by J D Abbas
“Are those words the men taught you?”
Elena shook her head. “I just...read it. I understand the words, but not the meaning.”
They had yet to discover how she’d come to read and understand a language that wasn’t spoken in Rhamal. Celdorn knew that mystery frightened her more than she was able to express. In truth, it unsettled him as well.
Elbrion joined them, his voice calm and soothing. “The words are taken from the book of Chiandral which foretells a time when the peace and light of Yabwana will return. The prophet spoke of a sword that would arise whose bearer would drive back the Zhekhum that had consumed Qabara. It was said that the blade would work for no other. All Guardians hold to this truth, believing they are collectively a part of its fulfillment.” He laid his hand on Elena’s head. “We will address the language issue later, Sheya. For now, enjoy your gift.”
Elena stared at the sword and nodded, biting her lip as she fought back tears. “I never envisioned anything so beautiful when I requested a blade, Celdorn. It’s a work of art.”
“Don’t let its beauty deceive you. It is a sword forged to be used. It will serve you well.” Celdorn’s distress eased as he pushed the other issue aside and ventured into the more familiar territory of weaponry. “Here, let me help you strap on the scabbard. Then you must test the blade.” Celdorn showed her how to fasten it to her hip and the proper way to sheathe and unsheathe her weapon. Prior to this, she’d never worn a sword nor kept one in her possession. She’d been using a boy’s blade they stored in the room for her training sessions.
Celdorn demonstrated the precise balance and honing of the weapon. He explained that a poorly made blade hindered the skill of the bearer. Hers had been painstakingly crafted by the most gifted swordsmiths on Qabara, who happen to serve in Kelach.
“Silvandir, assist Elena in putting her sword to the test,” Celdorn said. “Let her prove to you that she has earned the right to bear one.”
~
Silvandir approached Elena and bowed. He waited while she slid the blunting sheath over her blade to make certain she didn’t injure anyone while training—most likely herself. When ready, she took a deep breath and raised her new weapon. The weight, the balance, the ease of the grip, everything was different from the sword she’d been using. She felt she could truly be a warrior with this sword in hand.
When Silvandir offered a simple attack, which she parried, an odd vibration passed through her. Though startled, she made a counterattack and advanced. As her sword again struck Silvandir’s, she felt a surge of movement, as if energy from her body had moved into the blade, or possibly the reverse; she wasn’t sure. She stopped and studied her sword.
“What’s wrong?” Celdorn asked.
“There’s a queer sensation when I engage with this weapon, almost as if it has a life-force of its own that’s working with me.” Although she spoke the words, she was puzzled by them at the same time.
“Perhaps the words of prophecy etched on it are more than mere decoration,” Elbrion offered. “Perhaps the blade is, in fact, serving you.”
Elena stared at her sword, icy knives stabbing her spine. “I think that idea is too much for me. I just want to learn to use my weapon well, nothing more.”
Shaking her head to clear it, she turned to Celdorn. “I’d like to further test my blade, and now that I’m no longer lacking, may I go to the arena and see who else I can deprive of their weapon?” She flashed a grin at Shatur.
“You certainly are persistent. I was hoping you might practice here a while longer.”
“Please, Celdorn, I need to get out of this room. I’ll stay with my escorts. I promise.” She knew Celdorn was hesitant to have her so visible in the keep since her assailant had still not been found.
“I’ll agree to it on the condition you partner only with those whom your escorts approve.” When Elena frowned, he added, “There’re many still in training who haven’t yet learned humility and whose wounded pride could bring adverse responses. Not all men will bow to you as Shatur has.” His gaze was commanding. “Will you abide by my condition?”
“Yes, sir. May we go now?” She was ready to charge out the door the moment she was given leave.
“I have no objection.”
“I will accompany her,” Elbrion offered.
“As will we.” Silvandir’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he nodded toward Mikaelin and Shatur.
Elena scowled at him. “You still find this amusing, do you?”
“On the contrary, I take you quite seriously, Lady Elena. I’ve watched you fight,” Silvandir replied with a wide smile, and in spite of her irritation, she found herself returning his grin. “But it’s a rare thing to see a woman in the practice arena—for that matter, in the keep at all. I’m curious how the men will react.”
Shatur said, “You and Mikaelin go; perhaps you’ll fare better with the lady than I.” He winked at Silvandir, and Elena wondered why. “I don’t think my pride can manage being humiliated twice in one day.” He grinned at Elena, bowed slightly, and left.
~
As they walked to the arena, Elena’s stomach fluttered with excitement. She hadn’t been allowed to explore this part of the keep, and she felt the exhilaration of her new freedom. She took in every new sight, asking questions of her chaperones, but when they passed through the door to the training arena, the thrill evaporated.
At the unexpected sight of dozens of half-naked men wielding weapons, the blood drained from her body. A wave of terror swept through her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She gripped Silvandir’s arm to steady herself.
He laid his hand on hers reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. You’re safe here,” he whispered. “I know they look like an intimidating lot, but you could probably deprive most of them of their weapons in no time at all.”
Elena tried to grin, but it didn’t feel very successful. On her other side, Elbrion stepped closer and sang softly.
Silence swept through the room as the trainees gradually became aware of her presence. Those who’d removed their shirts while fighting quickly retrieved them and covered themselves. Elena gave her head a quick shake to clear away the chaotic cobwebs and forced herself to move forward, holding onto Silvandir. The men bowed formally to her as she passed, and she was surprised to see that many of them were more boys than men, with only small scruffs of hair on their chins to prove their budding manhood.
Though she knew the men of the keep were aware of her presence in Kelach, from the murmured comments she overheard, they hadn’t expected to see her in the training arena.
“She’s got a sword,” one said, a touch of awe in his voice.
“I thought she’d be older.”
“And taller. She’s just a slip of a girl.”
“She’s gorgeous,” another whispered. “I heard she was kind of ugly and scarred up.”
Elena blushed, and Silvandir scowled in the young man’s direction, quelling further remarks.
Mikaelin offered to spar with her to break the tension. He called to the others who were watching, “Continue your bouts. The lady’s here to train as well.”
The young Guardians began to move and interact again, though they were observing her at every opportunity. Elena, overcome with self-consciousness, found it difficult to focus as she parried with Mikaelin. He finally stopped and approached her.
“Elena, you must concentrate, or you’ll get hurt. I know you’re able to do this. Fix your attention on the swords and anticipate.”
She took a deep breath and stared at her new blade. She envisioned Celdorn’s mother raising her sword with great poise and reminded herself why it was she’d chosen to train. A renewed strength surged.
As she engaged Mikaelin’s sword, she again felt the odd exchange of energy with the blade. Enthralled by the sensation, she didn’t even realize she’d begun to move with fluidity and grace, matching and anticipating Mikaelin’s every thrust as if they shared a mind, until he praised her for it.
“Focus, Elena,” Mikaelin cautioned as he saw her glance in their direction.
Her body stiffened as a wrath from deep within began to burn. Everything around her grew dark, as if a shadow had been cast over the arena. With muscles taut as an animal ready to pounce, she swung her blade with renewed determination.
Mikaelin made an advance and a simple attack. She parried, offering a counterattack. Elena refocused, uniting with the energy from the sword. Intuitively, she matched Mikaelin move for move. The laughter of the men ceased. She was a beginner—and a small one at that—but she knew she was handling herself well. She felt a swell of pride.
When she and Mikaelin stopped, men applauded. Elena blushed and stepped to the side where the others waited. As she turned toward the entrance to the arena, her breath caught and she grabbed Silvandir’s arm. Her sword clattered to the floor. She gaped at the far side of the room, frozen with horror.
Silvandir’s warm hand covered hers. “What’s wrong, Elena?”
“It’s him...” The room spun. She couldn’t make herself breathe.
“Who?” Silvandir’s eyes widened. “You mean your attacker? Where?” He followed her gaze.
Blackness swirled. Invisible hands groped her, squeezed her throat.
Elbrion’s voice entered the swirling muck. “I do not see him, Sheya.” Then singing, peaceful singing.
Elena fought to speak. “Th-the one closest to the door, smirking at me.” His ugly mouth formed the words “you’re beautiful” then the tip of his wiggling tongue peeked out from between his teeth. She wanted to vomit.
“I see only Corban,” Elbrion replied. “It cannot be him; he is too small.”
His words were like a slap, rousing her. “Small? He stands half a foot above the others.”
Elbrion and Silvandir exchanged glances.
“Elena, I think we need to get you back to Celdorn’s. You must be tired.” Silvandir turned her toward the nearest door.
“You don’t see?” She looked up at him. “Nor you?” she asked the others. They all shook their heads. None of them saw the tall man who stood out so blatantly. “I don’t understand. Maybe I am losing my mind.”
Mikaelin picked up her sword and helped her to sheathe it.
She glanced toward the entrance again. The man was gone. Her knees felt weak.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Silvandir said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Are you able to walk?”
Elena jerked away from him. “I’m crazy, not feeble,” she snapped, before taking a few shaky steps and stopping. Her shoulders sagged, and she turned around to face a chagrined Silvandir. “You didn’t deserve that.” She scuffed her boot on the floor. “I’m just so frustrated that I can’t trust my own mind anymore. And I’m sick to death of being afraid.”
Silvandir reached his hand toward her shoulder then seemed to think better of it. He gave her a lopsided smile instead.
A vibration buzzed through her hip, making her jump. Elena reached for the hilt of the sword as if it were drawing her. When she pulled it from the sheath, a fire burned its way up her arm and spread through her body. Her shoulders squared, and she stood taller.
“I’m not leaving here,” she said, staring at the arena door. “He’s stolen enough from me already. If he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight.” She looked up at Silvandir. “Teach me more.”
Silvandir broke into a broad grin and bowed. “It would be a pleasure, my lady.”
Chapter 53
“You’re beautiful.” Elena saw her attacker’s mocking lips form the words again. Her hand slipped under the pillow and fingered the hilt of her dagger, just to make sure it was still there.
Men call you beautiful but what that really means is: we want to take from you, and we’ll take everything.
Elena shuddered at the truth. If they only took her body, it wouldn’t be so bad. But like her attacker, they wormed their way into her inner world, not only leaving their footprints in the tender soil of her soul, but taking her unformed substance and molding it into their likeness—something twisted and vile.
She swatted at the thoughts and tried to focus on the new things she’d been learning, the languages, her fighting skills, but the doubts and fears were unrelenting, like persistent, bloodthirsty mosquitoes.
Had that monster really been in the arena or did he just invade her mind, hoping to destroy her sanity? If he was there, why couldn’t anyone see him? And why would he come back?
She flipped over in bed and cursed the night, wishing Elbrion were guarding instead of Silvandir. He could sing her to sleep. Or Mikaelin, he’d understand her insanity. Silvandir was a good training partner, but she couldn’t talk to him about her fears or her crazy thoughts. He was too brave, too noble. She snuggled in closer to Sasha, wishing they were alone.
~
“Wake up, Giara.”
Elena’s eyes popped open at the sound of her old name. Her mind raced. Why was Silvandir waking her, and why was he using her old name?
She forced herself to turn her head, and a scream caught in her throat. Her attacker was sitting in Silvandir’s place wearing a lecherous grin. She clutched at Sasha, but the dog didn’t respond. Her breathing was slow, labored. What had he done to Sasha this time?
“Get up, whore.” When she didn’t move, his face hardened and he straightened in the chair, ready to rise and make her obey. “Now!”
Her hand slid under the pillow and gripped her dagger. Shaking like a newborn lamb, she rose, keeping one hand behind her back.
“You look surprised to see me. Didn’t really believe it was me in the arena?” He laughed. “Had your Guardians fooled. They think you’re mad.”
When she stepped closer, he grabbed her chin. “That beautiful mouth will do a much better job than last time.” He chuckled and loosened his trouser laces, his excitement bulging beneath. “Miraculous the way you healed, eh? So tonight’ll be like your first time all over again. I promised Anakh I’d retrain every part real well.”
Elena played along, obedient and fearful, waiting for the right moment. When he slid his hands under her nightshirt, groping her breasts, eyes half-lidded, she gritted her teeth and focused on her target. After a steadying breath, she thrust the dagger under his ribcage and up into his heart with all her strength. His eyes went wide and his arms dropped with a grunt. “Why you little…”
He grabbed her throat, ready to squeeze the life from her. Elena raised her fist, turned her body and brought her arm down hard on his wrists, like Silvandir had taught her. She followed with an elbow to his face, again and again. He let go and fell back. Elena spun and ran, but he dove and managed to grab her ankle. When she fell, her head hit the floor with a crack.
Elena bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding. It was a dream, just a dream. The room was empty except for Silvandir, who was asleep in his chair, and Sasha, sprawled on the bed. With a sigh of relief, she adjusted her tangled nightshirt and shoved back a few wayward tresses. Her hair felt oddly weightless. She grabbed a handful and stared at it in the dim lantern light. When she saw the ebony wisps, her muscles went rigid. Then she noticed her hands—the bones were visible. Elena jumped from her bed and ran to the standing mirror. Her mouth fell open. A skeleton surrounded by swirls of smoke gaped back at her. Her hands flew to her face, searching for the softness of flesh, but bone met bone.
You’re mine, Anakh’s voice hissed in her ear. There’s no escaping your destiny, Giara. You’ll destroy everything around you just as I trained you.
“No,” Elena forced out.
No? Look around.
Elena turned as the room brightened. She screamed and collapsed to her knees. Silvandir was slumped over in his chair with the hilt of her dagger sticking out from his chest. He wasn’t asleep; he was dead. “Noooo!” she wailed. It hadn’t been a dream. She’d killed Silvandir instead of tha
t monster.
“Celdorn!” she shrieked as she stumbled through his door. The smell of burnt flesh stopped her cold. Her eyes swept toward the fireside. “Oh, no, no, no!” Sobs erupted from her belly.
See what you’ve done.
By the hearth were the charred remains of what looked like Celdorn and Elbrion, their bodies still smoldering. Celdorn grasped a piece of deep green cloth in his blackened fist. Elena looked down at her nightshirt. A section by the hem was missing.
“No, I wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t me.”
A dark mist swirled around her, almost caressing her. Oh, it was you. The moment you stepped into these men’s lives, you brought destruction down upon them. You killed them, Giara, just as you were destined to do. Anakh cackled. You’ve finally completed your training.
Elena staggered into the corridor, retching and gasping for breath. Dead bodies lined the walls, obscured by the smoke that billowed upward from the stairwell near the bathing room. She ran toward the other stairs, sensing Anakh close behind. In her haste, she slipped and tumbled downward. Her head smacked the stone steps then smacked again. She hoped one of the blows would kill her. But she kept falling until her body jerked to a stop on the silent landing.
~
Elena swung upright in her bed, panting. Silvandir was squatting beside her, very much alive. Sasha rolled over and nuzzled Elena’s thigh.
“Are you all right?” Silvandir’s hand embraced the side of her head.
Relieved, Elena grabbed his arm and waited for the room to stop spinning. When his face came into focus, she gazed into his kind eyes...his noble eyes.
“What happened? You’re shaking. Was it a nightmare?”
She longed to fall into his embrace and feel the comfort and protection of his powerful arms, but stronger was the urge to push him away.
You can’t escape your destiny, Anakh whispered.
