“Ilieus,” she called. “You have to attack; you have to gain the upper hand. Do not defend. Parry and attack. Strike first. End this!”
When at last they collapsed, arms shaking after their lesson, Khalil squatted down beside them and stared them in the eye. “When you fight,” she told them, lifting her sword and turning the blade over in her hands. “You fight for your life. You fight for your freedom. You fight for others. Do not let them down. Or we all die.”
Her words rolled together, sliding into a song.
That night, as they drifted off to sleep, Phyllis, lying near Ilieus for warmth, whispered, “Is it odd to ride with Lilhak? One who does not speak at all?”
Ilieus shrugged. “He speaks,” she whispered back, “sometimes.”
***
Khalil put Cuthan in charge of hunting for food during the day; after all, he was an expert in living off the land. Cuthan took to riding alone, and when he returned to camp, they were too exhausted to talk. As autumn deepened in Phillondorn, the chill grew, and they took to building small fires at night and roasting whatever small game they could find. They passed farmers in their fields, drawn wagons with goods for trade, and individuals on horseback. None were friendly enough to stop or say words to them; everyone passed, minding their own business, conscious of the restlessness across the Eastern World. Phyllis and Ilieus took to sleeping back-to-back, fighting against the cold and focusing on staying warm. One morning the sunrise burned straight through the fog, and Phyllis woke to a heady, tantalizing smell.
Khalil was watering the horses and glanced up as Phyllis rose. “We walk now,” she said in greeting.
“Why?” Phyllis asked.
“The Herb Gardens are ahead,” she replied.
Phyllis walked over to where Cuthan stood, smoothing back his impeccable hair with bits of morning dew. “What are the Herb Gardens?” she asked. Cuthan generally could be counted on for full explanations, which were not forthcoming from Khalil.
“Eh.” He grinned at her; his smile forever sending her mind through frantic somersaults. The more time she spent around him, the more she realized there was something odd about his smiles, different from when they were children. There was something behind them now, and she wasn’t sure exactly what it was: devious perhaps, teasing, or maybe even a facade. “Come, we will see.”
Ilieus joined them, and the three of them walked together while Khalil led the way with her mount and Lilhak followed behind with the other two horses. Above them, the harsh cry of ravens calling to each other could be heard while bluebirds sung sweetly as they flitted across the sky. Phyllis was more conscious of the scents accosting her nose. The sharp tang of mint hung in the air, blending with the calming sensations of lavender and the spicy scents of rosemary. At one point, the rich scents of cinnamon drifted through the air, leaving her longing for a cup of warm milk, a drink to warm the soul when the cold crept in and forced them indoors.
“The Herb Gardens are miles of herbs,” Cuthan explained, sauntering between Phyllis and Ilieus. “No one knows who planted them or who tends them, but here they are for the taking—growing, blooming, dying, and coming back to complete the cycle of life.”
Indeed, a sea of green rippled as far as the eye could see. Great bushes of herbed leaves grew around the entrance to the garden, and one dirt road, wide enough for horses, lead the way through. Other paths snaked out from the main one, and Phyllis was tempted to follow them as they entered the Herb Garden. One of the horses snatched at the leaves of a bush, chomping them in its square teeth as Khalil urged it forward.
A sharp, chill wind began to blow, forcing Phyllis and Ilieus to pull their cloaks tighter around them. The sensations of herbs rippled through their nostrils, almost stinging them with their potency. “I have to gather,” Ilieus whispered, burying her face in select plants before pulling leaves and tasting them.
“Let me help.” Cuthan joined her. “What do you need?”
The two of them wove their way through the garden while Phyllis swallowed hard, once again feeling alone and left out. She hurried forward to catch up with Khalil just as a shrill scream echoed over the garden. She jerked her face upward, staring at the blank sky, before realizing it was most likely a bird swooping down on its prey, adding to the endless cycle of life and death. As she looked up, she missed her footing and tripped on her cloak, falling over into a clump of herb bushes. White blossoms smashed into her face. She was just beginning to wonder why herbs would be blooming at that time of year, right before winter fell, when she saw it.
Tucked between the large leaves of several bushes was an oblong stone. It was black with a hidden mass sparkling just below the surface. She could see something shiny moving beneath it, and dull white spots appeared and faded like the stone was breathing. As if under a spell, Phyllis reached out to touch it, surprised when her hand contacted warmth. She ran her fingers over the bumpy surface as an odd feeling of nostalgia came over her. It was like the first time she’d touched Ilieus and shared her dreams; her sight changed as she was cast into a vision.
She was flying; great wings the length of a towering tree stretched around her. Below her was a sea; its waves throwing themselves against cliffs like battering rams. She wheeled and turned, feeling the wind caress her back. She took a deep breath and felt the tickle of fire before it exploded from her mouth, painting a picture in the sky and burning away the wisps of clouds that dared cross her path. Ahead rose a black and grey forest, and just over a crest, lay her deepest desire.
The scene blasted through her thoughts, so fast and instantaneous she missed it. All she recalled from the nanoseconds of that moment was a brief flash of euphoria.
“Phyllis?” Cuthan’s voice called, just when she thought he hadn’t been paying attention. “Are you all right?”
“Fine!” Phyllis choked out. She didn’t know why she did it, but she felt an overwhelming urge to keep the rock. She picked it up, dropping it into the folds of her cloak; it gave off a pleasant hum as she touched its warmth.
The next second, Cuthan’s hand was on her arm, helping her to her feet. “Did you find something?” He glanced from her face to the ground, an eyebrow quirked.
“No.” Phyllis blurted out, not sure why she lied. “I just tripped. I’m fine.” Yet her fingers stroked the stone, and she smiled as it hummed to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Bad Luck
Phyllis woke with a start. Something was wrong. Her head throbbed like it was being stabbed with the sharp end of a stick. Vivid pictures twirled through her spent mind. She had dreamed of fire that came from the sky. Not on the feathers of pointed arrows, but from creatures that flew in the night, their great wings shutting out the stars and their ragged voices, hoarse and low, calling to one another in their own powerful language. Phyllis threw her head back, her eyes rolling back and forth as she searched the sky, but it was empty. The starlight shone wan above the sleeping travelers, shedding a thin luster that let her see mist and shadows. A black winged-beast fluttered across the sky, and she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth before she recognized it was only a bat. It gave a high-pitched whine as it continued out of sight, hunting the invisible creatures of the night.
Sighing with relief, although still shaking because of the cold and the traces of the dream, Phyllis leaned over to check on Ilieus. As she touched her shoulder, Ilieus fell over on her back, frozen. One hand was lifted up as if plucking an apple from a tree. Her cloak had fallen away, and the fingers lay curled, exposed to the cold. Ilieus’s face was a mask of petrified surprise; her eyes were round and unseeing, and her mouth was slack and drooling. “Ilieus!” Phyllis moaned, recoiling as her skin came into contact with her sister’s; it felt as if she touched ice. Holding her breath, she bent her head to Ilieus’s chest. It was there; the soft thump that told her Ilieus would still be fine.
“Ilieus,” Phyllis whimpered, cradling her sister’s head in her lap.
A chill wind blew in the darkness, and a
flock of bats flew overhead, shrieking out their eerie song. Phyllis gave a start when she heard the thin, reedy voice of a flute playing again— a slow, long tune that sounded as if it exuded from her very heart.
“Are you okay?” The sudden voice spoke from the darkness as if it had been there all along.
Phyllis squeaked in surprised, but it was only Cuthan, gliding out of the blackness. He came to squat in front of her, reaching out a hand to touch Ilieus’s frozen, uplifted one.
“Don’t,” Phyllis snapped, slapping Cuthan’s hand away. “She had another episode.”
“Is she…” Cuthan’s voice broke, and he straightened up. “Is she always like this?”
“Yes.” Phyllis wiped scattered tears from her face before the wind froze them there. “You see why we need help!” She cradled her sister closer, sheltering her from dark dreams.
“I do.” Cuthan paused as Khalil walked into view, leading one of the horses.
“Time to go,” Khalil announced.
“Now?” Phyllis raised her eyebrows, shaking her head as her dark hair tumbled into her face. “It’s the middle of the night, and Ilieus had an episode. She can’t travel like this!”
“There is something out there.” Khalil’s voice was low and wary.
Cuthan stretched. “We can stay here, hidden and quiet; they won’t find us,” he offered.
Khalil shifted from one foot to the other. “It is better to outride them. If we let them pass, we may overtake them during the day.”
“What about Ilieus?” Phyllis protested.
“Lilhak will take care of her.” Khalil gestured into the darkness.
“I’m not leaving her.” Phyllis wrapped both hands around Ilieus’s prone body.
“I did not suggest that,” Khalil said.
Ilieus’s body gave a sudden jolt, and she came to life, gasping for air like one pulled out of the drowning waters of death. Her eyes were shut tight; her breath was ragged and hissing. Her arms flailed about her body, pushing Phyllis away as she sat up, opened her eyes, and began to scream in terror. Her shrill voice ripped through the air, shattering their hidden cover of darkness. It echoed in the distance, alerting nearby lurkers of their position.
Lilhak ran up to them, dragging the other two horses behind him as Ilieus’s screams died away. “We have to go!” He waved his arms as he reached for Ilieus.
She gazed up at him as if she didn’t know him. “Help,” she whispered, her voice strained from the scream.
In one fluid movement, he lifted her onto his horse, swung up behind her, and galloped off into the darkness.
“It is time. Go,” Khalil commanded Cuthan, holding out a hand to Phyllis.
“Wait!” Phyllis cried, half rising.
An arrow shattered the grove, sinking into the tree behind Phyllis’s head. Khalil’s horse whinnied and reared in surprise, and Cuthan threw himself to the ground, avoiding two more arrows that flew through the air. Phyllis froze in shock and horror as Khalil drew her curved blade, throwing herself behind a tree to avoid the arrows. Cuthan slithered on his belly toward the horses as another arrow slammed into a tree branch, raining dried, dead leaves down on their heads.
Phyllis could feel the rock she’d picked up earlier humming in concern. She had to move, her life depended on it. Unsure where the will came from, she rose and ran toward the tree Khalil was behind and the panicked horses. As she reached for Khalil’s outstretched hand, the pounding of horse hooves exploded behind her, and she felt herself pushed away. The words “Run!” were shouted at her, and the jarring ring of metal and iron striking was the last thing she heard as her feet took flight.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Guilt
Cuthan lay low over the horse, digging his heels into its sides as he twined his fingers through the ribboned mane. He tore across the countryside, bushes and forest on one side, as he ducked in and out of open lands and back into the safe cover of the forest. He couldn’t tell if they were still chasing him, or, when they saw he clearly was a Cron, they had given up. Curses. This is what he got for traveling with the Blended Ones, hunted down as if he were one of them. He tried not to let the guilt change his course of action; after all, the Dezzi queen was right not to trust him of all people. Sometimes he was Cuthan the Charmer; most of the time he was Cuthan the Adventurer, but right now, he was Cuthan the Spy.
Part one of his plan was already in motion; his next goal was to overtake Lilhak and Ilieus, and, due to his kind attentions, she would trust him. Part of him was tempted to return for Phyllis; she’d done nothing to deserve this treatment, nothing but be his best friend from childhood. He snorted, repressing those fond memories. He had a much bigger purpose that his Father had made clear when he told Cuthan of their family history. They were the Jeweled Ones, Treasure Hunters, and he had a map to help them find legendary treasure from tales of old. Since the first mission had failed, Cuthan had moved on to the second one, guided by the knowledge that the Dezzi were sending a message to Wind Fresh. A message that would unlock the key to finding the next treasure; only Cuthan had been surprised to discover the message was locked inside of Ilieus’s dreams.
From there, it was simple to guess what the Dezzi would do next. They would send the twins to Wind Fresh, making it clear they intended to use Phyllis as a decoy along the way, leaving her to the Riders if they attacked. Poor Phyllis, little did she know that she had walked into a trap. He’d done his best to warn her. She was too innocent and naive to be out in the wild lands. He hoped she would be resourceful because he doubted she would have understood had he explained his role in the deception. She would never forgive him.
His mount moved out of a hedge of trees, and he saw them in the distant darkness, Ilieus and her Dezzi guard, thundering toward the sea. She wasn’t aware that she wasn’t free. No one was genuinely interested in helping each other in the Eastern World. It was all a game. Who had the most to gain? Who was the cleverest at ousting their enemies? His fingers brushed his sword hilt; the answer was the only reason he was still alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Riders of Phillondorn
Phyllis ran without giving thought to her destination. Brambles and trails of ivy sought to entrap her fleet feet as she fled. There was only a scant covering of trees. Dawn was coming when she paused, hiccupping and almost sobbing as she bent over, attempting to catch her breath. Great birds flew through the air above her—crying, warning, and shrieking—but she didn’t know where she was or where her companions were. The arrows of the night seemed to have disappeared, and she lifted a hand to steady herself against the thick trunk of a dead tree. Its leaves were gone, and it held out drooping branches, as frozen in place as Ilieus had been a few hours prior. The morning mist hovered just above her head, watching her like an overcautious mother hen guarding its chicks. For some reason, she could still hear the flute, much farther away and muted as if it were being played underground. She spun around, searching for a sign to tell her which way to go.
What had she been thinking, running off like that? They were all lost now except for, perhaps, Ilieus. Phyllis took a deep breath to calm the rising panic; how Ilieus would worry when she discovered Phyllis wasn’t there. To avoid the upsetting thoughts, Phyllis turned to look west, still holding onto the tree like a crutch. That’s when she saw him.
He stood a few paces away, close enough to overtake her if she ran, but too far to swipe at her with his weapon. Phyllis noticed, with relief, that he did not have a bow and arrow. His left hand held a long sword, pointed to the ground, a sign that he meant no harm, while his right was held out, his flat palm facing her in warning. He stood a full head and shoulders taller than her, and she couldn’t help but notice the broadness of his chest. Her gaze traveled from his brown tunic and jerkin to the black belt around his waist, which held the sheath for his sword. His feet were shod with black boots, and his fur billowed out behind him. Even in the dim light, she could tell his clothes were old and ill-fitting; his fur appear
ing to be the nicest item he had. His face was beardless and surprisingly young; Phyllis figured he could not be much older than herself. Chestnut hair hung in waves, dancing across his high forehead, but it was his eyes, the color of dark honey, that made Phyllis find it hard to breathe. They were kind and honest while he continued to stand with his hand out as if trying not to frighten a deer.
“Do you hear it?” His voice was deep, and his accent was thick.
“Hear what?” Phyllis’s voice caught in her throat, taken aback by the question. Having a conversation with a strange male in the wood near dawn was the very last scenario she’d ever expected to find herself in. Her gaze drifted from his eyes to his naked blade and back again.
“The flute.” His eyes never left her face. “In the distance, can you hear it?”
Phyllis’s nostrils flared in surprise. “You hear it? I thought I was the only one who did.”
“Nay, ‘tis the death song; it plays for those who have had someone close to them die.”
Phyllis took a step backward, scanning the woods for an escape.
“I’m sorry.” He examined her, considering. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Look.” He lifted his sword and slid it into his scabbard. “I don’t know you. You could be a spy, an innocent, or one of the blended. Whoever you are, I don’t want to know.” He took a slow step forward. “Now.” He lowered his hand. “I don’t mean you harm, but at times like these, I can’t know who you are. So don’t tell me; just let me know how I can help you.”
Phyllis took another step backward, grasping at a tree branch as if it would protect her. The golden eyes followed her; they were dark and intense. “You can’t help me,” she whispered.
The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2) Page 12