Shattered by Shadows: The Innocence Cycle, Book 1

by J D Abbas

  “I believe you already know Giyon, my right hand, who’s currently in charge of security for this wing. Platon oversees the perimeter guard. Fenard, the tower guards. Wildor manages the kitchen and the provisions for all outriders, as he always does so well.” They laughed as Dahmid patted Wildor’s well-rounded belly. “And Arnon there’s in charge of the weapons and gear for the Ilqazar.” Braiden nodded to each in turn.

  “P-please, f-feel free to eat.” Braiden sat at the foot of the table, not wanting to sit in Celdorn’s place.

  Wildor had supplied a good meal: slabs of goat meat, a variety of cheeses, freshly baked dark bread, and plenty of dark ale. A veritable feast compared to the food they’d eaten on the road. The men gratefully helped themselves.

  Braiden took a long, slow breath to calm his nerves so he could speak with strength as he related Celdorn’s instructions. He felt more than competent caring for Elena but didn’t feel at all adequate to be telling these men their jobs.

  “Lord C-Celdorn has ordered that we keep a g-guard on high alert during his absence,” he began. “We n-need the entire p-perimeter patrolled and the tower g-guard active at all times. The security for this w-wing will continue. Both stairways are to be g-guarded night and d-day. No one is to step f-foot on this floor without my leave. The g-guards aren’t to leave their posts unless there’s a cry for h-help. When I’m n-not on this floor, I’ll require one of you to be h-here in m-my stead.” There. He’d done a fairly decent job of it. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers under the table. “D-did Silvandir give you any specific instructions b-before he left?”

  “Only that we make sure we have provisions and reinforcements ready to send out at a moment’s notice,” Dahmid replied.

  “And d-do we?”

  Dahmid looked offended. “Yes, sir.”

  “I-I’m sorry.” Braiden dropped his gaze. “I m-meant no offense.”

  The older man leaned in toward him, his voice low. “Never apologize for asking the questions that’re your duty to ask.” He patted Braiden’s shoulder.

  Braiden nodded his thanks. “H-have you reassigned duties with so many g-gone?”

  “We have, sir,” answered Giyon around a mouthful of food. “All training has been suspended for the time being, and the trades halted. We’ve put most everyone on guard duty except for those in the kitchen.” He grinned at Wildor. “We have to eat.”

  The men discussed the necessary changes and how to manage some of the boys who were still too green to be effectual on guard duty.

  After they had spoken at some length, Braiden asked. “Wh-who’s the best, most creative w-woodworker we have in the keep?”

  The men exchanged puzzled glances. “That would probably be Barildor,” Arnon offered. “Why?” The man blushed. “Sorry. None of my business, sir.”

  Braiden smiled, especially at the ‘sir.’ “I-it’s all right. I-I have some projects I’d like to d-discuss with him. Where would I f-find him this time of d-day?”

  “He works in the stables but builds furniture and other items as needed. You’ll most likely find him in the stalls doing repairs.”

  “Thank y-you. I’ll d-do so at once.” Braiden pushed his chair back. “G-Giyon, remain here and w-watch over Elena until I return.” He nodded toward the now sleeping girl.

  “Yes, sir,” Giyon replied.

  Braiden rose and hesitated. He debated whether or not to awaken Elena before he left, but in the end decided he wouldn’t be gone long and she needed the rest. Besides, she had her two furry bodyguards with her.

  Braiden descended the stairs and greeted the guards, who rose as he approached—another odd experience for him.

  The stables were on the far side of the keep. He hoped Barildor could easily be found. He was excited about some ideas he had that might allow Elena a bit more independence.

  Chapter 21

  With a lamp in one hand and sword in the other, Celdorn descended into the darkness. He stopped and listened with each creaking step, the wood bowing beneath his weight. His eyes bore into the empty blackness, searching.

  A horrible stench of excrement and decay wafted up the stairs, followed by indistinct scraping sounds and what might have been stifled whimpers. When he reached the bottom, he moved along the wall into the shadows on his right.

  As more men descended with lanterns, a large, open, horrifying room took shape. At the east end, against the wall, were two deep metal troughs filled with filthy water, over which hung harnesses connected to a pulley. Just beyond the tubs were manacles attached to a metal ring in the wall. On nearby hooks was an assortment of whips. Celdorn fingered the throngs of one that had sharp rocks tied in the knots at the ends. The image of Elena’s scarred back flashed before his eyes with the force of a slap against his own. His breath exploded in a grunt. He gave his head a quick shake as his stomach climbed into his throat.

  On the north wall opposite the stairs were two large circular wooden frames from which shackles hung high and low. In a wooden cabinet between them was another collection of whips and a set of long, thin blades. Beyond this was what looked to be a vertical stretching rack, though not long enough for a man. Celdorn shuddered and quickly looked away.

  Celdorn heard a stifled cry of dismay followed by rumbling from the men who had gone to the left of the stairs. He hurried toward where they had found two dozen compact wooden crates lining the wall, stacked in two rows. As Celdorn stepped closer, he was horrified to discover that they were cages with children in them. Some of the boys and girls looked up as the light approached; others didn’t move. The men immediately began to pry open the cages. They had metal locks securing them, but they found their swords easily cut through the wood frames. Once the children were released, Celdorn motioned for the men to take them upstairs.

  In the center of the room were several large tables. Celdorn, with Elbrion at his side, moved toward them with a sudden irrational trepidation. They discovered shackles, knives, metal rods and various implements of torture lying on them. In the farthest corner, Celdorn found an unconscious child still bound, arms and legs spread as if being stretched. One of the boy’s hands had been severed—recently, for there was still a steady flow of blood.

  Celdorn’s vision blurred. A dense blackness swirled around him, and he found himself unable to move or think. Through the fog, he watched Elbrion step past him and signal to the other men to spread out and search for those who had done this. Then he pulled his knife and cut the child’s bonds.

  Celdorn was sweating profusely though his body shook from an iciness that filled his veins. Vivid flashes of memory were blinding him. He was transfixed when Elbrion put a hand on his shoulder and whispered something that was garbled by the pulse pounding in his ears. Celdorn’s eyes flicked toward him, startled, but his mind cleared.

  While Elbrion tore part of the hem from his tunic and wrapped it tightly around the boy’s wrist, Celdorn studied the scene. He found individual fingers lying next to the severed hand among other unrecognizable tissue. It was not until then he realized the boy had been brutally and sloppily emasculated. His mind snapped to attention as his wrath ignited.

  He signaled for a man to take the boy upstairs. As the Guardian lifted him, Celdorn was amazed to see the boy’s eyes open.

  “Where are the ones who did this to you?” he whispered in Lanar. The boy stared at him with confusion and shook his head. Celdorn tried again in Borok. With his uninjured hand, the boy pointed to the corner just past the metal tubs.

  “Well done,” Celdorn whispered. “They won’t hurt you ever again.” He told the Guardian to take him to Dalgo right away.

  Celdorn hurried toward the corner. Elbrion was already there, gaze unfocused as if listening to something Celdorn couldn’t hear. Near where he stood was a door in the wall, only two feet high, requiring one to crawl to enter the other side.

  “How many are in there?” Celdorn asked.

  “I can feel the distinct fear of five,” Elbrion replied. “There
is also some other malevolent force.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I do not know. I have only an impression.”

  Celdorn studied the opening and the wall. “If I send anyone through that door, it’s certain death.”

  Hamor approached. “Lord Celdorn, this wall is made of wood and covered with dung or clay to make it appear as stone. What if we used one of the tables as a battering ram and knocked the wall down above the door?”

  Celdorn agreed.

  Three of the men turned a table on its side and hacked the legs off. They carried it toward the small opening, ramming it into the wall just above the doorframe. The wood cracked. They struck it again and again until the doorframe and the wall above it gave way, then they shifted slightly to the right and repeated the process until they had knocked a significant hole in the wall, large enough for two men to fit through.

  There was no light or sound coming from the other side. One of the men pushed a lantern through the hole, sliding it on the ground. It met no resistance. Drahmil looked through the opening keeping his head low and close to the left wall. A large knife sliced downward. Drahmil yanked his head back just in time to avoid having it severed. Celdorn grabbed the failed assassin’s arm, pulled him through the opening, and flung him to the ground, where he quickly met his end.

  Celdorn slipped through the hole side by side with Drahmil before another could take the assassin’s place on the far side of the wall. More of his men followed. They found four petrified men lined up along the wall, knives in hand. They were no match for the Guardians’ swords and were quickly eliminated.

  When Celdorn turned to examine the rest of the room, a dreadful, amorphous presence met him. An icy wind swirled and wrapped itself around the Guardians, passing like knives through their bodies and extinguishing the lantern—and with it, all sense of hope.

  In the dark, horrific images of people being tortured and severed body parts seized the men’s minds accompanied by the debilitating sensations of hot oil being poured over their flesh, burning through layer after layer of tissue, causing excruciating agony and bringing the sense of imminent death. As the wind withdrew into the apparition, it pulled the Guardians’ breath along with it. The men dropped to their knees, grasping at their throats as their lungs collapsed.

  Elbrion stepped through the broken doorway. He whispered several words in Elnar and shed his cloak. The light of his presence filled the room. He spoke louder and the rock walls gave off light. The men collectively gasped and frantically sucked in air.

  In the far corner, a pair of eyes appeared, hanging in a black space which the Jhadhela could not penetrate. The harsh, raspy voice of a woman uttered words in a language none of them recognized, and the light was snuffed out.

  The pulsations in Elbrion’s body dimmed, and he staggered back holding his chest as if he’d been stabbed. He sang, softly and haltingly, as he fell to his knees, fighting for each breath. Unwilling to yield to this deadly presence, he sang louder; his light strengthened, and he rose to his feet. As the volume increased, Elbrion became so brilliant Celdorn couldn’t look at him. The walls throbbed with growing light, as if they might burst.

  Where the eyes had been, the shape of a woman appeared, like a hole cut in the light. Celdorn lunged forward and swung his sword, aiming for her neck. The blade passed right through her, as through empty air, her shape completely unaffected. She laughed.

  “You think you can destroy me with swords,” she cackled in Garan. “You cannot kill what is already dead.”

  Her elusive form slithered toward Celdorn and coiled around his body like a snake, paralyzing him. “I am Anakh, soon to be Queen of Qabara. You will kneel before me, Lord Protector.” The coil pressed on the back of his legs, and Celdorn fell to his knees. She laughed, an ugly, hideous sound. “You have something of mine, and I want it back,” she whispered in his ear.

  “She’s...not…a thing,” Celdorn forced out as he fought to free himself from her grasp.

  “Oh, do you have a soft spot for the child?” she cooed. “She’s a tool, just a tool, like all the others. A means to my end. And you were fool enough to leave her with a child guard.” The shadow tsked at him in mock scolding. “She’ll be back in my arms before morning, and I’ll torture her until she begs for death, which I won’t grant—not for a while. She’s a very useful tool.” She squeezed him tighter, making it impossible to breathe. “You should never have helped her. Die, knowing you have increased her suffering and let your one chance to save Qabara slip right through your fingers, oh mighty Lord Protector.” She hissed the last words with emphasis. Then with one final squeeze, the specter erupted in maniacal laughter and vanished.

  Celdorn heaved in a breath as the room exploded with energy that burst against the walls and shook them violently. Just before their light went out, he saw cracks forming spindly fingers that reached toward the ceiling. Pieces of rock dropped from the crumbling walls. The men stumbled from the room as the ceiling collapsed behind them.

  “Up the stairs!” Celdorn tried to yell, but his voice came out raw and strained.

  Someone repeated the order, and the men charged upward. They were still on the wooden staircase when the upper floor crashed down onto the one below.

  Chapter 22

  Later that evening, after yet another exasperating and humiliating trip to the garderobe, Braiden brought Elena back to her room, where Sasha and Bria awaited. He left her to prepare for bed while he went to Celdorn’s chamber to retrieve something, promising he’d be gone only briefly.

  The wind howled outside, rattling the window casement. Elena shivered as she worked with frustration to change into her nightclothes. She unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged it off then picked up the nightshirt Braiden had left and tried to figure out how to get it over her head without raising her arms. A chill ran up her back, and she glanced over her shoulder. Again, she had that feeling something was stalking her, breathing down her neck.

  Just as she wondered if Kelach was haunted, the wind whistled outside her window, sounding like high-pitched screams. This place was creepy.

  “Giarrrra...” a singsong voice whispered in her ear.

  Anakh? Elena almost wet herself.

  “I’m here to take you home.”

  Elena whipped around to face her, but no one was there. She searched the room and all its shadows, which were coming to life, reaching toward her.

  Sasha jumped from the bed with a sharp bark. Her hair bristled as she sniffed at the corner behind Elena. With a low growl, the dog circled the room, checking every inch before rejoining her on the bed. Bria watched with mild interest from her place on the floor, not sharing the younger dog’s concern. Sasha’s hackles were still up when she returned to the bed, but she seemed satisfied that there was no threat in the room.

  “Giara, let me in!” The shutters banged against the outside wall with a loud thwack!

  Sasha lifted her head, ears back, and growled, lips curled, teeth bared. Bria jumped up this time, facing the window, hackles raised.

  Elena wanted to cry out for Braiden, but the words died in her throat. She clutched the scruff of Sasha’s neck as a chill wind swirled around her; the room spun; the shadows reached closer, enwrapping her with ebony fingers. Sasha and Bria barked but it sounded far away. Elena felt squeezed by malice, evil, hatred, sucked in a downward spiral to some place of torment. Powerless to stop it.

  “El-Elena?” Braiden called as he knocked. She jumped, and the room stopped moving. “M-may I come in?” The shadows withdrew.

  Relief swept through her. It was just her imagination brought on by the spookiness of the castle. “Don’t tell,” she whispered to Sasha.

  “Of course, Braiden,” Elena called. She gave a jittery laugh, trying to regain control of her nerves, as he entered. “It’s not as if you might be interrupting me plying my trade or some such.” She cringed. What had possessed her to say that? The room wavered.

  Braiden frowned. “I-I don’t like
that k-kind of humor. It’s d-degrading to you.”

  “Sorry.” Her crooked smile faded. She didn’t know where those words came from. It was as if some strange woman were speaking through her at times.

  “Are-are you having trouble?” He nodded toward the nightshirt she was clutching in front of her bare breasts.

  She reddened. “Yes, I can’t raise my arms enough to get it over my head.” Embarrassed tears burned her eyes; she swallowed them down.

  “H-here.” He took the shirt from her and slipped it over her right wrist. Where most men would have taken the opportunity to gawk freely at her breasts, Braiden was careful to keep his eyes averted. He gently slid the nightshirt up her arm, slipped it over her head then helped her to put the other arm in. Before he lowered it, he glanced at her blackened ribs. “Are-are you breathing well?” He pressed gently on the bones. “Th-that bruise is nasty.”

  She winced. “Yes, it only hurts when you do that.” She feigned a glare, but there was laughter behind it. “Or when I try to lift my arms,” she added, more seriously.

  He lowered her shirt and smiled. “Then I’ll stop. B-but let me know if you f-feel anything jabbing or aching when y-you breathe.” He helped her lie back, unlaced her trousers, and pulled them off for her.

  “I never knew undressing could be such work.” She laughed and almost made another crude joke at her own expense.

  Braiden sidestepped the off-color comment. “I-I have s-some things for you.”

  “For me?” Elena struggled to sit up, but her mid-section screamed at her. Braiden offered his hand, and she took it, amazed at how he seemed to anticipate her need. The thought made her uneasy.

  “They are r-roughly hewn and quickly p-pieced together, but they should be of use t-to you.” He brought a stepstool from behind the door. “This is to h-help you climb up and d-down from the seat in the g-garderobe.” He smiled as if it was difficult to contain himself. “The rails on the s-sides will assist you in b-balancing until you are able to put w-weight on your left leg.” Next, he pulled out a tall oddly shaped wooden stool with a leather sling at the top. “This one is t-to support your leg while you s-sit, so that you n-need not have one of us standing n-next to you, allowing you m-more privacy. And these”—he reached behind the door again and retrieved a pair of petite crutches—“are so you can b-begin to walk around on your own while y-your knee recovers.”