The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2)

by Ford, Angela J.

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.

  The adrenaline from her run began to fade, and the misery of her life rose before her. Once again, tears of fury rose unbidden, and she heard the shouts of the Murwumps as they began to realize what was happening.

  “What’s this?”

  “Bright and glowing, this should not be happening. Help!”

  “What now?”

  “The explosives are glowing; they are going to…”

  “Going to what?”

  “Going to explode.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn them off!”

  “We don’t know how!”

  “Get help!”

  “That’s what I’m asking you for!”

  A great many voices began shouting, and a stampede of creatures sought to escape, running here and there. Phyllis felt someone grab her. A familiar voice whispered in her ear: “Come with us. Run!”

  Black dots danced past her eyes as she forced her feet to take flight again, despite the pain as they cried out against movement.

  The hum of the explosives increased, turning into a vibration because Phyllis had managed to set off all the ones that were scattered underground.

  Murwumps shrieked and cried, giving orders to each other as, one by one, they started to deactivate the explosives. But there were far too many explosives and far too few Murwumps.

  Phyllis reached the tunnel and realized she held Pharengon’s hand. He called to her as they climbed, but she couldn’t hear what he said, for a terrible wailing filled the air. It ripped through her ears like a child whose mother was ripped away by the elements. The ground shook and crumbled, falling apart with every footstep. Just as she saw pure light, starlight, the ground was ripped from under her feet, and she was thrown, blasted from the underground into the remains of the forest.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  The Ruler

  Sarhorr the Changer paused as he opened the portal to return to the South World. A terrible explosion was ripping through the Eastern World, but it was not above ground as he had instructed the Murwumps. It seemed to have destroyed the marshes, their underworld. He almost laughed as he listened to the shrieks of agony.

  Now he knew that the mortals of the Eastern World were just as strong as the mortals of the Western World. Even though he’d been secretive with his methods, this project was only a test. He had everything he needed to set his grand scheme in motion. Best of all, his brother and sister would finally trust him.

  The portal flew open, inviting him through. He took a step through and closed it behind him as easily as he would close a door. As he did, he sighed with one regret: if only he hadn’t had to use his first daughter as collateral in the deadly game he played. It was necessary; for little did the mortals know, he was only getting started.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Healing

  Phyllis coughed as she woke, the taste of smoke lay heavy in the air. The buzzing sensation of pain slammed into her head as she opened her eyes. Ignoring it, she forced herself to sit up, surprised and disappointed to find herself still alive. The blast should have destroyed everything. What if some of the Murwumps had escaped? Above her, bare trees rose high; their branches were twisted, broken, and stripped clear of any sign of life.

  Pharengon stood to her left, watching the quiet wood. He turned at her movements and came to crouch before her. “Phyllis, you’re awake,” his voice sighed, indicating he was as weary as she felt.

  His hair was disheveled and swept back from his grimy face. Soot and ash covered his clothing, and she could see places where they were ripped. His cloak was gone, but strapped around his waist was the Jeweled Sword. She lifted her eyes to meet his and saw, flickering behind them, questions and the keen awareness of what she had lost.

  “How are we alive?” she asked, grabbing her throat as pain ripped through it.

  He reached out a finger and stroked her cheek. “There was a light.” He shrugged, looking past her for a moment, his eyes unseeing. “You had…” He met her eyes, unsure of how much he should say. “How are you feeling?”

  She shook her head; the sharp, tingling pain made her wish she hadn’t. “I…what have I done?” she whispered.

  He moved to sit beside her, gently placing an arm around her shoulders. “You saved us all,” he murmured.

  “But I lost everything.” She bit her lip, turning to hide her face in his shoulder, allowing the tears to flow once more. In response, he wrapped his other arm around her shoulder, hushing her as he stroked her mattered hair.

  ***

  Cuthan stumbled through the charred ground with Artenvox at his side. His feet were bare, and the ash was still warm, singeing the bottom of his feet with each step. His arm was broken, and even though Artenvox had set it with splintered wood and his shirt, it still pained him with each step he took. He gritted his teeth and bore it, knowing it could be worse. It hurt too much to speak, but he was curious about what happened to Phyllis and Ilieus. If he had to guess, it seemed Phyllis had found the power they were searching for, but where was Ilieus? He stumbled, jarring his arm. Everyone was finding their power sources. Pharengon had the Jeweled Sword; Artenvox had found his sapphire ring, and Phyllis, supposedly, had the Clyear of Power. When would he find his jewel and reach his destiny?

  “Aye!” Artenvox called from ahead. He was limping and covered in sand and mud just like Cuthan. “I think I see Thangone ahead. Thangone?” he shouted, his hoarse voice giving out just at the end.

  Thangone turned slowly; one of his eyes was swollen shut and red. One hand grasped his sword hilt while he beckoned to them with the other. “I see the Jeweled Ones are invincible,” he remarked when they caught up to him.

  Cuthan grimaced against the pain in his arm and the slight jab. He’d known for a while that Pharengon and Thangone were not quite fond of himself and Artenvox.

  “Where are the others?” Artenvox skillfully ignored the remark and changed the conversation.

  Thangone pointed south, and through the burnt trees, they could see Pharengon and Phyllis waiting. Neither of them moved, and neither of them smiled.

  When he reached them, all questions Cuthan had died on his lips. The lost and vacant look in Phyllis’s eyes told him what had happened, and the slight shake of Pharengon’s head discouraged further conversation for the time being. They greeted each other with nods, glancing over each other’s wounds, well aware of their dire circumstances. They were injured and lost in the woods. Although they were headed in a southern direction, they had no food, shelter, or means of healing themselves. In short, it was only a matter of time.

  ***

  A week later, the five travelers found themselves stumbling into greener lands where the sun began to shine through leaves of green. The oppressive quiet of the forest disappeared, and each morning, when the sun rose, the birds sang a song of welcome. The smokiness cleared, and the air became cooler. Once again, they followed a river, thankful to wash themselves free from the grit and ash of the explosion and to quench their thirst. Starving bellies were nourished with what little fish they had strength to catch, and their bones and bruises began to heal. They spent more time resting because they found themselves keenly aware of their misfortune. It was a known fact that none escaped from the forest, even Cuthan’s and Artenvox’s blind luck from years earlier could not be anticipated again.

  One night, they rested by the river, listening to the voices of the trees sing through the wind. Cuthan lay on his back by the riverbank; his broken arm was tucked up against his chest. “What are we going to do?” he sighed, dropping a hand into the water and flicking drops across the gentle surface.

  Thangone sat propped against a tree trunk. The swelling in his eye had gone down, but it was still discolored and ugly. “We follow the river until it leads us out; there is nothing
to stop us now.”

  Artenvox snorted in laughter, almost choking on a piece of fish. “Nothing to stop us?” He chuckled again. “I have walked the paths of the wood for years. The forest played with me until it was done having its way. Then it spit me out in the west.”

  “Chased you out,” Thangone corrected him, annoyed at Artenvox laughing at him.

  “We don’t have years,” Pharengon objected.

  Cuthan lifted his head, his eyes darting between Pharengon’s and Thangone’s. At last, they came to rest on Phyllis, and he regarded her somberly with his emerald gaze. She met his eyes, but she said nothing. “Pharengon,” Cuthan went on. “Say we do escape the forest. What is your plan?”

  Pharengon stood and crossed his arms. “We have to return to Wind Fresh and ensure the Contrevails do not take over the Eastern World. Now that the threat to our world has been vanquished, we must make sure the people groups live together in harmony. If we return to bloodshed and war, many lives will be lost needlessly.”

  “Ah, a Horse Lord to the end.” Cuthan turned his face away, back toward the river.

  “We have been here for months; it may already be too late,” Thangone said.

  “I hope not.” Pharengon fingered his sword hilt. “We have everything we need to persuade the people groups. All we need is time to earn their trust.”

  “You mean to become king?” Artenvox raised his eyebrows.

  Pharengon paused before nodding, still hesitant to accept the responsibility. “It is my fate, according to the prophecy.”

  “You will make a great king.” Phyllis spoke for the first time that evening; her voice was clear and confident.

  Cuthan glanced at her, narrowing his eyes. He was sure she was hiding something from him. He still was unclear of the manner of Ilieus’s death, and he hadn’t seen the Clyear once, that is if she even had it.

  Phyllis stood suddenly. Her hair was still wet and braided back; it jerked behind her as she turned in surprise. “I hear voices singing. Can you hear it?”

  Artenvox waved his hand dismissively. “We aren’t in Midlands yet.”

  Instead of replying, Phyllis moved forward through the trees toward the voices of the night.

  Cuthan sat up, his ears pricked. “They are the not the same voices we heard in Midlands.” He rolled over first to his knees and finally to his feet, before following Phyllis.

  “I hope this adventure ends better than the last one.” Artenvox smirked.

  One by one, they followed her as they weaved through the trees.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Mermi Glade

  As if answering a call, they fought the bushes and twisted through brambles and vines, always chasing the voices. The song rose and fell; the words danced through the leaves as if they played a game of hide and seek. At last, the underbrush gave way to a green glade where a new moon cast its light on the wood, and the trees stood back in reverence to watch the ritual begin.

  Cautiously, Phyllis peered out from behind a tree trunk, and she felt Pharengon come up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She relaxed; his steady presence a reminder that there was one left in her life who cared. She did not like the way Cuthan watched her; there was something he wanted, and she suspected he knew much more about her and Ilieus than he revealed. She knew he wanted to know the details behind what happened to Ilieus, but it was not an event she could speak of without dissolving into tears.

  At night, instead of sleeping, she lay in silent grief, knowing why and understanding the words on a scroll. In fact, she understood more of the knowledge of the world as if an impartation had been passed to her. She could not bring herself to look at the Clyear again, knowing how powerful it was and how incorrectly she had used it. She saved the world, but she also destroyed another race entirely. There should have been another course of action; one that Pharengon, in his kindness, would have found. She had been grief-stricken and impatient, and although she did not regret what she had done, on some scale, she felt she had done wrong. That choice would stay with her the rest of her life.

  As she stood listening to the beauty of the voices, with the cool night air on her face, she lifted her eyes and saw the new moon; it was something she could not recall seeing since the world began to die. A tear rolled down her cheek, but it was no longer a tear of pain, but it was one of release. She would never forget what happened in the North Forests, yet now the quiet pull of the Tider rose within her, telling her to seek safer adventures.

  ***

  Cuthan peered over a bush in the glade, and his jaw dropped. On the grassy knoll danced the most colorful creatures he’d ever seen. They were all female and appeared young and ageless with smooth skin. Their hair was the color of bright raindrops. They wore short frocks of feather and mists, which brazenly showed off their long legs and bare feet. They skipped in place, lifting their hands and dancing in a circle. Half of them weaved their way between the others, catching hands and slinging each other to the opposite side of the glade. Clasping arms, they danced in a half circle, kicking their muscular legs out, and started again, spinning and clapping. Their voices rose in a sort of half chant and half song, but the drums of the Midlands that kept the rhythm, and the friendly fire was missing. One would have thought they were Crons or members of the Dezzi, but the way their pointed toes touched the ground gave them the illusion of flight.

  In one move, faster than the eye could blink, they turned toward the five hidden in the trees and crouched, one knee bent while they held curved knives in their hands. One dark-haired female stood, while the others remained in a defensive position, and motioned for those hidden in the trees to show themselves.

  Sheepishly they emerged, coming to stand at the edge of the glade with their hands on their own weapons. The dark-haired female moved to the front. Her eyes flashed as she held up one of her hands to stay her tribe from attacking. Her other hand held a knife that glinted in the moonlight, showing off its sharp blade. “How did you find us?” she snapped. Her voice was fierce while her white teeth gleamed. They were small in her mouth, but they were pointed as if they were used to ripping flesh. Her intense eyes traveled over the weary travelers, noting Artenvox’s sapphire ring, and she paused when her gaze met Cuthan’s.

  “Please.” Cuthan held open his hands to show her he held no weapons. “We mean no harm. We heard your song and came to watch. It’s beautiful.”

  She said nothing; she just stared at his eyes, her stance never changing.

  “We are looking for help,” Pharengon interrupted, taking command. “We need to escape these forests and save our Kingdom.”

  His fingers strayed across his sword, and the female tore her eyes from Cuthan’s charming gaze to stare at Pharengon’s weapon. She pointed. “What is that you carry?”

  “I will show you.” Pharengon held out a hand, signaling peace, before he drew his sword. The jewels caught in the moonlight as he held it up. “I am Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword.”

  An audible gasp echoed through the forest as the females stared at the sword, their eyes as wide and round as the full moon. The dark-haired female hissed in surprise, and then she closed her fist and put her knife away. The others followed her lead, standing tall once more with their legs apart and arms crossed. Their eyes were the most animated parts of their bodies, roaming over the strangers in curiosity. “I am Indonesia,” the lead female offered. “We are Mermis of Spherical Land.”

  “Mermis,” Thangone whispered to himself. “I wonder if that explains the voices.”

  Indonesia glanced at him and gave a quick nod, although her eyes said she was unsure of what he meant.

  “Spherical Land?” Artenvox repeated in confusion. “But…I thought…that land is in the Western World. Is it not?”

  Indonesia cocked her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “You have listened to the stories well.” She spread her arms, including her tribe in the next words she spoke. “We are the descendants of Crinte the Wise and Marklus the Healer. We are t
he Watchers of the Four Worlds who tell the stories of great deeds so others will have hope and believe. You.” She pointed to Pharengon. “Have the Jeweled Sword. Do you know what it means? You must have a story.”

  “If we tell you our tale.” Pharengon slid his sword back into its sheath. “Will you help us?”

  Indonesia gave a laugh like the sound of silver bells. “You ask for assurance and for proof that we are not enemies? I give you my word, as the daughter of Crinte the Wise. If your tale is true and you are the king who shall rule over the Eastern World, we shall know.”

  A stunned silence overcame the glade as they realized whom they were speaking to. A thousand questions rose and fell, but Indonesia merely motioned for them to sit down in the glade.

  It was Phyllis who spoke up. “If you are the daughter of Crinte the Wise, then the tales must be true. Tell me; did the Five Warriors truly do all those great deeds?”

  Indonesia showed her teeth; it was hard to tell whether it was a grimace or smile. “Why do the mortals find it hard to believe?” she murmured to her companions. “This is why knowledge is hidden from mortals: you are not wise enough to know.” She pointed to Phyllis. “Your eyes have seen what no mortal has seen before. Tell us your tale, and do not forget a word.”

  Phyllis opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of where to begin. She lifted a hand to her chest, where the Clyear was hidden, and suddenly the words came to her. They drifted from her past, reminding her of how it began with Grandmother and Mother fighting and Father leaving. Instead of bringing guilt and sorrow, she heard the humming comfort of a flute playing. When she looked, she saw the Mermis held long pipes. They captured her words and turned them into music, soft and indistinct, a sound she could barely hear. When Artenvox and Cuthan told their tale of hunting for treasure and Pharengon and Thangone chimed in at the right moments, the tears did not flow. She could feel her story happening again as if in a dream, and when she told of her journey to the dranagin’s lair and the revelation of the Clyear, her voice was as clear as a bell on a windless day.