by J D Abbas
Mikaelin stepped to her other side, rubbing the scars on his arms as if they pained him. “Your world, your experience was limited, Elena.” His voice was tight and low. “There’re many men who don’t feed on violence and domination. Although we could be called warriors, it is not on such we thrive. What drives us as Guardians is truth, justice, the righting of wrongs. Certain events have shaped many of us. Perhaps one day Celdorn will tell you about Shefali then you will understand. We’ve seen enough death, enough violence. We seek only an end to it...” His voice trailed off as she felt an agony grip his heart.
“Even among the Farak and the Wallanard there are good men, kind men,” Silvandir said. “We Guardians have our faults. I don’t mean to imply otherwise. We’ve all made errors, some huge and egregious...” A shadow of grief passed over him. “We get angry, jealous, scared, sad, just like other men, but we don’t allow the baser appetites to run feral. When the violence of the world confronts us, like it did in Rhamal and the encampment, we need reminders, such as these,” he waved his arm at the tapestries, “that there are many beautiful, peaceful things worth preserving.”
The three stood in silence, gazing at the wall hangings.
After some time had passed, Silvandir said, “Come on. We have more things to show you, and Celdorn doesn’t want us to be gone all day.”
He laid his hand on Elena’s back with an amazingly light touch for such a large man and steered her toward the doors. They crossed the corridor, and Mikaelin pushed open a heavy oak door that squeaked on its hinges.
Elena gasped and covered her mouth. Silvandir and Mikaelin smiled rather smugly as they watched her.
Frozen with awe, she gazed at the thick, oaken shelves surrounding her. Hundreds of heavily bound books lined the walls, from tiny digests to massive tomes. One wall contained a clever set of cubbyholes with racks in them used to store scrolls. Elena had never seen such an amazing sight.
“It’s all right to move about,” Silvandir said. He pulled a book off a shelf and opened it. “See. They won’t break.”
Elena stepped forward, almost afraid to breathe. Her hand trembled as she grasped one of the books, opening it as if it were a hallowed gift sent directly from the other world. It was a biography of a long dead hero named Ibek. She turned to the opening pages and touched the words to make certain they were really there, reading several paragraphs before she looked up and found Silvandir and Mikaelin gaping at her.
“You really do read.” Silvandir’s voice held a note of incredulity.
“Is that so surprising? Do you think the female brain addled and incapable?” She couldn’t keep the twinge of hurt from her voice.
“Yes, I’m surprised,” Silvandir admitted, “and no, I don’t believe the female brain is defective. It’s only because of your history I didn’t expect it. All Elrodanar and most Rogaran women can read, and write to some degree; many of the Elrodanar are scribes and scholars.”
Mikaelin took the book from her hand. “You can read this one?” His voice was more skeptical than Silvandir’s.
“Yes.” She snatched it back. “I do have some wits.”
“No doubt.” Mikaelin eyed her from beneath a creased brow. “But Elena, this is written in Elnar.” He paused, as if weighing how much to challenge her. “I didn’t think you spoke Elnar.”
“I don’t.” Her voice betrayed the sudden shakiness she felt.
“What does it say?”
“The first paragraphs tell of the purpose of the volume, why such a biography was undertaken. This man Ibek was a hero who saved the people of Erianta from attack by their enemies through a clever series of political ploys.”
Silvandir took the book from Elena and glanced over the words then nodded at Mikaelin, his eyes wide with wonder. He handed the volume back to her. “Can you read the words aloud?”
She shook her head, a quiver in her belly. Something was wrong. “I-I understand the words, but I don’t know how to say them. I’ve never heard them spoken.”
“Then how do you know their meaning?” Mikaelin asked.
She stared at him, knowing before she spoke, her answer was wrong. “I just...know.”
Mikaelin picked up a different text. “Can you read this one?”
Elena’s hands were unsteady as she opened the book. “I-it’s a book on military tactics citing examples of famous battles through history.”
“Can you speak those words aloud?”
She shook her head.
“This book is in Garan,” Mikaelin said softly.
Silvandir grabbed a chair and set it behind Elena, encouraging her to sit, while Mikaelin took the book about to drop from her grasp. She collapsed into the chair.
“Elena, it’s all right,” Silvandir assured her in a calm, steady tone. “You needn’t be frightened. It’s a curious thing and another mystery that surrounds you, but nothing to be feared.” He squatted in front of her. “Braiden told us you’d learned to read. We’re just surprised that you’re able to read Elnar and Garan. I assume you also read Borok. Are there any other languages you can read? Did you have books in the Lanar tongue?”
“I-I don’t know. I know the symbols look different in various books and are grouped in diverse ways, but I didn’t realize that meant they were different languages. It never occurred to me.” Her hands were quaking so hard, she could barely manipulate them. “May I see the volumes again?” Each man held out a book for her. “This one is Elnar?” She pointed to the one held by Silvandir. He nodded. “And this one is Garan?” Her eyes went back and forth from book to book, fascinated. Soon, she was so absorbed, she forgot to be frightened. “Can you read them aloud to me so I can hear how the symbols sound?”
Silvandir read first, tracing his finger along beneath the words so Elena could follow. Then Mikaelin took a turn in the other book. She smiled up at them when they finished. “Amazing,” she whispered. “We must do more of this.”
The men chuckled.
“I think that’s enough for our brief tour today,” Silvandir said. “Let’s show you the scribe rooms, and then we’ll move on.”
A doorway in the far left corner of the library opened to a narrow hallway, which led to several smaller rooms. Each one was truly little more than a closet with a desk and chair and writing supplies. One of them was occupied, and Elena was able to watch the scribe at work, dutifully translating a text from Elnar into Borok. It was slow, painstaking work, but Elena thought it a fine job to have. She told the man so with a huge grin. The scribe nodded his acknowledgment then went back to work.
As they emerged into the library, Elena said, “This is a fascinating place. So many thoughts and ideas captured on these pages.” She ran her hands over the rough bindings. “It would take a lifetime to read all that is contained here.” She smiled. “Oh to have that leisure.”
“We have one more stop before we return you to Celdorn,” Silvandir said, keeping them on track, ever the dutiful Guardian. He led them down the hall to the last door on the left. “This is the Chapel of Light. I think you’ll find this place most beautiful.”
Before he could open the door, Elena stopped him. “What are those symbols?” She ran her fingers over the carved wood. “It’s hard to tell with the dim lighting.”
“Hmm, interesting,” Silvandir said, his brows knit together. “I’ve never paid attention to the door. Mikaelin, grab that torch.”
When Mikaelin brought the light closer, they studied the runes. “These are ancient indeed,” he murmured. “I don’t recognize the language.”
“Nor do I,” Silvandir said. “It could be Raphar, I suppose. If so, it’s a more ancient form than anything I’ve seen.”
“The light dispels all shadow. Do not fear. Enter and be free,” Elena whispered, her hand trailing across the symbols.
The men stared at her. A prickle of fear ran up her spine at their expressions.
“What language is that?” Silvandir asked.
She shrugged.
“Whe
re have you seen it before?”
“In a small book left for me several years ago. It was worn and brittle. It looked to be an ancient text.”
“And you could read it?”
“Um hmm.” She stared up at Silvandir, her skin crawling.
“It’s all right, Elena. We’ll discuss this later with Elbrion. He may be able to give you some insight. As the door says: do not fear.” He laid his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s show you the chapel. It will strengthen your heart.” He flashed her a smile as he gave the door a push.
Bright light flooded the corridor coming from a wall of windows, which looked out onto the gardened courtyard Elena had grown to love. The beautiful glass was divided into panes that protruded outward in an angled arc. The centermost pane ran from floor to ceiling and was clear. With its etchings, it reflected multicolored light like the facets of a gem. There were four columns of colored glass, two on each side of the clear one, which were further divided into three panes, each containing a different colored glass etched with its own unique design, creating a patchwork effect. The afternoon sun angled off the many colorful scenes making the rays of light dance across the floor and walls of the small sanctuary.
Elena stood transfixed, drinking in the beauty.
~
Silvandir was also transfixed and drinking in the beauty, but his eyes were focused on Elena; his heart filled with such joy at seeing her delight in all they’d shown her today. He longed to kiss her hair.
Silvandir shook his head sharply. What was he thinking? His face grew hot when he noticed Mikaelin watching him again, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he nodded toward Elena.
Doing his best to ignore him, Silvandir said, “Go in, Elena.” When she didn’t move, he gave her a gentle nudge. “You can see better from within.”
Elena took two steps forward then went rigid; her hands grasped at the doorframe. She stopped so abruptly, Silvandir almost stumbled over her.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t reply. The ends of her fingers turned white from the fierce grip she had on the wood.
Silvandir and Mikaelin ducked under her arms so they could face her. Her eyes were rapidly flicking back and forth, not settling on anything in the room; her focus was in some other place.
A sick fear gripped Silvandir. “What’s happening, Elena?”
She didn’t respond.
“Is it memory?” Mikaelin asked, watching her eyes.
Elena suddenly dropped to her knees and curled into a shuddering ball. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whispered repeatedly, her body shrinking with each cry.
Silvandir knelt in front of Elena, who now appeared to be about ten years old. When he tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, she recoiled and let out a terrified shriek. Silvandir jerked his hand back and glanced up at Mikaelin, who had edged away, gripping his arms.
The guards from the stairs came running.
“Get Elbrion,” Silvandir called, “and hurry.”
The guards were gone in a flash, and Elbrion arrived within moments, Celdorn on his heels. Mikaelin stepped back further into the chapel, rubbing his scars again.
Celdorn took in the scene, assessing the girl’s age and condition. “What happened?”
Elena had stopped screaming and apologizing but was now hunched over muttering something incomprehensible.
“I don’t know. When I encouraged Elena to move through the door, she froze. Her eyes were moving rapidly, and she seemed lost in some other place. Then she collapsed and became as you see her now,” Silvandir replied, unable to keep his voice steady. It sickened him to see her like this.
Elbrion stepped through the doorway and knelt in front of Elena. He sang softly before laying his hands on her head. The girl grew quiet. She turned her tear-streaked face up, meeting Elbrion’s eyes, as if searching. There was an agony in her expression, a longing in her gaze that took Silvandir’s breath away.
“Please make me clean.” Her voice was a whisper, her eyes frantic. “Please!” she screamed. Her outstretched arms suddenly stiffened, and she stared at them as if they didn’t belong to her. “Get it out!” Her rigid hands curled inward and clawed at the flesh on her arms. “Get it out of me!”
Silvandir, who still knelt beside her, grabbed her wrists, eliciting another scream, but this time he didn’t let go. Elbrion increased his volume, matching her escalating distress. All at once, the girl slumped backward against Celdorn’s legs as if she’d fallen asleep. Slowly, the transformation came, and Elena returned to herself. She was quiet but didn’t wake. Celdorn carried her upstairs; the others followed. After he laid her on her bed, he stepped out to speak with Silvandir and Mikaelin about what had transpired prior to her collapse.
“We went to the Great Hall, the library and the chapel,” Silvandir said. “She was a little rattled in the library, but nothing like this.” He nodded toward her room.
“What would upset her in the library?” Celdorn asked.
“Well, Elena picked up several books and read from them.” Silvandir glanced at Mikaelin, suddenly uncertain.
Celdorn noticed the exchange. “And?”
“The books were written in Elnar and Garan.” Silvandir watched for Celdorn’s reaction.
“She reads Elnar and Garan?” Celdorn couldn’t hide his dubiety.
“We were also surprised. When we questioned her, she told us she couldn’t identify the languages and didn’t know how the words sounded, but her translations of the written texts were accurate.”
Silvandir eyed Mikaelin again. “And when we got to the chapel door, Elena read the message carved in the wood that neither of us had noticed before. I didn’t even know what language it was, though it’s clearly ancient.”
“It is Raphar,” Elbrion said. “A very old form. Few would know it.”
The men fell silent.
“What does this mean?” Silvandir asked. “How is it possible for a girl from the village—a girl who’s been imprisoned and tortured and who had suffered severe deprivation and isolation—to be so well educated?”
“She told Braiden that books just appeared in her home, and she was able to read them. She claimed no one taught her. I thought perhaps Braiden misunderstood her or Elena had exaggerated her skill. Apparently, it was I who was in error,” Celdorn replied.
“There are few who could teach her such things,” Elbrion added. “I know few Rogaran who have any knowledge of Raphar. There are many Elrodanar who do, but they do not travel outside Queyon. And if she did have some sort of tutor, where would he have gotten such texts? It is surely a mystery.” He gazed in at the sleeping girl. “Someone went to great lengths to make sure she was well educated.”
“Why would they educate her on one hand and sell her as a gille d’zhajh on the other?” Celdorn countered. “That’s completely incongruent.”
Elbrion’s gaze seemed to drift to a distant place. “There are, no doubt, diverse powers at work here: one which sought to destroy Elena and the other to secretly empower and strengthen her. And of this second power it seems Elena was also unaware. I think it might be best not to pursue this with her at this time. We do not want to force another collapse.”
“Although I’d like to know what happened in the chapel.”
“I sense that may be a discussion best conducted by Haldor,” Elbrion said.
Celdorn agreed “We’ll wait until she’s well rested. In the meantime, I’ll speak with Haldor.”
Silvandir stood in the doorway and watched Elena, saddened that their explorations had ended with her in such agony. He wanted this day to be special for her, to be a time they could share together with joy. Perhaps Elena had been right. Perhaps he was hoping for too much.
Chapter 50
“May I join you?”
Elena startled at the hushed voice. Her head snapped around and followed Haldor as he stepped into view. Her internal guards were slipping; she hadn’t even heard him approach. Oddly, Sasha hadn�
��t noticed either. She hugged the dog to her and stared up at him without responding, keeping her expression shuttered.
She was sitting on a bench in the gardens of the protected courtyard with Celdorn watching from the terrace above and Silvandir guarding below. It had been four days since the incident in the chapel, and she’d withdrawn again.
Three days ago, Celdorn had suggested she speak with Haldor, but she refused. Now here he was, seeking her out. She didn’t want to do this. These men talked too much—about their thoughts, their feelings. Now, they wanted to get inside her head and heart. She just wanted to forget what happened in the chapel, put it away somewhere and never take it out. Then she could go on, left alone to enjoy the beautiful afternoon sun.
“Do I frighten you?” Haldor’s voice was soft as he lowered himself to the ground in one fluid movement, facing her but leaving a respectful distance between them.
Elena studied him. The tranquility in his face and the kindness in his eyes were so...inviting...non-threatening. He looked different than most of the men. He was fairer—not as fair as Elbrion, but his skin and hair were much lighter than the others, almost golden, like wheat under the harvest sun. Perhaps he was a cross of Rogaran and Elrodanar blood. He didn’t pulsate with light like Elbrion, but he had a radiance about him that set him apart, almost an aura or a halo around his entire body. His eyes were a blue-gray like the sky, a stormy sky, shifting and changing, almost mesmerizing. She didn’t dare hold his gaze lest she be sucked into their depths.
“I-I’m just surprised you addressed me. What do you want?” She stared down at her hands, clasped around Sasha’s neck, knowing that she ran the risk of offending him with her blunt words, but also feeling an intense internal warning to be on her guard with this one.
“Sasha!” Celdorn called from the balcony. “Come, girl.” The dog broke free of Elena’s hold and raced up the terrace steps. Feeling exposed, Elena wrapped her arms around her ribs.
