The Other Worlds (The Other Worlds Series Book 1)

by M. L. Greye

  “Oh.” She closed her eyes again.

  Archrin chuckled. “Goodnight, Tiara.”

  * * * * * *

  Legann Jeor was fifteen, but looked and acted turns older. People often mistook him for the eldest of his siblings, when he was actually the third, sitting behind his older brother, Kryd, and sister, Nystik. Although the mistake confused him, it seemed to make sense to his family. His siblings often joked of him belonging to some other gene pool. Legann would have believed them if it weren’t for the strong resemblance between him and his father. He’d inherited his father’s light brown hair and height. Soon, he would pass his brother’s height of five foot ten inches to reach the six feet of his father. Already, he was taller than any other boy in the village his age. Legann was no skinny little youth either. From his turns of hard labor with his father and brother, he had grown brawny; long, lean muscles bulged from beneath his tunic.

  Legann sighed as he moved through his family’s small barn. An uneasy feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn’t sure as to why. It was still early morning; the sun was just beginning to flicker its rays over the little village in Tamorre Forest. Anylynn, his younger sister, was milking their family’s one cow. Their mother needed fresh milk for breakfast, as she did every morning. Why would this morning be different? Legann frowned as he leaned up against the open door to their cow’s stall. The air in the stables didn’t seem right, as if someone Legann didn’t know had trampled through it the night before. It was a silly impression, Legann knew, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

  His family often teased him about his sharp sense of smell and his ability to almost feel what their animals were thinking. His elder brother called him the Craele in the family out of jest, but sometimes Legann wondered. It didn’t make sense that he could always figure out what was wrong with their two goats when they bickered, or knew when their cow was about to give calf. But what really confused him were the words that tended to slip out while calming a startled horse. They were strings of a language Legann had never heard before. Yet, he had the odd impression that they meant exactly what he wanted to say.

  “Legann?” Anylynn’s small voice pulled his attention to her. She was staring up at him from her little stool beside their cow. “Are you alright?”

  He nodded, slightly surprised by her question. He hadn’t realized his emotions were showing on his face. “I’m fine.” He forced a small smile. “You can finish milking.”

  Anylynn pursed her lips, meaning she didn’t believe him, and went back to her work. As Legann returned his gaze to their cow, the uneasy feeling returned, and with it his smile disappeared. Something worried their cow. Legann furrowed his eyebrows as the gentle beast glanced up at him through troubled dark eyes. He held her gaze, and after a moment the images came to him. For some reason animals only spoke to him through pictures. Perhaps they knew it was the only way for him to understand them. As the first image became clear, Legann’s brow drew even closer together. It was of their barn, the night before. The barn door was open and in it stood a dark figure. He had a torch in his hand and an emblem on his chest. Legann focused on the man’s chest, trying to make out the symbol from the dim light of the torch. It was in gold embroidery.

  Sudden shouts from behind him pulled Legann back to the present. He whirled to the barn’s door in surprise. The shouts hadn’t been in Saerdian.

  Anylynn leapt to his side, grabbing onto his arm. “Why are they yelling Arthelian?”

  * * * * * *

  Tiara opened her eyes and breathed in deeply, pushing herself up onto one elbow. Then she realized Archrin was watching her. She blinked. “Did I wake you?”

  He let out a short laugh. “Not this time.”

  She frowned, while studying his features in the dim light from outside. “How long have you been up?”

  “For most of the night,” he answered, beginning to sit up slowly.

  “Was it your shoulder that kept you up?”

  Archrin shook his head and ran his left hand through his hair. “I’ve slept with worse injuries.”

  “Then, what was it?”

  He looked at her a moment. “Do the people here speak Arthelian?”

  That surprised Tiara. She shook her head. “This village isn’t loyal to Kendrens. They speak Saerdian.”

  A sudden shriek from the kitchen made Tiara jump. She whirled towards the bedroom door. Beside her, Archrin stiffened. “Tiara, get my sword.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her back around to face him. “Hurry.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed. “What’s that humming? Is that the Drainers?”

  “Yes,” he nodded once. “So, could you please get my sword?”

  “Can you even use it?” She grunted, tossing a glance at his bandaged shoulder.

  “I have two hands, Tiara.”

  “You’re right handed.”

  “I can use my left hand just as well as my right.”

  “Doubtful.” Tiara smirked as she jumped up, grabbing his boots and sword from their spot near the fireplace. She ignored the thought of getting him a tunic for his bareback. The bandages would never allow him to get it on. Tiara knelt at the side of the bed with his boots, waiting for him to drop his legs down to her.

  Archrin scooted himself to the bed’s edge. “It’s a skill I’ve picked up as a Kendren.” He bent down to put his boots on, but straightened immediately, letting out a soft groan.

  Tiara rolled her eyes. “I didn’t kneel to stare up at you.” She pulled his boots over his feet as the screaming outside turned into bedlam.

  He stood, using Tiara as a brace, and strapped his sword around his waist, instead of to his back as he, along with all other Kendrens, usually did. Tiara wrinkled her nose. “Do you smell smoke?”

  * * * * * *

  Legann ran to the wall of weapons his father kept at the back of the barn. He understood now what their cow had seen. The figure had been a Kendren. Legann reached up and grabbed a bow and a sword from off the wall’s pegs. He then, in one smooth movement, lifted up a quiver of arrows from its spot on the ground and slung both the quiver and bow over his shoulder before strapping the sword to his waist.

  As he headed back to the barn’s door, he noticed Anylynn trembling beside their cow. He frowned, thinking fast of where she would be safest. Legann guessed right where she was would be the best place for her. “You’ve got to stay here, Anylynn,” he said, forcing a smile and hoping it didn’t look more like a grimace. “Alright?”

  “But where is Mamma and Daddy?” Anylynn’s bottom lip began to quiver.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re fine.”

  His assurance must not have been convincing because tears spilled out over her eyes. “I’m scared, Legann.”

  Legann stiffened, hating to see his little sister cry. Behind him, the shouts grew louder, now in both Saerdian and Arthelian. He needed to go help the other villagers but couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her alone. Fumbling for a way to keep her in the barn, an idea hit him. “The animals are scared too. They need someone to protect them. Can you do that?”

  She blinked, struck by this, and then nodded. “I’ll keep them safe.”

  “Good girl. Promise me you won’t leave them.”

  “I promise.”

  Legann offered her another smile and headed out into the early morning light. He didn’t get far. The sight of his village stopped him mid-step. Bodies of wounded men, women, and children littered the ground, the tips of arrows sticking out of their flesh. Many of the village’s thatched roofs were in flames, including his. Why hadn’t he been able to smell the smoke? Above his head, arrows streamed through the air, some on fire. Legann couldn’t help but stare at the chaos. How had it gotten so bad so fast? And how had no one discovered the Kendrens earlier? His village had watchmen. Why had no alarm been sounded?

  “Daddy!” Anylynn shrieked as she tore off past Legann, completely forgetting her promise to stay in the barn.

  �
��Anylynn, stop!” Legann sprinted after her. She was heading right into the torrent of arrows.

  All at once, an arrow dug into his sister’s chest. Legann watched with horror as she collapsed onto the gravel without a sound. “Anylynn!” Legann screamed. He dropped to his knees, pulling her into his arms. She stared up at him, her eyes wide in shock. Legann’s throat tightened as he inspected her wound. The arrow had pierced too close to her heart; she wasn’t going to live.

  “Legann-” A single tear slid down her cheek as she gasped in for air. He opened his mouth, but before he could get anything out, her body went limp.

  Hot tears suddenly burned his eyes. Not quite three feet away were the still forms of his father and mother. All over the small village were strewn familiar faces and loved ones. Legann’s jaw clenched.

  He gently lowered Anylynn to the ground and stood, ignoring the arrows that were whizzing by him. An inner fire had kindled inside of him, a sudden burning hatred. He lifted his arm behind his back and yanked off his bow, while grabbing an arrow at the same time. Taking a breath, he notched his arrow and set it free. It hit its mark. He couldn’t see it – he didn’t have to. An archer had fallen. He could sense each archer’s position as if he had seen him there earlier. He reached back for a refill, and from there his movements became a system. Arrow after arrow flew from his bow, with only seconds between one another. He had been trained since the day he’d taken his first step in how to wield his bow with deadly accuracy and speed. And against all those in Tamorre, Legann couldn’t be bested. Now, the enemy was experiencing Legann at his finest.

  Suddenly, an arrow zipped by his cheek, its green feathers brushing across his skin. He hesitated, thrown off momentarily by his own surprise. Then, a high-pitched scream pierced his ears, forcing him down in pain.

  * * * * * *

  “The house is on fire.”

  “How do you know?” Tiara stared at him.

  He glanced down at her and raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking a Craele about his sense of smell?”

  Tiara ran her tongue along the back of her teeth. He may not have realized it, but it was the first time he’d admitted out loud what he was. “Then, what do we do?”

  “We go through the window.”

  “Alright.” She jumped onto the bed and shoved her weight against the window. It didn’t budge. Behind her, she heard Archrin sigh.

  “You pull it, Tiara.”

  “What?” Tiara blinked. “How?”

  Archrin’s arm reached past her, his hand grabbing a small latch at the bottom left corner of the window. She watched as he yanked it open. “Oh, I didn’t see that.”

  “I know.”

  Tiara turned and rolled her eyes. “Sorry I’m not as quick as the Craele.”

  “The window belongs to a Saerd,” he pointed out. “Your kind obviously can figure it out. Don’t blame your race for your own shortcoming.”

  “I wasn’t blaming anyone.”

  Archrin laughed. There was that inner flame of hers that he was so fond of. “Just climb through.”

  She gladly obeyed. The smell of smoke had become much stronger in the small room than it had before. As soon as her feet hit the soft dirt surrounding Davic’s cottage, she stepped back to make room for Archrin. She watched as he exited easily, almost as if his shoulder wasn’t injured. Almost. His jaw was clenched.

  “We need to find cover,” he told her.

  “But where-”

  A horrible, deafening screech stopped her from finishing. She fell to her knees, hands covering her ears. Tiara recognized the Screams immediately. Only the Screams could cause such unceasing pain to course through her body. Tiara gritted her teeth. It seemed that no matter where she went, Kendrens soon followed. And with the Kendrens came the Screams. She grimaced. Her second encounter with the device was no more enjoyable than her first. Wondering how Archrin was, she turned toward him and nearly died of envy. He appeared completely unaffected – his face determined and ears uncovered, showing no pain, no agony. She glared at him.

  Her glare only made him laugh, having the opposite effect she had intended for it. He crouched down beside her and tore the bottom of her dress into strips, extending two of the strips to her. It took all of her strength and willpower to remove her hands from her ears to accept the strips. But just as before, the moment the cloth entered her ears, the Screams lessened considerably. She took a deep breath, enjoying the change, just as Archrin shoved two pieces into his own ears. Tiara grinned. So, he hadn’t been completely unaffected.

  Archrin stood, pulling her up with him. He opened his mouth, but must have changed his mind because nothing came out. Instead, his eyes darted past her. As she turned to look at what had caught his attention, Archrin collapsed at her feet. Tiara spun back around, gaping down at him. The side of his forehead was bleeding. Blood trickled down his face from a small gash above his left eyebrow. Tiara blinked. The wound should not have knocked him off his feet. She knelt beside him, but before she was able to reach for him, strong arms pulled her backwards to her feet. Tiara cried out in surprise. No one had been near her.

  A rough hand pulled out the cloth in one ear and Tiara braced herself for the pain. Fortunately, it didn’t come. The Screams had ended. Her body relaxed somewhat, allowing her to strain her neck around to view her captor. She shouldn’t have looked. Seeing the green uniform caused her muscles to tighten back up immediately, as if the Screams had begun again.

  “Too bad for your lover,” the Kendren laughed into her ear, his hot breath hitting the side of her neck.

  Tiara gagged as the stench of his breath reached her nostrils. “Let go of me!” She shouted in Arthelian, jerking herself away from him unsuccessfully.

  “No use struggling,” he muttered, yanking her away from Archrin.

  Sadly, willpower wasn’t enough to escape the soldier’s strength. But before she was shoved very far, she snuck a glance back at Archrin. To her surprise, he was gone.

  * * * * * *

  Zedgry was trembling. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more. It had been almost a week now that he’d been in Delvich. It was getting to the point that he dreaded taking another breath so long as he was within its walls. And the ghosts were growing worse.

  After Eian, a captured lady-in-waiting, an Eve, and an ex-lover of Dagon had visited him. Zedgry shivered at the memory of that last one. Her name had been Cloe. Zedgry doubted she was still alive, same with all his nightly visitors. Even though they looked real at the time, their disappearance and missing evidence of existence the following morning made him think they were nothing more than a trick from Delvich, bent on keeping him away from any sort of rest. Zedgry grimaced. Unfortunately, the trick was working. Cloe, his visitor from the night before, wouldn’t shut up. The entire night she had pestered him about planning an escape. Zedgry frowned. That was the only element held constant between his visitors – they all wanted his help to escape. In truth, Zedgry would be willing to help if his visitors would stay past sunrise. Whether Zedgry was asleep or awake, at sunrise they all evaporated into the mist, leaving him drained and disturbed.

  Letting his breath out in a rush, Zedgry glanced upward through the thick, entangled branches above him. He didn’t expect to glimpse sky, so he wasn’t disappointed when he couldn’t find it. The forest had grown slightly lighter, in what Zedgry had come to recognize as day.

  His stomach suddenly growled, surprising him. He’d forgotten all about his almost ever-present hunger. Delvich had an odd way of claiming his entire attention. The place and its events offered him little time to focus on his personal wellbeing. He frowned and cracked his knuckles, flexing his fingers as well. He needed to find some sort of nourishment to last him the day.

  Not only was he hungry all the time, he was lonely. The solitude was practically unbearable. His nightly visitors didn’t exactly count as company. They were far more occupied with their own lives’ stories than they were in having an actual conversation. If he was to survive Delvi
ch, he would need to find a friend, and fast.

  * * * * * *

  Tiara was not the only one brought before the captain. Legann and Nystik were there, along with twelve or so other villagers. All of them, including Tiara, had their wrists tied behind their backs and were escorted by a Kendren.

  “This is the last of them, captain,” the Kendren holding Tiara reported as they neared the circle of hostages.

  “Very good.” The captain eyed them carefully. As he did so, Tiara scrutinized his features. He was tall, an inch or two above Archrin, with short, loose dark hair and was clean-shaven, as was required by all Kendrens. His light green eyes were young and sharp, similar to his angular face. He had to be no older than twenty-six. As his eyes continued to move over the group, he stopped at Legann. “What’s your name?”

  Legann didn’t answer. Instead, he clenched his jaw and glared at him. Nystik glanced nervously between Legann and the captain. “Sir, my brother does not speak Arthelian.”

  “Then you tell me his name,” the captain ordered. Tiara could see on his face that he didn’t believe Nystik’s excuse for Legann’s behavior.

  “Legann Jeor,” she replied.

  The captain motioned for the Kendren holding Legann to bring him forward. He then whirled to Tiara. “Name?”

  “Tiara Anteal,” she answered evenly, narrowing her eyes.

  He blinked. “You’re the wench that ran off with one of our officers?”

  It was Tiara’s turn to blink. “How-”

  “You will speak when spoken to!” He barked. “All you need to know is that news of your escapade in Drivian has reached my ears.” His eyes rolled over her features. “Foehn was quite passionate about your deceit and extraordinary beauty.” He let out a short laugh, more to himself than to her. “I can see now why he called you a vicious snake and temptress. What awaits you will be more deserving than what Foehn had planned.”

  “And what did he have planned for me?” Tiara grunted, to the shock of the other captives. Tiara felt like rolling her eyes at the gasps of two nearby women.