The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2)

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The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2) Page 20

by Ford, Angela J.


  Phyllis turned in a huff to Ilieus, who stood with her hands dangling by her side. Her eyes were dark as she looked at Phyllis as if begging for forgiveness. “We should go. Cuthan and Artenvox are right. We accomplish nothing sitting on the shore, even though that’s what I would prefer.” Her shoulders sagged. “But we are part of this, we should do something.”

  “We are doing something,” Phyllis argued, taking a step toward the shore. “We are going to the North Forests to hunt for some fable.”

  Ilieus looked down at her hands. “It’s not a fable.”

  “Look, Phyllis.” Cuthan raised his hands, giving in. “If you don’t want to come, fine, but we’re still going.”

  “We’ll just pretend to be islanders,” Artenvox agreed. “How hard is it? It’s not like we’ll meet anyone we know.”

  Phyllis huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “How come when the Horse Lords suggested we come here and spy on the Contrevails, you rejected it? But now that we are here, you think it’s a good idea?”

  Cuthan grinned. “Don’t you see? It’s different. We didn’t intend to come, but now that we are here, we should make the most of this opportunity. Maybe we’ll even meet the Horse Lords again.” He pretended to mount a horse and ride off down the road, laughing as he mocked them.

  Phyllis watched him with growing irritation, refusing to agree with him. “We need to focus on leaving.”

  Ilieus stepped forward. “We have to find a ship. Let’s blend with the people here until we find one. Then we can leave and continue our quest.”

  The golden path took them beyond the fields until they could see the island laid out before them. Huts of wood and straw dotted the landscape. Reeds of tall bamboo shoots began to appear, and the air smelled faintly of rice and rain, the dampness from the Westiles Sea creeping inland. Farmers worked hard in their fields; families of them toiled under the rays of the sun. The children wore hats made of palm trees and were suntanned and grubby. The full-grown Crons were in rags while their younger children chased pigs through the lands. Once a full-grown tortoise crawled across the road, large enough for Cuthan to sit like a king on its shell. It was past mid-afternoon when they reached the center of the island and the castle rose like a monster, towering over the square where booths were set up. A low murmur of voices hummed through the air; otherwise, it was eerily quiet. The typical boisterous voices and rambunctiousness of children and animals at play was lost on the town.

  Phyllis couldn’t help but stare at the islanders. Most of them were short Crons, but they were skinny and suntanned with large hungry eyes. Like the farmer, their appearance was dirty, their hair stood up straight in the air from sweat and water. Dirt and shaft from the fruits and vegetables they farmed covered any visible skin, and the dust from the road covered their feet and legs. Most of them wore shoes, unlike the farmer, but they were coated over with a fine layer of dust. In fact, the Crons seemed quite out of place with the rich appearance of the island. Ilieus reached out to grab Phyllis’s shoulder and leaned in, whispering into her ear. “They have it.”

  Phyllis turned so fast she almost knocked Ilieus off her feet. “The Clyear?” she squeaked, her heart pounding despite her insistence that it was a fable.

  Ilieus shook her head, her eyes glazing over as she stared past Phyllis. “I can’t see what it is, but it is powerful.”

  The blast of a trumpet interrupted the peaceful market, and the sound of horse hooves drew near. The quiet murmur in the town square faded into silence as the islanders backed away, waiting. Into the square came a wagon drawn by brown horses. Two Crons sat high above the ground in gray jerkins with gold fringes around the ends, swishing as they moved. They had long swords by their sides, and the first one swung down, tossing a bag of coins high in the air and laughing as the islanders moved forward, swayed by the sound of money. The other Cron tied the reins to a pole and motioned to a child to bring the horses water as if they had come from the end of a long journey instead of the castle that was a short distance away. Minutes later, five more foot soldiers jogged into the square and took up a post, each one effectively blocking the entrance and exits of the square.

  One by one the well-dressed soldiers marched to each booth and took their share of vegetables and meats, grown and dried by the islanders. Ignoring the outstretched hands, waiting, nay, begging for something in exchange for their goods, the soldiers loaded up their wagon. With a crack, they jump abroad and, turning the laden wagon around, headed up the road back toward the castle. The foot soldiers waited a beat before following them up the road. The square was silent again, save for the quiet weeping. But it was Ilieus who gathered her skirts in her hand and took off, running up the path toward the castle.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Contres

  Wait!” Phyllis shouted in anger, hurling herself after Ilieus. “What are you doing?”

  Cuthan and Artenvox glanced at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and ran after the twins.

  When they caught up with her, Ilieus was hiding in the tall bushes across from the golden gates of the castle. Guards were milling about, busy unloading the wagons. Ilieus kept biting her lower lip; her face was pale as she watched them. As Phyllis crept up beside her, she pointed anxiously. “I thought…” Her voice dropped away.

  “What?” Phyllis whispered back, barely daring to breathe. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just…look.” Ilieus shook her head.

  Phyllis peered out, watching the golden road that continued beyond the castle gates, which happened to be wide open but loomed high above them. Soldiers walked back and forth; there were two groups of them. One group dressed in gray with silver fringes, while the others wore dark green tunics, midnight black trousers, and floppy hats on their heads. Phyllis gasped, covering her mouth with her hands in case they could hear her. She thought that dress meant they were Contrevails, yet the Riders of Phillondorn wore the same garb, and apparently they were allies of the Realalons. What was going on? Did they swear allegiance to the same leader?

  Ilieus’s fingers gripping her arms brought her back. Phyllis shuddered, remembering Ilieus knew nothing about her encounter with the Riders of Phillondorn.

  “I thought I saw Father,” Ilieus said, motioning toward the guards.

  Phyllis could see how she thought that. Their uniform was royal, familiar, and the last thing they had seen their father wear. They were a mix of tall Crons and short Crons, stocky and strong, but the Tiders all wore the gray garb.

  “What are they preparing for? We should find out,” Cuthan whispered, peering over their shoulders.

  “Do you notice anything strange?” Phyllis glanced up at him.

  Cuthan’s mischievous grin slid off his face as he saw the anxiety behind Phyllis’s eyes. Attempting to placate her, he shook his head. “No, but you do.”

  “I’m not going to make any assumptions,” Phyllis replied. What did she know of the workings of the world? Perhaps she was wrong. But something irked her.

  “Whatever they have, it’s in there,” Artenvox piped up. “We should go in and find out what it is.”

  “No.” Ilieus held up her hand, staying him with a glare. “Do you see how many there are? We are safer watching from here.”

  “We aren’t safe at all,” Phyllis countered, crossing her arms.

  They sat in a strained silence for minutes, watching the soldiers and guards work. Cuthan stretched. “If we are returning to the shore, we should do so now before it grows dark,” he suggested.

  “Traitor!” A cry split the air from beyond the golden gates. “Traitors to the throne, capture them!” the voice bellowed.

  Despite themselves, the four leaned forward, peering through the underbrush to see what caused the ruckus.

  “Realalons live forever!” the voice shouted back.

  A roar of voices and the sound of metal striking metal resounded across the golden courtyard. Swords flashed through the air and shouts of rage echoed.

  “Ooh.”
Cuthan scrambled closer to the action. “This must be Pharengon’s army. I suppose they decided to attack after all.”

  Artenvox followed him. “We should use the distraction to slip inside the castle.”

  More voices joined the outrage while the horrific smack of fists and metal against flesh tainted the air. Crons and Tiders—falling, groaning, and shouting in victory—moved forward.

  Phyllis reached for Ilieus, numbed by the appalling sounds from inside the castle. Cuthan and Artenvox had disappeared beyond the walls, but the twins looked at each other, their eyes mirroring each other.

  “We should go back.” Ilieus blinked rapidly, her eyes swimming.

  “Are…are you crying?” Phyllis reached for her, hands trembling.

  “How can I not?” Ilieus stood, her fingers twining around Phyllis’s. “This is madness; they are killing each other behind the gates. We should go. I’m sorry we came here.”

  They snuck away, sliding along the walls of the castle while still hearing the strikes from inside. They ducked as they heard the shouts of more soldiers running down the golden road, attracted to the sound of battle. Just as they reached the corner of the castle and right before they turned to follow the road back to the shore, they saw the shipyard. Rolling downhill, the golden road continued through the castle to the other side, spiraling steeply down to the shore. Floating in a cove was a fleet of ships, golden flags waved in the air.

  “Ships.” Phyllis stopped, staring. “That’s what we need.”

  Ilieus squeezed Phyllis’s hand tighter. “They intend to take over, don’t they?”

  The twins hesitated as the sea breeze washed over them. Phyllis stood, and she felt as if someone else was in her mind, taking over her body. In a rush, she saw the castle, the ships, and the soldiers—hundreds and hundreds of them marching in the sunlight with red blood splashing at their feet. She saw the clouds roll, and the thunder boomed from the deep as the world began to spin in circles. It danced over them, churning into a vortex, and all the wild things from the sea rose with it. It spun and twirled until it erupted. The depths of the earth rose up, smashing everything in their wake. The sea rolled like a giant until nothing was left, but its churning, foamy waves, dragging all life into its never satisfied mouth.

  Phyllis started and blinked as the blinding light came back into her eyes. Her mouth agape, she turned to Ilieus who was staring at her. “You saw it?” she gasped as a single tear rolled from one eye, curved around her cheek, and dripped off her chin.

  “Was that your vision?”

  “Yes, we shared it.” Ilieus lifted their clasped hands.

  “Is that what you always see?”

  “No. There is one vision that repeats itself over and over. White fingers…” She shuddered and trailed off.

  “What should we do?” Phyllis asked, unsure of how to comfort Ilieus.

  “We should leave.” Ilieus lifted her chin and moved toward the shore.

  Phyllis lifted her eyes to the sky, and, for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of red. “Roturk,” she whispered under her breath, searching the skies.

  They rounded the corner; Ilieus was intent on reaching the shore, and Phyllis was hoping for the confirmation that her dranagin was still alive. A lone Tider dashed around the corner at the same time, slamming into them and knocking them to the ground. He rose in fury and lifted his sword, cursing under his breath.

  The sun was in their eyes as Phyllis and Ilieus lay sprawling in the dirt scattered across the golden road. Phyllis shaded her eyes and screamed as the sharp edge of the blade hurled its way toward her, only to be thrown away at the last moment. She sat up as the shadow towered over her, blocking out the light and raised her eyes to meet the Tider standing above them in shock. “Father?” her voice dropped like a stone, and suddenly she felt cold.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Broken

  “Phyllis? Ilieus?”

  It was their father, Antharn the Tider. His head was bare, but his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at his daughters.

  “You should not be here,” he bellowed, bending down to snatch up his fallen sword. The clang of metal sliding across the road rang out eerily. “You should leave. Now!”

  Phyllis stood and helped Ilieus up, feeling as if she had stepped into a dream. “Father,” she managed, her voice small because she had no strength left. “Why are you here?”

  He looked troubled as he held his sword, his eyes darting over the castle walls. “You must leave,” he said, lowering his gruff voice. “Take one of those ships and get off this accursed island before it is too late.”

  “Father?” Ilieus took a step toward him. She resembled their mother the most, which was both a blessing and a curse. “Father?” She repeated, moving closer. Tears streamed down her face. “Why did you leave?”

  “They will hunt you down.” He glared at them. “They will kill you.”

  “Who? Father?” Ilieus held out a hand as if by her touch she could appease him.

  Flinching, he backed away and then lunged as Cron flung himself around the corner. Then he yelled as he moved to attack. “Leave!” Antharn shouted once more, swinging his sword to take on the Cron.

  Phyllis stood frozen as her father fought. She could feel Ilieus’s hand on hers, trying to pull her away, but everything was closing in as it always did. Tears of confusion pressed against her eyes, and a sharp pain made her blink. A second Cron joined the first as Father became outnumbered, and Ilieus screamed, calling for her to come hide before they were taken.

  “He is protecting us.” Ilieus wept. “Why? Does he know?”

  There was a shout as Ilieus flung open a door in the side of the castle wall and peered around it. Not seeing any soldiers, she pulled Phyllis through until they were inside the castle itself, standing in a great hall.

  After the chaos, outside, the castle was quiet and dark. It smelled musty as if water seeped through its edges. Phyllis turned in the wide-open space, seeing staircases twist away into darkness and passageways leading down. She pointed to one as she brushed tears away. “Perhaps we can sneak down to the shore?”

  Ilieus was still standing at the door, watching. “Father,” she whispered.

  Phyllis placed a hand on Ilieus’s shoulder, and she felt it, like a punch to the gut, before she thought it. Father is dead. She felt numb as she met Ilieus’s gaze, and in one motion, she pulled her into a tight embrace, too frightened to shed more tears.

  Phyllis was unsure how time passed as she and Ilieus grieved, too broken even to go look at his body that was probably carelessly discarded on the golden road. It wasn’t until footsteps alerted her that others were nearby that she pulled away. In surprise, she saw Artenvox and Cuthan running toward her.

  “There you are,” Cuthan scolded. The scowl left his face as he drew nearer. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s no time to talk, they are coming back. We should run.” Artenvox pushed past them, flinging open the door and dashing out into the hedge. He yelped as two soldiers approached wearing silver helmets. Regaining his confidence, he drew his sword and lashed out at one of the soldiers.

  “Get behind me!” Cuthan shouted as he drew his thin blade.

  Phyllis felt Ilieus grab her and roughly shove her farther into the castle while Artenvox and Cuthan cleared a path for them. They moved like dancers, Artenvox lunging high and sweeping low with his sword; he had one hand out as if he twirled on a narrow bridge teetering high above the ground. Cuthan leaped out with his feet, a booted foot striking one of the soldiers in the stomach. The soldier doubled over while Cuthan took the opportunity to beat him over the head until he fell.

  “Follow me to the shore,” Artenvox cried as vanquished his opponent and started down the hill.

  Cuthan waved for Ilieus and Phyllis to follow while he spun, seeking more advisories. A crooked smile rested on his lips as if he enjoyed the thrill of winning a fight. The dash to the sea was a blur to P
hyllis. From time to time she heard Cuthan or Artenvox pause to fight off soldiers. Ilieus kept pace, even though her face was drawn and her breathing became shallow as they fled downhill.

  It wasn’t until Phyllis could smell the salty tang of the sea and see the waves dancing on the shore that she saw it. High in the sky, a spot of red darted to and fro, wheeling over the ships until it choose one that was moving away from the other. It perched on top of the mainsail, and, opening its mouth, the creature gave a cry. It was Roturk, who somehow had escaped from the sea monster, learned how to fly, and returned to the ship and its crew. Phyllis felt the dark hopelessness creeping in, the feeling of being lost, alone, and misguided. It was the way she’d felt ever since Mother’s death and now Father’s. As if knowing what she needed, she heard a mournful flute playing in the distance, the funeral song her heart now sung. When she reached the sea, she dived into the waves and let them carry her out into the open.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Nothing Left to Lose

  Cuthan paused, his breath catching in his throat as he swallowed hard. His clear green eyes could just barely make out the dark line on the horizon. He was back. Again. Deftly he dropped behind the others, so they wouldn’t see the change in his demeanor. It wasn’t something he could help, yet he’d been anticipating the change that came over him when, once again, he saw the North Forests unfolding before him. His mouth felt dry, and he reached for a waterskin, but all he tasted was blood. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he tried to stop the shaking by reminding himself who he was. He was Cuthan the Charmer. Cuthan the Adventurous. Once before, he had ventured into the deadly forest and had escaped with his life and more. But what he’d lost outweighed what he gained. He thought again of his father’s quiet, curious determination to explore the woods. At first, Cuthan thought they might dwell there forever, hidden in the shaded boughs where the tedious repetition of life in Haitiar was a dream of the past.

 

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