Chapter 12
12
Cyran’s whirlwind of emotions tore through her, stripping her usual calmness away and replacing it with the unfamiliar sensations of rage and violence that had filled his heart and mind for so long.
Using her empathic abilities, she searched through the myriad of feelings. Still, the only one she identified with and comprehended was the betrayal he felt because of Haman’s actions and the ultimate death of Cyran’s mother.
She understood this emotion well, for she, too, believed her parents and their lies betrayed her. It still hurt even though she realized they had done it for her benefit and safety. Growing up believing émilien to be her brother devastated her the most. It had stripped away her entire world. The whole of her life had been a lie.
She had grown up loving her brother, depending on him for her care and upbringing. At first, being told he was her father had been unforgivable. She paused on that thought. Or had it?
Whether in the guise of brother or father, émilien still raised her. He taught her everything she needed to know to flourish as a young woman and an elf. That, in and of itself, was a complete miracle since the man comprehended little about being feminine.
He was cursed in the body of a wolf for most of her life. Femininity was the last thing she had ever expected from him, but he had shown her in the only way he knew how. He had loved her unconditionally. And she adored him.
With a small smile, she gave Cyran a sideways glance as they walked side by side over the uneven floor. “I understand betrayal. While I experienced nothing as serious as yours, those feelings are still genuine and painful. I was raised by my father, who posed as my brother. Once I learned the truth, I believed my entire life had been a lie.”
She sidestepped a pile of rags, her shoulder brushing against his. “I thought my parents were dead, only to discover they were both alive. I didn’t have a conventional upbringing, and without my best friend Soliana and her family, I would have missed out on so much more. Her stories during her visits were refreshing and upsetting, but through them, I learned how a family should interact.”
Cyran’s expression remained unreadable. She wished she could read his mind. Wading through a swamp of emotions was difficult enough, but to have thoughts moving along with them to guide her in the right direction would be helpful. Sometimes being an empath just sucked.
For now, she decided to change the subject, but after some thought about how to proceed, she would talk to him about it again. “So, where do we go from here? I thought we would find doors leading into rooms, but this seems like a long tube dug through the earth. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Do you feel the growing heaviness?” he asked. “Like the air thickens with each step and the sense of doom increases?”
She stopped, a slight frown furrowing her eyebrows. She shook her head and continued to study the sensations rolling over her. “It’s not thick to me but more oppressive.” She sniffed the air. “With a cloying odor of decay.”
Her eyes jerked to his. “I know what the Nazis did to their prisoners, but your fa—sorry, Haman…” Her eyes widened. “He was part of that as well, wasn’t he? Besides keeping the war going on Alfheimr, you never said what other things he did.”
Cyran’s teal eyes darkened to the expected dark blue-gray as his anger increased. “No, I didn’t. I wanted to spare you the details. He was not a kind man and would have rivaled Hitler, Himmler, and Heydrich in his diabolical quest to be the supreme evil. He was the reason—the drive—behind their obsession with the master race . He was the reason those who were different were rounded up and imprisoned. He was the reason millions of innocent people were murdered throughout the war.”
She had the unmistakable sense Cyran blamed himself. The emotions radiating off him were stifling and as oppressive as the air surrounding them. “Cyran, you cannot take the blame for Haman’s actions. He decided to become the way he is and influence those he chose to be with. You don’t even know for certain that it wasn’t the other way around—that they influenced him.”
He ran agitated fingers through his hair, smoothing out the ruffled effect from the previous action, but from his frustrated expression, she had no idea if he had heard her or not. “You are not your stepfather’s keeper. All you can do is be the person you are meant to be—the best version of who you are.”
He tilted his head, his heavy gaze holding hers. “When did you get to be so smart? Did you study to be a therapist?”
She smiled. “Not at all. You can thank Freyja for that last tidbit. I am just like you, and sadly, we are no different than many others because we care. We care about those around us. We care about what happens throughout the Nine Worlds. We must learn that we can’t change people. We all fail at something in our lives. Some more than most, but it's up to them to try harder or redirect the path they follow, not us.”
She reached out and clasped his hand, giving it a slight squeeze. “Now, let's finish this. Find what you came here for so we can help cure those who need us.”
He nodded once, turned his back to her, and raised his arms. He began to chant in a language she hadn’t heard since she was young.
“Impermeable darkness surrounds and hides.
Lighten and thin, illuminate our eyes.
Cast in evil, harming all who live,
Protect and guide, all harmed to forgive.”
The ancient Elvish washed over her like music, his voice melodic and soft as each word flowed off his tongue. Before he finished the last word, several doors shimmered into view.
“Amazing.” She wished, not for the first time, she had been taught spells in her youth. Maybe then she would not be so fearful of her hidden powers. Whatever they might be. Both Freyja and Ashia had told her to trust in herself, and using her magic would be a good thing. Neither would put her in harm’s way, but…
Shaking her head, she raised her face to Cyran. His dark gaze seemed to be studying her. She could not help but wonder if one of his powers was mind-reading. Taking a chance, she decided she would accept his help, both now and after they completed this quest, so she could follow what she preached and become who she was meant to be.
One side of his perfect mouth rose. “No, I cannot read your mind, but I do believe I understand your apprehension, which is the only emotion I’m sensing from you.” His grin widened. “You also have a very expressive face.”
She covered her face as a familiar warmth flushed her skin. “And that’s why I don’t play games. I have no secrets. I was trying to decide how to ask you for help. I tend to figure things out for myself and never ask for anyone’s aid, but you offered. So, will you help me learn to use my magic and be a better elf?”
He pulled her hands away from her face and held her wrists. A cleansing sensation flowed up her arms, easing some of her anxiety. “You have no need for secrets, nín gilgalad. You have been surrounded by people who love you for who you are. Use that as your strength. And I would be honored to teach you how to master your magic, but as for being a better elf, you happen to be one of the best elves I have ever met.”
Her face warmed more from his praise. “Thank you. Although, as to the part about using my strength, that’s easier said than done, but I will try.” His grip around her wrists eased, and she pulled back her arms, liking how the heat from his hands seemed to stay, wrapping her in safety. “So, which door do we go in first?”
He glanced at the nearest door, but he shook his head. “The room is empty. It hasn’t been finished yet, and the workers’ tools are still inside.”
He crossed to the opposite side of the hall and raised his hand, letting it hover just over the metal surface. “This one has been used and shows promise, but our stay here is brief. I want to scan the other two rooms before choosing which one to enter. It has been my experience to obtain as much knowledge as possible—fewer mistakes later.”
“Smart. Unlike my father, who barges in without thinking and mops up afterward.”
His low chuckle filled the hall. “That describes émilien to a T. If he had studied the situation regarding his servant in the Shadow Lands, he would have saved himself a bit of pain and embarrassment. As it turned out, he got himself locked in.”
Once again, he hovered his hand over the next door but dropped his arm back to his side after a couple of seconds and moved toward the last door in the hallway. “Did he ever figure out who was behind locking the portal?”
“Not that I know of, but he tries to keep me closeted away and, according to him, safe. From a conversation with Freyja, she believes it has something to do with the demon and my family, although no one can figure out why. Why would a demon align himself with my aunt and uncle? Everyone likes them and has stood by them as good people whose only flaw is putting themselves in danger by helping others. Well, maybe not their only flaw, but I didn’t know them well. That’s what they did during the war on Midgard—helping the Allies.”
He scanned the last door and, like the previous ones, dropped his hand back to his side and turned to face her. “It depends on the demon. Their hierarchy is much like any pantheon’s. The more powerful the demon, the higher they are on the chain of command. They also have varying levels of emotions, including love, hate, greed, and goodness, although those with the gentler emotions tend to fare the worst in the Dark Realm—or Dark World as they call it.”
She frowned, an unsettling sensation crawling over her skin. “How do you know so much about demons?” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to dispel the disturbing feeling.
“It was one of my more interesting lessons as a healer. To recognize all methods of disease, viral and bacterial, I had to learn about every world, including the subworlds such as the demon realm. Lesson number one, plague can come from anywhere, and a healer must be able to recognize all manner of pestilence to counteract it—especially with magic. Spells are linked to whatever the base cause is. Without that knowledge, magic will not work.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “That explains why my father made me study everything in our home library before I could summon anything. If I wanted to read a book, I had to comprehend its basic information. Otherwise, I might have summoned something, like the author or a fictional character. And, I will say, not all the characters I read about in our home library would have been appropriate for summoning. It’s much safer to experience evil when it's only words locked into the pages of a book.”
He smiled, and her heart raced. The man in front of her was breathtaking—when he wasn’t scowling. “I found the room,” he announced, “but I do not want you to go in with me. The emotions inside are dark and…bleak, for lack of a better word. I don’t want you to experience Haman’s depravity, if that is what I am about to witness.”
Something deep inside her pushed her forward, and she stepped closer to him. “Do not try to instruct me one minute and then shield me the next. If I am to be part of this team and learn to use my magic, then I must follow whatever fate has in store for me.”
She held his piercing gaze, letting him see her stubbornness as she stuck out her chin. She was not going to let him wrap her in a protective cocoon. She had had enough of that from her parents. She was long past her formative years and was bound and determined that everyone would realize she was an adult elf and not an elfling.
“I am not trying to treat you like a child, Shalendra. This is a matter of sensibility. You are a female and have been sheltered your entire life. I’m guessing, but I believe you are empathic as well. Witnessing something Haman created or the results thereof… Let’s say I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. No one should witness depravity on that level.”
“Then let me judge what I can and cannot handle.” She insisted and ignored the twisting sensation in her stomach, which usually meant she was about to experience something horrendous. Instead of listening to her instinct, she gave him a simple nod, signaling her readiness.
He opened the door and stepped inside. Before she lost her nerve, she followed and immediately wanted to turn back.
The large room was filled with human corpses. Everywhere she looked, huge piles formed massive pyramids, the top bodies pressing against the ceiling while hundreds were piled in all directions upon each other, creating the bases. There was no decency in how they had been tossed onto one another, naked and broken.
A sob broke free, and the horrendous odor of death filled her lungs. Retching, she turned to Cyran and buried her face against his chest as she struggled to calm her stomach. She breathed him in, his fresh scent a foresty balm to her senses.
Rubbing her back, he kissed the top of her head.
“Cleanse the air, remove the stench.
Rinse away and leave refreshed.”
His warm breath caressing her hair soothed her shattered nerves. “I am sorry, nín gilgalad. You are too innocent for this.”
She lifted her head, still struggling with the overpowering sense of death. His spell worked, and the basement's horrific odor and musty scent were replaced with lavender and pine, reminding her of the garden she lovingly tended back home.
Her gaze met his. “I may be innocent, but my mother is the queen of the Norse Underworld. I should be able to handle this.” She had never been so wrong before in her long life. She would never be ready for death, much less at this level. She was not sure even her mother could handle this magnitude.
Cyran’s hand moved on its own, cupping the elegant contour of her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin. Even with death surrounding them, he could not help but notice her purity. Her beauty. It was like a soothing balm in a sea of chaos, calming him like nothing else.
“Yes, my starlight, you are Hel’s daughter but you are not Hel. You were not raised for such things.” He glanced around the room. People of all ages and ethnicities had been collected, but for what? What was Haman’s motive?
“You are probably thinking the same thing I am,” she mumbled against his chest as he continued to smooth her long, silky strands. “Why? Why would someone do this to so many people? They were all so sick, mentally and physically. They couldn’t fight back, Cyran.”
“I think we are seeing the start of the Holocaust right here at Schloss Hartheim. I believe it was Haman who influenced the Nazis’ behaviors. It was his depravity and sickness fueling theirs. Now you see why I had to lock him up. I had to end his murderous campaign. I couldn’t let him continue killing for the sake of killing.”
“Why do you think he is driven like this? To kill?”
He shrugged, his fist twisting her long hair around his hand as he tightened his embrace, her floral scent filling his nose and separating him from the horrors in front of him. How could anyone do this to those whose bodies and minds were already broken?
If he had any prior doubts about how sick his stepfather was, he now knew for sure the man his people believed in as their healer was no more. To treat humans so horribly… Haman was evil, and he had to be stopped. Cyran just was not sure how.
Shalendra needed to leave this place. Her mind and body were in a roiling turmoil. “It feels like the walls are soaked with pain and sorrow.” All she wanted to do was curl up and cry for all the lost souls here and in all ghettos and camps throughout Europe.
A sound from somewhere close drew her attention. She held her breath, straining her ears to listen to the deathly still air around them. A soft scruff, like something being dragged over the stone floor, or maybe it sounded more like material rubbing together. She could not tell.
“What is it?” Cyran asked in a low voice. She shook her head, giving him a slight frown and placing one finger over her lips to silence him as he drew closer. Turning her head, she narrowed her gaze to a spot where something seemed to shimmer, but it disappeared.
Searching her memories for how to use her ghost sight, like she used to as a child in Niflheimr, she exhaled and closed her eyes, focusing on a small part of the magic she had not used since living in the death realm.
Opening her eyes this time, she saw the bodies through a white veil. On the other side stood a little girl who looked maybe five or six years old. It was difficult to tell, though, since most children were so malnourished during the war, they looked much younger than their age.
Dressed in what had once been an adorable pinafore jumper, the simple white shirt underneath had dots of what looked to be blood on one side of the rounded collar. The top button was missing, and the knees of the jumper were torn as if she had made a habit of crawling on the floor.
The child wore no socks but did have on scuffed and worn brown leather Mary Jane shoes. Her long brown hair was parted in the middle and braided on either side of her head. The ribbons holding the braids together were knotted, and the ends frayed.
The young girl pointed to the far side of the room and smiled. Shalendra returned her smile, hoping to put her at ease now that she knew she could be seen.
“Hello, little one. Are you alone?” The child shook her head and motioned again, pointing with more force to the back corner where one of the body piles was. Shalendra tilted her head. “Do you want me to go back there?”
The girl nodded and walked behind a pile. Shalendra could do nothing else but follow. Moving away from Cyran, she reached over, laced her fingers through his, and pulled him with her, hoping he would come without questioning what she was doing.
She felt a slight tug as he started to resist. She stepped closer and led him to the corner where the little girl now stood, her head bowed as she stared at something just out of sight.
Shalendra stopped next to the spirit and glanced at the floor. With a startled gasp, her gaze snapped to the spirit's, tears blurring her vision. “Your sister?” Shalendra whispered. The young girl nodded.
Glancing back at the curled-up form, she realized this child was a replica of the spirit staring at her. If this girl could rise as a spirit, why hadn’t her sister? Had all the people in this room moved on? She prayed they had. Being trapped in the place where they died would be a nightmare.
She squeezed Cyran’s hand to reassure him, then let go, her upper body shivering from the chilled temperature of the basement. Leaning down, she laid her palm against the unmoving girl’s form and exhaled. She knew if she did this, the girl could return to her body or, at best, become a shade like her twin.
Seeing the hopeful expression on the spirit’s face, Shalendra knew she had no choice. Before she changed her mind, she sent a quick burst of heat from her soul into the small body.
A few seconds passed but nothing happened. She sent another quick burst of heated energy and waited. The body twitched. The small mouth opened, letting out a low moan. The girl beside her squatted and placed her small hand on her sister’s cheek. Her eyes opened, and she stared up at her twin with a sweet smile. “You stayed.”
The squatted girl nodded. “I promised you I wouldn’t leave, and I didn’t. Remember the story Mama told us—about the beautiful queen of the underworld who would come and find us? She’s here, Ingrid. The lady queen is here. I brought her to you.”
“Really, Astrid?”
Shalendra met Astrid’s gray gaze as the spirit nodded. “I’m quite certain she is the one who will help us,” the spirit whispered.
Cyran stepped closer, and the space seemed to expand with his presence. When he laid his hand on her shoulder, the heat from his palm seeped into her, spreading throughout her body and erasing the chill. “Shalendra, what have you done?”