by J D Abbas
“Oh,” Elena looked down; her belly relaxed.
“I’m grateful for these last few days.” Celdorn stroked her hair as he spoke. She’d been working on not cringing when he did that. She almost succeeded.
Elena forced herself to breathe as she focused on the fire. Why did she persist in believing the worst in every comment, every action these men made? Would she ever be able to believe they wanted her here? She wished she were good enough for them. This place seemed like it would be a nice place to live.
A question rose from amongst her dark thoughts. “Is it wrong that I feel relieved over the loss of my mother and grieved that my father and grandmother didn’t join her? Would a good person feel differently?”
“You feel what you feel, Sheya, good or bad,” Elbrion replied. “Though I cannot imagine how anyone in your position would not be relieved. You have been imprisoned and tormented within your family, and now you are free. Do not judge yourself too harshly.” He placed his hand on hers.
“If I were in your place,” Celdorn said, “I’d be rejoicing, not just relieved. I can’t find words to express how intense my anger was when I heard the words your mother spoke. I’m glad to know her hold over you has ended and wish I could say the same about your father. I would love to assist in his departure.” Celdorn stopped himself. “I’m sorry, Elena. I’m certainly not the good person to whom you ought compare yourself.”
Elena was surprised by his reaction. Hearing him spout such venomous words was comforting in an odd sort of way. She didn’t remember anyone ever standing up for her or speaking out on her behalf. She embraced the feeling.
Celdorn interrupted her reverie. “Perhaps I’m out of line asking this, Elena, but where is your anger?”
She blinked. “You’ve seen my anger.”
“When?” Celdorn looked genuinely puzzled.
“When I expressed my frustration over being dependent upon all of you. Remember, I cursed and hit the bed. And in the garderobe the other day. I cursed again, I believe.” She wrinkled her nose.
Celdorn’s eyebrows arched. “That was anger?”
“Yes…” Uncertain where this was headed, her guard rose.
“Elena, that was frustration, not anger. And it was directed at your circumstances. I’m talking about rage, fury, hatred. You’ve been treated horrifically most of your life. Those who should have nurtured you betrayed you. Where is your anger about that?”
Elena stared at him, not understanding. He clearly wanted something more from her, but she didn’t know what it was. “I-I am angry.”
Celdorn laughed. “You said that like it was a question.”
“Elena,” Elbrion said, turning her attention. “Anger is an appropriate response to being hurt. The Elrodanar and those Rogaran with Elrodanar blood have empathic abilities. We can feel the emotions in others. We believe they all have value and should be acknowledged. It is part of our truth, of who we are. While we do not encourage unbridled venting, we do encourage truthful, healthy expression.”
She looked down, her eyes moving back and forth. What did they want from her?
“Sheyshon,” Elbrion said softly. “Celdorn is not asking you to feign anger to please him. He is asking why you do not feel anger.”
“B-but I do.”
“Show me your anger,” Celdorn said. “Make an angry statement.”
Elena’s inner world churned, and her eyes darted, trying to find a place to focus.
“Celdorn…” Elbrion held up his hand toward Celdorn as if to restrain him, and Elena’s breath caught.
He ignored Elbrion. “Do you hate your father? Your mother? Can you say it?”
Elena gripped the arms of the chair. It wasn’t a question; it was a command. “I-I hate my mother.”
“The words are there, but no passion.” Celdorn’s voice intensified. “Say it like you mean it; say it to her.”
She was terrified now, her head fuzzy. She tried for more strength in her voice, enough strength to please him. “I-I hate you.”
“Louder!”
She cringed. Sasha looked at her, ears lifting. The other men turned to watch from across the room. They all wanted her to be strong. This was what they wanted to see. I have to do it. I have to.
“I hate you,” she said at half-volume, grabbing the scruff of Sasha’s neck.
“There’s got to be more in you than that. She put you in your father’s bed. She called you whore. She disowned you.” His face was red, his jaw tight.
“Celdorn, that is enough,” Elbrion cut in. But he didn’t listen.
“I want to hear you say it and mean it.”
“I hate you!” she yelled.
Celdorn looked almost satisfied.
Oh, no! Elena covered her head and cowered into her chair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she cried, just before she fell to the floor writhing. Pain shattered her bones. Her body jolted and contorted as if struck by lightning. She screamed. In the midst of the agony, she heard Anakh’s vicious laughter. The room became a blur as chairs toppled, footsteps thundered, and Sasha barked. Make it stop! Make it stop! But no one heard the words.
“Elena, what is it?” Celdorn was on his knees beside her in an instant. Sasha’s frantic barks echoed beside him. Both sounded far away.
Elbrion sang and squatted on the other side. She felt his hand on her head and watched with horror as his body spasmed along with hers. He sang louder and louder until his body stilled; moments later her body stopped jerking as well. She grabbed her head and curled into a ball, fighting with what little strength she had left not to burst into tears.
“Elena, I’m so sorry,” Celdorn said, laying his hand on her shoulder. She cringed and pulled away. Sasha sniffed at her back, whining. “What happened?”
Elena couldn’t answer.
A cold, horrifying dread consumed her. “Elbrion?” she whispered.
“I am here, Sheyshon.” He leaned in closer.
“I need help. I-I had an…accident. I don’t want the men to see.”
She saw Celdorn glance at the floor. Humiliated, she pulled in tighter, just wanting to die. Celdorn’s face went rigid, and he ordered the men out of his room and shooed Sasha after them. He grabbed a blanket from the bed and handed it to Elbrion, who wrapped and lifted her. She pressed into his chest, her last refuge. He sang softly as he carried her to the bathing room. Celdorn told them he’d find some fresh clothes and meet them there.
Elena didn’t look up or speak the entire time they bathed and dressed her. She was a helpless baby and despised herself.
When they were done, they took her to her newly restored room and laid her on the bed. The men had cleaned up the mess, even scrubbed every bit of blood from the floor. Except for the ugly boards covering the hole in the wall, the room looked none the worse for the ordeal.
“Elena,” Celdorn said as soon as she was settled. “This was my fault. I don’t know what happened, but I provoked it. I caused it. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Elena glanced up at him then focused on the end of her bed. She didn’t know how to respond, so she rolled onto her side, facing away from them.
“Please, talk to me, little one.”
She couldn’t.
Elbrion knelt at the side of the bed, singing. He stroked her hair and caressed her shoulder. When finally he spoke, he turned her. “You need not be ashamed, Sheya. You were thrust into a memory, and your body reacted as it did when the event first happened because even in the recalling of it the pain was too intense. You could not control your response. Perhaps you do not know that even seasoned warriors will soil themselves when they are tortured. It is the result of being pushed beyond human endurance. It is not a sign of weakness.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
“You have done nothing wrong, and our affection for you is unchanged. Do not fear.”
Could it be? They hadn’t yelled. They hadn’t struck her. Perhaps…
No, don’t be a fool. Don�
�t trust them. The internal voice was angry, defiant.
“Elena, I’m to blame for this, not you. I wanted you to be angry because I am angry. It was wrong of me to push you. I’m so sorry.”
Her gaze shifted to Celdorn. His face was tear-streaked, tormented.
“Will you tell us what happened? What were you recalling?”
No! They don’t deserve to know.
She hesitated. “I-I was being punished for getting angry.”
“Who punished you? When did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I was little, maybe three or four. I don’t remember what I said or did, but I remember the punishment. Anger was not permitted.”
“What was the energy I felt?” Elbrion asked.
“There was a man with power in his hands.” She shuddered. It was so hard to breathe, her voice was only a wisp of air. “When he touched me, it was like fire moving through me. My head would explode with pain, and my body would lose control. Then I was punished again for the mess I made.”
“No wonder you have no anger. It was tortured out of you,” Celdorn murmured.
The room tilted sharply, and she felt her lip curl. “But not the fight.”
“What?” Celdorn gaped at her.
A sudden fire burned behind her eyes, and she heard her voice from a distance. “I learned not to show anger—on the outside, but I fought in different ways. Quiet ways. Ways they couldn’t see. I refused to let them win.” Her jaw clenched.
Celdorn had a dozen questions in his eyes, but he didn’t speak.
A spasm ran through Elena, and the fight was gone, returned to some hidden realm.
Chapter 33
“Elena, on the second day you were here, you mentioned the death of your youngest brother, the one that came after you. What’s the grief you carry?”
Oh, Celdorn, tread carefully my friend, thought Elbrion.
It was afternoon, and he and Celdorn were again at the fireside with Elena. Elbrion had been puzzling over the girl. She had awakened from her nap with the previous ordeal all but forgotten and seemed to carry no residual fear or mistrust toward Celdorn, which Elbrion found curious. Normal for this girl was difficult, if not impossible, to define. She was like shadows on shifting sand, ever changing.
Elena’s fear exploded when Celdorn asked the question, but her face showed nothing; she didn’t even blink. “That I killed him,” she answered in a flat tone. Her eyes snapped up and her hand clamped over her mouth. She paled and quickly turned her gaze back to the fire.
“I’m confused. I asked your brothers about him, and they said he was stillborn.”
Elena turned to him, her brow wrinkled. “Why would they say that?”
“Perhaps it is the truth,” Elbrion offered.
“But it can’t be. I know I’m responsible for his death. I don’t remember much, only the knife in my hand and that...I killed him somehow.”
“I saw those images, but the events around them were missing.”
“I don’t remember more.”
Elbrion paused. There was something wrong with this memory, something he had sensed immediately when he encountered it. “Would you be willing to take me into the event to find the missing pieces? I believe there is something there you need to know.” He hoped he was wise in taking this risk. It was always a delicate thing to work with memories, especially when he had not seen the entire event.
“How do I do that?”
“You focus on what you do recall, and I will join you inside.”
The girl’s face twisted in confusion.
Elbrion smiled. “Close your eyes and give me your hand, Sheya.” When she hesitated, he added, “It is a step of trust.”
Elena’s hand stuttered toward him, then clasped hold as if determined. She glanced at him before closing her eyes. He saw the flash of fear, but she was moving forward in spite of it. He began a serene melody.
“On what should I focus?” she asked.
“Start with the knife. Can you see it?”
“Yes, but it’s strange. I’m in a room holding the knife, but there’s nothing else here.”
When he closed his eyes, Elbrion found himself in a large entry hall. Behind him was the door through which he had come and in front of him were three doors spaced widely apart. Evil pulsated around the door on his right. He sensed nothing from the one in the center. He turned to the left, knowing it was the one through which he must pass.
He entered a long, dimly lit, stone corridor with cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. It could have belonged to any of a dozen castles. A chill wind whistled through the hallway, carrying a child’s terrified screams on its currents. It swirled around Elbrion, enshrouding him with the child’s fear. Scream after scream followed, immobilizing him. He sang louder and pulled himself free.
Large, oaken doors lined both sides of the corridor. The first one on the left was open. Elbrion entered and found Elena standing on her own, with no visible injuries, and examining a long, curved knife with an ornate jeweled handle.
He looked around. “This is not your memory. Someone else made this room.”
“How could someone else make a room in my mind?”
“I do not know, but perhaps we will find out.”
The room was plain, no furnishings, nothing on the walls except for another door in the one opposite the corridor. Elbrion tried to open it but found it was locked, apparently from the other side.
“Elena, I need you to do something.” He motioned for her to come alongside him. “Reach your hand through this door.”
“I can’t put my hand through a solid door.”
“This is your mind, and you can do whatever you choose.”
Elena pushed on the door. To her surprise, her hand passed easily through as if it were no more than water, or something thicker...like syrup. She yanked it back and examined it for damage. Fixing her eyes on Elbrion, she pushed it through again, her mouth agape.
“Now pull the rest of you through and enter what is on the other side.”
“I’m afraid.”
“It is all right, Sheya. I am here with you, and you have control of your mind.”
She looked at him dubiously but pushed her arm through the door up to her shoulder. Amazed, she put her leg in and pulled the rest of her body to the other side.
“What do you see?”
“I’m in another room, but it’s bigger and full of furniture, and…and scary pictures on the wall. And there are people. They’re all big, and I’m very small.” Elena’s voice was shaky. “One of them is my father. There’s a woman and another man holding a baby. He’s giving it to my father.” There was a pause and a gasp. “Oh no, oh no.”
Elbrion flattened his palms against the door. “Elena, what is it? Talk to me.”
The girl whimpered. “It’s my grandmother.” Her nails raked the door. “Let me out.”
“Bring me through,” Elbrion said firmly.
“How?” Her voice was younger.
“Do you see a brace on the door or a lock?”
“There’s a key in the keyhole.”
“Turn it and open the door for me.”
The latch rattled. “It won’t work!” Her voice was frantic.
“I will try from this side, Sheyshon.” Elbrion grabbed the handle and firmly turned it, pushing the door open. When he stepped to the other side, Elena, who was now a pale blonde girl of perhaps four, embraced his leg and hid behind him. He pulled the key from the door and handed it to her. “Keep this with you.”
Elbrion scanned the second room. The Zhekhum throbbed in this place. “Now that I am here, Sheya, I need you to be very brave. I want you to let your memory take you through the events as they happened when you were little.”
The girl looked up at him and nodded. Taking a deep breath, she stepped from behind him and moved toward the others. As Elbrion watched, the adults gathered around Elena. Her father knelt, held out the infant to her, and told her this was her new baby brother. Elbrion he
ld his breath as he realized what was coming.
The grandmother stepped behind the girl and put her tiny hands around the hilt of the large curved knife. She then guided Elena’s hands toward the baby. When the knife was over the infant’s heart, she forced the girl to push down so hard the point came out the baby’s backside. Elbrion gasped, feeling the thrust as if it had pierced his own chest. Tears blurred his vision.
“Giara, you killed your baby brother,” her father said, in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “The blood on your hands forever binds you to the Zhekhum. You will be its servant henceforth.” He held her face roughly and stared into her eyes as he spoke, a viciousness in his gaze, as if daring her to defy him. The small girl stood surprisingly motionless, unflinching.
At once, everything shifted. They were now outside in a large, raucous gathering around a fire. Strong hands shoved Elena forward into an inner ring of people and placed her in front of a small pyre; the shadows of flames danced across her blank face. One of the men laid a tiny body on the pyre, then another forced Elena to light a torch to the kindling beneath. She moved and responded as if in an emotionless trance.
As the fire consumed the infant, Elena seemed to come to herself, and her face gaped with horror. The girl glanced from side to side then ran and threw herself into the flames. Elbrion gasped and raced forward. Before he could reach the girl, an invisible force caught her and shoved her back until she was outside the ring of people, who seemed oblivious to what was happening.
You killed your baby brother. The shame-inducing words throbbed in the air, over and over, pounding around the girl, growing louder each time. Elena’s tiny hands pressed on her ears as she quaked beneath the force. She focused on the fire as if considering a second run at it when a tiny form rose from the flames, floated toward her and came to rest in her arms. Without hesitating, she ran and hid in the bushes, cradling the baby. As she wiggled backward into the shelter of the undergrowth, the furnished room reappeared. She hurried through the door with the keyhole into the plain room, then to the hallway door. Looking carefully both ways, she ran toward a room on the opposite side, stumbling under the weight of the infant. She wrestled with the latch while trying not to drop her brother. Once inside, she closed and locked the door behind her.
