The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  “Do not ask me who is watching; they are coming, those who know what has been done and realize what a danger the Blended Ones are to life as we know it. The dreams your sister dreams are reality; they are a warning, and you must find one who can interpret them for you. If you don’t, the world will end. The Purebloods are forming an alliance; they are calling themselves ‘the Contrevails,’ and they will rule the Eastern World, at least what is left of it. Anyone who opposes them will be killed or banished, depending on what kind of a threat he or she is seen as. I tell you this because I hope there is a chance. I don’t know you, but even if you are of blended blood, you are my granddaughter, and I owe it to your mother to give you your best chance. Whether you trust me or not is for you to decide. I don’t know what my daughter said to poison you against me, but this is what I know.”

  Her dark eyes changed as she spoke; they were shining clear with honestly. Phyllis recognized that shift, even though each word that came out of her Grandmother’s mouth made her want to run screaming back home. Even now there was dread sitting heavy on her head, and the scent of lavender could not dissipate it. Grandmother spoke of a darkness only heard in tales of old, the fate of the world and her life intertwined with something dark and dangerous. Suddenly she understood why Mother and Father had banished Grandmother. If this was the kind of talk that came from Grandmother’s lips, the only option was to run away and pretend the warnings had never been spoken. But there was Ilieus to think about. Phyllis returned to the words that made sense to her. “I must take Ilieus to someone who can read her visions. But…” Phyllis bit her lip. “Who can read her visions? You?”

  “No.” Grandmother shook her head, giving a dismissive laugh. “No, you will need to go to one from the Order of the Wise.”

  “The Order of the Wise?” Phyllis furrowed her brow. “But you just told me that line has ended. They do not exist anymore.”

  Grandmother raised her eyebrows and stood. Turning her back, she walked across the room. Muttering under her breath, she riffled through a basket until she found two scrolls. She turned to the table and unrolled the first. “You must go to the West Islands and seek counsel from Tharmaren the Wise. He is over a hundred years old and was alive when the war for the Western World took place. He saw it coming, and he, above all, will know how to interpret the voices in your sister’s mind.”

  Despite her misgivings, Phyllis peered down at the scroll and saw a map of the Eastern World written out with great care and detail. The Eastern World was comprised of the main landmass and the West Islands off the coast of Nungus Des-Lista. Phyllis lived in the far southeast, but now Grandmother pointed to the islands. Most of them were unnamed and scattered in uneven circles between two larger islands. Grandmother tapped the one called “Wind Fresh.” “That is where Tharmaren the Wise took up residence, and there you shall find him.”

  “How do I get there?” Phyllis’ voice trembled as she asked, but she couldn’t tell whether it was with fear, excitement, or disbelief.

  “First by foot, then by horseback, and finally by ferry.” Grandmother rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, seeking Phyllis’ eyes. “This journey is not for the faint of heart. Unrest lies across the Eastern World, a restlessness you may not feel here in this village. But mark my words, something has come to the Eastern World, and it is awakening all. You and your sister may play a bigger role than you anticipate, but my own vision is dark.” She grasped Phyllis’ hands firmly in her large, smooth ones. “You have heard the tales of what happened to the Five Warriors of the Western World; I fear…” She blinked and stopped, quickly dropping Phyllis’ gaze.

  Phyllis attempted to pull her hands away; her breath was coming fast at the reminder of the words she only wanted to forget.

  Grandmother released Phyllis and rose again. “Now you have a choice to make. Go to Ilieus and tell her what we have spoken of. Then return here at sundown, with Ilieus, and your journey shall begin.”

  Phyllis stood reluctantly. She moved to the door and placed her hand on the latch, but she turned around to face the lady once more. “What should I tell Father?”

  Grandmother tilted her head; the honesty left her eyes, leaving only shadows. “Your father will take care of himself.”

  7

  The Keeper

  They called her the Keeper, likely because they were afraid of her. In truth, they should have called her the Collector, for she had a deep urge to collect the intangible knowledge. It was what drew her to the Castle of the Lost Ones on Wind Fresh, and that desire held her there. Her parents had died long ago, so she assumed, but her lack of interest in her past some found disturbing. They had drowned perhaps, been murdered, or maybe they had simply run away and left her, a fairy child, alone.

  The lack of parenting had left her a bit wild, ferocious, and unusual. No one dared question her decisions, possibly because her eyes looked as if they could split a person in half, or it may have been her tiger. She’d adopted Amos when she was twelve, and he had been her constant companion ever since. Even though it had taken several attempts with begging, pleading, and bribing, she had finally persuaded Captain Winther of the ferry to let her cross with the tiger. When she’d reached the castle and found it in disarray, three years ago, she’d taken over. She was the guardian of the castle and the Lost Ones. She held their secrets and protected them.

  Now she watched with narrowed eyes as two males made their way up the hill toward the castle. In recent years, the island had blossomed into a bustle of activity, becoming a refuge for the Horse Lords and their nomadic families. At first, she hadn’t minded, but then they took to building boats, planning food and supplies, and detailing out when they could return to the ever shrinking landmass. Eventually, she’d had enough and sent them off to build their own homes close to the shore and watch for the ferry that, in her opinion, showed up far too often with more strangers. Most visitors were Horse Lords who went straight to their homes, bursting with tales of their misfortunes and adventures. Some came to the castle, but that was rare. The two males coming up the hill now walked with purpose and intention, and to her dismay, she realized they were familiar to her. Tilting her head, she glanced down at her tiger, Amos, whose back eyes were already staring into hers, determining whether he should respond in aggression or with friendliness. She sighed and crossed her arms. Her fingers lightly tapped the daggers she wore hidden in her belt.

  “Miri!” One of the males waved, and she realized who they were. Yes, of course, she should have known; the two rascals were always showing up to interfere with her life. The first time, she’d been but a child, lost in the moors. They saw fit to adopt her, despite the fact they themselves were orphans and barely older than her. From there, they proceeded to teach her everything they knew about fighting, riding, hunting, trading, and being altogether mischievous. They were the brothers she’d never had or ever wanted. She crossed her arms as Pharengon and Thangone walked up to her, smiling good-naturedly.

  “Oh, it’s you.” She sighed and dropped her hands from her side, resting them on her tiger’s head.

  “You don’t sound happy to see us,” Pharengon remarked as he and Thangone climbed up the long, wide steps toward her.

  Miri’s tiger, sensing her mood, growled in greeting. “Amos, be nice,” she whispered to it. “Can’t you see they are friends?” Pointing to the arch of the courtyard, she lifted her bright brown eyes. “I know why you’re here.”

  Thangone raised an eyebrow. “Why would that upset you?”

  Miri’s shoulders slumped as she exhaled. “You’re going to come with your army and change everything. This is your war, but what’s worse is that you’re intent on it spreading to every corner of the Eastern World.”

  Pharengon’s golden eyes clouded over at Miri’s accusation. He paused as he walked past her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s unfair of you, of all people, to say that. We did not start this war, but we have an obligation to the people groups of the Eastern World. E
veryone should have the chance to live free from the tyranny of war and bloodshed that destroys all. Not all should be Lost Ones, such as you and I and Thangone.”

  Miri took a deep breath and lifted her chin, daring him with her gaze. “What are you going to do, Pharengon? You may be King of the Horse Lords, but the people groups of the landmass will not follow you.”

  Pharengon let go of her, backing away. “I know,” he replied, pursing his lips in a grimace. “That is why I’m here.” He turned, striding into the dim light of the castle before Miri could utter another word.

  “You shouldn’t antagonize him like that,” Thangone rebuked, squatting to rest his back against the wall of stone.

  Miri watched her fingers running through the white fur of Amos’s head. “How would you prefer I talk to him? I’m not good with words. I only say what I think.”

  A gruff laugh escaped from Thangone’s lips as he shook his blond head. “You could be more tactful, although I suppose you don’t know what that means either.”

  “No,” Miri agreed, sitting down cross-legged beside Thangone. Her tiger, Amos, padded off and lay across the top stairs of the castle, blocking anyone from coming or going.

  “Listen, Miri,” Thangone said. “It’s been two years since you’ve been to the landmass, and much has changed for the worst. Remember that army we discovered on the island of Contres? They are recruiting, and all people groups are choosing a side.” He stroked his beardless chin in consideration. “The thing is, none of this is going to help save our dying world. If only we could get a word with their leader, we could negotiate.”

  “Why?” Miri shrugged, missing the point. “Can’t you just ignore them?”

  “No.” Thangone groaned in frustration. “You don’t understand. They are taking people. I’ve heard stories across the lands. A troop comes through each village, hand-selecting who they want to join. They don’t give them a choice. Miri, right now, if I demanded you come back and ride with the Horse Lords again, what would you do?”

  “I would refuse.” She spoke her next words in awed wonder. “I can hear things here. The sea speaks; the sands whisper; it’s quiet enough to collect the voices everyone has forgotten.”

  Thangone glanced at her oddly. “What voices?”

  “That’s why I don’t want you to bring any more people here. Once it’s full, like the landmass, the voices will leave. It’s too soon. We haven’t translated what they are telling us. Only one knows, and he can’t speak.”

  Thangone shifted, suddenly feeling the urge to leave. Miri’s mind worked in interesting ways, and sometimes he worried about her, especially after she had chosen to travel with that Treasure Hunter, Artenvox. As it turned out, the pair had found precisely what Artenvox was looking for, but unexpectedly the discovery left them all disappointed. Artenvox had gone on to proclaim it was time for the next phrase in his hunt because he had only found the lock and not the key. During one of their visits, Pharengon and Thangone had argued, at length, with the bull-headed Cron. It had all boiled down to the question of whether Artenvox would be satisfied with the treasure he found. He, in reply, had told them no, he was a Treasure Hunter, and if he wasn’t hunting, he wasn’t living. Thangone could understand his desire to prevent the Eastern World from dying, but there was something darker, almost evil, behind Artenvox, and he could not understand it. A deep, unsettling feeling came over him. “Miri,” he said sternly. “Who is translating the voices with you? Is it Artenvox?”

  “No. He talks too much,” Miri complained. “And he won’t listen properly.” Her face brightened as an idea struck. “Would you like to come listen?”

  Thangone stood, involuntarily brushing his fingers against his sword, as if voices could harm him. His thoughts were filled with misgivings, but, alas, he was a Cron and curious. “Yes, show me.”

  8

  The Voices

  She led him down into the depths of the castle through cold corridors of stone and winding staircases that curved into the belly of the massive castle. Torches were scattered across the passageways, the unsteady light casting eerie contours on the walls. Presently, Thangone began to hear a gentle sound. “Is that water?” he asked, his voice carrying rather loudly through the hall.

  “Shh, yes.” Miri shushed him. “Amos. Heel.” She waved for her tiger to sit.

  “Where are we?” Thangone strained his eyes in the dim light. He could see ahead where the passageway stopped and opened into a large space.

  Miri lit a torch and held it out, showing him where the castle ended in a bed of water. “This is the underground lake that flows into the sea. See? We can take the boats out as we please without anyone seeing us.”

  Indeed, Thangone could see the boats rocking in the water, making a gentle sigh as they moved back and forth. The lake shimmered in the torchlight, and a tunnel led further out, toward the sea. A sudden chill captured him, and he could almost taste the musty tang of water in the air. A vague rot where mold grew on the walls filtered to his nostrils. Miri was kneeling at water’s edge, holding out her torch and peering into the water. She scrunched her eyebrows in concentration as she pricked her ears up. “Come. Listen,” she whispered with reverence.

  Thangone could feel the wet stones seep through to his skin as he knelt beside her. Casting aside his misgivings, he closed his eyes, stilled his heart, and listened. He heard it like the wind on the prairie right before a strong storm. There were voices whispering, echoing through the water. They spoke in a tongue he could not understand, but as he listened, he realized they must be chanting the same phrase over and over. He began to catch the rhythm of it, the way the voices undulated as they spoke. When he bent his ear nearer the water, they rang out the clearer. He sat, mesmerized as they spoke. Ten lines. Over and over. At the beginning of the chant, their speech was calm, as if teaching a lesson, but the chant rose in intensity until it came to the conclusion. Was it a prophecy or warning? He could not tell. He had to know.

  9

  Secrets

  The tall, golden-eyed one came to see him, creeping through the cold tunnels of the castle and sliding through dark passageways as if he were one with the secrets of the darkness, hidden in plain sight. He knocked once, and the assistant appeared, reverently holding the door open. Entering, he strode to stand before the desk, knocking the chair out of his way. His gloved hand lay on a plain, untarnished sword hilt, and his eyes were calm. He knew what he must do. He paused, staring down at the old, stooped figure before he bowed. His cloak billowed out on a secret wind as his forehead touched the desk. Finally, he stood and announced, “We have come to take over.”

  The white-haired Cron nodded, a withered hand resting on his staff. He stood slowly as if he might fall and froze in surprise when he found himself standing on his feet. Reaching down, he picked up a piece of parchment and handed it to the golden-eyed one. His assistant, wide-eyed and pale, piped up anxiously, gesturing at the parchment. “He says there is something you need before you become King.”

  The golden-eyed Cron picked it up and gazed down at it in shock. “I have searched the landmass for word of this! Tell me, where can I find it?”

  The white-haired Cron collapsed on his seat with a sigh and rifled through the papers on his desk. At last, he pulled out a map and pointed to a square of land.

  “Nungus Des-Lista?” The golden-eyed Cron narrowed his eyes in concentration as the white-haired Cron reached for a quill and ink. He scratched a few words on a piece of parchment and handed it to the golden-eyed Cron, who snatched it. His eyes darted across the paper impatiently, scanning the information there. He lifted his eyes with a eyebrows raised in question. “The Jeweled Ones have an ally there? Aren’t they the seekers, hungry for treasure and power?”

  The white-haired Cron nodded while his assistant turned back to poke the fire.

  The golden-eyed one folded the parchment, his brow furrowed. “I will go to the estate of Renlages the Trazame to search for it, and then I will return.”

/>   The white-haired Cron nodded again and reached for the item he had first shown the golden-eyed Cron. The golden-eyed one folded it into his cloak and stomped from the room. Just before he faded once more into the darkness, he laid a hand on the doorknob and turned. “Thank you, Tharmaren the Wise.”

  In one swift motion, he disappeared.

  10

  A Message

  Cuthan the Cron stood in front of the Dezzi queen, arrogantly holding his blond head high. Heavy iron shackles bound his wrists in front of him, and linked chains reached down to connect to the iron circlets around his bare feet. The sharp features of his tanned face were marred under streaks of mud and dirt, but his green eyes gazed out almost lazily, already bored with his sentencing. His tunic was ripped from the scuffle, and his pants were too short, cropped off at mid-calf. Generally, he liked his appearance to be impeccable, but this time it couldn’t be helped. He made a mental note to acquire new clothes as soon as the ordeal was over. The butt of a whip punched into his shoulder blades, forcing him to move. He shrugged and shuffled two steps forward. He was slim and fast, standing at just over five and a half feet tall, but his movements weren’t his strength. As the queen gave him a chilling glare, he cocked his head and smiled at her.