Behind the Third Door: The Innocence Cycle, Book 2

by J D Abbas

Silvandir was quiet. He surveyed Lavan’s yard, which was littered with bodies. “How are the others?”

  “I don’t know,” Mikaelin said, studying the men lying in the grass as if just aware of them. “You are the only one I have spoken with this morning.”

  “Silvandir, you are awake,” Haldor said as he approached and knelt next to him.

  “How are the men?” Silvandir asked.

  “Three more fell during the night.” Haldor’s shoulders bent with weariness and grief. “Their wounds were too severe to mend. There are one or two more who may not see day’s end. We plan to leave for Kelach as soon as possible so that we can better tend the wounded.”

  “The children!” Silvandir said, pushing to sit upright, his effort unsuccessful. He grabbed Mikaelin’s arm. “We need to stop them from moving the children. I was supposed to send two more men to the doqajh this morning. They were going to leave at first light.”

  “Rest easy,” Haldor said gently. “We will see to the children.”

  Haldor approached three nearby Guardians. They called their Ilqazar and were riding to the doqajh within moments to tell the men guarding the children to return to the tunnels and wait until they received word that the Zakad were no longer a threat before moving on to Greenholt.

  Mikaelin helped Silvandir to settle as best he could. “You need to rest, my friend.” He laid his hand on his head. “As Celdorn would say, ‘All will be well.’”

  Mikaelin stroked his friend’s brow as Silvandir drifted into a fitful sleep, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.

  ~

  Tobil had decided fifty of the Guardians would accompany the dead and wounded back to the keep. Mikaelin made sure he was among them. The others would stay to guard the brothers’ homesteads and continue to search the village for any Zakad who might have escaped. The Guardians needed further information regarding the origin of these creatures and the reason for their attack, realizing they most likely did not act on their own.

  With thirty-five wounded or dead, this left only fifteen to remain behind. Tobil hadn’t been comfortable with that, but he had little choice. He could send reinforcements as soon as they reached Kelach.

  With heavy hearts, the men placed the five fallen Guardians on their steeds to bear them back to Kelach for burial. Those who were most seriously wounded were transported in carts, pulled by local horses since the Ilqazar were never used for such common purposes. The wounded that could sit upright rode with other Guardians, their own steeds following behind.

  The procession home was somber. Mikaelin rode beside the wagon that bore Silvandir, his heart heavy with grief, certain his friend would not survive past evening. How he wished their places were reversed. The loss of Silvandir would create a great hole within the Guardian community and in his own life as well.

  Why had Mikaelin been able to heal Kyana and not Silvandir? Why could he heal the children and not Elena when she most needed him? Was it his own weakness that got in the way? Was it some game the Jhadhela played with him? Was he forever destined to lose what was most precious to him? “Not Silvandir. Please, not Silvandir,” he whispered.

  Mikaelin pulled up the hood of his cloak, seeking to hide his tears.

  Chapter 26

  It took the Greenholt guards some time to find Borham, the Castellan of the easternmost Guardian stronghold. When they told him his son had arrived at the gates to the keep alone, he ran to his chambers. He found Charaq, his second in command, holding his son by the fireside in Borham’s private quarters.

  “Mishon!” Borham knelt by his son and exchanged a worried glance with Charaq. “What’s wrong? Why are you here all by yourself?”

  His little boy looked up at him, then closed his eyes and snuggled into Charaq as if wanting to disappear.

  “Borham…” Charaq’s face turned ashen, and he swallowed hard. “Mishon told me some men took Shekalia and the girls.”

  Stunned, Borham rocked back on his haunches. “Took them? How? Why?”

  “I couldn’t get any more out of him.” His steward looked down at the boy. “He’s been like this since he told me.”

  Borham lifted his son from Charaq’s arms and settled into a chair, cradling him close. He stroked his tiny face with his calloused hand. “My sweet boy,” he whispered into his hair. “Misha, tell me what happened. Did these men say anything? Did they send you here?” Borham tried to keep his voice steady, gentle, but the boy cowered and his fear slammed into Borham’s chest. Then Mishon seemed to withdraw into himself, his body limp, his empty eyes focused on nothing.

  Borham looked across at his steward. “I have to go to the house, see what I can learn. I want you to go with me. Find Jolla; she can stay with Mishon.”

  He hated to leave his son, but he had to find out what happened to his wife and daughters. Mishon would be safe in the keep.

  ~

  Borham cursed himself as he rode into the village of Elebeth. He should never have allowed his family to stay in town. They should have been in the stronghold with him, protected. Shekalia would have protested. She loved Elebeth, didn’t want to give up her friends or her freedom. People needed her healing gift there, she’d said. She felt caged in the keep, didn’t want their girls growing up surrounded by men, wanted Mishon to have a normal childhood, not always talking about swords and daggers. They needed other children to play with. He should have listened to his gut; he should have insisted, especially after the warning.

  Charaq trotted up alongside Borham. They’d brought twenty men with them, but the others were staying a distance behind to give Borham privacy as he struggled with the news. “Do you think this has to do with the threat we received?” Charaq asked, as if he had heard his thoughts.

  “I was just pondering that. I can’t imagine what else it could be.” Borham had sensed something wrong in the valley for months, long before Celdorn’s messenger arrived. But last week, after they’d made some inquiries in the villages and increased patrols, a note was found imbedded in a beam outside the gate at Greenholt. It read: Stop your inquiries or suffer the consequences.

  Borham never imagined they were threatening his family. He’d assumed whoever it was would attack patrols or the keep, not his wife and children. But then, these were depraved men—anyone who would prey on children the way Celdorn described in his missive were more animal than human. A growl rumbled in Borham’s chest.

  “You couldn’t have anticipated this,” Charaq said. His steward had an eerie ability to anticipate his thoughts, beyond the normal empathic skills of the Rogaran. “Elebeth has always been a quiet community with good people. And everyone loves Shekalia. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her or your girls.” Charaq’s words cut through him like a battle axe. He looked away, and his steward gripped his shoulder. “We’ll find them, my friend.”

  Borham drew his lips tight and gave a stiff nod. He prayed Charaq was right.

  When they reached their home, Borham leapt to the ground and hurried inside. He heard Charaq ordering men to question neighbors and search for clues. Only his steward followed him into the house.

  Borham took three steps and dropped to his knees, stifling a sob. In the middle of the room, surrounded by a puddle of blood, lay two adult-size hands. Shekalia’s hands. Gentle hands that had healed so many people in the village. Oh Qho’el, no! He couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

  “By all that is good and…” Charaq’s words fell off as he came up behind him, laying a hand on Borham’s shoulder.

  The room spun around Borham as he picked up one of the hands. He caressed the lifeless fingers, recalling the many nights her gentle touch had stroked his weary brow. The blood drew his attention as it swirled into the place vacated by her hand.

  “You did not heed our warning, and now your family will pay the price. Your wife and daughters are ours to use at will. If you continue to pursue us, we will take them apart piece by piece.”

  “What?” Borham looked at his steward. Charaq’s gaze was fixed to
the side. Borham turned. A bloody knife held a piece of parchment to the wall—the message Charaq had just read aloud. Borham gawked at it, the words blurring and twisting as if it were written in a foreign tongue.

  “Unsigned. Just like the other,” Charaq said.

  The growl that had been rumbling in Borham’s chest grew to a roar. “Who would do this? Who would dare?” He pulled the message from the wall, reading it over and over, demanding it give him more information.

  He didn’t know how long it was before they continued the search of the house. Time lost all meaning. His feet trudged as if wading through thick mud. And yet his thoughts raced, swirling, colliding. What should he do? What could he do?

  Charaq squeezed Borham’s shoulder and stood by him, silent.

  Qalam tapped on the doorframe. “Excuse me, sir. The men have questioned your neighbors.” He shifted his weight and stared at his feet. “No one saw or heard anything unusual.”

  “Mishon saw,” Borham croaked out. “My little boy witnessed those animals cutting off his mother’s hands. Who knows what else he saw.” He squared his shoulders and faced Qalam. “Tell the men to keep searching. Charaq and I are going back to Greenholt to talk to Mishon. He’s the only one who knows what transpired here.”

  Borham headed to the door without looking back, certain it was the last time he would visit this place.

  ~

  “Misha, I know what happened at the house,” Borham said, as he cradled his son in his arms. “I saw.” The vision of Shekalia’s hands lying in a pool of blood would forever be carved in his memory.

  The boy looked up, his eyes huge… and so sad. “I’m sorry, Ada.”

  He cupped the side of Mishon’s face. “No, no… shhh…” The sorrow that overwhelmed his son nearly tore Borham’s heart in two.

  “Ama pushed me under the bed and told me to stay there. When they hurt her…” Mishon shuddered and curled into Borham. “I-I was too scared to move. I should have defended her for you.” His little body shook with sobs.

  “Misha, you are only six years old. It isn’t your job to protect your mother; that’s my job. If you had come out of hiding, they would have taken you as well. You did the right thing. You obeyed Ama, and you came here as soon as it was safe.” He squeezed his son tight and swallowed the massive lump in his throat. “Now you need to tell me everything you remember about the men who took Ama and the girls, so you can help us find them.’

  Mishon straightened a little, though he still clung to Borham’s tunic. “They wore dark cloaks with hoods that covered their faces. I couldn’t see them.”

  “Close your eyes and picture them in your mind. Do you see anything else?”

  Mishon obeyed and was quiet for several minutes. His little body tensed and started to shake. “I-I see a man hitting Ama. She falls down. Another man says mean words and leans over to yank her up by the hair. Something falls out of the bad man’s cloak.” Mishon’s eyes popped open. “Ada, one of them had a medallion around his neck.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “A circle with an x in it. In the middle is a big, red stone.”

  “Anything else?”

  Mishon shut his eyes again. “It looks like some of them have brown robes on under the black cloaks. Like the ones the barqhelon wear at the doqajh. I only see the bottom, so I’m not sure.”

  Borham looked at Charaq, feeling the color drain from his face. “Do you think they really were priestlings?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it. They are sworn to serve the light.”

  Borham didn’t want to believe it either. There could have been other reasons they wore brown cloaks. Perhaps they had stolen them, guised themselves as monks. Borham needed to speak with the priest in Elebeth.

  “You did well, Mishon.” He hugged his boy tight. “Now you need to get some rest. You can sleep on my bed tonight.”

  Mishon’s face lit up. Rarely was he allowed to sleep at Greenholt and never in his father’s bed. They would have to change that. Tears burned in Borham’s eyes as he tucked him in. “May Qho’el light your dreams, little man.”

  In his outer room, Borham told Charaq his plans to go to the doqajh.

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Borham. At least take me with you. Your family has been attacked. You need a guard.”

  Borham refused. He promised he would keep the visit brief and be back within the hour. “Take care of my son,” he told Charaq as he closed the door.

  ~

  When Borham arrived at the doqajh in Elebeth, he asked to speak with Yadar Zolero alone. The priest invited him to walk along one of the many tree-lined paths that led from the sanctuary grounds, lit by torches on both sides. The soothing scent of Silver Linden trees filled the night air. It was a peaceful setting, a place for contemplation. Borham felt the knot in his stomach relax.

  He shared his concerns with the priest as they followed the trail to a small clearing lined with thirteen wooden benches, set in the shape of the original Qajh in Queyon, of which all the doqajhi were poor imitations.

  Zolero motioned for him to sit on a bench. “So you believe some of the barqhelon may have been involved in this horrific attack on your family?” The priest lacked the lithe, willowy frame of many of the Bengoran, though his skin carried the green hue of the people of the first tree, as they were called. Zolero looked like a bald green pear, just starting to wrinkle with age.

  As the priest leaned over to dust off the bench before he sat, a ruby-crested medallion slipped from beneath his frock. After he was seated, Zolero looked up and noticed Borham’s gaping stare. The priest followed his gaze.

  “It was you!” Before he could stop himself, Borham drew his dagger and put it to the priest’s throat.

  “You think I had something to do with your family’s disappearance? First you accuse the brothers and now me. Have you no shame?”

  “I would ask you the same,” Borham snarled at him. “And you, a servant of the Light! What have you done with my family?” He pressed the blade into Zolero’s flesh.

  “I would not be so quick to insult the righteous, if I were you,” the priest said. “The cost may be higher than you are willing to pay.”

  “Where are they?” Borham nicked the priest’s throat in warning.

  “Qho’el’s eyes are ever upon me, my son,” the priest said, his voice amazingly steady, “as is his protection.”

  A dozen men slipped from behind the trees and surrounded Borham. A blade pressed into his throat while another came down upon his wrist, severing his hand and sending his dagger clattering to the ground.

  The priest’s lip curled in an ugly sneer as he rose and shoved his fat face into Borham’s. “It is not wise to threaten Qho’el’s anointed.”

  Gruff hands gripped his cloak by the shoulders and dragged him farther into the woods, away from the doqajh. Borham stumbled, cradling the stump of his arm into his chest, pressing his cloak on the end to slow the bleeding. White flashes of pain exploded, and he fell to his knees. Someone kicked him in the side before hands yanked him to his feet, shoving him forward.

  He cursed himself again for being unprepared. He should have listened to Charaq.

  Chapter 27

  “Lord Celdorn, the men have returned,” the guard announced.

  Celdorn immediately headed to the door with Elbrion on his heels. When Elena and Sasha rose to follow, Celdorn turned around. “No, Elena, you need to wait here.”

  “I’m not staying here alone.” She glanced at Sasha and had the good grace to look abashed.

  “I will leave someone with you—besides Sasha. And we’ll return shortly,” Celdorn said. “The guards will also be in the hall if you have need.”

  “I have need to know how my brothers and their families fare. I’m not waiting here.” She glared at Celdorn, feet planted as if she dared him to make her return to her seat.

  He smiled. “Are all Wallanard women as obstinate as you, little one?”

  “
I am not obstinate. I live in a keep filled with stubborn, bullheaded warriors; if I didn’t speak strongly, I would never be heard.”

  Celdorn laughed, eyeing her as she stood with arms crossed, chin jutted out, and eyes ablaze. “We’re stubborn and bullheaded? I wish I had a mirror to show you just how compliant you appear at the moment.” Finally, he held up his hands in surrender. “All right, little one, you win. You may accompany us, but you are to stay at my side. Understood?” He demanded she meet his gaze.

  “Yes, Lord Celdorn,” she replied in mock deference, the fire still burning in her eyes.

  “But you must stay,” he said to Sasha. “And I hope at least you will obey me.”

  The dog hung her head and slunk to her bed.

  “Let’s go.” Elena shooed Celdorn toward the door. “I’m anxious to inquire about my brothers.”

  He shook his head, grinning to himself. She was cheeky to be sure.

  ~

  By the time they arrived at the main entrance of the keep, the returning company had passed through the inner gates and was entering the bailey. Because of her smaller stature, Elena couldn’t see past the men waiting to assist. Haldor approached just after she noticed the first man draped over his horse. Bile rose in her throat.

  Celdorn nodded to Haldor; their eyes locked. “How many?”

  “Five dead,” Haldor replied, “and over thirty wounded.”

  Elena’s heart pounded as she stepped between them. “My brothers?”

  Haldor glanced at Celdorn before answering, and she knew the news wasn’t good. “Lavan was injured but will be fine. His son, Jotham… did not survive.” Elena covered her mouth as a sob escaped. “I am sorry, Yabéha. Mikaelin did everything in his power to save him, but they were outnumbered.” Haldor placed his hand on her head, and she felt Celdorn’s arm encircle her. “The rest of them are safe now.”