by J D Abbas
Elena staggered back and slumped onto a bench, her eyes wide, mouth agape.
Elbrion sat beside her. “Sheyshon, Celdorn and I would most joyfully welcome you as our daughter. To demonstrate that, we desire to stand in the place of parents for you and dedicate your life through diagmatz. With these men,” he gestured toward the others, “willing to stand as extended family and Rhulmhon or spiritual guardians. That is, if you are willing.”
Elena sat unmoving. Her mind worked furiously to make sense of the words and to set her guards in place for whatever blow of reality was sure to follow.
Haldor squatted in front of her. “We, in turn, would commit ourselves to helping you fulfill your destiny.” Understanding dawned on her. “We will not do a complete ceremony, but a modified version specific to your life.”
“But…” Elena whispered. Her eyes pleaded with Haldor as the rest of the words vanished.
“I know you believe you are unclean, that Qho’el would not welcome you,” Haldor said. “That is the reason we wish to do this. You can be cleansed, even from filth that is not yours; even if we do not believe it to be true or necessary, you can be cleansed. You can start anew, here, now.”
Was it truly possible?
Haldor nodded, as if he’d heard her thought.
“Once, not so many years ago, a beautiful and ever so tiny, baby girl was born in a land of shadows,” interrupted a smooth, sonorous voice—a storyteller’s voice, a bard’s.
Elena turned around and was startled to see it was Tobil who spoke. Tobil, the weapons’ master, the renowned and mighty warrior. Tobil, who in his own quiet way had displayed a depth Elena had sensed but not understood. This same man had a surprising gift she never would have guessed. Yet it was there, in his stance, in his tone. He was a weaver of tales.
“At the dawn of her existence, light burst forth,” he continued, his gaze fixed on the central pane of glass where the etchings scattered the sun’s beams in a dozen directions. “A light so brilliant it pushed at the shadows, and the shadows pushed back, surrounding the light and smashing it, seeking to snuff it out. But the light would not be extinguished. It could not be extinguished. Instead, it shattered into slivers so fine no eye could see, dozens of tiny slivers that slid past the shadows and slipped away to a secret place, to slumber for a time. Waiting. Waiting in silence. Waiting for the day when the hidden shards could safely be revealed, reformed, and a life renewed. Waiting for a master of light, one who could bring the pieces together into a work of art. Waiting for a place where no shadow could destroy the fragile masterpiece. Waiting for a love strong enough to reawaken the slumbering gift. Qho’el’s gift.”
There was a profound silence in the chapel as Tobil eased off the last words. A shiver ran through Elena, setting the little hairs of her neck on end, though she didn’t know why.
A beatific smile spread across Haldor’s face as he stared at the images etched in the chapel windows. He was nodding. “It is time,” he said, his voice quiet, steady. “Time to awaken the gift.”
Elena shuddered again, her wary eyes focused on Haldor. He stepped toward her and placed a garment in her hands.
“Please put this on.”
Elena’s gaze swept around the room, but before she could object, the men had turned their backs to her. With trembling hands, she unlaced her clothes and slipped out of them, all the while trying to understand the meaning of Tobil’s words, knowing that in some way the story was about her. The garment Haldor gave her was a simple white linen shift with no hooks, laces or embellishments, which hung well past her knees and covered most of her arms. She gathered her other clothes, hugged them to her as if they somehow gave her protection, and sat on the bench. It didn’t occur to her until then that she could have refused Haldor, that she could have left the chapel at any time. But she waited. Trembling.
Haldor turned and extended a hand to Elena. She took it and followed him back to the center of the chapel where he faced her, the altar and windows at his back. The rest of the men formed a semi-circle behind her.
“We do not have a ceremonial font here to do a formal diagmatz,” Haldor explained. “But we have decided there are elements we can incorporate that will be meaningful and restorative for you.”
He turned toward the men. “Who brings this child to be dedicated?”
Elbrion and Celdorn stepped to either side of Elena. “We do.”
“What name have you given her?”
“Elena,” Celdorn replied, “for she is a light in our lives.”
Elena turned to Celdorn, stunned, his face blurred by the sudden tears that stung her eyes.
“And Celebriana,” Elbrion added, “for she has brought renewed joy to us.”
Elena’s head snapped around to face Elbrion. A pleasing warmth spread through her chest even as the room wavered.
“Celdorn, Elbrion, as you have chosen to stand as Elena’s fathers, do you freely offer her life in dedication to Qho—”
Elena shrieked. A knife plunged into her chest and ripped down toward her navel. Her riven flesh gaped. She felt nothing, but saw her blood spew. Panic, sharp and feral, gripped her.
It took her a few spinning moments to realize this was a vision, though the image was so graphic in its detail, Elena was certain it was a premonition, a warning. They were indeed planning to sacrifice her on this altar in spite of their impassioned denials.
Elena whirled and attempted to flee, but Celdorn and Elbrion grasped her arms before she took two steps. She fought furiously as all reason left her. She clawed. She bit. She flailed. Then she remembered her dagger. She reached for it, but it wasn’t there. She had removed it with her clothing.
A volcano of terror churned in her belly, intensified by the violent, bloody images in her mind. Molten fear swirled, surging upward, pushing outward, stretching the bounds of her skin, until it erupted.
Cries of pain filled the small chapel. Flames leapt up Celdorn and Elbrion’s arms, setting fire to the sleeves of their shirts. They immediately released Elena and fought to put out the flames that raced toward their shoulders. The other men joined in, tearing off tunics and shirts and laying them over the burning limbs.
Elena dashed for the door, but Mikaelin reached it first, blocking her. Frantic, she spun in search of another exit. The windows. She took three steps forward, and the room disappeared.
A throbbing, malevolent blackness surrounded her. One that grabbed at the edges of memory and drained the fight from her body.
She had entered a place of death.
Chapter 55
Elena froze, waiting for some sort of explanation, some light to illuminate. Celdorn and his men had disappeared, but, rather than being relieved, her terror intensified. There were things far worse than what she’d left in the chapel waiting for her here, though she didn’t know how she knew that.
Odd shadows appeared, dancing on the walls of what looked to be a large cave. She turned and saw white tongues of fire and the fading pulsations of Elbrion’s flesh. Her panic doubled. Celdorn and his men had followed her into this place, their cries echoing around her.
The smell of fresh earth grew strong—the sense of an ominous, malevolent presence, stronger.
With a loud crack, fissures formed in the earthen walls exposing dark hollows. Creatures pressed outward from the niches like insects emerging from cocoons. Elbrion chanted and light flooded the chamber, exposing a dozen amorphous creatures wrapped in wispy shadows. One moment they were part of the walls, the next they were moving into the body of the cave. With single-minded purpose, they headed directly toward Elena, who found herself backed up against a large stone table that was as tall as her shoulder blades.
Elena was convinced her mind had snapped, or she was caught in some dream from which she couldn’t escape. She realized she’d somehow created this but had no idea how to stop it. All she knew was Celdorn and his men intended to kill her, and the shadowy creatures seemed to have the same goal.
Panic propelled
her into motion. She had no weapon, so she scrambled around the table, planning to run for the mouth of the cave, which was on the far side. A yank on her ankle stopped her. When she looked down, she found a shackle had appeared on her leg, attached by a short chain to the table. She yanked at the links but couldn’t break free.
A burst of light flashed behind her, and she looked across the table. The phantoms had raised their arms and gruesome weapons appeared from nowhere. Deft hands twirled war scythes, halberds, morning stars, and great swords, the blades of which glowed red as if just pulled from a forge.
To Elena’s surprise, Celdorn’s men ran toward her and formed a wall between her and the advancing phantoms. The Guardians had no weapons, and yet they stood ready to fight. Celdorn barked orders as they tightened ranks around her, crouched in readiness, undaunted by the macabre display. She stared at the hideous weapons and realized it would be a slaughter. Even Rogaran warriors couldn’t hope to fight these forces with bare hands. Elena didn’t understand why they would choose to protect her against these undefeatable foes if they were planning to kill her anyway. Did they need her alive, her blood fresh to complete their ritual?
The lead specter stepped toward Celdorn and swung a battle flail at his head. He ducked and the spiked ball whooshed past. Celdorn lunged forward, arms spread, to tackle his opponent. He met no resistance and swished right through the creature as if through smoke. The phantoms broke into a chorus of mocking laughter as he lost his balance and stumbled onto one knee. Another specter raised his poleaxe to strike Celdorn’s back. Elbrion extended his hand, and a whip of light coiled around the weapon and froze it in place.
Then chaos broke out.
The Guardians surged forward like a human wave. They lunged and wrestled for weapons, weaving between the well-armed creatures. Elena wanted to do something, anything, but she was chained and weaponless.
Tobil tore a war scythe from his opponent’s hands. He spun and swept the blade through the phantom’s body, doing nothing. The weapon was useless when turned against these fiends.
Braiden let out a yelp, knocked to the ground by a glancing blow from a war hammer. His attacker stood over him, arm raised to deliver a deathblow.
A dark shadow settled over Elena. “No!” she screamed. Her right hand shot into the air, and her sword appeared, blazing with white light. No time to think, she pointed her blade at Braiden’s assailant. A flame shot from the sword’s tip and straight into the specter’s chest. There was a concussive flash of light then nothing but ash and smoke. Elena gawked at what she’d done.
“Silvandir!” Mikaelin yelled as another phantom cracked a thick whip. The long lash snapped then coiled around Silvandir’s neck. Mikaelin was too busy dodging a halberd to do more than shout a warning.
Silvandir couldn’t block the lash. He’d wrested a broadsword from his opponent and just thrust it into the specter’s belly, surprising them both when it met solid flesh. The phantom stared at the wound as he shriveled into a wisp. Silvandir’s body tumbled forward, the momentum threatening to snap his neck.
Elena ran toward him but was yanked back by the forgotten shackle. She hacked at the chain with her sword, surprised when the metal shattered beneath the blow. When she turned again, Silvandir jerked backward, hands clawing at the thong that dug into his throat. Elena lunged and brought her blade down on the taut lash. Silvandir fell to the floor with a gasp, and Elena scrambled to unwrap the coil.
“Watch out!”
Silvandir grabbed her and rolled. Something thudded against the ground where she’d been.
Elena pulled free of Silvandir and jumped to her feet. Haldor, face bloodied, was on the ground, wrestling with the war hammer wielder who’d just missed her.
Braiden dodged a scythe, his right arm hanging limply at his side. Shatur had a halberd, fending off two phantoms armed with spiked maces. Dalgo dropped to the ground and rolled, dodging two converging swords; a third creature came at him with a morning star. He threw his arms over his head and ducked behind the legs of another specter. Dalgo was a healer, not a warrior. Overwhelmed, Elena couldn’t decide which direction to move.
“Enough!” she screamed.
In a flash of blazing light, the chapel was back, lit with its undulating, dancing beams of color. Gone were the specters and the cave. The floor tipped beneath her feet as she struggled against the vertigo that followed. Elena shook her head, certain she was completely mad.
When the room steadied, her focus returned to the door of the chapel, consumed with the need to escape. Elena braced herself to do battle with Mikaelin but realized her sword had vanished with the cave. Emptied-handed, she decided she could fight with her fists if she had to. One way or another, she would get out of this chapel. She charged toward the door.
“Stop! You’re on fire,” Mikaelin called.
When Elena saw the flicker of flames, she broke into a frenzied dance, punctuated by frantic shrieks, as she flapped her arms and swatted at the flames. Two of the men tackled her from behind and covered her with cloth, pressing her into the ground. She bucked and swore, doing her best to toss them off, but they held her down.
Elbrion sang as he approached her writhing form. Haldor joined him, chanting in harmony. They put their hands on Elena’s head and brought the soothing power of the Jhadhela against the fury of the flames.
“Elena, you misunderstood. We are not going to sacrifice you,” Elbrion said as Haldor continued to sing. “It is all right, Sheyshon. We will not harm you.” He stroked her head with blistered hands, the flames diminishing as the music broke through the chaos of her fear. “Shh, Sheya, it was not a vision; it was your fear. You are safe.”
Elena’s chest heaved; the panic gradually subsided. She peeked out from under Silvandir’s tunic. “But Haldor said… But, but I saw…”
“I know. I saw it in your mind just now. I do not know its source, but it was not a premonition. Qho’el neither requires nor approves of human sacrifice. Haldor meant the offering of your life in a figurative sense, a promise to serve the Jhadhela. Nothing more, Sheya. Nothing more.”
Elena’s eyes flicked back and forth.
Celdorn stared at Elbrion in horror, and a fierce shudder shook him.
Elbrion continued to stroke Elena’s head as Silvandir and Tobil released their grips and knelt off to her side. Gently lifting the edges of their tunics, they inspected the damage. Their eyes widened, and they gasped.
Celdorn stepped behind them. With singed hands, he grabbed the tunics and yanked them off her. “You’re uninjured.” His face was riddled with questions. “Your body was consumed in flames but not even your shift is singed. How can that be?” His eyes moved to Silvandir’s and Tobil’s reddened hands then to his own blistering flesh.
Elena sat up and inspected herself. “I-I never felt any heat. I only saw the flames.”
She gazed up at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. Where did the fire come from?”
“From within you,” Elbrion replied. “It seems it was defending you.”
No, no, no! Elena couldn’t breathe as images of the charred bodies from her nightmare came back. “H-how could fire come from within me?”
“I do not know, Sheya.” Elbrion stroked her hair. “Perhaps this is also part of your gifting.”
“Gifting? B-but I hurt you.” She took hold of Elbrion’s hand. “What kind of gift destroys others?” A strangled sob squeaked out as she caressed his blistering limb, bile rising in her throat.
“It is a gift you should have been taught how to control. It must have come out instinctively. You are not to blame for any of this.” Elena turned her eyes to Celdorn. Both of his sleeves were burned past the elbows; his now hairless skin glowed red. She sniffed the air and gagged, covering her nose and mouth. Then her eyes fixed on the blood oozing from the places where she’d scratched and bit him. She hunched over as more sobs erupted.
Celdorn sat on the ground next to her and, wincing in pain, pulled her into his arms. �
�It wasn’t your fault, little one. You didn’t hurt us intentionally.”
“But I bit you. I clawed at you,” she sobbed into his chest.
“You were fighting for your life.” He rocked gently as he spoke. “I don’t know how to help you to understand that we don’t want to hurt you, little one. It was our intent to begin a new life with you today, not end one. We would never harm you in that way. It goes against everything we believe. And, and…” he pulled her back so he could look her in the eye, “we care far too deeply for you.”
“I wonder,” Haldor interrupted, his brow creased in thought, “if the words I spoke somehow threw you into the memory of the event we were trying to counter.”
Elena stared at him. “Did you...see what I did?” She glanced at the others.
“Yes,” Elbrion replied, “and it seems it was not just an image in your mind, but we were taken to another place with you. It was as solid as this floor.” He stomped his foot in emphasis.
“So it was real...” A tremor ran through Elena.
“Q-quite real,” Braiden chimed in, rubbing his bruised arm.
Elena felt sick when she saw the lump bulging below Braiden’s shoulder. “What was that place?”
Elbrion replied, “We saw only what you did. The rest is blocked to us, to me. My guess is you keep the memory of that place well-guarded even from yourself, and it was only the panic of the moment that broke through your defenses.”
“Who were they? What were they?”
“My guess is they were some sort of servants of Anakh, her eidola perhaps.”
“Were they actually here? In this place?” She scanned the walls with frantic eyes.
“I do not know if they were here, or we were transported there, or if this was a memory place in your mind, like with the event with your baby brother. It is difficult to say.”
