The Immortal King

Chapter V

THE OLDEST OF ALLIES

Immediately after her strange conversation with Kalan, Helena passed out again. The second time she woke it was with a thud as she fell from bed. The last thing she could remember was screaming and Kalan cradling her in his arms after a horrid dream.

While she sat on the floor rubbing her ass and her other, now bruised limbs, a woman entered the room. She wore an incredibly worried expression as she rushed to Helena's side and helped her to stand.

'Helena, my Lady, are you okay?' the stranger asked, placing Helena's still frail body into bed.

Slightly frustrated at being made to stay in bed, but too weak to argue, Helena settled into an upright position. She refused to just sleep all day, and decided she would prepare to do something useful with her time. She guessed it would be a while before she was allowed to move around the castle, if ever. 'I am, thank you. But who are you?'

'Oh I apologise, my name is Ida and I will be tending to you.' Ida, a long time servant of Kalan, spoke with a bright smile. 'I can't believe you're actually here! I've been waiting for such a long time to see you again!' Puzzled, Helena mentally added that comment to all the other strange things that she had heard. 'Damn it Ida, she has no idea who you are,' Ida muttered to herself, stepping back to study Helena.

With each small movement of her arms, Helena's bones protruded, looking like they could sever her skin at any moment. Ida had never seen any of her reincarnations look as fragile as the girl sitting before her. Besides the physical weakness, Helena looked all too innocent and honestly, blank. It was clear she had never been allowed to do anything with her life, likely living in the confines of her castle. Brought up to be a polite, unassuming princess and nothing more. Ida recognised the slightest spark of rebellion, but she couldn't even be sure that it wasn't just a childish brattiness. Nothing like her bold, and courageous friend Hadassah.

'Will you be fine sitting in your bed?' Ida's voice sank with the realisation that this woman was a stark contrast to her Hadassah. As she exited the bedroom, she heard Helena's voice call the her.

'No! Please come back.' Hearing her friend's call, Ida scurried back into the room.

'What would you like to do my Lady?' For a second Helena's brows drew together in deep though.

'I'd like to read.' She stated very matter of factly.

'Of course. I have just the thing.' Ida smiled back before hurrying off to find the book that would help Hadassah to remember who she is.

*

Ida's hands worked tirelessly, rummaging through her large trunk of possessions for the small leather bound diary she had stored somewhere in the vast collection of trinkets she had accumulated over her many years of life and travel. When her hands finally felt the smooth corner of a book, she plunged in deeper; triumphantly pulling the book from its hiding place. Not wanting to waste a minute of her time, she hurried back to Helena's room and passed her the little book.

'It's an old diary, of a slave girl who was rescued, it is a rather interesting read.' Ida beamed, hoping the diary would aid in jogging some memories and regaining their friendship. 'I will leave you to your reading.' With that Ida exited the room.

Helena's fingers eagerly opened the book. The worn, soft leather felt familiar in her hands. She had once kept a diary as a younger girl. For a moment she just appreciated the little book she held, and how old it seemed. Craftsmanship had progressed significantly since this had been made, making Helena wonder how old the book truly was. The first page had neat block writing, but no date. Helena began reading this woman tale.

The nightmares are never ending. Each day, I wake in the early morning, drowning in sweat; my throat dry and scratched from screaming. My new master Asran has given me this book to journal my thoughts, hoping it will help me to move beyond the nightmares.

Last night's nightmare I was transported back to the first day of my life I can remember. I woke from the darkness to find myself in a cage, on the back of a wagon, crammed in between two other woman. As I woke, a small cry escaped my lips, but I was immediately hushed by the woman to my right. She was older, and pulled me into her arms to comfort me.

'Don't cry dear or they will beat you.' Her voice was gentle and she soothed me, but that did little to ease my frantic mind.

'Where am I? What is happening? Why am I here?' I whispered, my voice hushed to avoid attention from our captors.

'We are somewhere on the road to Edinadus, being taken there to be sold as slaves. That's what those men up the front are, our captors and sellers. Were you a slave before or have you recently been sold or captured?'

No matter how much I searched my mind I could not come up with the answer for the woman beside me. 'I... I can't remember.'

'What is your name?' I had no answer, I could not recall. 'What is the last thing you remember?' Prompted by her question, I once again searched my mind for any memory. An inkling as to who my friends or family were. But my mind drew a blank. The last memory I had was waking by her side. Anything before that was darkness.

Once I told her this I began sobbing uncontrollably. As we continued our trek, I sobbed in her arms until the wagon stopped and one of our captors came and pulled me out of the cage. He told me to stop crying or there would be consequences. I tried my hardest to stop the tears, but his harshness only made more fall. Then I felt him kick me, and hit me over and over. He said it would only stop when I stopped crying. Tears continued to stream down my face, with no end in sight. I felt me ribs crack and splinter.

The beatings only stopped when I finally woke from the memory, screaming. Master Asran rushed into my room and held me in his arms. He soothed me until I fell back to sleep.

Putting the book under her pillow, Helena decided she had read enough for the day. Asran. The name played over and over again in her mind. Asran. The saviour and love in her nightmare. Asran. The saviour of the girl in her book. 'Asran.' She said his name aloud; were the two the same person? How could that be?

*

Kalan had stood outside her room, watching her through the slightly ajar door. She was too caught up in whatever she was reading to take notice of his gaze. Once again, he just observed her. He took particular notice when she put the book under her pillow. Her boney figure reminded him of the first time he had laid eyes on her at the slave auction; except back then her body was littered with bruises. He saw the same blank canvas of a girl. This girl was not the Hadassah who had died in his arms, but she was similar to the slave girl he had first brought home. She was brattish and childish, hurt and betrayed; broken. Much like Hadassah, Helena needed guidance and tutorage. Whenever he looked at her in this state, his anger over her past life's plea to leave her alone melted away. This fragile girl did not doom him to a lonely, eternal existence. So could he really hold her accountable for what her stubborn past self had done. If he were to hold her accountable, this would be his existence for the remainder of his days; standing close enough to allow her to age him without any actual relationship. His hands reached for her door handle. As he went to apologise, Cohn, his most trusted advisor, called to him.

'Kalan, it is time to meet with the Antharalia council to discuss the unification and aid efforts.'