The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Thangone turned slowly; one of his eyes was swollen shut and red. One hand grasped his sword hilt while he beckoned to them with the other. “I see the Jeweled Ones are invincible,” he remarked when they caught up to him.

  Cuthan grimaced against the pain in his arm and the slight jab. He’d known for a while that Pharengon and Thangone were not quite fond of himself and Artenvox.

  “Where are the others?” Artenvox skillfully ignored the remark and changed the conversation.

  Thangone pointed south, and through the burnt trees, they could see Pharengon and Phyllis waiting. Neither of them moved, and neither of them smiled.

  When he reached them, all questions Cuthan had died on his lips. The lost and vacant look in Phyllis’s eyes told him what had happened, and the slight shake of Pharengon’s head discouraged further conversation for the time being. They greeted each other with nods, glancing over each other’s wounds, well aware of their dire circumstances. They were injured and lost in the woods. Although they were headed in a southern direction, they had no food, shelter, or means of healing themselves. In short, it was only a matter of time.

  A week later, the five travelers found themselves stumbling into greener lands where the sun began to shine through leaves of green. The oppressive quiet of the forest disappeared, and each morning, when the sun rose, the birds sang a song of welcome. The smokiness cleared, and the air became cooler. Once again, they followed a river, thankful to wash themselves free from the grit and ash of the explosion and to quench their thirst. Starving bellies were nourished with what little fish they had strength to catch, and their bones and bruises began to heal. They spent more time resting because they found themselves keenly aware of their misfortune. It was a known fact that none escaped from the forest, even Cuthan’s and Artenvox’s blind luck from years earlier could not be anticipated again.

  One night, they rested by the river, listening to the voices of the trees sing through the wind. Cuthan lay on his back by the riverbank; his broken arm was tucked up against his chest. “What are we going to do?” he sighed, dropping a hand into the water and flicking drops across the gentle surface.

  Thangone sat propped against a tree trunk. The swelling in his eye had gone down, but it was still discolored and ugly. “We follow the river until it leads us out; there is nothing to stop us now.”

  Artenvox snorted in laughter, almost choking on a piece of fish. “Nothing to stop us?” He chuckled again. “I have walked the paths of the wood for years. The forest played with me until it was done having its way. Then it spit me out in the west.”

  “Chased you out,” Thangone corrected him, annoyed at Artenvox laughing at him.

  “We don’t have years,” Pharengon objected.

  Cuthan lifted his head, his eyes darting between Pharengon’s and Thangone’s. At last, they came to rest on Phyllis, and he regarded her somberly with his emerald gaze. She met his eyes, but she said nothing. “Pharengon,” Cuthan went on. “Say we do escape the forest. What is your plan?”

  Pharengon stood and crossed his arms. “We have to return to Wind Fresh and ensure the Contrevails do not take over the Eastern World. Now that the threat to our world has been vanquished, we must make sure the people groups live together in harmony. If we return to bloodshed and war, many lives will be lost needlessly.”

  “Ah, a Horse Lord to the end.” Cuthan turned his face away, back toward the river.

  “We have been here for months; it may already be too late,” Thangone said.

  “I hope not.” Pharengon fingered his sword hilt. “We have everything we need to persuade the people groups. All we need is time to earn their trust.”

  “You mean to become king?” Artenvox raised his eyebrows.

  Pharengon paused before nodding, still hesitant to accept the responsibility. “It is my fate, according to the prophecy.”

  “You will make a great king.” Phyllis spoke for the first time that evening; her voice was clear and confident.

  Cuthan glanced at her, narrowing his eyes. He was sure she was hiding something from him. He still was unclear of the manner of Ilieus’s death, and he hadn’t seen the Clyear once, that is if she even had it.

  Phyllis stood suddenly. Her hair was still wet and braided back; it jerked behind her as she turned in surprise. “I hear voices singing. Can you hear it?”

  Artenvox waved his hand dismissively. “We aren’t in Midlands yet.”

  Instead of replying, Phyllis moved forward through the trees toward the voices of the night.

  Cuthan sat up, his ears pricked. “They are the not the same voices we heard in Midlands.” He rolled over first to his knees and finally to his feet, before following Phyllis.

  “I hope this adventure ends better than the last one.” Artenvox smirked.

  One by one, they followed her as they weaved through the trees.

  67

  Mermi Glade

  As if answering a call, they fought the bushes and twisted through brambles and vines, always chasing the voices. The song rose and fell; the words danced through the leaves as if they played a game of hide and seek. At last, the underbrush gave way to a green glade where a new moon cast its light on the wood, and the trees stood back in reverence to watch the ritual begin.

  Cautiously, Phyllis peered out from behind a tree trunk, and she felt Pharengon come up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She relaxed; his steady presence a reminder that there was one left in her life who cared. She did not like the way Cuthan watched her; there was something he wanted, and she suspected he knew much more about her and Ilieus than he revealed. She knew he wanted to know the details behind what happened to Ilieus, but it was not an event she could speak of without dissolving into tears.

  At night, instead of sleeping, she lay in silent grief, knowing why and understanding the words on a scroll. In fact, she understood more of the knowledge of the world as if an impartation had been passed to her. She could not bring herself to look at the Clyear again, knowing how powerful it was and how incorrectly she had used it. She saved the world, but she also destroyed another race entirely. There should have been another course of action; one that Pharengon, in his kindness, would have found. She had been grief-stricken and impatient, and although she did not regret what she had done, on some scale, she felt she had done wrong. That choice would stay with her the rest of her life.

  As she stood listening to the beauty of the voices, with the cool night air on her face, she lifted her eyes and saw the new moon; it was something she could not recall seeing since the world began to die. A tear rolled down her cheek, but it was no longer a tear of pain, but it was one of release. She would never forget what happened in the North Forests, yet now the quiet pull of the Tider rose within her, telling her to seek safer adventures.

  Cuthan peered over a bush in the glade, and his jaw dropped. On the grassy knoll danced the most colorful creatures he’d ever seen. They were all female and appeared young and ageless with smooth skin. Their hair was the color of bright raindrops. They wore short frocks of feather and mists, which brazenly showed off their long legs and bare feet. They skipped in place, lifting their hands and dancing in a circle. Half of them weaved their way between the others, catching hands and slinging each other to the opposite side of the glade. Clasping arms, they danced in a half circle, kicking their muscular legs out, and started again, spinning and clapping. Their voices rose in a sort of half chant and half song, but the drums of the Midlands that kept the rhythm, and the friendly fire was missing. One would have thought they were Crons or members of the Dezzi, but the way their pointed toes touched the ground gave them the illusion of flight.

  In one move, faster than the eye could blink, they turned toward the five hidden in the trees and crouched, one knee bent while they held curved knives in their hands. One dark-haired female stood, while the others remained in a defensive position, and motioned for those hidden in the trees to show themselves.

  Sheepishly they emerged, co
ming to stand at the edge of the glade with their hands on their own weapons. The dark-haired female moved to the front. Her eyes flashed as she held up one of her hands to stay her tribe from attacking. Her other hand held a knife that glinted in the moonlight, showing off its sharp blade. “How did you find us?” she snapped. Her voice was fierce while her white teeth gleamed. They were small in her mouth, but they were pointed as if they were used to ripping flesh. Her intense eyes traveled over the weary travelers, noting Artenvox’s sapphire ring, and she paused when her gaze met Cuthan’s.

  “Please.” Cuthan held open his hands to show her he held no weapons. “We mean no harm. We heard your song and came to watch. It’s beautiful.”

  She said nothing; she just stared at his eyes, her stance never changing.

  “We are looking for help,” Pharengon interrupted, taking command. “We need to escape these forests and save our Kingdom.”

  His fingers strayed across his sword, and the female tore her eyes from Cuthan’s charming gaze to stare at Pharengon’s weapon. She pointed. “What is that you carry?”

  “I will show you.” Pharengon held out a hand, signaling peace, before he drew his sword. The jewels caught in the moonlight as he held it up. “I am Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword.”

  An audible gasp echoed through the forest as the females stared at the sword, their eyes as wide and round as the full moon. The dark-haired female hissed in surprise, and then she closed her fist and put her knife away. The others followed her lead, standing tall once more with their legs apart and arms crossed. Their eyes were the most animated parts of their bodies, roaming over the strangers in curiosity. “I am Indonesia,” the lead female offered. “We are Mermis of Spherical Land.”

  “Mermis,” Thangone whispered to himself. “I wonder if that explains the voices.”

  Indonesia glanced at him and gave a quick nod, although her eyes said she was unsure of what he meant.

  “Spherical Land?” Artenvox repeated in confusion. “But…I thought…that land is in the Western World. Is it not?”

  Indonesia cocked her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “You have listened to the stories well.” She spread her arms, including her tribe in the next words she spoke. “We are the descendants of Crinte the Wise and Marklus the Healer. We are the Watchers of the Four Worlds who tell the stories of great deeds so others will have hope and believe. You.” She pointed to Pharengon. “Have the Jeweled Sword. Do you know what it means? You must have a story.”

  “If we tell you our tale.” Pharengon slid his sword back into its sheath. “Will you help us?”

  Indonesia gave a laugh like the sound of silver bells. “You ask for assurance and for proof that we are not enemies? I give you my word, as the daughter of Crinte the Wise. If your tale is true and you are the king who shall rule over the Eastern World, we shall know.”

  A stunned silence overcame the glade as they realized whom they were speaking to. A thousand questions rose and fell, but Indonesia merely motioned for them to sit down in the glade.

  It was Phyllis who spoke up. “If you are the daughter of Crinte the Wise, then the tales must be true. Tell me; did the Five Warriors truly do all those great deeds?”

  Indonesia showed her teeth; it was hard to tell whether it was a grimace or smile. “Why do the mortals find it hard to believe?” she murmured to her companions. “This is why knowledge is hidden from mortals: you are not wise enough to know.” She pointed to Phyllis. “Your eyes have seen what no mortal has seen before. Tell us your tale, and do not forget a word.”

  Phyllis opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of where to begin. She lifted a hand to her chest, where the Clyear was hidden, and suddenly the words came to her. They drifted from her past, reminding her of how it began with Grandmother and Mother fighting and Father leaving. Instead of bringing guilt and sorrow, she heard the humming comfort of a flute playing. When she looked, she saw the Mermis held long pipes. They captured her words and turned them into music, soft and indistinct, a sound she could barely hear. When Artenvox and Cuthan told their tale of hunting for treasure and Pharengon and Thangone chimed in at the right moments, the tears did not flow. She could feel her story happening again as if in a dream, and when she told of her journey to the dranagin’s lair and the revelation of the Clyear, her voice was as clear as a bell on a windless day.

  When at last their tale was finished, the Mermis kneeled, clasped their hands together, palm to palm, and bowed until their heads touched the ground. “All hail, King Pharengon,” they chanted, and the wood fell silent.

  Indonesia was the first to rise. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. “I would have many more words with you.” She glanced from Phyllis to Pharengon. “But come, we will take you back to your Kingdom on the Silver Herd.”

  “The Silver Herd?” Pharengon stood. But his words were needless because a troop of silver horses flew into the glade. They were much larger than the mounts the Horse Lords rode, and they were pure white with silver manes and giant wings. They trotted up to the Mermis, shaking their manes and nickering in excitement.

  “Oh,” Phyllis cried, bringing her hands to her mouth in awe. “They are beautiful.”

  “Yes, a gift from my Grandfather,” Indonesia announced proudly, almost smiling. “A gift for the Blended Ones.”

  “You are Blended Ones?” Phyllis gasped.

  Realization dawned on Indonesia, stronger than it had been those long years ago. She stared at Phyllis and realized they were the same. “Let’s ride!” she called instead.

  But it was Cuthan who walked up to Indonesia, standing on one side of the horse she was about to mount. “I must know,” he spoke quietly. “You came to the Eastern World to collect tales. Surely you will leave and go to other Worlds?”

  Indonesia caught his eye and nodded. “Aye. My Grandfather told us to look for something or someone. It is clear that he sent us here to bring Tharmaren the Wise so that you might save your world. But after we return you to your Kingdom, we will leave.”

  “Take me with me you,” Cuthan begged.

  Indonesia mounted her horse, not showing her surprise at his statement. She shook her dark hair.

  Cuthan reached out and grabbed her hand with his unbroken one. “Please,” he whispered. “I have seen all I want to see in the Eastern World. I have been through the forests time and time again. Please. Take me with you.”

  Indonesia froze, her dark eyes glaring down at him. Then she reached out her hand and pulled him up behind her.

  68

  Words

  There were a great many accounts of what happened that day: the day the sky turned white. As the years passed, people spoke of it in hushed tones and whispered of it to their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. They told them what they were doing at that moment when they looked up and the sky was blotted out in a cloud of white. There is only one account that is known to be reliable. According to Tharmaren the Wise, on that day, he saw the very beings that had cast him into imprisonment in the Eastern World. They flew through the skies, bringing back the king, his counsel, the Jeweled Ones, and the Keeper of the Great Clyear of Power. When they landed on Wind Fresh, the Contrevails fled to their ships, and instead of returning to Contres, they hid themselves in the landmass, forsaking any allegiance they once held to Kronter.

  The Mermis and their Silver Herd entered the castle, demanding all bow before King Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword as they spoke in awe about what he and his companions had done. At the encouragement of Tharmaren the Wise, they went to Contres to liberate the islanders and take Kronter into captivity because one as conniving as he should not be allowed freedom in the new era.

  It came to pass just as the prophecy foretold. Pharengon became the first king of the Eastern World. To ensure his rule, he rode out with his Horse Lords to each city in the landmass to bring harmony and fairness to its inhabitants. It was rumored that even the Dezzi queen and her people surrendered to his rule. How
ever, King Pharengon offered the Dezzi the island of Contres as a refuge for the Blended Ones where they could not be attacked or persecuted. Although the Blended Ones were accepted as citizens with full rights, there were still those who disagreed with the king and stirred up mischief wherever they went. After all, the land was still young, and the people groups were learning to trust each other.

  During that time, Artenvox discovered another treasure calling his name, and at his request, Miri took her tiger and disappeared with him into the landmass. Pharengon and Thangone were dismayed at her actions, but there was nothing they could do to stop them. Crons will always be Crons: curious, unreliable, and always in pursuit of a great adventure. At last, Pharengon was able to rid himself of the pesky Treasure Hunters because Cuthan could not tear himself away from the Mermis. It was only a month later when they took their Silver Herd and forsook the Eastern World to spread the tale of Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and his companions far and wide.

  It was Phyllis who found herself misplaced. She stayed in Wind Fresh while the Horse Lords rode out and the Treasure Hunters took up another quest. She found herself spending more time with Tharmaren the Wise, and the words he gave her to read were not so unfamiliar. She began to write, and it was she who told Tharmaren the Wise what truly happened in the North Forests. Thus, he wrote down his account, and she began to collect the knowledge of the wisdom of the world. When at last they were done, Tharmaren the Wise lay down his quill and closed his eyes, never to open them again. He dreamed, and at last, the shadows were gone from his memory.

  Hence the days of peace came to the Eastern World, and although the Order of the Wise was no more, the Watchers kept guard over the World. It was a year to the day of their return when Pharengon asked Phyllis to take a moonlit ride with him.