Legend of the Nameless One Boxset

by Angela J. Ford

  The laugh continued as the Master stood up, stretching out his claws toward Citrine. You tricked me once. I will not let it happen again.

  Citrine threw up walls in her mind as she scurried away from the terrible hands and height of the Master’s fury. His laughter jarred her ears and her head throbbed as she recognized her weakness. Try as she might, she had nothing left to give.

  Behind the Master, she saw Zaul strike Tor Lir and a bitter regret poured through her. This was her fault. She should never have gone to Paradise and left her beasts in what she knew was a deadly forest. She was losing them, one by one, because of her selfishness. She wanted a chance to regain her confidence, find herbs, and strike off for a new home, but the enchantment of Paradise held her fast. This was a punishment for her weakness.

  Mustering her strength, she closed her eyes and gave it her all just as the ground exploded. A riot of confusion swept through the air and when Citrine opened her eyes, she saw Morag, his eyes blazing citrine as his monstrous, eel-like body, thick as a tree trunk, exploded out of the hole in the ground. His body wrapped around the Master of the Forest and pulled tight, once, then twice. A snapping sound gave way and white bone exploded as Morag twisted the Master. Morag bellowed in rage, a fierceness coming over him, and then as quickly as he’d come, he sank back down, taking the rest of the Master of the Forest with him.

  Relief swept through Citrine as the threads of control snapped, setting the bone creatures free. Zaul stopped his attack, wagging his head in confusion. The bone creatures shattered into pieces, and Citrine collapsed. She caught her breath as she lay in the mud while blood trickled down her head and gathered in the corners of her mouth. It was over. They had won. She wondered, briefly, if she would die, for her mind hurt and throbbed as if it would explode. Her fists fell open and her fingers shook as she lay in the muck around the shattered white bone. A faint song began in her heart, and thoughts took her back to her first memory of the land.

  She stumbled out of the forest, lame and weary, her heart lifting as Paradise greeted her. Novor Tur-Woodberry skipped over a hill, his merry eyes twinkling at her as he introduced himself. She felt mischief rise in her body, which changed to hope as Novor Tur-Woodberry pressed her hand. He was pure goodness.

  Thoughts of chaos faded as he led her to his home, where the Singing Men danced and the house grew out of nature, welcoming her home to Paradise. She forgot her unhappiness snatched by the incident in the village. She sat down in a chair by the roaring fire and for the first time in her life, she was completely and utterly content.

  A sob shook her throat, and a hand lifted her head. Her eyes fluttered open and met emerald green. Concern covered Tor Lir’s face as he lifted her in his arms. “You did it.” Citrine thought she detected a hint of pride in his voice. “Look at what you have wrought. You saved the forest. You saved Paradise. We can go home.”

  Citrine lifted her hand and squeezed Tor Lir’s shoulder. “I don’t know if we saved Paradise. The Master sent his minions there at sunrise. It might be destroyed now.”

  “We will go see,” Tor Lir suggested. “Can you stand?”

  Citrine sat up and found Zaul at her side. She threw her arms around him, rubbing her fingers down his rough, scaly back. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I let you down. I failed you. Never again.”

  Zaul nuzzled her while black panthers gathered. Citrine saw, in confusion, the waif who’d given her the skull. Citrine stiffened when she saw Agrim and the Tribe of Fyn, but they only nodded at her without a hint of aggression.

  “Who are these people?” Citrine looked to Tor Lir.

  He smiled, his eyes lighting up oddly. “As I told you. We needed help. This is Agrim’s army.”

  “Are you coming with us to Paradise?” she asked them.

  “Only as far as the forest,” Agrim announced. “In exchange, you take your beasts from the forest and never let them threaten the cycle of life in the Boundary Line Forest.”

  Citrine met his dark gaze, understanding his needs as a leader. “I agree.”

  She sent out feelers through her mind, relieved the voices from the Master and his beasts were gone. Ava. Grift. Zaul. Morag. It's time to enter Paradise.

  41

  Green Grass Dying

  Silence hung heavy in the air. The faint call of an owl had been silenced and the whisper of a bird’s song came no more to listening ears. The lighthearted jolliness that once embedded the lush hills with hope and merriment had forsaken Paradise. Shards of white bone covered the once green land as Citrine walked with Zaul and Tor Lir out of the Boundary Line Forest. Citrine gasped, a mix of grief and relief swirling through her. Grift and Ava alighted on the blackened ground while Morag’s deep voice sounded in her mind. Banished from our forest . . . hmm . . . shall I meet you where the water turns to jade?

  Are you going to the Jaded Sea?

  Aye.

  Carry on, Morag, but talk to me often. I need you.

  Where there is water, I will find you.

  Citrine felt the threads of communication fade and she turned to Grift, wrapping her arms around his golden neck. His feathers brushed her cheek, and she inhaled, thankful her beasts were with her again and the minions of the Master lay scattered in pieces in Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land. However, the blackened ground frightened her, and she swallowed hard, glancing at Tor Lir to see his reaction.

  Tor Lir took a step, the black grass and white bone cracking under his feet. The sound echoed in a cadence and faded into the prairie. “Can you still move through portals in the land? Like Novor Tur-Woodberry and his Singing Men?”

  Citrine chewed her bottom lip, giving voice to her fears. “No. Not anymore. Where do you think they are? What if they’re dead?”

  Tor Lir glanced at her. Citrine noticed ever since her battle with the Master, his mannerisms toward her had gentled. He reached out a hand, and she moved away, declining his touch. There was still something odd about him.

  Ride me. Grift’s suggestion drifted into her mind. We’ll fly over the land and see who’s left.

  I flew over the land earlier. Ava joined their conversation. I saw a shimmering in the middle.

  Citrine felt a sickness in the bottom of her belly. “Tor Lir, we’re going to fly.”

  Ava let Tor Lir mount her back with a sassy remark. He’s beautiful. I’d let him ride me whenever he wants.

  Ava, he’s only with us temporarily.

  You should keep him. He’s wise to your impulsive ways.

  Ava.

  What? We have to leave anyway—he might prove useful.

  I don’t want to talk about this right now.

  You never want to talk about him.

  Ignoring Ava’s remark, Citrine swung onto Grift’s back, her legs gripping his body, which was slim and muscular like a cat’s. He had the head of an eagle-like bird and the body of a lion. Spreading his golden wings, he took off in a run across the land, catching the waves of the wind as he lifted off.

  Ava flew above them, stretching her long, serpent-like neck. A cloud of smoke drifted from her nostrils and she snapped at something in the air, catching it between her teeth and swallowing it. Citrine blinked back tears, cursing herself at almost losing her beasts again.

  White bone continued to litter the ground as they flew, some including chunks of flesh. The land was silent. Dead. As if no one had ever tread there. When Citrine listened, the song of the land was gone. No more words about Novor Tur-Woodberry and his greatness. The trees seemed dejected. The grass was black and bowed over as if crushed by oppression.

  Citrine felt her heart seize and sometime later, her breath caught as she saw a shimmering in the land. It lay in the valley where Novor Tur-Woodberry’s thatched cottage used to sit and as they grew closer, a castle appeared in the valley, pointed and round towers shooting off from it. Ava. Grift. Land here. Zaul, catch up when you can. We are in the middle of the land.

  As they moved into view, a male darted out from the shado
w of the valley and dashed away from them.

  “Triften!” Citrine shouted as they landed. She tumbled off Grift’s back in a manner quite unladylike and ran after the male, waving her arms. “Triften, it’s okay, it’s me. Citrine!”

  “Citrine?” Triften turned around, his eyes glistening with a liquid and his light hair disheveled.

  “What happened?” Citrine stopped an arm’s length from Triften.

  He closed the gap between them, slinging an arm around her shoulder and embracing her.

  Citrine kept her arms by her side, her bruises stinging as he touched her. “These bone-white creatures came out of the woods and destroyed everything . . . but what about you? What happened?” Triften’s piercing blue eyes stared at her, taking in the smeared blood on her face and arms to the sap still crusted on her hands. He rubbed her shoulders, sympathy appearing on his youthful face.

  Citrine frowned, grabbing his arm. “The Master of the Forest is dead, but where is Novor Tur-Woodberry? Where are the people of the land? Are they safe?” She couldn’t keep the rising panic out of her voice as her dirty fingernails dug into Triften’s arm.

  “Most of them, yes. They are at the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry. The onslaught ceased, and the creatures shattered into pieces, but they broke something. The magic of the land is gone. I’m afraid Novor Tur-Woodberry will leave.”

  “No.” Citrine blinked back tears as she let go of Triften and ran to the castle.

  An arched doorway flew open and there stood the friendly giant. The merriment in his eyes was gone and his face held a weathered and somber look about it. “Citrine,” he rumbled in his deep voice. A great sorrow filled her, and she felt as if she were treading water with nowhere to go, slowly sinking.

  She covered the distance in a matter of seconds, sinking to her knees in front of Novor Tur-Woodberry. She folded her fingers into his hand and brought it to her cheek, inhaling his scent of all that was great and good in the world. “Novor Tur-Woodberry. I beg your forgiveness. This is my fault. The Master of the Forest exerted his control over me and I did not stop it until it was too late. But please, tell me, can you fix this? Will you stay and make the land whole again? I will help. I will do anything. Just please, please don’t leave me.”

  “My dear.” Novor Tur-Woodberry placed a hand on her head like a blessing before he lifted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “As I told you before, my time has come. It is time to say goodbye.”

  “No. Please.” Citrine felt the tears brim over in her eyes, but he held her gaze. “Please don’t leave. We aren’t ready. I’m not ready for something new. I need you.” A sob burst from her throat and she held her breath, trying to force it away. A rush of wind filled the air, but Citrine kept her eyes on Novor Tur-Woodberry as if she could hold him there. Her heart beat with desperation to save him and to save the land.

  “Listen.” Novor Tur-Woodberry wiped the tears from her eyes with the pads of his fingers. He caressed the map of her face as he spoke. “There is nothing you can do to stop this, but the Creator has brought you a companion, Tor Lir, and the wind lady has brought a gift to the land. I will not say, ‘Do not grieve,’ for grief is healing. But our time together, no matter how short, has ended. It is time for the cleansing winds to blow and then I will take my leave.”

  Citrine squeezed his hand and let her bitter tears flow over them. She shook her head, knowing there was nothing she could do, yet desiring to stop it all the same. The heavy feeling in her gut was the knowledge that it was all her fault. Her actions had driven Novor Tur-Woodberry away and destroyed his land. It was a heavy guilt to live with, and even all the fighting she’d done could not make it right.

  “Don’t blame yourself.” Novor Tur-Woodberry pulled her up. “Come, stand beside me, and watch what will take place.”

  A gust blew over her and Novor Tur-Woodberry. She nodded at his words, although nothing he said would take the guilt away in her heart. Brushing away her tears, although she knew they would flow again, she watched as a lady and a child appeared out of the wind.

  The child looked to be about ten years of age and had long dark hair and skin as brown as a nut. She smiled, showing off her white teeth as she flew out of the breeze to Novor Tur-Woodberry. Placing her hands palms together, she bowed her head, her silky black hair cascading around her shoulders. She blinked, her eyelashes sweeping toward the ruined ground. “Novor Tur-Woodberry, my mother bade me come to you with the gift of wind. If you give your blessing, I will sweep this land from the abomination of beasts and leave no traces of the great evil that befell it.”

  “You have my blessing, daughter of wind,” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled.

  The child smiled again and, turning, she ran to her mother, grabbed her hand, and let the winds blow.

  Citrine watched through tears as the wind picked up, taking the wind lady and her daughter and creating a cyclone. The shards of white bone whipped up in the wind as it moved over the land. Everywhere it touched wiped clean as if the Master of the Forest and his beasts had never entered the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  “Now what happens?” Citrine whispered as she stood beside Novor Tur-Woodberry, resting her head on his chest. “Can you stay?”

  Triften and Tor Lir walked up to the castle and sat on the doorstep below them, watching, while Grift and Ava took to the skies, following the wind as if it were a game.

  “Tell me what happened in the wood,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said instead.

  Citrine watched Tor Lir lift his face, meeting her eyes. His emerald gaze was emotionless, yet he nodded as if encouraging her to speak. Trading off, they relayed the story of entering the wood, meeting the Tribe of Fyn, and defeating the Master of the Forest and his beasts. Citrine noticed Triften lifted his head to watch her from time to time, and she wondered if this would become one story he told over and over again. A quiet warning rose in her heart because she wanted no one to know she was the Enchantress and controlled rare, mythical beasts.

  “You have done well.” Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded at Citrine and Tor Lir. “Do not worry about what happened here. Citrine, I have something to show you.”

  He turned to the door of his home and waved his hand. A shimmering appeared in the air and the white orb appeared, suspended in the archway. Reaching out, Novor Tur-Woodberry lay his hand on it, and a picture appeared. Looking into it, Citrine saw the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. It appeared like a replica with the rolling hills and cottages perched on hilltops with smoke rolling out of chimneys.

  “It’s your land. But I don’t understand?”

  “The Silver-White Heart captured a replica of my land within it and saved the people who escaped the rampage of the beasts. Once I expelled the darkness inside the Silver-White Heart, I brought it to my home, this castle.”

  “You mean everything is okay?” Citrine felt a spark of hope in her heart, like a light beam in a dark room.

  “Yes, but I must leave and all those who remain on my land may come with me.”

  Citrine opened her mouth to ask, but the words died on her lips and she understood. She was not welcome in this new land. “Will I ever see you again?” she asked.

  “The opening to my land may appear from time to time to weary travelers,” Novor Tur-Woodberry mused. “But evil will never touch this land.”

  A song rose in the air as the orb drifted back into the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry, allowing the Singing Men to perch on the doorstep. Their voices blended in a harmonic tune, a bittersweet song of goodbye ringing out as the wind cured the land from the scourge of evil.

  “It is time.” Novor Tur-Woodberry lifted his hands and took a step back.

  42

  Fade from View

  Tor Lir stood back as the beasts flew overhead. Grift’s golden wings caught rays of the green light in the sky while Ava’s deep blue feathers added a richness to the colors dancing in the wind. The castle of Novor Tur-Woodberry shimmered. The winds blew around it and when he glanced across the land, he saw the
shards of white bone had vanished and white flowers had grown in a matter of seconds, too quick for his eyes to see. They bloomed across the land, sending a sweet scent into his nostrils.

  What was once lush and green was now white prairie, like a bride on the day she took a mate. He recalled the white petals and golden liquor from the celebrations the Iaens had, with sweet songs and whimsical music as they wished the couple an enchanting life together.

  A shudder shook the ground. Zaul growled and swished his tail as he stood beside Citrine. Tor Lir flinched each time he looked at the creature, understanding its mind was no longer possessed but recalling the dissatisfying feeling of being attacked. Citrine lifted her head and tears flowed down her face, her odd eyes clouded in a haze of sorrow.

  Tor Lir felt something like emotion touch his heart, and he shook himself. He recalled his words to the green giantess. I do not love, and therefore I will not destroy the world because of love . . . I am not swayed by emotion.

  He watched the people of the land flood out of the castle, lifting their arms and shouting bittersweet words to each other. Triften and Citrine wove around the people, embracing, laughing, and crying with them as they said goodbye. A multitude of children with long light hair shouted in merriment as they recanted their trials and tribulations when the bone creatures attacked.

  Tor Lir crossed his arms as understanding washed over him. He understood why emotion moved mortals and why they loved each other. A knowing sat heavy on his heart and a tune rushed through his mind. Long may you live. Long may you prosper. He brushed the words away, a fear thudding in his heart. They had restored the balance; he felt it in his bones, but it was time to move on, time to leave.

  Another quake shook the ground and Tor Lir closed his eyes, searching for the threads of imbalance. There was nothing but peace. But the forests of Shimla were still too close, and he wanted to leave the Eastern Hill Countries of the South World behind and pass into the west where there was no such thing as Daygone. A deep sensation of fear began in the pit of his stomach, and he wavered where he stood until a hand touched his shoulder.