Legend of the Nameless One Boxset

by Angela J. Ford

  Market days were Zilpha’s favorites because not only did she get to earn money to pay down her debt, but she also got to experience a taste of the glories of adventure and listen to the stories told by travelers. There was only one event greater than the weekly markets, and that was the annual Harvest Festival.

  “Speaking of brothers, have you seen Bram?” Zilpha asked as the wagon rumbled down the road, creaking and swaying.

  Mathilda tilted her head, keeping her hazel eyes on the dirt road while her cheeks turned red. Zilpha suspected Mathilda and Bram had a liking for each other, Bram being twenty-one and more than ready to be married. He was tall and strong and worked for Mathilda’s father in the fields.

  Zilpha knew his coins could help her pay off the debt faster, but as the eldest, it was her responsibility, plus he was saving for his future wife. He had a chance at a normal life, and she could not take that away from him. Besides, it was her fault. He did not need to know what she’d done to incur such a debt.

  “Bram? I thought he was working the fields. You know it is harvest and they are quite busy.”

  Zilpha lifted a hand and clutched her shell necklace, running her hands over the lines as she did whenever worries struck her. “I just wondered. He hasn’t been home in a few days.”

  Mathilda stubbornly kept her gaze on the road, her mouth turning up just a hint. “Father has huts near the fields, so workers who are too tired to go home can stay there. Perhaps that’s where Bram is.”

  “Aye, you’re right, I shouldn’t worry. It’s just…I thought he would tell me.”

  Mathilda’s hand grasped her wrist. “Oh, I forget. You’re alone. I’m sure Mama wouldn’t mind if you came and stayed with us, at least through harvest. It’s not safe to be by yourself—” she trailed off.

  Zilpha shrugged. “It’s not that I’m afraid…I just don’t know how to describe it…”

  “You’re the last hut on the row, and there’s nothing but Lord Arden’s land.”

  Zilpha uttered an oath under her breath.

  “Did I say something wrong? You’re turning pink.”

  “No,” Zilpha squeezed the necklace hard, letting it make indents on her fingers. “Lord Arden, that’s all. He’s not the kindest person.

  “Nay, it would be best to stay out of his way.” Mathilda nodded. “If you feel unsafe; come stay with us for a time, maybe Father will let us stay at one of the huts. Wouldn’t that be a lark?” Mathilda giggled.

  “It’s just…” Zilpha could not explain why she didn’t want to go. “I’d have to move my weaving supplies and all. It would take a wagonload.”

  “Nonsense,” Mathilda scolded. “We are more than happy to share our resources with you.”

  Zilpha frowned, watching the dirt churn up under the mare’s hooves. That was what she hated—the assumption she was poor and could not care for herself. Her shoulders sagged. She was. But after she paid the debt, there would be coin for everything. Bram could marry, and she could plant a garden, weave more baskets, and take care of herself. A longing rose in her throat, and she hastily tucked the thought away. When would it be her turn? When would she be able to marry? Or had she cursed herself with her past actions?

  The mare slowed down as a hill swelled before them and the vibrant city of Sanga Sang came into view. Zilpha sat up straight, sniffing the air as she eyed the city. It perched on a hill. A gray tower was the high point, and the city cascaded down in a circle of crisscross streets towards the Jaded Sea. The crisp scent of sea water hung in the air combined with the stink of fresh-caught fish. The delectable tang of baked goods blended with unwashed bodies. The citizens of Sanga Sang believed in sweat and hard work, rewarded afterward with tall tales around wine and tankards of ale.

  Mathilda sighed beside Zilpha, her face flushing with anticipation. Reaching over, she squeezed Zilpha’s arm. “Look at it.”

  “The city?” Zilpha nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s glorious.”

  The cobblestone streets shone in the twin lights of the sky: the sun and the Green Light. All signs of nature faded as they entered the city, and the horse hooves clopped over the paved road while the din of voices drowned out all thoughts. Zilpha stared, wide-eyed, at the pointed roofs of the manor homes and shops. The wealthy lived in the city close to the tower, under the protection of the city warden, for Sanga Sang did not have a king and paid tribute to Ellsmore, one of the largest cities in the region.

  Narrow roads grew wider, and children laughed and played, chasing runaway chickens and dashing through the narrow alleys between homes and shops. They shouted with mischief, free and wild as they chased each other. Green bushes peeked up from the cluttered rooftops and occasionally a bright flower added color. Gray stone walls blocked important homes from the road, hindering thieves and destitute lost souls.

  Sanga Sang had its share of problems, and Zilpha shuddered as they passed a bald child, huddling in an alley, bones sticking out from starvation. It was a fate she’d barely escaped. The war had ripped her family apart, and when it ended she did not know where her mother, father, sisters and brothers had gone. There was no knowing if they were dead or alive. She and Bram were the only ones left. Leaving Ellsmore, her homeland, she had traveled south to Sanga Sang where there was the promise of a new life. That did not disappoint. She tucked the feeling of abandonment far away. If it happened once, it could happen again.

  Sudden tears sprung to her eyes, and she blinked them away as Mathilda pulled the mare to a halt. Swinging down, she tossed the reins over the water trough where the mare would stand and graze on oats and water until their time at the market was done.

  “I wonder if she will be here today.” Mathilda moved to their stall—a wide table where they could place their wares and easily be seen by passersby.

  Zilpha jerked, shaking her head as she glanced over the marketplace. “Look.” She pointed. “She’s already here, in her usual place.”

  Zilpha and Mathilda liked to watch the people of the marketplace, and there was a lady who never ceased to astonish them. She had an eerie confidence and beauty about her, and her hair color never seemed to be the same. Today it looked rather green. She was quite tall, which Zilpha assumed meant she was of the people group called Tiders. Tiders were known for their tan skin, usually stood between six to seven feet tall, and lived at high altitudes.

  “Aye, she’s so strong, standing over there by herself,” Mathilda murmured as she set out vegetables from the garden.

  “They call her Citrine,” Zilpha whispered, as if they would be overhead in the noisy marketplace. “She has a gift with herbs. They say if you have an ailment or a trouble of any sort, or even if you need luck, she can help.”

  “How odd.” Mathilda paused her work, placing a hand over her heart. “I hope what she does aligns with the Creator. We risk the wrath of the unknown if she practices the dark arts.”

  Zilpha swallowed hard and dropped her head, hastily lifting baskets to place on the stand. “No one practices the dark arts; the power was destroyed during the war.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Mathilda said. “All the same, the friar who preaches the way of the Creator, warns against people like her, who listen to the voice of nature instead of the voice of the one who created them. The Disciples of Ithar keep watch. If anything unusual happens, we must report to them.”

  Zilpha turned away in annoyance. Mathilda was often strict about her beliefs, and Zilpha didn’t know if she agreed.

  Mathilda’s hand came out, pinching Zilpha’s arm. “Zilpha…” Her voice dropped to a conversational whisper. “Look, is that Lord Arden’s daughter? Hava? She’s setting up a booth here, in the marketplace. I thought she was above us. She shouldn’t be here.”

  Zilpha shrugged, still placing her baskets. “There’s no law that says she can’t be here. It’s a free market.”

  “I know but look. Zilpha!” Mathilda’s voice rose to crescendo. “Look what she’s selling!”

  Zilpha hesitated, reluc
tant to lift her head, knowing what she would see. Hava was beautiful, well endowed with straight white teeth and a glossy mane of chestnut hair. Heads turned when she passed, admiring her lean figure and the bright clothing she wore—the latest styles as known to the inhabitants of Sanga Sang. Hava openly wore two short swords on her back, as if she were proud of her training even though peace had invaded the South World over twenty years ago. Hava had everything Zilpha wanted—family, fame, and no worries about what she would eat, where she would lay her head, or how to get enough money to pay off a debt. She was strong and independent, and yet she was at the market.

  Zilpha felt something vicious come over her. She gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists. A submerged anger settled in her belly, and a pulsation began in her head, so strong it almost blocked out her vision. Hava—the girl with everything—dared to come to the marketplace to sell the same merchandise Zilpha sold. Hava’s family was known for luxurious cloth, and her father oversaw one of the largest farms which supported the city. Yet, despite all those advantages, there was Hava, all the same, with woven baskets.

  Zilpha stared, a dull roar growing louder in her mind. The day she’d gone to Lord Arden came to the forefront of her mind. She was intelligent, and knew if she could have a loan to get materials for weaving baskets, she could make money. She’d walked through the marketplace, examining everything sold, and had found a lack of baskets. There was the lady with the bread, who struggled because she did not have a basket, and the ladies with the flowers—although Zilpha didn’t know why anyone would buy flowers. They could be freely picked in the wild and died quickly. Herbs, vegetables, breads, wood carvings, and cloth were plentiful in the market along with sweets for children. The blacksmith had a shop down the road, and so did the miller, within walking distance if a horse needed shoeing or flour was needed for bread. The people of the city wagged their tongues freely, and Zilpha soon discovered if she wanted a loan for supplies, she should seek Lord Arden, who was rich and powerful. It was a decision she sometimes regretted, for then had come the debt, and the monthly payments far exceeded what he had given her. A home was provided, with the knowledge everything she had would be ripped out from under her if she failed. But she had not. She worked hard and flourished but now, the day before her last payment, the day she only needed a few coins, there was Hava, with baskets.

  “Zilpha. Zilpha!” Mathilda tugged on her sleeve, bringing her back to the present. “What she’s doing is awful. What are you going to do?”

  Spinning, Zilpha kicked over a stack of baskets, tears smarting in her eyes. “What can I do? I can’t go over there and tell her not to sell baskets!”

  “It has to be intentional. You’ve been the only basket weaver for the longest time,” Mathilda prattled on, her fingers skipping over green and red vegetables as she laid them out. Fat round tomatoes. Long thick cucumbers. Yellow curved squash. “It’s not fair. You should talk to her about it.”

  Zilpha took a deep breath, attempting to calm the storm rising within, although her hands shook. “Maybe it’s okay. Everyone knows me and the quality of my work. They will come.”

  But they didn’t.

  The day passed, bringing the soldiers and ship hands in from the harbor. Children ran through, laughing and shouting, begging for errands to run in exchange for a coin so they could buy a sweet. Zilpha had them fetch water for herself and Mathilda and paid them with a penny each, borrowing from her precious stash. She remembered when she’d first come to the city and would have given anything to live off the generosity of strangers. Lucky for her, the city had been celebrating the enchantment of peace and generally the people were kind. Lately it seemed the reign of peace had gone to their heads, and the city wasn’t as friendly as it used to be.

  Mathilda touched Zilpha’s shoulder. “The sun is getting low. We should pack up and return home before dusk.”

  Zilpha blinked, eyeing her unsold merchandise with disappointment. Mathilda was right, but something inside Zilpha wanted to stay and investigate. She was curious about where Hava’s supply came from. Maybe if she could find it…Tempting thoughts of evil deeds rose in her mind.

  “You go ahead. Take my merchandise. I will stay in the city a while longer and see what I can find out.”

  “Is it wise? Who will escort you home after dark?”

  “I’ll find someone. Are you afraid to ride back alone?”

  “Nay, I have my knife, I’m just concerned about you. I know you’re upset, but it’s just a bad market day. Next week will be better. Or is it something else?”

  Zilpha paused, twisting her hands together as she wondered if she should share her predicament with her friend. She glanced at Mathilda’s open and kind face. It would be helpful to have a friend share the burden of knowledge. She could not carry her debt alone. Perhaps she should have come clean sooner. “Actually. Yes—”

  A shadow fell over their booth. “Ladies!”

  Mathilda turned and Zilpha swallowed her words as she lifted her face to greet the male who stood over them.

  He smelled like salt and seawater. Zilpha felt something funny inside her chest as her eyes ran over his bare arms. A crooked grin crossed his broad sun-kissed face, but it was his dimples that brought a smile to Zilpha’s face. No matter how she felt, seeing Irik always lightened her spirits.

  Irik lifted a basket of fish, nodding at first Mathilda and letting his gaze linger on Zilpha’s face. “I brought you today’s latest catch—carp and bass from the Jaded Sea. I must apologize for not scaling them for you.”

  His tight brown curls were wet as if he’d just come from a dip in the sea.

  “Many thanks, Irik.” Mathilda reached out her hands for the basket. “You’re right on time. We’re about to load the wagon.”

  “Ah, closing time. I’ll help before I head to the docks,” Irik said.

  He was a young, strong fisher and spent most of his time out on the boats, pulling in fish from the Jaded Sea. Each week he came by with a fresh catch and a story or two of his adventures. Usually, Zilpha enjoyed his quick wit and easy banter, but today her eyes went to Hava’s booth where a cluster of people gathered around her bright cloth and baskets, handing her coins.

  A bitter rage made Zilpha bite her tongue. How come some people had everything and others had nothing? The rich gained even more notoriety and fame while the poor, like herself, were struck with woes from all sides. She sighed and noticed both Mathilda and Irik staring at her. Her face grew warm, and she reached out, fumbling for unsold baskets. “I’m sorry…go ahead. I have errands to run. Mathilda, I will see you tomorrow. I’ll come get the baskets and fish. Irik. Thank you for your generosity.”

  “Zilpha.” The grin left his face. “Perhaps another day? The harvest is coming…”

  “Aye.” She brushed his words away and gathered her skirts in her hands, her eyes set on Hava’s booth.

  “Zilpha!” Mathilda shouted something, but the final sentence blurred away.

  Zilpha scurried into the crowded marketplace, losing herself in a throng of people. She saw Hava’s wagon, loaded up with the remnant of supplies, and moved after her. She didn’t know if she would confront Hava, or what she would say if she did. Her movements were bold and reckless, and yet, she could not help the surge of determination that moved through her. If not for Hava, her debt would be paid off. Hava’s actions were intentional and deliberate. Zilpha wanted to know why.

  3

  Follower

  Someone was following her. Citrine was sure of it as she tucked the last of her herbs into her yellow handkerchief and left the marketplace. Turning a corner, she ducked into an alley and peered out at the throng that surged through the marketplace. The sun would set in just a few hours, and the peasants were hastening to return to the outskirts of town before night fell. The warm glow of street lamps lit up the shadows of the hulking buildings, their vast shapes blocking out the light.

  A vague stench hung in the air, and Citrine wrinkled her nose.
She disliked the city with the press of crowds, the stink of bodies, and the narrow alleyways zigzagging across the hillside on which the city perched. She preferred the open countryside, but Tor Lir wanted to understand the ways of mortals. Given her desire to write the book of spells, she appreciated being stationary for a while.

  Frowning, she slipped down the alleyway toward her cave. The nagging sensation that someone was watching her did not fade. Earlier that day, she’d seen amber eyes, glowing as they studied her. But when she glanced back, they seemed to have disappeared. The odd vision of the distraught creature the previous day made her feel anxious and jumpy. She considered going to find Tor Lir—he kept a room at an inn in the city when he wasn’t working the farmland.

  Tor Lir. He sought to find the balance while she searched for a home for her animals. Despite their differences, they were a great team and worked well together. Almost too well. As if the fates had been aligned.

  Citrine. The light whisper broke through her thoughts. Eagerness pressed against her heart as she made her way uphill, toward the southern slope of the city.

  Morag?

  I return tonight. And there’s more; I bring news.

  Excitement seized Citrine like the wind billowing through the sails of a ship.

  We must discuss, Morag went on.

  Aye, Morag. Let’s meet at the cliffs at sunset.

  My lady. Until then.

  The connection faded, and Citrine paused and rubbed the back of her neck. She allowed her thoughts to drift, hoping against hope Morag had, indeed, discovered what she sought. Months ago, when she and Tor Lir had reached Sanga Sang, she’d found enough herbs to cast a spell of protection over her beasts. It was vague and weak, but misdirected the eye. People who saw her beasts would instead mistake them for large animals. A bear. A deer. A fox even. But it wasn’t enough. Citrine wanted more and, taking advantage of the slow trickle of time in Sanga Sang, she had turned her attention to gathering the knowledge needed to rewrite her book of spells. But soon she’d discovered she needed supplies, which cost coin, and hence, she needed to trade. Setting up a booth at the marketplace, and later on, an herb shop near the shore, helped her purchase the supplies she needed. Then, one day, as she’d puzzled over how to protect her beasts and give them a haven, a home, her memory had unlocked the key.