Legend of the Nameless One Boxset

by Angela J. Ford

  10

  A Shock

  Pink rays of sunrise still graced the broad skies as Zilpha slowed her hurried pace and climbed up the steps to Mathilda’s house. Her family home was quite large, for it housed her many brothers and sisters. Huts dotted the farmland and the air was potent with the smell of fresh vegetables. Before Zilpha could knock on the door, she saw one brother—she could never keep their names straight, for they all looked alike—leading a horse toward the road.

  “You’re quite early, Zilpha,” he shouted. “We’re still getting ready to head to the fields.”

  “I know,” Zilpha called. “I need to speak with Mathilda.”

  “Ah, she’s down in the hut near the vineyards, surprised she didn’t tell you then…”

  “Oh,” Zilpha paused in confusion. Why is Mathilda staying by the vineyards?

  “I’ll give you a ride. It’s a wee bit muddy down there,” he laughed.

  They trotted into a valley, Zilpha too exhausted from worry to remark much on the enjoyable ride. Zilpha wished she had a steady horse to carry her wares to market each week. One day, when she had enough silver to trade she would buy a mare. When they arrived, she swung down from the horse, forgetting to thank Mathilda’s brother for the ride.

  A rooster crowed in the distance, even though the sun was up, and birds sang as they pecked at plump ripe grapes. A blue bird hopped in front of Zilpha, cocking its round black eyes at her as if asking a question. Zilpha brushed past it as the horrors of the night before returned and she pounded on the door. Strands of hair tumbled out of her hastily made bun at her jarring movements.

  It flew open. Mathilda gasped, a hand flying to her lips as she examined Zilpha, up and down. Her hazel eyes turned dark in disapproval, and she shook her head, “Zilpha!”

  “Have you heard?” Zilpha burst out, the hasty words running into each other in her rush to get out. “The friar! He’s dead. Dead at the foot of the temple with his eyes wide open. I saw him…last night…can you believe it? It was awful, like a beast had attacked him and I ran…”

  “Zilpha…”

  “I know it was my fault for staying out so late but…I had to see what Hava was doing with all those baskets. I saw Lord Arden give her a bag of silver and then he slapped her. But that’s not the worst part. While I was running I saw the friar and there was blood everywhere and a smell, like an animal, but not like horses and goats, it was musky like dung and rot—”

  Mathilda squeezed her hands into fists and her face turned red. “Zilpha! Bram is here.”

  “Oh.” Zilpha felt herself deflate like someone had punched her chest and all the air went out of her lungs. “What is he doing here?”

  “I wanted to tell you but he asked me not to.”

  “Mathilda, I asked about him yesterday.” Standing on her tip toes, Zilpha peered over her friend’s shoulder into the dark hut.

  Mathilda sniffed, and her jaw clenched.

  Zilpha glowered, words turning to ash in her throat. “I’ve been searching for him. I thought something terrible happened!”

  “Zilpha?” Bram appeared behind Mathilda and pulled the door open wide. His dark eyes were sleepy and his round face ruddy. He yawned and ran a finger through his light brown hair, making it stand up on end. “It’s okay.” He touched Mathilda’s arm, holding her gaze a moment too long.

  Zilpha rubbed her arms in discomfort as anger pulsated through her. Mathilda and Bram looked like they shared a grand secret. Their eyes met, and they gazed at each other wordlessly until Zilpha felt awkward, as though she were the intruder hiding things. Mathilda’s kindness irked her, and she spoke up, taking out her anger on her younger brother. “Bram. Why didn’t you come home? You have chores and responsibilities. You can’t just up and leave whenever you feel the urge. You’re the only male at home, and you need to step up and act like one.”

  “Zilpha. Not now.” Bram held up a hand, his voice warm and even as if Zilpha’s anger did not fluster him. “I didn’t tell you because. . .well. . .”

  “Bram. Are you sure you should tell her?” Mathilda interrupted, grabbing his elbow to drag him away from the door. Her eyes were large in her freckled face, her light hair mossy with sweat as it gathered at the base of her neck. Zilpha’s eyes flitted over her friend’s uncombed hair and wrinkled clothes and realized, with a pang, Mathilda and Bram had spent the night together. Jealousy made Zilpha clutch her jaw, and she crossed her arms over her chest to defend herself from their happiness.

  Bram yanked his elbow out of Mathilda’s hand and frowned. “Mathilda. Please. It’s better to hear it from us than if she sees him in the street.”

  “Who?” Zilpha demanded, glancing from Mathilda’s worried face to Bram’s stern one.

  Bram turned his body to face Zilpha, pausing as if gathering strength, and then the words dripped from his lips. “Nodin. He’s back.”

  Zilpha opened her mouth, but no words came out. A burning sensation ripped through her chest, and moisture sprang to her eyes. Her chin shook, and she lifted trembling fingers to cover her mouth.

  Five years ago, he’d left her. He’d desired to explore and find adventure in the time of peace. It had been a relief when he left, although she grieved. At times she hated him and other times she longed for his return. When her breath returned, she seized Mathilda’s arm, leaning on her for support.

  “It’s Lord Nodin now,” Bram murmured. “I saw him at the tavern by the shore last night. He looked well. Word is he’s taken up with the city warden.”

  Zilpha’s vision blurred, and she pulled away. “I have to go,” she whispered.

  “No. Now that you’re here, stay,” Mathilda disagreed. “I’ll get the wagon, we can load up your supplies and fish. I’ll go with you back to your hut and help you get settled—”

  “No,” Zilpha barked. Holding up a hand. “You don’t understand.” And then for the first time since she saw the dead friar, understanding dawned on her and a cry escaped her lips. Her hands fell to her hips where she’d hidden it, but she knew without further investigation. “It’s gone. I was so distracted last night I forgot to check. The money is gone!”

  “Money? What money?” Bram asked.

  Zilpha shook her head, powerless as Mathilda dragged her into the hut and deposited her on a chair.

  “This is terrible.” Zilpha collapsed in the chair, rocking back and forth as she realized what had happened. “It’s like I said. I saw the dead friar, and I forgot about the money. I think I lost it either before or after I went to the temple. I have to go back, I have to look.”

  Her voice came out shrill with panic, and all she could think about was the harsh slap Lord Arden had given Hava, his own flesh and blood. How would he deal with her for not making timely payment on her debt?

  “Slow down, have a sip of water, and start at the beginning.” Mathilda put a mug of water in front of Zilpha, some splashing onto the table in her haste.

  The water tasted like nothing as it went down her throat, but it revived her spirits and, sitting up, she shared with Mathilda and Bram what had happened. When she finished, Bram spun and kicked a chair, then picked it up and hurled it at the wall, where it broke into two pieces.

  “Zilpha, we have a debt!” he shouted, his face turning red. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have all paid it off together, and I just bought a plot of land—”

  “You bought land?” Zilpha lifted glassy eyes to her brother’s face, her trembling fingers spilling more water.

  “Aye…you weren’t to know…” he gestured to Mathilda.

  “I didn’t want to tell you like this.” Mathilda dropped her head, eyes seeking the ground. “We wanted to wait until the Harvest Festival to make it official. But we will be married.”

  “Aye, I bought land so I can build a new house which is why I’ve been away working. Zilpha, I’m sorry.” Bram came back, perching on the edge of the table. “We’ll go to Lord Arden together and explain. Between my work and the market, you can
still make that payment, perhaps this month.”

  Zilpha leaped to her feet, hurt and betrayal seeping through her as she gazed from her brother to her best friend. They were to be married, and she’d be alone, forced to work until she became lost or destitute on the streets. Unkind words buzzed around her head, building into a storm as the chair behind her fell to the floor. “No.” She bolted for the door. “It’s my fault. My debt. Leave me alone. I can fix this by myself.”

  “Zilpha, I’m sorry. I should have told you.” Mathilda ran out behind her. “I honestly didn’t know—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Zilpha shouted back, tears in her voice. “You with your family and your beautiful farmland. You’re so focused on yourself you never notice what’s really going on. And now you’ve taken my brother.”

  “Zilpha, that’s unfair of you.” Mathilda crossed her arms, her feet coming to a halt just outside the door of the hut. “You never told me about the debt, and I’ve asked you if you needed help. Come back, we will work together.”

  “Leave me alone,” Zilpha shouted. Tears streaked down her face as she bolted from the farmland. She had to retrace her steps and find the bag of silver coins. Perhaps all wouldn’t be in vain. Even as she ran, the long face of Lord Nodin rose in her memory and she shuddered, but whether it was from anticipation or fear, she did not know.

  11

  Manipulation

  “There you are,” Tor Lir said as he strode into the cave, stepping over Grift’s tail.

  Citrine lay sprawled on a bed of furs by the back of the cave, still sleeping. At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head off her arms, blinking in the daylight. A charred fire smoked so close to her head it was a wonder her hair hadn’t caught fire. She used a rock as a pillow and Tor Lir couldn’t imagine she was comfortable. Her wild hair danced around her head, and her lemon-yellow eyes glared at him. “What are you doing here?” she grumbled.

  Sitting up, she wiped sleep from her eyes and reached for her cloak. Tor Lir did not miss the way her eyes darted about the cave, checking that all her secrets remained hidden from him.

  He crossed his arms and spread his legs, taking a stance in front of her. “Something strange happened last night, and I came to ask you about it.”

  “Why me?” She reached for her boots and slid them up her bare knees.

  Tor Lir shifted his gaze away from her immodest display of flesh. “Were all your beasts accounted for last night?”

  “Why?” her hands dropped and her breath caught. Her brow furrowed as she stood. “Why would you ask such a thing? What happened?”

  “I saw a beast at the temple. It ripped into one of the friars and killed him. But it disappeared before I could see it. Surely you aren’t letting your beasts run wild.”

  Citrine’s heart-shaped face turned red, and she balled her hands into fists. “I don’t appreciate you coming here to accuse me. My beasts would never do such a thing.”

  Tor Lir cocked his head to the side, studying her. “I had to ask. If there’s another beast on the loose, perhaps you can find it and add it to your collection.”

  Citrine spun away from him, her voice taking on a distinctly unfriendly tone. “I have other things to do. Besides, I have enough beasts in my collection. I love them all and I don’t need more. What makes you think I want to stomp around collecting beasts? I have my own goals to attend to.”

  “Ah…I thought as much. Will you tell me?”

  Citrine pulled her royal blue cloak around her shoulders. It fell just below her knees. She crossed her arms, the warm flush still covering her face. “I did want to speak with you, but not so much after your accusations.”

  Tor Lir ran a hand through his hair, a smirk on his face. Why did Citrine have to be so difficult? Part of him wanted to shake sense into her while another part of him enjoyed her relentless attitude. Giving her space, he leaned against the cave walls and watched her movements. “What do you want to speak to me about?”

  Citrine picked up a basket and took a hunk of bread and dried fish out of it and tied it into a yellow handkerchief. Snatching up an apple, she took a bite out of it. Tor Lir’s stomach turned in hunger as he watched juice drip down Citrine’s chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand before facing him again. “I’m leaving.”

  Something passed through Tor Lir at the way she said “I’m.” Did her plans include him? He thought not, but—refusing to show his frustration—he shrugged. “Why? I thought you wanted to stay in one place for a time because of your work. You have a spell of protection—”

  “What do you know about spells?” Citrine put her hands on her hips, the apple forgotten as she frowned at him. “I thought you weren’t interested in knowledge.”

  “I’m not,” he responded, adding a frosty edge to his words. “But clearly, you are. Why the sudden decision?”

  “I don’t have to ask permission from you. I’ve decided. I’m leaving.”

  Tor Lir pursed his lips. “Is that wise, considering the time of year? Autumn is coming and soon winter winds will freeze the plains. Are you prepared to face the winter in a new land?”

  Citrine took another noisy bite of her apple, her gaze moving to the cave entrance. Tor Lir studied her posture, the way she held her shoulders up, and her eyes, avoiding his gaze. There was something she didn’t want to tell him. So be it.

  “It’s not good for my beasts to be close to the city,” Citrine said. “Yesterday, that crazy lady, Old Edna, came to visit me, prattling on with her mad ravings. She claims she’s blind, but I don’t like it. I’m taking my beasts and going where we can have solitude.”

  Citrine’s aura flashed, and Tor Lir considered whether she was telling the truth. He decided to test her. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  Citrine scratched the back of her neck and tossed the apple core into the fire. She bent to grab a basket of herbs and started for the cave entrance, avoiding him altogether. Before she left, she turned back. “No, here is where we part ways. You have the opportunity to study the mortals, as you desire, and I will keep my beasts safe, as I desire.”

  Irritation swept through Tor Lir at her words, like she’d slung mud in his face. He crept to her side, staring at her face and her bright hair cascading down her back. Today her hair appeared green in the sunlight. He moved close enough to snatch her hand and hold her back. “Go, if you wish it. But before you leave, I have a question. I saw something in the temple—a creature drawn on parchment. It was a horse and yet it was not, with wings on its back, and there was something about it I can’t explain. Do you know of such a beast? Have you heard of it?”

  As Citrine’s eyes grew wide, a thrill coursed through him. He had the ability to manipulate her, and now he held her attention.

  12

  Night Visit

  Whispers circulated through the city as Zilpha hunted for her bag of coins. After fleeing from Mathilda and Bram’s happiness, she’d returned to her hut and searched carefully for the bag of silver without success. Following her trail back to the city, she poked at bushes and leaves in the thicket. Where had she left it? Yet as her memory came back, she recalled falling into Hava’s hut of supplies, and tearing her dress. She was sure it was then the belt had come loose and out had dropped the bag of coins. But she couldn’t go back there. She swallowed hard, fingers shaking as she recalled the fire she’d set. If Hava returned to her supplies, she’d know there had been an intruder. Zilpha hoped no one had seen her, and while she assumed it was easy to blame thieves, she thought her jarred composure would give her away.

  Now evening crept toward the city once again, and Zilpha stood in the empty marketplace, knowing she should head home but eyeing the temple with trepidation. With a shudder she decided to walk to it. People thronged the streets, some headed home, others to the shore. A few pointed up to the temple, shaking their heads.

  “What is it?” Zilpha asked a lady who brushed near her, murmuring under her breath.

  “There’s a
monster loose among us,” the lady whispered. “It went up to the temple and killed the friar. That spells bad luck for all of us, and right before the Harvest Festival.”

  “It can’t be bad luck,” Zilpha replied with little heart. “We live in a time of peace. Nothing terrible is supposed to happen.”

  “Supposed to happen, but it can! Peace might be over and the darkness might spread again. I always said, there’s only so much that can be done. Evil will always return.”

  “I don’t think it’s evil, only an accident.”

  “An accident? If you had seen the body, you would think different. Nay, there are too many newcomers in the land, and the warden is failing us. Something must be done.” The lady hunched over, shaking her head, and pulled out a loaf of bread. “Sweet for ye? Three pennies—”

  Zilpha shook her head, goosebumps poking up on her arms. “Nay, I did not come to trade. Have you heard what is being done about it?”

  “Lord Arden is mustering the watchers, and there is word a new warden will take over soon. I assume the announcement will be made during the Harvest Festival. In the meantime, it’s best if you seek advice from Old Edna.”

  Zilpha peered at the lady, startled she mentioned Old Edna. Edna was insane from her years of hardship. She had unusual abilities and made strange concoctions out of herbs and foul root vegetables. She kept a black raven that flew back and forth like a speaking beast, yet it only cawed instead of speaking.

  There were a variety of speaking and dumb beasts across the South World, but given animal politics, most farmers sought out and bred dumb beasts. Talking beasts were too wild and demanded certain requirements for their living.

  Old Edna’s mannerisms were odd, and at one time, the Disciples of Ithar had taken her for questioning. They could find no fault with her and had returned her to her maddening ways in the city. She was the oldest person Zilpha had ever seen, almost sixty moons and still roving around the city like a young one, preaching against the past darkness and warning others to beware the future.