by J D Abbas
You’re a fool. It can’t last. They have no idea who—or what—you are. When they learn, it won’t be a celebration.
Elena sat on the edge of the bed and covered her ears, but she couldn’t silence the internal.
It’s called reality, truth. They value that sort of thing here. You need to learn to live with it.
“I choose to believe my adai,” she whispered, straightening a little. She felt less crazy when she argued aloud. “We no longer have to live the way we were raised. We don’t have to live in that darkness anymore. And we will find a way to help the other children. We have the power of the Jhadhela for that.”
You’re a dreamer. Reality is going to tear you apart. Brace yourself.
As if to prove the point, her bed began to quake. The walls of the room bounced, moving to the rhythm of some subterranean drum. A loud crack sounded. The bed jolted then split in two. Elena grabbed for the edge of the bed as she slid backward, but the bedding she clutched fell with her. She tumbled into a gaping hole that smelled of sulfur and decay. Into the blackness she plummeted, feet over head, flailing, her screams absorbed by the endless abyss.
“What’s happening?” Her question disappeared into the emptiness around her.
“You’re inside me,” a familiar voice crooned, the words echoing against unseen walls, enveloping her. “I’m hungry, and I crave satisfaction.”
“Anakh!” Fear flipped Elena’s stomach, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting.
“I will devour all that you are, all that you love. Piece by piece, I will gorge myself on your life until you come to me, freely, willingly, and offer yourself to me. And you will. It was for this you were born. It is your destiny.”
That last word drove into Elena like a spear. From somewhere deep in her belly, a rage erupted. “No, this is my Destiny!” She drew the sword that suddenly appeared, strapped to her hip. White light blazed in the abyss, exposing walls of flesh around her. She was indeed inside Anakh. Not stopping to think, she swept her blade toward the pulsing pale walls. Blood and viscera exploded, followed by a hiss that turned to a deafening howl. Fury throbbed in the depths as she stabbed and lashed Destiny into the belly of Anakh. Doused in putrid slime, Elena coughed and sputtered for breath as she was immersed in the muck.
“Be gone!” some voice deep within her screamed, and light blazed, blinding her.
When her vision returned, Elena was sitting cross-legged on her bed, which was whole again, dressed in her deep green nightshirt. She would have thought she was utterly mad had it not been for the solidness of Destiny on her lap. Her sword looked none the worse for the encounter, no sign of blood or entrails on it.
“I named you well,” she whispered to her blade, stroking the hilt with a shaking hand. An odd vibration passed through the sword, sending a tingle through her thighs.
She lifted her head. “Qho’el, I don’t understand what you’re asking of me.” There was no response, no internal prompting, but she felt something… a sense of calm, of peace, as if the silence embraced her. She smiled at the absurd thought. Perhaps she was mad.
~
A knock on the door made Elena jump. Her dizzy brain fumbled for the right words. “Silothani, y-you are welcome,” she called, following the Rogaran tradition, though she felt anything but traditional.
Silvandir peeked around the door. “Good morning.” He was smiling, but one glance from her face to the sword on her lap and his grin faded. “Are you well?” He took a few hesitant steps toward her.
Elena didn’t know how to answer him. He wasn’t like Elbrion, able to nearly read her thoughts, or Mikaelin, who would probably have understood the insanity inside her head. But Silvandir was so… so… good. Faithful. Dependable. Honest. And she was so—not. He would never understand her.
So she lied. “I’m fine. Just a little queasy this morning.” And that was true.
His smile returned. “Are you feeling well enough to go riding?”
Elena sprang from her bed, her sword clattering to the floor, and threw her arms around Silvandir’s waist, a captive set free. “Yes. Absolutely. Thank you,” she squealed.
Silvandir stiffened as if startled, then relaxed into the embrace. When Elena released him, a slight flush glowed above his dark beard, and his smile wavered. She must have embarrassed him with her impulsiveness. But as he stooped to pick up her sword, the silver flecks in his dark eyes danced with their usual mirth.
See, she said to the internal skeptic, I have freedom. Freedom like I never had before.
Until he beds you. Just wait. It’s clear he wants you.
She studied Silvandir as he laid Destiny on the bed; she saw nothing of the kind. “Can we go now?”
He chuckled. “Well, I think you should get out of your nightclothes and eat something first.”
Elena’s cheeks immediately burned as she reached for her night robe. She’d forgotten she wasn’t dressed and had just thrown herself into this man’s arms in her enthusiasm. What must he think of her?
That you’re a whore and always will be. He’d probably like to check out the wares for himself.
Silvandir’s dark brow creased as he watched her. She was fairly certain he couldn’t hear her thoughts, but she wondered what he saw or sensed from her. The empathic powers of the Guardians were unsettling.
“But we can go immediately after,” he said, the lines in his face easing.
Elena forced herself back to the joy of the moment. “I love the Ilqazar.” She stepped behind the screen the men had provided for her and threw on some clothes. She ran her fingers through her hair but could do little else until she went to the bathing room where she kept her comb and ribbons. “Especially Nakhona. She’s wonderful.”
Silvandir chuckled. She knew he shared the same love. When Elena emerged in the brown trousers and a loose-fitting linen shirt like those worn by most of the men within the keep, Silvandir’s eyes traveled over her outfit and a new smile twisted the silvery-blue edges of his black beard. Then he seemed to catch himself and turned his gaze, while an unfamiliar tingle spread through her belly.
“So let’s start your day.” He gestured toward the door, bowed slightly, and held out his arm in playful formality. “After you, my lady.”
Elena had to laugh at that—while the internal skeptic sneered with disgust.
Just wait. You’re playing with fire.
Her eyes swept over Silvandir’s body involuntarily and a different, less familiar voice spoke. Mmm, but if I’m going to be taken, he’ll do just fine. Look at him, a real man, solid rock. He would be quite a treat.
Elena blushed and pushed the thoughts away as quickly as she could, afraid that somehow Silvandir might hear.
Chapter 2
“Elena, come back!” A rush of fear washed through Silvandir. What was she thinking? She was a novice and riding bareback. He cursed himself for not insisting she use a saddle.
With a carefree laugh, Elena leaned into her filly’s neck. It looked like she was encouraging Nakhona to ride with all her strength. Elena had told him how much she loved the speed, that it made her feel like she was flying. And fly she did, through the lush pasturelands toward the ravine. Silvandir could sense Nakhona sharing equally in the exhilaration of her rider, and he knew from the filly’s thoughts where she was headed.
Windham needed no urging from Silvandir; he galloped after Nakhona with a fury. In spite of his concern, Silvandir found himself chuckling at Windham’s thoughts. The stallion refused to be outdone by this female, who was not yet even a mare. He didn’t care that she was sired by Zhalor, the prince of the Ilqazar, descendant of the ancient Braenar; Windham wouldn’t be humiliated by a filly. She needed to learn her place.
“Stop, Elena!” Silvandir called. “Nakhona, don’t take her outside the wall. It’s not safe.”
Ignoring him, Nakhona circumvented the enceinte that surrounded the grazing pastures by forging through the wide stream, the only break for miles in the twenty-
foot high protective wall—which Celdorn had explicitly told Elena not to go beyond.
After climbing the muddy bank, Nakhona headed straight into the verdant foothills of the Mongar Mountains where the summer growth of heather and junegrass rose past the filly’s belly. Massive snowy peaks loomed above them in the distance, with two granite arms reaching down toward the pastures as if to embrace the valley into which Elena raced. Silvandir suspected the wildflowers that grew among the untamed grasses were a temptation she couldn’t resist.
When they had forded the stream, Windham quickly closed the gap between them but wasn’t near enough to pull in front of the filly.
“Nakhona!” Elena screamed.
Silvandir’s heart skipped a beat as Elena lost her grip and slipped sideways. With no tack, she had nothing to grasp onto but the filly’s mane. Nakhona nearly sat on her haunches in her effort to stop. As Elena slid to the ground and rolled, the filly sidestepped.
“Windham, watch out!” Silvandir’s stallion, following too closely, swerved at the last moment and narrowly avoided trampling the girl. Reining in his mount, Silvandir leapt to the ground and raced to Elena’s side. Oh merciful Qho’el, let her be all right.
The girl was lying face down, almost invisible in the tall prairie grass, her chest heaving. With palms sweating and a knot of dread in his stomach, Silvandir carefully turned her over. To his surprise, Elena’s face was lit with joy.
“That—was so—much fun,” she managed to squeak out between guffaws. She had tears in her eyes from the fit of laughter.
Silvandir, the one responsible for her safety, wasn’t finding this quite so amusing. “You scared me to death, Elena.”
“I’m sorry.” She tried to stifle her laughter and appear duly chastised—with little success. Silvandir, in spite of himself, smiled along with her.
He helped her to sit up.
“Ow,” she yelped and grabbed at her right thigh, her laughter immediately gone.
“What’s wrong?”
“The muscle’s cramping.”
Silvandir gently pressed on her lower thigh. It felt like a rock. Elena cursed and slapped at his hand, surprising him.
His stallion stood over the girl and neighed softly.
“Windham says he nicked your leg with his hoof. He couldn’t stop in time,” Silvandir relayed.
Elena clenched her teeth and waved an impatient hand toward Windham. “The pain is getting worse and moving up my leg.” She rolled over and attempted to stand. Her leg wouldn’t bend or cooperate, so Silvandir lifted her and set her on her feet. She tried to walk, but her leg was straight and stiff, her face the picture of pain.
“Let me see it.” Silvandir gestured toward her trousers.
“No, it’s just a cramp,” she objected, balancing on her left foot.
“If it were just a cramp, you could walk on it. Let me see,” he insisted.
Elena grudgingly dropped her pants, pushing her long shirttails down to cover her bare thighs. Silvandir’s face grew warm as he realized how inappropriate this would look if someone happened by. He pushed the thought away and focused on the injury.
“Oh, this isn’t good.” He gingerly pressed on her leg where a purple half-moon bulged just above the knee. Elena’s leg trembled, and Silvandir realized he had wrapped his other hand around the back of her thigh without a thought as to how this might appear to her. He moved it behind her knee as a trickle of sweat slid down his back. “It doesn’t look like the knee or the bone is injured, which is fortunate. How does your hip feel?”
“Like there’s a rope in there, and someone’s twisting it.”
Silvandir began to massage the thigh muscle that now felt as if it were made of iron.
Elena gasped and him away. “What are you doing? Punishing me?”
He put his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to walk it out then.”
When Silvandir stepped back from Elena, he noticed Windham and Nakhona had turned toward the mountains, ears forward.
“What is it?” Silvandir asked, noting their guarded stance.
A howl echoed through the foothills.
Elena’s head snapped up. “What was that?”
“Probably just a wolf or a shamar.” When she frowned, he added, “A wild dog.”
Elena grabbed his arm. “Someone’s up there. I just saw a flash of black disappear behind that boulder a mile up the draw. It looked like a horse and rider.”
Silvandir rose and scanned the hills. “I don’t see anything.”
Another howl came, followed almost immediately by two more, each from a different direction. The Ilqazar stepped closer to Elena and Silvandir, shielding them.
Elena raised her trousers and attempted to walk again, but it was a hobble at best. Her leg wouldn’t hold her weight. She gritted her teeth and forced herself one more step.
More howls broke out from all around them while a steady growl moved in the tall grass. It was definitely a pack of wolves.
“Elena, get on Nakhona now.” Silvandir kept his voice steady so he didn’t panic her.
Nakhona immediately dropped to the ground to assist, but Elena’s hip was locked; she couldn’t swing her leg over the horse. Silvandir grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the filly. Elena bit her lip to stifle a scream. By the time Silvandir turned from her, they were surrounded.
“Do you have your dagger?” Silvandir asked.
“I do.”
“Be prepared to use it. I don’t have my sword, only my small blade, and there are at least ten of them. We need to ride for the enceinte.”
As soon as Silvandir swung his leg to mount, the pack sprang into motion. A wolf lunged at his foot as it was leaving the ground and latched onto the moving boot. Silvandir plunged his dagger between the creature’s eyes, and it released with a howl and tumbled to the ground.
Hold on, Silvandir heard Nakhona call to Elena’s mind as she reared and came down on the head of a wolf. Before the filly could break for the field below, another of the creatures bit into a hind leg. She bucked and kicked, planting a hoof in the wolf’s chest and sending it flying. But two more were there to take its place in no time.
Elena was too busy clinging to Nakhona’s neck to draw her dagger. He quickly realized that he couldn’t reach the animals from atop Windham, but he didn’t dare jump to the ground. Windham and Nakhona managed to smash the heads of several of the creatures, but the rest of the pack was attacking their underbellies and hind legs, trying to bring them down.
~
A massive brown wolf snapped at Elena’s left leg. She kicked at its face, knowing that if it succeeded, she’d be pulled from Nakhona. Her boot landed a solid blow to its snout and sent it tumbling to the ground. Something large and black dashed toward the ring of wolves just as sharp, searing pain crushed her other ankle. Her body lurched to the right and slid from Nakhona, hitting the ground with a thud.
Elena tried to suck in a breath, but her chest collapsed. In the midst of the swirling muck in her head, she heard Silvandir calling her name. The pain in her ankle intensified as the wolf yanked on her leg and dragged her through the grass. Elena tried to focus her eyes as another flash of black flew past.
She fumbled for her dagger, found the hilt and somehow managed to free the blade from its sheath. Moving in a disembodied state, she slashed at the dark gray blur pulling her away from Nakhona. She didn’t feel the dagger make contact, but the pressure released on her leg.
A yelp erupted next to her ear, and she rolled just as a brown furry mass landed where her head had been. Her chest burned and heaved for breath. Pain blossomed outward as she tried to push herself onto her knees. Silvandir yelled something as a rangy shadow moved toward her, a glint of light reflecting off the long blade in its hand.
Darkness tugged. Distant howls rang in Elena’s ears as the world went black.
Chapter 3
Elena heard voices as if from the distant end of a tunnel, two men talking in hushed
tones. Something pulled at her boot, sending sharp pains up her leg, but the rest of her body was paralyzed. It felt like a boulder lay on her chest. Seconds later, she got her fingers to wiggle at the end of useless arms, finding earth and prairie grass beneath them. The weight lifted from her chest and warm, heather-scented breath blew across her face. Her foggy mind couldn’t piece together the information.
Slowly, cautiously, she opened one eye and found herself staring into a wide, dark nostril.
Nakhona snorted.
Elena turned her head as droplets flew from the filly’s muzzle. She quickly glanced around before shoving Nakhona’s face away. “Yes, I’m awake,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks on her sleeve.
The tugging stopped.
“Are you all right?” Silvandir let go of her foot and moved to her side.
Elena lifted her head, but the world spun violently, telling her it wasn’t the best idea. “There’s a drum beating inside my skull.” She winced and lay back.
“I’m not surprised,” another voice said. “You hit the ground rather hard.” The two tall, black shapes that stood near her feet gradually merged into one form.
“Mikaelin? Where did you come from?”
He chuckled. “I’ve been here for some time. You, however, have not.”
“What happened?” she asked Silvandir, who was now kneeling beside her, examining the back of her head and checking her eyes. Seemingly satisfied, he helped her to sit up.
“We were fortunate Mikaelin was riding in the foothills above us when the wolves attacked. He knew something was wrong when he heard all the baying. I think it would have ended differently had he not shown up. What were you thinking, Elena?”
“Clearly, I wasn’t,” she confessed, holding her head with her hands. “I just wanted to play, to be free. I’m sorry, Silvandir.” She looked him over. “Are you all right?”
“A few bites and scratches here and there but otherwise fine.”
Elena studied her filly. Her hind legs were bleeding. “Oh, Nakhona, I’m sorry.” She turned to Windham, who had bandages wrapped around three of his four legs. “Windham, you too? I’m such a fool,” she cried and threw herself back. When she hit the ground, she regretted the action. Her body contorted with pain—fully deserved pain, as far as she was concerned.
