Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4

by J D Abbas

  He raised the baby from the basin and handed her to Osanior, who gently dried her with a soft cloth. When she was dry, he passed her to Pladiur, who stood before the basin filled with earth.

  “Karaelena, this is the sacred soil of the earth,” Pladiur said as he laid the child in the basin. “You will one day trod upon the soil.” He patted her tiny feet on the dirt. “But you must always remember that it is sacred, for it also sustains our lives. Through it, the plants and trees rise and fall, providing sustenance for us and for the creatures of Qabara, who, in turn, supply us with food. May you always bless the soil for its gift.”

  Pladiur lifted Karaelena and held her over a wash basin at the side while Wezhar poured water over her to rinse away the soil. Pladiur then handed her to Mojhan, who dried her with another cloth. Mojhan then passed her to Hezhion.

  Just as Karaelena drew near the third side of the font, the one filled with white powder, the sun broke over the edge of the obsidian mountains, and the Qajh erupted in a thousand rainbows of color as the light hit the gemstone ceiling and walls. Even the floor began to dance. The colors were not pulsating like in the Palace of the Elders but were ever shifting as if millions of tiny, colorful insects had scattered, scurrying over every surface. Elena drew a sharp breath and stared, her mouth agape. This made the movement in the chamber of Rhashelion seem tame. A moment later, a cloud passed in front of the sun and the light show subsided. Elena took a deep breath and released her grip on Silvandir’s arm. The colors had been beautiful, mesmerizing even, but overwhelming.

  Karaelena, on the other hand, had found the light show delightful. Her eyes were darting back and forth, following the prancing colors. She wiggled and kicked happily. Elena glanced at her daughter and broke into a smile.

  New life, new day, new experiences. Her world had changed so much since the time this little one was first conceived. Elena was filled with awe at the thought of transformation. And, she felt hope as she gazed at her child, real hope, for the first time ever.

  Hezhion continued with the presentation of the baby. Jerekhum struck a flint and ignited the powder in the third basin. Elena gasped. She glanced up at Silvandir then her adai. Was no one going to object?

  “No!” Elena stepped forward and laid her hand on the baby. “You can’t pass her through fire.”

  Hezhion laid his hand gently on Elena’s and lifted it. “Do not fear, my dear. There is no heat.” He passed her hand over the fire. “See.” He turned to face her. “We have no desire to hurt your child, Elena. She is as much a gift to us as to you. We value her as such. Be at peace.”

  “I-I am sorry. Of course you would not harm her,” Elena said with a nod. “Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive, child,” Hezhion replied.

  An icy chill climbed Elena’s back and the hairs on her neck stiffened. Behind her, the doors to the Qajh creaked loudly, and a frigid breeze swept through the temple. Elena turned her head, slowly, fearfully, to where they had entered. Both doors were wide open. She glanced at the others. No one seemed to have noticed.

  Silvandir put his arm around her. “What is it, Elena?”

  “Didn’t you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “The doors opened on their own.”

  The men turned toward the entrance. But the door were closed.

  “Nothing looks amiss to me.”

  She focused on Elbrion. “Didn’t you feel a presence enter?”

  “No, Sheya. I sensed nothing.”

  The image of a corridor flashed before her and was gone in a blink. She knew it was the second corridor in her internal world. Her chest tightened.

  Do not give in to the fear. Focus, she told herself. Elena stood straighter. She gazed at her beautiful daughter. This is her day. She smiled, and her chest relaxed.

  But then, Elena caught a flash of movement above them. Tiny. Red. Falling from the ceiling in slow motion. Her eyes followed. It was circular. No, elongated, heavy at the bottom, like a teardrop. The tiniest of screams was wrapped up inside it. She shivered. How did she know that? Slowly, it fell. Her heart galloped in her chest. By the time the drop splashed into the water at the center of the font, she knew it was blood. And the blood screamed—a shrill, terrified wail. It reverberated off the gemstones surfaces. A dozen echoes followed.

  She studied the spire above to find the source. Nothing. Her gaze returned to the font, transfixed, wondering what this meant.

  “Elena?” Silvandir put his hand on her arm. “What is it? Your skin is cold as ice.”

  “The blood,” she whispered.

  “Blood?”

  “You don’t see it?” she asked, not moving her eyes, afraid everything would shift if she did.

  “No.”

  “Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.” She kept her voice barely audible, afraid she might disturb some sleeping giant.

  She sensed her adai and the elders studying her now.

  “Elena, something has touched on your fear,” Khanab said gently, “but you have control of your mind. You must not allow fear to rule your choices.”

  Elena nodded feebly. I have control of my mind, she repeated to herself, even as another speck of red caught her eye. She refused to acknowledge it as it plunged and splashed loudly in the font, releasing another frantic scream. No! Elena clenched her teeth and focused on Hezhion.

  “Please continue.” She forced a steadiness into her voice she did not feel.

  Hezhion had been cradling the infant in his arms. At Lamreth’s prompting, he extended his hands over the heatless flames. “Karaelena, in this life we must pass through many fires …”

  The room darkened and fell silent. Terror squeezed Elena’s chest. The doors creaked again. Louder this time. But her eyes were drawn to the balconies, where the base of each tower oozed blood as if they had been stabbed. Slowly, silently, the crimson fluids slid down the transparent windows. No, they were blackened walls. No, she could see through them again. A gust of hot air burst against Elena’s face. Her head throbbed with a steady, primal pulse. She shook it sharply, in an attempt to clear it. This is illusion. Focus on the baby.

  Elena heard Hezhion’s voice again. “Fire is sacred, child. It purifies, cleanses and makes way for new growth. Within us we also carry the fire of—”

  Silence again. This time, the Qajh was gone.

  Chapter 46

  Elena was alone. In the dark. As her eyes adjusted, a dimly lit cave took form. She stood dressed in a robe that reached to the ground. Light flickered outside the cave’s mouth. A lantern or torch approached; its beams bounced off the walls of a tunnel. She was underground.

  A man appeared in the entrance. He wore a red robe, much like the one she had on, only he had a priest’s vestments as well.

  Elena started to move back into a recess in the cave, but something tugged at her leg. She looked down and found a fetter encircling her ankle. The attached chain led to the base of an onyx table a few paces away. As the priest came closer, the torchlight danced on its ebony surface. Elena darted underneath it.

  “No hide. I know you here. It is time.”

  It is time. That familiar phrase, which she first heard from the liorai when she was with the Farak in Alsimion and had later been repeated in Kelach, sent a chill up her spine.

  The priest stopped at the edge of the table and tugged on the chain.

  I have control. This is in my mind.

  Elena emerged from beneath the dark slab and faced the priest, realizing as she did so that she had shifted into a smaller self. The top of her head barely reached the man’s chest, and he was not a large man. He was not Wallanard, but he was not vastly different. He was fair. His receding hair was a dull brown, possibly once blond. His eyes were a shifting color. Grey, perhaps, but bright, clear. His skin, however, had an odd green tinge to it. Or maybe it was just the light.

  He held a chalice of wine in his hand. “Drink.” His voice was calm, steady. She detected an accent in his words.r />
  “Who are you?”

  “No questions. Do as instructed.” His words were stilted, simple, as if the Borok language was difficult for his foreign mouth. He held the chalice out to her.

  Elena sniffed at it but did not obey.

  “Drink,” he repeated. His hand snapped up and yanked her hair. “Now.”

  Elena swallowed a gulp.

  The priest put the cup down on the table and placed his hands on Elena’s shoulders. She focused on his eyes, searching for information. He pulled the robe from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She had nothing on underneath. With a shiver, she covered herself.

  Like the lashing of a serpent, the priest’s hand struck her face with a force that sent her reeling sideways. He grabbed her shoulders and stood her upright. “Do not hide. Do not move.” His voice gave no hint of anger or emotion.

  He dipped his fingers in the remaining wine then placed it on her lips and each of her earlobes. Elena cringed as his mouth followed his hands. She continued to watch his eyes, confused by what she observed. They were blank, lifeless. They did not contain the all too familiar hunger, only emptiness.

  Elena tried to force the image of this place away. Nothing happened. “Be gone,” she yelled, but the only response was the snap of the serpent from the other side, bruising her cheek and making her ears ring.

  “No talk.”

  I can’t make the image leave yet. This must be memory. There must be purpose in it. What am I to learn? She wanted to yell it out for the ever-silent air to answer but feared the bite of reprimand.

  The priest continued, anointing her breasts and her nether lips, his tongue completing the process. It took everything in her to stand her ground and not pull away from him. Then he lifted a large pitcher of water and slowly poured it over her head while reciting words in an unfamiliar language.

  “It is finished,” he declared, in the Borok tongue again.

  It was not, however. He lifted her onto the onyx slab, then he moved to the far side of the table and removed his vestments. Climbing the steps that were on the other side, he lay at the center of the table. “Now you.” The priest handed her the chalice.

  She stared at him, not understanding.

  “Anoint. Cleanse.” He motioned toward the wine.

  She hesitated then dipped her fingers in the cup.

  “Yes. Yes,” he said with a nod.

  The room spun. Elena couldn’t think. Her body began to act on its own. It followed all the steps the priest had done. When she started to anoint his manhood, it rose to meet her, the first sign of the hunger she had anticipated.

  Part of Elena stepped off the table at that point and watched with horror from a shadowed niche. Part of her remained, acting as if she were in some sort of trance or stupor. When her mouth approached the priest’s manhood, he shoved her head down with force, cutting off her air. Moments later, he shivered and let go.

  “Join,” he commanded.

  In the shadows, Elena shook her head, not understanding. But the child on the table understood and obeyed. She swung her leg over the mountain of a man that awaited her.

  The cave erupted with blood and screams—not just hers. Other voices had joined. Mocking. Jeering. Reveling. The priest’s voice entered the cacophony, chanting in his strange tongue. A crimson fountain spewed upward from the table, spraying the ceiling, the walls, and Elena. As the blood struck the dirt walls of the cave, sections of it dissolved and warped. From these riven places emerged black shadows. One after another, they stepped closer to the priest—tall, thin, wispy forms.

  Eidola! Elena could not breathe. She counted as they emerged … four, five … six? Seven?

  There are only supposed to be five. What is happening? Her fear intensified. Take control! She forced her mind to focus on the block building she had created to contain the eidola. She envisioned herself moving their forms into that shelter. Nothing changed.

  Where is my power? This is my mind! She clutched for the medallion but found only the embedded emerald. It was lifeless. There was nothing to do but follow this through. I survived it before. I will survive it again, she encouraged herself.

  She watched as the priest anointed each of the seven eidola who stood in all their phantom manhood, no waiflike robes covering their shadow and bones this time. The places the wine anointed became more solid, more human, much to Elena’s dread. And there was no hiding their carnal appetites.

  Again, Elena watched from her separated self. The unfettered part of her retreated to the far end of the cave and cowered in the shadows. Unable to close her eyes, she watched in horror as each of the eidola, in turn, climbed onto the table and viciously rode the girl like an animal. With aggression and hatred, lecherous laughter spewed from their grotesque lips as they ravaged her. Just before the moment of each phantom’s impassioned and violent release, a shift happened: his human form appeared, ever so briefly, reminding Elena that they had once been men of diverse races. Then fire and shadow spewed, exploding into the boneless, ragdoll child.

  In that moment, light would burst in her younger self. Red flame, white flame danced inside her body while the child writhed in agony. Tongues of fire, a swirl of red and white, surged outward from her womb to her extremities until her skin could contain it no more, and she screamed—a bone-chilling, agonized wail—which released the flames through her mouth.

  By the time the seventh eidolon was finished, the child looked to be no more than a shadow herself. The white flames were all but quenched. When she attempted to move off the table, fluids and blood and fire flowed down her legs. She collapsed on the earthen ground in the puddles of the aftermath. Elena, in her older form, crumpled along with her.

  In a roar of triumph, the eidola and priest disappeared, and the cave dissolved into an empty, hollow darkness once more.

  Chapter 47

  Elena blinked, testing her eyes, and searched for something upon which to focus. Her ears weren’t any more helpful. She felt packed dirt beneath her disjointed, aching hips but found nothing else around her as she groped the ground. Elena longed to embrace the shattered child, but she had no idea which direction to move.

  Minutes later, a tiny seed of light appeared in the vast blackness. Elena reached for it. It grew as if moving toward her, then opened like a window through which she was now drawn. Once she saw what was there, she longed to move back into the darkness.

  With the light came the noise. Elena was now in the open, under the night sky, lying on a low, stone table surrounded by crowds of people, most of whom took no notice of her. Drums beat an ever-increasing, loud, steady cadence, forcing those gathered to talk in shouts, which only intensified the chaos. There were two large campfires on either side of Elena that put faces to the voices—distorted, shifting visages. There were men, women, young, old, of many different people groups: Wallanard, Bengoran, Urdahl, even Rogaran, which made her heart sink. There were also races she did not recognize.

  Elena sought out information with which to orient herself, something to guide her. She looked down at her own body. It was larger than in the last place, but still not grown. A large mass swelled her abdomen. With a sickening twist in her stomach, she realized what was coming.

  Elena cried out for Elbrion, Yaelmargon, Haldor, Khanab, anyone who might hear her. She could not even detect her own voice in the tumult.

  I am the one with the power. I should be able to stop this. This is in my mind. Elena told herself the words, but she did not believe them.

  A sharp birth pang grabbed her attention. Her body writhed with the contraction of her womb. Suddenly, she became the focus of a handful of people. One had his hand on her belly. Another shoved a hand inside her, eliciting a yelp. More people gathered around as they observed the commotion.

  Elena felt the familiar pain of the baby moving through the birth canal. She tried to stop it, to squeeze herself tight, in a futile effort to protect the child. But there was no fighting her body’s urge to expel.

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nbsp; When the baby emerged not long after, the man quickly tied off and cut the cord. He held the baby high and called out something she couldn’t understand. The crowd erupted with cheers and ululating wails and chants. It made Elena’s skin crawl in spite of the exhaustion that overwhelmed her.

  “A girl. A girl!” Someone shouted in Borok. Elena tried to see the baby but was blocked by the bodies surrounding her. She was left to herself to deal with the pain and expelling the afterbirth.

  The horde circled around the child, clamoring to touch, to hold. Elena tried to stand on the table to see the infant over their shoulders, but she did not have the strength to rise past her knees. Soon, she was swimming in a pool of blood, and her head spun. She sat before she fell, evoking a shriek of renewed pain. No one noticed. No one cared.

  Between the shoulders of swarming bodies and rising out of the center, she saw a bright light.

  My daughter. Karaelena? No, no, this is the other one. She also had the light. Elena’s head continued to swim. The heat. The noise. The fear. The truth. All swirling. My baby!

  Elena struggled to rise. I can heal quickly. I have done it before. The pain, the blood flow stopped. She jumped to the ground and pushed her way through the throng, not caring that she was half-naked. She shoved at hips and dodged elbows, moving toward the light of the infant. She broke into a sweat from the effort—or was the temperature rising?

  She realized what it was when she broke free of the crowd: the fire. It was no small campfire as she had thought—nor of an ordinary kind. It was a massive bonfire, and the flames that burst toward the sky were bright purple, like none she had ever seen before.

  On the far side of the conflagration, stood a tall, undulating shadow who delivered a brilliantly glowing, squalling bundle into the hands of another nebulous form. A form she knew all too well.

  Anakh snatched the child from the eidolon with the hunger and greed of a cat pouncing on a luscious mouse. She passed the infant through the purple flames then spread her hand over the tiny face as if to draw the life from her. The infant’s lumination wavered.