by J D Abbas
“Completely healed? As in I won’t have to worry about...?” She glanced at the others and didn’t finish.
“You’ll have complete control and function.” He was so happy to deliver this news.
Her expression lit with hope. “What about my knee and face?”
Braiden frowned. “I-I didn’t feel d-directed there. It hadn’t occurred to m-me until you s-said it.”
“Are you willing to try with my knee?”
Braiden turned to Elbrion. He nodded. Braiden placed his hands on her injured knee and closed his eyes. Elbrion spoke words in Elnar, and Braiden repeated them. Then, as before, unbidden words spilled forth from him as light flowed from his hands into Elena’s leg. Braiden felt things shifting. He removed the splint and bent her knee. It seemed to be working well. Braiden let go, and Elena moved it up and down. Then, with Celdorn’s help, she rose and walked across the room and back.
She stopped in front of Braiden, staring at the ground. “I don’t know how to thank you. Once again, you’ve given my independence back to me.”
“El-Elena, I can’t take credit f-for this. It’s the Jh-Jhadhela, and it flows through m-m-me. I’m n-not its source. I-I’m in as m-much awe as you.”
The girl’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor. “I...don’t mean to sound ungrateful or demanding but...my face?” She cringed as if he might strike her for making the request.
Braiden gently cupped her face, speaking words of light. He felt his hands directed to the right side of her jaw, then to her nose, then to the tear by the edge of her mouth. Braiden felt the bones in her jaw and nose mending, felt sensation return to her lips.
Although he didn’t feel any prompting from Elena’s body, Braiden also touched the other areas he’d stitched on her face and the right eye that still drooped, but nothing happened. He grew quiet.
Elena raised her hands expectantly. Her face fell as fingers traced the cuts and stitches that remained. She gazed at Braiden with bewilderment.
“I-I’m not able to heal th-those. I-I don’t know why.” He swallowed hard at the sorrow in her eyes. “I-I felt your b-bones mend, b-but I can’t heal the other w-wounds.” He glanced at Elbrion.
“I cannot explain it either. It seems both you and Mikaelin are vessels for these gifts, but you are not in control of the healing power; it flows from the Jhadhela and is subject only to the will of the Jhadhela, not our wills.”
Elena’s shoulders sagged as she turned her gaze to the floor and spoke in a voice so soft only Braiden heard. “And why would the light withhold healing from me? Am I so unworthy?” But before he could respond, she shook her head, squared her shoulders and stuck her chin out, her mask safely back in place. “I should be satisfied with what you’ve given me. Thank you.”
Braiden saw right through her. He pulled her tiny body into his arms in spite of her resistance. He felt her deep longing to, and fear that she never would, be normal again. “One d-day you will again be as b-beautiful on the outside as y-you are on the inside,” he whispered in her ear. “Y-you will heal. D-do not fear.”
Elena buried her face in his chest and clutched at his shirt, clinging tightly.
Mikaelin cleaned up the floor while Elena’s attention was focused elsewhere. After doing so, he and Silvandir snuck out of the room.
Elena’s energy suddenly failed and her legs started to collapse. Braiden helped her back to the bed, laying her next to Celdorn.
“You need to eat something, little one, and rebuild your strength,” Celdorn said.
She smiled up at him—her mouth working better, though the pull of the stitches still gave it a crooked bend. “I’m hungry for the first time in many days.” She gazed up at Celdorn. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“A very good sign, little one.”
As if summoned, Mikaelin arrived with a tray of food. “I thought you might need this.”
“Do you now read minds, as well?” Celdorn said.
“Only yours, Celdorn.” Mikaelin flashed him a smile. “You’re so predictable.”
Celdorn feigned offense. “You’ve all been with me too long.”
Chapter 47
The white horse was there again. Elena squeezed her eyes shut, thinking they must be playing tricks on her, but when she opened them, he was still there. It was difficult to miss him with his pulsating light reflecting off the walls of the ravine through which he’d come, creating a beautiful dance of light and shadow in the darkened niche.
The stallion seemed to be watching her, so Elena waved, wondering if he would come closer. Instead, he turned and, in a powerful burst of light, vanished.
Oddly, this made her sad. Something about him called her toward life in a time when she felt utterly devoid of it. She wished he had wings and would let her climb on his back and take her to some faraway, enchanted kingdom. Even without wings, it would be fun to explore the mountains with him.
Elena sighed. But she wasn’t allowed to be that free. It had taken a lot of begging to persuade Celdorn to allow her to be on the terrace alone—well, almost alone. Her guardians were ever watching.
It had been four days since Braiden had healed her. She was still weak and had retreated into the safe and familiar world of silence, not wanting to talk to the men about the attack. But she was going crazy with too much time to think. Since she came to Kelach, her world had turned upside down time and again. Just when she’d begun to believe that maybe she could find a home here, her assailant had reminded her of the truth: she was born and bred for one thing. Men only had to look at her to know. Even if Celdorn kept his companions in line, she’d never be safe here, never have a normal life. She was born to service men and what better place than in a keep where she was the only woman.
Why hadn’t she kill herself in Alsimion when she had the chance? She’d been ready, had a plan then it was all a blur. Dancing lights. Soothing music. Swirling mists. Why had the specters taken the knife? What had she done to them to make them want to prolong her agony?
Images of the internal corridors added to her confusion. The tall woman she’d seen in the vestibule, the little girl swinging, her baby brother burning and rising, strange faces scolding, mocking, echoing screams spinning round and round in her head, declaring her responsible, guilty, reprobate, useless. She felt trapped, caged…
Doomed.
The word thumped in her chest like a thunderclap of judgment. The truth of her future. Hopeless.
Elena shook her head and sighed again. She had finally broken her silence long enough to beg for this privilege, convincing Celdorn that she’d regained sufficient strength to venture onto the terrace outside his room, promising to sit and do nothing else. She’d hoped for escape from these thoughts, but they were relentless.
She looked around. It was a spacious veranda, extending the length of both Celdorn and Elbrion’s chambers, with curved stairways at either end leading to a private garden below. There were several ornately carved, stone benches set near the railing that encircled the balcony. This was where she was to sit in full view of her guardians.
The terrace faced Mount Iliand of the Mongar Range, which cradled the castle in its granite arms. Where the stallion had disappeared, Elena noticed a path that led into a deep cleft. She imagined herself exploring caves and hidden valleys she might find among the peaks. Maybe she would even find the home of the wild horse.
But, again, that would have to wait for a time when Celdorn deemed it safe and lifted his restrictions on her movement. They still hadn’t found her assailant, so he was wary of her moving too freely.
After she’d begun to recover, Celdorn had addressed his men in the Court of Judgment. It wasn’t surprising to Elena when no information was forthcoming. Who cared if a whore got raped one more time?
Celdorn, on the other hand, was upset that nothing came of their investigation and wondered if the man had fled, knowing he would be executed for his crimes. Elbrion, having seen her attacker in her memory, searched through Kelach and
the surrounding area for days with no success.
Elena spent little time concerning herself with her attacker. Assaults had been a routine part of her life. She was accustomed to just finding a place to lock them away inside and moving forward. There would never be any reckoning for those who’d hurt her. To hold unto some idealistic concept of right prevailing was dangerous. That kind of thinking awakened hope, which was more treacherous ground yet.
~
Hours later, Elena still sat on the bench, lost in weary daydreams. Her gaze was transfixed on the mountain peaks above as she glided on the cool spring breeze, embracing the sensation of the sun upon her wings, swooping, diving, climbing...so free. She smiled. Something inside her was stirring.
Always vigilant, even while daydreaming, Elena saw Mikaelin out of the corner of her eye, ascending the steps from the gardens below.
When Mikaelin noticed her, he turned to go back. Their eyes met, and he faltered, then continued upward as if afraid he might offend were he to retreat. He gave a nod to the guard by Celdorn’s door, and the young man slipped inside, leaving the two of them alone.
Mikaelin followed her gaze as he joined her. “What are you studying so intently?”
Elena pointed. “The eagles. I was just thinking how nice it would be to fly so freely?”
He gave her a wry smile and sat beside her. “Are you feeling caged?”
Elena shot him a sideways glance, surprised both by his insight and that he sat so near her without scowling. “Somewhat. I’m more free than I’ve ever been, and yet you’re all so protective, sometimes I feel fettered, as if I were some fragile bird that needs to be restrained for her own protection, unable to use her wings.”
“For my part, I believe you’re stronger than any man in this keep.”
She glared at him. “You’re mocking me.”
“No, Elena, I’m deadly serious.”
“What makes you say so?” she asked, puzzled by his intensity.
“Because of what you’ve endured, and yet you sit here gazing expectantly at the eagles. After all the torture you’ve lived with, all your losses, and nearly dying from illness, you still have strength in your body and, more importantly, still have strength in your heart. I find that remarkable.”
“You give me far too much credit.” Elena focused on the sky again, a blush rising. He obviously hadn’t heard her recent thoughts.
“I know I’d be full of hatred and probably have lost my mind.”
She almost laughed. Haven’t I? Instead, she glanced at him then away, pondering his words, which seemed in such contrast to his behavior. “Mikaelin, may I ask you something?”
He gave a hesitant nod.
“Why does my presence here bother you so much?”
Mikaelin stared at his hands; his cheeks flushed. “Why would you ask that?”
“Well, I’ve noticed that when we’re gathered in Celdorn’s chamber and I speak, you seem uncomfortable and restless. You pace back and forth. And at times you glare at me as if I’ve deeply offended you. Simply the sight of me seems to make you want to turn and run, like just now.” She nodded toward the stairs.
Mikaelin’s blush deepened, and his shoulders sagged. But he didn’t respond.
“I’m used to being shunned because of what I am.” Elena paused, her eyes fixed on the mountain. “And I know I’m now equally as ugly on the outside as inside, but most of Celdorn’s men seem to have been able to overcome that and have been kind, even welcoming, but you...you…” She stopped and raised her eyes. “What about me repulses you so?”
“Oh zhad, no; it’s not you, Elena.” He nearly jumped from his seat, his face gray. “I never meant to give you that impression. I’m so sorry.” He raked his hands through his hair, moving restlessly. “Some...some things about your life, things you’ve shared... I don’t know how to say it. They...stir things in me I thought I’d buried long ago.” His voice quavered, and he tugged at his beard as if to control his shaking jaw.
“When I listen, when I’m near you, things start moving around inside me, becoming chaotic. Since the first time I saw you at the entrance to the keep, it was like a volcano was forming in my belly. I guess I pace because I feel like I’m going to erupt.” It seemed to take a great effort of will to force himself to stop and turn toward her, but his eyes could only focus on her feet. “And I was a coward. It was easier to avoid you than to deal with it. I’m so sorry I hurt you. That certainly wasn’t my intent.”
Elena considered his words. “May I ask what it is I stir in you?” She rose to stand beside him.
His eyes met hers. Elena saw naked fear. She expected him to turn and bolt. But he stayed.
“Memories of being hurt.” His gaze dropped.
“Hurt by whom?”
Elena watched a tremor run through his body. “M-my uncle.” He turned to lean on the balustrade. “He was a hateful, evil man. Sometimes I wonder if he was related to your father.” Mikaelin’s head jerked up and his eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Elena. I didn’t mean to say that aloud.”
“I’m not offended. My father is a wicked, vile man.” She leaned on the railing next to him, focusing on Sasha, who was sniffing around in the bushes below, near Bria’s grave. “What did your uncle do to you?”
She heard him take a shaky breath. “He’d get drunk and beat me, sometimes until I was unconscious.”
Elena was surprised. She thought the Rogaran had strict laws about such things. “Didn’t your parents protect you?”
“They died when I was eight.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Our village near Queyon was attacked. My parents hid my brothers and me in a well. When we came out, everyone was dead or gone. The raiders had destroyed all of the houses and outbuildings, as well.” Mikaelin stared toward the mountains. “I was the oldest; my brothers were only six and three. We found our way to Marach, the northern keep of the Guardians. They took care of us. One day my mother’s brother appeared and said he was taking us to Rhamal.”
“You lived in Rhamal?” She hadn’t expected that.
“Yes, for four years. I ran away when I was twelve and found my way back to the keep near Queyon. I remembered Celdorn, and I wanted to find him again.”
“That’s an incredibly long journey for a twelve-year-old.”
“And a dangerous one,” Mikaelin added. “I narrowly escaped becoming one man’s slave, almost lost my life crossing a river and nearly froze to death in the mountains, but eventually I made it. Celdorn took me in and kept me safe. I met Silvandir during my time there. When we were older, we came to Kelach to train. We have served together both in the north and here ever since.”
“You said your uncle was evil. Were there other ways he was like my father? Did the darkness of Rhamal affect him too?”
Mikaelin shifted uncomfortably, his vacant gaze was searching but clearly fixed inward. “Yes, there are other things, but I’m not prepared to speak of them.” He shifted his weight. “I’m sorry, Elena. I can’t.”
She looked away. “It’s all right. But if you ever do want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” She paused and watched the eagles for a time. They both leaned on the balcony rail. “May I ask you something else?”
He glanced at her sideways. “That depends on what it is.”
Mikaelin was wary now; she couldn’t blame him. “When you returned with Celdorn, he said that you were overwhelmed, that something had happened to you. He mentioned your giftedness, but he wouldn’t say more. He said it was yours to tell. May I ask what happened?”
Mikaelin stared at the courtyard below then slowly raised anguished eyes to hers.
“What is it, Mikaelin?” She reached out to lay her hand on his arm and was surprised when he flinched. He stepped back and stood straight, his arms crossed, his trembling hands tucked under them.
“I continue to feel the pain,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m still struggling. That’s why I said you’re strong. You’ve lived with this kin
d of pain all your life, and you aren’t tormented.”
She chafed her arms against a sudden chill. “That’s not true. I’m tormented more often than not. There are few moments when something isn’t nagging at me, just beneath the surface, hounding me, whispering to me, needling my flesh, making my skin crawl.” Elena heard her voice grow taut, felt her eyes widen into an empty stare as the ground tilted. She caught herself and took a deep breath. Her face relaxed, and she continued in a steadier voice. “I-I’ve just learned to hide it well—which isn’t necessarily a strength. It leaves you quite isolated, and even if you no longer want to be alone or you need help, you can’t reach out. You find you can’t get around the massive walls you’ve built.”
The fear left Mikaelin’s face and empathy replaced it. He knew what she was talking about.
“Please tell me what happened,” she said, returning the focus to him.
Mikaelin gazed into her eyes for several moments before he began. “When we were in Rhamal, at the doqajh where the children from the camp had been taken, I had a strange experience.”
Elena nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“I approached a little boy who was hiding in the shadows. He looked me over and asked if I was an angel; he said I glowed.” Elena raised her swollen brows. “I know. I was surprised as well. Then when I touched the boy, I felt pain in my body like a fire had just moved through me, and he told me that he didn’t hurt anymore.” She stared at Mikaelin, enthralled, as he went on to tell her about the two other children.
“How can that be?” she asked. “Were you absorbing their wounds into your body?”
“Apparently so. Elbrion told me he’s seen this before in Queyon, but usually the healer is able to let the wounds pass through his body and remain unaffected. They stayed in mine. Elbrion had to go inside my mind while I was unconscious to help me release them.” His gaze drifted off.
“Isn’t it strange to have someone else wander around in your head?”
