Legend of the Nameless One Boxset

by Angela J. Ford

  Ava. Zaul. Grift.

  There was no response. Chewing her lower lip, she eyed the lights, surprised to see them glistening when daylight still graced the land. The fireflies were larger than average and shone around twilight when the twin lights in the sky graced the land with an unknown splendor. Regardless, the village was on her way to Novor Tur-Woodberry’s home, and she wanted to see the strange orb Kai had shown her.

  “Citrine.”

  She jerked to a stop, spinning around, her heart thumping in anticipation. She relaxed when she saw it was only the budding oak tree that grew just outside her door. The Trespiral had left her shell again. Her slender body swayed back and forth in the late afternoon breeze. “I hoped you might come to visit me again.” This time there was no joy in the Trespiral’s face. “I’ve heard something odd today. A dissonance in the land.”

  “I know.” Citrine nodded, a sigh passing from her lips. “I can’t stay. I have to talk to Novor Tur-Woodberry.”

  “Then you already know about the tree?” the Trespiral asked.

  Citrine cocked her head. “What tree?”

  The Trespiral waved a shimmering hand in the direction Citrine had just come from. “One raven brought me word about a bone-white tree. It grows in the middle of the land. There’s something odd about it.”

  Citrine felt as if two hands gripped her neck and squeezed. Her heart raced, and bile boiled in her belly. “In the middle of the land,” she whispered.

  “You look ill. Are you all right?” the Trespiral asked, bending forward with concern.

  “Yes. N-no,” Citrine stammered, her easy grace gone. “I have to go.”

  She gathered the length of her cloak in hand and turning her back to the village, ran, bare feet pounding through the grass. Shoes were not something she enjoyed wearing—even the soft leather boots that encased her feet like a blanket felt too controlling. She preferred her feet to be free to touch the true nature of the land and burrow herself in its arms.

  Bile rose in her throat when she arrived at the place where she had woken and where, supposedly, she’d buried the skull. As she slowed down, her pulse pounding like the drums from her memory, she saw something white glimmering among the wild yellow-green grass. It was bone-white, a dirty beauty, soiled yet standing tall, a few inches above the tallest strands of waving grass. It had sprouted two tender arms, one reaching west while the other reached east.

  Citrine’s breath caught as she crept toward it while anxiety settled in her belly. Nubs on the tree showed where branches would appear, pointing north and south as they grew. They looked like tiny hands, lifting and pointing toward the sky, thanking it for life.

  “I curse you,” Citrine hissed, lifting her foot to kick it. Before she struck it, she thought better of her action. Leaning down, she gripped the slender trunk with both fingers and pulled, intending to snap it in half.

  Nothing happened.

  The cold of death folded into her fingers as she tugged. When at last she gave up and stepped back, her fingers shook from exertion and the tree stood as if she’d never touched it.

  “I don’t understand.” She glared at it. “I am strong. I can break bone with my fingers. Why can’t I break you?”

  A piercing scream rent the air. Citrine leaped to her feet and spun around. She was sure the scream came from the village. Heart pounding, she dashed toward the sound, sprinting past her cottage and the bewildered Trespiral. Following the path that led up to the Standing Stones and on to the Mouth of Heaven, she let the echoes of the cry lead her on. Mischief. Chaos. It was all her fault.

  20

  Mysterious Future

  A jolt passed through Tor Lir, and he shivered. As soon as the giant spoke his name, Tor Lir recalled he’d heard of the legendary land of Novor Tur-Woodberry, the great and powerful Duneíthaír, from songs the Iaens sung. His flight from Shimla made sense. His purpose was to help the Duneíthaír keep his land and the people of his land safe, yet Tor Lir was unsure what role he was to play. He squeezed his fingers into fists as he asked, “Who wants to kill me? How did you know about my existence?”

  “Come to dinner.” Novor Tur-Woodberry strode away from the blackened border. “We shall discuss . . .” His boisterous voice echoed back and there was a laugh in his throat.

  A peacefulness came over the countryside, as if it had been holding its breath, waiting for a cue from Novor Tur-Woodberry. As the laugh rippled through the air, the fear drifted away and a certainty of knowing, even though the future was inescapable, passed over the Land of Lock.

  The Singing Men stepped away from Tor Lir, nodding with satisfaction. One began a low hum and words flowed from his mouth:

  Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  A hush of admiration swept across the land and a moment later, a multitude of voices chimed out in reverence and respect.

  Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  They sang of his great power, looping through the hilltops. The vast blue sky opened wide, welcoming their words. The song continued, singing of Novor Tur-Woodberry, his authority, and his benevolence. The Singing Men marched away, swinging their axes up over their shoulders as they set off, double pace, marching in rhythm to the melody.

  Tor Lir watched them, surprised at the turn of events. One moment, he was their prisoner, the next, set free and invited to dinner while the song of the land weaved through him. He followed just as the Singing Men marched over a rolling hill and disappeared from sight. They moved in a different direction, away from the edges of the border where they’d led him to rendezvous with Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  Tor Lir recognized the song as the constant hum he’d heard ever since he entered the land, and he wondered if there were a hypnosis in it, compelling him to answer the wishes and whims of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Perhaps the animals and people who dwelt in the land were unaware it changed their minds when they entered, overcome with a certain peace because of the song that kept them there, powerless. He knew of his abilities, although the depths of his unique powers were unexplored. A shudder ran over his back as the word Daygone drifted into his mind, encouraging him to seek and find. He pushed the thought away and quickened his pace.

  Eventually, a glade appeared, leading down a hill, sloping like the breast of a giant, coming to rest amid multicolored grass. A round cottage perched, shining in the grace of twilight. Tor Lir glanced west where the dual lights in the sky appeared. The sun and the Green Light, a beacon of hope. Legend told of a time before the Green Light appeared in the sky when the world was dark with evil and hopelessness stained the ground with the blood of those who fought on the side of good. When the Great Conqueror arose, he set the Green Light in the sky as a beacon of hope, reminding those that their lives were not doomed and they had a chance in the war between the mortals and immortals.

  It was a grandiose tale, but Tor Lir had no reason to believe it or disbelieve it. The Iaens loved to tell stories, truth and untruths spilling from their lips without consequence. Tor Lir saw their need to speak and astonish others, yet he knew even amidst the lies, each story held a spark of truth. If he could filter the layers of untruths, he would find the true meaning.

  A spark flashed as the green and gold beams of light collided and Tor Lir walked to the doorstep. Fragrant flavors brushed his senses, making his mouth water as he realized the extent of his hunger. He’d not had a proper meal since leaving Shimla, and in his curiosity, the bits of snatched meals were unsustainable.

  His eyes widened as he stepped over the doorstep, surprised to find himself graced in a forest of golden light. There were no walls in the cottage, only great tree trunks, rising to form a canopy of green leaves with golden filtered light as the ceiling. Long grass grew up around the trunks of those trees, swaying back and forth as if there were an unknown wind, or perhaps they danced to the unceasing music of the land.

  A tingling came through the air, dancing on the edges of Tor Lir’s vision and disapp
earing before he could quite grasp it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw a grand castle with chambers, staircases, and rooms disappearing into a void, but it was only his imagination.

  “Welcome,” Novor Tur-Woodberry boomed, appearing at the door, holding a pipe. He held out his arm, his hand pointing toward an oak table in the middle of the room. It sat twelve, and ten of the seats were full with more of the stout, four-foot-tall males. A few of them sent curious glances toward Tor Lir but seemed content to wait for food before diving into a conversation.

  Tor Lir ignored their glances as he moved toward the table, feeling shabby, but when he looked down, his clothes were crisp and clean as if he’d never had a tussle with a beast in the wood. What kind of power was this?

  “Have a seat, eat and drink,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. “And when you are full, we shall have a discussion, for we have many things to talk about.”

  Tor Lir felt as if they had enchanted him. He opened his mouth, but not a word left his lips as he sat down at the table while the melody of harps filled the air. His plate filled itself with an abundance of everything at the table while the goblet perched by his plate shone with a golden liquid. Mounds of food covered the table, from stuffed pig to gourds of fruit dripping with cream to roasted vegetables. Crusty pies perched in front of each plate, the flakiness melting in his mouth.

  When at last he’d eaten his fill, he sat back and found time drifted away while the tastes and smells of the glorious home of Novor Tur-Woodberry consumed him. He relaxed in his chair, which had become deeper, almost pulling him into the realm of slumber. He wondered if it had seduced him, and part of him did not care at all. He sank into the glory and beauty as his mind sent warnings cavorting into the void.

  The smell of tobacco woke him from his trance and he sat up, noting the roaring fire. Novor Tur-Woodberry sat closest to the fire, his booted feet stretched toward it while the golden light flickered on his bushy beard. His Singing Men surrounded him, holding either goblets or pipes, enjoying the whimsical music that brushed past their ears.

  Tor Lir straightened up, heat coming to his cheeks as he wondered how long he’d been out of it and what power he’d inadvertently let Novor Tur-Woodberry hold over him. Questions regarding the truth of the legend of the great Duneíthaír stirred in his mind and he opened his mouth as clarity returned. “You mentioned that I have a mysterious future and someone is trying to kill me. Care to elaborate?”

  Novor Tur-Woodberry met his gaze. The merriment left his eyes, replaced with a calm seriousness. He puffed on his pipe a minute longer before taking it from his mouth to answer Tor Lir’s question.

  21

  Bright and Snappy

  “I assume you know the old story,” Novor Tur-Woodberry began, settling back in his chair, his deep eyes gazing into the fire.

  Tor Lir could see some age in him then, through the eyes of someone who’d lived hundreds of years. Respect came over him, for the creatures he knew in Shimla were young and restless. Youth made them unintelligent, and boredom gave way to petty spats full of drama.

  “Over nine hundred years ago, the Creator designed the Four Worlds, giving life to mortals, immortals, plants, and animals alike. In the beginning, all teemed with life and yet there still were blemishes in the land. The Creator had a mischievous assistant who distracted him during creation, causing the Changers to morph from the Creator’s spark.”

  Changers. Tor Lir shifted at the word, a prick in his mind telling him he should understand. The aura of the word emitted a strange darkness, and part of him wanted to know more while the other part of him wanted Novor Tur-Woodberry to skip that story and move into deeper reasonings.

  “During a time of chaos, the Creator sent me to this land to bring balance to the divide between good and evil. He gave me a specific power to watch over and guard all living things in this land. Blessed with wealth and wisdom, I made this haven where all that is great and good may dwell and flourish without fear. Since the land is vast and butts up against the Boundary Line Forest, I was also given ten Fúlishités, also known as Singing Men, although there are no men in this realm. As the power of the Changers grew stronger, I recognized the break in my gift. As long as the Fúlishités and I stay on this land, we receive power. If we leave, all immortality and unique abilities are stripped from us. But we are content here.” Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes twinkled. Raising his pipe, he puffed on it for a moment, replenishing the air with the heavy scent of tobacco.

  Tor Lir mulled over the words and came up with two questions. Before he could ask them, Novor Tur-Woodberry faced him, pointing a pipe at Tor Lir’s face. “Now you are here. The Nameless One. The Balancer. Tor Lir. You shall have many names in your lifetime, but now it is up to you to keep the balance between good and evil.”

  Tor Lir narrowed his eyes, words spitting out of his mouth before he had time to consider whether it was a worthy question. “How do you know?”

  Novor Tur-Woodberry raised an eyebrow, a chuckle on the edge of his lips. “How could I not know? Wisdom and knowledge are imparted in various ways. I felt the shift when you entered my land—just as you see and understand auras, I acknowledge the knowing of the present and future. You may assume history is created by those who strive to make a difference in the present, but that is not so. It is only a recurrence of the past, with a different location and a new spin on truth. There are many things I know that would astonish you. I must hand them to you in bits and pieces, for you are young and do not understand the depths of the realm of mortals. Yet.”

  Tor Lir examined Novor Tur-Woodberry, letting the hostility fade from his eyes, recognizing he needed a mentor, someone knowledgeable to look up to. “I understand your truth now, and I would like to sit at your feet and understand the depth of knowledge. Will you teach me? The realm of mortals is new to me, and it would relieve me to have a guide as I make my way.”

  Novor Tur-Woodberry stroked his beard. “To recognize your lack of knowledge is wise. Yet I am not the guide you seek. You cannot learn the lessons of life here in my land—this is Paradise, a guarded haven. If you want to understand the realm of mortals, you must go beyond my land to seek truth. I feel you already know where to go to find the knowledge you seek.”

  Daygone. The word jetted through Tor Lir’s mind as if it had been said out loud. He almost jumped out of his seat as an uneasiness swept through him. “I see,” he told Novor Tur-Woodberry. “Why does someone want to kill me? I’ve only just left my former home, and I have met no one on the way . . . except for the strange creature in the forest yesterday. Why does someone want me dead?”

  “It’s not you in particular. It’s the idea of you,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. He held out a hand as he returned to his pipe, signaling the need for a short smoke break.

  Smoke rings from the Singing Men drifted above Tor Lir’s head, fading into the shimmering curtain at the end of the room.

  Tor Lir settled back in his chair, just as a tap-tap came through the walls. Three knocks and then a boom sounded as if a foot kicked the hidden door.

  “Oh ho, what is this?” Novor Tur-Woodberry rose from his chair, taking the pipe from his mouth. “Ah, let her in.” He spoke to the hut as if it were alive.

  “Novor Tur-Woodberry,” a female voice called out. It was not a pretty sound; her voice rang with impatience as the hut opened invisible doors to let her in. “I have something urgent to tell you . . .” She trailed off as she entered.

  Tor Lir rose in surprise as he took in the unexpected guest. Waves of bright hair tumbled around her shoulders in vibrant colors impossible to pin down. As the light shifted, the color of her hair changed from blonde to red to orange, hints of black and silver running through her roots. He saw her aura shimmer and snap around her as she glared at him.

  She was surprisingly tall for a female, about six feet, with a heart-shaped face and a well-endowed body. Her lashes were long, and she blinked at him out of eyes the color of a rare jewel: citrine. Her lips were
full and almost pouted as she glared at him, her jeweled eyes shifting from examining him to questioning Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  A sleeveless, loose frock fell to her knees while a longer cloak covered the rest of her body. Given her height and the coloring of her skin, Tor Lir assumed she must be of the people group called Tiders.

  When she placed her hands on her hips, he saw the curves of her body and a twitch of lust pierced him. It wasn’t affection, only desire. She was attractive and desirable with a hard heart and a quick tongue. There was something about her he could not quite name. Her aura danced and weaved through the air, sending scattering thoughts toward him like a shield.

  “Who’s he?” she demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Tor Lir. “I didn’t know you had a guest.”

  The way she spoke seemed as if she were the mistress of the land and should be informed when newcomers appeared. She frowned, her lips turned down as her skirts switched around her legs. Tor Lir noticed she was barefoot and looked as if she’d run wild in the wind.

  “This is my guest,” Novor Tur-Woodberry explained, as if the female’s words did not bother him. “Come along, I will introduce you. We already ate dinner, but if you are hungry—”

  The female snapped her fingers with impatience, cutting off Novor Tur-Woodberry in a hasty manner. “Nay, just wine.” She paused, licking her lips before adding. “Please.” Glancing again at Tor Lir, she turned her entire body toward Novor Tur-Woodberry. “I came to speak to you about something urgent.”

  “Aye, join us then. Urgent business seems to be all we discuss this day.”

  The female lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

  “Sit,” Novor Tur-Woodberry boomed at her, an undercurrent of laughter bubbling up. “You are impatient today. Sit and drink, then we shall speak when you have a moment to organize your thoughts.”