Behind the Third Door: The Innocence Cycle, Book 2

by J D Abbas

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” the mimic said. “We’re just not used to seeing small girls training among the men.”

  “Would any of you care to test your skills against this girl?” Silvandir asked.

  “You must be joking,” a spectator said. “We’d hurt her.”

  “You assume, then, that I wasn’t using any strength or skill with her, that I merely humored her?”

  “Of course.” The young man’s eyes swept the crowd surrounding him as if certain they would back him up. “Her sword is only half the size of yours as is her body. She’s like a child next to us.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Um, Jaidan, sir.” The young man looked like he wanted to bolt, which wasn’t surprising, Silvandir stood half a foot taller and outweighed him by three stone, as well as outranking him.

  “Come with me,” Silvandir said, wrapping his arm around Jaidan’s shoulder. “I wish to teach you a lesson in humility.”

  Jaidan glanced at the others with uncertainty but followed.

  “Elena, this is Jaidan,” he informed her. “I would like you to spar with him, if you’re willing.”

  She gazed at Silvandir as if wondering what he was up to.

  “These men are confused about a small Wallanard woman’s ability to fight, much as I was a short time ago,” he added. “I would like you to correct their misperception as you did mine.” He dipped his head toward her.

  “You want me to fight her?” Jaidan said.

  “Of course,” Silvandir said. “Did you think you were going to spar with me?”

  “But I might hurt her.”

  A smile tugged beneath Silvandir’s beard. “I doubt it.”

  The crowd trailed behind Jaidan sniggering nervously. Elena glanced toward them and straightened as fire filled her eyes. Without a word, she nodded at Silvandir, her jaw and shoulders tensing. She glanced at Jaidan’s sword, which bore no blade guards, and flicked hers off as well. Mikaelin noticed and gave Silvandir a concerned look.

  “Take your places.” Silvandir pointed to the lines painted on the stone floor.

  Elena made the first advance, surprising Jaidan. He parried and offered a counterattack, while his friends tossed barbs at him.

  “She’s just a little bit of a thing.”

  “Her sword’s almost as big as she is.”

  The comments fueled Elena’s fury. A shadow fell over her as her muscles grew tauter, sleeker, like a stalking wildcat.

  Jaidan stumbled, caught off-guard by the power of her thrusts as she continued to advance, forcing him to step back. “Come on, Jaidan,” an observer called. “She’s just a girl. Show her what a real man’s sword can do.” The crowd burst into laughter.

  Jaidan’s face flushed. He parried Elena’s next attack and struck back with several strong cuts, as if to intimidate by sheer force.

  Each time she blocked his cuts, Elena’s strength increased, and her complexion darkened. She attacked again. Jaidan met her blade. She glided her sword along Jaidan’s then cut over and around his blade, finishing with a sharp twist that wrenched Jaidan’s sword from his grip. As his weapon flew through the air, Elena grabbed it with her left hand, then stepping forward, she crossed the blades and laid them on Jaidan’s shoulders, his neck precariously perched between them. The laughter died, and a hush fell over the arena.

  “Elena, stop!” Silvandir called, afraid she might sever Jaidan’s head. Keeping his eyes on the blades, he held up a hand toward Jaidan. “Don’t move.” The young man’s eyes bulged with fear; he wasn’t breathing.

  Mikaelin approached from the opposite side.

  “Elena, put down the swords,” Silvandir said evenly.

  When she didn’t respond, Mikaelin added, “Please Elena, you don’t want to hurt him.”

  Elena glanced from Mikaelin to Silvandir, confusion clouding her face.

  “Release the weapons,” Silvandir repeated, gently grabbing the hilt of one sword while Mikaelin took hold of the other. They carefully moved them away from Jaidan’s throat.

  Elena’s eyes cleared as the shadow passed. “I-I’m sorry,” she said to Jaidan. “I guess I got carried away.”

  As soon as Jaidan’s safety was no longer in question, the crowd taunted him again. The young guardian turned purple with rage. As he stepped forward to reclaim his sword, he put his face close to Elena’s. “Save your tricks for your customers, whore,” he whispered, a snarl on his lips. His words were lost in the noise of the crowd, but Silvandir heard.

  Elena stepped back and stared at the ground, all confidence gone.

  When Jaidan turned to walk away, Silvandir grabbed his arm. Keeping his voice low for Elena’s sake, he said, “You owe the lady an apology.” Silvandir fought the urge to twist the limb and teach him a far more painful lesson. “You were beaten fairly, and you must take it like a man. You’re not some boy in training; you’re a Rogaran Guardian and those words should never have crossed your lips.”

  Jaidan hung his head, and his chest deflated. “You’re right, sir.” To Elena he said, “I beg your pardon, my lady. Please, forgive me.” He glanced from one to the other, begging mercy, which Silvandir was in no mood to grant.

  Elena’s expression softened. “I’d be angry too if my friends were taunting me. I bear you no ill will.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I-I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

  Silvandir turned to the others from Marach. “Those of you who were laughing, do you think you would have fared better with the lady? Unless you are likewise willing to rise to the challenge, you should cease your mocking.” They were silent.

  Silvandir knew they respected him, probably feared him, and wouldn’t dare defy him. “I suggest you continue your sparring on the other side of the arena.”

  As the men dispersed, they glanced at Elena apologetically but said no more.

  ~

  When Yaelmargon came to the practice arena in search of Elena, he found her sitting on a bench along the wall watching the others spar.

  “You are not training?” he said as he sat next to her.

  “No, I’ve had enough humiliation for one day.”

  “I felt a disturbance in you, so I came to find out what had transpired.”

  “It seems that just when I begin to believe the things you tell me, someone is there to bring me back to reality and put me in my place.”

  “What was spoken?”

  “I was called a whore and told to save my tricks for my customers.” She fought back the bitter tears that burned.

  Yaelmargon frowned. “I’m surprised any of the Guardians would speak or act with such disrespect.”

  “Silvandir asked me to teach humility to one of the young men from Marach. Apparently, I shifted during our sparring and wrested the sword from his hand. When I returned to myself, his head was between the two unguarded blades I held. He was embarrassed and angry with me, which provoked the hurtful words.”

  She looked at the floor. “But he’s right, Yaelmargon. I don’t belong here. You want me to be someone I’m not. If ever I was that gifted, innocent one, I am no longer. I’m jaded and broken down. The only way you will find that one again is for me to disappear forever and give this body to the child.”

  “I do not believe that it has to be either one or the other. I believe that all of you is of value, and every part of you is necessary to fulfill your destiny. I want to help you learn to use the strength and skill of the warrior without having to ‘go away’ to do so. In the same way, I want you to be able to feel your own fear without having to retreat inside and have the child take over, or to feel love for a man without having to shift into the seductress.” He paused and tipped his head, his focus on the Guardians training nearby. “The walls that divide you were set in place by your tormentors. It is time to begin dismantling them.”

  “It sounds like madness to me,” Elena replied, feeling as if she were standing on the edge of a narrow precipice, about to topple into the deep abyss of insani
ty. No matter which direction she moved, it was a great fall. “I’m frightened, Yaelmargon. It feels like I am slipping into a place from which I can’t return.” The arena began to bend and sway until it was spinning around Elena. She planted her feet on the floor and grasped the edge of the bench with both hands, trying to stop the movement.

  The master placed his hand on the back of her head and chanted softly. The swirling stopped. “Elena, stand up,” he said firmly.

  She rose.

  “Silvandir, I need you,” the master called.

  He came immediately.

  “Elena, I do not believe in the power of the sword, but I do believe that it is a means for you to connect with the defender inside you. Not only does she feel the life force of the weapon in your hand, but you do as well. I want you to close your eyes and envision the warrior inside you, but I also want you to stay connected with the feeling of the sword in your hand,” he said. “Can you do that?”

  She gave a quick nod, and her eyelids dropped.

  “Do you see her?”

  When she saw the image of a tall, dark woman approaching, things started to spin again.

  “No, Elena, I want you to focus on remaining here. Feel the sword in your hands. Stomp your feet on the stone beneath them. Silvandir, get into position. Elena, embrace the warrior’s power but do not give up your own.”

  She stomped her feet and swung the blade. The warrior moved away. No! Come back, Elena called inside. Stay with me. Show me how to do this. The dark one turned around, and Elena opened her eyes. Power surged through her hands and into the sword, and when she parried Silvandir’s blade, it flowed back into her. She looked at Silvandir, startled.

  “I feel it too,” he assured her. “Don’t stop.”

  Silvandir advanced. Elena was forced to step back but quickly recovered and made a counterattack. She found herself moving and using her sword in ways she had never done before. An odd sense of elation and energy flowed through her as she connected with this part of herself. When they stopped sparring, she smiled.

  Yaelmargon approached. “You find pleasure in the connection.”

  “I do.” She nodded. “It’s strange. The movements felt so foreign and yet so natural at the same time.”

  “That is how you move when the dark one appears,” Silvandir told her.

  Elena looked at him, her brow pulled down. “This is all so strange. I hate hearing your words; they confuse me.” She rubbed the back of her head where a dull ache was forming. “But, on the other hand, I think I like this idea of moving toward each other, helping each other. It feels right. It’s like I’m more… alive.” The word sent an odd echo of sadness through her, touching on some deep loss she couldn’t explain or give voice to. She turned her eyes to Yaelmargon.

  “You are not afraid of the warrior?”

  “No, surprisingly, I’m not. As I saw her turning away from me inside, I felt panicked. I didn’t want her to leave. Does that sound crazy?”

  “No, on the contrary, I believe that is a move toward sanity.”

  Chapter 54

  When the men returned to his chamber after the break, Celdorn was surprised to see the young boy entering with Charaq and Qalam.

  “Lord Protector, may I introduce Mishon, first son of Borham,” Charaq said formally. “Mishon, this is Lord Celdorn. As I told you, he is the leader over all of the Guardians in every stronghold and the supreme Protector of our realm.”

  Mishon looked at Celdorn from wide eyes then dropped to one knee and with a formality far beyond his six years said, “I am most honored to meet you, Lord Protector, and I am at your service.” When he rose, he snapped his feet together and reached out his hand to Celdorn.

  Celdorn had to suppress a smile as he clasped wrists with him, realizing the boy was deadly serious. “I am likewise honored, Mishon.”

  “Mishon insisted on coming with me. He longed to meet you and have an opportunity to speak with you,” Charaq explained.

  “I wish to avenge the deaths of my family and to restore honor to our name. I will do whatever you ask, Lord Celdorn.” The boy raised his chin, a proud but sad expression on his tiny face.

  Celdorn was troubled by this six-year-old who had moved on to adulthood, leaving his innocence forever behind. “Rest assured, Mishon, your father and mother will always be spoken of with great honor and respect. We will find those who took their lives and justice will be done. You, however, are too young to join us in this quest, having not yet begun your training.”

  “My father taught me to use my sword from the time I was three.” He patted the tiny blade strapped to his hip. “I am well able to defend myself,” he said, pulling himself up to his full height and adding a little extra when he stood on his toes.

  Celdorn diplomatically sidestepped an argument with the child by saying, “I did not realize; I will take that into consideration as we plan our strategy. This council, however, is only for those who are currently leaders of the various keeps, so we must find a place for you to wait while we continue our deliberations.” He glanced up at Charaq.

  “I want to stay,” the boy said to his guardian.

  “It’s not your place,” Charaq replied gently. Mishon, a pout tugging at his lips, crossed his arms and spread his feet like a guard standing his ground.

  “Perhaps you would like to join my daughter in the garden,” Celdorn offered, walking toward the balcony door.

  Charaq prodded the resistant boy to follow as Celdorn led them across the terrace, down the curving stairs on the left, and into the private courtyard below.

  ~

  Elena felt the little boy’s presence long before she saw him descending the stairs. She turned and followed him with her eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening inside her.

  “Elena, I would like you to meet Charaq and Mishon. They come from Greenholt, our stronghold to the east in the Bengoran area,” Celdorn said as they drew near. “Charaq, Mishon, this is Elena. She is from Rhamal but has become a part of our family here.”

  Elena was grateful that he explained no further.

  Mishon stared at Elena with an intensity that made her cringe. Suddenly, he ran toward her and threw his arms around her waist. “Ama! You came back to me.”

  Sasha jumped to her feet and barked at the boy, hackles up, before Silvandir pulled her back.

  Elena bit back a scream when Mishon grabbed her. Piercing pain shot from her heart to her limbs, nearly driving her to the ground. She steadied herself and, with some hesitation, put her arms around the boy while looking at the others in hopes of explanation.

  Was this her son that had been taken at birth? Had they somehow found him and not told her? Why had they given her no warning? A stone formed in her belly as the world tilted.

  The large Guardian clad in Greenholt’s livery squatted next to the boy, who refused to let go. “Mishon, this is not your ama, this is Elena. She is from here.”

  The boy turned his face toward Charaq. “My ama is inside her, can’t you see?”

  “No, Mishon, I can’t. What are you seeing?”

  “Look at her hands. They are full of light like Ama’s. It’s in her touch. I can feel it.”

  A look of terror broke across his tiny face. He pulled back from Elena, quickly removed his small tunic, wrapped it around her hands, and held it there. “We have to hide your hands,” he whispered, “or they’ll take them away.”

  Elena’s mind spun as bloody, disjointed images blasted her thoughts. Strong hands clasped her shoulders, steadying her as deep sadness overwhelmed her. When the visions subsided, she squatted down so she was eye level with Mishon. “I’m sorry about your parents. I know you loved them very much, and they you. Your mother was greatly gifted. I’m not sure what you are seeing, but I don’t share that gifting.”

  “Yes you do,” the boy insisted. “Your hands look like they are on fire with white light just like hers, and when you touch me, it feels the same. You heal people, don’t you?”

  �
��Once or twice, but only recently.”

  “That’s because my ama is inside you now. She was helping you and waiting for me to come.” He squeezed her hands as an expectant hope lit his face.

  Elena looked up at Celdorn. She didn’t know how to respond to that. It seemed nothing she said would dissuade the boy from believing as he did. She was troubled by the pictures filling her mind as he continued to cling to her hands. It felt as if she were being swept away to a gruesome place.

  Yaelmargon, who had been watching from the balcony, descended the stairway as her distress increased.

  Mishon let go of her and stepped back when the master approached. “I saw you by the gates when we first came,” he said to the lore master. “I have never seen anyone so full of light as you. You look like my ama except all over your body.”

  “He is Elrodanar,” Charaq told Mishon. “He and Elbrion, the other man you saw at the gate, are of that race. They live in Queyon, far north of here. There are hundreds there who have light moving through them like these men.”

  “It must be an amazing place,” Mishon replied, his face filled with wonder.

  The master squatted next to Elena, placing his hand on the back of her head to steady her while he addressed the little boy. “I am Yaelmargon, a master of Jhadhela and lore,” he told the boy. “You have questions about Elena and your mother?”

  “Do you see the light in her hands?”

  “I do.”

  Elena startled and stared at Yaelmargon.

  “So my ama is inside her.”

  “No, Mishon, it is not your mother. There are many who have the light in their hands like Elena,” the master said gently, removing the tunic the boy had wrapped around them. “Your ama has moved to another place along with your father and sisters. She does await you but not on Qabara. They are in a place filled with more light than you or I can possibly imagine.”

  “Then I want to go where they are.”