by J D Abbas
“Are you all right?” Celdorn called.
“Yes,” she hissed through tight lips. Sweat tickled her brow by the time she sat down on the edge of the seat. Then, realizing she was sitting on her nightshirt, she cursed.
“Is something wrong?”
She tried to wiggle her nightshirt up and her smallclothes down. Her knee and ribs twisted in ways that yanked tears from her eyes, and she had to stop. When she tried to pull herself to a standing position, her shoulder and ribs screamed at her. She cursed again in frustration.
“Elena?”
It’s a simple, stupid task I should be able to do on my own. She punched the rail. In the end, she was forced to surrender. “I need help.”
Celdorn found her sitting on the edge of the platform, shoving back the tears. “What is it?”
I’m helpless and pathetic, a voice inside screamed. But aloud, she was more careful. “My nightshirt is stuck beneath me, and I can’t get back up to fix it.”
Celdorn looked like he might laugh but stopped himself. He quietly lifted her, and she took care of the nightshirt and smallclothes. Once she was seated, he put the support with the sling back in place without a word.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He stepped out. When she finished, she was determined to pull herself up, but it felt like her shoulder was coming apart. She wiggled to the edge, bit her lip, and tried to stand with just her leg but couldn’t. She wanted to scream.
“Celdorn, I need you again.”
He came immediately and helped her stand. She took care of her clothes and hopped down the steps on her own.
“You did well for a first attempt.”
She glared at him.
“It will get easier as you regain strength. Your body has been through a horrific ordeal, little one. It needs time to recover. Be patient with yourself.”
Her face contorted. “Who are you?”
Celdorn laughed. “I know you’re frustrated. I would be too.” He carried her back to his room.
Braiden examined her injuries, put salve on the ones that needed it, and studied her knee. “Th-the swelling has lessened, and-and your stitches look good. Y-you’re making progress,” he said, his smile bright as ever.
Elena looked from Braiden to Celdorn. Why did they care so much? Perhaps they were just in a hurry for her to get well, so they could send her away. She was surprised to find the thought made her sad.
~
After they got Elena situated in her favorite chair, Celdorn sat down across from her. Sasha wedged between them, her head claiming Elena’s lap. Braiden leaned her crutches up against the wall and stood by awaiting further instructions.
As they watched the fire, Elena first felt, then noticed, a scowl forming on Celdorn’s face. She wondered if he was thinking about Bria, maybe angry with Elena for bringing death to their door. Bria was such a beautiful, sweet dog and had been with Celdorn almost as many years as Elena had been alive. Tears burned and she bit her lip.
“May I ask you something?” Celdorn’s voice was soft, tender, not matching his expression.
Fear crept over her as she eyed him with suspicion. She gave a stiff nod. Braiden slipped away to the other side of the room, as if he were intruding.
“At the encampment, were you ever...caged?”
Elena lowered her eyes. Her breath wouldn’t come. She hadn’t expected this, dreaded his reason for asking, but nodded in obedience.
Celdorn hissed a curse. Elena immediately recoiled, and her eyes flashed to his hands. He startled and said, “Oh, little one, my anger isn’t with you.” His focus went to his hands, the scowl returning. “Were you also...tortured in that room?” He seemed to choose the word with care.
Elena’s heart pounded, horrified that he’d seen, that he knew. She nodded again without looking up.
Celdorn was quiet. When she finally gathered the courage lift her gaze, he seemed focused on some faraway place. His voice was husky when at last he spoke. “Elena, I’m so sorry. That place…the things they did...” He stopped and swallowed like something was stuck in his throat. She avoided his eyes, but he waited until their gaze met. “It was wrong, little one,” he said firmly. “What they did to you, what they did to the others, was wrong. It was the deepest, darkest kind of evil.”
Then his mouth moved but nothing came out. He rubbed his jaw and glanced to the side. “It wasn’t your fault. Do you understand? It wasn’t something you did. This didn’t happen because you were bad or deserved punishment. It was their sickness, their depravity, their lust for power. There’s nothing wrong with you.” His gaze intensified, as if willing the words into her soul.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she shoved them away. No, it was Celdorn who didn’t understand. She wasn’t like the other children. He didn’t realize that there had always been something missing, something defective in her, at her very core. And she didn’t want him to find out the truth. If he did, he wouldn’t want her here.
Celdorn’s gaze burned into her, and she peeked up at him, hesitant, uncertain. He laid his hand on her cheek, his eyes searching her soul. “You don’t believe me, do you?” He held her face more firmly. She gave a tiny shake of her head but didn’t pull away. “I hope you will one day. That isn’t how life should be for any child, and I want you to know that there is a different kind of life, a better life available to you now.”
Without thinking, Elena pressed her face into his hand, a hungry, starving prisoner grasping for the feast being offered—then fear, ever gnawing, ever present, yanked her back into the safety of the familiar cell.
She withdrew her face.
Celdorn gave her a sad smile, then glanced at the table where the serving boys had laid out food for the morning meal. “How about I get you something to eat?” Without waiting for an answer, he patted her arm and left her with her thoughts.
~
Mikaelin had moved to the shadows on the far side of the room when Celdorn carried Elena in. He watched with a throbbing chest as Celdorn settled her by the fireside. When Celdorn came to prepare a tray of food for her, he waved Mikaelin over. Elbrion arrived and joined them at the table as if he’d been summoned as well.
“Did you sleep?” Celdorn asked Mikaelin as he ladled some gruel into a bowl.
“I tried but was unsuccessful.” Mikaelin kept his eyes averted as he gnawed on a crusty piece of bread.
Standing just behind Celdorn, Elbrion said, “Nightmares?”
Mikaelin focused on the table, afraid to look at either man. “Yes.”
“The past and the present are becoming confused and entwined?”
Mikaelin’s eyes shot up. What had Elbrion seen? Mikaelin tried to harden himself, tried to find casual, dismissive words to end the speculation, but none would come.
“And you wish you could rip your memories from your mind and burn them until nothing but ash remains?”
Mikaelin couldn’t breathe. The best he could manage was a stiff nod. He felt as if he were naked and wondered again how much Elbrion could see.
“Do not fear, my friend, I see nothing. I merely sensed your distress and guessed at your thoughts.”
Mikaelin wasn’t sure he believed him. He wondered if Elbrion also knew he was considering leaving the service of the Guardians. He’d thought working in the pursuit of justice and helping right wrongs would bring him some sense of purpose and peace, instead he found it was increasing his torment. But—a lump formed in his throat—he had nowhere else to go.
Celdorn had listened to the exchange without comment. When Elbrion walked away, he leaned in closer and said, “You and I will talk later.”
Mikaelin wanted to run like he was twelve years old again.
Chapter 30
Silvandir grumbled to himself as he rode back from Neldon, making sure his unit didn’t hear him. He was a better leader than that, even if Tobil didn’t recognize it. He’d been wrong to send Silvandir away on an errand that any of those under him could have managed. True, h
e had struck the laborer yesterday, but he’d been careful; he hadn’t broken any bones, hadn’t done any permanent damage. They’d needed information, and he would have gotten it if Tobil hadn’t interfered. The worker was lying. He was sure of it. He wouldn’t have struck the girl. He would never strike a child, boy or girl. But Tobil had sent him out of the room as if he didn’t trust him. Then into the village today.
Silvandir wanted to find Elena’s grandmother. Find her and punish her. What kind of a grandmother trains her grandchild to be a...a... He couldn’t even think the word. What kind of a fiend would punish a child for reacting to the violation of an uncle? If we find that uncle, I will personally rip his cock off. Silvandir jolted in the saddle, shocked by the vehemence of his own thoughts.
Windham flicked his ears back and nickered.
“I know. I know,” Silvandir said, patting the stallion’s neck. “It’s a good thing no one else can hear my thoughts.” He took a deep breath and flexed his fingers, loosening his death grip on the reins.
Windham’s head came up and his ears twisted forward. He glanced back at Silvandir.
“I hear them.” Ilqazar approached from the north, their inner chatter noticeable long before he could see them. Brahmon, Haldor’s steed, burned like a star in his mind. He was as elusive and beautiful as his rider. He wondered what news Haldor brought.
Let’s go meet them, Silvandir whispered to Windham’s mind. “Wait here,” he yelled to his patrol. The stallion broke into a gallop, glad to be let loose, and closed the distance in no time.
“What news, Haldor?” Silvandir called. “Did you find Elena’s father?”
“Silothani, wheyon,” Haldor replied as he drew rein, his voice calm and controlled as ever. He gave Silvandir an indulgent smile.
“I beg your pardon.” Silvandir hung his head, chastised by the one simple look.
“No need. It has been a long night, and I was about to ask you the same. So we have both come up empty. Did you find the grandmother?”
“No. We failed there as well.” He growled the words, finding it difficult to suppress his frustration. “Tobil sent me into town to verify the information we received yesterday. I was just returning.” He brought Windham around. “I’ll show you the way.”
As they trotted toward Silvandir’s waiting patrol, Haldor told him about what they’d found in Rhamal, which only made Silvandir angrier.
“This is it.” He nodded toward a quiet farm to their left. The two companies merged and rode toward Tobil, who stood beside the stables.
When they approached, Tobil nodded to Haldor and waited for him to dismount. Tobil was the picture of discipline and patience, his feet slightly spread, hands clasped behind his back, and his face unaffected by the long night and fruitless pursuits. Silvandir chastised himself for not showing the same discipline.
“Good to see you, my friend,” Haldor said, clasping Tobil’s shoulder. “No news of the father or the grandmother?”
Tobil shook his head. “We’ve been questioning the workers, and they’ve changed their story. They now admit this is the right property, but the grandmother and uncle have gone away for a few months, somewhere north.”
“Do you believe them?”
“No.” Tobil shook his head. “But they are unwavering. Perhaps you can sense something I can’t.”
Haldor and Tobil headed toward the shed where they’d questioned the workers the day before.
As they followed, Shatur came alongside Silvandir and nudged his shoulder. “Tough night?”
Silvandir scoffed and gave a slight nod. “I’m just so frustrated. The grandmother has to be here somewhere. We’ve checked all the buildings. No old woman, only one young farm hand and a servant girl. How do they run a place like this with so little help?”
Shatur looked around. “This is no working farm. There’re only a few animals here and the fields are fallow.” He nodded toward a row of buildings. “Those are being used for something else.”
Silvandir glanced at the property with fresh eyes. How had he missed that?
Haldor and Tobil disappeared into the shed.
“I doubt Tobil will let me ask any questions this time. I got a little carried away yesterday.”
“No more than the rest of us.” They stopped outside the shed, and Shatur showed Silvandir his swollen knuckles. “I need to build up a few more calluses if I’m going to keep bashing faces.” He gave a dark, half-laugh. “This one, however,” he said, holding up his damaged arm, “works like a club. No toughening needed.”
Silvandir chuckled. Nothing ever seemed to dampen Shatur’s spirits completely. He was glad to see his friend.
When they stepped into the dimly lit shed, it took a few moments for Silvandir’s eyes to adjust. Tobil was already speaking with the male worker while Haldor observed, his deep gaze focused on the young man’s eyes. A scowl formed on Haldor’s brow.
“Where is Vargona?” Tobil repeated. “We know you work for her. You must know where she would hide.”
Shatur grabbed Silvandir’s arm. “Aren’t these the ones you are looking for?”
Silvandir stared at his friend. “We’re looking for elderly people.”
“Are you blind, Silvandir? They are old.”
Haldor turned to Shatur. “What do you see?”
“I see an old man and woman, at least sixty, I’d guess.”
Silvandir looked at the workers then at Shatur. “You’re seeing things. They’re young. The girl is still in her teens.”
“No, they’re not,” Shatur insisted. He walked over and grabbed a lantern. He brought it close to the male worker’s face and lifted his chin with his stump. As soon as he touched him, a wizened old man appeared. Silvandir was stunned. “And my guess is this is Vargona.” He touched the girl’s shoulder. The transformation was immediate. A wrinkled face scowled back at them.
“How is this possible?” Tobil said, his composure shaken.
“Some sort of glamour or illusion she is able to create.” Haldor stepped toward the woman. “Where is your son?”
“I don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you puppets of the Jhadhela if I did.” She squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin; the dozens of hills and valleys on her ancient face couldn’t mute the bold defiance. A fire blazed in this withered woman.
Silvandir back-handed her. “You will show respect, old woman. We know what you’ve been doing here, and we will have answers.”
Vargona spat blood on Silvandir’s foot. “Morah scum.”
Silvandir’s open hand curled into a fist. Haldor grabbed his arm before he struck and turned to the man. “Do you know where Domar is?”
The old man shook his head and looked down.
“What can you tell us of the business she is involved in?”
“I know nothing of her business. I run a farm here.”
“A farm with few animals and no crops,” Silvandir said. “You lie.”
The old man looked up with fear. “There used to be more. I’m aging. I’ve been selling off the animals and the fields.”
“Silence, Webur,” Vargona said. “Don’t give them any information.”
Silvandir pulled his dagger and pressed it to her throat. “You will answer our questions.”
The old woman laughed, not cowed in the least. “You can’t kill me. You might kill this shriveled old body, but I’ll just find a new one, a better one.”
“I don’t have to kill you. I can just remove body parts.” Silvandir moved the knife beneath her ear.
Haldor stayed Silvandir’s hand again. “What can you tell us of Giara?”
“She’s a fool to take up with the likes of you.”
Silvandir’s chest tightened. How did she know they had Elena?
“There’s no power in the Jhadhela. The power rests in the Zhekhum and learning how to wield it. We tried to teach her, but she was too stubborn to learn.”
Silvandir’s rage boiled. He had heard about the scars Elena bore for her ‘stubbor
nness.’ She was just a child. His hand jerked loose of Haldor’s grip, and his dagger took off Vargona’s ear.
The woman didn’t scream, didn’t react, as if she felt nothing. She placed her hand over her ear and gave Silvandir a twisted smile. When she removed her hand, the ear was restored. Silvandir gaped, disbelieving.
“Silvandir, step outside.” Tobil’s voice was firm. Silvandir looked at him but didn’t move.
“Come on.” Shatur grabbed his arm. “I’ll go with you.”
Vargona gave Silvandir a triumphant smile. His fist slammed into her face, smashing nose and mouth before he could stop himself. “That’s for Giara.” Then he turned to Tobil. “I beg your pardon. I’ll leave now.” He rolled his shoulders, straightened and walked out.
He and Shatur waited outside for what seemed like hours. They heard the old man cry out at one point, but it was otherwise quiet. Finally, Tobil and Haldor emerged looking grim.
Tobil strode up to Silvandir, and he braced himself for a rebuke. Instead, Tobil laid his hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Silvandir. I was wrong. I thought using force would just provoke her and gain us nothing. But no threat—not imprisonment, not the death of her brother—moved her.”
“We will gain no information from her,” Haldor agreed, his usually placid face pinched with frustration. “I could not endure another moment with that evil creature. I ordered Nakar to see to her execution.”
“Shouldn’t we bring her to Celdorn?” Silvandir asked.
“No, he will not want her that close to Elena,” Haldor replied.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” He should have. He was slipping. Silvandir kicked the dirt, frustrated with himself.
Shatur patted him on the back. “Is there any ale in the house?” He winked. “I think we’ve earned a pint or two.”
Leave it to Shatur to lighten the mood.
The four headed toward the main house. When they were halfway there, a loud boom erupted behind them. Silvandir turned just as the shed shot into the air—in a dozen directions. Boards flew and hay scattered like a dried dandelion in the wind.
