Marklus, seeing the look in their eyes, quickly stepped between the two. “It does not matter now. We are all in this together and should not talk of what might have been. There is no going back. Legone, walk with us. We might as well learn how to get along.”
Alaireia looked at the tall Tider. “There is only one thing that matters now.” She stared up into his sky blue eyes. “Are you with us?”
Legone defensively stared right back at her. “That is a question you should not even have to ask,” he replied tightly as he turned and walked away.
“Alaireia,” Marklus groaned, “you have insulted him.”
Alaireia huffed, “There is something about him I cannot put my finger on. He is hiding something.”
Marklus looked thoughtfully at her as they reached a flight of stairs descending deeper into the fortress. “Crinte said the same thing to me,” he whispered, “which is why we have to keep him close. He may be our guide, but if there is more to the story he will need our trust, something I fear he has not known. Alaireia, there are secrets you have not told me, because I do not have your trust yet.”
“I know. Since we are leaving together, it is time you knew.”
As they stepped off the stairs, into gloomy, torch lit halls, Alaireia reached into her tunic and pulled out an object. She held it in the palm of her hands and lifted it up so that the flickering torchlight fell on it.
“It cannot be!” Marklus exclaimed, staring at it in wonder. “How did you come to find it?”
A genuine smile lit up Alaireia’s face. “I know, isn’t it beautiful?”
“Alaireia.” Marklus stared at her, noticing again how lovely she looked as the yellow light spilled over her hands, highlighting her cheekbones and shades of dark hair. “Do you know what we can do with it?”
“I do.” She never took her eyes off of it. “How do you think we escaped prison?”
“Oh.” All the pieces came together now. “Your army, the prisoners.”
“Yes, you see now. They followed the trail we left them which led here, all except for Starman. He should not have seen it.”
Marklus shook his head in wonder. “We are stronger than I thought,” he said finally.
Alaireia turned questioningly towards him as she put the object away. “What powers do you hold?”
“Nothing I can show you.” Marklus shivered. “I stand between life and death, I am a healer.”
Alaireia reached out and took his hand, then looked up at him in surprise. “You are not a healer, you are The Healer. I can feel it, even now.”
“Have you met healers before?” Marklus asked in confusion.
“Yes, some of my kind, but their auras were not like yours.”
“Then you think there is hope?” Marklus could not help but ask.
“Hope.” Alaireia turned the words over on her tongue. “I don’t know about that.” Then she turned abruptly and led him down to the depths, where her small army slept, waiting.
Crinte had barely closed his eyes when he heard the door to his chambers swing open. Signing inwardly at the interruption, he reached for his sword which never left his side, even in slumber. “It’s just me, Marklus,” a voice hissed out of the darkness.
Crinte sat up. “Oh, Marklus?” He fumbled around for a light. “What brings you here at this late hour?”
Marklus sat down cross-legged on the cold, stone floor. His feet were bare and the dancing flame highlighted his curious eyes. “I was with Alaireia. You did not tell me she has the Clyear.”
“It was not mine to share.”
“Then, will you share with me what Legone the Tider told you? He trusts you and no other. Alaireia hinted at darker forebodings than I imagined.”
Crinte’s face grew still, watchful. “Marklus, he trusted me. There is an account of events I shared with Ackhor. I think it will be enough to persuade him, and his relationship with Alaireia, well, he will not want to lose her if she comes with us. It will be easier to be more open once we have left this place. I don’t want words repeated and echoing off of stone walls.”
Marklus nodded thoughtfully. “And what of the Trazame?”
Crinte shook his head. “We have to take him home. He cannot walk blindly into this, even if he can hold swords with Alaireia. I would not trick a Trazame into death. But don’t tell Alaireia. She will be against it. I think she is growing rather fond of him.”
Marklus laughed ironically as he stood. “She is fond of no one, the Tider is cold as ice, the Trazame is clueless, and you and I?”
“Marklus, this is no joke. I need you to call the Zikes.”
Marklus froze and his voice dropped away into the shadows of the night. “But what if they kill us all?”
Alaireia sat in the large square room in the dungeons with her army. It was a poor army; she had counted them twice and each time the number barely hit one hundred. They would not be much help at this point. Some of them had used their last strength getting to the Eka Fighting Camp. It was late and most of them were asleep, but Alaireia’s eyes wouldn’t close. She felt calm, yet the haunting tale of Legone the Tider bothered her. Something was not right. Even if he had endured horrors from the other side there was something about him that made her feel reluctant. The problem was she did believe his tale and wondered if she should.
She felt him approach before she saw him. “Alaireia,” he said. She turned her face to him. He was about her height with sun-kissed brown hair, so short it tended to stick up from his head. His skin was darkened from time spent working in the sunlight and his soulful eyes were deep brown. She could see mirrored in them the emotions they all felt deep down inside—uncertainty and fear. From the time she’d spent training with him she found him the least knowledgeable person she had ever known, but then again she had never met a Trazame. He sat down beside her, shoulders hunched apologetically. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him he wasn’t lost and alone anymore. But the words he spoke changed her mind. “I talked to Crinte.” Alaireia looked sharply at him. “He said I could go home.”
“Is that what you want?” she demanded, her voice coming out harsher than intended.
He shrugged. “I’m not meant for this war. You and Crinte and Marklus and even Legone are all warriors. If this is the end of the world I want to be with my family, those I love most.”
Alaireia’s face grew still, as if she’d been slapped. “I see,” she said.
Sensing her mood change Stamen stood up. “I just wanted to tell you that.”
Alaireia turned away from him. “I see,” she looked out at her pathetic army. “Starman,” she said as he walked away. “There’s a reason you followed the light, and the light doesn’t lead home.” He did not reply, and despite herself she felt a pang of disappointment.
After he had gone she stood and reached for the parchment Crinte had given her, words she did not desire to share, but as a messenger she would complete her assignment. She slipped out of the room and headed for the rooftop where she knew Ackhor would likely be brooding into the night. When she reached the balcony and stepped out in the cool night air, he looked up as if expecting her. “You have decided,” he said as she glided forward, merely a shadow in the darkness.
“Crinte asked me to give you this,” she said, pressing the thick scroll into his hands.
“I assume you are familiar with these words?” Ackhor asked gruffly, slowly taking the parchment from her hands.
“Yes,” her words tumbled out in a rush, “and I am leaving with Crinte.”
“I am disappointed.” Disapproval dripped from his lips he turned away from her briefly. “But I cannot stop you.”
Alaireia stood beside him and looked out over the darkened land, attempting to explain herself. “I will regret it if I don’t take this risk. You, of all people, should know about risks.”
“Aye.” Slowly he turned back to face her. “I understand your desire to go, but you are making a mistake. At least, take care of yourself.” Ackhor reached out and
pulled her into a brotherly hug, his chin touching the top of her head. “Goodbye one last time, little sister.”
Involuntarily she stiffened at his touch before relaxing, reminding herself of all that Ackhor had done for her in the past. She left him without a sound, sneaking back through the empty halls.
Ackhor returned to his chambers. He took the Clyear he had lifted from Alaireia, wrapped it in burlap and placed it in a ceramic pot. Since Alaireia had chosen to be foolish he must keep it safe. Better to use the Clyear at the Fighting Camp than for it to fall into enemy hands. Satisfied with his deception he lit a candle and sat down at the table. Taking the scroll he unrolled it, carefully holding down each end. Before him lay Crinte’s handwriting, but the words told the story of another.
WORDS ON PARCHMENT
I, Legone the Tider, swear these words to be true. It was ten years ago to the month when I left the mountains for the very first time and crossed the Dejewla Sea. I wandered through canyons and valleys, barren lands and sandstorms, terrible winds and freezing snow until I reached the border between the countries of Asspraineya and Slutan and there a great green forest grew.
I could feel its age as I stepped beneath its boughs and the dryness of the desert faded away into green. It was as if I was back in my mountains and as I breathed in the pure air I realized I missed them more than I had known. I felt that I had come home. For long moments I stood on that sacred ground, breathing in the air until my feet reminded me there was much to explore and I drew closer to its innermost sanctuary. It felt the forest was watching the first few weeks I dwelt there, but as I choose to live off the plants of the land and not the animals it relaxed and began to accept me. I made myself wander through the forest until I was lost entirely, but I could tell something was keeping track of me, even if only in a curious way, and it bothered my mind.
One day I heard the voice of a river and camped along its edges. I followed it for a short while until I reached the end of the forest and found myself staring up into dry cliffs. Unwilling to leave the forest behind for more desert lands, I turned to go back, and that was when I first saw one of them. She was standing beside a tree, her hand resting on its trunk, her large, pale eyes calmly, quietly watching me. Her skin was a pale green and she wore a long pale dress, the color of it ever shifting. Her ears were quite large so that they stuck out from her head; even her waist-length pale hair could not hide them. She saw me see her and met my eyes. We held the gaze but for a moment before she turned and slipped back into the woods. I made as if to follow her but could find no trace of her presence. Despite myself a chill awoke my heart and I almost left for those dry mountains to warm myself again. Alas, that it was not to be.
She began to appear daily, when I was fishing, before I slept at night, when I scaled trees to find my Xctas who had taken to flying far from me. Finally, in frustration, I asked what she wanted of me, and it was then she invited me in. She beckoned and I followed, down hidden paths into the secret place of the forest where the creatures of the woods dwell. There were hundreds of them and she was only one, just as curious about the world as I. She listened to my stories and told me her own, of her people and from whence they had come, of their customs hidden away in the forest, of their knowledge of the world and their power. She was curious and impatient and nothing like anyone I had ever met. She introduced me to her world, her people, and despite myself I gave up my lonesome ways and lived among the Green People.
One day I was summoned by the King and Queen of the Green People. They cautiously welcomed me into their midst and from there I became a guest in their great green halls. Their land teemed with life; all that is good and green grew about them. Their halls were filled with the sound of music, the trickling of waterfalls and the rushing of the winds. I wandered too close to their portal, guarded by the King’s own daughter, Lady of the Green People, who warned me of its power. After that my eyes were awakened to see just how powerful the Green People are and what they used their powers for. There was one they welcomed through their portal, a sickly shadow whose coming was intense enough to close the gateway to worlds beyond. This shadow they healed and nurtured, yet as it grew healthy it also grew an impossible mind of its own. A rift formed between the Green People—there were those who sought to destroy it before it could become something unthinkable, and there were others who protected it like a child, believing in redemption, promising a better future with age. But it did not get better. At first there were only accidents, those turned to incidents, and finally blatant terrors. At last the King and Lady of the Green People rose in full strength and banished the shadow from their land to the mountains. They conjured a great storm and wasted much of their people’s powers, for by this time the shadow had grown strong, feeding off their energy. Instead of destroying it, they tossed it out into the wild to teach it a lesson. They closed their doors on it, and it became a him, and he drifted in fury and might and disappeared into the desert mountains of Slutan.
The Green People, cautious and broken, sealed their land, but before they closed their portal of powers I made my presence scarce. I took the Horn of Shilmi and ran like never before. It felt like my feet never touched the ground and I do not know if it was fear or traces of immortality, but ever since my steps have been faster and surer. My path lay before me. I left the forest and entered the bleak desert of Asspraineya and it was not until I broke free of those forests I saw my Xctas once again. We ran as if the shadow was behind us until we reached the Sea. I climbed upon my Xctas’ back for one last flight. We flew until we could fly no more, then weary wings dropped and we crashed into the Sea. Alone I swam until I reached the southern shore, and alone I lay on the bank until breath entered my body naturally and I no longer tasted terror and darkness and corruption. I felt as if I had passed through the doors of death itself, and having lost everything I wondered for a moment, but knowledge was my strength.
I walked back to the Afrd Mounts for my heart was too heavy for my feet to take flight. I kept the Horn hidden because it holds a deep power. There is a reason it has been in my possession for a time and now I pass it to you. When the time comes, those you need will come to your aid and their minds will be aligned with yours, and all that you desire shall be accomplished. Use at your own peril. I wish no more than to do my part to end this power struggle. The next step is ours. If we do not act, the immortals are coming for us, and there will be mortals no longer.
TRANSFORMATION
Fire ignited behind the orbs of his deep eyes as he concentrated. He ignored it, familiar with the senseless buzzing as his body complained from overuse. Creating potions of transformation was difficult, complex, and time consuming. Time was what he had the most of; he was blissfully aware of the eternity of time stretching endlessly into echoes of darkness. Time. Alone. He blinked and stood at last, stretching his tense, sore muscles. The body he’d assumed was weak and mortal, easily tired from the endless hours he spent perfecting his transformations and watching the clock of the Western World shift and muddle. His original form was what he desired, and to be united again. But not with his brother and sister who had unceremoniously kicked him out and chased him through the portal for not agreeing with their grand schemes. No, he wished to be above the World in paradise, a place where he belonged. And if he were to accomplish that, he had to call down the greater beings beyond the end of the Four Worlds to take him there.
Even now he could feel the undercurrent of potential power. The untapped resources that lay across the Western World, a shrine of his desires. There was only one thought that irked his mind—the thought of a mere mortal, a Tider, who would likely challenge him. He was close with those demented beings, green immortals. They thought highly of themselves, the most powerful beings in all of the Four Worlds. Born into the Western World they thought themselves Keepers of Power until he had been thrown, flung into their midst. It had been all too easy to blindingly charm them with his prose and elegance. They saw him as they wished to see him until it be
came truth, and there was only one who saw his other form, what he really was. He remembered twisting out the Queen’s red heart, chilly pleasure rippling through his spirit as the fleeting life escaped her heaving soul and the remnants of power clung to his own. It was an act of defiance. An act that, at last, incurred the fury and wrath of the green immortals. They cursed his life, making the exchange as he desired, forcing him to face the mountains and begin the work of a lifetime of study.
The reverberating crunch of iron on iron scattered his thoughts. A metal creature rose out of the searing heat, horns aglow from the intensity of the waters. Its eyes were hollow, staring and dead, its mouth a grim mask of slabbed iron. Fleshless arms creaked as it lifted them to salute Sarhorr the Ruler, looking down upon the work of his hands. He opened the portals of its mind and removed its screaming consciousness, tossing it back into transformative waters where thoughts were silenced. Sarhorr the Ruler lifted an object and peered into it until the wan face of his assistant appeared. Nervous eyes darted back at the him and the thin, high voice quavered as it whispered, “Nothing to report.”
“Ah, but that is not why I called you. I have made something new. Look.” Sarhorr the Ruler smiled as he turned the object like a mirror, looking down upon his new creation. “I call them Xeros, made from giants. They guard my lands, they guard the Tunnels, and let me tell you what they can do.”
THE FIRST OF MANY
The sun was still slumbering behind clouds when Crinte rose. He dressed rapidly in the darkness, tightening the belt on his pants, clamping on his battle breastplate, and yanking his green tunic over them. He pulled his black boots on and tucked daggers into the hidden folds. Finally, he fastened his sword at his waist and picked up the Horn of Shilmi. It was a small object, one he held securely in both hands. A band of gold surrounded the mouthpiece yet the horn itself was bronze and the opening was covered in silver. Its rounded edges shone with a light of their own, but even as he gazed on it Crinte could tell it was whittled out of bone and molded in bronze, silver, and gold. His hands grew cold at the thought, and part of him wanted to return the horn to Legone and rid himself of the dark encumbrance. Yet, knowing better, he slipped it into a hidden, inside pocket of his tunic and left his dark chambers. No sooner had the door closed he bumped into someone. “Crinte,” she whispered frantically, grabbing his arm and not allowing him to move away. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, “It’s gone. I woke up this morning and I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve searched and searched but it’s nowhere to be found. We can’t leave like this. Please.”
The Five Warriors (The Four Worlds Series Book 1) Page 7
