Legend of the Nameless One Boxset

by Angela J. Ford

  Zilpha’s willowy figure appeared around a corner, and she lifted a hand to give a shy wave. Citrine towered over the girl’s slight form, and she sensed she intimidated Zilpha.

  “Finally,” Citrine sighed with impatience, pulling away from the shop and standing tall. Bending down, she grabbed a satchel and swung it over her shoulder.

  “What’s that?” asked Zilpha.

  When she got closer, Citrine saw she wore the same dress as the day before. Her chestnut hair was twisted up in a bun on the top of her head with a few strands falling loose about her face. It framed her face in the light, highlighting her hazel eyes and giving the curves of her face a slight immortal look. Zilpha’s eyes were bright with light, unlike the day before, as if a token of happiness had slipped into her body and made her come fully alive.

  Citrine sniffed. Did this simple-minded girl think of nothing? “Supplies. We might need them for our day-long excursion. Now follow me, I have a boat.”

  Citrine led the way while Zilpha walked slightly behind. Citrine wondered if she should strike up a conversation, but something about the girl’s demeanor put her off. She seemed to be lost in thought, debating with herself. When they reached the shore and tumbled into the small vessel, the girl settled on one side of the boat, glancing at the waves like they would wash over her.

  “It’s all I could manage given the time,” Citrine offered, unsure why she needed to explain to the girl. She did not need approval for her actions. “It’s not ideal for a sea journey, but will be just fine going up the coast. I expect we must navigate around rocks and seaweed. Keep an eye out and use your oar. If we don’t we may end up splattered on the cliffs.”

  Zilpha’s eyes widened, and Citrine clamped her mouth shut, almost rolling her eyes at the timid girl’s expression. Had she never been out to sea? Yet she held the oar in her lap with care while Citrine stood in the waves, the hem of her short dress getting soaked as she pushed the boat out further. When they were past the sand bars and any likelihood of getting trapped on shore-related debris, Citrine hopped into the boat, rocking it back and forth with her weight, and snatched up an oar.

  “If you see a landscape that matches your vision, point it out,” she said.

  “We should go south.” Zilpha pointed, like Citrine couldn’t tell the difference between north and south. “I went to the southern end of the city and in the vision the current dragged it even further south.”

  Citrine scowled, frustrated Zilpha hadn’t mentioned that yesterday. “We have a long day of rowing ahead of us,” she muttered.

  The sun rose fully as they rowed, beating back the chopping waves. The ships were still at port, and they passed them from a distance, earning a round of cheers and waves, as they set off on a great sea adventure. Citrine grinned, relaxing as the wind blew past them and the sea foam sprayed into the boat, wetting her sleeves. It was cool and felt refreshing under the intense glare of the sun. After a while, even Zilpha seemed to relax, gazing about in awe, a slight smile coming to her peaked face now and again.

  Black and white seagulls rose above them, calling out their odd rhyme, demanding free fish and food in exchange for their noisiness. Citrine smiled as she watched them, curious how many seagulls Grift had eaten in his never-ending quest for knowledge.

  “You’re new to the city, aren’t you?” Zilpha’s breathless voice interrupted Citrine’s thoughts.

  Citrine let her gaze fall from the seagulls and studied her shy companion. A flush covered Zilpha’s face, and her eyes were bright with the light of adventure. Citrine understood the feeling. There was something magical about withdrawing from mundane tasks and hunting for treasure. Suddenly she realized even though the end goal was important, she was enjoying herself.

  “Aye. I came to rest here. At the time it seemed like a good place to call home.”

  “Where were you before?” Zilpha asked, tugging on her oar.

  “Across the sea in the Eastern Hill Countries. In the Land of Lock.” Citrine shrugged. A lump grew in her throat as she recalled the incident that drove her across the sea. A wistfulness rose in her heart as she thought of Novor Tur-Woodberry and his magical land.

  “Oh, Zilpha exclaimed. “The land where the immortals still dwell. They say there is power and remnants of magic alive there.”

  “They aren’t wrong,” Citrine agreed, aware of how the conversation had turned to a dangerous topic. Yet she relished seeing the look of shock and fear on Zilpha’s face.

  “Have you met any immortals?” Zilpha leaned forward, her expression eager for news.

  Citrine remembered her flight through the Boundary Line Forest and her perilous adventure with Novor Tur-Woodberry and Tor Lir. “I’ve met my share. Those who are in awe of them should beware. Immortals are not always who they say they are.”

  Zilpha’s shoulders slumped, and her open face displayed her hesitation. Yet she plunged on with her next question. “Do you know someone named Tor Lir?”

  Citrine stiffened and almost dropped her paddle. Her eyebrows shot up, and she glared at Zilpha. What did this girl know? Could she read minds? Citrine’s eyes darted to the waves as she considering what to say. Zilpha appeared harmless. She was no one in the city even though she possessed the knowledge of a hidden treasure. Should she speak with her? Warnings about the Disciples of Ithar resounded in her mind, but after some consideration, she found no harm in being truthful. “I do. He is one of my companions. And do you know him?”

  Zilpha shook her head so hard the boat shook. “Nay, I only asked because I met him last night, after I left your shop.”

  Citrine pulled her oar out of the water, this time unable to keep from scowling at Zilpha. “What did he want?”

  “I…I…thought…assumed you were friends?” Zilpha stuttered. “He wanted to know what you and I are doing today.”

  “Did you tell him?” Citrine demanded.

  “No,” Zilpha all but whispered, hanging her head. Her actions revealed her discomfort with the topic. “There was no time.”

  Citrine gave a sigh of relief and sat back, dropping her paddling back in the waters. “Good. He has no business following me around. I will tell him what he wants to know when I’m good and ready. If he ever bothers you again, please let me know.” She tried to drop her voice to a kinder more motherly tone. If anything, Zilpha would respond better to kindness. There was no need to treat her like a child. Nor was she one of Citrine’s beloved pets to be scolded for reckless behavior.

  “Why?” Zilpha lifted her head, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “Why does he act like that? If you are friends, he could go to you for answers.”

  “I never said we were friends,” Citrine retorted. “He is nosy and wants to know what I’m doing so he can follow me.”

  “He called himself the Nameless One. And his ears are pointed. He…is he…What is he?” Zilpha stuttered, her eyes wide.

  Citrine could see the jig was up. There were too many questions from one who shouldn’t know what to ask. “It is of no consequence. Don’t concern yourself with Tor Lir, and by all means stay out of his way. He is not what you think he is.”

  Zilpha turned her head away and glanced out over the sea. “There.” She pointed. “This landscape looks familiar.”

  “Let’s row closer to shore, and keep an eye out for the cave,” Citrine instructed.

  The waves came to a lull as they rowed closer to the shallows. Gray cliffs rose up, a home for various water fowl and the sea gulls who flocked back and forth. Elephant seals lay on a sandy enclose where they could easily slip into the water. They moved their flippers, tossing sand on each other and snorting. Citrine smiled as she watched their antics, reminded of the way her beasts had played when they were young. She sighed. Her beasts would be full grown soon, and they were becoming more difficult to hide. All the more reason for her to leave and find a spot of land she could control. Again, her thoughts turned to Novor Tur-Woodberry and his delectable land. That was what she wanted. A paradise somewhe
re in the South World.

  Zilpha rowed without a word, her lips pressed together while her bright eyes darted to and fro. The midday meal passed. Citrine pulled out bread, cheese, and dried fish, passing a share to Zilpha. They took turns taking a break from rowing to eat. Citrine tossed her bread crumbs over the edge of the boat, watching silver fish leap out of the sea to snatch up the crumbs. Their scales winked in the light, causing rainbows to sprinkle across the waters.

  “It’s beautiful out here,” Zilpha said. “I’ve never been out on the sea before.”

  Citrine nodded, allowing her expression to relax. “You’re a Cron and you’ve never traveled? I’m surprised you haven’t seen more of the world.”

  Zilpha blushed. “I came here from Ellsmore. It’s enough trying to earn a living here.”

  “Why did you come here?” Citrine decided to give conversation another try even though she didn’t care.

  Zilpha gasped and pointed to the shore. Her voice went high. “There, I think that’s it.”

  Citrine shielded her eyes against the sunlight and peered over to where Zilpha pointed. A tiny island rose on a rocky slope. The only feature on it was the shallow opening of a gray cave. Citrine imagined when the tide came in, it would submerge the island.

  “Are you sure?” Citrine asked, although excitement beat a rhythm in her heart. She shuddered, licking her lips as she anticipated seeing the treasure. Old Edna’s words returned to her. Is the treasure real? Would I know simply by touching it? She wondered if she should reach out and ask Grift for advice. The sight of the cave, a black hole against beauty, made her feel uneasy. A vague reminder of the Boundary Line Forest fueled her discomfort.

  A row of rocks, slick with seaweed and slime, led the way up to the cave, perched about five feet above the water. Citrine squinted as they rowed toward it. “We’ll have to tie up the boat on one of the rocks and hurry before the tide comes in.”

  Zilpha nodded and pulled harder on her oar. She sucked on her lower lip, eyeing the cave and then the waves. The sea stayed calm as they pulled up to the rocks. Citrine hung her feet over the boat and snatched up the rope. She tied it off to the stern of the boat and, holding the other end, jumped into the water. It was deeper than she thought, and surges of cold seawater washed around her legs, making her shiver. Strands of seaweed seeped out, yanking down on her short dress.

  Citrine kicked out, lunging her body toward the rocks. They rose up like towering giants with shells clinging to them like a protective barrier. Splashing in the water, Citrine snatched at a rock, but her hand slipped, and she fell off the slick, rough surface back into the water. Realizing she would have to try a different tactic, she lifted the rope and quickly knotted it in a loop. She planted her feet and gritted her teeth, determined to ignore the icy waves. Raising the lasso, heavy with water, above her head she swung the rope in a long lazy circle. It gathered speed and whistled through the air. She flung it. It caught, and settled around a rock. She yanked, to pull it taut and give herself the leverage she needed to navigate the rocks. The boat floundered in the water as the waves rocked it back and forth.

  “Come on,” Citrine called to Zilpha.

  Not bothering to glance behind, she made her way up the rocky slope, sometimes climbing on hands and knees as she made her way to the cave. She cut her hand on the sharp edge of bedrock as she moved, rising above the waves, well aware the sea would become rough in a few hours. They needed to find the treasure and leave before it became too dangerous. Although there was always the possibility of calling her beasts to help her escape, she felt somewhat embarrassed to tell them what she was after. Morag disapproved of her actions, and it bothered her. Even though she did not need his approval, she sought it, and the knowledge of a treasure would only incur a lecture. She’d already had enough from Old Edna, and a sourness sat in her belly as she considered how Tor Lir would react. Pausing, she glanced behind to see Zilpha moving, with surprising agility, up the rock face. In mere moments, she’d catch up with Citrine. Impressed, Citrine moved forward again, but her hand caught on a rock and a slight pain riffed through her as the skin of her palm split open. Blood leaked out, and she rubbed it on her shift, eager to stop it before Zilpha noticed.

  The yawning cave opened before her like the mouth of a sea monster devouring its prey. Waves slammed up against the rocks from the other side, shooting flecks of sea foam up into the air. Citrine stepped across the cool stones, grateful to be out of the heat of the relentless sun for a moment.

  “What do you see?” Zilpha asked, her voice labored from the climb up the rocks.

  “Nothing yet. There are plenty of stones in here. It might take a while to find the box.” Yet as the words left her lips, she saw a glint of crystal, winking in and out of the dim light.

  A shadow blocked out the light as Zilpha joined her, adding another wet and warm body to the seclusion of the cave. Multicolored rocks moved under their feet, and random objects covered in crustaceans, and sand scattered across the cave floor. It was quite shallow, only going a few feet back until the end. Someone had drawn with charcoal on the cave walls, a mix of crisscross shapes that made no sense.

  “I think I see it,” Citrine breathed. Kneeling down, she crept toward the object.

  Indeed, among the treasures spit up from the sea perched a crystal horse with two outstretched wings. It lay on its side, unblemished by its surroundings. Citrine’s heart beat fast as she reached out a hand, scarcely daring to believe the treasure was real. What would she do with such a gift? What could she gain? A flower of passion bloomed within, and a desperation made her fingers shake as she reached out. A slight murmur gathered about her like the beginning of a song sung by a multitude of voices. Her vision turned hazy, but just when her fingertips touched cool clear crystal, a heavy object slammed into her skull. She blinked for a moment, unable to believe what had just happened. Her vision went sideways as she fell forward, her face smacking into the stones. Far away, she thought she heard a sharp cry. The blow came again, and then there was nothing but blackness.

  22

  Bloom of Light

  Zilpha cried out in shock and horror after she bashed Citrine on the head. Her fist came open, dropping the blood-stained rock into piles of stones where it splattered red matter across the cave floor. She hadn’t meant to hit Citrine that hard, but a steady flow of blood appeared, matting her odd colored hair. What if she were dead? Tears sprang to Zilpha’s eyes, and bile filled her throat. With shaking fingers, she wrapped her hand in the skirt of her dress and lifted the treasure, careful to ensure her bare skin did not touch it. Tucking it into a bag, she tied it around her waist and made her way back down the cliff to the boat, furiously wiping tears of fear and anxiety from her eyes. She had to do what she’d done to save Bram and save herself. There was no other way and now she could reap the benefits.

  She tried to forget Citrine’s bloody head as she untied the rope and plunged her fingers into the icy waters, rubbing them together to get rid of the blood. Desperation made her clumsy as she clambered into the vessel, ducking her head down to keep from throwing up. Taking up an oar, she rowed while the waves fought against her. The boat moved into an eddy and spun in circles, showing her, once again, the monstrous mouth of the cave, glowering at her like a toothless wyvern. Zilpha could not help the hysterical tears that poured out of her eyes and leaked into her mouth. Without trying to wipe them away, she seized the oar and rowed like a mad person until she escaped the eddy.

  The calmness of the sea mocked her turmoil, and it seemed like the seagulls who flew above mocked her choice. “I did the right thing. I did the right thing,” she said repeatedly as if to belay her nerves. It was the right thing. Citrine would be fine. And even if she wasn’t, she had no right to take the treasure for herself. Zilpha had only done as Lord Nodin ordered. Whatever it took.

  She rowed for a while as the shadows grew long, and eventually the city of Sanga Sang came into view. The waves pushed against her boat like hands, for
cing her to stay in the middle of the waves, but Zilpha tugged at the oars, driving the slim vessel onward. As she neared the city, seagulls wheeled above her, their rough cries making an ache ring in her head. She imagined they scolded her for her devious ways, shouting: Thief. Thief. Thief. A reprimand for stealing the treasure back for herself. Her arms shook from effort until friendly shouts blocked out the accusations of the seagulls. A flush spread across her face as she saw the fishers were already out. They tied their small fishing boats up at the port she aimed for. It lay lower down from the shore than the port where the massive ships went, and it was further down from the main hub of the docks. Zilpha ducked her head and continued to row, gritting her teeth through the pain, well aware of curious eyes watching her. She had no answers to their unsaid questions. She had no fish, no treasure to share, and no reason to be out on the sea. Alone.

  “Zilpha.”

  Hesitating just a fraction, she lifted her head. Irik stood on the docks, waving. His brows rose in surprise and his eyes roved over her, full of questions. Lifting a hand, she gave a small wave, causing one oar to clatter against the boat. Leaning over, she snatched at it, her eyes widening as it tipped over the edge and sunk into the sea. A moment later, a wave splashed at the rear of the small vessel, almost turning her over.

  Laughter floated to her ears, and when she glanced up again, embarrassed with herself, Irik stood waist deep in water, moving toward her. A smile lit up his ruddy face, and he cupped his arms around his mouth. “Toss me a rope, I’ll help you tie up.”

  Zilpha bit her lip and nodded, grateful for Irik’s attention to her. For a brief second, she considered what his end goal might be. But then Lord Nodin and his warm, insistent kisses filled her memory. Blushing in fury, she found the end of the rope and threw it, without much aim, to Irik. He caught it somehow, laughter still on his lips, and pulled as she rowed.