by J D Abbas
She glanced at Silvandir’s concerned expression and nodded. She didn’t dare speak. He’d never understand. He was a good man, a kind man, and she didn’t want to destroy him. The image in the mirror flashed in her mind. She was a monster, just like Anakh, too vile and twisted to be friends with Silvandir. A sharp pain stabbed her heart.
“I’m fine,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. Then she gently pushed his hand from her face, wrapped her blanket around her, and curled into Sasha, to wait for the morning. She wouldn’t sleep again.
~
Elena was slow to rise the next day, purposely delaying any interaction with the men. She felt so guilty, so evil. Even though it had been a dream, she saw warning in it, premonition.
Silvandir bid her good morning. She glanced at his uninjured chest, shame twisting her belly, and could only respond with a grunt. When she made her way to the bathing room, he followed.
“I don’t need an escort. I have my dagger, and my attacker’s gone—except in my insane mind.”
“We don’t know what became of him, and I won’t allow you to be at risk.” Silvandir glanced up and down the corridor. “I don’t trust the situation.”
“You’re so stubborn,” Elena huffed. How could she get him away from her when he was so tenaciously faithful?
Despite her protests, Silvandir escorted her into the bathing room and emptied two of the water jars into a tub then turned and stood by the door. Elena glared at his back as she bathed. At least she could have cried in the tub if he hadn’t been there.
After she dried and dressed, she moved to the full-length mirror the men had setup for her. Sitting on the small wooden stool, she combed through her hair. Her hands shook as she smoothed it in preparation for plaiting. When she glanced up, she saw a murky, skeleton-like creature staring back at her as it combed the tangled mass on its head. It grinned maniacally. She dropped the comb.
Silvandir turned. “What’s wrong?” He moved toward her as she stared at the mirror, frozen. “Elena?” He touched her shoulder.
She shook her head sharply and turned away from the image, stooping to pick up the comb. “I am... I’m fine, Silvandir.” She glanced back at the mirror where she saw only her own terrified reflection. “I wish you’d stop treating me as if I were some fragile creature. I can take care of myself.” She jumped up, shouldered past him, and walked out into the hall.
Elena knew she’d wounded Silvandir with her coldness, but she had to. It was best if he stayed away from her; she didn’t want to destroy him. Yet, in spite of how she treated him, he followed her down the corridor without argument or objection. That just made it worse.
For the next two days, it was much the same. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, ate little, fought the men’s incessant efforts to support or protect her—she didn’t deserve such care—and spent sleepless nights battling the demons of her mind.
Those same demons relentlessly pursued her into the day. She refused to look in any mirror and stayed away from her reflection in windows, terrified of what she might see. She suspected she was becoming more of a shadow with each passing day.
~
Celdorn was worried for Elena and felt he was failing as any sort of father figure. Every effort he made to encourage her or to find out what was troubling her was met with silence and fear. He longed to express his heart but couldn’t seem to find words that didn’t deepen her shame. He didn’t know how to get through to her.
Haldor approached him one evening after Elena had retired. “May I speak with you and Elbrion privately?”
The men moved to Elbrion’s chamber. Celdorn nodded toward the hearth, and the three took seats around the freshly lit fire.
“I have been considering Elena’s condition after the incident in the chapel. I have an idea, a suggestion that might be palliative for her.”
Celdorn sighed. “If you have a way to bring her out of this pit she’s fallen into, I’m eager to hear it, though I have my doubts that she’ll share my enthusiasm. It seems the more we approach her, the harder she pushes us away.”
Haldor scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned toward Celdorn, elbows on his knees, his voice hushed. “It is my sense that at some point she was forced to do something or make a vow that bound her to the Zhekhum, one that she is not able to recall but fills her with overwhelming dread and self-loathing. I believe a rite or a ceremony to reverse that vow might ease her conscience.”
Celdorn looked at Elbrion. “Do you think it’s the incident with her baby brother?”
Haldor answered instead. “I cannot tell you why, but my sense is this took place when she was somewhat older. I envision a dark, evil ceremony.”
“Being forced to believe she’d killed and burned her infant brother wasn’t dark and evil enough?”
“Without a doubt,” Elbrion replied. “However, I agree with Haldor. I imagine that such events happened more than once, reinforcing the belief she was bound to Anakh and the Zhekhum. There was a terror in Elena that day in the chapel which was different from what she experienced in the memory with her brother.”
“She also mentioned another brother being killed and brought back to life,” Celdorn said. “Do you remember?”
Elbrion nodded. “I do not think even Elena knows what it was that terrified her in the chapel. I agree with Haldor. It is important to give her a new event to recall, an opportunity to freely choose the direction her life will take. I would add that it must be done with witnesses, in community. Elena has lived in isolation. To be whole she must learn to live with others, to find some sense of herself in their midst.”
Haldor nodded. “I think a diagmatz might be the perfect solution.”
Celdorn and Elbrion both sat back, caught off guard.
“I never considered that…” Celdorn said.
A smile spread across Elbrion’s face. “Yes…”
The men continued their discussion for the next hour. Come morning, they would move forward with their plan.
Chapter 54
The next day, when Elena finally entered Celdorn’s room, he welcomed her with a smile and a kiss on the head. She made no effort to respond, her eyes fixed on the floor. Part of her wanted desperately to receive his affection, but her shame was too strong. She didn’t belong here. She was as repulsive as the creature in the mirror, a creature that would destroy them. Grotesque images of their dead bodies flashed through her mind, making her shiver.
The other men greeted her as they trickled in to join them at table, receiving only a nod in return. The men were talkative this morning, ready for a new day, chatting about their nights, their families far away. Elena listened with increasing despair. She could never be a part of their world.
When food was finally set before her, she shoved it away and rose to leave.
“I know you’re upset, but you need some nourishment,” Celdorn said. Her jaw tightened. “Eat a little, and then you may be excused.”
She obliged without a glance or comment. Though she was hungry, she stubbornly refused to eat more than a few bites. She felt Celdorn’s eyes on her and glanced up to see a pained expression on his face. She looked away, unable to endure it.
“Little one, please talk to us, to me. If you’re angry, say so. Yell at me if it will help. If you’re sad and wish to cry, please do. If you’re frightened, tell us what it is you fear. We can’t help, if we don’t know what troubles you.” He paused and raked his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what to do with silence.”
Elena, realizing that Celdorn had just exposed his heart, steeled her own. “You men,” she scoffed, “you’re always expressing your anger, freely shedding your tears, speaking your innermost thoughts. You lay yourselves bare when you do so. Where’s the wisdom in that? How do you protect yourselves?” She crossed her arms and slumped in her chair, unwilling to look at anyone.
Celdorn was quiet for a moment. “We’re not so expressive in all circumstances, which I agree would be unwise. But within this cir
cle”— his eyes swept around the table—“there’s a certain well-earned freedom built on trust. That’s part of what trust is: not having to protect yourself, knowing the other won’t take advantage of your vulnerability.”
“Like going inside my mind and looking at my secrets. Like touching me and feeling all my personal pain. Knowing more about me than I know about myself.” She didn’t dare look at Elbrion or Mikaelin. It was cruel. She knew it. But she didn’t dare allow them in. Anakh would kill them—or make her kill them. “I think I’ll continue to do it in my own way, thank you.” Biting back tears, she rose to leave.
Celdorn blew out a breath. “Elena, at midmorning you will accompany us to the main floor of the keep. I know that you want to be left alone, but you’ll do as I ask nonetheless.” His voice was firm, but his eyes were full of doubt.
She glared back at him in bold defiance. “I’m allowed no choice in the matter?”
Celdorn hesitated and glanced at Elbrion, who gave a subtle shake of his head. “No, not in this.”
“Then I suppose I’ll see you midmorning.” She stomped toward the terrace, glowering at Silvandir when he rose to follow. Sasha beat her to the door and squeezed out before she’d fully opened it. Elena stepped outside and slammed the door behind her, daring Silvandir to defy her.
As soon as Elena was on the terrace, the stubborn bend to her jaw softened and tears slipped out. She made sure to keep her back to the windows, so the men couldn’t see her despair. She plopped onto a bench, and Sasha immediately cuddled into her.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered into Sasha’s ears. “I can’t stay here. I’ll destroy them all.” She’d never had so many people care about her—anyone care about her.
And she’d never felt more utterly alone.
She saw herself sliding into a deep abyss and knew her only hope was to reach out to these men, who were faithfully standing by her no matter how rude and unkind she was.
But she couldn’t. When they spoke to her, she wanted to hold up her hand and tell them to look the other way, knowing she was becoming what she saw in her dreams, in the mirror, and if they looked too long, they’d see it.
Turning her tormented eyes to the sky, she begged for help from... She wasn’t sure. Was there something, someone, out there to hear her silent cries? These men spoke of Qho’el, but did he exist? And, if he did, would he listen to the likes of her? What could he do anyway?
Elena saw a flash of light among the boulders at the base of Mount Iliand. The white horse was there again. He trotted to the edge of Celdorn’s garden and stopped. For some reason, she longed to run to him and embrace him, to bury her face in his mane and allow herself to weep. She glanced back at the windows. She didn’t dare; her overprotective guardians would stop her before she reached the bottom step.
Elena cocked her head and stared toward the horse. There was something at the edge of her understanding, something calling to her, vague and mysterious.
She straightened and her eyes went wide.
Do not lose heart. Your journey will end in life. You must learn to trust, and hope will awaken. Though she had no reason to believe so, she was certain it was the stallion speaking to her.
Then, as quickly as he appeared, he vanished.
~
After Elena’s caustic exit, Celdorn shook his head and looked at Elbrion. “She seems more entrenched in the shame now than she was two days ago. I’m afraid our new plan is going to fail, and we might drive her so deeply into her pit of despair, we may never retrieve her.”
“I am in agreement with your decision, and I trust that all will be well, to use your own words,” Elbrion replied with a gentle smile.
Celdorn gave a soft snort, realizing how empty and unrealistic those words sounded. “I wish I knew what was feeding her shame. Wish she could hear our hearts.”
“I trust she will in time, my friend. Her trainers have used shame to control her life, her mind. She sees that shame, those lies, as a part of herself. It is and will continue to be her toughest battle. But she is fighting her way through it and is discovering that isolation is not the relief it once was. She now finds herself at a critical crossroad.”
~
“Elena, it is time,” Celdorn called from the door.
A tingle skittered up her spine. Those words again...the memory of the specters in Alsimion. They’d said them as if there were hope, but look where it’d brought her—she bit back tears. Life was better when she felt nothing.
She sighed and looked toward Celdorn, noting the hesitant smile on his face. She rose and clutched the scruff of Sasha’s neck to steady herself. When she entered his room, she found Celdorn’s entire inner circle waiting. Her eyes moved from person to person, searching for a clue as to what was happening. As she noted their somber expressions, searing pain throbbed between her temples.
Celdorn said no more but turned and escorted her into the corridor, signaling for Sasha to return to her bed. Elena felt naked without her.
Elbrion laid his hand on her shoulder. “Silothani, Sheya,” he whispered before singing in his gentle, soothing baritone.
When they reached the main floor of the keep, Celdorn steered Elena to the left toward the Great Hall and library. She managed to contain her fear until they headed further down the dim corridor toward the dreaded chapel.
Her mind spun with half a dozen scenarios: The men were going to make a formal charge against her before the altar of Qho’el; Elbrion was going to enter her mind and expose all her secrets for the others to witness; Elbrion had already seen the truth and the men were planning to denounce and behead her as the vile creature she was; they were going to sacrifice her on the altar of Qho’el in payment for her crimes against the Jhadhela; or perhaps even Qho’el himself might strike her and burn her to ashes.
The ideas swirled through Elena’s mind in the time it took to walk twenty paces. She was reeling before they ever reached the chapel door. Celdorn grabbed her under the right arm when her knees collapsed, Elbrion the left.
The men stopped at the entrance to the chapel, and Haldor stepped in front of the closed door.
“Elena, Yabeha, do not fear.” Haldor’s tone was soothing, his gaze serene. He placed his hand on the back of her head and chanted something she didn’t understand. Immediately, warmth spread from her head to her feet. Her breathing slowed, and her eyes cleared.
“This is the Chapel of Light, the realm of Qho’el. It is a place of illumination, welcome and peace. We bid you hear us out and suspend your doubt and fear as best you can. I promise you, we will protect you, and what we offer will be most welcomed.”
Elena found herself nodding and forced herself to breathe. Haldor turned and opened the door. With the flood of light, all resolve disappeared, and she collapsed onto her knees.
“Bring her to the altar,” Haldor said.
Celdorn and Elbrion gently pulled Elena to her feet and led her to the center of the chapel where there was an ornate, oblong altar carved from black stone. On it lay four simple wooden bowls and a large silver ewer. Beneath the objects, Elena saw a sun etched into the surface of the dark stone. Rays of ebony light reached toward the edges of the slab and spilled over the sides.
Haldor spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “Elena, I believe your distress in this place is due to an event you were forced to participate in when you were younger, one in which you made a vow or performed an act that bound you to the Zhekhum, much like the death of your little brother.”
Elena turned to Elbrion. “You said you would hold all that you’d seen as sacred, private.” Her shoulders sagged. A sharp pain stabbed beneath her sternum, and she curled into it.
“Perhaps you have forgotten that some of the men were present in the room when we visited that memory. I told Haldor nothing.” His voice was gentle, with no bite of defensiveness or hurt in it.
“Oh,” she murmured and looked down, trying to fend off the sense of betrayal that brutalized her heart.
“As difficult as it is for you to believe,” Haldor continued, “we are your friends, your allies. None of us desires to hurt or damage you. We believe in you, in the truth of who you are, and wish to squelch the lies you have come to hold as truth. You are a richly gifted young woman with a tremendous calling, an unexplored destiny awaiting you. We believe this wholeheartedly.”
There was a murmur of agreement and nods all around. Elena glanced at the men in surprise.
“You owe nothing to the Zhekhum.” Haldor’s voice gained a sharp edge. “You are bound by nothing more than your belief in the power of those words spoken or deeds done.” He paused and waited until Elena’s eyes met his. “It is our desire to counter that power in what we offer you here today.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
“In the Elrodanar community, two weeks after a child is born the family performs a naming ceremony, a dedication of the child’s life called a diagmatz. Most Rogaran families also follow this tradition.”
Elena was intrigued, in spite of herself. What could this possibly have to do with her?
“Little one,” Celdorn said, his voice hesitant, his face troubled, “we’ve tried in various ways to let you know that your life has value to us. We know you are now bereft of family and feel isolated in your troubles, troubles you find difficult to speak about or to allow us to assist you in battling.” He paused and she saw fear flash in his eyes. “We’ve told you that we’re willing to be a family to you.” He glanced around at the gathered men, and she looked away, knowing this was something that could never be. “And Elbrion and I have developed a special fondness for you as if...as if you were our own...daughter.”
Elena’s eyes shot up to meet his. The word sent a tremor through her, and Celdorn stepped back as if he’d been shoved.
“Elena,” Haldor said, “we would like to stand as your family and officially dedicate your life to Qho’el and to the service of the Jhadhela, just as we might for a newborn child, for indeed your life has begun anew. I believe you need the power of the symbolism, the ceremony, to counteract the force of the horrific memories imbedded so deeply you recall nothing but their taint.”
