Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4

by J D Abbas

  “But … but most of all, I want you to be happy,” he continued. “If you would be happier with him, I will rejoice for you both—or at least I will try.” He gave a half-laugh and attempted a smile.

  Elena knew she couldn’t lie to Silvandir. She didn’t want to start their new life together with falsehoods. “I do care for Mikaelin ...” She watched for Silvandir’s response, which was evident in the sag of his frame. “I have thought about this many times over, Silvandir. I do care for him. We … he and I have a deep bond, but I think it is because we share the same darkness inside. He took my wounds into his body. He felt my pain, and it resonated with his own. We understand each other in a unique way. Perhaps that is why he hears my cries.” She stopped and looked at him directly. “It is different with you.” Silvandir’s face clouded with grief.

  Elena sat forward and laid her hand on his cheek. “Don’t look so sad. I love you, Silvandir, and I have chosen to spend the rest of my life with you.” He gazed back at her, his watery eyes showing signs of life. “At first I was afraid because I felt dirty around you. You were so noble and so proper, always having to do the right thing. So opposite of me. I didn’t think we could find any common ground.”

  “But Elena, I told you—”

  She laid her hand on his lips. “Shh, I know. I no longer believe that. In fact, I love that you are noble and good. It makes you trustworthy. I don’t fear that you will be one way one moment and different another. I know I can count on you. You are exactly the kind of man I want to be the father of my children. And”—she paused for dramatic effect—“I know that you adore me.” She flashed him a playful smile. “That is important to a woman.”

  Silvandir started to smile, but his face quickly darkened again. “Are you torn? Do you need more time to be certain?”

  Elena closed her eyes. These were difficult questions. Was she torn? Did she need more time to consider? Slowly she opened her eyes and held Silvandir’s gaze. He would give her that time and that freedom. He loved her enough to give her to another, if that was what she wanted. Her doubt dissipated like a mist before the open sun.

  “You are amazing. How can you be so selfless? I would never be able to give you to another, no matter how happy it might make you,” she whispered as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I am certain. And I need no more time.”

  Silvandir let out a laugh. He leapt up and pulled her into his arms. His large frame shook, first with chuckles then with sobs. “I was so afraid.”

  Elena pressed her cheek against his heart. “I’m sorry. Please know I love you, Silvandir, and I have no reservations. By this time tomorrow, I will give myself to you in every way I know how.”

  He squeezed her so tightly she thought he might break bones. “But not if you squeeze the life out of me,” she added with a giggle.”

  “Sorry.” He eased his grip. “I love you, Elena. Never doubt that,” he whispered into her hair. “I am so happy.”

  Elena felt a quietness in the center of her being. She was at peace.

  Chapter 21

  Mishon liked being at the Academy most of the time. He was happy that the kids from Anakh’s camp were doing better. They smiled sometimes, even laughed a little. Some were getting braver and didn’t always have to be right next to their assigned Guardians.

  But then they started the testing. Mishon didn’t like that at all. Those in charge of the Academy wanted to find out which children were gifted and with what abilities. The Elrodanar teachers and their assistants had been interviewing those from Anakh’s camps all day.

  They didn’t bother to talk to Mishon because he wasn’t one of the special ones. Though he thought it was pretty special that the other kids looked up to him as a leader. And he could handle a knife and his short sword. None of the other kids could do that.

  Mishon and Charaq went with Waadar for his meeting. Too bad it wasn’t with Willowa. Waadar kind of liked her. Even though she had light pumping through her like the rest of the Elrodanar, she had a warm smile that made her seem not so scary.

  But the man Waadar got was named Laqanor, or something like that, and he had two glowing assistants with him, a young woman and a younger man. They were all serious and stiff, which made Waadar even more nervous.

  Laqanor asked Waadar lots of questions. Most of the time the boy hid behind Mishon, but he did give a few nods or shakes of his head to simple questions like, “Can you hear me? Do you know where you are? Do you have any siblings here?” Things that any idiot could answer.

  When Mishon told the man, “Waadar isn’t stupid. He just can’t talk. That’s what happens when they cut out your tongue, you know.” Charaq grabbed Mishon by his collar, pulled him to the side, and thumped his head with a knuckle. Waadar’s eyes got really big when Charaq did that, and he looked like he might wet himself. Mishon scowled at Charaq and clenched his fists, waiting for the stupid interview to be over.

  Then the assistants started asking harder questions, even though they knew Waadar couldn’t talk, and of course he couldn’t write his answers. He was too little. Mishon would have answered for Waadar, but Laqanor wouldn’t let him. He might have suggested they bring someone who could read thoughts, but was afraid Charaq might rap him again. Instead, they kept pushing until Waadar finally started crying and ran away.

  It took Charaq and Mishon a long time to find him. Waadar was a good hider.

  When Charaq tried to pulled Waadar out from under the steps that led up to the big building in the middle, Waadar let out a squeak and crawled back farther under the stairs. He was shaking like a beaten dog.

  “It’s all right, Terzhel,” Charaq said, though Mishon wished he’d call Waadar by his real name. “We don’t have to go back to the interview.” Still the little boy hid and shook. Finally, Mishon got down on his belly and inched toward him.

  “Come on out. It’s okay now.”

  But Waadar pointed at Charaq and then Mishon’s head.

  Charaq’s shoulders slumped. “So it was me that scared you.” The big Guardian rubbed his face. “You’re right Terzhel. I shouldn’t have thumped Mishon. I was just trying to get his attention, to remind him to be respectful.”

  “It didn’t hurt me,” Mishon told Waadar. “Though it did make me mad. I don’t like other people watching when Charaq scolds me.”

  Charaq let out a long sigh. “Aw, Mishon. I screwed up. I shouldn’t have disciplined you in front of strangers.” He sat back on his haunches and rubbed his face again. “I guess I worry sometimes that people will think I’m not raising you right, that I’m failing as a father.”

  “What?” Mishon scooted closer to Charaq. “You’re a great--” He couldn’t say the word. It was still too hard. “You’re doing a good job.”

  Mishon turned back to Waadar. “You don’t have to be ascared of Charaq because you don’t say rude things like I do. Besides, he would never cuff you on accounta all the bad stuff that happened to you.” He put his arm around Waadar’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Wait.” Mishon stopped and wiggled. “I think a spider just crawled down the back of my shirt.” He scampered out of the tight space, and the bug slid lower. “Ah!” Mishon untucked his shirt and did a squiggly dance to shake the spider loose.

  By the time he was done, Waadar had crawled out, and both he and Charaq were sitting on the ground, laughing at Mishon.

  When he scowled at them, Charaq got up. “Here, let me help.” After lifting up Mishon’s shirt, he said, “There it is.” He dropped the spider on the ground, and it skittered away. “Wait, there’s another.” Charaq reached under his shirt and started tickling him. Mishon curled up laughing, and Waadar inched closer. “I’ll hold him down. You get his belly,” Charaq said to Waadar. Soon the three of them were all tickling each other and laughing.

  The day was getting better all the time.

  ~

  When Mikaelin returned to his room to change his shirt, he found a note pinned to his door. He pulled it loose and read it as he opened th
e door.

  Silothani, Mikaelin of Kelach,

  I am Willowa, overseer of the Healing Arts program at the Academy. I have heard of your unique process in performing healings and wondered if you would be willing to discuss how we might use your experience to train other healers. As the title of our part of the program is “Develop” and our stated purpose is to find and augment the gifts in our trainees, we think your expertise would be invaluable. Should you be willing to come to the Academy and meet with me, If I am not in my lecture hall, I can be found in the first building to the right when you enter the compound.

  Thank you. And may Qho’el light your way,

  Willowa

  Mikaelin pulled a fresh shirt from the wardrobe and tossed the shredded and bloodied one into the fireplace. He scratched his head and shook out his wild curls. How could he possibly teach someone else what he didn’t understand himself?

  He and Elena had just exchanged healings faster than he could blink, with no warning, no show of light, no tingling sensations, nothing. The wounds just moved back and forth between them, and then poof, they were gone. He stood and rubbed his shoulder as he turned his back to the polished mirror. Not a hint of a scar. Previous healings had always left a mark, some horrible and disfiguring. It had required two submersions in the Healers’ Pool to remove those, and Elena had done it with no effort at all.

  Just the thought of Elena sent a storm of emotions through him. A trip to the Academy might be a good diversion from all that was churning. It wouldn’t hurt to speak with Willowa. Maybe she would have some insights.

  ~

  Mikaelin reached the Healing Arts dormitory just as Charaq, Mishon, and Elena’s son raced to the door.

  “I win,” Mishon called when he tapped the doorframe. Terzhel was close behind. Charaq was slower and looked as if the boys had been running him in circles for days. All three wore bright smiles. It warmed Mikaelin’s heart to see the boys so happy after all the sorrow they’d been through.

  “Silothani, Mikaelin,” Charaq said between breaths.

  Mikaelin chuckled and slapped Charaq on the back. “Silothani. It looks as if the boys have worn you out, old man.”

  “Old man, my a—” Charaq glanced at Mishon and swallowed the word. “Terzhel, do you remember Mikaelin?”

  The little boy shook his head.

  “That’s ’cause he had a mask and hood on when you saw him, on accounta the scars all over his face. This is what he really looks like,” Mishon explained, proud that he knew the real story. “You’re not walking funny anymore either.”

  “Mishon!” Charaq frowned at the boy.

  Mikaelin patted Mishon’s shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s the truth.”

  Mishon squinted his eyes as he gazed up at him. “So how come you’re okay now?”

  “Mishon ...” There was warning in Charaq’s voice.

  “What? I’m just asking a question.”

  “But it’s not polite to ask such personal questions. Especially of an elder.”

  “Who’re you calling an elder?” Mikaelin objected with a laugh. “It’s all right. I don’t mind the question.” He squatted down in front of Mishon and Terzhel. “I have a healing gift that allows me to absorb other people’s wounds. They get healed, but their wounds go into my body. Sometimes they get stuck there, and sometimes they leave scars. When I got to Queyon, one of the elders took me to the Healers’ Pool, and I was able to release all the wounds I’d taken from other people.” He shrugged. “That’s the best I can explain it because I don’t really understand it myself.”

  Mishon studied him as he explained. “My ama used to heal people too. Only it didn’t hurt her ...” Tears welled in his bright eyes, and he turned away. Terzhel put his small arm around his shoulders and leaned his head into Mishon’s. These two were good for each other.

  Suddenly Mishon looked up, his eyes wide. “Hey, can you heal things that happened a long time ago?”

  Mikaelin hesitated, not sure where this was going. “Yes ... Some of the wounds I’ve healed were from years ago. Why?”

  “’Cause I want you to heal Waadar’s tongue.”

  A cold chill moved through Mikaelin. He knew what might live inside this small boy, what memories would assault him. He sucked in a deep breath and pressed his hand to the wall, suddenly off-balance.

  When Mikaelin looked up, Charaq was watching him intently. “Mishon, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea right now,” Charaq said.

  “Why not?” Mishon looked from Charaq to Mikaelin with wide-eyed innocence.

  Why not, indeed. This was Elena’s son. What better wedding gift for Elena and Silvandir than to restore their son. They were in Queyon after all. If anything went wrong, Hezhion could help.

  “Because Mikaelin just got healed himself. It’s hard on his body, Mishon,” Charaq explained.

  While they were talking, Terzhel had inched into the corner of the portico, where he was now huddled in a ball. Mikaelin looked his way, but kept his gaze indirect. “What do you think, Terzhel? Would you like me to heal your tongue?”

  The boy’s eyes went wide. He waved his arms in an attempt to communicate something. He ended by pointing to his mouth and shrugging.

  “I just have to touch you, your head or your hand. Nothing more. And it only has to be a brief touch. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

  Mishon squatted next to Terzhel. “Wouldn’t it be great to talk again? Then you and I could whisper to each other during the night and really make Charaq mad.” Mishon smiled at Charaq and attempted a wink, which was more a long, double-eyed blink.

  Charaq chuckled. “Great. Just what I need is another chatterbox.” Then he knelt down and spoke to Terzhel, all seriousness. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. You can think about it, if you like. It doesn’t have to be today. Mikaelin can do it any time.”

  Mishon frowned at Charaq. “Of course, he wants to be healed today. Who wouldn’t want to talk?” To Terzhel, he said, “It won’t hurt. And you’ll be able to talk to other people, not just Lady Elena. Don’t you want that?” He gripped Terzhel’s hand. “I’ll hold onto you. We’ll be brave together.”

  Terzhel looked from Mishon to Charaq and finally to Mikaelin. The boy studied him up and down for some time, then slowly Terzhel reached toward him.

  Mikaelin knelt in front of the tiny blond, took a deep breath, and gripped his hand.

  Blinding pain exploded in Mikaelin’s head as Terzhel’s memories poured into him. Blow after blow struck his cheek followed by agony in his mouth. Blood spewed from his lips.

  Terzhel squealed. Mishon shouted. Mikaelin stumbled to his feet and around the side of the building, out of the boys’ sight. Fire burned in his mouth, and then the all-too-familiar tearing and piercing pain of other assaults spread through his body. Warm fluids slid down his legs, and Mikaelin curled into himself, fighting back the screams that rose.

  At some point, he realized Charaq was next to him. A warm, steady hand on his shoulder. A silent witness. A tower of offered strength. Mikaelin reached for his hand and gripped it. He wanted to tell him to keep the boys away, but when only a grunt came out, he realized that his tongue had not repaired.

  “Mishon, you and Terzhel go find Willowa. Bring her to our room.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Mikaelin shook his head frantically as the boys’ running footsteps faded.

  “I know,” Charaq whispered. “We’ll get you changed first. I’ve got plenty of spare clothes in the room. Come on.” He put his arm under Mikaelin’s shoulder and heaved him to his feet. The blows to the head that he’d absorbed from Terzhel’s memories left Mikaelin off-balance, so the two stumbled their way down the much-too-long corridor.

  ~

  By the time the boys returned with the healer, Mikaelin was in fresh clothes and sitting upright on Charaq’s bed. The room had stopped spinning, and the pain had subsided. But his tongue was still missing.

  Had he been a fool to try this again
so soon after his journey to the Healers’ Pool? Maybe he should have waited until Hezhion was with them. But the wedding was soon, and he had wanted Terzhel to be able to surprise his parents.

  A tall, thin briochella stepped into the room with a bow and a Silothani to Charaq before she knelt in front of Mikaelin. “Silothani. I am Willowa.” She dipped her head. “When I asked you to come here, I sought a discussion, not a demonstration,” she said with a half-laugh. Her voice was gentle and lyrical, much like Melucia’s, mistress of the waters at Khanas Dian. “Are you able to speak?”

  He shook his head.

  “This is one of the things I had hoped to discuss with you. Why do the wounds take up residence in your body instead of passing through as with other healers that have this gift? Did you gain any insight from Hezhion during your trip to Khanas Dian?”

  Mikaelin hesitated, then gave a nod and a shrug. He knew why he’d held onto Elena’s wounds. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t release the others. Then Hezhion’s words came back to him: You feel at home in their agony ... It is not your lot in life to suffer and be slowly consumed by the wounds of others, Mikaelin.

  Was he punishing himself for his feelings for Elena? Was it some sort of twisted penance? He wanted to help her son as a gift to her, but he had no more right to hold onto the child’s pain than he had to hold onto hers.

  “I believe you have found your answer,” Willowa said in a whisper of a voice.

  He nodded as tears spilled down his cheeks. Then, he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He prayed.