by J D Abbas
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” she replied, laying her soft hands on his arms.
To Mikaelin’s surprise, she lifted him as if he were just a small boy and tossed him into the pool. When he hit the water, the weight of the medallion increased a hundred fold, tugging at his neck and pulling him into the murky depths. He struggled to free himself as the waters dissolved his robe and tore at his flesh, engulfing him in torment once again. It was difficult to maintain any sense of sanity as the torture suffered by those he had healed attacked his body one more time. Down and down he plunged as their demons passed through his mind and flesh, until Elena’s face appeared before him, bloodied and deformed. He reached out to embrace her, and the speed of his plunge increased. Finally, using every ounce of willpower he possessed and driving a knife into his heart, he turned away from her. His descent slowed and the weight of the medallion lightened enough for him to slide his head out of the chain.
The necklace continued downward, while Mikaelin immediately began to ascend. Again, he feared that he had plummeted too far to survive the climb. His head spun and his lungs burned long before he first saw light. He pulled for all he was worth and burst through the surface, sucking in the life-giving air. He swam to the water’s edge and grasped onto the rocks.
Someone was immediately at his side, helping to pull him from the pool. He collapsed, face down, onto the ground as the world continued to spin. It was some time before his mind could focus. He heard Celdorn’s voice as if from a distance.
“Mikaelin, are you all right? Can you hear me?”
He searched for the source in the dim shadows that surrounded him. Slowly Mikaelin’s vision cleared, and he realized he was seeing with both eyes. His hand groped for his face where he found smooth flesh and a renewed beard. He sat up and stared at his left arm. It was brilliant red and throbbing but free of scars. As was his leg. It was only then he remembered his nakedness.
Melucia laughed as she tossed him a robe. “There is no shame here, Mikaelin, any more than there is for the infant who has passed through the waters of birth. You are reborn.”
Mikaelin covered himself with the robe but not before he noticed that the damage his uncle had inflicted was no more. He was whole again.
“Yes, you are restored,” she told him.
His face burned to the tips of his ears.
Melucia knelt on the ground in front of him and laid her hand on his chest, which caused no pain this time. “Your heart is healed as well. You are now free to love in a way you have not been able since the death of your parents.”
She gazed into his eyes as if searching for something. After several moments, she told him, “You will find your love, and she will bear your seed. Your offspring will perpetuate and magnify your gift. Mighty will be your line.” Her voice was strong and assured as if she had no doubt her prophecy would come to pass.
Mikaelin’s chest heaved beneath her touch while tears slid steadily down his cheeks. “I see my eyes have not healed from their weakness,” he said with a sardonic curl of his lips.
Melucia tipped her head. “Your vision has been restored, has it not?”
He made a scoffing sound. “I was referring to the tears.”
The lady’s brow furrowed. “That part needed no such healing. In that respect, your eyes were functioning quite well.” She laid her hand against his cheek and brushed at the tears with her thumb. “You have a tender heart, Mikaelin; do not bury it again beneath layers of protection. It is part of your gifting.” She paused and gazed into his eyes. A warm smile spread across her face as she stretched out her hand in blessing. “May the tears of joy never leave you, and may those of sorrow be few.”
The mistress of the waters rose. “Silohana tia, Enwheyon.” With an embracing smile and a slight bow to each of the men, she returned to her cave.
The three men stared at the vine-covered opening long after her light disappeared. Hezhion then joined Mikaelin and Celdorn on the ground, and they sat in silence as they tried to absorb the turn of events.
Chapter 17
When Nakhona and Zhalor arrived at the Palace of the Elders, the stallion let out a loud whinny. The filly tossed her head and immediately ascended the stairs with Zhalor close on her heels. They climbed the twelve flights to the Chamber of Agreement in no time.
Silvandir jumped down to open the doors. To Elena’s surprise, Lamreth was already inside the chamber, which immediately aroused her suspicion. Silvandir stood beside Nakhona and gripped Elena’s leg. A deep frown formed on his face.
Welcome, Lord Zhalor. Lamreth bowed deeply toward the stallion. It is good to see you again. This must be Nakhona. The elder stepped closer. My, you are a beauty. You bear all the markings of the great Braenar. There was deep admiration in his tone.
Thank you, Master Lamreth. The filly bowed her head in return. It is an honor to finally meet you. I have heard many wonderful stories about you.
Elena was mystified by the conversation, none of which was spoken aloud. She heard it all while Silvandir, who looked equally perplexed, would only have been able to hear the Ilqazar.
Thank you for responding to my summons. Zhalor was speaking to the elder, further confusing the young couple.
I am glad you brought the Rahima here so quickly. She is less vulnerable in this place. The others will join us shortly. Glancing up at Elena and noting her puzzlement, Lamreth let out a light laugh. “I beg your pardon. I forgot that the two of you cannot hear my thoughts,” he explained, mistaking the reason for Elena’s furrowed brow. “I told him that it is good he brought you quickly. As for my being here, Zhalor and I are old friends, and we need not be near one another to hear each other’s hearts.”
Silvandir helped Elena to dismount. She immediately pulled herself under the shelter of his arm and stared at the three before her, her feelings an odd mixture of fear, wonder, and curiosity. She was so grateful to have Silvandir at her side. His presence breathed stability, and she clung to it now. He, in turn, wrapped his arm around her protectively. She could feel his anger churning, not yet ready to forgive the Ilqazar’s apparent betrayal.
Zhalor eyed the young Guardian. You still believe I betrayed her?
“It is difficult to see it otherwise.”
Would you or Celdorn have allowed Elena to proceed if you had known what it would entail?
“No, we would have protected her, as you also vowed to do,” he retorted.
And what would you have gained? When Silvandir did not respond, Zhalor added, I will tell you: Anakh would not be destroyed, and the void would have swallowed many more of your men and my kin. He lifted his head and gave a loud snort.
Lamreth looked at Zhalor with surprise. “Anakh is not destroyed, my friend, only disabled according to Elena.”
Oh Qho’el, tell me this is not true? The stallion turned his piercing blue eyes onto Elena. What did you see?
Elena shook her head and pulled in tighter to Silvandir’s chest.
“Not now, Zhalor,” Silvandir interrupted. “Elena is overwhelmed and frightened. We will wait for the others.” Silvandir studied her with concern, then motioned toward a chair. “You should sit.” She shook her head again and wrapped her arms around his waist. She clung to him, afraid she might get swept away. His arms encircled her, his size and steadiness a warm, sure anchor.
As Yaelmargon and more of the Guardians arrived, Elena’s fear eased. The elders continued to enter the chamber one by one. Elbrion finally arrived with Abathor. The only ones missing were Celdorn, Mikaelin, and Hezhion, and no one knew where they were.
“Please be seated,” Lamreth began. “Elbrion, I think we should proceed without Celdorn since we do not have any information as to his whereabouts nor when we might expect him to join us.” Elbrion nodded. “Has anyone spoken to Hezhion?”
Heads wagged around the table.
“I left a message at his home to come here as soon as possible,” Elbrion informed the council.
The Xiander nodded, then turned to Elena. “Would you please explain what has transpired?”
Elena shook her head, afraid, once again, that to speak the words would somehow make the images more real. Even as she sat, she still hung onto Silvandir, who had his arms wrapped around her, as if unconcerned how improper it might appear.
Elbrion intervened and told the council what he knew of the events that had taken place in Elena’s dreams.
Elena felt a wave of tension move through the elders. They studied her through narrowed eyes.
I warned you it would be dangerous to have her within the confines of Queyon, a voice whispered in her head.
That is only the case because she is unaware of her power. This was a different voice.
We must tell her. A third voice had joined the discussion.
No, it will only frighten her. This was yet another voice.
Elena could not discern who was speaking, but she could tell one voice from another somehow, as if each one’s thoughts carried as distinct a tone as their voices. She burrowed into Silvandir’s chest as the argument continued.
She will never comprehend it.
She has a right to know. We must close the door she has inadvertently opened.
Only she can close it, but I sincerely doubt she has the power to do so.
I know you doubt, but she is far more powerful than any of us can imagine.
We have a responsibility to teach her how to wield her skills.
“Stop it!” Elena said. “Stop talking about me as if I am not here.”
Yaelmargon shot Elena a warning glare, but not in time to prevent her outburst. He closed his eyes in dismay.
Eyebrows raised around the table.
“You heard us?” Lamreth spoke aloud.
Elena covered her mouth as she realized her error. She sent Yaelmargon a desperate glance. He nodded ever so slightly.
“Yes, I heard you,” Elena replied. “But I do not understand what you are talking about. What are you afraid to tell me?”
Nadheniel chuckled to himself. “So it is true. You are in fact a Rahima. I had my doubts, but your giftings do not lie.”
Elena stared at him.
He glanced around at the other elders. “Why are you surprised by my comment? Behold the child.” Nadheniel waved his hand toward Elena. “I know Yaelmargon has relayed stories, and the girl has told us some as well, but what real evidence have we had. Only stories. She appears to be a young Wallanard woman. Nothing like the ancient Rahima.”
“Must you be a direct witness in order to believe?” Wezhar countered. “The fact that she is here is evidence enough. Any lesser being would have succumbed.”
Nadheniel conceded with a tip of his head and a nod.
“Yaelmargon, what are they not telling me?” Elena asked of the only elder she trusted.
“You are aware, in part, of what they speak, Yaena,” the master replied. He rose and moved around the table to her side and squatted down. “They are speaking of your ability to envision things in your mind that then enter into this world.”
“Like the key and the lionesses?”
“Yes.”
“But I was awake when those things happened ...” All at once the warmth drained from her body, and she shivered. “Are you saying that if I dream something, it can come into this world?” She glanced around at the other elders. “Did I bring the eidola here?” Her voice was tremulous and weak, her chest so tight she could scarcely breathe as the room spun violently.
Elbrion chanted a soft tune while Yaelmargon put his hand on the back of her head and whispered potent words. The movement stopped.
“Yaena, it would seem that anything you are able to envision, whether waking or sleeping, can materialize,” Yaelmargon explained, his tone steady, soothing.
Elena’s eyes grew wide. “I have nightmares whenever I sleep. The images haunt me even into the waking hours. I have no control over them. Will I bring all those things here, to Queyon, to this beautiful haven?” She glanced at her ada and the Guardians. “I will destroy this place.” A sob squeaked out, and Elena buried her face in her hands.
Elbrion sang louder.
“I am certain that not everything you dream or experience in your inner world takes on solid form. If that were the case, we would have seen it. But some things apparently do,” Yaelmargon continued.
“I once told Haldor, when I first dreamt of the void, that some dreams feel different, feel more real, more like a vision. Is that what you mean?”
“Perhaps. In all honesty, we do not know, Yaena. We know from the lore some of the giftings of the Alraphim, but what we know is very limited.”
Elena stared down. Her shoulders sagged as heavy tears slid down her cheeks. “Then I must leave. I will not be the cause of Queyon’s downfall.” Once again, she felt the shame of her history wrap around her like a feculent cloak.
“Young lady, if you leave this place, you will be the downfall of far more than Queyon,” Markhum told her. “If they find you, if Anakh absorbs your powers, Qabara is doomed.” Elena raised her despairing eyes to his. “We will help you. We will train you. Out there you stand not a chance of success, and neither does this world.” His eyes were full of compassion, not a hint of judgment nor the loathing she expected.
“Do not despair,” Markhum continued. “These are gifts, not a curse. The Jhadhela has guarded you throughout your life and guided you here for this time. We will not cast you out. You are a gift to us.”
“The Jhadhela has guarded me?” Elena scoffed. “You must be jesting. Do you know nothing of my life?”
Markhum’s expression grew grave. “We know a great deal of your life. There was purpose in all you suffered, Elena. It was no mistake.” He held her defiant gaze. “If you are to overcome the evil, you must have a thorough knowledge of it.”
Elena gaped at him in disbelief. “Are you saying the Jhadhela threw me into the realm of Umbradhur itself and tortured me for seventeen years so that I could do its bidding and be used to destroy the very realm of torment in which I was spawned? Then perhaps it was the Jhadhela who named me Giara since I am so useful,” she snapped.
The elder looked away and the room fell silent.
Finally Markhum replied, “Many walk through deep darkness in order to find the power of the light.”
“And what place of torment have you walked through?” Elena challenged. “What torture have any of you endured?” She glared around the table, shaking with rage. “It’s so easy for you to sit in your haven here and tell me how fortunate I am, what a gift this has all been to me.” She glared directly at Markhum. “Oh, I have a thorough knowledge, to be sure. I have ten lifetimes worth of knowledge of the worst perversities and cruelties that any mind could conceive. Don’t speak to me of being guarded by the light.”
Bitter tears burned in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. “I want nothing to do with a power that would condemn children to the horrors I witnessed and endured—innocent, helpless children devoured by the appetites and greed of men.”
“The Jhadhela did not create this realm of torment,” Markhum corrected. “But you were birthed in the midst of its darkness—you, this beautiful, powerful, gifted light—and you were protected while your power grew until such a time as you were brought out from among them, ready to do battle.”
Elena continued to gawk at him, shocked by his words. “Protected? How…” She was too livid to find words. Elbrion stroked her hair. She shoved his hand away. Silvandir tried to grasp her other hand, but she pulled free. The walls and floor of the council chamber rumbled.
“I had every orifice of my body ripped apart by the implements of men. I had my flesh burned and torn from me. I have been caged, chained, stretched, suffocated, pierced, hung, and had my bones broken from repeated bludgeoning. I was condemned to live with a monster in my own home, in utter terror daily, wishing for relief, praying for rescue, longing to die—only to have to endure the next twisted encounter wi
th a man who would take yet another piece of my soul and leave me his filth. That is not my idea of protection.”
“And yet you are here,” Markhum countered.
Her jaw was tight as she lifted her head. Markhum was fortunate that she lacked the skills to make the daggers in her stare materialize.
The room suddenly grew dim and distant. She was slipping away—and powerless to stop it.
Chapter 18
Elbrion watched the transformation in silence. Elena’s hair and skin had grown dark, her muscles taut. By the end of her words, Dhajhara was fully with them.
“You need not change forms. Elena is allowed her anger,” Markhum persisted.
“That is enough,” Wezhar snapped. “Let the poor girl be.”
“Poor girl?” Dhajhara’s eyes narrowed, and her frame tensed as she rose from her chair.
The girl’s demeanor suddenly shifted again. She grew older and more relaxed, her eyes now a crystalline blue. “Yaelmargon, did I not warn you of your duty to this child?” Rhaenna told him, her voice throaty and even, as she seated herself. “You must keep your counterparts in line. You are crushing the girl.”
Markhum lifted his chin and met her glare. “What I spoke is the truth.”
“And sometimes truth kills,” Rhaenna countered, her steely gaze challenging the elder. “You would do well to build common ground rather than harangue her about how grateful she ought to be for the torture she has endured.”
She turned her attention back to Yaelmargon. “Master, you must train her without revealing too much, at least for now.” The elder dipped his chin, his face somber. “And do your best not to overwhelm her. Again, the consequences would be grave.” Rhaenna bowed respectfully to the master and departed.
Elena’s body crumpled. Elbrion caught her and cradled her tenderly. It was some time before she opened her eyes and stared into his.
“I shifted?”
He nodded. She curled into his chest and clung to him. “I hate this.”
