The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2)

by Ford, Angela J.

  Standing still, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Spreading his arms wide, he lifted his pointed face to the open arms of the air. It embraced him, and whiffs of pine, cedar, sweet cardamom blossoms, adventure, and more drifted toward him. He was aware of that intangible pull, the call of adventure, that drove him mad at times. It seemed as if a string were connected to his heart, and now and again it yanked and pulled, calling him back to the lonely road of adventure, encouraging him to cast away the confinements of safety and discover the secrets of the world. That call was relentless. Sometimes at night, he’d wake up, staring up at the twinkling stars in their circles of white and gold. He dreamed he could escape the ground and fly above into their midst, where they would come alive and show him the mysteries of the outer world. He longed for more, and every adventure was a drop in the bucket of emptiness, reminding him there was yet more to find, to discover, and to unbury. Indeed, that was why they called his bloodline the Treasure Hunters or the Jeweled Ones. At times, it felt like a curse, the desire for knowledge and power, and yet it was the journey that compelled him, not the journey’s end. Each ending came with grave disappointment, he reminded himself. The loss of his father in the North Forests. The discovery of Tharmaren the Wise. More like, Tharmaren the Crazy. Even the island of Contres was not what he expected.

  Shaking himself out of his reverie, Cuthan found himself moving through the last of the wild prairies toward the dark line of secrets. He took his thoughts of anxiety and tossed them away as easily as he’d toss an apple into a basket. Moments of seriousness came and went like day and night; he was not born to worry. His gaze drifted lazily over to Ilieus, and he sighed. She was as lovely as the quiet before a storm, and he could sense the untold secrets stirring in her mind. They called to him; he wanted to know more, but she had not fully unlocked her own power. Power. He turned that word over in his mind and turned his gaze on Phyllis. She held herself back for some reason, but she was responsive to his wit. He grinned; just the thought of teasing her again made him want to catch up with the twins and walk beside them, annoying them with his mischievousness. Only Artenvox was here now.

  Artenvox. He had found his ring, which meant he could unlock his true powers. A snake of jealousy rippled across Cuthan’s back. He wanted to find his ring, and he’d thought the North Forests would lead to it. After all, tales told that the Jeweled Ones were born questers. When they were young, their quests would lead them to find their stones, and with those, they could unlock their true potential and find all their hearts desired.

  Artenvox was ahead of Cuthan on that path. He’d escaped the North Forests earlier, had reached Tharmaren the Wise and the castle of the Lost Ones while Cuthan had been trapped, first in the forest and then with the Dezzi. He grinned, not that he regretted his time with the Dezzi. They were an amusing and entertaining tribe. Yet, he always found himself coming up short. Something was missing, and the stone would unlock everything for him. Life and endless adventures would be his. Although he searched, the green stone was elusive to him. He wrinkled his brow as he remembered Tharmaren the Wise asking if anyone had found a green stone. It was curious that one from the Order of the Wise should be concerned which such trifling matters.

  The forest loomed closer as he jogged forward. “Come, my friends!” he shouted, almost laughing at them. “We are almost to our destination. Come on now, don’t look at me with your long faces.”

  He bolted forward, excitement racing through his blood, deathly fear a thing of the past. He grinned as he saw Artenvox’s face turn different shades of red. Ah, so he did feel the same way, but he said nothing. Cuthan turned away, trying not to let the aura of his companions overcome him. He had nothing left to lose. Nothing at all.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The North Forests

  Phyllis struck a match and watched it glow, the fragile flame birthing forth in the velvety darkness. She blew on the tinder with care, watching the sparks catch and dance into life. Their heat began to spread, dispatching the chill of the evening. Shadows caught and danced eerily, creeping near and then scattering away, shy of the new light of the forest. Phyllis sat cross-legged on a damp rock, pulling her cloak around her shoulders as she tenderly fed the fire. Above her, Roturk perched on a low-hanging tree branch, watching the fire through narrowed eyes, occasional whips of smoke curling from his nostrils. The night was young but fathomless and intense. She could hear the roots of the trees stretching even deeper, reaching out to a hidden well of life far beneath in the subterranean. Erratic noises of the night groaned around her; the nocturnal elements were springing to life. She wasn’t sure if they were beasts on the hunt, creatures of the night to flee from, or merely the endless voices of the woods. Across from her, Ilieus sat hunched over, naked twigs piled in her lap, waiting for their turn to be fed to the flame. Her eyes shifted back and forth in unease as she lifted one branch after the other, careful not to overfeed the starving fire.

  “The first night is always the hardest.” Artenvox stood above the blaze, deftly skinning a pheasant, his face half cast in shadows as the flames had not reached high enough to bring light to the inner circle. “The forest is old and strange; it must accept you first.”

  “I hear it,” Ilieus replied. “The forest is speaking.”

  Cuthan stood with his back to them, watching the shadows dance. “I have heard its tongue before,” he said wistfully. “Do you understand it?”

  “No,” Ilieus whispered. “Not yet.” She bent her head closer to the dancing lights. “Flame will become fire. Evil will be judged. The balance will be restored.”

  “What did you say?” Phyllis sat up straight, her brow pinched together as she stared at her sister.

  Startled, Ilieus dropped a twig. It clattered to the forest floor and rested with relief among the grubby wet leaves. “Nothing, it just came to me…it’s the air of the forest I think. It is clarity. I can see much clearer now, much further.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Phyllis smiled at her, letting worry and fright drift away for a time.

  The fire grew, crackling merrily and reminding Phyllis of her last night in Phillondorn with the Riders. She recalled the handsome Cron with the golden eyes, Pharengon the Horse Lord, that was what they called him. It was hard to tell, with the betrayal of the people groups, which side he was actual on. Was he a Countervail posing as a Relalon? Was he actually a Relalon and determined to fight for the rights of the Blended Ones? Either way—although she knew it was impossible, now that they were outcasts on an impossible treasure hunt—she wished she could see him again. And not in a gathering where all eyes were on them, and it was hard to ask him questions. After all, she’d never told Ilieus and Cuthan she’d met him before in the wild lands.

  ***

  The next morning, they kicked wet leaves over the fire, smothering the life out of it, and moved on through the dense green foliage. Often times their feet caught on long trails of green ivy, and they’d catch themselves, grasping at thick tree trucks and sporadic vines hanging from above. Roots poked up with malicious intent from the ground in their paths, and leaves brushed against them, unwilling to move out of the way of the intruders. Short, green grass grew in patches where the sunlight shone through. Otherwise, the forest was dark in its own green world, shutting out all light and outsiders in the land. A gloomy aura perched over the trees. Even the exotic birds and animals called warnings to each other as they rushed through the thicket, keeping each other out of sight of the strangers in their lands. The only cheerful sound was the constant babble of a brook, weaving its way in and out of their path on its journey inland. It was scarcely more than a foot wide at some points. As they continued farther, Phyllis could feel a sense of Cronish curiosity creeping over her like a plague. She found herself pushing forward, almost outside of her own will, daring to see what was around each nook and cranny of the forest. Even Ilieus had more color in her cheeks from the vigorous walk through the forest.

  Artenvox was far
ahead, but they could still see him at times, swinging through the trees like a beast of the branches, singing a merry jaunt to himself as he surged forward.

  “This is the River Land,” Cuthan cheerfully told them, refusing to let the gloom of the forest throw a shadow over his attitude. He looked much happier than Phyllis had ever seen him as he picked up a dead tree branch to use as a walking stick. He brushed leaves, beetles, and worms off it as he spoke. “We’ll see the river at times; it flows north to meet the great Oceantic. There are all sorts of peculiar creatures that live below. I was captured by them once,” he boasted.

  “What were they like?” Phyllis called, short of breath as she fought the brambles of the wood. Her cloak was trapped on a branch, which held itself open like a hand as if it were deliberately pulling her cloak away from her.

  “Beautiful!” Cuthan called back, leaping on a log and balancing his way across a small pit of green slime. “There are people of the river, the sea, and Oceantic. They call themselves Under Water World People.”

  “Do they?” Phyllis snorted as she yanked her cloak free, almost falling flat on her face. “I bet they thought that was clever.”

  Cuthan ignored her and went on. “They are often besieged by River Ravones, which are more than plentiful in this land. They like to collect Under Water World People and create kingdoms under the sea to rule in.”

  “What’s a River Ravone?” Ilieus asked, holding her skirts up as she navigated her way through the underbrush.

  “Oh.” Cuthan paused, looking back at her and quirking his signature smile. “You don’t want to know. They have eight legs and walk on them like… aye, much like a spider. Their heads are as big as a horse’s.” He waved his hands above his head to demonstrate. “And their hair is long like a horse’s tail. Their mouths are powerful snappers, even though they are lipless and toothless. You would not want to meet one of them.” He shuddered.

  “Have you met one?” Ilieus was now looking up at Cuthan with an expression Phyllis did not like at all. It was a mix of awe and admiration.

  “Of course.” Cuthan spread his arms wide. “I’m the adventurer; I’ve met everything.”

  “Ahhh!” Artenvox shrieked from ahead, his shout was less from agony and more from surprise.

  Phyllis froze where she stood, looking to Cuthan for direction. He crept forward to shade his eyes in order to see Artenvox better.

  “Wodnidrains! Run!” Artenvox’s shouts filtered back to them. A moment later, he came running out of the wood ahead; his hand was on his neck where blood dripped down from a wound on it. He pointed back behind with his free hand, waving frantically.

  “Watch it!” Cuthan cried; the sight of blood was not enough to encourage him to run just yet. “What’s ahead?”

  “Head north!” Artenvox ordered them. “Wodnidrains in the wood. Run!”

  Cuthan turned back to Phyllis and Ilieus, who looked up at him questioningly. “Well, you heard him, run!” he cried.

  They set off as best they could, jogging through the thicket and tripping over bramble and branches in their haste.

  “What are Wodnidrains?” Phyllis shouted to Artenvox, not sure what she should be afraid of. There was a trickle of blood on Artenvox’s neck. Once he was closer to them, the cut appeared quite minor.

  “Creatures of the wood!” Artenvox called back over his shoulder.

  “I’ve never met them,” Cuthan threw in. “How bad are they?”

  “Nasty little creatures. Now hush and run!” Artenvox commanded.

  Phyllis, who was in the back, felt herself turning around to look, even though she knew her feet should be carrying her forward. Her eyes were drawn upward because she had to know. Indeed, she was rewarded for her trouble because the most miniature people she’d ever seen perched on a branch. Her feet stopped moving, and she toppled over in surprise, staring.

  Tales and fables all told of creatures beyond her imagination; variations in creations she’d assumed never existed. All because she’d never seen them before. But now, in the dense wood, the tales came flying back, and she realized what the wood made her desire. She wanted truth. She desired knowledge. Above all, she wanted to know.

  High in the tree above her were three twelve-inch tall creatures. All were female with ink-black hair that came down to a sharp point close to their tiny feet. From what she could see, they appeared to be wearing clothes made out bark dyed green to camouflage them in the wood. Their faces were heart-shaped and pointed, their ears stuck out above the top of their heads much like horns, and their eyes were black saucers without pupils. Each held a bow made of twigs in their hands, and they raised them at Phyllis and shot. Seconds later, she felt the pointed arrows sink into her arms. “Yowch!” she yelled, moving forward again as she flung the arrows out of her arms. Surprised at how much it hurt, she looked down to see the pointed ends of thorns sticking into her arms. “They have thorn-tipped arrows!” she shouted, waving her arms in a panic, suddenly understanding Artenvox completely. “Run!”

  But the Wodnidrains came on, leaping from tree branch to tree branch, chasing the intruders out of their lands. Arrows whizzed by the four as they ran. The arrows sunk into their arms, backs, and shoulders as they fled, shrieking and shouting. At one moment, Phyllis dared to look back again and saw five of the creatures sitting on a branch, holding their tiny tummies and laughing as they pointed at her. One stood up and shot an arrow while the others rolled around, giggling.

  “Come on! Don’t look; they’ll just keep laughing,” Ilieus called to her.

  Phyllis balled up her fists as she fled. “How dare they laugh at us?!” she objected. “If only I could drive their tiny arrow right back into them, they would laugh no more.”

  “They would probably die,” Ilieus whispered, and her words rang ominously through the forest.

  They ran on for a time until the Wodnidrains grew tired of their game and disappeared back into the leafy boughs, leaving the four to nurse their wounds and pick thorns out of their skin. They paused by the banks of the river in a patch of rare sunlight.

  “Nasty things,” Artenvox complained, tossing arrows into the river.

  “These thorns hurt,” Phyllis bemoaned, looking at her ripped cloak. “More than I would have thought.”

  “What a nuisance.” Cuthan looked back from whence they had come. “Now we have no idea where we are.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ilieus spoke softly. “Just keep going.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Midlands

  They continued traveling in a sort of northeast fashion, following the clues Ilieus remembered from the scroll. Days passed, and the forest grew denser. At times, it seemed as if they were the first to broach those lands, and Cuthan and Artenvox could neither confirm nor deny whether they had been in that particular area of the forest before. The wildness overtook them, and the civil war in the lands to the south seemed but a dream. Even Roturk took to flying off on his own. He was now the size of an eagle; his wingspan was making it difficult to stay with the small company that roamed the thick wood.

  “I could live here. I think,” Phyllis said one morning as the sweet sap from the trees awoke her with heady elation. “I could be a wild one of the forest. There is no war and no politics. There is only the life between one and the forest. I think I’m beginning to understand it now.”

  “You speak like one of the Wise Ones.” Cuthan arched a brow and then laughed. “See why we had to return? You do understand it.”

  “Yes,” Phyllis agreed. “It’s not something that can be put into words; it’s just a feeling. I dreamed of this once, and I’ve been longing to be here, free and curious. Now my dream is coming true.”

  “Ah.” Artenvox shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’ll be lost writing poetry about this land. Happens to many a Cron before they fall to their deaths.”

  “True.” Cuthan sobered. “Phyllis, the North Forests have an intoxicating power; it’s hard to escape.”

  Ilieus frow
ned. “But…it’s dangerous here. Right?”

  “Hum…” Cuthan walked into the shadows. “You can be the judge of that.”

  “There is darkness ahead. An outcast from the south dwells. Without a mind,” Ilieus whispered in a singsong voice, almost as if she didn’t know what she was saying.

  Before midday, they found themselves standing in a clearing in the wood. It was the largest one they had come across so far, wide enough for four huts to be built side by side with plenty of room for the inhabitants to come and go. Instead of being carpeted by blades of grass, the ground was covered in hundreds of muddy footprints. They lined the ground, often overlapping as if a great many animals had chased each other back and forth and up and down the clearing. Artenvox, puzzled, bent down on the ground to inspect the footprints, sniffing as he went. Cuthan walked back and forth impatiently, waiting for Artenvox’s verdict.

  “Ah, look here.” Artenvox pointed at one set. “These look as if they could belong to one of the people groups. They are small. Possibly a short Cron?”

  “But what about this set?” Cuthan pointed to another. “Could be a bear.”

  “There may have been foxes here, too.” Phyllis pointed to a set of prints. She looked to the two Crons. “What could have done this?”

  “We are in Midlands.” Cuthan stood up straight and stared up at the cloudless sky. “Midlands, where strange things happen. Artenvox, remember?”

  “Ah.” Artenvox nodded, still examining the footprints. “The forest does not always reveal its mysteries.”

  “Midlands,” Ilieus repeated. She was staring across the clearing. “I remember. Among the evergreen where the midlands dance. Beware the blended, exiled ones. I remember. There is only one mystery we need to uncover.” She walked forward, crossing the flattened ground. She hesitated when she reached the other side. She placed a pale hand on a dark tree trunk and she looked back, catching Phyllis’s eyes. “Beware the blended, exiled ones.” She repeated. Then she turned and walked away.