“What?” Phyllis whispered back, barely daring to breathe. “What’s wrong?”
“Just…look.” Ilieus shook her head.
Phyllis peered out, watching the golden road that continued beyond the castle gates, which happened to be wide open but loomed high above them. Soldiers walked back and forth; there were two groups of them. One group dressed in gray with silver fringes, while the others wore dark green tunics, midnight black trousers, and floppy hats on their heads. Phyllis gasped, covering her mouth with her hands in case they could hear her. She thought that dress meant they were Contrevails, yet the Riders of Phillondorn wore the same garb, and apparently they were allies of the Realalons. What was going on? Did they swear allegiance to the same leader?
Ilieus’s fingers gripping her arms brought her back. Phyllis shuddered, remembering Ilieus knew nothing about her encounter with the Riders of Phillondorn.
“I thought I saw Father,” Ilieus said, motioning toward the guards.
Phyllis could see how she thought that. Their uniform was royal, familiar, and the last thing they had seen their father wear. They were a mix of tall Crons and short Crons, stocky and strong, but the Tiders all wore the gray garb.
“What are they preparing for? We should find out,” Cuthan whispered, peering over their shoulders.
“Do you notice anything strange?” Phyllis glanced up at him.
Cuthan’s mischievous grin slid off his face as he saw the anxiety behind Phyllis’s eyes. Attempting to placate her, he shook his head. “No, but you do.”
“I’m not going to make any assumptions,” Phyllis replied. What did she know of the workings of the world? Perhaps she was wrong. But something irked her.
“Whatever they have, it’s in there,” Artenvox piped up. “We should go in and find out what it is.”
“No.” Ilieus held up her hand, staying him with a glare. “Do you see how many there are? We are safer watching from here.”
“We aren’t safe at all,” Phyllis countered, crossing her arms.
They sat in a strained silence for minutes, watching the soldiers and guards work. Cuthan stretched. “If we are returning to the shore, we should do so now before it grows dark,” he suggested.
“Traitor!” A cry split the air from beyond the golden gates. “Traitors to the throne, capture them!” the voice bellowed.
Despite themselves, the four leaned forward, peering through the underbrush to see what caused the ruckus.
“Realalons live forever!” the voice shouted back.
A roar of voices and the sound of metal striking metal resounded across the golden courtyard. Swords flashed through the air and shouts of rage echoed.
“Ooh.” Cuthan scrambled closer to the action. “This must be Pharengon’s army. I suppose they decided to attack after all.”
Artenvox followed him. “We should use the distraction to slip inside the castle.”
More voices joined the outrage while the horrific smack of fists and metal against flesh tainted the air. Crons and Tiders—falling, groaning, and shouting in victory—moved forward.
Phyllis reached for Ilieus, numbed by the appalling sounds from inside the castle. Cuthan and Artenvox had disappeared beyond the walls, but the twins looked at each other, their eyes mirroring each other.
“We should go back.” Ilieus blinked rapidly, her eyes swimming.
“Are…are you crying?” Phyllis reached for her, hands trembling.
“How can I not?” Ilieus stood, her fingers twining around Phyllis’s. “This is madness; they are killing each other behind the gates. We should go. I’m sorry we came here.”
They snuck away, sliding along the walls of the castle while still hearing the strikes from inside. They ducked as they heard the shouts of more soldiers running down the golden road, attracted to the sound of battle. Just as they reached the corner of the castle and right before they turned to follow the road back to the shore, they saw the shipyard. Rolling downhill, the golden road continued through the castle to the other side, spiraling steeply down to the shore. Floating in a cove was a fleet of ships, golden flags waved in the air.
“Ships.” Phyllis stopped, staring. “That’s what we need.”
Ilieus squeezed Phyllis’s hand tighter. “They intend to take over, don’t they?”
The twins hesitated as the sea breeze washed over them. Phyllis stood, and she felt as if someone else was in her mind, taking over her body. In a rush, she saw the castle, the ships, and the soldiers—hundreds and hundreds of them marching in the sunlight with red blood splashing at their feet. She saw the clouds roll, and the thunder boomed from the deep as the world began to spin in circles. It danced over them, churning into a vortex, and all the wild things from the sea rose with it. It spun and twirled until it erupted. The depths of the earth rose up, smashing everything in their wake. The sea rolled like a giant until nothing was left, but its churning, foamy waves, dragging all life into its never satisfied mouth.
Phyllis started and blinked as the blinding light came back into her eyes. Her mouth agape, she turned to Ilieus who was staring at her. “You saw it?” she gasped as a single tear rolled from one eye, curved around her cheek, and dripped off her chin.
“Was that your vision?”
“Yes, we shared it.” Ilieus lifted their clasped hands.
“Is that what you always see?”
“No. There is one vision that repeats itself over and over. White fingers…” She shuddered and trailed off.
“What should we do?” Phyllis asked, unsure of how to comfort Ilieus.
“We should leave.” Ilieus lifted her chin and moved toward the shore.
Phyllis lifted her eyes to the sky, and, for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of red. “Roturk,” she whispered under her breath, searching the skies.
They rounded the corner; Ilieus was intent on reaching the shore, and Phyllis was hoping for the confirmation that her dranagin was still alive. A lone Tider dashed around the corner at the same time, slamming into them and knocking them to the ground. He rose in fury and lifted his sword, cursing under his breath.
The sun was in their eyes as Phyllis and Ilieus lay sprawling in the dirt scattered across the golden road. Phyllis shaded her eyes and screamed as the sharp edge of the blade hurled its way toward her, only to be thrown away at the last moment. She sat up as the shadow towered over her, blocking out the light and raised her eyes to meet the Tider standing above them in shock. “Father?” her voice dropped like a stone, and suddenly she felt cold.
47
Broken
“Phyllis? Ilieus?”
It was their father, Antharn the Tider. His head was bare, but his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at his daughters.
“You should not be here,” he bellowed, bending down to snatch up his fallen sword. The clang of metal sliding across the road rang out eerily. “You should leave. Now!”
Phyllis stood and helped Ilieus up, feeling as if she had stepped into a dream. “Father,” she managed, her voice small because she had no strength left. “Why are you here?”
He looked troubled as he held his sword, his eyes darting over the castle walls. “You must leave,” he said, lowering his gruff voice. “Take one of those ships and get off this accursed island before it is too late.”
“Father?” Ilieus took a step toward him. She resembled their mother the most, which was both a blessing and a curse. “Father?” She repeated, moving closer. Tears streamed down her face. “Why did you leave?”
“They will hunt you down.” He glared at them. “They will kill you.”
“Who? Father?” Ilieus held out a hand as if by her touch she could appease him.
Flinching, he backed away and then lunged as Cron flung himself around the corner. Then he yelled as he moved to attack. “Leave!” Antharn shouted once more, swinging his sword to take on the Cron.
Phyllis stood frozen as her father fought. She could feel Ilieus
’s hand on hers, trying to pull her away, but everything was closing in as it always did. Tears of confusion pressed against her eyes, and a sharp pain made her blink. A second Cron joined the first as Father became outnumbered, and Ilieus screamed, calling for her to come hide before they were taken.
“He is protecting us.” Ilieus wept. “Why? Does he know?”
There was a shout as Ilieus flung open a door in the side of the castle wall and peered around it. Not seeing any soldiers, she pulled Phyllis through until they were inside the castle itself, standing in a great hall.
After the chaos, outside, the castle was quiet and dark. It smelled musty as if water seeped through its edges. Phyllis turned in the wide-open space, seeing staircases twist away into darkness and passageways leading down. She pointed to one as she brushed tears away. “Perhaps we can sneak down to the shore?”
Ilieus was still standing at the door, watching. “Father,” she whispered.
Phyllis placed a hand on Ilieus’s shoulder, and she felt it, like a punch to the gut, before she thought it. Father is dead. She felt numb as she met Ilieus’s gaze, and in one motion, she pulled her into a tight embrace, too frightened to shed more tears.
Phyllis was unsure how time passed as she and Ilieus grieved, too broken even to go look at his body that was probably carelessly discarded on the golden road. It wasn’t until footsteps alerted her that others were nearby that she pulled away. In surprise, she saw Artenvox and Cuthan running toward her.
“There you are,” Cuthan scolded. The scowl left his face as he drew nearer. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s no time to talk, they are coming back. We should run.” Artenvox pushed past them, flinging open the door and dashing out into the hedge. He yelped as two soldiers approached wearing silver helmets. Regaining his confidence, he drew his sword and lashed out at one of the soldiers.
“Get behind me!” Cuthan shouted as he drew his thin blade.
Phyllis felt Ilieus grab her and roughly shove her farther into the castle while Artenvox and Cuthan cleared a path for them. They moved like dancers, Artenvox lunging high and sweeping low with his sword; he had one hand out as if he twirled on a narrow bridge teetering high above the ground. Cuthan leaped out with his feet, a booted foot striking one of the soldiers in the stomach. The soldier doubled over while Cuthan took the opportunity to beat him over the head until he fell.
“Follow me to the shore,” Artenvox cried as vanquished his opponent and started down the hill.
Cuthan waved for Ilieus and Phyllis to follow while he spun, seeking more advisories. A crooked smile rested on his lips as if he enjoyed the thrill of winning a fight. The dash to the sea was a blur to Phyllis. From time to time she heard Cuthan or Artenvox pause to fight off soldiers. Ilieus kept pace, even though her face was drawn and her breathing became shallow as they fled downhill.
It wasn’t until Phyllis could smell the salty tang of the sea and see the waves dancing on the shore that she saw it. High in the sky, a spot of red darted to and fro, wheeling over the ships until it choose one that was moving away from the other. It perched on top of the mainsail, and, opening its mouth, the creature gave a cry. It was Roturk, who somehow had escaped from the sea monster, learned how to fly, and returned to the ship and its crew. Phyllis felt the dark hopelessness creeping in, the feeling of being lost, alone, and misguided. It was the way she’d felt ever since Mother’s death and now Father’s. As if knowing what she needed, she heard a mournful flute playing in the distance, the funeral song her heart now sung. When she reached the sea, she dived into the waves and let them carry her out into the open.
48
Nothing Left to Lose
Cuthan paused, his breath catching in his throat as he swallowed hard. His clear green eyes could just barely make out the dark line on the horizon. He was back. Again. Deftly he dropped behind the others, so they wouldn’t see the change in his demeanor. It wasn’t something he could help, yet he’d been anticipating the change that came over him when, once again, he saw the North Forests unfolding before him. His mouth felt dry, and he reached for a waterskin, but all he tasted was blood. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he tried to stop the shaking by reminding himself who he was. He was Cuthan the Charmer. Cuthan the Adventurous. Once before, he had ventured into the deadly forest and had escaped with his life and more. But what he’d lost outweighed what he gained. He thought again of his father’s quiet, curious determination to explore the woods. At first, Cuthan thought they might dwell there forever, hidden in the shaded boughs where the tedious repetition of life in Haitiar was a dream of the past.
Standing still, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Spreading his arms wide, he lifted his pointed face to the open arms of the air. It embraced him, and whiffs of pine, cedar, sweet cardamom blossoms, adventure, and more drifted toward him. He was aware of that intangible pull, the call of adventure, that drove him mad at times. It seemed as if a string were connected to his heart, and now and again it yanked and pulled, calling him back to the lonely road of adventure, encouraging him to cast away the confinements of safety and discover the secrets of the world. That call was relentless. Sometimes at night, he’d wake up, staring up at the twinkling stars in their circles of white and gold. He dreamed he could escape the ground and fly above into their midst, where they would come alive and show him the mysteries of the outer world. He longed for more, and every adventure was a drop in the bucket of emptiness, reminding him there was yet more to find, to discover, and to unbury. Indeed, that was why they called his bloodline the Treasure Hunters or the Jeweled Ones. At times, it felt like a curse, the desire for knowledge and power, and yet it was the journey that compelled him, not the journey’s end. Each ending came with grave disappointment, he reminded himself. The loss of his father in the North Forests. The discovery of Tharmaren the Wise. More like, Tharmaren the Crazy. Even the island of Contres was not what he expected.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Cuthan found himself moving through the last of the wild prairies toward the dark line of secrets. He took his thoughts of anxiety and tossed them away as easily as he’d toss an apple into a basket. Moments of seriousness came and went like day and night; he was not born to worry. His gaze drifted lazily over to Ilieus, and he sighed. She was as lovely as the quiet before a storm, and he could sense the untold secrets stirring in her mind. They called to him; he wanted to know more, but she had not fully unlocked her own power. Power. He turned that word over in his mind and turned his gaze on Phyllis. She held herself back for some reason, but she was responsive to his wit. He grinned; just the thought of teasing her again made him want to catch up with the twins and walk beside them, annoying them with his mischievousness. Only Artenvox was here now.
Artenvox. He had found his ring, which meant he could unlock his true powers. A snake of jealousy rippled across Cuthan’s back. He wanted to find his ring, and he’d thought the North Forests would lead to it. After all, tales told that the Jeweled Ones were born questers. When they were young, their quests would lead them to find their stones, and with those, they could unlock their true potential and find all their hearts desired.
Artenvox was ahead of Cuthan on that path. He’d escaped the North Forests earlier, had reached Tharmaren the Wise and the castle of the Lost Ones while Cuthan had been trapped, first in the forest and then with the Dezzi. He grinned, not that he regretted his time with the Dezzi. They were an amusing and entertaining tribe. Yet, he always found himself coming up short. Something was missing, and the stone would unlock everything for him. Life and endless adventures would be his. Although he searched, the green stone was elusive to him. He wrinkled his brow as he remembered Tharmaren the Wise asking if anyone had found a green stone. It was curious that one from the Order of the Wise should be concerned which such trifling matters.
The forest loomed closer as he jogged forward. “Come, my friends!” he shouted, almost laughing at them. “We are almost to our destination. Come on now, don�
��t look at me with your long faces.”
He bolted forward, excitement racing through his blood, deathly fear a thing of the past. He grinned as he saw Artenvox’s face turn different shades of red. Ah, so he did feel the same way, but he said nothing. Cuthan turned away, trying not to let the aura of his companions overcome him. He had nothing left to lose. Nothing at all.
49
The North Forests
Phyllis struck a match and watched it glow, the fragile flame birthing forth in the velvety darkness. She blew on the tinder with care, watching the sparks catch and dance into life. Their heat began to spread, dispatching the chill of the evening. Shadows caught and danced eerily, creeping near and then scattering away, shy of the new light of the forest. Phyllis sat cross-legged on a damp rock, pulling her cloak around her shoulders as she tenderly fed the fire. Above her, Roturk perched on a low-hanging tree branch, watching the fire through narrowed eyes, occasional whips of smoke curling from his nostrils. The night was young but fathomless and intense. She could hear the roots of the trees stretching even deeper, reaching out to a hidden well of life far beneath in the subterranean. Erratic noises of the night groaned around her; the nocturnal elements were springing to life. She wasn’t sure if they were beasts on the hunt, creatures of the night to flee from, or merely the endless voices of the woods. Across from her, Ilieus sat hunched over, naked twigs piled in her lap, waiting for their turn to be fed to the flame. Her eyes shifted back and forth in unease as she lifted one branch after the other, careful not to overfeed the starving fire.
“The first night is always the hardest.” Artenvox stood above the blaze, deftly skinning a pheasant, his face half cast in shadows as the flames had not reached high enough to bring light to the inner circle. “The forest is old and strange; it must accept you first.”
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 56