Behind the Third Door: The Innocence Cycle, Book 2

by J D Abbas

  “Tamagd!”

  The sweet liqueur brewed by the Elrodanar chiamad burned like fire as it passed through the throat and warmed the body from the toes up, but didn’t rob a man of his senses nor bring regret in the morrow. It had been a long time since Celdorn had enjoyed a draught of anything so delightful. Yaelmargon had been kind enough to bring several bottles of this precious drink.

  Celdorn had dismissed the council until the morning, so he and Elbrion could be alone with Yaelmargon to discuss his purpose in coming to Kelach and to inquire about Queyon. They sat by his fireside and reminisced about days long ago and current news of those they held dear while sipping the liqueur.

  Finally, Celdorn brought the conversation around to current business. “Master, may I ask what it is that prompted you to travel so far from Queyon?”

  “The young Rahima, of course.”

  Celdorn waited, and when no further answer was forthcoming, he asked, “Would you be willing to elaborate? How is it you knew she was here? And what did you hope to accomplish during your stay?”

  “I do not completely understand it myself, Celdorn.” Yaelmargon stroked his long, snowy beard, his brows pressed in concentration as he stared into the flames. “Apparently, I heard Elena shortly after you brought her here. I can only surmise that when she came under your care, Anakh lost dominion over her. Then, when you opened a door of hope, her cry entered the Jhadhela.” He gazed at Elbrion as if appraising him. “Your plea entered the light as well. I heard you calling out for understanding and assistance from that first day.” The master spoke as if surprised by this.

  Celdorn knew the Qadhar, the council of elders in Queyon, didn’t approve of Elbrion traveling with the Guardians. As the only surviving prince of his people, they felt it was his duty to live and serve among them, though he would never serve as their sovereign. He would have remained one voice on the council—a council Elbrion saw as ineffectual. They’d warned that his gifts would be wasted, and most likely diminish, serving Celdorn. It seemed Yaelmargon was of that mindset.

  Elbrion was undaunted by the master’s scrutiny. “What compelled you to enlist the assistance of Zarandiel and those at Marach?”

  “I knew Celdorn would go to battle against these forces, and aware of the powers of the Rahima you would encounter, I assumed you would suffer losses and require reinforcements.”

  “Has this darkness been felt in Queyon?” Celdorn asked. “Did you know what they were doing to these children?”

  “There are those who claim to have heard desperate cries for years but were uncertain as to the nature of the need or its origin.”

  “Did it not occur to you that the council could have enlisted our assistance? My men and I travel the realm on a regular basis to stay aware of such needs. Had you told us, we might have found out about this business sooner, spared these children a great deal of suffering.” Celdorn gulped at his drink to quell his anger.

  “The cries were too diffuse. We had nothing but a vague impression to report. As I listened during your councils today, I realized perhaps it was because the cry came from so many directions and was likely blocked by Anakh’s workers.” Yaelmargon’s eyes were heavy as he held Celdorn’s gaze. “Nonetheless, I regret that we did not make the attempt.”

  His gaze drifted to Elena’s door, and he sighed. “It does no good to dwell on what might have been. I have to believe there was timing to her rescue. We are here now, ready for the next phase, and that is all that matters.”

  Celdorn inhaled deeply and let his frustration flow out with his breath. The master was right; they could only deal with the ways things were now, not what could have or should have been done differently. “I’m grateful for your profound vision and your willingness to take action.”

  “I know you believe we are self-absorbed and ill-disposed to enter into the concerns of the Shalamhar or the rest of Qabara.” Yaelmargon eyed them over the rim of his tiny glass as he sipped at the tamagd. “That is not the case. Most of us believe we can do more good remaining in Queyon than if we involve ourselves in the conflicts and battles of humans.”

  Celdorn bristled, but Elbrion remained placid, having heard it so many times he was probably immune.

  “In this case, however, I knew that Elena would require my physical presence in order to assist her in learning the truth of who she is, as well as in developing the skills to use her gifts. As you mentioned earlier, Celdorn, there are others here who likewise need training in their use of the Jhadhela.”

  Just then, Elena cried out. All three turned toward her door.

  Elbrion tilted his head as if listening on a deeper level. “Her nights are always tormented,” he explained to Yaelmargon. “We have grown accustomed to these nightly outbursts.”

  Celdorn had to remind himself that Mikaelin and Braiden were with her. Neither Elbrion nor the master seemed to sense any evil, so he would trust his daughter’s guardians to care for her. He sipped at his tamagd and settled back in his chair.

  “I would be surprised if she were not tormented,” the master said. “Her enemies have done the most horrific things to that child in order to shatter her spirit and break her will. They will haunt her for many years.”

  “I’m more concerned for Elena now,” Celdorn said. “Any sense of safety she felt among us is gone. Braiden said her fear is so great she won’t go near her bed but is sleeping in a chair by the door, dagger in hand.”

  “It is reasonable for her to be afraid. Her experiences in the beds of this keep have just added to her torment,” Elbrion said. “If it were merely the events of today haunting her, that would be overwhelming enough, but this has connected with all of her previous trauma. I am amazed by what she has been able to endure for such a young and fragile creature.”

  “Her strength is far greater than either you or she realizes,” Yaelmargon said. “We must help her to develop the gifts she has. She does not need to fear Anakh. Rather, Anakh ought to fear her, and, in truth, she does. In spite of all of her arrogant words to the contrary, she is afraid.”

  “I noticed Anakh did not touch Elena directly but used the one inside Silvandir to attack her. Why is that?” Elbrion asked.

  “I do not know, but I wondered the same thing,” Yaelmargon said. “I also observed that her power waned when Elena disappeared into Mikaelin and revived along with Elena. It was almost as if she was drawing power from the girl.” The master scowled as he stretched his long legs, setting his feet on the hearth. “Ah, the warmth feels so good on my old bones.”

  Celdorn chuckled inside at the master’s recurring reference to his age. “You mentioned you would only be here for a brief time. Is there a reason you must hurry back to Queyon?”

  Yaelmargon closed his eyes and was quiet for some time. Celdorn thought he might have fallen asleep.

  “I wonder if Anakh’s connection to Elena is similar to mine with Queyon.” Celdorn was surprised by the master’s odd comparison. “It seems the farther I am from Queyon and the longer I am away, the more I feel my age. There is power in Queyon—power that sustains me. Perhaps we are not meant to drift far from the source…” His voice trailed off.

  “And you think Anakh derives similar power from being near Elena?”

  “I was pondering aloud. I do not have the answers, Celdorn. The lore teaches us so little of the Alraphim, and Elena seems to be an anomaly even among her own kind.

  “Although Anakh is not yet aware of it, Elena has a weapon that could topple them all.”

  Elbrion’s brows went up. “What is it, Master?”

  “It is not mine to reveal.” When Elbrion frowned, he added, “In time, my prince, in time.”

  Elena cried out again, followed by the sound of a scuffle. The men jumped to their feet.

  ~

  “You’ll never touch me again,” Elena said as she jumped from her chair, clutching her sword with both hands. She was crouched in a fighting stance, glaring at Mikaelin with murder in her eyes.

  “Ele
na, wake up. You’re dreaming,” Mikaelin said as he slowly rose from his chair and stepped back, the tip of Elena’s sword at his throat.

  Braiden didn’t know what to do. She was obviously dreaming or in an altered state, though her features hadn’t changed like when she shifted. With ten feet between them, he was afraid if he tried to intervene, she might decapitate Mikaelin before he reached her.

  “I want you to suffer,” she said, her voice now a low growl. “I will cut you apart piece by piece, so you may feel every moment of torment I can inflict.”

  “Elena, it’s me, Mikaelin.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Wake up.”

  Braiden eased to a standing position, trying not to startle her. “I-it’s all right, El-Elena. Y-you were dreaming. Th-that’s Mikaelin in-in front of you. W-we’re in your bedchamber at K-Kelach.”

  Her sword swept through the air in Braiden’s direction. “Stay back,” she warned, glancing only briefly at him. She was intent on Mikaelin.

  Braiden realized that although her eyes were open, she was seeing a different reality.

  “Fight like a man,” she challenged Mikaelin, swinging her sword back toward him, “instead of the coward you are, devouring helpless children.”

  He kept his hands in clear view, not moving. “I won’t fight you, Elena.”

  “Defend yourself.” She slashed the sleeve of his shirt, grazing the skin on his right arm. Mikaelin grimaced as tiny crimson rivulets flowed down his wrist and off his fingertips.

  When she brought her sword back around, Mikaelin’s blade met hers, blocking the next blow.

  “Elena, I do not wish to fight you.”

  “But I want to fight you.” She swept her sword in a full circle, setting it free. “I’m no longer helpless, and I refuse to be afraid of you anymore. Do you hear me? I want my life back!”

  With each statement, she advanced, thrusting again and again as Mikaelin parried the cuts. “I will remove your hands so they never defile another,” she said as she sliced with her blade, intending to strike his wrist.

  Celdorn and Elbrion peeked in the door, but like Braiden, didn’t want to intensify the situation by entering the room. The guards from the hallway, having heard the commotion, filed into both adjoining rooms, weapons drawn. Celdorn and Braiden waved them away.

  “El-Elena, that’s Mikaelin not your f-father,” Braiden said. “Y-your father is d-dead.”

  Ignoring Braiden, she made a jab for Mikaelin’s face. “I will cut out your lying tongue.” Pulling back, she swung her sword again, level with his hips this time. “Then I will remove your manhood so that you can never destroy another’s innocence.”

  Mikaelin jumped back and deflected her blade, sweeping his under and around twice, drawing her in closer as her body followed her blade. “Elena, stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Braiden moved in behind her while their blades were locked and wrapped his arms around her torso, pinning her arms to her side. Mikaelin wrested the sword from her hand.

  Elena kicked and screamed at Mikaelin. “I hate you. I want you dead.” When she couldn’t move toward him, she shrieked, “Let go of me.”

  Mikaelin stepped to her side, being careful of her flailing legs, and held her head in his hands, forcing her to look at him directly. She spat in his face. He patiently wiped himself clean then held her again, his blood smearing along her jawline.

  “Elena, it’s Mikaelin. Look at me.” He gave her head a shake. “Look at me.”

  Braiden felt the resistance drain from her body.

  “Elena, we’re in your room at Kelach,” Mikaelin said more softly. “You were dreaming. Can you hear me?”

  She nodded.

  “Braiden is going to let go of you. Do you promise not to fight anymore?”

  She nodded again.

  When Braiden released her, she fell to her knees sobbing. “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him,” she cried as she pounded her fists on the floor. Then she curled up, arms wrapped around her head, and screamed in frustration.

  Braiden knelt next to her and put his arm over her back. “H-he can’t hurt you anymore, m-my sister.”

  She turned her eyes toward him, peeking out between strands of tangled hair, her face haggard. “He hurts me every day, Braiden. I constantly feel him inside me, ripping my flesh apart, his hands groping me at will, his filth invading me. He may be dead, but he isn’t gone.” Her eyes turned mahogany as all life fled from them. “Will I never be free of him?”

  “I-I hope so, El-Elena,” he said, kissing her tenderly on the head. He helped her up and guided her back to the chair. After he settled her in place, he pushed the hair away from her face and laid the blanket over her.

  “How bad is it?” she asked Mikaelin, who was attempting to wrap a cloth around his upper arm with little success. His sleeve was soaked with blood. Elbrion moved to assist him while Celdorn dismissed the other Guardians.

  “It isn’t deep; it’ll mend quickly.” Mikaelin glanced at her. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  “No, Mikaelin,” she replied dejectedly, “I’m fine.” She took a deep breath, and her hands shook as they curled tight. “I hate this!” Her fists slammed into the chair. “It’s him I despise, but you I hurt. And-and I will never be able to fight him or see him bleed. I wasn’t even allowed the pleasure of ripping the heart from his corpse and stomping on it.” A sob erupted. “Is there no justice?”

  Chapter 47

  The next morning, Elena waited until Celdorn summoned her to his chamber. She’d been awake for hours but was reluctant to leave her room. Mikaelin and Braiden didn’t seem inclined to push her—which was understandable. She might attack them again, cut off an arm this time.

  She glanced at Mikaelin’s bandage and guilt twisted her stomach. The fury had dissipated, but her mood was still morose and sullen. Celdorn must have decided he’d given her sufficient time to brood. He’d sent word that her presence, and that of her guardians, was now required in his chambers.

  The rest of the men had been assembled around the table for over an hour. They’d eaten and the meal cleared long before Elena appeared.

  “Good morning, little one,” Celdorn said as she sat in her place to his left.

  “Good morning, Celdorn.” She felt stiff and apprehensive in the presence of Yaelmargon, trying to find some way to keep him from probing her depths. Afraid to meet his eyes, she focused on the food Celdorn had saved her. The sweet aroma of the porridge mixed with the smoked scent of the sliced pork turned her already churning stomach.

  “What is it you fear?” Yaelmargon asked, not bothering with a greeting or any pleasantries.

  “You don’t know?” Her lips curled into a sneer as she asked the question.

  “No, Elena. I do not read minds.”

  “I thought you did,” she jabbed, not sure she believed his answer.

  “I can see people’s memories, feel emotions they are currently experiencing. At times, I can surmise what they are thinking based on what I sense, but I cannot read thoughts directly.” He held her gaze, but his eyes were troubled. “What is it you fear?”

  Elena glared at him, and a sudden anger erupted. “Having my mind raped again.”

  She saw nervous, awkward glances exchanged around the table.

  Yaelmargon studied her, his bushy white brows drawn together. “And you believe I have done this?”

  “Yes.” She glared at him. She didn’t understand why her anger was so intense, but she couldn’t stop it.

  The master’s face darkened; his eyes suddenly looked old and sad. Elena felt a rumbling pass through him. “Please tell me what I have done that made you feel violated.” His voice was gentle.

  Elena didn’t look away. Her body was rigid, her jaw tight, but fear quickly overcame the anger. What would happen if she spoke? Would he punish her? Would he expose her further?

  “You may speak freely, Elena. I will not retaliate. You may express as much anger as necessary.”

  “See, y
ou just read my thoughts.”

  “No, I felt your fear and reasoned the cause.”

  Celdorn squeezed her hand. “It is safe to tell the truth here, little one. Speak your heart.”

  Elena looked down. “You went inside my mind. Saw things I didn’t want you to see.” Her voice was quiet, but her heart was pounding so hard, she was certain the others must have heard it. “I know you saw it all. I could feel where you went. You didn’t ask me. You just walked into my mind. You saw my darkest secrets; you looked at my deepest shame. I was exposed, naked, with nowhere to hide—I couldn’t even retreat to my secret places inside. You took that too.”

  Her voice was growing louder and more intense with each word. “Most people get to choose what they tell others. But I had no choice. I don’t reveal those things. It’s like when I first met Elbrion. I didn’t know that when he touched me, he saw things.” Hurt flashed across Elbrion’s face, but it didn’t stop her. “Not everything, but some things I didn’t want him to know. I wanted him out of my head, but he said I was throwing things at him; he wasn’t searching for them.

  “Then, when Mikaelin healed my scars, he felt what was in my body.” She glanced at Mikaelin as a powerful wave of sadness almost knocked her over. “He relived my memories. I was so angry because they were mine, and he was feeling them. My personal feelings. My secrets. I didn’t want him to see them, to feel them.”

  Elena was almost yelling, but it was as if she rode the crest of a wave and couldn’t stop until she hit land. “And now you!” Her glare returned to Yaelmargon. “You don’t even have to touch me. And you don’t just see some things, you see everything. Everything!” she screamed. “You see how dirty and ugly and vile I am. And I want to hide, but I can’t. I’m completely laid bare before you, and you’re touching my most personal, private places. I can’t fight you, and I can’t say no. That’s rape!”

  Elena pulled her knees up and buried her face in them, sobbing. Her words echoed in the silence that followed.

  A deep rumbling passed through Yaelmargon again. When Elena looked up, she saw beads of light falling from his eyes. She glanced toward the balcony doors, sensing evil approaching.