The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  31

  Enemy Territory

  “Let’s move!” Marklus commanded, even though part of him wanted to turn and run back across the sand dunes, to the Dejewla Sea, back to the land of the Mizine where horrific creatures did not appear out of thin air to terrorize the land. It was clear they were in over their heads, but at best, he had to get the warriors to safety before they could rethink their strategy. “Don’t talk,” he told them. “Don’t think, let’s just find cover.”

  Fear gave their feet wings. They dashed out the sand dunes, down through the barren land of Sornarky, towards the woods. As they ran, the Clyear appeared, flying before them. Their eyes were drawn upwards as it flew over brown barren land, across boulders and stunted trees, until they saw a great foreboding tower, rising higher than the tallest trees. High up in the tower stood Crinte, looking lost and confused.

  The vision faded as they stumbled into the wood, stopping to catch their breath behind a twenty-foot-high cactus. Its thick stem was covered in sharp spines, reaching out to snag and trap anyone who ventured too near.

  “He is five days from here,” Alaireia said. “In the northeastern corner of Asspraineya, far from where we need to be. He was fully armed. I don’t think they have realized the portal left him there.”

  “We must move with all speed.” Marklus nodded. “Starting now, we travel at night; the sunlight wearies us in this desert land. We need to find the Eya River and refresh ourselves. It will be a long journey but we must go quickly. From here on out, we run.”

  They were all thinking it, but no one said anything about the creature with the pitchfork. Instead, they threaded their way through the dehydrated cacti, which puffed out their spikes even further to ward thieves off their inner water supply. A hardened brown road covered in cracks took them northeast through the desert forest. Legone ran ahead, suddenly sure of his way as they passed. Wild underbrush grew in selfish circles around the base of the cacti, unwilling to expand beyond the poor shade they could gather. Each plant was a flowerless, neutral shade, imitating the ones behind it, causing the scenery to fall flat and dull against one’s eyes. Tense apprehension hung heavy in the air, as if life itself were waiting for a calamity to fall upon them, that they might pick up what remained of themselves and wait, again, for the next disaster.

  “We should stop to rest,” Marklus announced after a time, pausing as the endless heat continued to paw at him.

  Alaireia stopped beside him, a hand on her sword hilt as she glanced warily at their surroundings. “What’s the point?” she asked openly. “Whether we walk or sleep, we are losing time. Besides, even if we do stop, I don’t think I could sleep a wink in this heat.”

  Legone took a few steps towards Marklus and Alaireia, nodding in agreement. “Lightfoot is right—we should keep moving, at least while the lands are quiet and we can.”

  Marklus turned to Starman, who was lagging behind. “I, for one, would like to put as much distance between us and that thing that appeared back there,” he said with a shudder.

  “Alright then, onwards it is,” Marklus said as he pointed.

  “Besides,” Starman went on, trudging behind Marklus, “who would live in a place as hot and hopeless as this?”

  “It wasn’t like this before,” Legone remarked emotionlessly from ahead. The dry air let their voices easily slide to each other’s ears. “It used to be beautiful, a desert, yes, but…” His voice drifted away as memories overcame him. He moved faster instead, leaving Marklus, Alaireia and Starman to plod slowly along in his wake.

  Night fell swiftly in the desert. One moment the intense sunlight glared down upon them like a grumpy, disappointed parent, the next it had been snuffed out of the sky like an extinguished flame. Slowly, an icy chill began to creep out of the ground, curling around their feet and raising goosebumps on their once sweaty arms. The eerie silence of the evening unsettled them. Even Legone turned back to huddle near the others. “I can scout ahead, Marklus,” he offered.

  Marklus shook his head, motioning for them to rest in the middle of the path. “No, let’s pause here to eat, then move on. Together. Once the moon rises, we should have the light we need.”

  Alaireia crossed her legs as she chewed, forcing dried bread down her throat. “The desert may come alive then. We should look out for water as well.”

  A mere fifteen minutes later, they heard the first sounds of scuffling in the underbrush. Marklus rose quickly and stretched his tired muscles just as the first beams of moonlight began to highlight the eerie shadows of the night. “Time waits for no one,” he said, his voice hushed as his ears listened to the desert awakening. “We should run.”

  Marklus dragged them on through light and shadow, though no one uttered a word against him. Legone and Alaireia dashed on ahead, scouting, watching, and avoiding. Small creatures scurried by them in the shadows, chased by larger ones, too distracted by the hunt to pay heed to the intruders in their land. It was not until the first hints of dawn began to streak through the sky that Marklus bade them find shade to rest in.

  Starman did not wake again until it was past midday and the waves of heat from the intense sun could almost be seen riffling the air. He sat up slowly, taking care to stay within the shade, and searched for a water skin. But when he lifted it, naught but dust poured out. With a sigh of discomfort, he turned to his companions. Marklus and Alaireia breathed deeply and slowly, lying on their sides on the hard ground. “Lightfoot took first watch.” Legone’s voice drifted to him. Starman turned, eyeing the solemn Tider. “If you’ll take this watch, I’ll scout ahead for water.”

  Starman nodded. “How did you bear the intense heat before?”

  Legone stood, unfolding his long limbs and reaching for an arrow. “It is as Marklus said: travel at night, sleep by day; it is the only way.” He left the bramble of dried bushes, exiting the gentle shade. “Keep an eye out,” he called to Starman, before disappearing into the heat.

  Starman sat quietly, wakeful, listening and watching through the screen of twigs. The land looked just as it had the day before, as if they had not transversed miles into the northeast. The hushed silence hanging over the land was final and disturbing. Again, he recalled the sounds of home. His siblings constantly shouting in the distance, the bleating of sheep and goats, the lowing of the cows as they grazed contentedly. The intoxicating smell of his mother’s and older sister’s cooking would have drifted over the lush pastures dotted with plentiful watering holes. The memories waved and faded as the heat and his thirst sliced through fond thoughts of home. He shifted his position on the unforgiving ground and blinked to stay awake. Time continued to drift by, and Legone had not yet returned. His eyes grew heavy as he waited and watched. His fingers, having nothing to do, stroked his sword’s hilt in a calming motion. He was just about to nod off again when he smelled it.

  The tasteful, refreshing sensation of water; it was in the air, somewhere near. His dried tongue was begging for it, and for a brief moment, he was tempted to wake up Marklus and sneak off the find the source. But he was a stranger in enemy territory. Moments turned into an eternity, and Starman was just waking from an unintentional nap when Legone stealthily slid back into their shady hiding spot.

  His eyes were alight from his adventure, and he passed a full water skin to Starman. “The Eya River is only a few miles ahead. From there, the forest grows thicker and denser. We should be out of the desert by nightfall.”

  Starman nodded uninterestedly as he continued to guzzle water, his dehydrated body thanking him by buzzing with hunger.

  “Starman,” Legone added as he settled down to watch and wait. “Better have that sword ready. There are Gaslinks all around the land.”

  Starman choked mid gulp and coughed as he looked at Legone. “How close are they?” he asked, his words coming out surprisingly calm and hard.

  “A few miles. They travel by day for some reason.”

  Starman glanced at the hard Tider and closed his mouth, unsure of what to
say next, unwilling to break through the barrier Legone held in place. They could fight together, but friendship was not something the Tider offered.

  They came with the darkness, sneaking through the filter between shadow and light, camouflaged in their dark robes. Marklus walked through the chill with Alaireia, Legone and Starman, watching their steps, waiting for the lights of the night to guard their way. Instead, the shadows moved forward and Alaireia drew her sword. “The creatures of the night may be able to see us, but we cannot see them. Let’s even the playing field.”

  “I would rather move in stealth,” Marklus began, but his voice trailed off as he heard the movement in the darkness. The muffled sound of footsteps, a sound not meant for ears to hear. “Arm yourselves,” he said instead. “We have company.”

  Alaireia’s sword lit up the barren land around them. The cacti were scattered across the desert floor, growing fewer as they moved on. The smell of water hung like a tempting prize in the air as the four continued to walk forward, hardened and determined, no fear of what was coming next. There was a pause and then, like the night, the Gaslinks were upon them.

  Alaireia narrowed her eyes and lifted her sword, the beacon of light blasting forth, illuminating the black, pointed hoods the Gaslinks wore. Bony arms raised, they threw the sun sheltering hoods back and twirled wicked battle axes as they silently, unnervingly, moved to attack. Alaireia was on the defense as she surged forward, stemming the tide of the rushing Gaslinks. With a grunt, she stabbed into one’s midsection and sliced her sword out, whirling to chop off another arm and throwing back an elbow to knock a third Gaslink off kilter. The light pouring from her deadly sword appeared to fizzle and dance, much like a second sword as the sharped blade dug into the bony neck of another creature and dislocated it from its body.

  Legone was not used to fighting in the dark, yet the light from Alaireia’s sword guided his arrows and the bony flashes of white from the Gaslinks’ overstretched skin clued him in to their locations. They moved much faster than the troops they’d fought in Trazame. These were the elite, the real killers; the army that was marching towards Mizine to overtake it. Legone lifted two arrows to his bow, pulling his bow string taut until the back of his hand brushed his mouth. Pursing his lips, Legone let go. The arrows surged forward, gathering wind to assist their flight, and plunged their stone edges deep into the eye sockets of one Gaslink. The next arrow had already left Legone’s hands, spinning its way into what one could only hope was the heart of a second Gaslink.

  There weren’t many Gaslinks, but Starman could see they had surrounded the four. Alaireia and Legone were quickly sticking down the creatures on one side, so Starman turned to the other, striking low with his sword. Even as he moved forward, he felt the strength of his sword flow through him. Fighting felt different without the rage and anger, leaving nothing but cold determination. Starman punched a Gaslink in the gut and sliced off a skeletal wrist. His sword whined and sang as he gave it free rein, each stroke sure and fatal. Nightmares faded as he hit hard, his sword clanging loudly against a battle-axe, yet he swung it around and drove it into the Gaslink’s neck. A curved blade flew towards his exposed chest, but Starman dived out of the way, breaking the legs of another creature as he went down.

  Arrows slid past Marklus, each one he pulled whispering secrets as it took down its target. He could feel the strength of his companions and their raw determination as they drove back the Gaslinks. The cold fear of the other side had been quelled, and returning their lost leader was their focus, no matter what stood in their way. Marklus pulled another arrow from his quiver and sent it through the bare head of a Gaslink. Just as quickly, the darkness melted into moonlight, and bodies lay around the four as they slowly brought down their weapons, breathing hard. Marklus pricked his ears, but he only heard the creatures of night at their games again. He looked at Alaireia, her sword still gleaming a warning in her hands. He glanced at Legone, who still had an arrow ready to fly; he moved slowly in a circle, searching for one last enemy to take down. Starman returned his look. “Shall we?” he asked a bit breathlessly.

  “Yes,” Marklus agreed, finding himself unexpectedly surprised at the strength of the company. “Let’s go.”

  32

  Orders

  A wisp of smoke drifted through the air, materializing on the cliff where Sarhorr stood. The creature towered above Sarhorr, its hidden face bowed below the curve of its hood. It held a burning pitchfork unflinchingly, waiting, saying nothing.

  “I suppose you want orders.” Sarhorr spoke with mirth, considering his creation. Or rather, transformation. It had never sat well with him, the fact he was unable to create. He cocked his head to the side, turning his back to overlook the beauty of the canyon stretching before him. Sometimes, he stood endlessly from his side of paradise, up where the screams of the transformed were muffled and the stars drew nearer to revel in his superiority. Creation was not possible, but transformation was only phase one. He rubbed his hands together in glee as he thought of the endless ingenuity of his plan. Mizine was only a distraction. It did not matter whether the people of that country lived or died, there would always be more people groups to transform. What concerned him were the immortals.

  “The Tider—I assume he has crossed the sea?” Sarhorr asked, turning back to the silent figure.

  The creature moved its head up and down.

  “Good. Kill their leader.” He then waved his hand dismissively.

  The creature vanished and the wisp of smoke drifted away.

  33

  The Tower

  The dark forest of Freedex lay in the northeastern corner of Asspraineya. Since it flourished on the waters of Oceanic, the plants were more abundant. Marklus, Legone, Alaireia, and Starman stood in the tall trees under the cover of night. A cold wind blew briskly as they stood on slippery pine needles, looking up at the fierce black tower where Crinte was trapped. Its spiked turrets rose higher than any of the tall pine trees of the forest, and its black edges glinted fiendishly, even in the darkness.

  Starman shivered as he looked at it. The past week should have broken the spirit of any Trazame. They had spent long nights running through the land of Asspraineya, and days hiding from the sun, sleeping, and searching for food. Already, their supplies were running low. They were all thinner and a hungry, an almost desperate look shone in their eyes. But most of all, they were determined, and Starman could feel it welling up within him. “What is the plan?” he asked.

  Earlier, they had seen troops of Garcrats and Gaslinks enter the tower, and assumed it was some kind of stronghold for them.

  “We have to climb the outside of the tower,” Alaireia suggested. “Going inside will be too risky, unless I go alone. There is bound to be an open window or a balcony where we can enter from the outside. They won’t be expecting an infiltration and will certainly not be keeping watch.”

  “Good,” Marklus agreed. “Can you tell where he is?”

  Alaireia pointed up to the side of the tower closest to them. “The Clyear has led us straight and true. He is up there. Somewhere.”

  Marklus nodded. “Let’s go.”

  He moved forward but Alaireia caught his arm. “Wait, let Swift and I go. Stay here in case anything happens. We may need you on the outside.”

  Marklus stepped back, remembering how Alaireia had broken him out of prison. He took an arrow out of his quiver. “Go safely and quickly, then.”

  Alaireia beckoned to Legone and they left the wood, glancing uneasily at their surroundings as they moved forward. The watching eyes of the tower were turned inward, and even though the doorway was closed and sealed, no guards paced before them. Alaireia led Legone to the bushes clustered near the walls, and using her hands, searched for a foothold. Sure enough, there were places where the stones were uneven and holds had been left to allow builders to easily navigate up and down the sides of the tower. It was typical for huge structures to include footholds for the builders as they rose above the ground. How
ever, they were supposed to be destroyed or filled in once the building was complete. For some reason, it had not happened with this tower.

  Alaireia placed her fingers on the cold roughness of the unforgiving stone, and pulled herself up. She reached one arm above her head, searching for the next foothold. Dirt and pine needles fell away from where they had lain untouched for many months. As soon as her fingers closed around stone, she pulled herself upward. The climb went quickly but the wind felt stronger the higher she went, and her fingers grew numb from repeatedly clinging to the cold stone. Every now and then, she scraped her knees against the sharp rock, but dared not stop or look down. She knew she was close when the wind began to buffet around her and she had to hold as tightly as she could to keep from being blown away. She leaned into the tower, hugging it close until her fingers met rails. Looking up, she was relieved to find a balcony. She pulled herself up, rubbing her tingling fingers together. Staying in the shadows, her eyes quickly darted across the balcony as Legone climbed up and lightly landed beside her. They both took out daggers and moved towards the balcony doors slowly, nodding at each other in sync.

  The doors swung open readily enough, welcoming them into a small room. But instead of seeing Crinte, they found hard eyes glittering at them behind a mail hood. The creature rose and moved forward, lifting a long sword. As it drew nearer, Alaireia and Legone could see it was a Gaslink wearing a garment of mail tightly around its boney body. It swung its sword quickly, forcing the two to back away towards the balcony. Alaireia twirled her dagger, aimed it at the Gaslink’s head, and let it fly. It slammed into the Gaslink’s head and bounced off its mail armor, spinning away to lie undamaged on the castle floor. Legone, unable to draw an arrow in time, dropped his bow and pulled another short dagger from his belt. He moved forward aggressively as Alaireia backed away towards the balcony railing. She drew her sword slowly, feeling its power like putty in her hands. The gold line glimmered as she held her sword high with one hand. The Gaslink turned, its glittering eyes drawn by the hypnotic light of the sword. Alaireia held her blade out over the balcony edge as the creature moved towards it. When it reached the verge Alaireia pulled her sword towards herself, the Gaslink whirled but Alaireia was faster. She swung her weapon into the Gaslink’s shoulders, forcing it backward over the edge of the balcony. It teetered on top for a brief second, then fell over the edge with a whoosh, too surprised to cry out. Legone nodded at her admiringly, sheathing his daggers and reaching for his bow. The two moved into the darkness of the castle.