Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4

by J D Abbas

  “I must feed my daughter before we meet with these women.” Elena’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t noticed that her milk was leaking, and she had large wet stains on the front of her dress. It was odd to think that this embarrassed her when less than half a year earlier her breasts had been on public display for any manner of men to paw or suckle. She shook her head sharply. That was a lifetime ago.

  “Is there some place we can go?” Elena wasn’t comfortable feeding the child in the presence of others, but as she looked around for a discreet place, she laughed at herself. Everything was transparent. “Someplace where I won’t be on display?”

  “There are several prayer rooms over there.” Silvandir pointed. “I can shield you with my cloak.” Elena nodded and followed him. “We won’t be long,” he told the others.

  ~

  “Are you all right?” Silvandir asked.

  Elena sat on the floor, her legs crossed, nursing Karaelena. Silvandir stood over her, his cloak outstretched to give her privacy in a place where there was none to be found. His eyes were filled with tenderness as he gazed on the ladies in his life.

  “I’m frightened and overwhelmed,” Elena admitted. “How about you?”

  “I’m jealous,” he replied, his face suddenly stern.

  Elena’s mind quickly sifted through the last hours, trying to find something she had done. “Of what?”

  “Karaelena.” Silvandir broke into a broad grin as he nodded toward the nursing child.

  Elena laughed and swatted his leg. “We will take care of you later, when we’re alone,” she whispered playfully. “You may share my breasts with our daughter, but I cannot offer the rest of me just yet. It is too soon.”

  “The breast is good, but the rest is better,” he teased. “I suppose this is an opportunity for me to prove the depth of my patience and self-restraint.”

  “Hmm … I’m not buying it.” Elena studied him with narrowed eyes. “You would take me this moment, if you could.”

  Silvandir laughed, his face alive with mirth, and in the next moment it was sober. “As much as I want you, I will wait as long as it takes. I have no desire to hurt you, and until you can join me in the pleasure, there is no pleasure for me.”

  Elena eyed him dubiously.

  Silvandir laughed again. “All right, all right, there might be some pleasure, but it is far better for me when I know that I am bringing you the same.”

  She chuckled. “This is what I long for.” Elena sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to talk about wars and prophecies. I just want to love my husband and enjoy our precious children together.” She played with the wispy blonde curls on Karaelena’s head, amazed by how much love she felt for this child, given the history of her conception. But as she gazed at her daughter now, all she saw was perfection and innocence.

  “She is gorgeous, like her mother.” Silvandir tenderly kissed them both on the head, and as if echoing her own thoughts, he added. “I’m surprised by how much I love her—and the boys—and so quickly and intensely. They may not be of my seed, but it doesn’t matter. I look at the four of you and the world seems right.” Unbidden tears slid into his dark beard.

  Elena lifted her hand to her husband’s cheek and wiped the tears with her thumb. “I just want to bask in this for a while,” she whispered. “Do you understand?”

  “I do. I wish we could make all of this go away and hibernate in our cottage, and just be a family. But—”

  Elena set her jaw. “I don’t want to hear the ‘but.’”

  Silvandir stroked her hair with his massive hand. “Then I will not speak it.”

  “Is it wrong for me to say I don’t want to know any more about my history? Is not what is forgotten best left forgotten?”

  “It is your truth.” His voice was quiet and tender as if to soften the blow of the words.

  “Truth is highly overrated,” Elena said with a frown.

  “I am sorry, my love.”

  The two sat and gazed at each other and their child, choosing to leave all the dark and foreboding thoughts for later.

  Not so much later, as it turned out. Karaelena’s belly had filled quickly, and she slept contentedly. “Oh, to be so carefree,” Elena whispered.

  When Silvandir lowered his cloak, Elena glanced across the Qajh, and her stomach formed into a knot. The Mymara were now inside. More benches had been carried up from the storage places below and set in a circle. The council of elders and the women sat while her adai stood behind the benches.

  Elena grabbed Silvandir’s arm. “Do you smell that?”

  “What?”

  Elena shook her head. “It’s the same aroma I noticed at Roth Rock, when I saw those … creatures, those beings of another world.”

  Silvandir sniffed the air. “I don’t notice anything unusual. What does it smell like?”

  “It is hard to describe. It is like spring, fresh grass, wildflowers growing, but with a hint of rain or a fresh babbling stream. It smells like ... new life.” Elena frowned as she gave a light scoff. “I know that makes no sense. The aroma seems to shift constantly, but all the scents are accompanied by the idea of life.”

  Silvandir glanced toward the Mymara. “Do you think it is them?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t notice it until after they arrived, so perhaps.” Elena stared across the Qajh.

  “I suppose we must rejoin them,” Silvandir said, reluctance evident in his voice.

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Elena whispered. “I will hold onto Karaelena, and you hold onto me.” She gazed up at Silvandir imploringly.

  “I won’t let go, my love.” He fastened his arm around her and kissed her head. As if on cue, they both drew deep breaths and moved forward.

  Chapter 51

  When Elena and Silvandir approached the circle, the members of the council stood. Lamreth invited Elena to sit next to him on the bench. Silvandir took his place behind her, standing. His hands clasped both her shoulders.

  The scent in the air was definitely coming from the Mymara. The closer they moved, the stronger it grew.

  Elena’s heart pounded a steady, hard rhythm though she wasn’t certain as to why. She absorbed herself in Karaelena, arranging the blanket around her, until she found her courage. Hesitantly, haltingly, her gaze rose. A gasp escaped her lips. She immediately blushed at her poor manners, though powerless to stop it.

  Beneath the purple hoods were the most hideous faces. Had she not been told that they were women, Elena would not have known them as such. Monstrosities or beasts would have been more appropriate terms, though Elena quickly chided herself for such a thought.

  She glanced from face to face, driven by curiosity. Each one was distinct, though all were as ancient as the rocks in which they chose to live. One face was squat with a large bulbous nose and gaping mouth. Another was long and drawn, the nose and chin coming to fine points. Most were marred by scars and discolorations of the skin as if the fires of their craft had leapt out at them time and again.

  One thing was common in all of the faces: the deep-set, plum-colored eyes, half hidden beneath drooping brows. As Elena stared into one woman’s, it was as if the irises were fluid, moving, shifting, drawing her in, the pupils gateways to caverns of unknown depths, fathomless, mysterious.

  Come, a voice crackling with age called to her.

  Elena stiffened and Silvandir’s grip tightened.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Elena glanced around. No one else seemed to hear the voice.

  Come. We have been waiting.

  A shiver ran through Elena, but she could not speak. Silvandir began to chafe her upper arms.

  Do you wish to see? The dark part of the woman’s eyes expanded. It seemed to Elena that she could make out a world beyond, a series of tunnels and a distant city carved in stone.

  Lamreth laid his hand on Elena’s. “Are you hearing them speak?”

  Elena nodded.

  Lamreth turned to Abath
or, the only one able to hear the Mymara. “Do you hear them as well?”

  Abathor shook his head. “Not clearly. I hear whispering, nothing more.” He turned to Elena. “It is important that you tell us what you hear.”

  It was as if she were enthralled, under a spell of some sort. Elena could see and hear, but was unable to respond with her voice or movement. She couldn’t break free from the pull of the woman’s eyes. In their depths, she saw wizened women dancing around a fire, their hands moving in what looked like an attempt at communication. The flames leapt higher and higher. Now the women were young, beautiful … naked. Bright purple flames swirled, snapped, enchanting her, drawing her, calling, calling. The flames engulfed everything in view and tongues of fire flicked, lashing out from the old woman’s eyes, like a whip ready to wrap around her.

  Elena screamed and bent over Karaelena protectively.

  “That’s enough!” Silvandir leapt over the bench and covered his wife and child with his body. “I’m here. I’ve got you,” he soothed.

  “Nurema,” Lamreth addressed the woman directly opposite him, “it is necessary that you speak so that Abathor may hear you and interpret for the rest of us. We cannot allow you unguarded access to Elena’s mind.” His tone was level and calm, but the authority was there in each word he spoke. “What just happened?”

  I do not know. Only the girl can tell what she saw, Nurema spoke to Abathor’s mind and he relayed it to the group.

  The eyes of the council turned to Elena.

  “I-I saw women dancing around a fire in some sort of caves. The fire grew until it leapt out of her eyes as if to wrap itself around me.” Elena didn’t mention that the old women had transformed into younger ones, whose naked flesh was a vision of pristine beauty. It made her wonder as to the true form of these prophetesses.

  Nurema gazed at her knowingly. Perhaps she guessed what Elena withheld, which made her shiver again.

  “Nurema, may we ask your purpose in this rare visit?”

  The old woman turned her astute eyes unto the Xiander, and Abathor spoke for her. We have come to see the child.

  “For what purpose?” Lamreth persisted. “I am certain it is not just so you could congratulate the young couple. Never have we seen twenty-four Mymara in Queyon.”

  Nurema’s eyes narrowed. How could we stay away? This is Dhamarbria … Athebria, and with her comes the birth of new hope.

  Elena heard it first-hand, the others through Abathor. The words sent ice through her body. Again, there was the sense that her life was but a tool, and the same would be true for her child.

  “I don’t understand these terms.” She looked from Abathor to Lamreth. “What do they mean?” Elena gripped the baby tightly to her breast—too tightly. Karaelena whimpered and squirmed.

  Silvandir gently tugged at Elena’s clutching arms, speaking softly to the child as he stroked her tiny cheeks. Elena, seeing the tenderness and concern on Silvandir’s face, realized what she was doing and loosened her grip.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to her husband and child.

  Silvandir kissed her brow, wordlessly telling her there was no need. He then turned to Nurema. “Please explain, as you are clearly distressing my wife. I know the terms from lore, but Elena is unfamiliar with our writings.”

  Nurema fixed her piercing, cavernous gaze on Elena. In the sacred writings of Chiandral, there is mention of Dhamarbria, the bearer of the sword of light who will set things right, crushing the Zhekhum and restoring Yabwana. Sumyah, a great prophetess and priestess among the Mymara, saw in vision over a century ago that Athebria, the truth-bearer, one whom we have long awaited, was one in the same as Dhamarbria. All prophecies ceased nearly two decades ago with the assurance that Athebria was soon to be born and through her all future revelations would come.

  Elena stared blankly at Nurema, awaiting further explanation. When it was clear the old woman would speak no more, Elena pondered her words. After a time, she asked in a tremulous voice, “Are you saying that you believe Karaelena is the fulfillment of these prophecies?”

  It is odd you ask such a question. Nurema’s homely face twisted into a scowl. Is it truly possible that you do not know the answer? She studied Elena.

  Elena’s eyes began their rapid movement as she searched inwardly. Perhaps she had missed something. Perhaps she hadn’t understood something that was spoken.

  Another of the prophetesses silently spoke to Nurema in a language Elena did not understand. Nurema nodded and turned back to the girl. I spoke not of the infant, but of you, child. Her voice was direct, but a softness, a tenderness had entered the words. Though not spoken audibly nor reflected on her harsh features, Elena knew it to be true nonetheless.

  “Me? I thought you were here to see Karaelena.” The room reeled again even as she spoke. Several of the council members immediately started to chant.

  Nurema lifted her hand to silence them. As she did so, one of the Mymara moved her arms in graceful, sweeping motions. Each gesture, each flick of her fingers produced a musical tone like that of the finest tin whistle, light, ethereal. A second prophetess waved her hands and another set of tones swept through the air, deep, hollow notes that grabbed the center of Elena’s being and twisted. A third, a fourth joined. Soon a mesmerizing melody wrought with unearthly harmonies filled the Qajh.

  Elena’s head stopped whirling and, instead, her chest began to throb as if it might burst with pure longing, untempered joy. The elaborate beauty of the music, the sweetness of the tones made her weep. The men, too, seemed hard-pressed to maintain control.

  Karaelena was enrapt. Her tiny eyes danced around as if she could see the tones fly through the air.

  Elena stared at the Mymara, in awe that these magnificent, melodious sounds came from the movement of such wizened and gnarled extremities. It was an odd thing, a thing of which her mind could make no sense.

  Nurema held up her hand and the music stopped. She turned her vivid, plum eyes unto Elena. Has the council explained nothing to you as to who you are and what part you play in history?

  “They have explained many things.” Elena stiffened and squared her shoulders. “Perhaps things of which you ladies are unaware. These terms you used, however, are unfamiliar to me as is the lore and my place in that lore. I take exception to the derogatory way in which you address these noble elders.” Her eyes narrowed as she held the older woman’s gaze. The deep-seated mistrust of women she’d developed over her lifetime quickly rose to the surface.

  “Dear girl,” Lamreth said gently, “you need not defend us. Nurema did not intend to, nor has she offended us.” He turned to Nurema. “We have not spoken of this lore with Elena for it was not evident to this council that she was the fulfillment of either prophecy, though we have had suspicions. She has other mysteries about her that seem to go beyond the lore.”

  Hmm. She told you of rending Anakh’s heart with her blade and yet you did not think her the swordbearer? How odd.

  “I must say that after what happened in the Qajh a few days ago, I for one am reevaluating what we had believed to be true. I am fairly certain about Dhamarbria, but I am curious why you believe she is also Athebria?”

  Again, I am flummoxed. Have you not been to her internal world? Have you not been told what is behind the third door? Did you not see the images swoop down and attack within her vision of Yabwana? Nurema gazed slowly around the circle. Her age? Is she not less than two decades old? Has she not told you of future events? Events she has seen as clearly as if they had already happened?

  Icy fingers climbed Elena’s spine. “How do you know these things?”

  We have seen them in the fire. We have been watching you.

  Elena shivered, finding no comfort in her words.

  We have come to visit the child because she is an enigma. The prophecies have stopped, and we are only able to see what is, no longer what is to come, in the flames. She is daughter of Dhamarbria. Daughter of Athebria. Her future must be blessed indeed. The o
ld woman gave a smile that looked more like a grimace with her twisted features.

  Elena was repulsed. She wondered that Nurema did not mention Terzhel or her other child, or the children produced in Anakh’s camps. Surely, they must know of them. Elena decided it best not to say anything until she’d had a chance to speak with Yaelmargon.

  The old woman rose and waddled toward her, taking Elena’s hand in her claw-like grip. It took tremendous effort of will not to recoil at her touch. But as Elena lifted her eyes, she saw a flash of a young, flawless face that was the epitome of womanly beauty. She wondered again if this form was merely a guise and for what purpose she, or any of them, wore it.

  We came to you so that you could speak to us about the things of which our flames are now silent. Our purpose has always been to look into the future, decipher what we could, and do our part to comply with the Jhadhela. With the flames giving us no new revelations, we have no function.

  A new voice, a different voice, spoke. We have watched you look through the images of the third door. They frighten you. They confuse you. We may be able to help.

  This voice was tender, youthful, not at all compatible with what she saw in these women. Elena’s eyes moved from left to right, searching the gruesome faces for its owner. One finally smiled, showing yellowed and missing teeth.

  I am Khirna.

  Elena nodded but did not speak. This was all so odd. “What do you want from me? What is it you seek?” she asked warily.

  Our last prophecy from the flames showed Dhamarbria passing through death and back again followed by three years of peace. Vague glimpses we received of those three years combined by what you viewed within the third door, lead us to believe that malevolent forces will arise from every region of Qabara and the Zhekhum will grow to a nearly unstoppable strength while the people of Qabara lose faith in the Jhadhela. Finally, after the three years, a battle will erupt, focusing all of its strength on Queyon in order to destroy you, your child, and all who side with you.

  Nurema continued from this point. It will be necessary during those three years for you to perfect your use of the gifts the Jhadhela has given you. We think it would be wise for you to come live with us, so that we may train you and protect you and the child. Our borders are impenetrable by the forces of the Zhekhum, for now anyway. We would make use of your ability to see the future and help you to interpret the visions. You and your child would be safe and well cared for.