Behind the Third Door: The Innocence Cycle, Book 2

by J D Abbas

  The boy clasped his wrist awkwardly. “Margon. What’s yours?”

  “Mikaelin.”

  The little boy tilted his head, his nose wrinkled. “What are you?”

  Mikaelin laughed. “I am a Rogaran Guardian.”

  “But why do you look like that?” Margon pointed to the lantern.

  Mikaelin’s brow furrowed. “Are you sick?”

  “No, but he is.” The boy nodded toward his younger brother, who sat in the middle of the room, watching them intently.

  Mikaelin glanced up at Silvandir, then slipped through the door and toward the tot. He again squatted low so as not to frighten him. His hand crept out and barely brushed the top of the boy’s head. The child let loose a high-pitched scream, which belied his small size. Mikaelin snatched his hand away and scooted back.

  Kyana ran into the room, roused and vigilant as a mother bear. Without a word, she scooped up her son and moved to the far wall, away from the door. She was a tiny woman, little more than a child in size, but she stood with a fire blazing in her eyes as she held her son.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Mikaelin said, staying low to the floor. “I think I frightened him. His brother said that he has been ill. I was just checking on him.” Sweat broke out along his hairline, and he pulled his sleeve across it.

  A strange look crossed the young mother’s face. “Who are you?” Her voice was tight as if she couldn’t breathe.

  “I’m Mikaelin. I’m a Guardian serving at Kelach.”

  “Why do you have light all around you?” Her expression shifted from fear to awe.

  Mikaelin startled. “I-I don’t understand it myself.” He brushed the dust off his thighs, a blush rising on his scarred cheeks. “I have some ability to heal, and it seems that when that power is with me, children say I glow. Most adults don’t see it. But you do…” He lifted his gaze and studied Kyana. “Are… are you ill?”

  “My youngest son and I have both been sick with a high fever and… other things.” She blushed and stared at the floor.

  Mikaelin kept his eyes averted. “I don’t mean to pry into your personal business. I asked because I may be able to help.”

  Kyana, who had been clinging to her son, startled suddenly and pulled back from the boy. She studied his face then turned back to Mikaelin. “Did you touch him?”

  “Yes, I did. I… I meant no harm.”

  She kissed her son’s forehead. “His fever is gone!” Her eyes searched Mikaelin’s face. “I’m grateful but-but confused. How…?”

  “In truth, I don’t know,” he replied. “Would you like me to help you as well?”

  “Do you have to touch me?” She pulled back until she was against the wall.

  “I’m afraid so. It is the only way I know to do it.”

  She set her son on the floor. “Can you touch just my hand?”

  “Yes.” Mikaelin gave her a reassuring smile. “And it need only be a brief contact.” He paused and held her gaze. “I swear to you, I won’t harm you.”

  Silvandir was amazed by Mikaelin’s gentleness. He had always been a good friend, a good man, but in these last few weeks he had lost his cynical scowl, his biting tone. This healing gift had changed him.

  Kyana stared back at Mikaelin, her expression full of questions. She seemed to be studying the scars that marred his flesh and his eye that still sagged from the wounds he had absorbed from Elena and the children. Kyana’s face softened, and she held out her hand, though she looked ready to bolt if anything went awry.

  Mikaelin stood slowly and gripped her outstretched hand for a few seconds. He let go and immediately doubled over in pain. “Excuse me,” he mumbled just before he jumped up and dashed out the door. Silvandir could hear him retching at the side of the house.

  By the time he returned, Silvandir had stepped outside with Braqor’s wife, assuring her that Mikaelin would be all right.

  As soon as Mikaelin reappeared, she approached him. “I’m so sorry. Did my sickness go into your body?”

  “Only briefly. I’m well now.” His eyes swept over her. “How do you feel?”

  “Much better. Thank you…” She stopped and blushed.

  “Mikaelin.” Although still bent with pain, he managed to give her a surprisingly warm smile.

  “Bless you, Mikaelin, on behalf of my son and myself. May the light be ever with you.”

  Her words brought tears to Mikaelin’s eyes, and he quickly turned to mount. “Thank you,” he replied over his shoulder.

  Silvandir spoke up to give Mikaelin a moment to collect himself. “We’ll check with you later tonight. Braqor should be home within a few hours.”

  Kyana nodded absently. She was staring at Mikaelin with an odd expression, as if trying to understand something. Suddenly she blushed and hurried into the house.

  As the men rode away, Braiden pulled his stallion alongside Mikaelin’s. “Wh-what else happened b-back there?”

  Mikaelin glanced at the young healer. “What do you mean?”

  “I-I saw the look she g-gave you, and I f-felt… something. I c-can’t explain it.”

  Silvandir was surprised when he felt a wave of anger surge through Mikaelin.

  “At times this gift seems so intrusive,” Mikaelin said. “I meant only to heal her sickness, but many wounds entered my body when I touched her. I learned things I’m sure she’d be horrified to have me know. She’s a broken person.” He paused and the anger grew more intense. “I hate Rhamal. This place is so evil.”

  Silvandir reached out and grasped Mikaelin’s shoulder. He knew his friend had lived in Rhamal after his parents died and that he’d run away from here. He didn’t know what had led to Mikaelin’s flight, but whatever it was, it had scarred him.

  Braiden said, “I-I believe Kyana was less b-broken by the time we left. Wh-when she blessed you, she d-did it with strength.”

  Mikaelin nodded but didn’t respond. Silvandir noticed him squirming in the saddle and wondered if he was still feeling the repercussions of the healing he’d just done.

  ~

  Silvandir and his unit returned to the edge of the village and checked with those who were standing guard. There had been no sign of the watchers. His team rode the perimeter but found nothing amiss at any of the posts.

  Shatur glanced at the fields around them. “It is quiet, but all is not well.”

  “What makes you say so?” Silvandir asked.

  “I don’t know. I sense something in the air.”

  As if to confirm Shatur’s statement, a shamar bayed in a nearby field. High-pitched howls broke out in the distance, sending an unexpected chill up Silvandir’s spine. He was reminded of the wolves that had attacked Elena and him only days before.

  As they rode back toward the village proper, his men skirted the half-grown crops. Silvandir felt the sudden prickle of watching eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. He scanned the shadows between the rows of corn, half-expecting some creature to lunge at them.

  Silvandir rolled his shoulders and laughed at himself. His imagination seemed to be getting the better of him.

  Chapter 18

  As Silvandir and his men approached the doqajh compound at the center of the village, a short, wide woman stomped into the street, shrieking, “Be gone! Be gone! You bring nothing but trouble here.” She raised her fist and shook it at them, her squat frame taut with rage.

  “That would be Yadar Toreno’s domestic matron,” Mikaelin told Silvandir in a hushed voice. “She has a sharp tongue, that one. Dared to insult Celdorn and glare down Elbrion.”

  Silvandir dismounted.

  “Don’t think you can intimidate me with all your size and swords,” she said, craning her neck to scowl at him. “You come with your dark rumors and your magical man, disturbing all the decent folk hereabouts, and the next thing you know, he’s dead. Our precious Yadar is dead. Be off with you now.” She swept her hands at Silvandir as if shooing a stray dog, brazenly bo
ld for one who stood little taller than his sword belt.

  Silvandir moved forward, undeterred. When he was within a few feet of her, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I am sorry for your loss, ma’am.” The matron’s mouth fell open and her words evaporated; she gawked at him, as still as a rabbit who’d caught wind of a fox. “I know Yadar Toreno’s death brings great sorrow and upheaval here. We don’t mean to add to that, but it is necessary for us to check on the welfare of the children and our men who are staying here.”

  The matron made no response. She continued to stare at Silvandir as he rose, no bigger than a sprite before him—a plump sprite.

  “Have you seen any more of the creatures that attacked the priest yesterday?” Silvandir asked.

  The woman snapped out of her stupor. “No, what they did was enough. He was all torn up. Such a loving man, all pulled to pieces. I tried to put his flesh back on his bones to prepare him for burial, but it was no use. Oh, it was awful, so awful.” Hysteria returned to her tormented eyes, and Silvandir’s heart lurched with her grief.

  “I’m deeply sorry.” He grasped her shoulder. “It is a grave loss. We are merely trying to prevent any others from being attacked in the same way. Yadar Toreno would want us to protect the children.”

  “Of course he would.” She wiped her face with her apron and signaled for the men to follow her. “He was the kindest, most gentle man, too good for this world really. Oh, what will we ever do without him?” Another sob squeaked out.

  The matron led them through the courtyard in the middle of the compound and across to a small chantry. Two barqhelon rose as they came through the door. Silvandir noted the swords hidden beneath their spotless, linen scapulars.

  “You should not have brought them here,” one of the brothers reprimanded the matron. “If we are being watched, this will look suspicious.”

  “No one is watching,” Silvandir assured him. “We have been cautious as we moved through the village.”

  “You must understand our fear,” the monk said. “We are not warriors here; we’re simple servants of the Light.”

  “Servants of the Light who are well armed.” Silvandir nodded toward the bulges under their tunics. “Your caution is warranted. We have come to check on the welfare of the children and to discuss their transport to another region.”

  One barqel’s gaze darted; the other eyed the woman as if he didn’t trust her.

  “Mikaelin, Shatur, escort the matron back to her living quarters then stand guard outside the chantry until we are finished,” Silvandir said, his voice quiet and steady.

  After the matron was gone, the first barqhel nodded to the other. They approached the altar at the front of the chantry and pushed it to the side, revealing a trapdoor beneath. When the monks pulled it open, light from a subterranean source illuminated a shaft into which a ladder descended. Silvandir sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t care for closed-in places like tunnels and caves; he preferred the open range.

  One of the monks climbed down the ladder, and Silvandir, as the company’s leader, followed dutifully. Noramar came next, with Braiden and Dalgo behind him. The other barqhel closed the trapdoor on any source of fresh air and natural light. The altar scraped back into place above them, sealing them in. Silvandir gulped in more air, willing his nerves to steady.

  The ladder descended twenty feet. When they reached the bottom, the men found three tunnels, lined with lanterns on the walls. They followed the monk into the middle passageway.

  “Mind your heads,” Noramar said as he stepped in front of them and stooped to follow the monk. “These ceilings were not made to accommodate Rogaran.” He tapped his forehead. “I learned the hard way.”

  The ground sloped downward as the sides of the tunnel closed in around them. Damp, dusty air invaded Silvandir’s lungs, evoking a cough. He pressed the back of his hand over his mouth and nose as they continued. When they had traveled about a quarter of a mile, the walls opened up again, and they found themselves at the top of a stone stairway.

  “Be careful,” the monk warned. “These stairs are worn with age and sometimes give way.”

  The Guardians stepped cautiously in the dim light, keeping to the side of the stairs next to the wall, using it for balance as their large feet struggled with the steep, narrow footholds. When they reached the bottom, two tunnel mouths gaped at them.

  They moved into the left passage, which wound through the earth in serpentine fashion. Silvandir chuckled to himself as he imagined a giant earthworm wiggling through here, devouring dirt and creating these cursed shafts, better suited to insects and reptiles than humans.

  Three times they came to junctures with other tunnels, but the blessed brother always chose the leftmost, which also happened to be the shortest and narrowest. The barqhelon were supposed to love the light. How could they stand it down here?

  Finally, the passageway ended at a massive underground cavern. To their right, a waterfall spilled into a large pool before dropping off into the abyss that gaped before them. The air was much easier to breathe in this place. Moving to the left, they hugged the wall as the path narrowed, until they were a third of the way around the chasm.

  Silvandir hesitated as they entered a broad chamber filled with burial shrouds and bones. Voices came from the far end of the crypt. They were forced to crawl through a tight private vault, which fortunately led them into a series of more open rooms, well-lit and stocked with supplies.

  As the barqel helped them step out of the narrow passage, Silvandir’s group looked around in surprise. Three Guardians were on the ground having been tackled by a group of children, all of them laughing. Another cradled a small child, singing to her as she slept. In an adjoining room, two of his men were teaching older boys how to handle swords. Silvandir gave a relieved half-laugh at the scenes before him. When his men noticed him, they stopped what they were doing and dropped to one knee.

  “I see that you are all well.” Silvandir grinned at his men. “We were concerned for your safety, but apparently you are quite comfortable and happy nestled away in these tunnels.”

  The Guardians rose at Silvandir’s nod and moved toward a back room. They settled on the dirt floors, leaning against the cold earthen walls, while the monks, who’d been living in the caves, busied the children with games so the Guardians could talk freely.

  “How is the health of the children?” Dalgo asked.

  “They are doing well for the most part,” Hamon, the senior Guardian among them, replied. “We’ve had some difficulty with those on whom you did reconstructive work. The children have been experiencing fever and swelling, in spite of the medicine you left. On two of them we had to lance sites of infection like you taught us. It was painful for them and difficult for us to inflict additional hurt even though it was for their healing. I don’t envy you your work, Dalgo. Or you, young man,” he added, nodding to Braiden.

  “Dalgo, you and Braiden may tend to the children’s needs, if you like,” Silvandir said. “Hamon can show you which children have had difficulties, but it may be wise to examine all.”

  Dalgo nodded his agreement, then he and Braiden grabbed their satchels and left.

  Silvandir asked Dahmid, “What are your thoughts regarding the move to Greenholt?”

  “Given the current upheaval in Rhamal and because no homes can be found for these children, we thought it would be wise to leave as soon as possible and get them out of harm’s way.” Dahmid scratched his jaw as he replied. “Yadar Toreno sent one of his monks to the doqajh near Greenholt, asking the priest there to house the children and assist in finding homes for them. The messenger went out five days ago but has not yet returned.

  “We have twenty men still here, including Noramar, and twenty-two children,” Dahmid continued. “If you would agree to give us two more men, we could each ride with one child, which would make it easier to tend to their needs and defend them, if necessary.”

  “Do you believe it’s safe with these creatures tha
t attacked Yadar Toreno still at large?” Silvandir asked.

  “The watchers don’t seem interested in the children, who were in the courtyard when the creatures first entered the compound looking for Toreno. They didn’t harass or acknowledge the children at all.”

  “Then I’m in agreement,” Silvandir said. “Noramar will stay here with you, and I’ll send two more men to join you at first light. Make certain they have supplies for the journey. We didn’t come equipped to be on the road for days.”

  “They’ll have everything they need,” Dahmid agreed.

  “When you reach the Nachette Valley, report immediately to Borham, the castellan at Greenholt. By now, he should be aware of what’s happened in this area given our messengers were sent out weeks ago. They aren’t due back for another week, however, so we don’t know this for certain. Before you go to the priest in that area, find out if he’s trustworthy in the eyes of the Guardians there.” Silvandir paused and studied the children in the other chamber, his heart suddenly heavy as the intense emotions in the cave broke through his wards. “Is there anything else that needs to be addressed before we move on?”

  “No, sir. I think we’re managing well here, though we’re saddened by the loss of Toreno. He was a great man and wonderful with the children.”

  “We are grieved as well,” Silvandir said. “He was such an instrument of light and the only one among us who knew anything about Elena’s people and the powers they possess. He will be sorely missed.”

  The men rose and moved to the outer rooms. They waited while Dalgo and Braiden tended the children. Silvandir put a strong guard around his mind. The emotions from the children were buffeting him with the force of a horse kicking its way out of a burning barn, although on the surface, their expressions remained blank, detached—much like Elena. His heart gave a sharp twist, and he heard himself growl.