Legend of the Nameless One Boxset

by Angela J. Ford

  “No thanks to you,” Citrine muttered as she strode to the riverbank, placing Ava between herself and Tor Lir.

  She took off her cloak, laying it in the mud before adding her shift to it. Tor Lir averted his eyes as she waded into the water and submerged herself, swimming in circles. He’d seen many naked Iaens, shameless as they bathed in the steaming pools known as the Waters of Nye. However, something felt wrong as he let his gaze slip back to Citrine. “Aye,” he called. “It is best we hide ourselves before sundown. We don’t have weapons, and I expect the forest is less friendly during the night.”

  “Aye,” Citrine quipped, running her fingers through her wet hair. “It’s not my fault we don’t have weapons.”

  “It is,” Tor Lir disagreed, drying his wet hands on his cloak. “I was about to barter with Agrim, the leader of the Tribe of Fyn, and get them back.”

  “Oh, will you stop bringing that up! I made a mistake! Okay? Are you happy now?” Citrine shouted, splashing water toward him.

  Something within him relaxed, and Tor Lir stood tall, surprised at the apology. “I cannot shake the feeling that we turned potential allies into enemies. I assume they will hunt us down, adding to our woes.”

  “We know nothing yet,” Citrine retorted. She walked out of the water, droplets streaming from her body. She moved for her cloak, wrapping it around herself like a towel. “Back away from the river—he is coming.”

  “Who?” Tor Lir took a step back in confusion, although his eyes slid over the curves of Citrine’s body.

  He wondered what it would be like to run his hands over them. She was much bigger and curvaceous than the short and slim Iaens he’d copulated with in Shimla. Tor Lir watched the bruises appear on her body as she pulled on her short frock, and a ripple passed through his lower belly.

  An idea came to him and he wondered if there was the possibility of something he’d never considered before. Citrine was right: he did not know much about his powers, and what he did know, he seemed to stumble across by accident. As much as her presence frustrated him, he was curious about what he could do. He held out a hand, watching a glimmer swirl around it as his conscience shut down, focusing on the present. He walked toward Citrine, his hands outstretched.

  She jerked back at his proximity, reaching up her hands to pull her wet hair into a braid. Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. “Just because you saw me naked does not give you the right to approach me.”

  “Nay, I am not lusting after your body,” he said, denying the urges of his flesh. “You took quite a beating back there and I might be able to help.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him, but she stood still, letting her arms fall to her side.

  “If you will allow me,” he continued, feeling much like he was taming a wild animal. He’d had his share of taming creatures in the forest, teaching them to curb the desire to bite his fingers off and take food from his hand. He felt the same way as he approached Citrine, his hands out to cup her face. His fingers slid around her neck and he reached his thumbs out to touch her nose as a light danced from his fingers. He felt the soft tissue move under his touch, snapping her broken nose back into place.

  Moving his arms down, he caressed her bruised neck. The soft veins were difficult to find, so he did the best he could, lightly touching the bruises, hoping the blood would flow back into place. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he spun her to face the forest. She gasped as his fingertips gingerly touched her raw back. He realized he was humming, a soothing noise, a calm cooing.

  Dropping to his knees, he started with her ankles, touching the raw red stripes on the back of her legs, moving up to her thighs while her legs trembled under his touch. He knew the effect he had on the Iaens, but Citrine melted under his touch and he felt something else. A strong desire for power rose up in him, and he lifted his hands higher, barring her smooth buttocks and her back to his tender caress. The stripes on her back were light, but he touched each one all the same before dropping her shift back down. Taking her shoulders, he turned her around to face the waters.

  Her breath came short and fast, and her glassy eyes stared at his as her lips parted. She moved toward him, angling her head as he took a step back, knowing what he’d done to her. Before she could utter a word, a bellow came from the river and a wave washed over them, spraying them with a delicate mist from the waters. Tor Lir spun around, his eyes widening at the beast that appeared from the depths.

  33

  Milky White

  Citrine knew something was wrong when she saw Morag’s eyes. They were white orbs in his massive face. His gray neck reared up out of the waters, thicker than the broad oak trees that spanned the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Morag shook his gray snout, water flicking off the two curved horns on his head. Citrine caught her breath as she gazed on his monstrous beauty, thankful for a distraction from the strange allure of Tor Lir. She wanted to break his arms and yet she also wanted to understand his unique abilities. His touch on her body made her shiver and reminded her of pleasures enjoyed in what seemed like a past life.

  “Citrine,” Morag spoke, his deep voice shaking the weeping willow trees and causing ripples in the water.

  Surprise rendered her mute. She expected Morag’s voice to resonate in her mind as it did with her other beasts.

  “We cannot speak in our minds now. We are in the realm of the Master,” Morag stated, moving his body toward the shore and fixing his milky-white gaze on Tor Lir. “Who have you brought with you?”

  “I don’t understand.” Citrine glanced at Tor Lir, who stood, wide-eyed, gazing at Morag with an intensity in his emerald eyes. “Why must we speak out loud? Surely the Master of the Forest has spies everywhere and they will hear us?”

  “Nay.” Morag shook his head, his jagged teeth appearing like a warning in his mouth. “The Master of the Forest is like you. He controls the beasts with his mind, and he has taken me from you. I must do his bidding now. I only returned to tell you, if you don’t do something, he will take the lands to the north and south, the east and west. They are falling one by one as we speak, and all the beasts will follow his command.”

  “Why?” Citrine fought the rising panic in her chest. “Why did you leave me? Why is he taking these lands? Where can I find him?”

  “The Master of the Forest is stronger than you. Beware, for he seeks to take all your beasts from you. If you listen, you can hear him speak as I do; he promises a future for the beasts, different from the one you promise. I caution against searching for him. He does not want to see you—he only requests you keep fulfilling your end of the bargain. You have done well thus far.”

  Citrine could not stop the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks as Morag spoke. His betrayal struck her deep and brought up her own weaknesses. She failed to protect her beasts by giving them a haven. Time ran out while she sought spells and let her beasts roam a forest she knew was evil while she basked in Novor Tur-Woodberry’s companionship and enjoyed his land. She failed to take care of Morag, the newest beast in her collection, and he’d left her for someone evil and strong. Perhaps that was why she had not heard from Zaul; he had also switched to a new master with a different promise. The threads of control slipped from her fingers, one by one. Would she lose everything she cared about?

  “What did he promise you?” Citrine demanded as Morag sank down, his shadow disappearing from the mud while his ruined eyes glazed over like clouds over the sunlight.

  “I cannot disobey the Master. To speak of his wishes is to encourage death.”

  “Morag, wait!” Citrine ran to the edge of the bank, her heart thudding in her chest as she watched the water beast sink below the waves. “Don’t give up. I will save you this time. You’ll see.”

  Morag paused before his head disappeared underwater while waves nipped at his nostrils. He opened his mouth, a row of sharp teeth appearing, his voice louder and deeper as the acoustics of the wave took on his tone. “The Master of the Forest is old and resolute—leave while you can,
before he takes you too.”

  “Citrine.” Tor Lir’s hand touched her shoulder. She slapped it away, furious at displaying weakness in front of him. “Let him go. We will come up with a plan.”

  Ava lifted her head from where she perched by the waters, watching the exchange out of lidded eyes. I can kill Morag for you.

  Before Citrine could answer, another voice came through her thoughts and she reeled in surprise. Did you see? Did you see what I can do? Did you see your beasts turn on you?

  Citrine ran to Ava and threw her arms around the beast’s neck, fear coursing through her body. Her limbs shook as she hung on tight, leaning her cheek against Ava’s solid feathers. She stood still, taking steadied breaths as she regained her strength and determination. Air of clarity. Help me do the right thing this time. At last, pulling back, she placed her hands on Ava’s snout, forcing the beast to look her in the eye. Ava’s eyes were still a pure citrine, and she blinked lazily as she let out a low growl. “Don’t speak, Ava. Run!” Citrine said. “If you can, find Grift and Zaul, but don’t worry too much about them. Get out of the forest. Go where the Master of the Forest can’t reach you. I won’t risk losing you.”

  You won’t lose me.

  “Don’t speak. Just go before something happens.”

  Leaning forward, she planted a kiss on Ava’s nose and let go, glaring at Ava until the beast spread her wings, almost knocking Citrine over. Ava’s great claws left giant prints in the mud by the riverbank as she took off, spreading her wings wide as she coasted with the warm evening air.

  Citrine put her hands on her hips and turned to find Tor Lir. He sat on the bank, his hands on his knees and his eyes closed as if he were sleeping. “Tor Lir, are you coming?” She let the words drop from her lips as hard as sharp stones.

  He lifted his head and opened his eyes, pressing his hands into the ground. “Where are you going?”

  “You heard Morag. There is no time for sleep. I have to find the Master of the Forest and take back my beasts.”

  Tor Lir glanced at the water and nodded. “This is personal for you now, but we can’t march into the lair of this creature without a plan.”

  Citrine scowled hard. She was used to being spontaneous with her decisions. “If you want a plan, think on it while we walk.” A pang of remorse swept through her as she wished she had her pack of herbs and knives. A dull gnaw of hunger poked at her belly and she wrapped her arms around her abdomen, recalling the touch of Tor Lir’s gentle fingers. Most males had rough hands from hard work and calluses on their fingers.

  He nodded once as he rose and walked toward her. She spun, finding her way along the shore, picking smooth rocks out of the mud as she did so. Tor Lir was silent behind her, and part of her wished he would speak while another part of her wished the night would swallow him up.

  Darkness came swiftly with cruel fingers while yellow eyes glittered into the darkness. The cry of animals ripping each other apart in the underbrush made Citrine hug close to the shore, frustrated with her lack of weapons. She fingered the stones she slipped in her pockets, hoping she’d be able to craft a crude slingshot. Hunger disappeared as she listened to the ferocious nocturnal animals while white seeds lit up the river, eerie in the dim, moonless night.

  A luminous glow appeared near the riverbed. Citrine squinted as she and Tor Lir neared a patch of land where florescent mushrooms lit up the darkness. Deep blues and light pinks poured off the mushrooms like mist, the colors flowing into the water where they disappeared with a poof while fireflies winked in and out of view. Citrine paused, tempted to remove her boots and bury her bare feet in the mud, letting the fungi grow around her toes. She wanted to taste the colors dancing through the air and take their secrets as her own. Suddenly, she understood Grift’s strong desire to eat everything and discover secrets for himself.

  A fierce cry echoed from the woods. Citrine balled her hands into fists as the memory of a fight with a panther flickered into her perturbed thoughts. She saw a flash of white and felt her body grow cold as the waif who’d given her the skull peered out from behind a tree.

  34

  Flashes of White

  “What are you doing here?” Citrine’s sharp tongue rang out.

  Tor Lir jerked his head up. He had been staring at the strange mushrooms. They reminded him of something and a cold discomfort filled him because it was something he did not want to remember. Perhaps it wasn’t memory, only a knowing he did not want to unlock. He watched the pinks and blues morph together, spinning into words he did not want to read. Citrine’s sudden interruption was a welcome distraction. He opened his mouth to answer when he saw her march toward something white standing in the trees. The creature peeked around a tree trunk, her strands of hair silver in the dim light.

  “It’s you!” Tor Lir exclaimed, surprised to see the bone-white creature who’d led him out of the forest.

  “Are you following me?” Citrine demanded.

  Tor Lir watched her take an aggressive step toward the creature and hurried to her side, reaching to grab her elbow. “Citrine, it’s all right. She will not harm us.”

  Citrine spun, snatching her elbow out of his hand, uttering a low growl in her throat. “Do you know her?”

  Tor Lir nodded, watching Citrine’s expression change from surprise to disbelief. “Aye. Do you recall? I told you I met a creature in the wood.”

  “You met her?” Citrine’s words came out like a snarl. “She’s with the Master of the Forest. Why didn’t you say so!”

  Tor Lir paused, rearranging his thoughts. “How do you know her?”

  “The skull,” Citrine whispered.

  Tor Lir took a step, but Citrine’s hand slammed into his chest, pushing him away. The bone-white creature held a finger to her thin lips, shaking her head. Dismissing her warning, Tor Lir crept toward her, holding out a hand and beckoning. “Please, don’t be afraid. Speak to me,” he begged, a rush of curiosity propelling him forward.

  The creature stalked out from behind the tree, her slender body waving back and forth. Her dark eyes were wide as she glared at him. “I told you not to come back.” She sounded angry as she raised her hand and pointed a bony finger at his chest. “I gave you mercy once, but now you shall have none. You’ve entered the realm of the Master, and there is no escape.”

  “What did you do?” Citrine demanded, her hot breath at his shoulder. Spittle touched his neck, and he wiped it away, sandwiched between two angry females. “You took my memories and forced me to bury the skull,” Citrine said and Tor Lir realized she was talking to the bone-white creature. He tilted his head and studied her out of the corner of his eye. Her vibrant hair stood out in the darkness as if it carried its own light and shadows.

  “I do as the Master instructs,” the creature snapped, her voice cold.

  “Will you take us to the Master?” Tor Lir dropped his hand on the creature’s shoulder.

  Her expression changed and her eyes became wide with liquid. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The Master does not want to see you. If I take you to him, he will take you too and the voices will never leave you alone. You will do his bidding, and his desires will become your desires.”

  Tor Lir gripped her shoulder harder. “Is he speaking to you now?”

  “You’re interrupting.” She pulled away. “Go now, before it is too late.”

  The creature turned and walked away, weaving between the trees.

  “Follow her,” Citrine hissed as she poked him in the ribs. She moved off at a run, trailing the creature.

  A vibration rushed through Tor Lir, heavy with the knowledge he needed to fix the balance. All the pieces were there and he knew with certainty he just needed to put them together. He paused on the shore, torn between going back for Agrim’s army he knew would be useful. However, Citrine and the bone-white creature had the key to finding the Master, and he was unsure he could find the river again in such a strange forest. Glancing back, the odd lights from the mushroom confirmed his choice.
Lifting his feet, he ran after Citrine.

  The aura of the forest held a creeping sensation of evil, a glaring difference from the sensuous enchantments of Shimla. He ran from the words of light the mushrooms would imprint on his brain. They haunted him as if he’d said them out loud repeatedly. If you want to know who you are and where you came from, go to Daygone.

  He wagged his head from side to side, wishing words would fall out of his ears so he could trample them on the ground. Knowledge. Wealth. Power. Could all be yours if you read the book of your people. Long may you live. Long may you prosper.

  His hands flew to his head, and he pressed against his ears, willing to make the words cease. An aura of potent darkness surrounded the words. He did not want to know. If he found out the knowledge, he would lose his soul, and he was too young. He did not desire to dwell with darkness. He had so much to live for, so much to explore.

  Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised when moisture surrounded him. He lifted his hands and noticed the fine dew that heralded the morning coming down on his head. The forest was lighter and the ghastly noises of night all but consumed by the hope of daytime. He saw Citrine bend over by a tree, her hand on the trunk as she caught her breath. Sweat covered her body and as he caught up, he saw her eyes were glazed over and red-rimmed from lack of sleep.

  “You should rest,” he whispered.

  She stood tall, throwing back her shoulders before her eyes widened and she pointed. Tor Lir followed her fingers and froze as a coldness swept over him. Flashes of white surrounded them. The bone creatures were coming, and they did not look friendly.

  35

  Realm of Beasts