Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4

by J D Abbas

  “The power of the Jhadhela, most certainly,” the Xiander corrected. “The light moves in many forms.”

  “Astounding,” Mojhan murmured with a shake of his head.

  “There is great power in this place,” Elena said as she gazed from her sword, which had returned to lifeless metal, to the Qajh surrounding her.

  ~

  Elena was grateful the temple had been restored, but it left her dizzy and full of questions. She wasn’t quite sure what had happened when the lightning struck her, but fear shone bright in many of the eyes focused on her. The all-too-familiar shame wrapped around her.

  “We will discuss your questions later,” Yaelmargon told her, “when you have rested and we have more privacy.”

  With a sigh, Elena turned toward the font and tried to refocus. “Where were we?” She forced a lightness into her tone that she didn’t feel and struggled to pull her mind away from what just occurred. She needed to fully embrace this joyous moment with Karaelena, the light of her heart.

  Inwardly, she pleaded with Qho’el to help her remain this time and make her vows to her daughter with no further trouble or disruption. She approached the font platform with trepidation.

  Silvandir walked beside Elena, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder and the other cradling Karaelena. His calm had returned. She listened to him whispering gentle words of love to their daughter, who was again dressed in her beautiful gown. The infant contentedly gazed up at her father, unruffled by all that had happened around her.

  They climbed the few steps to the font and again took their places on the platform.

  How can he be so unwavering? How can he continue to love me with all the bizarre things that I do—that I am? A deep fear gripped her. He won’t put up with this forever. He will grow weary of my slipping away, my history, my constant instability. He thrives on the predictable, the dependable, the orderly things in life. That is not what my future holds. He must see that?

  Silvandir’s eyes, which were fixed on her, filled with an adoring love and deep sadness. He said she had shattered into a thousand bits, that his heart had shattered along with her. Mishon had wailed. Terzhel had keened like a wounded animal. How could this man continue to love her when she’d broken him—them—like that again?

  Did he know what had happened in the memory? Had he seen what she’d done? She blushed as shame gripped her again. Did they all see? Her heart thumped in her chest, horrified and humiliated by the thought.

  No. The answer came from across the platform. She searched the elders. Only Abathor smiled. No one but Elbrion saw. Your husband’s eyes are wide open, however; he knows and yet he chooses you with his whole heart, dear girl.

  Elena gave him a tearful smile and nodded. Thank you. She sucked in a deep breath and her heart slowed.

  Once they were all in place, Lamreth spoke. “Elena, at what point did you leave us? I believe it was long before we realized.”

  “It was when Hezhion passed Karaelena through the white flames. I remember him saying something about the fires of life, but the images kept interfering.”

  Lamreth nodded. He glanced at Yaelmargon and Khanab. The two moved behind Elena and laid their hands on her shoulders as they chanted softly.

  “We will begin there. This time I see no need to remove Karaelena’s gown. She is finished with the messy part.” He chuckled softly and Elena breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing to cause distress.

  Hezhion held out his hands for the child. Silvandir kissed her brow and handed her to the elder.

  “You are especially blessed, child, for you shall travel a second time through the sacred fire.” The infant gazed up at him as if she understood his words. “Karaelena, in this life we must pass through many fires. Fire is sacred, child. It purifies, cleanses, and makes way for new growth. Within us we also carry the fire of passion, whose flames must be bent in the right direction, lest it destroy. May you always bless the fire for its gift.” When Hezhion moved her through the flames, her body throbbed with light. “Indeed, the second journey through the fire has strengthened you,” Hezhion said with a broad smile.

  He turned and handed the child to Abathor.

  “Karaelena, you have come through the waters of birth, you will trod on the earth one day soon, and you will pass through the many fires of this life, but without the sacred breath it is all for naught. Air, wind, breath are all expressions of the divine life that has been given to us. Without air, without breath, we can survive but moments. Without the Sacred Breath, we may live, but it is a vacuous life. May the Jhadhela breathe powerfully in you, Karaelena.” He blew gently on her face.

  At that very moment, the doors of the Qajh burst inward. A gust of wind swept through the portal and swirled through the temple with such force the small gathering had to grasp hold of the font to prevent being toppled from the platform. A moment later the wind withdrew and the doors to the temple slammed shut.

  Elena gazed around at the others to make certain they had seen it as well. They all gawked at the entrance to the Qajh.

  Abathor chuckled. “Well, little lady,” he said to Karaelena. “You have created quite a stir. May you always bless the wind for its gift.”

  Abathor returned the child to Lamreth.

  “Silvandir and Elena,” Lamreth addressed them, “seeing as your child has been given the water, soil, fire, and wind as gifts, will you do all in your power to teach her the sacredness of these gifts and of life itself?”

  “We will,” they replied together.

  “And will you raise her in the power of the Jhadhela and teach her to follow the traditions of the Elgharmoth, the sacred writings?”

  “We will.”

  “And do you, Mikaelin and Braiden, vow to support Silvandir and Elena in keeping this commitment?”

  “We do.”

  “And in the event that Silvandir is taken from this world, will you stand in his stead and teach Karaelena as a father would? Will you guard and protect her all of your days?”

  “We will.”

  Elena immediately doubled over and dropped to her knees as a crushing pain hit her chest with the force of a punch. Silvandir knelt next to her, unfolded her body, and embraced her. “I am not going anywhere. It is just your fear,” he whispered. “I will be by your side to raise our precious daughter and our cherished sons. Do not fear.”

  How could he—or anyone—know? How could he make such a promise? But Elena fought to embrace his words nonetheless and grasp hold of the hope he offered, determined not to give in to the fear. She returned his hug and straightened. The two rose, hands entwined.

  As if to encourage Elena’s resolve, the clouds parted and the sun sent its rays. The men in the balconies took up their instruments again and the melodies from the seven towers entwined to give them a symphony of joy. The light danced to the lively tune.

  “Silvandir and Elena,” Lamreth said, drawing their attention back to the platform. “We, the Qadhar of Queyon, likewise vow to support you in your promises and commitments to your daughter, Karaelena, and in the rearing of your sons, Terzhel and Mishon. We are here to serve you and guide you in whatever ways we are able. This child is a great gift, as are all children. We are your humble servants and we are grateful for the privilege of joining you on this journey. May Qho'el, the Source of All Life and Light, bless, confirm, and protect all that was spoken here today. Namaah.”

  “Namaah,” the council echoed.

  Lamreth kissed Karaelena on the brow then walked around the font to return her to her waiting and adoring family. Elena was all too happy to cradle her again. Silvandir slipped his arm around Elena’s shoulder, and Terzhel and Mishon pressed into their legs, eager to be included. She and Silvandir knelt so Karaelena could see her brothers.

  Elena gazed at their little family then let her eyes drift around the Qajh watching the play of light. “It is almost as beautiful as you, lights of our hearts,” she whispered to the children. Silvandir gave a muffled grunt and swi
ped at his cheek. In that moment, Elena experienced pure bliss.

  Chapter 50

  At the insistence of the Qadhar, Elena and Silvandir returned to the Qajh several days later, accompanied by her adai. The council hoped to gain an understanding of what had transpired during Karaelena’s diagmatz. It had taken Elena longer to recover from that day than she would have liked, but the council had been patient and not pressed her.

  Elena had also used the respite to meet with Elbrion and Yaelmargon to discuss the memories that had surfaced. Although she had gained more information about pieces of her past, Elena didn’t understand why the visions had come at this time.

  In the end, they decided that it was the connection between the two births that had brought on the memory. Yaelmargon also wondered if Elena might need to know something about the other child she had lost, but it was unclear what.

  They had also come to no resolution about why there were seven eidola in her memory. Perhaps it was nothing more than the fact that Anakh had lost patience with two and eliminated them. Or perhaps they could only remain in their shadowy forms for so long. They might never have an answer to that question.

  Whatever the case, Elena approached the return to the Qajh with trepidation. What would happen this time? Silvandir, who shared her concern, suggested they not bring the boys, to which she’d agreed. They were better off at home with Charaq, guarded and safe. It would be challenge enough to protect Karaelena while in the temple.

  Celdorn’s men stood guard around the interior perimeter of the Qajh in spite of the fact that the only attack they’d experienced here had come from inside Elena—something against which his men could not defend. Celdorn ordered it nonetheless, and Elena drew comfort from their presence and their familiar faces.

  Elena was halfway through the retelling of what had occurred with her sword, when the entrance doors burst open with a thwack. She jumped and spun in her seat with a squeak of surprise.

  In the open doorway, a young Elrodanar page scanned the sanctuary as he bent to catch his breath. When he spotted Lamreth, he called out, “Xiander!”

  Lamreth turned from their discussion. “Come closer, Malchid,” he called across the expanse of the temple. “What is so urgent that you burst into a private meeting in the Qajh and dare to raise your voice in this holy place?” One of Lamreth’s eyebrows rose, but a hint of a smile spoke of a fondness for this young man.

  “Beg pardon,” the boy said, his cheeks and ears tinged with red. His chest heaved as he sucked in another breath, and his face dripped with sweat—Elena noted again that even Elrodanar sweat was beautiful. It was as if tiny streams of light poured from his brow. The messenger’s next words pulled her out of her quiet thoughts.

  “The Mymara are here, Xiander. At least twenty of them.” The boy’s eyes went wide, and his voice pitched up a notch. “They wish to see the baby,” he added, nodding toward Karaelena.

  Elena immediately tightened her grip around their daughter and pressed into Silvandir’s side. She had no idea who or what the Mymara were, but they knew about Karaelena. That could not be good.

  “Do not fear, Elena,” Yaelmargon said. “The Mymara are a most-gifted ally.”

  “How do they know about Karaelena?”

  “They are readers of fire,” replied Yaelmargon, the most knowledgeable of the Elrodanar elders in regard to the history of races and people groups. “Most likely they saw a vision in the flames.”

  Given her recent experience in the Qajh, that comment sent a terrified shiver through Elena.

  “What shall I tell them, Xiander?” asked the young page. “They are already headed this way.” Suddenly, he swayed back, clothes flapping, as if a powerful gust of wind had shoved him. The boy’s gaze fixed on Elena, his brow pulled tight in puzzlement.

  Elena reeled in her panic, which had not erupted this intensely—or physically—since they’d been in Queyon. Silvandir squeezed her shoulder and whispered, “It will be all right, my love.”

  Lamreth, ignoring the evidence of her fear, glanced around the circle. “Should we meet with them here or at the Palace?”

  “I can think of no safer place than here in the Qajh,” Markhum replied, then he addressed Elena. “No harm will come to you.”

  “I do not fear for myself,” Elena replied in a whisper.

  “The child will certainly not be harmed, dear girl,” Wezhar told her in his raspy voice. “She is a treasure, and we all value her safety, as do the Mymara. Of that, I am most certain.”

  Silvandir gave her a calm, confident smile. “She will never be more protected than she is here.” Elena’s head bobbed. She trusted his judgment. “We will allow it,” he said to Lamreth as he laid his huge hand on her head and pulled her into his chest. She snuggled into him and embraced his serenity.

  Lamreth turned to Malchid. “Tell them we await them here.” The messenger nodded and quickly left.

  “These women rarely leave their caves,” Wezhar said, his face pinched in thought. “It is most unusual. We receive messages from time to time or requests for us to come to their dwellings to discuss a matter, but in my lifetime, which has been quite extensive, I have only seen them enter Queyon three times.”

  “What are they?” Elena asked. The fact that they dwelt in caves only added to her anxiety.

  Yaelmargon answered her. “The Mymara are a group of cloistered women who live in the mountains between Queyon and the place where Yabwana was believed to have once been. It is north of Queyon in what are now inhospitable mountains. None of us has ever seen their full community nor knows its exact location, but it is believed to be in the heart of the mountains and quite extensive. When we have had the privilege of meeting with them, it was only in the outer caves that were miles from Jebulah, their underground city.

  “Since only women live there, and they keep no guards, the remoteness of their community and the mystery of its location is key to their survival. In the rare times they have traveled outside Jebulah, it has been to Queyon but never beyond. I doubt that there are many who know of their existence.”

  Yaelmargon stroked his beard as he continued, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Mymara literally means readers of the purple fire. These women claim to see the events of time in the flames of their fires—past, present, and future. They are also known as the Silent Seers because they cannot speak. They are not voluntarily mute, but apparently have no vocal cords. They use hand signals and writing to communicate with most of us; Abathor, however, can speak with them mind to mind.

  “There are no males in their race, and no one seems to know how they propagate. There are many of them, and their numbers are ever increasing, we are told. No one knows for certain. We do not know if their kind existed before the time of Nasara and survived because of being underground, or if they came into existence as a result of the renewal, like Queyon. Unless they should choose to tell us, we may never know.”

  Elena’s mind turned to the beautiful creatures she had seen at Roth Rock. Maybe the Mymara were like them. She hadn’t been frightened of those beings. But then she remembered that one of them had spoken to her, so it could not be—or had that creature just spoken to her mind? She had trouble telling the difference sometimes.

  Elena was not left long to wonder. Hooded figures soon approached on the path outside the Qajh. Her brow furrowed. “They are small,” she half-whispered.

  “Yes.” Yaelmargon must have heard the confusion in her words. “You were expecting them to be elsewise?”

  “No, I didn’t know what to expect …” Her voice trailed off as she watched their approach. The small figures were covered by purple cloaks that fell to the ground. With their hoods up, she could tell nothing of their features. They looked to be no bigger than a Wallanard child of eight though they were broad across the shoulders and stooped; some carried a definite hump on their backs.

  Elena soothed her frayed nerves by counting heads. There were twenty-four of them. As she counted, the group reached the pl
atform at the entrance to the Qajh. As one, the twenty-four small creatures dropped to their knees and bent their faces to the ground. Suddenly a chorus of voices filled the temple. The words and language were unfamiliar to Elena, but her heart ached with the beauty of the sound.

  “Are y-you all right, El-Elena?” Braiden asked.

  Startled, Elena turned to the others. “You don’t hear that?”

  “What do you hear, child?” Lamreth asked.

  Elena was frightened now. “A-angels, perhaps. None of you hear them?” She glanced around, afraid her mind was slipping again.

  “It is a gift that you can hear, not a curse, dear girl. I hear them as well,” whispered Abathor as he stepped alongside her and took her hand in his. “Enjoy the privilege.” He closed his eyes, his face ecstatic.

  Elena longed to embrace the peace that Abathor did, but this was all too strange for her. And she feared what was coming next. Is there nothing in this place that is familiar? Commonplace?

  Your nightmares. Your memories of torment. She did not know if it was one of the elders speaking to her mind or her own thoughts. Is that where you’d prefer to live?

  No. She knew she did not wish to return to her past, but was there no middle ground, no quiet place, no room for a normal life? She knew a great war was coming, but could there be no time of peace, for her to enjoy her new family?

  Then Yadar Toreno’s words, from what seemed an eternity ago, came back to her with a punch. 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. For some, the journey is agonizing. He had looked at her with such compassion—or was it pity? She had thought he meant the agony of the past, not the future.

  Elena sighed. There is no hope.

  Just then, Elena felt a nuzzling at her breast. A smile crept across her face. Karaelena, the light of her heart, was reminding her of the basics of life. This is normal, Elena thought and laughed aloud.