did you absorb her energy?”

  Anger flashed through Silvandir and he started to rise. Only Tobil’s strong grip stopped him.

  “No, of course not,” she objected.

  “Then where did she go?” Markhum persisted.

  “How would I know?” She repeated the words with a scowl this time.

  “You know more than you will allow yourself to believe.” Wezhar eyed her unflinchingly, though his voice contained no hint of malice or distrust, only gentle encouragement.

  Elena’s eyes darted from side to side as Silvandir had seen her do many times when pressed to recall difficult things. He longed to stop this, to protect her.

  “Elena, close your eyes,” Yaelmargon said. Her gaze fixed on the master, wary. But after a few moments’ hesitation, she obeyed.

  “Listen deeply.” Yaelmargon’s voice was calm, steady. “Is she alive?”

  “Yes.” Elena’s response was immediate.

  No! Silvandir suppressed a groan, his stomach sick with dread.

  “What else do you sense?”

  “She is damaged. She has retreated.”

  “To where?”

  “I don’t know!” she snapped.

  “Do not panic, Yaena. You are safe with us,” the master assured her. “Be still and listen. Where is she?”

  “Scattered,” Elena whispered, as if afraid to speak it.

  He waited, but when she said no more, Yaelmargon pressed her. “Scattered. What does that mean?”

  Elena squirmed, struggled, as if locked in an internal battle.
“She … she is wind.” Her eyes popped open, wide with fear. “I don’t know what that means.” Elena was shaking, as was Silvandir, but for different reasons.

  Elbrion began to chant softly. Celdorn laid his hand on Elena’s and gripped it.

  Her gaze grew distant, transfixed. “Five fingers of the wind, reaching to the corners of the earth, wrapping into whirlwinds that devour, dragging debris to Queyon.” Her face was blank, her voice hollow and mechanical, but something underneath screamed that she was terrified.

  Don’t push her too far! Silvandir thought. I don’t want to lose my love again.

  Elena gripped Elbrion’s arm and squeezed her eyes shut. “Make it stop,” she cried.

  Silvandir was on his feet and by her side in an instant, unable to endure it any longer. He turned Elena’s chair away from the table, knelt in front of her, and held her face in his hands. “Elena, look at me,” he demanded. When she opened her eyes, they were vacant, colorless. “My love, come back to me.” He gripped her chin and shook it while Elbrion increased his volume. Elena’s eyes gradually cleared, and she looked at Silvandir with recognition. When she laid her hands on top of his and squeezed gently, he blew out the breath he’d been holding.

  Silvandir looked past her and addressed the Xiander and the council. “That’s enough for now. She needs to rest.” He wasn’t asking for permission nor waiting for a response. Didn’t care what they thought. He would not lose her again.

  When he helped Elena to her feet, ready to steer her from the chamber, Celdorn turned a stern gaze his way. “Silvandir, you are overstepping your bounds.”

  “It is not my intent to be disrespectful, Celdorn, but this is my wife and my child. It is my duty to protect them. I am well within my rights.” He managed to say that evenly, though he really wanted to just grab Elena and run. His words evoked a tender smile from Elena, while they elicited a strange, pained expression from Celdorn. Silvandir wrapped his arm around her shoulder and stood his ground.

  The elders exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Elena is with child. She has been through a horrific ordeal. Surely you see that,” Silvandir said, glancing first at Celdorn then the rest of the council.

  “We do, Silvandir, and we have erred in being a bit single-minded,” Lamreth replied, his tone calm, diplomatic. “I must admit, however, that we did not realize the child was yours nor that the two of you had wed.”

  Silvandir winced inwardly and blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized his rash words had placed him in an awkward position: not to explain would be willful and disrespectful but to clarify risked shaming Elena, the very one he’d meant to protect. He searched her face for a way out that wouldn’t wound her.

  She smiled and squeezed his waist. “It’s all right,” she whispered. Then she turned to the council, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin with a heavy sigh. “The child is not Silvandir’s. I was already with child when Celdorn and Elbrion rescued me from the Farak, though I didn’t realize it until just before we left Kelach to come here. The baby is, in fact, the reason that we set out. My adai were trying to protect my reputation and bring me to an environment more suitable for the birth of a child.”

  Lamreth’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Who is the child’s father?” he asked, and Silvandir suspected it was not for mere curiosity’s sake.

  Elena immediately hung her head.

  Silvandir stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I am so sorry,” he whispered into her ear.

  She patted his hand. “It was inevitable, Silvandir.” She took another deep breath. “Domar, my … father … is the source of the seed.”

  “That is not the truth,” Yaelmargon said.

  Elena raised her eyes and stared at the master. “But I was with no other during the time the child was conceived.”

  Yaelmargon frowned, his gaze filled with deep compassion. “Your father was indeed the conduit, I am sorry to say, but the seed was not his own.”

  Elena’s expression went blank and her knees buckled. Silvandir caught her and eased her into the chair. He knelt beside her and gripped her hands. “Whose seed then?” she asked, though she didn’t sound as if she really wanted the answer. Neither did Silvandir.

  Yaelmargon glanced at his fellow elders, focusing longer on Abathor, then he turned his gaze back to Elena. “I do not mean to anger or confuse you, but I cannot answer that question, Yaena,” he replied. “At least not at this time.”

  Elena’s lip curled into a full pout as her chin began to quiver. “Is it worse news than her being Domar’s?” she asked as tears rolled down her face. “Is … is she Anakh’s?”

  Yaelmargon drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I do not know. Your daughter is of Alraphim blood; I am certain of that from what Elbrion has related to me about how the baby deflected the blade when you meant to harm yourself. But whose seed, I cannot know. I am not sure it matters.”

  “It matters to me,” she whispered.

  “And I would give you the answer if I had it, Yaena,” Yaelmargon said gently. “But the truth is I do not know.”

  Elena nodded feebly and lowered her head; her despondency permeated the room and twisted Silvandir’s heart. He kissed the top of her head. How much more must she endure?

  Celdorn gripped her forearm. “Do not despair, Elena. Whose seed it is changes nothing. She is who she is, and as you discovered that first night after you found out you were with child, she is full of light.”

  “She is already a warrior,” Elbrion reminded her with a smile.

  Silvandir knelt next to her and took her face in his hands once again. “She is our daughter, Elena,” he stated firmly. “She is not mine by blood but most definitely by heart and by choice. I know she is good, and I know she will be kind and loving because she is your daughter. She will be filled with light as you are.”

  Elena pressed her face into Silvandir’s hand. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she stroked her belly and whispered, “I’m sorry, little one. I know you are a gift.”

  Silvandir leaned down and kissed her belly, which sent a visible tremor through Elena. “She knows your touch.” Her words elicited a proud grin from him.

  The elders waited patiently, giving them these few moments together without interruption. When Silvandir stood with his hand on Elena’s shoulder, he answered the second question. “We are not yet wed, but we are pledged. We did not have time for a ceremony prior to leaving Kelach.”

  “Then we must make that right as soon as possible,” Lamreth said, his face lit with joy. “We have watched you grow, Silvandir. You are an excellent choice for this young lady.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Silvandir replied. “I am not worthy of the honor of her hand, but I hope that I will prove to be so over time.”

  Wezhar’s eyes narrowed. “Guardians are such unforgiving judges of themselves. One error can destroy a life. So sad.”

  Silvandir startled. Did the elder know what Silvandir had done? Had he been inside his memories?

  “But better days lie ahead. We share in your joy,” Lamreth added, interrupting his thoughts.

  “As for the other matters, we have ample time to consider them. Perhaps we are all guilty of impatience. Elena,” the Xiander said, addressing her directly, “forgive us for pressing you so. Would you be willing to meet later today or would you prefer to wait until tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” Silvandir answered for her. Elena shot him a disapproving look. “Well, look at you. Your entire body is trembling. You’re ready to collapse. There is no urgency to these matters. Tomorrow will suffice. You need to rest. And you need to think of the baby.” He gently touched her belly. Silvandir startled at the spark of energy that met his palm. Elena’s swollen belly jumped beneath his hand, and their eyes found each other with a private, shared understanding.

  Elena laid her hand on top of his and turned to face Lamreth. “Tomorrow would be better, sir. If that is all right.”

  “Tomorrow is fine, E
lena. And Silvandir,” he added, waiting for their eyes to meet, “we also care deeply for the girl and do not want any harm to come to either her or the baby. It is our collective responsibility to protect them. But we thank you for the reminder to be temperate.” His smile was kind and diplomatic, which quelled some of Silvandir’s frustration.

  Hezhion waved a veiny hand. “Lamreth, before we adjourn, I would like to address another issue that should not be delayed.” With a knowing nod from Lamreth, Hezhion turned his gaze to the hooded Guardian. “Mikaelin, we are aware that you now bear in your body damage and scars from the many people you have healed, as well as a great deal of pain both external and internal from the traumas of others. We have never seen a healing gift displayed in such a way as yours, but we do have healers who can help you.”

  “I did not ask for, nor do I desire, assistance,” Mikaelin replied curtly, his mask hiding his expression.

  Surprised eyes turned to study him from around the table.

  “Mikaelin, you will show proper respect to this council,” Celdorn admonished, his face stern as he gazed at his subordinate.

  Mikaelin’s hood tilted toward Celdorn. A heavy silence followed. Slowly the hood turned to Hezhion. “I did not mean to offend.” His words came out slurred. Was he drunk? Even the possibility shocked Silvandir. “Thank you for your offer,” he added in a flat, lifeless tone. “I’m not interested.”

  “And why would you refuse our aid?” Lamreth inquired.

  “I do not wish to discuss it at council,” Mikaelin replied.

  “Would you meet with me privately?” Hezhion persisted. “If nothing else, I have a great deal of experience with healing gifts and can advise you in their use.”

  “I will consider it,” Mikaelin said. “I will not answer today.”

  Hezhion’s brows raised. “When you are ready then.” The elder pursued it no further, but his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, as did many others among the elders. Silvandir wondered why Mikaelin would refuse their help.

  “Well then, we will dismiss until tomorrow, my friends,” Lamreth concluded. “May you find sweet rest in the arms of Queyon.”