The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2)

by Ford, Angela J.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Incense Room

  Cuthan lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head, and his bright eyes were closed. The smell of incense and smoking coals drifted around him, providing a false calmness in the room. He felt the urge to run over to the lamps, bringing his nose inches from the source, where he would suck the powerful smoke into his lungs. It would tickle and burn his throat, and his eyes would stream, but he would feel better. However, it was all too likely his guards, pacing the entrance of the room, would forcibly remove him from the temple. He sighed; his charms did not work on them like they should. If he had found his ring in the North Forests, like he’d intended, this wouldn’t be an issue. Then again, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. It was his destiny to return to the North, but first, he had more important business on the landmass.

  Cuthan opened an eye just a sliver to see how full the room was. It was early morning, and not many people came to the temple before the first meal. Those that did sat cross-legged or kneeled on the golden floor for there were no seats. They rocked back and forth, humming while they read or wrote. Quills made from feather and leaf pointed straight into the air, red words forming on long pieces of parchment that were made from white wood and red berries. Cuthan speculated about what they were writing, but the room was intended to be a holy place for meditation. He supposed they would be not too happy if he intruded into their space to snoop on their work. He wasn’t a spy, although in a way he was. He snapped his eyes shut as the intense gaze of a worshipper traveled over to him. The people were curious about him; he showed up in chains one day and was set free to roam the tribe’s encampment the next. A huge grin swept over his arrogant features as he thought of it. He always got his way except for the treasure hunt.

  Stretching his long, limber fingers, he sat up, cross-legged, in one swift movement. He’d learned it by studying the panthers in the North Forests; they moved faster than the eye could comprehend. Fascinated, he’d taken some time out of his return journey to study them, hoping it would prove to be a useful trick on the landmass. His sword clanked against the floor, and the melodious humming in the air paused at the intrusion and then continued as Cuthan froze, cursing the weapon. He’d been in the company of the Dezzi for weeks with no sign of the mysterious message. The incense room of the temple was his favorite haunt, but as of late, he was growing restless. How long did it take for a message to arrive? He was anxious to be off and across the country to the island of Wind Fresh to see if the words of the creatures of the North were true.

  The countryside had changed since he’d left it years ago. The air was fraught with worry and anxiety. In the villages he had passed, doors were shut in his face, trade routes guarded, and everyone carried weapons. Whether it was a knife hidden behind folds of clothes or a bow and arrow casually slung over the shoulder, they were all signs of warning; something was amiss in the Eastern World. He smirked to himself as he thought of the foolish people groups. Had none of them seen the dangers of the North Forests? They knew nothing of fear or of the perilous struggle between life and death in the wild whims of the forest. The danger was what he thrived on; it gave him zeal and made him all the more determined to accomplish his goal of leaving the world. He’d entered the woods with his cousin, Artenvox, who was three years his senior. Their fathers were brothers, born into a line of Treasure Hunters, a special breed. It was said if they found the stone that matched their eyes, they could unlock their true powers, which is why some called them “the Jeweled Ones.” They were barely a few months into the forest when his uncle and cousin were lost, and he and his father continued until the forest had spit Cuthan out without his father or his treasure.

  The one token he hadn’t lost was his innate power of charm. When people looked into his eyes, he could see their longing, sense it begging for hope. Their aura would flash until he could see the colors, and he understood beyond what they understood themselves. With his eyes, he gave them assurance, and with his mouth, he swayed them to give him what he wanted. How much more could he gain if he had full possession of his powers? What he truly wanted was knowledge and treasure. Not the kind of treasure anyone could find, precious stones and jewels, but the treasure that meant something much more. Tales of old spoke of the Five Warriors and their quest to save the Western World. They had carried such treasures worth risking life and limb to find: the Clyear of Power, the Horn of Shilmi, and five magical weapons. What would he give to have one of those? His dream was to take flight, find the mythical creatures of the wood, walk the paths of heroes of old, and find his own adventures. Which meant he had to leave the Eastern World before it ceased altogether. He’d seen the blood-red sunsets, the hints of age and death hanging in the sky. Time was limited; time was almost up. Why were the Dezzi making him wait?

  He grinned, an idea forming in his mind. Maybe the guards would follow along and stop him, but he might as well join the loungers in the throne room of the Dezzi queen. They intently sat there, watching audience after audience, and doing nothing more than eating, drinking, and stretching their limbs in front of their cold, unfeeling queen.

  Cuthan stood, careful not to let his sword scrape against the floor again. He was sure the queen would be not too happy to see him again unannounced. A bubble of mischievousness danced above his head. It would be challenge; he would charm her somehow. With one last deep breath of the sweet incense, he ran his hands over the beautiful cloth of his clothing, something else he had charmed from the Dezzi, and he left through the arched doorway of the room. He was Cuthan the Charmer. He’d get his way. They’d see.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Dezzi

  Phyllis moved her head from side to side as she woke, feeling the pain seep back into her scalp. She lifted a hand to the warm cloth on her forehead, only for another hand to catch hers, gently moving it away. “Don’t move.” Ilieus’s familiar voice filled her ears. “You have a huge knot on your head. Why did you run into the horse like that?”

  Squinting her eyes, Phyllis peered up into Ilieus’s pale, peaked face. Her eyes were different; there was something strange about them, something new.

  “Where are we?” Fully open, her eyes darted around the room. Yellow cloth rose to a tented peak above her. She lay in a swinging canvas that wrapped cloth around her body yet held her securely above the ground.

  “We are with the Dezzi,” Ilieus replied, her face flushing pink with excitement. Phyllis wrinkled her brow despite the shooting pain that jumped through her head. Anticipation and hope, that’s what was shining out of Ilieus’s eyes. Phyllis struggled as the dancing spots of blackness left her vision. “They are the nomads of Igriscar,” Ilieus went on, her voice taking on a wistful longing as if she held a box of wonders she dared not open. “Grandmother arranged for us to meet with them; they are our guides to Wind Fresh, the island where Tharmaren the Wise dwells.”

  “The Dezzi?” Phyllis repeated; the word sounded foreign on her tongue. She realized she was in a tent made of yellow cloth: bright, colorful, and almost blinding. It made her head hurt as she gazed at it. Why were the colors so dazzling bright? She lay in a hammock stringed up between two poles, and there was another to the left of her, possibly where Ilieus slept. Between the two hammocks, a piece of cloth flapped in the wind, likely the entrance and exit to the tent. She couldn’t see the floor though and wondered if it were the stony ground or something else beneath them. Rugs maybe?

  “Yes.” Ilieus nodded so hard that her curls shook loose. “They are the most colorful people I’ve ever met. I must admit, Phyllis, I thought you were crazy for suggesting we run away from home on an adventure. But now…now that I’m beginning to see the beauty of the world and the people groups, you could not have been more right. I think. Whatever happens now, I’m glad we left.”

  Phyllis couldn’t help but frown; she felt confused. Much had happened while she was passed out cold, and she did not like that she was left out of things. She wriggled impati
ently in the hammock, causing it to gently swing back and forth, a soothing movement that made her feel even more disconcerted. “What happened when the riders grabbed us? How long have I been out?”

  “I knew we were done for when they grabbed us. I thought they were bandits; you’ve heard the stories.” Ilieus had done her hair again; it was braided on top of her head with a white circlet of flowers on top as if she were a royal princess of the prairie. Her dress was new, long, and light blue, draping neatly around her, unlike the styles of the village folk. The dress was airy and loose at the top. It wrapped together at her waist with a silk white ribbon and flowed unfettered to her feet. She looked as if she fit in the world of colors. “I thought they had captured us for sport and to toy with us until we gave in, and I fought with every breath in my body.”

  Phyllis rolled her eyes. Ilieus fighting wasn’t of much consequence.

  “Until the rider called me by name and showed me an amulet like ours.” Her fingers unconsciously traced the clasp on her cloak. “She said they were sent by Odella the Tall to take us to their queen and give us safe passage to Wind Fresh. We rode here to their encampment and were given this tent. We are to have an audience with the queen as soon as you are able. You’ve been asleep for a day now. I thought your head was broken. I’ve been so worried.”

  “Have you been?” Phyllis arched an eyebrow, cringing as her head prodded sulkily at her for the movement. “It seems as if you’ve been enjoying the company of the Dezzi. Why do they call themselves that anyway? Seems odd.”

  “Phyllis.” Ilieus reached to pat her hand; a gesture that was intended to be assuring yet felt patronizing. “Don’t be grumpy. The Dezzi are beautiful people. Their ways are peaceful, and they honor the nature of the land. You will understand them as soon as you are able to stand. Hush now; let your head mend. I’ll make you some tea to help.”

  Feeling helpless, Phyllis allowed herself to be calmed back to sleep with the scent of lavender and honey floating around her. As she closed her eyes, a question popped into her head; a question she longed for the answer to but did not know whom to ask it. Why now? Was there more to this journey than the desire to heal Ilieus?

  ***

  Sunlight. Phyllis’s eyes flicked open, and she sat up, shaking the hammock as she untangled her legs from its clutches. Swinging over the edge, she found her bare feet hitting solid ground once again, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. Her head did not scream at her, and, taking that as a positive sign, she snuck past Ilieus’s sleeping form and stepped out of the tent. It was as if she’d stepped into another land. Light danced across the plain. As far as she could see, yellow and white tents dotted the horizon. It wasn’t just a colony she’d stepped into; the Dezzi appeared to be everywhere. She’d never seen such a vast number of people in once place, and suddenly the tiny village of Haitiar seemed quite quaint in light of the bigger world surrounding her. A range of mountains faded from view in the east, almost hidden by the gentle morning mist. The low murmur of voices swept through the landscape, and the distant jingle of coins or bells tinkled endlessly around her. Yet what caught Phyllis’s eyes was the golden temple that lay in the center of it all. It was a long building, not standing taller than the surrounding tents, and two round, golden bulbs rose up. Their peaks, dazzling in the sunlight, pointed as they reached for the skies. Light danced over the temple as if the streaks of sunlight were creatures, reveling in the worship of light and life.

  Phyllis took a step forward, thinking she was free to go anywhere she chose. But as she moved, she realized her tent was in a separate encampment, surrounded by a low-lying fence. Guards, she assumed, paced back and forth, watching the land, keeping count of the coming and goings of others. Indeed, Phyllis saw they were perched at a higher elevation among the sloping hills, and watch stations were everywhere, even along the streets of stone where the children had come out to flirt with each other and the potential of danger outside.

  “Phyllis.” She heard her name called out of the sunrise. “At least get dressed before you venture out. Don’t be uncouth!”

  Phyllis sighed and turned to see Ilieus’s head peeking out of the tent. A finger beckoned, encouraging her back into hiding. “Why are you so conscious about what we look like?” Phyllis complained as she let herself be led back into the tent, only to be attacked by Ilieus’s brush.

  “Because we are meeting with the Dezzi queen today. I’ve never met a queen before.” Ilieus’s voice quavered in reply.

  “Why does the queen want to meet us?” Phyllis asked as Ilieus braided her hair around her head, weaving it like a crown, although curls sprung loose at each twist.

  Ilieus shrugged. “No one explained why. Come, you have a new dress and slippers. We should honor the Dezzi in dressing appropriately.”

  Phyllis pulled on the long green dress, feeling the crisp, smooth material swirl around her body. She straightened her shoulders as she ran her fingers over the rich materials. “It’s beautiful.” She breathed in surprise. “Are we meant to keep these clothes?”

  Ilieus smiled, traces of nervousness leaving her light eyes. “Yes. You look lovely. I wish you could see yourself.”

  Phyllis, relaxing, met her sister’s eyes and smiled back. “Whatever this queen wants with us, let’s ensure it takes us to Wind Fresh.” She reached out for Ilieus’s hand.

  Ilieus dropped her hand into Phyllis and squeezed it for reassurance. “Are you ready?”

  As the sisters walked out of the yellow tent, two guards walked forward to escort them to the temple of the queen. They wore garb much like the riders, except their faces weren’t painted in black and white, clearly showing they were male. Wordlessly they motioned for the girls to follow, and one led the way while the other followed behind.

  Leaving the encampment of the watchers, they walked downhill, following a slope of gray rock to the valley of colorful tents. Most of them were white with flaps open to allow the children to run back and forth. The children had short curly hair, which crested the top of their suntanned faces. Long arms and legs flailed across the encampment, and they wore only loincloths around their waists. They laughed and danced across the plain, shouting challenges as they attempted to outdo each other in the various games they played. The females appeared to ignore them, and although Phyllis assumed they would do what the folk of her village had done, it appeared that they, male and female alike, all had the same duties. The children ran free and wild, but different tents were grouped together for specific workers. Phyllis almost froze when she saw a great number of the Dezzi sharpening blades and practicing with arrows, knives, and swords. Others kept the herd of wild horses, and, even closer to the temple, the smell of food drifted through the air. It seemed less of a village of free people and more of a tribe where every group had their tasks: some cooked, others watched the animals, some made weapons, others watched for attacks, some raided, and others procreated. Phyllis could feel it operating around her; each group had their tasks to make life run smoothly, and they did theirs with vigorous passion and skill.

  When they reached the temple, life transitioned into something else. It may have been the music because a group of scantily-clad dancers weaved their way across the square while the wailing voice of flutes and the rhythmic beating of drums pounded across the grounds. A low wall ran around the temple, and on it, several of the naked children were perched, shouting and calling as the dancers twirled their way across the courtyard in a blur of colors. At the four corners of the temple, smoke wafted out of huge bowls of incense, and Phyllis found herself blinking as the vapor drifted into her eyes and stung her nostrils. The guards paused at the entrance of the courtyard, allowing the bizarre melodies, echoing off the stones, to embrace them.

  There were no gates, only a set of stairs that led up over the wall and back down again into the enclosure. The columns of the temple stood tall, round, and masterful, shooting high into the sky below the golden, pointed bulbs. Phyllis could almost see a mist flowing from thos
e bulbs, a golden haze flickering across the courtyard, encouraging the brazen dancers. Painted guards claimed each column, a blend of male and females with long blades at their side that curved at the end, much like a tool used for the harvest, except they glinted wickedly. Phyllis observed them, her eyes lifting to catch the glance of one, yet it seemed as if the guard stared straight through her. She turned away with a cold shudder, sensing that the cunning, calculating gaze could see straight through her. The two nearest guards nodded, their impassive faces seeing no threat at the appearance of the two girls.

  They continued forward to the dark archway that marked the entrance of the temple, where the cool passageway to the throne room swallowed them whole. Darkness blacked out the light from the sun, and the silent, curved walls gave off the aura of a hallowed place that led downward. Phyllis felt Ilieus slip a trembling hand into hers, holding it firmly for comfort as they drifted down the halls, their slippers padding in the silence. Guards now flanked them, two in front, two behind, and two on either side, leading them toward the inner circle.

  In fact, if they could have seen it from above, the temple was shaped like a spider’s web. All passages led to one, round chamber, a sort of waiting room. And within that waiting chamber, the final doors led to the throne room, where the Dezzi queen ruled on her golden throne, surrounded by her subjects.

  When they entered, Phyllis could see why the giant bulbs stood atop each other because the throne room was full of dazzling lights that came in from those giant, shimmering bulbs. The curtain of brilliance cascaded down into the spacious room where the Dezzi queen sat on an elaborate, carved throne of ivory.

  The queen had sharp features, high cheekbones, a beaked nose, much like a raven, and straight black hair that hung just past her chin. Her face had been brushed with what looked like golden light, and her eyes were heavily lined with black ink. Her mouth was set in a firm line, and her lips had been painted black. On her head, a mountain of silk had been fashioned into a crown of cloth, wrapping itself like a snake around her cone shaped head.