Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4 Page 2

  As if Charaq had heard Mishon’s thoughts, he said, “I miss him too.”

  Mishon swallowed hard. Waadar gripped Mishon’s waist tighter and leaned his face against his back. Mishon patted the younger boy’s arm. “You must be tired. We’ll get to rest soon.”

  Chapter 2

  Yaelmargon and Elbrion followed the last of the children through the gates and into the heart of Queyon. Celdorn remounted, and he and his inner circle fell in step behind them. When the gates clanged shut, a chill of foreboding slid up Elbrion’s back. He shook it off and tried to focus on the soft bed awaiting.

  They followed the company of children until they turned south on the road toward the academy and the healing houses beyond. Elbrion watched the last of the Ilqazar fade from view, praying for peace and restoration. With a sigh, he urged Drendil east, toward his own home. They rode in silence for some time.

  As Elbrion mulled over what happened on the mountain and what Terzhel had said about Elena, it occurred to him that Yaelmargon had not commented on the absence of Elena. “Master, you are aware of ... all the turn of events?”

  “I am,” the elder replied as they reached Elbrion’s home. “I believe you will find understanding in the next few days, but for tonight there is only one thing that needs to be addressed.”

  “Which is what?” Elbrion heard the hollow indifference in his own voice as he dismounted, focused more on the lure of his bed than the master’s elusive words.

  “Ada!” a bright voice called from the balcony above them.

  Elbrion raised his eyes and a potent burst of someone else’s emotion struck him. “Elena?” he gasped. “It cannot be…” He staggered back and fell to his knees, blinking in disbelief.

  The girl ran down the curved staircase and threw herself into Elbrion’s arms.

  “What miracle is this?” Elbrion pulled back and gaped at his daughter. He caressed her face; his hands needed to confirm the truth of what his eyes beheld. He studied her up and down. “You are uninjured? But ... but you entered the void ... It erupted ...”

  “I can’t explain it. I don’t understand myself, but I am well, Ada.” Her bright smile bathed his soul, a healing balm to the fissures within.

  ~

  Celdorn watched the exchange from Malak’s back, afraid to move, terrified the moment would vanish.

  “Ada?” Elena said tentatively as she left Elbrion’s arms and stepped toward him.

  “Are you phantom or are you flesh?” Celdorn asked in a hoarse whisper, swiping at the tears that blurred his vision.

  “I’m very much alive and in my own skin, Ada.” Her voice was tender as she reached up and touched his leg. Feeling as if trapped in a waking dream, he slid to the ground and pulled Elena into his arms. A raspy sob erupted as he grasped solid flesh and bone. This was no specter. “Oh, little one, I can’t believe my eyes ... or my arms. How is this possible?”

  “There will be time enough for questions tomorrow, Lord Celdorn,” Yaelmargon replied. “For tonight, find contentment in each other’s company.”

  Celdorn nodded and squeezed Elena tightly, kissing the top of her head while his tears bathed her hair.

  ~

  Silvandir sat frozen atop Phelaam. Like Celdorn, he was too overwhelmed to move or speak. He dug his nails into his palms to make certain he was awake, that this was not just another nightmare from which he would rouse with empty arms, heart shattered by reality.

  After what seemed an eternity, his beloved’s gaze fell on him. Her face lit with joy. When her ada released her, Elena glided toward him—a specter, a phantasm. The two locked eyes without a word. His beloved smiled up at him as she wrapped her arm around his Ilqazar’s neck and patted him.

  Elena startled, and her brow pulled into a taut frown. She stepped back and studied the stallion. “You aren’t Windam.”

  No, my lady. I am Phelaam, and I am at your service, the Ilqazar replied.

  Elena stared up at Silvandir through puzzled tears. All he could manage was a slight shake of his head. He averted his gaze before her look of pity reduced him to a blubbering mess. She grasped his hand and gently tugged.

  Silvandir slid bonelessly from the stallion and enveloped her in his arms. The sensation, the reality of her body pressed against his, sent a tingling ecstasy through him like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was so good and, at the same time, so incredibly painful. It required every bit of strength he had left to hold himself together.

  “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Oh, my love, I am so sorry.”

  She pushed him, her frown returning. “For what?”

  “I … I failed you. I failed our daughter,” he managed to choke out.

  She gave him a warm smile that wrapped around his soul and squeezed. “You didn’t fail us, Silvandir.”

  “I did not … I could not protect you. That is my job. That is what a husband and father is supposed to do.” His hand slid to her belly and embraced the beautiful bulge of their daughter. “I should have been watching more closely. I should have noticed what was happening.”

  Elena caressed his cheek, and the thrill of her touch coursed through his body again, reawakening his longing to wrap his body around hers, to feel her flesh pressed against his.

  “It was beyond your control, Silvandir. You are in no way responsible.” She laid her hand over his heart, and all the thoughts and tears he had banished after her death flooded through him. Images of her entering the void assaulted his mind again. The searing pain of that moment pounded at his chest. The agony of the hole she had left in the center of his soul ripped his heart open again. He clung to her afraid she might be swept away from him in the power of the deluge.

  And yet, here she was, alive, embracing him with mutual love. “Please be real,” he whispered into her hair between sobs.

  Elena giggled—a beautiful sound. “I am real and very much alive. It is over. We are together now.”

  Silvandir didn’t know how much time passed before he regained control. Phelaam had kindly stationed himself between them and the rest of the group so that the men would not witness his weakness. “I love you, Elena. And I promise to say that as many times a day as I am able so that if we are ever parted again, it will be the last words you recall from my lips.” Another flood of tears followed that declaration.

  “I pray it never happens again.” She stroked his wet cheek. “And know with all certainty that I love you as well.”

  She stiffened suddenly, as if she’d heard a far-off alarm sound, and stepped back. She peeked around Phelaam at the rest of the company, then back at Silvandir, a demand in her gaze.

  “Where is Haldor?”

  Night surrounded him again with a cold that reached to his core. Words caught in his throat.

  Elena put her hands on Silvandir’s cheeks and gazed into his eyes. “What happened?”

  He shook his head, unable to speak the horrific answer. Celdorn approached, and Elena turned. Her fear thrummed so strongly, it shoved Silvandir sideways.

  Celdorn stroked Elena’s hair as he delivered the painful truth. “Haldor was injured while battling with Anakh’s eidola. He didn’t survive, little one.”

  “How … how was he injured?” she whispered.

  “He stuck his hand into the heart of the lead eidolon, and there was an explosion. His arm was severed by the blast and … and he bled to death.”

  Elena’s eyes widened. Silvandir stepped behind her and clasped her arms, lending her what strength he had. She glanced at Yaelmargon with distress then back to Celdorn. “It’s my fault.” A sob squeezed out of her, a sound that tore at Silvandir’s heart. “It’s all my fault.” She collapsed to her knees and clutched her belly. “I did this to him.”

  Silvandir dropped alongside her and laid his arm across her shoulders. “No, my love, no.” He should have known she’d blame herself. She took responsibility for far too much.

  Elena held herself and rocked back and forth. “What have I done? Oh, Haldor, I am so sor
ry.” She lifted her face to the sky and wailed into the still night.

  “Shh, Elena,” Celdorn soothed as he knelt in front of her. “How could it possibly be your fault, little one?”

  She lowered her tormented eyes to meet her ada’s gaze and said, “Because I was there. I showed him what to do.”

  Chapter 3

  “Waadar, look!” Mishon called behind him as they approached the entrance to a group of glowing buildings. He pointed to an arch at the top of the gate to the complex. “Charaq, what’s that sign say?” It was written in funny, squiggly letters.

  “It says ‘The Academy of Light’ on the first line. The second reads ‘Discover. Develop. Discern. Dispense. Defend.’ It’s written in Elnar.”

  “This is a school? Woah, it’s big.” He could see four buildings that each had two stories, kind of set in a circle. In the middle was a tall building with lots of floors. They were made of wood that glowed, like the trees on the hills around them.

  An Elrodanar woman stopped them by the gate. “Silothani,” she said with a sweeping bow. “My name is Willowa.”

  Mishon smiled. The name fit her. She was graceful like willow branches in a breeze.

  “Silothani, Willowa. I am Charaq, captain of the Greenholt guard. I will be your liaison for anything to do with the children.”

  Charaq was in charge of the ones from Anakh’s camps now that Zarandiel had returned to Marach. Mishon sat a little taller behind him since he was kind of Charaq’s second in command.

  “We will be housing you and the children in the dormitories to your right and to your left. We have beds for two children and their Guardians in each room. I believe this should accommodate all. As for those that are injured or ill, they will be taken to the Healing Houses, which are farther up the road. I believe all is prepared for them, and Bellaq will lead the way.” She pointed at a rider headed toward the wagons. He and his mount pulsed with light just like Elbrion.

  “Thank you. You have been most thorough,” Charaq said. He had a funny sort of confused smile on his face as he reached behind him and helped Mishon and Waadar to dismount then joined them on the ground.

  Willowa waited while Charaq went to talk with the Guardians who were taking the sick kids to the healing place. He told Mishon and Waadar to follow and stay close to him. There were a couple of carts full of kids. Some had been injured when the Zakad attacked. Some had just gotten really sick along the way. The Guardians assigned to them rode at the sides of the wagons, making sure the children were protected. Mishon lifted his chin at them, acknowledging their good work.

  When the carts continued on down the road behind Bellaq, Charaq and the boys returned to the entrance where Willowa stood. More Elrodanar appeared from the two buildings ready to assist in carrying saddle packs or other gear into the dormitories. Others came to take the Ilqazar and see that they were fed and stabled. Suddenly it was like a bee’s nest. Waadar clung onto Mishon as if afraid he might get lost in the crowd.

  As each Guardian approached with his ward, Charaq directed them to the right or left as he saw fit. Willowa’s smile faded when she saw the children. Maybe she was like Elbrion and could sense other people’s feelings. Maybe she already knew how much they had been hurt by Anakh and her followers.

  Mishon ran back and forth, assuring the children who looked most scared. Many didn’t like new places or new people, and they didn’t trust anyone, except maybe Mishon a little because he helped rescue a bunch of them when their camp was raided near the great forest of Alsimion. He had led them into the woods, where the trees and their fairies—well, they said they were liorai, not fairies, but they looked like fairies to him—had helped them to escape.

  It was a long time before they were finished getting all of the children and Guardians assigned to their rooms. Waadar had followed Mishon everywhere he went. Now the younger boy sagged against him, ready to drop.

  “We have reserved a larger room for you and your boys.” Willowa flashed a beautiful smile at Mishon and Waadar, who now had the same goofy look on his face as Charaq. What was wrong with them? “That little one looks like he’s had enough for one day.”

  Charaq turned to Waadar as if just realizing he was there. “Sorry. I should have settled you boys before I took care of the rest.” He tousled Waadar’s mop of blond hair, and the boy cringed.

  Mishon put his arm around Waadar. “Someday you’ll get used to him touching you. He’s a really good guy. He’d never hurt you.”

  Waadar peeked up at Charaq from under the wild curls that fell over his eyes, and Charaq’s face got really sad. He gave Waadar a stiff nod, and the little boy’s head bobbed too, like they’d reached some sort of agreement.

  “Let’s find our room,” Charaq said.

  “Allow me,” Willowa said and led them into the building on their right, which she said was the dormitory for the healing arts.

  They had to walk down a long, dark hall before they reached their room, the last one before the washing room and privy closets. Waadar was shaking like a newborn foal by the time they got there. At least he hadn’t wet himself.

  Their room was big like Willowa had said. There was a bed for each of them and a whole separate room with soft chairs and a huge couch, big enough for Charaq to stretch out on. They also had a table to eat at with four chairs. And the best part was that it had food on it, ready for them. Waadar was so excited to see food that he forgot to be scared. They had bread and cheese and fruit and even goat’s milk to drink.

  Willowa stayed for a while and smiled at Charaq a lot. She laughed when Mishon and Waadar dove into the food, and even harder when they belched. Charaq turned red again and frowned at them. He didn’t like it when they burped or farted around other people. It was especially not polite around ladies and girls, he had told them many times. And Mishon would always tell him sometimes it just happens, even in front of pretty ladies.

  “Well, I will leave you to settle,” Willowa said. “If you need anything, please let me know. I oversee this dormitory, so my room is directly above yours. May Qho’el light your dreams.”

  “And yours as well,” Charaq said as he followed her to the door. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow to decide what we need to do next.” Her smile said she liked that idea.

  After Willowa left, Charaq leaned against the door looking sad.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Charaq shook his head and stretched. “I’m aching for my bed is all. Let’s visit the washing room and privy closets and get you two tucked in.”

  When they returned from getting washed up, they each chose a bed. Mishon let Waadar pick first. He took the one farthest from the door, which didn’t surprise Mishon. The ends of their cots met at the corner of the room, and that’s where they put their heads. That way Waadar could reach out and touch Mishon just to make sure he was still there, though Charaq left a candle lit all night for him ’cause he was still ascared of the dark. Even with that, Waadar didn’t last long. He crawled into bed with Mishon before he could count to a hundred. Mishon didn’t mind. He was getting kinda used to him.

  Mishon laid his arm over Waadar and tucked the blanket around them both. In the dim light, he saw Charaq smile and give him a nod of approval from across the room. Mishon didn’t remember anything after that, but fell asleep with his belly and his heart full.

  Chapter 4

  It was not until the next day that Celdorn learned the meaning behind Elena’s words. The girl had been so distraught after hearing about Haldor, she fell into a stupor. Yaelmargon suggested they all get what rest they could and leave the telling of tales for the morrow, to which he’d agreed.

  While waiting for Celdorn’s company to arrive in Queyon, Elena had been staying in Elbrion’s home. Yaelmargon had prepared a room for her use, and Silvandir carried her there, a look of agony haunting him again.

  When Elena did not rouse, Celdorn encouraged Silvandir to get some sleep. The young Guardian reluctantly agreed, but only with Celdorn’s promise to
summon him if anything changed. Celdorn soon chased Elbrion to his bed as well.

  Alone with his daughter, Celdorn sang to her through half the night, every song of peace and love that he could summon. Finally, not long before dawn, utter exhaustion drove him to his own bed.

  ~

  She awoke before the sun, muzzy-headed, clothed in a white dressing gown atop a wonderfully soft bed. Unusually large and elaborate furnishings filled the room, made of a wood she’d never seen before. Discarded clothes lay draped over a chair. They were men’s clothes, though they looked as if they might fit her. She decided to put them on and see if she could find a way out.

  There were no signs anyone else had been in the room, nor sounds of others moving about outside. In fact, this place was eerily quiet.

  She clutched the sturdy riding boots in her hand, tip-toed to the door, and eased it open. Thankfully, the hinges did not creak. No guard. The hallway was made of fine, polished wood that glowed as if the sun hid beneath it. Strange. The floors made no sound under her bare feet as she searched for an exit. At one end, the hallway opened into a comfortable sitting area, which also shimmered with light. No one was there.

  She crept toward a door on the far side of the room that looked as if it might lead to the outside. The door’s lever was cold against her palm as she pressed down on it slowly, afraid it would wake the owners of this place. Just as the latch clicked, someone grabbed her shoulder.