Loose papers scattered as he stood and turned to the small barred window. Sunlight tentatively warmed his tan cheeks as he crossed his muscular arms and closed his strained eyes. Memories danced with visions of golden fountains and winged creatures playing the most delicate music he’d heard in his life. Thoughts flitted back to the intoxication of the Afrd Mounts, a crisp, cool air blowing on his face, and the freedom of standing on a mountain top, looking down at the world with everything he desired within his reach. He remembered the weightless feeling of flying on the back of one of the most fearsome creatures of the air, and seeing the kingdom in the sky from afar. He recalled the mysterious secrets of the Algrema Forests and the waterfalls creating a trail into the innermost sanctuary where the Ezincks dwelt and taught him how to live off the land. Reality came thudding back as the terrors of the prairie once again materialized before him. All was not beautiful. Now, if he let it go, his memories would be nothing more than an exquisite dream.
With a sigh, Crinte turned back to his maps and again studied the lands on the other side of the sea. They were his weakness. He knew the lands to the south by heart, but walking blindly into enemy territory in the north would lead to certain death. His attempt to send scouts ahead had failed miserably; Marklus had been captured, and Alaireia had become too distracted rescuing him. Again, he wished he had been able to send the two off together to combine their unique strengths. A heavy-handed pounding on the door dispersed his thoughts. Perturbed, Crinte quickly crossed the stone floor and flung open the door to reveal Elam the Gatekeeper. A disgruntled look was plastered across his face as he mumbled, “A Legone the Tider is here to see you.”
Crinte turned the name over slowly on his tongue. “Legone the Tider?”
Elam the Gatekeeper nodded.
“Please, bring him here.” Crinte paused and added, “Your guards will not be needed.”
With a huff of impatience at Crinte deliberately undermining the rules, Elam the Gatekeeper marched down the hall to escort yet another unaccountable guest to Crinte’s chambers. Crinte shut the door firmly as a chill shook his body. He attacked his disorderly papers again until he found it. He held it up to the light. An Xctas, a great winged bird with a sharp beak and far seeing eyes, stared back down at him.
Legone should have been exhausted. After all, his four-week journey from one side of the Western World to the other would have taken any normal person months. An Xctas, a great winged bird, had taken him from the deep mountain ranges to the prairie ground. From there, he had run as if the ground were crumbling beneath his feet. The journey was all it took to make up his mind. Now, standing inside the walled fortress, he was reminded of how much he missed the freedom of the mountains and forests. Already the walls were closing in; the ceiling felt like a weight pressing on his heart. Legone bowed his dark head as he waited for the One he searched for, ignoring the curious guards around him. Part of him felt relief that he no longer had to carry his secret alone. At least the burden would be passed to another. The sound of his name jerked him out of his thoughts. The procrastinating Gatekeeper waved his hand, motioning for Legone to follow him.
As Elam the Gatekeeper ushered the guest into Crinte’s private room, recognition flooded Crinte’s memory. The name on the Gatekeeper’s tongue had sounded familiar, but the image of the Tider standing before him rang clear bells of warning in his mind. Legone the Tider was as tall as Crinte remembered, standing just over six and a half feet with piercing sky-blue eyes that mirrored the view from mountain peaks. His aura was just as stiff and frosty as the unrelenting walls of the mountain, rugged and craggy, warning of danger but promising life to those who survived. Long chestnut hair tumbled down his broad shoulders, almost to his waist. It was loose and tangled now from the Tider’s journey, and in some places, leaves and twigs still clung like burs to his long strands. His muscles rippled under his forest green tunic, and on his back, a sheath of white-tipped arrows and an engraved wooden bow rested. He looked down at Crinte over his long, pointed nose and extended his hand. All the while, no trace of emotion softened his hard features.
Crinte looked past the Tider and nodded at Elam the Gatekeeper to dismiss him. “Thank you.” Crinte knew he appeared calm and collected, but truth be told, the sight of the Tider fresh from the mountains troubled him. “Why have you come here?” he asked as soon as the door shut.
The last time he had seen the Tider was at the edge of the Dejewla Sea. Headstrong and young, a prince of the mountains, Legone the Tider had chosen to follow his restless heart and cross the sea. Since he had begrudgingly guided Crinte and his father through the Afrd Mounts, they were happy to provide guidance to the sea. From that time, Crinte knew Legone was full of wanderlust and selfishness. He paid no heed to the rules of his people and instead chose to live free and lonesome. Yes, he was skilled with the bow and arrow, and friends with all the wild beasts of the land, yet the fact that Legone the Tider arrived at the Eka Fighting Camp at all was unsettling. It was strictly against his character to join any sort of cause unless he was to benefit from it.
“Can I not go where I please?” the Tider asked, his voice quiet. “Crinte the Wise, I know it has been long since we met, but I have news for you.”
Crinte finally took his hand. “Legone, are you aware that Ackhor is the leader of the Fighting Camp and all knowledge must be shared with him?”
Legone sneered before brushing those words aside. “If I had wanted to speak to Ackhor, I would have asked for him, wouldn’t I?” He purposefully took off his bow and arrows and lay them by the door as a sign of peace. “My words are for your ears, Crinte, because you are the only one who can do something about them. From what I know of you, there is no possibility that Ackhor is truly in charge here.”
Crinte shook his head and offered the Tider a seat before taking one himself. “And from what I know of you, the fact that you are here does not mean anything good.”
“That depends on how you look at it. Viewpoints are everything.” With those words, he took an object from his tunic and laid it on the table. He looked at Crinte and calmly began to speak. “It was 10 years ago to the month when I left the mountains for the very first time. Some said it was a foolish choice. There is a reason we keep to the mountains, they said. We do not deal with those on the other side, they warned. But why not? I was curious. So I went. I can protect myself. So I went. There was no need for fear in that time. So I went. After we parted ways, I set loose my boat and took the most beautiful journey across the sea. My trip was calm and steady but I crossed at such a wide opening it took a fortnight before my vision was graced with the coast of Asspraineya. During that time I partook of dried meat, berries, and nuts to sustain myself, and drank the salt-less refreshing sea water, which tasted of the dreams sea creatures are made of. My Xctas flew above me by day and rested on the prow of my boat by night, watchful and cautious, unlike myself. When at last we arrived and climbed the sandy knoll, I pulled my boat up on the shore, yet a sneaking suspicion arrested me. Feeling like a trespasser, I pushed my boat back out to sea, cutting myself off from Mizine. My journey was not full of backup plans to return home. Forward was my only option.
“The land was surprisingly sandy, and further inland, that sand turned to dust and rock, quite different from the nourished countries to the south. I roamed aimlessly here and there, living off what nature provided. Every now and then I stumbled upon a small town or large city full of people much like you and I. They had adapted to the strange enviornment and did not seem to mind the long, hot days of intense sunlight, or the cool nights that were my favorites. The land stretched on, barren and bleak, yet at times I would lie outside at night, watching the multitude of stars and enjoying crisp, cool air. It was then I felt at peace with my decision and my nomadic lifestyle continued.
“I cannot say that I was lost; there was no road for me to follow, no end goal other than life itself. Yet one day I heard crashing waves, and climbing atop my Xctas, flew over the eastern end of Ocea
ntic. Waves pounded against the shore, demanding obedience. Seagulls wheeled below me, calling, nay, shouting with joy to each other. My heart overflowed and I leaped from my Xctas, only to find the breath knocked out of me when I reached those icy waves, foaming over my head and calling me under. At first I thought it was the end, until a slick wet body lifted me, and up popped an otter to laugh at my folly. Who knows how many months I spent by Oceantic living the life of a sea creature myself. It was when my Xctas began to fly off for days at a time that I determined to follow it. Oceantic would always be there for me to return to. Again hiding my presence, I wandered through canyons and valleys, barren lands and sandstorms, terrible winds, and freezing snow until I reached the border between Asspraineya and Slutan, where a great green forest grew.”
His words dropped away into silence and for the length of a few breaths, there was nothing. His eyes clouded over, no longer seeing Crinte across the table, as if he were being transported back into his deepest, darkest memories. He shook his head once as if trying to clear it, to determine what words were needed and what knowledge needed to stay hidden, for now.
“I have told no one of the time I spent on the other side. They know I left. They know I returned. And life continued as it always did. The sun rose, the sun set, and yet I always saw it through the eyes of another, and I wondered if I had made the greatest mistake of my life. Walking into the forest was like stepping into an ethereal world. It was as if time stopped and the years fell away like snowflakes in the sun. I cannot tell all that I learned there, only, I fell in love with the forest. I fell in love with its creatures. Yet all was not as it seemed.
“It has always been rumored there are immortals among us, if only we open our eyes. We have seen them and yet we haven’t, but I have, and I am ruined. I cannot tell if I am one of them or not, but it seems likely they would have poisoned me with their soullessness. Some days, I believe I am immortal, and at times, I wonder if my body continues to age, or if all was halted by dwelling too long in their presence. The Green People are real, their stories are truth, and they awoke a great evil, deep in the forest, and allowed it to grow. No, that is not right. They encouraged it to thrive, and once it became too strong for them, instead of destroying it, they unleashed it. That darkness is what is coming for us; that darkness causes the transformation. How, you ask?
“There is a power known to the immortals, the power of life and death, and few immortals are born with that dominance. Those who have it live hidden because they know others will abuse those abilities. But the truth is, they remain hidden because they know there is a ritual that if performed will allow powers to be transferred from one immortal to the other. And there is one in need of those powers for his plans to come to fruition.
“You know of the Four Worlds; the North World, the South World, the Eastern World, and ours, the Western World. There are greater beings, born out of creation and dwelling in the South World. Among many desires, one of them is to merge the Four Worlds and rule them as one. The purpose is yet unknown, but to join all Four Worlds together into the middle of Oceantic would take great power, and the move itself would cost many lives. Unless, a hardier People Group could be born that would endure such a drastic transition. If the worlds were moved together, there is no knowing what ancient immortals might awaken from the deep, or what others would be attracted to such a feat of power. An act of such magnitude is a challenge and demands an answer, and should the beings succeed, they are asking for war, and will need a stronger People Group to go to war for them.
“Why, you ask, should the immortals play with us in such a way? How are we to withstand such power? We cannot. Which is why, in all my years, I have never come forward with this knowledge, because what is the point? But now that it has begun, I rue the day the immortals thought they could play with mortals. We should not make it so simple for greater beings to take over our world and wipe out life as we know it for a superior People Group. I refuse to live to see such days, which is why I come to you now. You know the Western World and have traveled it like I have, living off the land, satisfying your wanderlust with no other purpose. Were those not the happiest days of your life?”
His words drifted into a muted silence, settling heavily throughout the room. As Crinte took in the words of Legone the Swift, a dread sat heavy on his heart. With the news he had brought him, he doubted anyone would follow him if they knew the truth. He looked back up at the cool eyes of Legone. “Why now?” he puzzled. “Why come to me with these warnings now?”
Legone stood. “See, you already believe me, although you mistrust me. Years ago, my words would have been the ravings of the mad one.”
Crinte pointed to the small object on the table as he rose. “And what of this?”
A shadow of pain passed over Legone’s face, almost too quickly for Crinte to see. “Keep it.” He backed away. “It is a token too strong for myself: the power of mind control. You of all people are wise enough to control it, but I warn you, it is your gamble now.”
The object glittered at Crinte as he uneasily gazed at it. “How did you come by this?”
Legone picked up his quiver of arrows and gently fitted it on his back. His eyes focused on his bow as he mumbled in a low voice, “The creatures of the wood gave it to me, just in case.”
Sensing the end of Legone’s open confession, Crinte moved to open the door for him. “Thank you, Legone. You have risked much to come here, and I would prefer these words not pass lightly between any others.”
“As you wish. But should you and I fall into their hands, there are others who should know the truth.”
“I will ensure the truth does not stop with us. But let us speak of this no more.”
Legone hastily exited the room and Crinte leaned heavily against the door. He would have to tell Marklus; he would even have to tell Ackhor. It was time to resort to their last defenses. If the Western World failed, it would not be because they did not try. Walking to his desk, he took a piece of parchment, wetted a quill, and began to write.
7
Relationships Of The Past
Alaireia found herself reluctantly walking towards Ackhor’s quarters before heading to the training grounds as usual one morning. Even though Ackhor let her enjoy her freedom and had avoided summoning her for debriefing, Alaireia was aware she should have made a point to meet with him the moment she entered the Eka Fighting Camp. Instead, she found herself hesitant, shying away from the one question he might ask. Her relationship with Ackhor went back years. He had appeared in the forests of Srinka shortly after the incident that took her family away. Instead of being put off by her frosty attitude, he’d provided the deadly weapon that led to her revenge. When the emptiness of loss set in, he distracted her from sorrow by showing her the glories and mysteries of the Western World.
Following directions from Elam the Gatekeeper, who knew everything about the fortress, she made her way to the meeting rooms Ackhor kept. Outside the frowning door, she halted and took a deep breath to still her jumpy nerves. Calmly, she reached for the doorknob, and before she could change her mind, burst into the room without knocking. Her eyes flew immediately to him and she saw, with relief, he was already preoccupied. Ackhor stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by three animated Crons talking intently. They glanced up in surprise at the intrusion, but much to Alaireia’s disappointment, Ackhor motioned for her to shut the door and turned back to them. She took in the details of the room while she waited, noticing the way bright light poured in from an oblong window, highlighting the many books and papers stacked by the walls, on tables, against shelves, under chairs, and by the window. The walls were covered in detailed drawings and paintings depicting landscapes and peoples of the Western World. Often the shock of walking into Ackhor’s rooms was enough to silence anyone until they became used to the idea of stepping from the neutral walls of the fortress into a bizarre land.
The Crons quietly finished their conversation, shook hands, and filtered out of the
room, glancing curiously at Alaireia. Ignoring them, she turned to Ackhor, and despite herself felt the corners of her mouth lift in a smile. Ackhor strode to her. He was a tall, burly Cron with shoulder length, rich brown hair pulled back to clearly display his wide face. His catlike eyes were kind and understanding, and much like Crinte the Cron, he emitted an aura of authority. Alaireia reached out her hands to welcome him but he held out his brawny arms and wrapped her in warm embrace. “Alaireia.” His voice was deep and melodic, sending calming vibrations through her body. “I know better than to worry about your comings and goings, but I wondered when I would see you again.”
“Ackhor.” Alaireia gave in to the warmth of his hug for a brief moment before pulling away. “The errand I went on took much longer than expected. But I am here now with news for your ears.”
Ackhor chuckled affectionately. “Of course, Lightfoot, little sister. I would expect nothing less. Come, sit, and tell me all.” With his arm protectively around her shoulder, he steered her towards the carved bench under the window where they sat, side by side.
Alaireia turned to him, her face earnest as she began to speak. “Ackhor, there is much going on in the world. Honestly, I left because Crinte asked me to. His friend, Marklus the Cron, went to scout out the other side of the sea. He, of course, got lost and captured in Slutan. He’s essential, you know, to Crinte’s plan.” She paused and looked at Ackhor, waiting for his reaction.
“I do know,” Ackhor confirmed, his expression cautious. “Crinte has a plan and he will tell me when he is ready.”
“I thought you might,” Alaireia affirmed. “I had to use the Clyear to break out of prison.” She smiled up at him and her voice became hushed. “It worked flawlessly; thank you.”
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 6