by J D Abbas
Braiden didn’t know what to do. He thought perhaps if he gave her time, she’d calm down. He studied the blood on the bed then noticed more on the floor. It looked as if she’d attempted to get out of bed and blood had flowed. But he had stitched the worst wound and it was bandaged, so why was there blood?
When he turned to go, Giyon stood. “Sasha won’t wake.” He looked up at Braiden with concern. “Who did this?”
Braiden shook his head and signaled for Giyon to leave the room with him. He didn’t close the door in case Sasha roused and wanted out. When they were in the hall, he said, “El-Elena didn’t call out? S-Sasha didn’t bark?”
“No. It’s been quiet.”
“H-has anyone else been up here?”
“No, sir, the floor is guarded. No one’s allowed to pass the stairs.”
“This m-makes no sense. There’s blood all over the b-bed and floor. I’m certain it wasn’t there before. And-and why is she s-so distraught? Wh-when I left earlier, she was mildly upset but n-nothing like this.” Unable to quell his agitation, he paced in the hallway. “W-will you check with your m-men and s-see if they heard or noticed anything, anything at all?”
“Certainly.” Giyon sprinted down the hall and descended the stairs.
“I-I shouldn’t have l-left her alone.” Braiden kicked the wall, sending a jolt up his leg. He welcomed the pain. What could have happened? He’d been right across the hall with his door open, but she hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t rung the bell. Even Sasha had been quiet. And why and how was the dog sleeping so soundly? It was almost as if she were ensorcelled. He leaned his head against the wall, wishing Celdorn had left someone else in charge.
Giyon returned. No one had anything unusual to report. The only men on the floor had been Braiden, Giyon, and the boys who brought the food at noon and cleared it, but they’d only been on the floor briefly. Braiden thanked him and released him to his duties.
Braiden made several more attempts over the next few hours to talk to Elena and was met with the same response. Sasha woke about an hour later, wobbly but fine. After sniffing around Elena and whining, Braiden had Giyon take her to be fed and let outside.
Later that evening, he brought food and drink for Elena, certain she was awake, though she didn’t respond. Her crying had ceased, but he could see the too-slow rise and fall of her breaths. He didn’t know what else he could do at this point, other than having men restrain her so he could examine her. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She’d already been forced to do too many things against her will.
He left the food on her nightstand and told her he’d be right outside her door, if she needed him. She made no sign she heard him. He sighed and slipped from the room.
Braiden kept a diligent watch over her through the night, praying Celdorn would come soon and bring Dalgo with him.
Chapter 39
It had been a fruitless night in Rhamal.
By late morning, the bulk of Celdorn’s men had returned to the doqajh compound. They’d spent all night and most of the morning scouring the village and outlying areas for information about the elusive watchers, as they’d come to call them. Though these mysterious riders had been seen any number of times over the previous two days, they were suddenly nowhere to be found, leaving behind not the slightest bit of information as to their identity.
When the men sat down to a midday meal, only three hadn’t reported back. Celdorn hoped they’d found some information worth pursuing.
In the afternoon, Celdorn decided he would ride the perimeter of the village in hopes of finding some clue his Guardians had missed. He felt like a rumbling storm cloud as he stalked into the central courtyard and was caught up short when he found Elbrion there, awaiting him. Celdorn glared. “Do you always know where I am, and when I’m about to move?”
“For the most part.” Elbrion gave him a broad smile, scattering the thunderhead.
“We’ve been together too long.” Celdorn chuckled. “I’m ready to ride. Do you know where Mikaelin is? I haven’t seen him since we arrived.”
“I believe he is still hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“It is a long and remarkable story, but one he should tell you himself.”
Celdorn eyed Elbrion. “Would you find him and tell him that we’re leaving and I’d like him to ride with us?”
Elbrion nodded and headed toward a room at the back of the sanctuary. Celdorn called for Malak and mounted. When Elbrion and Mikaelin joined him a few moments later, the young man refused to look his direction. A wave of coldness washed through Celdorn, and he eyed Mikaelin, knowing he was the source. The young Guardian turned his back and mounted.
Just as the three were about to ride out of the courtyard, Dalgo approached, his eyes intent on only one. “Mikaelin, I have a request to make.” The healer’s face was stern. “I’ve been debating with myself all night. I don’t know if it’s even fair to ask this of you.” He rubbed his forehead, obviously still struggling. “There are two more boys with whom I’d appreciate your assistance. My skills are too limited. They need yours.”
“Dalgo, I don’t understand what happened yesterday. I’m not sure I can do it again.”
Celdorn wondered to what they referred. He watched Mikaelin wrestle with himself, a turmoil churning in his own gut.
“They are beyond my reach. If you don’t help them, they’ll most likely die.”
“Dalgo, it is unfair to lay that burden on Mikaelin,” Elbrion objected. “It takes a great toll on his body. We almost lost him the last time.”
“I realize that, but I believe Mikaelin is able to overcome. He’s stronger than even he knows. These boys deserve a chance.”
Celdorn interrupted. “I want to know what this is about.” He gave Dalgo a scalding look. “You will not risk the life of one of my men without my leave, even if it’s to save a child.” His eyes swept the three. “What happened and why was I not informed?”
Elbrion replied, “The event caught us all by surprise. We had to deal with it immediately and did not have time to consult you. After it was over, it was Mikaelin’s to tell.”
Celdorn looked at Mikaelin. “Explain to me what did occur.”
Mikaelin stared at the ground and shifted in his saddle. Celdorn watched the young man’s body sag, felt the weight in his chest. As he related his interactions with the children and how Elbrion helped him to release the wounds, Celdorn’s eyebrows rose. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected.
“But each wound left a mark on his body,” Dalgo interjected.
Celdorn fixed his gaze on Mikaelin. “And what did they do to your soul?” He kept his voice low, not wanting to embarrass him. “We all know the horrific experiences these children have been through. I can only imagine the emotional torment.”
Mikaelin ran his fingers through Lazhur’s mane, avoiding Celdorn’s eyes. “It’s a mixture. I felt—and continue to feel—things I wish I didn’t. They’re uncomfortable... painful...” He paused and glanced up, perhaps hoping Celdorn would let it go at that. He didn’t; he needed the whole truth. “...and shameful—even though I know they’re someone else’s. They get mixed up with my own wounds. It was… I was…exposed in the process.” He glanced at Dalgo then down, drawing in a ragged breath. “It was...difficult for me... But I’m also glad these children were freed from their injuries.” His eyes rose to meet Celdorn’s. “That I could help. I’m not often of much use in this world; it felt good to do this.”
Celdorn felt the intensity of Mikaelin’s ambivalence and shame. “I promised you I’d keep you safe and wouldn’t ask you to do anything beyond what you could manage. Do you have the strength and the will to enter into this again?”
“Before you answer that,” Dalgo interrupted. “I believe it’s only fair for me to tell you the nature of the injuries these boys have sustained.” Celdorn nodded for him to continue. “Both boys were tortured severely. The one boy’s physical wounds aren’t as bad as the other, but he was in a c
age and suffered severe deprivation; now he’s unresponsive. His mind or his heart is broken. Elbrion worked with him but had no success. The other boy has many burns and knife wounds, the worst being his severed hand and”—Dalgo hesitated—“he was emasculated.”
Mikaelin swayed on his mount, the color draining from his face.
“I saw that boy. This is too much for Mikaelin,” Celdorn said. “I can’t allow it. Though my heart goes out to these children, I won’t risk the life, or the sanity, of one of my men.”
“But if I don’t help these boys, who will?” Mikaelin pulled himself upright. “If the second one lives, he’ll go through life unable to feel like a man, ashamed to be seen. He’ll never find love. Never have a family. He’ll withdraw and isolate, even from other men.” He rubbed his arm as if it ached. “Perhaps I can spare him that. I don’t know. I don’t even understand what’s happening, but I don’t think I can live with myself if I walk away.” He glanced up at Celdorn, but couldn’t hold his gaze.
“You have a say in the decision, of course, Mikaelin,” Celdorn said softly, “but you are not responsible for how these children came to be injured, and you don’t have to feel guilty if you believe it’s beyond you. No one will think less of you. Look at me.” He waited until their eyes met. “Your life is just as valuable and worth saving as those children. I have to consider that as well.”
Mikaelin weighed Celdorn’s words. “If...if I am gifted”—he pulled his Ilqazar closer to Celdorn’s—“then perhaps it’s for this very time, for these very children.” His gaze penetrated Celdorn, begged for his understanding. “There’re few who could comprehend the pain this mutilated boy has lived with, and will continue to live with, and of those few, how many could actually do something about it? I do and I can, so the question remains: will I?” He paused. “No one else can answer that for me.”
Celdorn nodded. “I leave the decision to you then. I’ll support you whatever you decide.” He put his hand on Mikaelin’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Mikaelin. No matter what you may believe about yourself, I know beyond a doubt that you’re a good man.”
Mikaelin sucked in a deep breath and dismounted. “I’ll do it, Dalgo, with one condition: we find a private place to make the attempt. If something goes wrong, I don’t want to be humiliated.” He glanced up at Celdorn and Elbrion.
“We’ll protect you from any embarrassment,” Celdorn assured him, dismounting.
Elbrion joined them, leaving the Ilqazar to wait in the courtyard.
“I have a room we can use,” Dalgo said, leading the men toward the far side of the courtyard. “I put the sickest children in here earlier because it was a secluded place where they wouldn’t be disturbed.”
When they entered the room, they found four children lying on simple beds. Dalgo told the guards which children to move to the sanctuary and asked them to wait there for further instructions.
After they left, Dalgo turned to Mikaelin. “Which one do you want to start with?”
“I think I’d prefer to leave the breakdown of my mind for last.” He gave a weak laugh. “I’ll start with the other boy.”
The three men approached the bed that Dalgo knelt next to. The boy appeared to be twelve or thirteen. The stump where his hand had been was covered with blood-soaked bandages. Celdorn’s concern for Mikaelin increased. When Dalgo pulled back the blanket so Mikaelin could see the other injuries, Celdorn grabbed Mikaelin’s arms just before his knees buckled.
“Are you certain about this?” Celdorn whispered.
“I am.” His voice was soft but determined as he knelt next to the boy.
Elbrion stood behind him. “If you have difficulties releasing the wounds, I will intervene to assist you.”
Mikaelin nodded.
Dalgo moved next to the boy’s head, giving Mikaelin room. Celdorn stepped to the foot of the bed.
Taking a deep breath, Mikaelin gently clasped the boy’s damaged arm. Moments later, he screamed and let go, grabbing his own arm by the wrist. Celdorn watched in horror as one finger after another fell severed to the floor, followed by the rest of his hand. Blood spewed.
Mikaelin cried out again and hunched over; his body convulsed. Blood flowed from between his legs, soaking his pants and making a pool beneath him. He fell to his side, curled in agony.
Then, just as suddenly, he grew still, almost lifeless.
Elbrion was moving to intervene when Mikaelin moaned and rolled onto his back, opening his eyes. They watched in awe as he stretched out his right hand, fully restored. The blood stopped pooling by his hips as well. Celdorn helped him to sit up.
Dalgo knelt at the boy’s side and removed the bandage from his arm. Not only his hand but each of the fingers was restored, with no evidence of the injury remaining. When he pulled back the blanket, they saw the boy’s other injuries had healed as well. There were no more burns or knife wounds; in fact, there weren’t any scars. In addition, he was a complete boy once more, well on his way to manhood, with no deformity.
The boy opened his eyes and looked up at the men, his face riddled with fear and confusion. Then he glanced toward Mikaelin, who was attempting to stand, and his expression changed. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes went wide, fixed on Mikaelin. “Am I in the Realm of Light or did Qho’el send you here to save me?”
“This isn’t Elondhur, I can assure you.” Mikaelin forced out a smile. “Whether or not Qho’el sent me, some would certainly debate, but I’m glad to have been able to help you.”
Mikaelin leaned onto Celdorn’s shoulder. “I think I rose too quickly,” he whispered. Celdorn helped him to a chair next to the wall. He sat with a wince and a groan, turning so his weight rested on his hip, using the wall for support.
Celdorn noticed Elbrion nodding toward the floor. The blood and the severed parts were gone. As if none of it had happened. Celdorn stared in disbelief. What in the world was going on? He took Mikaelin’s hand and examined it. There was the evidence. At the base of each finger and at the wrist were jagged scars. He carefully pulled Mikaelin’s shirt open. Where they had seen burns and knife wounds on the boy’s chest, he saw scars on Mikaelin’s. Oddly, the stains on his shirt remained, as did the blood on the crotch of his pants. He gazed up at Mikaelin’s face with tears, touched by the sacrifice he’d made.
“Are you in much pain?” Celdorn asked.
“Yes, but it’s lessening, at least in my body. The assault on the soul lasts much long—” His breath caught. Mikaelin fought for control but lost. Tears streamed down his face as he curled toward Celdorn, sobbing.
Celdorn pulled Mikaelin into his chest, cradling his head. The young man didn’t resist but leaned into the embrace with all the innocence and longing of a child.
The healed boy watched, his face filled with questions and pain.
When Mikaelin grew quiet, he pulled away from Celdorn, glancing furtively at the others before leaning forward, his head in his hands. Celdorn stepped back.
“Is the other boy ready?” Mikaelin’s voice was shaky, his head still down.
“Are you sure you want to continue?” Celdorn asked. “It would be understandable if you chose to stop.”
“No, I want to finish what I came here to do,” Mikaelin insisted, his voice low.
Dalgo called for a guard to take the healed boy to the sanctuary. As he was leaving, now able to walk on his own, he stopped in front of Mikaelin, who immediately looked up. “Thank you...” He glanced at the blood on Mikaelin’s clothes then stared into his eyes, tears welling. “And...and I’m sorry I caused you so much pain.”
Mikaelin did his best to smile at the boy. “You didn’t cause it. I’m sorry the pain came to you in the first place. I hope you find peace now.”
The boy nodded, lips trembling, and left.
The Guardians turned their attention to the second boy. He was younger, perhaps seven or eight, emaciated, his breathing barely visible. Dalgo explained the bandage on his head covered several splits in the scalp. He sh
owed them the burns and wounds on his body, which were numerous but not as severe as on the last young man.
Elbrion told them when he’d entered this boy’s mind, he was met by nothing but a gray mist, something he’d never encountered before, and was unable to find the boy.
Mikaelin knelt next to the bed. He studied the child’s tiny features, then looked up at the other men, shaking with fear.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Celdorn assured him, though he wasn’t at all certain how he’d fulfill that promise.
Mikaelin laid his hands on the boy’s head. Nothing appeared to happen at first. Both the boy and Mikaelin were silent and unmoving as first one minute then another passed. Then suddenly Mikaelin pulled back and hunched over on his hands and knees. He gagged and fought for breath until he vomited. His body rocked back and forth then lurched forward, his face driven into the ground with a sickening crunch. Mikaelin slowly, silently pulled his knees under his quivering torso. And, just when they thought it was over, he arched and his muscles went rigid. He smashed his forehead on the floor with ferocity. Celdorn hadn’t expected this and Mikaelin managed to strike it three times before Celdorn could stop him, having to wrestle Mikaelin into submission to prevent further injury. Then in the next moment, he went limp in Celdorn’s arms. Elbrion placed his hands on his now bloodied head and started to sing.
~
When Elbrion entered Mikaelin’s mind, things were not as they had been the last time. There was still a vague outline of a room, but everything was gray and formless, shrouded in a swirling mist, similar to what Elbrion had found inside the boy Mikaelin was trying to help.
Elbrion called out to Mikaelin as he searched the empty structure. He made out the obscure frame of a door, the one through which Mikaelin had accessed the light. The illumination was still there but much less brilliant. He left the door open as he continued to look for Mikaelin.
As Elbrion came around what seemed to be an end of a wall, a naked, half-crazed boy ran toward him, covering his groin and screaming. He fell to all fours in front of Elbrion, gagging and jerking back and forth before he struck his head on the floor like he had on the outside.
