“Are we going to talk about what happened?” Marklus asked Crinte. He lay on the sand, staring at the dull stars with his hands tucked behind his head. His ears were pricked, listening, but nothing unusual stood out. He had called the Zikes earlier and they had replied; all was well and quiet on the northern side of the sea.
“No.” Crinte shook his head, his voice hushed. “Not unless you have anything to say. What we experienced was not something mortals should dwell on.”
Legone shuddered as he paced but said nothing.
“Their act was selfless but all the same we are bound by it,” Crinte concluded.
“They were beautiful and hauntingly sad,” Marklus remembered. “If I could, I would return to their halls of light and mist.”
“Yes,” Crinte agreed. “But speak no more of it.” His thoughts flew back to the day they had left, and his troubled mind still turned over reasons why Srackt the Wise had not revealed all to him. It stood to reason there was a time when Srackt the Wise had met the Mermis, and used their precarious situation to make a deal. A deal which might, indeed, turn the fate of the world. The question was how he could have known.
Crinte and his father were descendants from what used to be called the Order of the Wise. Superior in thought, the Order provided counsel to rulers of kingdoms, offering insight into what was to come and how to prepare. The Order often studied histories of the world and oddities that arose to better prepare for future events. Yet the Order had never been able to predict the future, and an antidote in exchange for an invincibility power would be abnormal even among the wisest. The more Crinte thought, the more he realized his father had been shaping his actions, even down to meeting the warriors he now called his own. After all, when he was young it had been his father’s idea to travel to the borders of Zikeland and stay for a while until the land fell into silence. It was his father who had introduced him at long last to Ackhor the Cron, who was held in high regard by the rulers of the land. He was a Cron unafraid of adventure and strife, able to look into the face of death and laugh. His adventures were legendary and it was through him that Alaireia had come to Crinte’s acquaintance. It had been his father who had taken him to the Afrd Mounts and inquired of a guide, a Tider from the mountain heights, to show them hidden paths. And it was his father who taught him that all people groups are unique and have something to contribute to the world, even those given to farming and creating a comfortable life, like the Trazames. He could see it clearly now, every step of the way laid out, and he had involuntarily followed it like a trail of breadcrumbs. Suddenly he did not feel as wise as he should, and his head began to swim. To distract himself, he thought again of the day they had left the Mermis.
The last day they spent flying over an endless sea of clouds until finally it was time to say farewell. “We are coming to The Three Clouds Pass,” Malaseya shouted from ahead. “And the Rainbow Bridge.”
Indeed, three monstrous clouds cut off the road before them, and just when Crinte thought they were going to attempt to fly above them, the horses entered into the wet mist, fighting their way through. A blanket of white covered their eyes and it seemed as if they moved into nowhere and nothing. Minutes crawled by as slow as the darkest night while the horses flew forward from memory. Eventually, Crinte saw flashes of bright colors lighting up the clouds below him. At first, he thought they were Mermis with their colorful hair flying long and free, but as they grew closer the clouds bowed, parting before them. Ahead of them rose a massive rainbow arching up into the air and curving back down again. Its bright colors lit up the air, almost blinding them with its radiance. The sound of falling water could be heard somewhere ahead, and the bubbles had all but disappeared, yet a hint of their presence remained. The horses alighted gently on the bridge, sending puffs of incandescent color flickering through the mists. The Mermis dismounted, floating gingerly above the bridge, and motioned for the five to do the same. “This is where we leave you,” Malaseya said. “The horses will take you as far as the Dejewla Sea.”
Ena was the first to move forward. She placed her hands on Crinte’s shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. “The blessings of Mizine be with you.”
She moved to Marklus, placed her hands on his shoulders, and repeated the same words, while Ima stepped to Crinte in her place. When Malaseya’s turn came, instead of grasping Crinte’s shoulders she folded him into her arms and held tight for a moment while his arms lay lank and useless at his side. “The powers of Mizine are on your side,” she told him. More reserved, she let go and moved on to bid farewell to the others.
The Mermis were the first to mount up again as their silver horses turned back in the direction of the castle, the tomb in the sky. As they waved, golden creatures twinkled into view no bigger than Crinte’s hand. They carried miniature harps and had tiny golden wings on their backs. They circled around the five and began to play a farewell song. The Mermis flew back into the mist, as if they were no longer beings of the Western World. And Crinte felt the end had come.
Legone stood in the white sands as the sun rose. Days they had walked through endless desert, and now it was as he feared. He was not sure he could find the forest of the creatures of the wood again, even with the vision of the Clyear.
“What bothers you?” Crinte stood a pace off, surveying the land.
Legone glanced at Crinte as he watched. “The land, it has changed.”
“It is ever shifting. Was it not this way before?”
“I do not remember.” Legone shook his head, his long braid of dark hair swinging anxiously behind him.
“This endless sand is miserable,” Marklus said as he ran up, out of breath. “Crinte, something is coming. I hear deep thuds around us. The sand rises and falls. It is not chasing us, yet it comes.”
“What say the Zikes?” Crinte asked.
Marklus shook his head, causing sand to fall out of his curls. “The dryness is killing them. I sent them west along the shoreline.”
“Let’s move!” Crinte shouted behind to Alaireia and Starman, who were a distance away. “Marklus, there are foul things afoot in this land. Keep your ears open.” His voice turned low, shielding his next words from Legone, who continued to walk ahead of them. “There is a wisp of smoke in the air, watching us. Be on guard.”
Marklus nodded as he pulled out his dagger. “Crinte, I know we are going to the tunnels, but with the heat of the sun and the weight of our packs, we will be exhausted by the time we arrive.”
“I understand.” Crinte nodded. He reached inside his tunic for the map Devine the Sorn had marked, showing their route. “The Natrogo Woods should be close. From there, we can follow the Eya River to the Slutan Tunnels.”
He unfolded the paper slowly, already feeling the hot sun beating down mercilessly on his head. For a moment, he blinked as he opened the brown pages while the sunlight filtered through. He turned it over, but both sides were the same. Black ink had faded and now the map was blank. His vision swam and his ears rang as he looked at nothing. Quickly, before Marklus could notice, he folded the map up again, placing it back in his tunic. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the sky, noting the direction the sun had risen in. He turned northwest and closed his eyes. He had studied the map many times and could almost pull traces of it from his memory. The land of Asspraineya covered half of the northern side of the sea. Along the eastern coast was the land of Barlen. Further north was Sera Land and Freedex, where Legone claimed he had gone to swim in the glory of Oceantic. The country they had crossed the Dejewla Sea into was called Sornarky, which Crinte assumed was named for the Crons who called themselves Sorns. The Natrogo Woods were in the midwest of the country, and from there, a river led directly to the Esife Peaks, where the entrance to the Slutan Tunnels lay. At least, according to Devine the Sorn. Speculation began to build in Crinte’s head, but he had to be the leader, had to present a strong front to his warriors. He pointed his feet northwest and walked through the shifting sand dunes, attempting to use h
is far-seeing vision, but the sun blocked his view. Not knowing what was ahead or behind, he walked on.
“Crinte! Crinte!” Alaireia’s adamant voice rang out behind him. He felt her grab his shoulder. “Crinte, what’s wrong?” He opened his eyes. Her concerned face was close and she reached out to touch his forehead. “It’s the sun, Crinte. The sun in this land is too strong. It’s affecting us all. Sometimes it feels like we’re walking in circles.” She moved in front of him, forcing him to stop walking. “Something is not right.”
“Alaireia, I know.” Crinte looked at her with tired eyes, and he wished he felt more in control. “We need to reach the forest. We need to start traveling at night. We need shelter. We need…” His voice trailed off as he felt the ground shake.
“Crinte!” Alaireia was calling his name and her voice sounded like it was in a tunnel. He could feel the vortex sucking him in. He turned his face and he could see Alaireia screaming, reaching out for him as the curved walls took him away. At first there was light. Then, everything faded away, and he was lost.
30
The Other Side
Alaireia could not stop screaming in shock and terror as she felt Crinte ripped away from her. The winds captured him, opening up a hole in the air and whisking him away, leaving her behind. The worst part was he didn’t seem to notice; he only stared at her with glazed, empty eyes as he disappeared. She felt her hands shaking as she reached out, grasping at nothing. “Crinte!” she screamed in a panic. Immediately, the fear rushed in, just like it had when the Wyvern attacked Srinka and life as she knew it burned. A chill gripped her heart, squeezing it until she gasped for air as the pain and shock of the sudden loss increased. Her legs gave way and she sank into the sand, shaking. Marklus was there in an instant, sinking down beside her. With blue tipped fingers, he reached out, grabbing her shoulders securely. At his touch, she felt the pain in her chest lessen, allowing her to breathe again, her breaths coming short and fast. “He’s gone,” she stammered. “Something took him; he’s gone!”
Starman came running up, his eyes wide. “What happened?” he begged, looking to Marklus for answers.
But it was Legone whose shadow cast over them. His voice was dry and emotionless. “He must have tripped over the remnants of a portal. Seek with the vision of the Clyear. There is no telling where it has taken him.”
Marklus, attempting to remain calm, demanded, “Tell me what you know about portals!”
“They were eight to begin with—four on this side of the sea, and four on the other. They are all closed,” Legone said. “At least, I believe they are. But, when a portal opens in this world, it leaves remnants. If you trip over them, it could throw you to another city or, in some cases, another world entirely.”
Alaireia, Marklus and Starman looked at each other in horror. They were all thinking the same thing but no one wanted to say it.
“Alaireia.” Marklus turned back to her. “The Clyear.”
She reached inside her tunic and pulled out the crystal horse, which danced in the sunlight. She whispered brokenly to it and the horse spread its wings and lifted up into the sky. The ground below them bounced and flipped, and a rain of sand shot up into the air and came crashing down again, throwing the warriors off their feet and flattening them against the ground. Crouching and spitting gritty sand from his mouth, Marklus struggled upwards again, reaching out to help pull Legone to his feet. “There is no time.” Legone’s eyes were fixated on what was behind them.
Marklus turned, only to find the sun blocked out by shapes moving in the sand behind them. “Run,” he croaked to the others, swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat. “Run!”
Racing through the sand was impossible. With each step, their footprints were swallowed into pools of sand, and when they pulled them out again to run on, they found themselves exhausted and out of breath. The hot sun beat down relentlessly, as if attempting to cook them within the shortest amount of time. But what distracted them most was not the difficulty of the ground beneath them, nor the fact that their leader had mysteriously vanished, or even the hotness of the sun. Behind them were huge monsters that shook the ground with every move they made, and they were coming for the warriors.
“There is no way we can out run them,” Alaireia panted.
“Marklus,” Legone called. “Do we stand and fight?”
In that awful moment, as he struggled forward, Marklus realized he had automatically inherited leadership. Legone looked to him, his face streaked with sand, his blue eyes clear. Alaireia’s face had changed from distraught panic to a calm mask, but he knew she was frightened on the inside. Plus, the Clyear had not returned yet, and they were blinded without it. Starman was scared, plain and simple, and at that moment Marklus was not sure what to tell them. He glanced behind again and saw clearly. The monsters were actually giants, three times as tall as him with lanky arms and legs. Their smooth, round faces were interrupted with the abnormal size of their large noses and flared nostrils. When they saw Marklus looking back at them, they opened their mouths and let loose a deafening roar. Marklus clasped his hands to his sensitive ears as another jolt threw him off his feet, but before he fell forward, he saw there were only three giants, slowly marching after him. “This must be what ants feel like,” he muttered bitterly to himself as he attempted to spit gritty sand from his mouth.
Legone was ahead, standing on the top of a sand dune, his original question forgotten. “Marklus!” he called, pointing. “We have a problem.”
Marklus forced himself to stand. Scrambling ahead, he caught up to where Legone was standing with Alaireia and Starman. They had reached the crest of a hill, and looking down, Marklus was relieved to see the sand turned into solid, barren ground with tuffs of brown grass and scattered green cacti. Further ahead, he could see a dark line of trees he assumed were the Natrogo Woods, but even closer, a mass of troops marched towards them. They were Gaslinks, and there could not have been more than fifty of them, yet still they marched directly towards the four, towards the sea, towards Mizine.
“Marklus?” Starman’s voice was trembling.
“Get down,” Marklus hissed, flattening himself on the sand dune.
“There is nowhere to hide,” Legone told him matter-of-factly.
“Wait.” Marklus slithered to the other side of the sand dune where the Gaslinks were coming. “The giants can’t see us on this side, and the Gaslinks haven’t seen us yet because the sun is against them. But, when the giants move the sand moves, we need to hide under the shifting sand.”
Legone opened his mouth to argue, but as a wave of sand washed over them, he immediately hunkered down, hoping to blend into the white sands. Alaireia and Starman followed Marklus’ lead, creating shallow graves in the sand and lying still within them.
“Don’t move,” Marklus whispered. “And don’t you dare look. If it comes to a fight, wait for my lead.” He felt they were all going to die, ambushed by giants and Gaslinks. All the same, he lay still and pricked his ears.
The marching of the Gaslinks could not be heard in the sand, but the giants came on, creating waves as they moved forward. After a few minutes, all grew still and quiet, and despite himself, Marklus turned his head to look, shaking sand off his face. He had slid down the hill a bit and could see the Gaslinks marching. They were headed southeast and would cross a way from his hiding place. The giants had paused when they caught sight of the Gaslinks. Now, they roared and slugged forward, making their way downhill towards them. As the giants walked, Marklus could feel the sand continuing to shift. Inch by inch, he was sliding downwards and assumed Legone, Alaireia, and Starman were as well. He wrapped his fingers more tightly around his bow, ready to fight should they be discovered.
The Gaslinks emitted a hissing battle cry and increased their speed when they saw the giants. Their skeletal faces were covered in black hoods that protected their bony structure from the sunlight. They also wore long cloaks and footwear that appeared to glide above the sand. Lifting
their axes, they moved forward, ready to take on the giants.
Marklus felt his muscles tense in apprehension. He knew he should stop watching, he knew he should put his head back in the sand, but he could not tear his eyes away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Legone twitch above him, and knew he was watching as well. It seemed the battle of the Gaslinks and giants would provide them the opportune moment to slink away in the sand, slipping down onto the road that led towards the wood. Before he could turn to whisper to the others he saw a wavering shape in the air. Initially, it was a black streak covered in gray, but it grew quickly until it was ten feet tall. It materialized in front of the Gaslinks, the mediator between them and the three giants. It was dressed in an inky black, loosely flowing garment with a hood hiding its face. Gray smoke emitted from its shoulders and faded, as if the creature were recovering from its transformation. A sharp, pungent odor inundated the air, coming from the weapon the creature held in one hand. It was a long, black pitchfork with fierce yellow orange flames leaping from the handle. However, the creature’s hands did not appear to be burning. It stood tall, and the giants paused, waiting. The Gaslinks ceased marching and waited as well, in something like anticipation mixed with fear. The creature took its free hand and reached into its garment. It unsheathed a wide blade that momentarily blinded the onlookers as it glinted in the sunlight. In one move, it lifted the blade, and in a grand, sweeping motion, cut off all three of the giants’ heads. When the last head rolled down and smacked into the sand, the creature froze, sword still raised, surveying its work. Slowly, its arm came back down and the creature rippled and faded from view, as if it had never been there. The Gaslinks did not utter a sound as they put away their battle axes and marched forward, unhindered. When Marklus came to, he found he was sitting straight up, staring in horror at what the mysterious creature had done.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 21