Behind the Third Door: The Innocence Cycle, Book 2

by J D Abbas

  “But, Silvandir, I can’t heal nor do I speak Raphar. Doesn’t it seem more reasonable to believe it was a dream brought on by your condition? I didn’t hear you cry out for me, nor do I remember coming to you for which I am greatly ashamed. I failed you—you, who came so quickly to my side when I was hurt and who so faithfully waited while my life hung in the balance. And yet I couldn’t stay with you when you had need.” Her tears fell steadily as she gazed up at him.

  Mikaelin cleared his throat and moved closer. “Umm… Elena, you were there, but… but you were… small.” His words stuttered out as if he were afraid to speak them. “When we saw you standing at the end of his mat, I brought you to Celdorn.”

  Silvandir’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t appear small to me.”

  “Perhaps because you were seeing her with your heart, not your eyes.” Mikaelin shrugged and tipped his head. “You were unconscious at the time.”

  Elena glanced from Mikaelin to Silvandir, troubled. “I hate when I can’t recall the things I have done or when you say I looked like a little girl. How can I take on another form or do the things you tell me and not know what I’ve done? Who controls my mind?”

  Silvandir took her hands in his. “What I know is you touched me, and I am healing. How can that be bad?”

  “I am relieved you’re well.” Elena squeezed his hands. “I just wish I knew what part I played in it.”

  Silvandir gave her a warm, reassuring smile. “Your presence in itself is healing to me.”

  Elena scoffed. “You find insanity soothing, do you?”

  A new intensity filled his gaze. Being near death must have awakened something in him. “If you’re insane then I would gladly join the world of madness.” The flecks in his eyes danced as he broke into a broad grin.

  She laughed. “And well you might, my friend, if you consort with me much longer.”

  Chapter 29

  Borham’s captors forced him higher into the foothills of the Belzear Mountains, the same mountains into which Greenholt was set five miles to the north. They shoved him along an increasingly steep, wooded path, heedless of his injury and kicking him whenever he stumbled.

  “Has the great Borham fallen?” A foot on his back pressed him into the dirt. “Some Guardian you turned out to be.”

  The group burst into laughter, and Borham bit back the curses that formed in his mouth. He needed to keep his head, find a way out of this.

  Eventually, they came to a large clearing filled with men, some mounted and fully armed. Among them, Charaq saw Bengorans, Wallanard, Farak, Urdahl and others whose origin he couldn’t identify. There had to be more than fifty in all. How had his scouts missed this?

  Zolero’s men entered a circle lit by torches, stopping next to a campfire set in front of the mouth of a large cave. Armed sentries patrolled the woods surrounding the clearing, the flicker of their torches visible through the tightly woven branches.

  Five guards pinned Borham down as a sixth burned the stump of his arm with a sword heated in the fire. White light exploded in his head, then the world went dark.

  Borham awoke to a booming voice. “What have you done, Zolero?” The resonance rumbled and echoed through the rocks, vibrating them.

  Borham lifted his head as a giant of a man emerged from a cave. He stood seven feet tall, yet his form was nebulous, almost a skeleton enveloped by darkness, but the air around him throbbed as if he exuded strong energy. The men in the clearing backed up several feet, their faces pale with fear. “You have brought a leader of the Guardians here?”

  “He knew we took his wife. I couldn’t let him return to the keep,” Zolero said.

  “And what do we do now? His presence will call down a host of that Morah scum upon us,” the giant said.

  “We persuade him to return and lead the Guardians a different direction.” Zolero flashed a sinister grin. “Drakham, bring them out,” he called.

  From behind the giant, several men appeared dressed in monks’ clothing. They were dragging a woman.

  “Shekalia!” Borham struggled to his feet to go to her. Zolero’s men grabbed him and pulled him back.

  Borham groaned as he studied his wife. Her beautiful face was swollen and bruised, and the stumps at her wrists were covered with bloodied bandages. She swayed when the guards pulled her to a stop. Her head turned at the sound of Borham’s voice, but her empty eyes swept past him as if unable to see. His stomach heaved.

  Then, he realized his daughters were behind Shekalia, wide-eyed and shivering. Their guards stood too close, ogling their small frames with an animal hunger. He lunged forward, fighting to free himself from the guards. More stepped in front of him, laughing as the guard by Lissia, his oldest daughter, rubbed his body against her.

  “I think we need to come to an understanding.” Zolero stood in front of Borham, who continued to struggle against those restraining him. “If you resist me, we hurt your wife. Now stop fighting, and let us be reasonable.”

  “There is no reasoning with depravity.” Borham spat in Zolero’s face.

  The priest calmly wiped his cheeks with the edge of his robe, then raised his hand. A barqhel struck Shekalia’s face, knocking her to the ground.

  Borham pulled his left arm free and punched one guard in the jaw. He turned and struck another in the stomach as three more raced to hold him back.

  “You are slow to learn.” A maniacal grin spread across the priest’s face as he raised his hand again. This time a barqhel repeatedly kicked Shekalia in the abdomen. She curled into a ball in the dirt.

  “Shekalia!” Borham cried, but he stopped fighting.

  “Now you are beginning to understand. I thought you were a sensible man. You have a wife and three lovely daughters whose wellbeing depends upon how agreeable you can be. We have many men here who would love to be the first to deflower your daughters. Young, undefiled flesh is so hard to come by.” He smirked and Borham fought the urge to smack it off his face.

  Borham sucked in several deep breaths through clenched teeth. “What is it you want from me?”

  “I want you to return to the keep and tell your men that you came upon a small group of travelers from Penumbra with whom you fought fiercely and thus lost your hand.” Zolero clucked his tongue and gave a look of mock sympathy. “And you found out from the last one you killed that they had taken your wife and children to a place deep in Penumbra. You will also send messengers to Celdorn telling him the same. Are we clear?”

  “No, Borham, don’t agree to it,” Shekalia screamed, rising up on her knees. “There are a hundred children in those caves that need to be rescued. Don’t give in.”

  “Silence her,” Zolero said.

  A monk struck her in the back of the head, sending her sprawling.

  “She is a spirited one. I will give her that.” A wicked, hungry grin crept across Zolero’s face. “Show Borham the great pleasure we take in the fiery ones,” he called to the men surrounding Shekalia.

  The barqhelon picked her up, laid her on a broad, flat rock, and held her there as the dark giant approached. This was no ordinary man. When he violated her, a dark fire spewed forth from him and invaded her body with such force she twitched and flailed as if possessed by evil spirits. His girls screamed in the background. Borham dropped to his knees, sobbing.

  When the giant threatened to move on to the eldest daughter, Borham said. “Wait. I’ll do it. Don’t hurt them.”

  Without another word, they gave him a torch, led him to the edge of the camp, and released him. He looked back one last time at his wife and girls, whispering a promise to return and save them.

  ~

  When Borham started toward Greenholt, he knew Zolero’s men would follow him to make certain he carried out the Yadar’s instructions, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his family there to be tortured nor could he risk bringing a battalion of Guardians down upon their captors, ensuring their deaths. Instead, he put out his torch, hid in the shadows of the trees, and waited, knowing
he could easily overpower the inept priestlings even with only one arm and no weapons.

  A large hand clamped over Borham’s mouth. He swung an elbow into his attacker’s gut and felt the man’s body fold, but the man held on.

  “It’s me. Charaq,” his steward said and released his grip.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, my friend. I had a bad feeling when you left Greenholt. I had to follow you.”

  Borham squeezed Charaq’s shoulder. “For once, I’m grateful you’re so insubordinate and bull-headed.”

  Charaq chuckled then sobered. “You’re being followed.”

  “I know. I plan to kill them and go back for Shekalia and the girls. I can’t leave them.”

  “I guessed as much. I’m here to help. We’ll find them and bring them home.”

  Twigs snapped and muffled voices carried from fifty yards back on the trail. Those following him were making this too easy. Borham pointed to the other side of the trail. Charaq nodded, handed Borham his sword, and slipped across the path.

  Minutes later, the first barqhel walked in front of them. Charaq stepped from the shadows, nearly invisible in his Elrodanar cloak, and stabbed his dagger into the man’s chest, under the ribcage and up into his heart. With a sharp twist, he yanked the blade out and the monk fell.

  “What are you doing, Morbhad?” the one following him asked with a laugh. “You trip over something?” When the monk reached down to grab the dying man’s shoulder, Charaq came behind him and slit his throat.

  The third monk drew his sword and held it out in front of him, arm shaking. Borham came at him from the side, his blade sweeping for the barqhel’s neck. Forced to use his left arm, his aim wasn’t quite accurate, and he took off the top of the man’s head. The monk went down without a sound.

  Borham and Charaq pulled the barqhelon off the path, stripped two of their brown frocks. Fortunately, their cloaks had absorbed most of the blood, leaving the garments only lightly spattered. They dressed themselves in the monks’ clothes, which were a little short but would do.

  “When I was watching you by the campfire, I noticed another cave on the far side of the clearing,” Charaq said. “I think we should go up and through the rocks. There are too many guards patrolling the woods.”

  “I trust your judgment.”

  “Can you climb with your… arm?” Charaq stumbled on his words as he nodded toward Borham’s missing hand.

  “I’ll manage.”

  “You lost a lot of blood. Are you dizzy?”

  “No, and I can’t take the time to think about it. I have to save my family.”

  “Borham, we’ll have to leave the other children Shekalia said are in the caves. We can come back for them.”

  Borham gave a stiff nod. “I know we can’t save them all. Not yet anyway.” He took a deep breath. “Lead the way.”

  Charaq set a quick pace, but Borham kept up. They crossed the rocks above the clearing without any problems. When they reached the far side, they snuck down toward the smaller cave entrance. Two guards sat on boulders near the opening, engrossed in a conversation in Dahlar, revealing their Urdahl heritage. Charaq and Borham slid around the boulders from the side and slit their throats before they realized anyone was there. They dragged the bodies into the rocks above and covered the blood trails with dirt. Not a perfect clean-up, but it would do in the dark of night.

  They grabbed torches from near the mouth of the cave and headed into the tunnel. Fifty feet in, Borham’s heart sank. Four tunnels split off, and he realized the daunting task ahead of them. There were hundreds of ancient tunnels in this region used for mining gems. How would they ever find Shekalia and the girls?

  Charaq pulled him toward the third opening, which angled down. “My guess is they keep them in the lower tunnels.” He picked up a light-colored rock and made an X on the wall. “Follow me.”

  After several junctures and always choosing the descending tunnels, Borham heard the sound of children crying. They picked up their pace, moving toward the voices. Ahead, there was a well-lit stone corridor.

  They snuffed their torches, drew their swords, and clung to the shadows in an adjacent tunnel. Borham peered around the corner. No guards. As they crept into the lit corridor, they found cells carved out on either side. There were no bars, only shackles attached to the walls. They found dozens of children bound there. It was heartwrenching to walk away, even though Borham knew they would return.

  They continued through two hallways of cells and still encountered no guards. Borham wondered if perhaps the men had fled and abandoned the children here. Just then, heavy footfalls came from the opposite direction. Borham slipped into a cell and motioned Charaq to the other side. They waited until the six guards passed them before attacking. From their conversation, it was clear the guards were more focused on availing themselves of the children’s bodies than keeping watch over them. They didn’t have weapons drawn and were equally as inept as their counterparts above ground. It was a brief fight. More fortuitous, they carried keys for the shackles.

  Borham and Charaq pulled the dead guards into an empty cell and covered them with what blankets they could find. After stripping them of their weapons, they doused the torches near the cell, rendering the corpses nearly invisible.

  They tossed weapons to the children in the next ten cells they passed. It was a small thing, but it eased Borham’s conscience a bit.

  In the third corridor of cells, they found Borham’s two younger daughters, Sarana and Amia. The girls scrambled for the corner and cowered when they came into the cell, until Borham threw back his hood.

  “Ada!” they squealed.

  “Shh,” Borham warned them as he dropped to his knees and opened his arms. Charaq unlocked the girls’ shackles as Borham squeezed them tight and let them sob into his chest. He just wanted to stay here and comfort his girls, but they needed to keep moving.

  “Sarana, do you know where Ama and Lissia are?”

  The girl wiped her face on her sleeve and nodded. She stood up, squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “When they brought us back inside, they locked them in their place before bringing us here. It’s up that way,” she pointed further up the corridor, “and to the left. Two turns I think.” She leaned toward him, her brow pulled down in a frown. “Ada, mother is very ill. I don’t know if she can hold out much longer.” Her eyes widened as they drifted to his stump. “Are-are you well enough to search for her?”

  Borham’s chin quivered. He was so proud, and so saddened, by his nine-year-old daughter, who was much too grown up for her years. He wanted to weep, but he held it together for his girls’ sake. When they returned home, he would see to it that they had more time to play and just be children.

  “I’m fine, Sarana, my brave girl.” He gave her a squeeze. “Now, I need you to be strong a while longer. Charaq is going to take you and Amia with him while I find your mother and sister.” His younger daughter clung to him like she might not let go. “Amia, you have to be brave too. Take Sarana’s hand and follow Charaq. I’ll get them and be with you soon.” He looked up. “Charaq, take them into the rocks. Wait for a quarter hour. If we’ve not come by then, get the girls to safety. We’ll follow as soon as we can.”

  Charaq gave a stiff nod. “Be careful, my friend. I’ll guard your treasures.” He held out his arm toward the girls with a stiff smile. “Come on, girls, let’s get you out of here.” Sarana grasped his hand then turned and grabbed Amia’s. He locked eyes with Borham. “We’ll see you topside.”

  Borham watched them hurry back the way they had come, a lump too big to swallow in his throat. “Qho’el light your path,” he whispered.

  He turned the opposite direction and fought against the dark foreboding that enveloped him.

  ~

  Charaq led the two girls through the corridor of cells. He glanced back and saw the horror on their faces as they looked at the other children chained to the walls. He stopped and knelt down.
r />   “We’ll come back for them. I promise you.” He put a hand on each girl’s cheek. “We have to do as your father said and make it out of here quickly.” He pulled his Elrodanar cloak from under the monk’s frock and fastened it around Sarana’s neck. “If we come upon any guards, I want you to hold still and wrap this cloak around you and Amia. Don’t do or say anything until I tell you it is safe. Understand?” He held Sarana’s chin. The girl’s lips pulled down, but she nodded.

  Charaq grabbed Sarana’s hand and continued. They found each of the markers Borham had made and were one turn away from the cave’s mouth before they heard voices.

  “Put the cloak around you and stay here until I come for you,” Charaq whispered. The girls did as he said, but as he was about to step into the light by the opening, Amia ran to him and grabbed his leg. He threw the edge of his frock around her just before the guards turned. Charaq hunched and limped to conceal the girl, but a guard noticed her feet.

  “What have you got there?” he asked in Bengar.

  Charaq pulled up the hem. “Payment for a job well done,” he answered in Bengar, adding a lecherous laugh.

  “Zolero said no children were to be taken outside. You need to use the rooms below.”

  “They’re all full, and I want a little privacy, if you get my meaning,” Charaq added, sickened by his own words.

  “She’s nice and young. You ought to have a good time with that fresh meat,” the other said, his ugly face breaking into a toothless grin. “Maybe we should join—”

  Charaq had had enough. He slit the throat of the mouthy one before he finished the sentence. The other was so surprised, he died without moving, his mouth a frozen O. Charaq didn’t have time to move the bodies.

  “Sarana, let’s go,” he whispered. She came right to his side. He lifted the girls into the rocks above and climbed up after them. They snaked along between boulders moving ever upward. Minutes later, they heard guards calling to one another as they came across the bodies. Charaq couldn’t wait for Borham; he had to get the girls away from there immediately or run the risk of being recaptured.