The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2)

by Ford, Angela J.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Shadows

  “Ilieus!” Phyllis called as she flung open the colorful folds of cloth that led into their temporary, tented home. She stopped short as soon as she stepped inside, letting the yellow flap of the tent fall behind her. Two hammocks swayed in motion as if the winds from outside were filtering through the thick folds of the canvas. “Ilieus?” Phyllis whispered in concern.

  Ilieus sat cross-legged with her back to the tent entrance. Her head was bowed with her hair hanging long and loose around her. Her shoulders shook and trembled, and, for a moment, Phyllis worried she was having another episode.

  “Ilieus.” Phyllis gathered her skirts and crossed the room in a rush, throwing herself to the ground in front of Ilieus and grabbing her shoulders.

  Ilieus lifted her head, frazzled bits of hair dancing in front of her eyes. Not bothering to wipe her tears away, she gave a tiny sob and buried her head in her hands.

  “Ilieus.” Phyllis reached for her hands, attempting to move them away from her face. “What did the Dezzi queen do to you? What did she say?”

  Ilieus shook her head, allowing Phyllis to pull her hands away. “We…” she started, but her voice broke with tears. She sat up straighter and pushed her hair out of her face as she attempted to regain control. When her eyes met Phyllis’s, they were dark, swimming in tears and fear. Her face was pale again, and dark circles were beginning to appear under her eyes. Her nose was red and starting to run. She hiccuped, and her fingers trembled as she reached for Phyllis’s hands, squeezing them hard. “We are going to die…we are all going to die.”

  Phyllis took a deep breath even though her heartbeat sped up as the words of death echoed around the tent. First Cuthan, now this? “Ilieus, calm down. Just tell me what they did to you.”

  Ilieus gulped and sniffed, nodding slowly as she struggled to breathe. “They knew we were coming. How? I don’t know. But after you left the queen, they told me I was the one they were seeking and that I have the fate of the Eastern World in my mind. But I…I…I can’t remember the dreams; I don’t know what they want. I told the queen how Mother and Grandmother repressed it and why we are going to see Tharmaren the Wise.” Ilieus let go of Phyllis’s hands, lifting the edge of her dress to wipe her face. “She led me to a chamber with an enormous bowl of incense on a pedestal.” Ilieus held out her arms in a circle, imitating the shape. “She told me it was the air of clarity, and I was to stand over it and inhale. It…” She shook her head, making an unpleasant face as she brought her hand to her neck. “It burned my throat and made my eyes sting, but then…” She trailed off and dropped her eyes, beginning to tremble again. “Phyllis, I can’t see clearly, but I saw more than I’ve ever seen before. Everything is dark; there is something in the shadows, and it’s coming to destroy us all. It wants us dead; I can feel it.” Her words tumbled out faster as her voice rose higher to a level of panic. “I’ve never sensed such fierce determination, almost as if we are standing in its way. It is manipulating us; we have to find a way to stop it or the Eastern World will be gone.”

  “Gone…” Phyllis echoed, her mind reeling at Ilieus’s heavy words. She stood up and began pacing while Ilieus began to cry again.

  “I’m so frightened, Phyllis; I don’t know how to make it stop. I keep seeing the shadows over and over. I can’t close my eyes!”

  Phyllis walked back and forth for a minute more before coming to kneel in front of Ilieus again. “Cuthan is here,” she spoke in a whisper. “Remember him?”

  Ilieus tilted her head in surprise, her brow furrowing as she recalled the familiar name. At last, she nodded. “Yes. What is he doing here?”

  “He said something about a war and that we’d have to pick a side. Maybe it’s the war you are seeing; we don’t know,” she tried to explain in a logical way, hoping Ilieus was only overreacting.

  “A war?” Ilieus repeated without much interest. “Who is fighting?”

  Phyllis shrugged. “I’d never heard of them, but I’m thinking we’ve been sheltered for far too long. Cuthan is coming to Wind Fresh with us, and then he is returning to the North Forests on his quest.”

  “He’s trouble,” Ilieus said.

  “He’s grown-up now,” Phyllis offered. “You might like him.”

  Ilieus stood up, reaching out a hand for her hammock to steady her unbalanced feet. It swayed away from her as she, still fully dressed, climbed inside its secure arms. She folded her hands across her chest, hugging herself as she gazed at the bright, bold tent walls, her eyes filling with tears again. “I wish we had never come,” she said. “I wish Mother had never died, and we’d never come here. We could have been happy, just the four of us, without facing this darkness.”

  Phyllis paused and spun around to look at Ilieus. “Do you really wish that? Something terrible is happening, and you don’t want to find out what it is and stop it?”

  “No,” Ilieus replied, staring straight ahead with a look on her face Phyllis had never seen before. “I hate this. I’m tired of being afraid, and now I know the source of the fear, and it’s terrifying. I don’t want this.”

  Phyllis looked at her sister, realizing she had to be the one to make a decision. It was up to her to be the voice of reason. She walked over to Ilieus’s hammock and knelt down beside it, leaning her head against Ilieus’s shoulder. “Okay. Ilieus, you’re not alone. I may not see the dreams in my mind, but I’m just as frightened. We’re alone and far from home. Father left us, and we aren’t sure whom to trust, but we can figure this out as long as we stick together. Okay? We are going to Wind Fresh; please at least stay hopeful until Tharmaren the Wise can help us.”

  “You think he can help us?”

  “He has to.”

  “Phyllis,” Ilieus mumbled, her voice sounding drowsy. “You’re a good sister.” She turned her head to kiss the top of Phyllis‘s head. “It grows late; you should get some sleep.”

  “You too,” Phyllis agreed, “and no dreams tonight.”

  Phyllis rose, but Ilieus had already closed her eyes in exhaustion. Phyllis exhaled and gave a sigh of relief. She thought her head would burst with the amount of information she’d learned that day. She opened the tent flap to step out as the last orange lights of the sunrise faded from the sky.

  The encampment of colored tents continued before her; their colors shimmering as they bathed in the glory of the night sky. The Dezzi were slowing down, the children were in bed, their fires burned lower, and all was calm. Phyllis crossed her arms, tears springing to her eyes, and she stood alone and confused, watching the life around her shimmer. A chill wind whipped up, causing her to rub her arms together. A streak of light to the northwest lit up the sky. At first it was a beautiful beacon, plunging toward the middle of the encampment, but as it grew larger, Phyllis saw what it was. An arrow on fire was heading toward the middle of the Dezzi camp. There was only a split second between the moment Phyllis saw what it was and the impact.

  The restful atmosphere disappeared in the space of one heartbeat. A shriek ripped through the night air, and instantly the sky lit up with fiery arrows. “Attack!” someone was shouting. “We’re under attack!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Attack

  Screams ripped through the air, children cried at being woken, and animals broke free of their fences and ran. The fire exploded across the lower tents close to the temple, and Phyllis watched, wide-eyed in horror as the Dezzi ran; their tents ripping and burning as the arrows streaked down around them. Shapes moved in the darkness; the painted ones mounted their horses, shouting to each other. “Aiiiyyyooooo!” they called. Curved blades raised high in the air, they galloped off toward the source of those arrows. Flames continued to leap and burn everything in their tracks, but before Phyllis could move, she felt someone grab her by the shoulder. She leapt away with a scream, striking out blindly.

  “Phyllis!” Cuthan’s voice cut through the air. “We have to go now! Where is Ilieus?”

&nb
sp; Phyllis spun around, hurling herself back toward the tent and ripping open the flap. Ilieus was already up, eyes wide as she struggled to pull on her shoes. She had taken the time to wrap her flowing cloak around her dress, and her face was hidden in the folds of the hood. “Take this!” she flung a cloak at Phyllis and turned toward the opening.

  As they exited, two of the painted guards came running toward them. “To the horses!” they called just as a splintering crash splattered through the crackles and screams. The fire was growing, although they were too high up for the fiery arrows to reach them. A horn sounded in the distance as the charred smell of burnt cloth wafted through the air.

  “This way!” One of the guards had Phyllis by the arm and was dragging her uphill where their horses were picketed. In a blur, Phyllis glanced around for Ilieus and saw one of the other guards helping her onto a horse and mounting up behind her.

  “Where are we going?” Phyllis asked as the guard tossed her onto the back of a brown and white spotted mare.

  “Wind Fresh,” hissed the guard, but her voice was high and feminine as she mounted up behind Phyllis. She slapped the horse’s rear, and they took off, stumbling upward as the horse searched for sure footing on the uneven slope.

  Phyllis whipped around to see Cuthan behind, riding solo. Ahead, Ilieus and the guard had already reached the crest, and the horse was galloping west across the rocky land. Phyllis couldn’t help but watch as the fires continued below and the Dezzi scurried away from the madness.

  “Where will they go?” she found herself asking, her voice shaking from the sudden fury. Cuthan was right; the war was real. Who had the audacity to attack the Dezzi in plain sight? They seemed an odd but peaceful people. What enemies did they have?

  In reply, she heard nothing more than the night wind screaming around her ears and the muted thump of horse hooves against the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Jeweled Sword

  Minutes danced away as Pharengon stared at the Jeweled Sword. He made a move to fasten it around his waist, but Renlages the Trazame held out his hand. “Ho now, fair is fair,” he rumbled. “You’ve seen the sword; now take the horses and bring your Crons. Then you may keep the sword.”

  Pharengon paused, reluctant to turn the treasure back over to its keeper. He reached for the box, memorizing the way the jewels sparkled on the sword. As he did so, he realized his heart was beating just as hard as if he’d been in a scrimmage, practicing his skills with one of the Horse Lords. “How did you come by this treasure?” he asked as he placed the sword back in its plain box and covered it.

  Renlages took the box from him and placed it in its hiding place, a trick of the eye Pharengon was still trying to figure out. He turned to Thangone and gave him a short nod, confirming they were of the same mind in their mission. Pharengon cursed the fact he hadn’t thought to bring a small detachment of Crons with him. His Horse Lords would be quite a distance away by now, and there was no telling how long it would take to find them, put together a group of volunteers, and return to Nungus Des-Lista. No. He scoffed the heel of his boot against the yellowed straw on the barn floor. It would take far too long. Time was wasting with this mindless chore. Half of him was tempted to take it from Renlages by force, but that was no way to gain a valuable ally.

  “The sword?” Renlages reappeared again and reached for the lantern, which Thangone handed over without delay. “I did not find it. That discovery I owe to my Father. It was not his choice.” Renlages stroked his beard as he led the way out of the barn, back into the mysteries of the night. “It all started with a Cron.” He sighed. “As all tales do.”

  ***

  “Finn, the father of Renlages, was, of course, a Trazame. But not a very well-off one. He was no more than eighteen when he married the beautiful girl of the neighboring farm, and they headed south to secure their lands and build their life together. When his wife was large with their first child, disaster struck. A storm came, bringing such rain and wind and hail as had not been seen in centuries. The land flooded, the crops drowned, the animals died, and, thus, the first harvest was ruined. In short, Finn and his wife lost everything.

  “There was nothing for it. Finn was forced to beg and travel up and down the lands of Nungus Des-Lista, seeking food and work so he could start his lands afresh. The first child was born, frail and sick, and soon died. But his wife loved him very much despite their misfortunes and did not blame him. They worked hard the next year to secure a tiny harvest, and Finn was quick to go to town and trade, hoping for better seed in the years to come. But everyone else had fared the same, and the great celebrations of the turning of the seasons had all but dwindled to complaints dosed with weak pints of ale. The Trazames of Nungus Des-Lista were suffering, and for the first time, a terrible thought entered Finn’s head. Would he have to take his wife and search for their fortunes elsewhere?

  “It was one morning, right before Winter’s Orison, that the Cron appeared. She was a lone female, riding a great white stallion over the bleak land. He remembered her well, although she was not the first Cron he had seen. Crons were often at the trading posts, searching for supplies for their next adventure, curiosity gleaming out of their bright eyes. Nay, it was the treasure she wore on her head, a circular amulet with four prongs sticking out with a stone in the center, holding it all together. She came saying she offered a gift in exchange for food and shelter. Now, food and shelter being scarce, he was tempted to tell her to try her luck in town, but his wife laid a hand on his arm and nodded. Thus, they came to host the Cron for the rest of the winter. At first, she was wary and did not say much, and oft times she would take long walks through the frost fields. Although they barely had enough to feed themselves, it seemed the longer the Cron stayed, the more food they had.

  “In the spring, their mare had twin foals, sired from the white stallion. Their crops thrived, and the harvest was plentiful for the first time since the storm. Finn’s wife grew with child, and this time a healthy son was born. They named him Renlages. Two years passed, and, at last, the Cron, whom they had come to see as a member of their own family, said she must move on.

  “She pulled Finn aside and told him she had something for him to keep safe. It was too dangerous to take with her, but her enemies would never seek it in the peaceful farmlands of the Trazames. Finn was loath to take it because all Trazames knew to run at the slightest hint of peril. Yet she reminded him of his wealth, for his flocks were bountiful, and he’d had to hire Trazames to help manage the land. At last, he agreed, and she gave him the box, telling him one day the golden-eyed one would come for it, and he would be the King of the Horse Lords and would need it to hold sway over the people groups. Until then, it was to remain hidden.

  “Shortly after, she said goodbye and set out with naught but a walking stick and a long cloak, her shining amulet hidden in her deep hood. Every winter Finn and his family remembered, with reverence, the day she came, and on the anniversary, they held a feast and told their child of the Cron who saved their lives and blessed their farm. Alas, the years passed and though they kept watch, they never saw the Cron again until her name became a distant memory in their household. A name Renlages could only faintly recall. Odella the Tall.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Beware

  The forest will tell you truth.

  The trees will give you knowledge.

  In exchange for one terrible price,

  They will tell you all you wish to know.

  Why the world fades.

  Why the end is near.

  There’s something you can do

  If only you can escape.

  Beware. Be warned.

  The price you pay is death.

  Odella the Tall heard the words echoing through her mind long before they came. She knew why they were there. It was time to pay the price, the one she’d been avoiding for years. She had been the first to escape with the knowledge, and she dearly hoped she wouldn’t be the last. Her grand
children’s journey would eventually lead them to the forest where they would find the answers to all they sought and more. The only question was: would they be able to outsmart the forest as she had? Now they came for her in the darkness, invisible until they were upon her. The last things she saw were their dark shapes and red eyes while their voices whispered the chant in her ears.

  Beware. Be warned.

  The price you pay is death.

  She heard rather than saw the knife. And then they slit her throat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Blended Ones

  They rode hard through the night as if the fiery arrows were licking their heels. The horses galloped across the rough terrain, and although the stars had gone out and the moon was hidden from view, they kept their pace in the blinding darkness. Almost, Phyllis thought to herself, as if they could see in the dark. Worries tumbled through her mind as they fled. They hadn’t had time to prepare; what would they do for food? Surely they were nowhere near the Westiles Sea.

  As the hours passed, her mind calmed, and she found the panic from the attack fading into a dull memory, leaving her cold and sore from sitting in one position for so long. She slumped against the guard behind her, wondering if she should find her tongue and ask to stop. From what she knew of the Dezzi, they seemed impersonal. After all, they let a horse kick her in the head. She frowned at the reminder and touched her head; it was still sore.

  At some point, she must have nodded off, because when she opened her eyes next, it was much brighter. The guard clicked her tongue, slowing the horse to an unsettling trot. Phyllis could see Ilieus’s guard to the right doing the same. Cuthan was still riding alone, a few paces behind them. A hint of red shimmered in the east; a brief warning that inched its way across the black sky. Phyllis’s vision blurred as she watched it, hoping they were caught in one of Ilieus’s nightmares. Maybe they would wake, safe and sound in Haitiar, and laugh over how foolish they had been.