Realm of Ice
Legend of the Nameless One: Book Three
Angela J. Ford
© 2019 Angela J. Ford
Realm of Ice: Legend of the Nameless One
First Edition, September 2019
Angela J. Ford
Nashville, TN
angelajford.com
Editing: JD Book Services, JD Book Services
Proofreading: Suzanne Johnson
Cover Design: Amalia Chitulescu Digital Art, amaliach.com
Dragon Illustration: Wojtek Depczynski, Wojtek-Depczynski.art
Realm of Ice: Legend of the Nameless One is under copyright protection. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN:
Created with Vellum
Also by Angela J. Ford
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The Four Worlds Series
The Complete Four Worlds Series (Books 1–4)
The Five Warriors
The Blended Ones
Eliesmore and the Green Stone
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword
Stand-Alone Tales of the Four Worlds
Prison in the Sky
Myran: A Tale of the Four Worlds
Legend of the Nameless One
Citrine’s Monsters: Prequel to Legend of the Nameless One
Realm of Beasts
Realm of Mortals
Realm of Ice
Realm of Rulers (coming 2020)
Realm of Towers (coming 2020)
Realm of Power (coming 2020)
For fans of the Four Worlds
Contents
1. Orenda
2. Memory
3. Beings
4. Trick
5. Truth
6. Snowflakes
7. Arrows
8. Defiance
9. Resilient
10. Chaos
11. Revulsion
12. Dead
13. Anger
14. Responsibility
15. Sore
16. Therian
17. Balance
18. Wait
19. Terms
20. Deal
21. Revelation
22. Ice
23. Birthright
24. Numb
25. Hollow
26. Traitor
27. Truth
28. Vibration
29. Volcano
30. Run
31. Pressure
32. Wild
33. Storm
34. Power
35. Alone
36. Buried
37. Emerald
38. Stone
39. Pieces
40. Beast
41. Devastation
42. Rubble
Also by Angela J. Ford
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1
Orenda
Low grunts and muffled snores purred through the smoke-filled air of the camp. Ten-year-old Averl crossed her skinny brown legs as she perched cross-legged on a flat stone near the fire circle. Blue flames sparked and sizzled as her grandmother poked at the charcoals, stirring the ashes to life. Grandmother’s wrinkled skin sagged on her bony arms, but her brown eyes were as clear as a cloudless day. Grandmother focused on the stick clutched in the claw of one hand and the bowl of ink, dark as the midnight sky, in her other.
Averl pinched her fingers together, determined to be patient. For once. Her copper eyes took in the jagged cliffs surrounding the encampment of her people—the last of the Ezincks, also known as the Tribe of Minas—as they prepared for sundown. The hunters had returned earlier with a meager supply of meat, and the fragrance of it washed over the camp, for the hour of the last meal was almost upon them. Averl squared her shoulders, ignored the twitch of hunger in her belly, and peered up at her grandmother. “Is it time?”
The stick paused mid-jab. Grandmother pulled it out of the ashes and tapped the end with her brittle fingers. “Aye, Averl.” Her voice sounded like the low hum of wind brushing dead leaves over stone. “It is time.”
Her necklace of multicolored stones rattled as she turned her hunched body to face her granddaughter. Not that she was particularly old—only fifty years—but life in the mountains was unforgiving and demanding. Grandmother swirled the stick in the pot of ink and pulled out the tip, glistening with liquid.
Averl swallowed hard and straightened her back, determined not to move during the ritual.
“Ten moons you have lived. Ten moons you have been blessed to dwell among the living.” Grandmother chanted as she touched the ink to Averl’s forehead, carving a pattern of runes over her brown skin. “My love. My young one. You have the strength of the ground within you, the light of the moon in your eyes, and the path of the wise under your feet. May you flourish under the Green Light in a world ripe with opportunity. May you find the path that brings you prosperity, and may the wind ever blow grace and goodness on you. May you find the desires of your heart and bring life and love back to our people. We fade. We die. But you are our hope.”
The stick tickled her skin as the symbols appeared, bold against her dark tones. Averl wrinkled her nose and held back the laugh that bubbled within, a proud pleasure growing as her grandmother spoke. Grandmother’s steady fingers traced a flower in bloom, a symbol for growth. A stone to represent the core of the Cascade Mountains, her home. Yet as Grandmother traced the shape of an arrowhead, something tingled inside Averl, sending a euphoric buzzing through every inch of her body.
A thudding pounded in her heart like the roaring of an avalanche turning the lightness of snow into a formidable power, strong enough to shatter rock and bury trees. When the painting was finished, her eyes flew open. A gasp escaped from her lips, as though she’d been running up the mountainside. Quickly, to avoid showing disrespect, she bowed her head and opened her palms to accept her grandmother’s blessing. The correct response came to her lips. “May the words you say fall to the ground like seeds, blossoming tenfold to a hundredfold.”
“So, it shall be,” Grandmother echoed.
Brittle fingers came under Averl’s chin and lifted her face.
Grandmother smiled, showing off a row of straight teeth. A lightness came over Averl. She grinned boldly, proud to be a member of the Tribe of Minas.
Grandmother placed her palm on Averl’s heart. “You felt it, didn’t you?”
Averl’s copper eyes glowed as she nodded. Her body still hummed with a mix of savory pleasure and terrifying discomfort. “What do you call it?”
“Orenda is the power that dwells with us. It empowers us to achieve our desires. You must learn how to tap into it. I have no doubt—” Grandmother paused mid-sentence, and her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites showed. Her hand came down hard on Averl’s thigh, gripping as though she feared a blizzard’s winds would sweep her off the mountainside.
“Grandmother!” Averl screamed. A bubble of fear rose within her. Unable to stand, she snatched at her grandmother’s arms with both hands and shook her. “Grandmother! What is it? What’s wrong?”
The hubbub of the tribe ceased, and female warriors dashed over to Averl, eyes wide at the sight of Grandmother.
Her breathing ceased, and her mouth hung open.
“Grand
mother!” Averl shouted over and over again, a sob breaking through her voice. Not now. Not like this. “Please. Please. Please.” She closed her eyes to find the ball of energy and forced it to surge through her once more.
Suddenly, Grandmother gave a cough.
Her eyes rolled back, and she sat up, wheezing but firmly waving away anyone who would help her. As the tribe gathered—skinny legs, spears in hand, and stone jewels adorning wrist and neck—Grandmother stared at each of them in turn. Her eyes glittered with madness in the dimming winter light. “Be warned,” she croaked out. “A storm is coming, and with it comes the devastation of the mountains.”
“A winter storm?” Averl asked, fingers shaking as she sat back down, wanting to touch her grandmother’s leg to ensure she was solid, still alive, but not daring to with the tribe gathered near.
Grandmother shook her head, rattling her stone necklace. “Nay, I do not know whether it is metaphorical or physical, but a storm is coming. I sensed it when you gained access to your Orenda, dear Averl. Nay. We must all prepare. For it is because of the Therian. They bring strangers to our mountains, and with the strangers comes the storm, and after the storm comes the end.”
Gasps and cries echoed across the encampment. Averl’s shoulders slumped, and her excitement at feeling the energy of nature conflicted with fear. There were many clans in the mountains, but the Tribe of Minas had an alliance with the Therian. How could the Therian betray the Tribe of Minas by bringing evil to the mountains? Averl’s fingers curled into fists. Someone had to do something. Someone had to stop the Therian.
2
Memory
Midnight. Tor Lir stood alone in the circle of white stones. The tops of the great rocks rose ten to fifteen feet in the air and were rounded, creating perfect nesting sites for eagles and other birds of prey. Winter winds howled in fury, for they could not penetrate the sacred circle. Tor Lir faced the middle of the circle, his back to the wind, purposefully shutting out the realm of mortals. He held the Clyear of Revelation in both hands like a sacrifice, decisions warring within him. Should he take the risk? Did he want to know the truth? Would the Clyear of Revelation answer the question he held in his heart? He was afraid to ask the question, but also afraid of not knowing the answer.
Time would not make the choice easier, and so he stepped to the center of the circle and placed the Clyear in a patch of thatched grass, weaved together like a nest. It lay like an egg. As he backed away, colors shot out across the ground and rolled into a gray fog. The Clyear disappeared into a white mist, and the thing that remained made Tor Lir cringe.
His heart thumped loud in his chest and blood pressed against his eyes. His gloved hands tightened into fists, and he looked at the diabolical thing that stood there, black as a moonless night with curved horns coming out of its head. Emerald eyes gazed upon him and sent a shiver of dismay down his spine. He steeled himself, forcing away the fear that threatened to send him into waves of panic. Questions spilled from his lips. “Who are you and why have you appeared to me?”
Features flickered across the black surface of the thing's body, and a wolfish grin appeared and faded, leaving nothing but impenetrable darkness, just as velvet and haunted as the moonless midnight hour. “You know who I am. What I am. I have only separated myself from you. You see me with your naked eyes. I am you. And you are me. Together, we are one spirit. The mortals have something similar to what we have. They walk and talk without noticing what only light will reveal. Darkness. Darkness alongside everyone. They gave it a name. A friendly name to obligate their fear and shame, the shame of being followed by darkness and continually having to choose between good and evil. Choices hound the mortals day after day, and they have forgotten what it is like to be without morality, without the choice between darkness and light.”
Tor Lir’s green eyes narrowed, and a coolness seeped into his words. “Speak plainly. What do the mortals have that is similar to what we have?”
“Don't you see?” The sinister being lifted its arms.
The clouds parted. The wind died down, and a sliver of moonlight, thin and wan, cast its light into the circle, illuminating the horned being.
Tor Lir crossed his arms.
The being copied him, moving in the same heartbeat, long arms folding around its body.
Tor Lir swallowed hard and dropped one hand. His head itched as a shadow of knowledge passed over his mind, like the clouds revealing the moonlight.
The being also dropped one hand.
Tor Lir took a step, and paused as the being copied his actions like a looking glass, a mirror that did what he did.
The puzzle clarified itself, and words of astonishment dripped from Tor Lir's mouth. “Mortals have shadows but it is nothing more than the light, revealing what is hidden. Shadows are not separate entities from a person—”
“Go on.” The being waved an arm, encouraging him to speak his mind.
Tor Lir's mouth went dry, and the blood drained from his face. “I am an Iaen—one of the immortal creatures of the forests of Shimla. I know I have a shadow but you cannot be mine.”
“Why not?” the being growled. It grew in height until it towered above Tor Lir, a threatening, featureless face glaring down at him. “Have you seen your shadow during the daylight? The time when mortals go outdoors and work? Don't you know there is a reason they hide during nightfall and lock themselves indoors? They are afraid of the night, afraid of their shadows, afraid of what the darkness will bid them to do. Deeds done without being seen are dark deeds, evil deeds, this they know, but perhaps you do not understand this. You are the one who is lacking in knowledge, knowledge that is your birthright and yet you run away from it. You forced my hand by using the Clyear of Revelation. It is only as strong as those who wield it, and you held a question in mind. You wanted to open your eyes to the things that are unseen, that follow you. You asked, and I appeared. I am your shadow.”
“Shadow.” Tor Lir repeated. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and hidden knowledge glimmered like starlight—impossible to see and yet difficult to ignore. The itch on his head grew sharp like the point of a thorn as he tried to remember if he'd ever seen his shadow.
He closed his eyes, recalling Citrine’s bright hair, threads of her blue dress blowing in the wind, and the ripple of her shadow bouncing behind her as they strolled through the rolling hills of the South World. Sea-tinted air kissed his lips as he recalled the rustle of the wind when he flew on Ava’s back. The long shadow of the beast stretched out below, but when they landed and he dismounted, there was nothing there. No shades of darkness. No shadow. Memories blurred one after the other, yet when he looked back, the absence of his shadow stood out sharply. He drew a sharp breath in, hissing as the truth struck him. He did not have a shadow, but why?
The words of the green giantess who raised him came to mind, as did his last conversation with her. She was the Queen of the Iaen, a Green Person, and a hero who played a hand in the great war between the mortals and immortals. At least, that was what she called it, but in truth, it was the war between the mortals and Changers.
Changers were dark beings formed accidentally out of the Creator's spark. As the tale went, during creation the Creator was distracted by his assistant, and three sparks fell, becoming Changers who thought themselves above all and sought to destroy the people groups of the Four Worlds in their endless quest for power and paradise. Their names were not uttered among the people groups, and yet they were known in tales and ballads as the Heroes of Old who saved the Four Worlds from utter destruction and kept the people groups from extinction.
Tor Lir allowed his mind to drift toward memories long buried, thinking of the queen who raised him. Ellagine. He had come from her. At least, he thought he had, until her their last conversation. Threads of it drifted to him, and with a hiss, he recalled the words he'd said to her.
Tor Lir stood in the green wood, gazing up at her angular face. He spoke, sure and steady of himself with that bold knowing
that youth tend to have. “You have nothing to fear from me. I am not a Changer. I do not love, and therefore I will not destroy the world because of love. I am the opposite of love. I am the opposite of fear. I am not swayed by emotion.”
“Will you take a name?” she whispered.
“Names are powerful. I will be called a thousand things, but I will never share my true name.”
She pointed north, her calm words ringing in his mind. “When you want to know who you are and where you came from, go to Daygone.”
He'd paused, surprised. “I came from you.”
She shook her head. “No. I may have borne you, but you did not come from me.”
Then she gave him a piercing look as though she were trying to read his thoughts and peer beyond his bold façade to see what he was hiding. He put up his hand to ward off her gaze, knowing she was powerful and might see his thoughts. “Please. Don't look at me like that. You have nothing to fear. I have come to keep the balance. The world is at peace.”
The memory faded and Tor Lir blinked, staring at his shadow, recalling the lost things he'd chosen to forget. “I am not a Changer,” he spat. A coldness filled his body, shutting out emotion. He'd allowed emotion to sway him and in doing so he’d forgotten the flavors of Shimla and the potent flare of the immortals. The edges of power had drifted from him, and he missed the woods more than he realized until the moment he stood face to face with his own shadow. The wind howled around him, screaming, and suddenly shapes stepped out of the stones and sat down within the circle.
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