Legend of the Nameless One Boxset

by Angela J. Ford

  Once the boat was tied up, Irik held out a hand to help her out of the boat and onto the dry docks. “I did not know you were given to seafaring,” he grinned.

  “I’m not,” Zilpha disagreed, her legs aching as she stumbled onto the wood of the platform. “I just…”

  “Went out on an adventure today?” Irik filled in. Bending down he pulled a bundle from the bottom of the boat.

  Zilpha stiffened when she saw it. Citrine’s things.

  Irik’s eyebrow went up. “First yesterday at the docks, and now today at sea? Are you scouting out a new home? Trying to become one of the fishes?”

  Zilpha eyed him, missing the twinkle of humor in his eyes. His gaze went from her face to the bundle, and his expression slowly changed. The light went out of his eyes as he eyed it. “Knives? Are you in trouble?”

  That question again. Zilpha shook her head. “Nay, I wanted protection in case something happened.”

  Irik peered back out to the sea, his light eyes bright with confusion. “You should have taken someone. Next time, call me. I’m usually by the docks and I can spare some time away from fishing to help. If you need it.”

  Zilpha wanted to say yes. She recalled running into Tor Lir and Hava at the tavern because she would not ask for help. She needed his help somehow, and for a moment she reminded herself, after this evening, after she made the delivery, she was free. “Will you walk with me back to the city?” the question came out of her thoughts and she did not realize she’d said it aloud until he nodded.

  “Let me grab a shirt.”

  Zilpha blushed as his sweat-sleek body moved down the docks. He plucked up a white shirt which fell open in the chest. He shrugged it on and ran his fingers through his tousled head. Shouting something to the other fishers, he tucked the bundle under his arms and fell alongside Zilpha.

  The sky deepened to a midnight blue, royal like the bold colors of silk made for high class lords and ladies. Zilpha faltered on the road that led up to the temple, watching the round peaks and recalling the blood-soaked sight of the friar, half eaten on the steps. A hand came to her mouth, and bile rose in her guts like the sloshing of waves against the boat.

  “Are you okay?” Irik’s easy voice asked.

  Avoiding his gaze, she gave a quick nod. “Aye, here is where I need to go.” She didn’t know how to tell him to leave, and part of her wished for him to stay, grateful for his presence as the telltale signs of nightfall swept across the city.

  “Are you meeting someone?”

  She nodded again, keeping her eyes forward. “Thank you, Irik. I bless your generosity.”

  “Tis nothing.” His fingers came up, grazing her arm.

  The warmth of his touch made her body relax. It differed from Lord Nodin’s touch—calm and caring versus demanding and insistent. Taking a deep breath, she glanced sideways at him, but he’d already turned away, his limber body moving downhill, back toward the shore.

  Zilpha eyed the temple, knowing she should go there to meet Lord Nodin, but wishing he’d picked a different meeting place. His tone had been so commanding, and she had still been in a dizzy haze from lovemaking. She hadn’t thought to counter his words. The sun had not quite set, casting a hazelnut glow over the city, the tops of buildings twirling like stars, keeping their own magical secrets close. Wrapping her arms around the bundle, she took a step as the heavy clip-clop of a horse arrested her ears.

  “Zilpha,” Lord Nodin’s husky voice called out her name.

  She spun to meet him and paused, taking in his regal appearance. He wore green breeches, black boots, and the heavy coat he always wore over his outfit. A round hat with a gray feather in it perched on his head, and he lifted two gloved fingers, tilting the hat to her before swinging off his white horse. “I trust your journey was productive?”

  “Here,” Zilpha blurted out, pressing the bundle into his arms. Her head swam, dizzy with anticipation. Perhaps she could take the silver and make the last payment on her debt that same evening. Her home would be hers. Bram need not worry anymore, and she could make her way in the city, a free lady.

  Lord Nodin bent his head as he opened the bundle, masking his expression. He froze when the cloth fell open, revealing the crystal winged horse. He reached a gloved hand down and paused before closing it up again. Pulling forth a leather bag, he stored it there, closing the flap and securing it.

  “The silver?” Zilpha breathed.

  “Come with me.” Lord Nodin moved back to his horse and swung up on it, holding out a hand for Zilpha.

  She joined him, allowing him to swing her up on his steed. They set off at a trot which jarred her bones. Lord Nodin leaned into her, his lips coming close to her ear as one hand moved back wisps of tangled hair which had fallen free of the bun on top of her head. “I have something to show you.”

  Anxiety rose like twisted knots of rope, impossible to untangle. Her fingers itched for the familiar comfort of weaving and the thick reeds moving through her fingers.

  They trotted for a while, dusk gathering the light of day like a farmer collecting eggs from hens. They moved out of the city and down into the farmland, heading toward Zilpha’s hut. She wondered if Lord Nodin intended to take her home where he’d leave her with the silver and a kiss or two. Her breathing relaxed at the thought, and she leaned back, the weariness of the day sweeping over her. How nice it would be to lie down and rest under warm blankets. She could walk to town in the morning, pay her debt, and perhaps spend the day gathering supplies. If there was time she’d go visit Mathilda and see if Bram were around. He’d be relieved to hear the debt was paid off. A glow of contentment settled in her heart.

  Just as she was relaxing, she saw a bloom of light high in the air. Smoke drifted through the air, forcing her to cough as its acid scent burned her nostrils. Her eyes burned, and she wiped at them, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face. Her body shuddered. Lord Nodin’s arm went around her waist, and he clicked to the horse, pulling on the reins until it slowed into a walk.

  “Look. Do you recognize where we are?”

  Zilpha gasped as flames leaped into the sky, spreading across the meadow and devouring huts and fields. Her eyes widened in recognition and a scream tore from her throat. Ripping herself from Lord Nodin’s grasp, she tumbled off the horse. Her ankle twisted under her as she landed, but terror propelled her. Ignoring the stabs of pain, she ran toward the roaring flames. Another scream came, and she fell to her knees, watching the fire devour hut after hut. It was her road. The huts she called home, one after the other being eaten by the ravenous monster of fire. The sound of the blaze thrummed through her mind, the flames licking up every single item she owned. A hopelessness surged through her as she spun around, pointing at Lord Nodin, seeing him for who he really was. A Lord. A corrupt Lord bent on gaining wealth and power.

  “Did you know this would happen? Who did this? Why?” she screamed at him, even as her ankle gave out and she sank to her knees, tears pouring down her face. “Why?”

  23

  Blood and Pain

  The first sound Citrine became conscious of was a dull roar. It pulsed behind her ears with a thump so intense it pushed blood into her eyes. When she opened them, a dim light surrounded her, and a cool wetness trickled between her legs. Citrine groaned. “Why does this always happen to me?” she muttered.

  When she tried to sit up, her head screamed in agony like a melon crushed under the hooves of a horse and wagon. A mewl of discomfort escaped from Citrine’s lips, and she lay her head back down, resting her cheeks on her hands. The rocks under her fingers were cold and crusted over with mud and other sea crustaceans. A liquid rose between her fingers and Citrine recognized it as sea water. The liquid continued to rise, caressing her fingers like a timid lover while Citrine considered her options. It was likely nightfall, and as soon as her head stopped screaming at her, she’d take in her surroundings.

  Citrine cursed. Zilpha. That devilish girl. She had more grit than Citrine assum
ed, and the lump on her wound stung. Another burst of sea water surged into the cave, this time rising to Citrine’s nostrils. She yanked her head up without ceremony, causing tears of pain to spring to her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she cursed as she rose first to all fours and then to her feet. Her vision swam when she stood tall and reached out for the cave walls to steady herself. When she faced the opening, she saw it was already evening. Clouds covered the gray sky, and the jaded sea had turned black with fury. Waves slammed against the rocks, creating a roaring sound, and sea spray filled the air. Citrine noticed the cave was already filling with water. Although it only reached up to mid-calf, it was rising quickly, and every surge of the waves sent fresh water hurling toward the back of the cave. Citrine took a step back and was rewarded with her vision spinning and blurring. She cursed again, determined to fight through the pain.

  Grift.

  Mistress.

  Are you hunting?

  Nay, 'tis my night to stand guard. Where are you?

  I’m trapped in a cave.

  How? What happened?

  It doesn’t matter how. Will you come find me?

  Who will stand guard?

  I’ll find Ava or Zaul.

  Ava will not be happy.

  I know. She’s out hunting again.

  Where are you?

  I’m along the shoreline on the southern end of the city. It took the better part of a day to row here from the port.

  I don’t know what that means. I’ll fly now.

  The connection faded, leaving Citrine with a strong buzzing in her head. A warning. Despite it, she pressed on, seeking to connect with Ava or Zaul to tell them to guard her home. The book had to be protected at all costs. She’d left it in the cave instead of bringing it with her to the herb shop. Frustrated with her situation, she closed her eyes and sought out her beasts. A splashing sound made her open her eyes. She stumbled closer to the entrance of the cave, the cool waters making her shiver. Pulling her dark cloak tighter around her shoulders, she squinted. While she could see in the dark, the rushing water acted like mirrors of night, confusing her sight. The cave was eerie, but with the lack of light, a sixth sense of fear climbed up her spine and perched on her shoulder. Something silver flashed in the waves. Citrine bit her lip, knowing who she should turn to. Grift would not be fast enough. Pain rose as she closed her eyes and sent out feelers into the sea.

  Morag.

  Enchantress.

  I need your help.

  What is it?

  I am trapped in a cave by water’s edge. South of where we met to discuss the knowledge you found. Can you find me?

  I can, but what then? I cannot take you home.

  I know, but there are strange things in the water, the creatures of the night, and you can protect me from them.

  I am coming.

  Citrine blew out her breath and reached around for the knife she kept at her waist, cursing when she remembered she’d left it in the boat. The silver creature swam nearer, and Citrine saw a fin sticking out of the water. Her whole body went rigid and although she lifted her chin, she also took a step back, wishing she had something to defend herself. She did not know what might be in the water. Sea monsters? Other dangerous beasts? It was best not to be out at night, wounded and bleeding.

  Ava. Zaul.

  There was no answer.

  Dread made Citrine’s heart thump faster. Chewing her lower lip, she listened to the wet slap of the waves against a rock, and the far-off cry of a hawk. A high-pitched whistling came through the air, eerie enough to make her blood curl. Goosebumps stood out on her arms and the hair on her neck stood out straight. Ignoring the pain in her head, Citrine snatched up rocks in her hands to use as a weapon.

  Morag. How far are you?

  He did not reply.

  Grift. What do you see from the air?

  No answer.

  Citrine took a shuddering breath to calm down her panic. What creature attacked with a whistle? She had blood on her hands and head. What if it had dripped into the sea water and called dark creatures to her?

  As an Enchantress, she understood the potency of blood and water. Something would want her, likely for a sacrifice. But she didn’t know what. She was unfamiliar with the tales from Sanga Sang, and now whatever was coming for her was blocking her creatures. She sent out feelers again, despite the terrible sensation in her head.

  The waves washed out to sea, and the gentle lapping subsided. Citrine took a step forward, causing her vision to spin again. Her stomach lurched, and nausea crept up her throat, forcing her to lean over and dry-heave from the pain. There was nothing in her belly, and strings of salvia came out of her mouth. She spit as best she could, clutching the slimy cave wall with one hand and wiping drool off her mouth with the back of her other hand. Heat flared at her forehead and the pounding grew stronger.

  Her jeweled eyes welled up with tears, clouding her vision so badly she almost missed the creature that hurled itself out of the water. Citrine shrieked in surprise as it slammed into her chest, forcing her to lose her balance. She toppled over on her back as slick arms wrapped around her and sucked at her. A sac of clearish brown fluid sat on top of her chest, just below her breast bone and she felt a mouth and pinchers digging their way through her clothes, aiming for the soft skin of her belly.

  Citrine thrashed, snatched up rocks and hammered on the creature. The thing wiggled and a sour smell came from it. Hot liquid soaked Citrine’s dress through to the skin, like the creature had loosened its bowels on her, or perhaps secreted some kind of poison to calm its prey. Tentacle-like appendages wrapped around her body, pinning her flailing arms down, leaving only her feet to kick.

  Citrine’s eyes bulged as she fought, knowing her own strength. She should not be lying on the cave floor giving in. She was strong, she could break bone, there was no reason why the creature should win. She threw her head back, forcing herself to calm down so she could focus on her inner strength. Her head exploded in agony like a hunter was sitting on her chest and stabbing a knife in and out of her skull. Her vision turned to spots, and a buzzing rang in her ears. The creature’s hold tightened until she felt her bones would snap if it squeezed any harder. The material of her dress dissolved away as the creature gripped her. Something sharp, teeth, she assumed, bit into her stomach, and the creature sucked. A searing agony poured through Citrine and the thrashing of her legs grew feeble. Lightning flashed, and the creature sucked harder while Citrine felt her life force ebbing away.

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her feet shuddered, and her body went still. A wave rose, filling the cave. Water glided past Citrine’s face, covering her body in a temporary tomb of cold salt. The thing on her body pulsed, and an eerie scream filled the air. As the waves receded, a female creature leapt out of the water, lifting a knife above Citrine’s head. Citrine gasped, taking in wild eyes as black as night and white hair. The female’s muscular arm came down, and a snarl came from her thin lips. Citrine jerked, her eyes rolling back in her head as the creature that had been sucking on her came loose. The female shouted words in a strange language and continued her onslaught, driving the knife in and out of the creature until only shreds of saliva and mucus were left.

  Shaking, Citrine sat up. A cry of pain escaped from her lips even as her bruised arm moved and her fingers curled around wet stones, ready to fight.

  “Lie still,” the female grunted. Her round eyes roved over the cave, and a hand came out, pressing onto Citrine’s breast bone, pushing her back down. “I must cut out the poison. This will hurt.”

  Citrine gasped for words, meaning to ask the female to give her a moment to regain her senses. But the knife came down before she could speak, plunging into her belly and twisting. A horrific pain seized her, and she screamed, tears leaking out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. When the first searing pain subsided, like the flames of a fire, tamed at last, Citrine opened her eyes. The female crouched over her, holding a blob of skin and blood. Sh
e washed it off in the sea water, cleansing her knife as well.

  Citrine gulped, trying to take in air and take her mind off the fact that some creature had just cut out a good portion of her belly. The female muttered, saying words in a different language as she held up the knife. It glowed red, and then she laid it against Citrine’s wound. If Citrine thought she had experienced pain before, that was nothing like the heat that burned her skin. It felt like she had stuck her body into a blue-hot fire, the fires meant to burn purity into metal, and no words could express the sheer agony that twisted through her, relentless in its quest, unwilling to let go until she succumbed to anguish and begged to be put out of her misery. A long moment passed where she flickered in and out of darkness, her breath turning shallow. She could not get enough air, and the pain overwhelmed until it disappeared.

  Her eyes flickered open and she glared at the female who crouched in front of her. The round eyes flickered at Citrine. “Can you stand?”

  “Stand?” Citrine gasped, her voice hoarse. Anger boiled in her gut, mounting although every bone in her body felt too weak to lift. “After you just cut me and burned me?”

  The female blinked like a cat stalking its prey, not intending to give itself away. Her tone was quiet but straightforward as she replied. “I did it to save your life as you requested.”

  Citrine paused, taken back at the response. “I did not ask you for anything.”

  The female’s eyes shifted, and her hand gripped the knife firmly. In the absence of the powerful gaze, Citrine took the opportunity to study the creature. The female bore a resemblance to a mortal, but her bare arms and legs were unusually muscular, and there was a fishy quality to her face. Her black eyes were completely round and bulged out while her face was almost concave.