The Blended Ones
The Four Worlds Series Book 2
Angela J. Ford
The Blended Ones: The Four Worlds Series Book Two
By Angela J. Ford
Copyright © 2017 Angela J. Ford
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.thefourworldsseries.com
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1534632867
ISBN-13: 978-1534632868
Also by Angela J. Ford
Book 1: The Five Warriors
Book 2: The Blended Ones
Book 3: Eliesmore and the Green Stone (coming 2017)
Book 4: Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword (coming 2018)
Myran: A Tale of The Four Worlds Series (coming 2017)
PRAISE FOR THE FIVE WARRIORS
“This book inspires me to read more fantasy adventure because it is so good! The author's style of writing allows me to envision faraway landscapes and characters coming together with much intrigue. I love to rendezvous from what's familiar to me in order to explore different people, places, and things. The Five Warriors takes me away from my everyday routine and reality in a most enjoyable way. Congratulations Angela J. Ford for being a master at keeping the reader engaged in the magic of imagination.”
- Jennifer Ghoston, Author of The Truth So Far
“As a college professor of English, I am always looking for books that intersect the domain of ideas and imagination. Books like the Narnia tales or Lord of the Rings are imaginative literature with an underlying mythos of values that reward rereading and rethinking. I am naturally not comparing Ms. Ford's book to those writers, but she is writing in the same vein, creating what Tolkien called a "sub-creation." In this case, Ms. Ford uses races as metaphors for civilizational values in conflict—as apt a subject for our time as any I can think of. I congratulate her on this first effort and look forward to future ones.”
- Michael Karounos, Ph.D. Assoc. Professor, English - Trevecca Nazarene University
“It's difficult to find authors who are so involved with their characters that they treat them as if they're real people—Angela J. Ford accomplished this and so much more with The Five Warriors. As I read the book, I could tell that she had put probably years of work into creating these characters. I actually heard that she came up with the story a long time ago for her sisters and she went back to the story to make a full-length novel, so this has definitely been in the works for a while. The fantasy genre is more than just characters, though: the setting requires so much research and imagination, and she killed it. I highly recommend this action-packed book to fantasy lovers everywhere.”
- Shayla Eaton, Founder of Curiouser Editing
“I’ll be honest—I love adventure novels but not always the fantasy genre. In fact, not USUALLY the fantasy genre. I bought this on a whim (I have a serious Amazon problem, haha), and I was glad I did! The characters were well-written and well-developed, the story was clear and enjoyable without being predictable, and there were a couple of evenings I stayed up later than I intended just so I could get to the end of a chapter. (Or, you know, start and finish a whole other one.) Definitely worth checking out—and if you're already a fantasy fan, you're going to LOVE this!” - Amazon Review
“WOW, WOW, WOW!!! I just finished The Five Warriors by Angela J. Ford…it is outstanding! I don’t read fantasy very often, but I found this book to be an absolute delight to read and I could scarcely put it down. Can’t wait for the second in the series to come out.”
- Maryanne Pope. Author of A Widow's Awakening
DEDICATION
To my four sisters: Dorthea, Annie, Rebecca, and Katrina. Thanks for all the imaginary stories we told each other when we were young and the games we played.
Dear Readers,
If you are hoping for a realistic fantasy, this is not it. These words you’ll find swimming through your dreams are unrealistic and full of flights of imagination. If reality is what you seek, turn back before it is too late.
“The eyes of the jeweled ones will see it first,
Hidden in the boughs in the forests of the north
Among the evergreen where the midlands dance.
Beware the blended, exiled ones.
Past the death the Marshswamps brings,
Hidden in rock the sunlight dares not part,
Beyond the green havens of the creatures of the wood,
Neither friend nor foe guards the keep,
A horse of silver and winged with power,
Keeping watch over the end of days.
There you seek, and you shall find
All you dream and fear and more.
The death and life of all awaits.
Seek, and ye shall find.
Find, and ye shall perish.
Perish, and ye shall live.”
- The Order of the Wise
Contents
An Unusual Death
Truth
Winter’s Orison
Fear
Nightmares
Midnight Conversation
The Keeper
The Voices
Secrets
A Message
Father
Nungus Des-Lista
Grandmother
Memories
Treasure
Round Up
A Colorful Parade
The Incense Room
The Dezzi
Cuthan
Forebodings
Shadows
Attack
The Jeweled Sword
Beware
Blended Ones
Dancing Lights
The Herb Garden
Bad Luck
Guilt
The Riders of Phillondorn
The Edge of the World
Division in the Ranks
Wind Fresh
The Castle of the Lost Ones
The Jeweled Ones
Perspective
The Stone
Pharengon
Questions
Tharmaren the Wise
Parting
Words on a Scroll
Shipwrecked
The Island
Contres
Broken
Nothing Left to Lose
The North Forests
Midlands
The Havens
Monsters in the Forest
Hidden in Shadows
Love
The Lady of the Forest
Sorcery
Quicksand
Marshswamps
Murwumps
The Underworld
Knowledge
Visions
Tears
Pain
The Ruler
Healing
Mermi Glade
Words
Rulers of Wind Fresh
The South World
Prologue
“No one can know the things he knows.” The Mermi King twirled his golden scepter in his left hand as he perched on the edge of his throne. Snatching his dark eyes away from the globe undulating on the top of his scepter, he sighed as he turned weary eyes to his granddaughter. “Take him to a world where they will never believe him, even if
he talks.”
His barefoot granddaughter paced back and forth on the weightless surface below the King’s throne. “You are asking us, the Blended Ones, to leave?” Her shoulder-length hair swished as she tilted her dark head and quirked a puzzled eyebrow, unafraid to test the King’s authority. Her petite frame was just over five feet tall. She’d inherited her mother’s midnight blue hair and her father’s aura of authority and overwhelming desire for adventure. “You are asking us to go into exile?” Her voice faltered as she clenched and unclenched her fists, inadvertently brushing them against the silver feathers of her short tunic, created of feathers and mist. She paused to lift her eyes to the King’s, blinking her thick, black lashes.
“I ask nothing of you that your heart does not already desire.” King Vincsir’s smooth voice reminded her of the lapping of waves after a violent storm. Leaning his scepter against his throne, he rose to his full height of six feet, his deep purple robe sweeping the dais. He wore a golden circlet on his head while his deep black hair hung to his shoulders. His build was just as slim and lithe as his granddaughter’s, but his features were harder. His face was ageless although his sharp, keen eyes looked tired. Underneath his purple robe, he wore a white tunic, allowing the delicate wings on his ankles to flutter back and forth as he floated off his dais.
His granddaughter paused as he stood in front of her, reaching out his long, smooth fingers to take her hands in his. “Indonesia.” His words floated to her ears and danced around her head for mere seconds before they sunk into her mind, their meanings hazy like the morning fog. Further distracting her, he rubbed his thumbs across her palm as he spoke, his voice rising and falling like a lullaby sung to a calm a fledging hatchling. “You and I both know you don’t belong here. I’ve seen the shadows behind your eyes and the questions you’ve bitten back. You desire to leave and find your own place to belong, but you’re afraid to ask. It makes sense; you were born here, and none of us were born here. We come from air and mist, at least until the curse. Our race is stagnant and will be until we find a way to procreate. But time is on our side as, although your father is a mortal, you are immortal. Our race must survive, and we must spread the blended across the Four Worlds. I know you desire to find your place and discover where you belong, so I’m releasing you. Since you cannot fly, take the Silver Herd and discover what lies beyond the Western World beyond Oceantic. All I ask is that you do me a favor and take Tharmaren the Wise to his exile to the Eastern World.”
The silence after the hypnotic song jolted Indonesia out of her stupor. A sudden tingling behind her eyes forced her to blink away moisture, as if she’d just emerged from the land of sleep. She pinched her brows together as the rhythm of his words swarmed through her mind, yet clarity of meaning seemed lost and forgotten. He dropped her hands and stepped away a pace, his eyes narrowing as he watched her struggle to recall his words. He nodded as her face changed and the words he wished for her to remember marked themselves in her memory.
Indonesia smiled; her white teeth gleaming sharp and pointed as her mind latched onto the thoughts he’d implanted. Her heart began to race in anticipation. “I can leave? And take the Silver Herd?”
“Yes.” The King’s lips lifted, effectively removing the hostile demeanor from his stoic appearance. “Yes, Indonesia, and take the Blended Ones, your cousins, at least those who are willing. Fly to the ends of the World, find adventure, and find out where you belong.” He stepped closer to her again, the smile fading from his face just as quickly as it had appeared.
Indonesia’s brow furrowed, and the grin slid off of her face. “What is it?” A twinge of anxiety forced her voice to bite the air much harder than she intended.
The King placed his hands on her shoulders, his height forcing her to look directly up at his sharp, golden eyes. “Your father is the last of the Order of the Wise, but he is not the One. Look for him.”
“The One?” Indonesia swallowed hard, the hairs on her neck standing up as she moved her head to avoid her grandfather’s hooded gaze. “I’m not sure why…” She attempted to pull away. “What do you mean? Isn’t the world safe after all my father and his warriors did?”
“For now.” The King’s voice sank to a confidential whisper. “But I fear…” He trailed off, dropping his hands from her shoulders and turning away hastily in an attempt to hide his true thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Indonesia repeated the question, but her voice trembled with hints of fear.
King Vincsir turned back to her, flashes of regret hiding from her questioning gaze. “It is not to frighten you,” he assured her gently. “You will see much in your life, but remember my words. And watch out for the Green People; they are up to something.”
CHAPTER ONE
An Unusual Death
The amulet that hung above the curved arches of the doorframe was broken. It had fallen into the dusty footpath, its once sharp four points splintered into fragments. Her thumping feet brushed past the shards, scattering them even further into the muck, but she was running too fast to notice. Flinging herself against the cracked door, she burst into the hut and tore through the open living space. The edge of her blurred vision grasped and discarded the disarray of the room, devoid of life. It was only when she reached the second door in the hut that she paused, chest heaving and eyes streaming. Impatiently she swatted at the tears, a hint of anger radiating from her jerking movement. Her fingers shook as she reached for the curved handle while her thumb pressed down on the brass latch. Hesitantly she added her other hand, swallowing hard at the scene on the other side of the door she longed to escape from. It was as if a nightmare were seeping into her life, the lines between dream and reality conjoining into the most unfortunate event she ever could have imagined in her fifteen years. This all could have been avoided had they listened and heeded the warning.
“Phyllis? Is that you?” a muffled voice called from the other side. It sounded strained, as if it had come to the same realization Phyllis had.
“Yes.” Clearing her throat, she pushed open the door, raising her head to the dreaded sight. If this were the end, she had to be strong.
Mother lay in the bed, her face white and drawn with pain. Her light hair was damp and hung in limp strings around her shoulders. At the sound of the door shutting, she turned, the fingers of one hand twitching as she reached for Phyllis.
In a low chair sat Phyllis’ twin sister, Ilieus. Her dirty blond hair was braided tightly around her head like a crown. Her pale face and glassy, wide eyes made her look like a frightened rabbit that was startled out of sleep by a wicked fox eating her children. Ilieus held Mother’s other hand with both of her own, hunched over so her hands were close to her heart, as if it could keep Mother in the land of the living.
“Phyllis.” Mother’s voice was a kind whisper, a statement of assurance. Yet it still frightened Phyllis. Even through her tears, she was sure she could see the white strands of her mother’s soul leaking out of her mouth.
“I’m here,” she whispered, tip-toeing across the reed woven floor. It sprung back up at her feet with each step, and she felt fear constricting her heart. It was more than unfair; it could not be possible. She’d heard of mothers in her village that had died young from childbearing, long illness, or some odd disease. But no one in her household had passed from the land of the living into the shadows, and she’d never anticipated having to go on without Mother. Dreams were only supposed to be dreams; even in tales of old, none had warned about the reality of dreams.
Mother’s fingers twitched again, reaching for Phyllis but impossible to move closer. Phyllis imagined she was reaching with her heart and it bled dry from the strain of movement. Dropping to her knees beside the bed, Phyllis took Mother’s free hand and held it to her lips, kissing it with reverent love before resting it against her cheek. Phyllis’ unruly, wavy hair cascaded around the intertwining of their fingers, bringing the scent of green meadows, muddy ponds, and fresh dirt into the room.
The
window was open, and a sudden gust of wind rustled the amulets hanging in the room. There was one above the bed, dangling from the ceiling as if too much movement would send it crashing from its perch. The crude design resembled a round object surrounded by a circle; this one had been hammered out of black metal into a flat shape. Four points spread out from the center like a compass. According to Mother’s tales, each point symbolized one of the four people groups of the Four Worlds. It was a symbol Mother had grown up with, a sign of peace, an omen of conversion, and a sign of the times when all people groups lived in harmony with one another.
“I’m sorry.” Mother’s hoarse voice floated to Phyllis’ ears. “My daughters, I did not wish to leave you so soon.” She paused, her breath becoming labored. “You must know.” Her fingers attempted to tighten around their hands but failed. She turned her face to gaze at Phyllis first and then Ilieus, her breath quickening all the while. “I did not want you to bear this burden alone. Listen. You must find…” Her words trailed off as the door burst open yet again.
A tall male stood in the doorway, his frame casting a shadow across the room. A braid of dark hair snaked to his waist as he rushed in, his bearded face a storm of twisted emotions. As Phyllis turned, she saw, on her father’s face, the same agony she felt inside. In a helpless gesture, he moved towards the bed, his large hands resting for mere seconds on Phyllis’ and Ilieus’ heads as a sign of solace. Phyllis bowed her head, the presence of her father confirming the disaster; this was the end.
“Naya.” Leaning over, he gently kissed her forehead while she lifted her eyes as best she could and sought his.
“Listen to me.” In the seeming darkness of the day, her whispered voice had an aura of authority as it sank away, even as her soul leaked out and her body wasted away.
It had happened so suddenly. One day the four of them had been as any family in the Eastern World, hardworking yet full of life. Then the dream had come and Mother had taken ill. Just as the words of the sleepless had said, three days passed, and she drifted. There was nothing they could do, and yet she seemed at peace, only heartbroken she had to leave them so soon. “It is not the end of life,” she went on, the words and songs of tales of old standing as ghosts in the room. “There is more after death. That’s how you shall find me again. Remember.”
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