Journey to Queyon: The Innocence Cycle, Book 3 Read online

  “Braiden we need you,” Celdorn called behind him. “She collapsed.”

  Fear gripped Mikaelin’s heart at those words, and he rose to follow Braiden as he hurried out.

  “Not yet,” Dalgo said. He grabbed Mikaelin’s shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed. “Let me examine you first.”

  “What happened?” he asked again as he looked at the blood covering his body and the soiled rags lying everywhere.

  “Apparently, Elena healed you.” Dalgo pressed on Mikaelin’s chest and poked around on his abdomen. “You had two deep arrow wounds, which bled heavily, and I couldn’t repair them. We expected to lose you at any moment. In fact, you stopped breathing.”

  Dalgo finished his examination. “I find nothing wrong now, however. You seem to be fine.” He scratched his head as he shook it.

  “What happened to Elena?”

  “I don’t know exactly. After she finished healing you, she noticed Sasha lying on Elbrion’s table, and she wanted to go to her.”

  Mikaelin looked through the open door at the shrouded mass in Elbrion’s room, and his chest deflated. “Sasha died from her injuries?”

  “I’m afraid so. There wasn’t anything we could do. She took too many arrows trying to protect Elena.”

  The tears in Mikaelin’s eyes evaporated as anger surged through him. Couldn’t Elena have a moment’s happiness, a little peace? She trusted Sasha more than she did any of the men. That dog had become her confidant and friend, and had served her unswervingly until the end.

  Dalgo nodded toward Elbrion’s table. “Elena was arguing with Celdorn, saying she believed she could still heal her, that she wasn’t really gone. But then she fell into a stupor.”

  “Can I go to her?” Mikaelin rose once more and grabbed one of the bloodied sheets to wrap around his waist.

  “I see no reason to stop you. Except for your wardrobe, perhaps,” he added with a nod toward the gruesome linen.

  Mikaelin shrugged. “I’ll take care of that after I make sure Elena’s all right.”

  Dalgo followed Mikaelin into Celdorn’s room. They found Braiden with his eyes closed and hands moving to the different wounds on Elena’s body. The young healer shook his head as he stopped and opened his eyes. “The Jhadhela h-had no effect on her own injuries. H-her wounds are still seeping, and she’s m-more feverish. I-I don’t sense any internal repair nor d-does there appear to be any additional d-damage. I don’t know why she c-collapsed other than her b-body was already w-weak. Or-or perhaps the healing process itself was t-too much for her.” He turned his gaze to Celdorn. “Sh-she shouldn’t have been up.”

  “We couldn’t have stopped her from doing what she knew she must. She’s stubborn that way.” Celdorn smiled as he stroked her forehead. “And I think the blow of losing Sasha was more than she could bear.”

  Braiden looked up as Dalgo and Mikaelin joined them. “G-good to see you up, m-my friend.” The young healer’s face broke into a wide grin. Then he glanced at Dalgo with a frown. “Elena’s f-fever is rising. I-I think we should p-pack her in ice.”

  “I agree.” Dalgo spoke with a guard in the hall, who immediately hurried off. Two men returned a short time later with sacks of ice chunks. Braiden laid a blanket over Elena, and they packed the ice around her.

  “I’m going to take some of the ice and do the same with Silvandir,” Dalgo said. “I’m sure his fever must be increasing as well.”

  Mikaelin’s stomach twisted. “Silvandir is badly injured?”

  “His wounds are not deep, but he’s feeling the effects from the poison because he was struck so many times,”

  “Poison?”

  “The arrows were dipped in some kind of noxious potion that is causing fever and severe pain in the wounds,” Dalgo explained as he continued toward the door.

  Mikaelin was torn. He was concerned for Silvandir but didn’t want to leave Elena. Finally, he turned and followed Dalgo, knowing that Elena was in good hands. He needed to make sure his friend was all right.

  Silvandir was lying on his stomach on Elbrion’s bed when they reached the other room. Most of his clothing had been cut away, making the raised mounds where the poison raged clearly visible. Silvandir’s entire body was a brilliant red from the fever.

  Dalgo approached quietly, bending to see if his eyes were open. “How are you?”

  “I feel as if I’m on fire. The pain’s excruciating.” Silvandir’s voice was a harsh rasp. “How is Elena? I heard her arguing with Celdorn over Sasha, then suddenly she went quiet and they hurried out of here.”

  “We’re not sure. We think she collapsed from exhaustion or sorrow. Braiden is with her now.” Dalgo held up the sack in his hand. “Hopefully this will help with your pain.” The healer covered him with a linen cloth and began to pack the ice around him.

  Silvandir’s neck craned to the side. “Mikaelin?” A world of emotion hung in that one word. “But I thought—” He turned and buried his face in the pillow.

  The relief in Silvandir’s tone tugged at Mikaelin, and he worked to shove back his feelings and find a smile. “I’m alive.” He knelt next to the bed so his friend wouldn’t have to twist his injured back.

  When Silvandir lifted his head, his eyes were red-rimmed, making it harder for Mikaelin to stave off his own tears. “They told me you were in grave condition, but they wouldn’t let me go to you.”

  “I’m in better shape than you, my friend,” Mikaelin replied, broadening his smile.

  “Had it not been for Elena, that wouldn’t be the case,” Dalgo said. “If she hadn’t healed him, he would have passed by now.”

  “Elena healed you?”

  “I don’t really know what happened. I recall being in severe pain and vaguely remember seeing her, but that’s all.”

  “It was rather strange,” Dalgo said as he continued to lay the ice around Silvandir, stopping from time to time to chafe his hands. “She enlisted the help of the little girl inside her, who seems to have tremendous powers, like the one we saw knock Yaelmargon off his feet.”

  “The one I witnessed healing you, I suppose,” Mikaelin said to Silvandir. “Elena fainted just after seeing Sasha, though no one seems to know why. Like you, she’s also suffering from fever. They’re packing ice around her even as we speak.”

  “Will she be all right, Dalgo?” Silvandir asked. “I know the arrows struck her quite hard. Were you able to stop the bleeding?”

  “Braiden worked on her. The wounds are serious, but I believe the bleeding is under control. We’re more concerned with the fever. Her body isn’t as large and hardy as yours. I’m not sure how she’ll tolerate the poison.”

  “I want to be with her.” Silvandir pounded his fist on the bed. “Mikaelin, will you go in my stead? If she awakens, would you please let me know? And ...and send her my love,” he added quietly.

  Dalgo raised his eyes and studied Mikaelin, a question in his gaze.

  Mikaelin wondered at the healer’s expression and the strange emotion that gripped him. He looked away and patted Silvandir’s shoulder. “Of course, my friend. Rest easy. You need to focus on recovering from your own injuries.”

  Chapter 19

  “Gia, I need you!” Elena lifted her head and called out toward the ceiling. Sasha lay on a straw pallet in the room where her baby brother used to sleep.

  Gia ran through the door and stopped short. “Is that Sasha? What is she doing here? What happened to her?”

  “She was hit by poisoned arrows. You have to help her.”

  Gia knelt beside Elena. “But I’ve never helped a dog before.”

  “How different can it be?” Elena grabbed her tiny hand and thrust it onto Sasha’s chest. “Speak light into her.”

  The little girl shook loose of Elena’s grip and wrapped both arms around Sasha’s neck. Gia squeezed her eyes shut and whispered words in her ancient tongue. Light pulsed from her tiny hands and into Sasha. The dog’s chest shuddered, then rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

&nbs
p; “Sasha!” Elena cried. “Thank you, Gia. Thank you. Thank you.” She stroked the dog’s face and whispered. “I’m so sorry you got hurt, Sasha. I know you were trying to protect me. I promise you, I won’t let you be hurt again, not by arrows, not by anyone. I’ll keep you safe here.”

  Sasha rose and shook herself. She yawned and stretched as if she’d only had a long nap.

  “We’ll take her to the place with the swing. They’ll be lots of room for her to run there,” Gia suggested.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sasha?” Elena scratched the dog’s ear and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  An uneasy feeling suddenly swept through Elena. She glanced at the empty wooden box that had been her baby brother’s bed. “I wonder what will happen when I go back to the outside. Will you come with me like Elbrion does?” The discomfort increased and she squeezed Sasha’s neck. “I wonder what’s happening with your body in the other world right now.”

  Elena shook off the thought. “I don’t care. I have you here, and we have a place we can safely play. Come on.” She opened the door and led Sasha to the next room. When the dog saw the open meadow inside, she dashed over the threshold and raced across the field. Elena laughed as Sasha chased a flock of birds that were scavenging worms. She stood in the doorway, thrilled that her friend was alive and they could share this special place together.

  “There you are,” a deep voice boomed from the end of the corridor.

  Gia let out a gut-twisting scream. “Run, Elena!” The little girl pushed past Elena and ran toward the big oak that held her tree swing.

  Elena didn’t even have time to respond before a strong arm pulled her from the threshold. The door slammed behind her, muffling Sasha’s frantic barks. She was dragged through the corridor and tossed on the floor of the vestibule like yesterday’s soiled laundry. Her head hit the flagstone with a thud.

  When her ears stopped ringing, Elena looked up and was horrified to find her father standing over her, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed her shirt, pulled her upright, and then backhanded her so hard her head snapped to the side. Blood spewed from her mouth and nose. When he released her, she crumpled to the ground, boneless as a ragdoll.

  ~

  Elbrion was thankful that Silvandir was on his feet again by the next morning. He still suffered some pain but was able to function. Elena, however, continued to struggle with the fever for days. The poison had a different, more vicious effect on her. Neither Dalgo nor Braiden could find a balm that would ease her discomfort.

  Elbrion watched their daughter’s suffering with no means to help her.

  Though Elena’s eyes were closed, her body did not rest. She tossed and turned fitfully. It seemed she fought invisible enemies with few respites.

  On the third day, Elena began to claw the bandages from her wounds. She gouged at the inflamed flesh with such viciousness, they were forced to bind her hands.

  When Dalgo or Braiden attempted to move her or change her dressings, she would cry out in terror, kicking and biting ferociously. Elbrion attempted to enter her mind, but a massive black wall filled the vestibule and blocked access to all the doors. He walked around the exterior of her fortress, looking for another entry point, but found none.

  Elena was lost in a netherworld where not even he could reach her.

  ~

  Elena stared at Domar, opening and closing her eyes in disbelief. He let loose a mocking laugh. “So you really believed I was dead.” He snorted in contempt. “You told them yourself we can’t be killed, that we’ll just rise up again. Didn’t you believe your own words? Haven’t I taught you well enough?” He kicked her in the ribs, his heavy boot adding to the force of the blow.

  Elena curled into herself, unable to think. Her head throbbed and her vision blurred. Her father’s hazy silhouette turned away and a dark shadow rose in the entry hall. When her eyes cleared, she found a massive black wall barred the only exit from her inner world.

  Domar yanked her to her feet with a snarl. “You’ve forgotten your lessons, so I guess we’ll have to begin again.” He shoved her through the middle door and closed it behind them, locking it with a large key. He turned to the first door on their left. Before he opened it, he told her to wipe the blood off her face. “It’s not appealing, my dear.” His eyes held a familiar hunger that made Elena’s skin crawl. “You do exactly as I tell you, and you do it with a smile. Any complaints and you’ll pay the price. Do you understand?” He gave her arm a sharp yank.

  She nodded and reached for the tail of her shirt to wipe her nose, only to find a lacy, yellow dress instead—one made for a little girl. Her stomach twisted in fear, all too aware of what was coming. She pulled the edge of one of the undergarments and cleaned her face, steeling her nerves for the inevitable.

  The door opened onto a darkened room, a room full of drunken men—men who liked little girls, the younger the better. And she was too young, once again. Though everything in her wanted to scream and curl into a weeping ball, she instead found the familiar mask and secured it in place. She gave them what they wanted, and she did it with a smile, dying a little more inside with each one.

  When she finally crawled from the room, exhausted and humiliated, not even feeling the pain of her battered flesh, her father was waiting. He pulled her to her feet and shoved her toward the next door.

  On and on, this continued. For how long, Elena didn’t know. Days? Weeks? A lifetime? When her father wasn’t giving her to someone else, he was using her himself, if for no other reason than to show her he could.

  “You’ll never be free, no matter what your new family”—he stopped to spit as if the word was distasteful—“tells you. They’re liars. I’m teaching you the truth about your life, about who you are, who you were bred and born to be. It will never be different for you. We’ll use every bit of you we can then you’ll be absorbed. That’s what you have to look forward to.” He kissed her cheek in mock affection.

  “This is in your mind,” she heard a far off voice say.

  “I heard that,” her father shouted to the air. “Stop lying to her. She has no control.”

  “This is your mind, Yaena,” the voice repeated. “He is illusion, meant to terrify.”

  And it’s working, Elena thought. She laid her head on the floor, unable to move. “Let me die. Have mercy and please let me die.”

  “I love you, little one.” Celdorn’s voice pierced the walls.

  “Ha!” Domar snorted. “He loves an illusion, not you.”

  “He loves me,” Elena whispered, and one of the walls of the room began to crumble.

  Domar jumped to his feet and stumbled backward, caught off guard. Elena took the opportunity to run for the door. Before he could stop her, she was out and racing toward the spiraling stairs at the end of the hall. After just a few twists of the staircase, she slipped and fell. Down and down she slid. Her back scraped against the rough stones as she tumbled. She didn’t care as long as she was moving, any way, anywhere, away from him. She got her feet under her and managed half a dozen spirals before falling again. Finally, she hit the bottom with a thud. Through the dim light of the torches on the wall, she recognized the torture chamber and knew there was no way out.

  “This is in your mind, Yaena,” the voice reminded her.

  “The mirror. The mirror!” She frantically searched the dimly lit room. There. On the far wall. She ran to it and embraced it as if it were a long lost friend.

  “I can’t think. I don’t know what to do. Help me,” she wept. “Yaelmargon? Khanab? Please!”

  When she pulled back to look in the mirror, she saw only the image of a four-year-old child whose hollow eyes were wide with fear. Elena’s heart caught at the resignation of death in the vacant stare.

  Just then, the mirror went black as all light went out—no, Elena argued with herself, she could still see the little girl, but the blackness seemed to be surrounding her. The shadows grabbed her with strong arms. Elena’s distraught mind struggled
to comprehend as her body seemed to float, carried in the arms of the darkness.

  Then the shadows spoke. “A perfect place to teach you your next lesson, you miserable wench.” Elena didn’t have to see Domar’s face to know it wore a maniacal smile. He might very well kill her this time. In truth, it would be a welcomed relief.

  She gave in to the despair.

  ~

  “H-her fever is w-worse,” Braiden reported with a sigh. “I-I don’t know what else to d-do. I might have s-suggested blood-letting, b-but it would be p-pointless. She’s lost so m-much already, and t-to no avail.”

  “We could try submerging her in an ice bath, which might have more effect than just laying the ice around her,” Dalgo said.

  “If n-nothing else, at least it w-will cleanse her. She s-soiled herself again,” Braiden replied.

  “Do what you think best,” Celdorn said, haggard with grief.

  But when Braiden attempted to lift Elena, she clubbed him on the side of the head with such force his head snapped to the side. He had to lay her back down or risk dropping her.

  Celdorn stepped between them. “Allow me.” He clasped Elena’s hands behind her back with his left and slid his right under her thighs. He rolled her into his chest and lifted, having to use more force than he wanted to as she fought him with every inch of her being. He carried her to the bathing room. She writhed all the way in spite of his attempts to soothe her.

  Dalgo was already there with Famor adding ice to the water in a tub. When Celdorn and Elbrion attempted to lower Elena into it, she clawed and bit and kicked. Several of her stitched areas ripped open during her contortions. She let out a high-pitched, agonized wail that wrenched the hearts of the men and froze them in place.

  Celdorn steeled his will. “Continue,” he ordered. It was what was best for her. They had to do it, or she might die.

  Elena worked her arms free and latched onto the edges of the tub with a death grip. Though her eyes didn’t open, she begged, “Please, please. I’ll be good. Please don’t do this.”