CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Love
“Where is Roturk?”
Phyllis’s head snapped up. Pharengon stood before her, gesturing to the fallen log she sat on. Evening had come, and the darkness was almost absolute, save for the flickering fire Artenvox and Thangone had managed to build from dried twigs. They may not have been fond of each other, but they worked well together. Cuthan sat near Ilieus, telling her stories of his adventures. Phyllis could tell because of the way he gestured with his hands and his animated face lit up with contentment.
Her eyes clouded over. “He’s gone now. He comes back sometimes, though. I don’t know how, but he seems to always know where to find me.”
“This is remarkable.” Pharengon moved to sit beside her, leaving a proper amount of space between them. “It is a curious creature; I would like to know more about him.”
Silence lapsed between them. Phyllis shifted on the log, unsure whether she should face the fire or turn to face the Horse Lord, even though his expression was hard to read in the shadows. She felt her hands grow clammy, and she lifted them from the log, placing them in her lap. There were questions she wanted to ask the Horse Lord, but, at the moment, none came to mind.
“May I speak honestly with you?” he began again. His face was drawn, and his eyes were guarded as if he didn’t want her to read the thoughts dancing in his mind, even though he was about to admit them to her.
She tilted her head toward him. “Yes.”
He propped an elbow on his knee and stared into the wood. The light from the fire lit up his face, showing off his young features and aged eyes. “Phyllis, I haven’t known you long, and I know the circumstances are not ideal, but I have come to care for you.”
Her heart began to thump in her throat; she could feel the blood pulse below the surface and realized she must be blushing. All along, she had suspected his warm feelings for her, but she was only aware of the effect he had on her. His admission made it seem more real than it had ever been as if she could reach out her fingers and envelope them in mists of fine love. “I know,” she replied, surprised at how firm and clear her voice rang out.
He turned in surprise; his wide eyes met hers. “You knew,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her. “Thus, we meet again as if the fates align our steps.”
His hand squeezed hers in understanding before he let go, and the moment of clarity and seeing eye-to-eye passed. He pulled away awkwardly, and Phyllis wasn’t sure whether to continue the conversation or change the subject. She felt woefully inexperienced in this area, and she yearned to talk to someone about it. Ilieus wouldn’t understand, even with her supposed infatuation with Cuthan. No, it should have been Mother. Mother would have known how to sort feelings and discuss the desire of something more than simple friendship and protection. That’s what Pharengon was offering, wasn’t it?
“What happens after this?” she murmured instead. “You are to become King.”
She didn’t understand what he meant. She was just a simple person, a Blended One at best, and he was to be the future king. His confession of feelings to her made no sense. Could she entertain the possibility of a life with him? What of her sister? What of the dissension among the people groups?
He frowned. “I am not sure. Regardless of what happens, there is work to be done. If we escape the landmass before it collapses, we must focus on bringing peace to the islands. If we find this ancient power and save the landmass, there will be even more work to bring peace to both the landmass and the islands.”
Phyllis tried to keep the disappointment out of her eyes. She meant to ask what would happen between them and not the world on a grander scale. “I see.” She turned away, not seeing at all.
“Regardless, we must be cautious. The woods may have parted for us, but they are treacherous.”
“But you have the Jeweled Sword,” she breathed, “that has to count for something.”
“Aye,” his fingers brushed the hilt. “But it is just a sword.”
“Pharengon,” she whispered, the awkwardness drifting away. “Sometimes I am frightened. I don’t understand why this is happening to us.”
“I know,” he replied and, in one movement, crushed her in his arms. His cheek brushed against her silken hair, and he kissed the top of her head. He smelled of mint and evergreen as her cheek pressed against his chest. She wove her arms around him, closed her eyes, and held tight. The sense of security was overwhelming, and she actually felt safe for the first time since Father walked out the door. The woods were risky, but they had to win; she didn’t know what they would do if they didn’t. Lost and drifting for the rest of her life would be no life at all; it would be survival, and she was not born for survival. She was born to live, and, as Pharengon held her, she saw the possibility blink open.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The Lady of the Forest
One dismal evening, the six travelers found themselves standing in front of a hut in a clearing. It was a miserable day; the rain drizzled without end, soaking them from head to toe, while the thick fog refused to let in light. In that part of the wood, the trees had lost their leaves and held up their bare branches, refusing to be ashamed. Sticks and stones littered the ground around the hut, which was black with char as if it had been burned with fire. Dead leaves fluttered around the doorstep, and as they approached, they heard the voice of a female singing off-key and in a partial, broken language. When the mumbled words drifted toward them, they made no sense.
“I am standing near the moon. And when I dance, I don’t. I’ll dance up on the roof. Then I’ll see distant lands. I’ll go out when the moon is down and when the sun isn’t up. I’ll go to where the wild grasses bloom.” The nonsense song continued, broken by the strange words of a foreign tongue: chunskin olwlen. She repeated that phrase between each halting line. They could see her on the porch with a broom, sweeping away the dry leaves that gathered there, singing and half-dancing with sharp, jerking movements.
She was either a young girl or a lady of age, but as they looked at her, they could tell she wasn’t very young nor was she very old, and she certainly wasn’t dancing. She paused in the middle of a chunskin olwlen when she saw them, but her fingers continued to hold the broom and sweep without her noticing.
Her wild, wavy hair hung long to her trim waist; it was coal black yet transparent at the same time. Gray rags covered her frail body, which was too small, almost displaying the outline of her bones. Her curves had fallen into sharp angles, and her eyes were colorless, wild, and lost. She dropped the broom. It thudded to the porch, upsetting the leaves she’d swept into an angle and dashing them against a badly-made, woven basket.
“They didn’t tell me,” she faltered, stumbling backward. Her voice was young, frightened, and unsure. “I didn’t know you were coming; they didn’t say. I should have been expecting you.” She twisted her hands in apology and raised her shoulders, almost cowering away. “You came too early. I didn’t know.”
Pharengon took a tentative step forward, raising a hand as a sign of peace, just like he had done to Phyllis when she was lost in the wood. “Who are you?” he asked gently.
The girl-lady stared at him; her colorless eyes slid over the group that stood in anticipation before her. “I used to belong to the South World. They drove me out. I want to go back. But those ‘wild things’ won’t let me. They won’t have me. I know what I did. I’m not sorry. They all hate me. I used to be one of them. Before. Chunskin olwlen.” She muttered the last two words.
Phyllis watched her, and as she did, the words from the creatures of the wood drifted back. Was this the one who had lost her mind? A pale glow shimmered about the girl-lady for a moment, and hints of shadows gathered around her shoulders.
“I can feel it,” the girl-lady went on, shuddering and cowering. “In a minute it will be just as it was before.” She looked up at them, her eyes shining wet. It was her eyes that did it. They were innocent, vulnerable, alone, and in need of kindness.
Giving voice to the begging in her eyes, she whispered, “Will you help me?”
It was late. The sun was growing sleepy, and as it set, the trees cast long shadows over the wood. The girl-lady mumbled something under her breath, and then she stood tall, straightening her shoulders. The hints of wild darkness faded, and she seemed like one of them: alone in the forest, looking for help, and outlawed by the Eastern World.
Phyllis could not help but empathize with the strange lady. She knew what it felt like to be displaced, lonely, and undesired by the people groups of the world. Phyllis glanced at Ilieus, who nodded, her eyes glazing over. “It seems all right,” she said because her mind told her nothing and she saw no reason to run.
“Welcome, strangers.” The girl-lady opened the door. “Come in and rest, and I will tell you all you want to know.” She stopped to pick up the woven basket from the doorstep, looking to see what lay inside.
Pharengon fingered the hilt of his blade for a moment, and then he swept his cloak over it and walked forward. “‘Tis nothing.” He shook his head at the questioning glance Thangone gave him.
Cuthan’s green eyes sparkled with curiosity. He was the first to break the spell and step into the hut. It was dark inside, which was to be expected, and smelled musty as if rain and leaves somehow found their way indoors. Inside, it was a perfect circle with a ring of rocks for the fire in the middle. The girl-lady bent down to blow on them, her poor rags catching and ripping on the stones. A hole in the ceiling of the hut let out the smoke from the fire, and the stars of the night gazed down upon them, shaking their starry heads.
One by one, they entered and sat on the stone floor, which was better than sleeping in the forest outside, scorned by the elements of the wild. The girl-lady passed them bread, cheese, and berries from her basket; it was food that reminded them of the creatures of the wood and their mysterious hospitality.
“How did you come to this place?” Pharengon asked as they ate.
The girl-lady looked up at him and then back down, rocking back and forth in front of the fire as if she were cold. She pulled her long hair in front of her face, twirling it around her claw-like fingers. She held a finger to her lips as they watched her.
Right before she spoke, Phyllis felt it: the pang of disquiet. She reached for Ilieus’s hand, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. Pharengon and Thangone sat cross-legged, watching out of impassive eyes. Cuthan and Artenvox leaned forward, their jeweled eyes sparkling as the fire caught the light from their gaze and turned their shimmering, charming gaze into nothing.
“Listen. Listen,” the girl-lady spoke urgently. “And do not interrupt. They didn’t tell me you were coming. I should have known. I wasn’t prepared. They took my mind away for it, but they give it back when the shadows of the night fall. Yet I sleep, and when I wake, I remember nothing. Until now. I used to live in the South World…”
Phyllis and Ilieus glanced at each other. In all the Four Worlds, everyone knew there was the North World, the South World, the Western World, and the Eastern World. Yet they were thousands of miles away from each other, separated by the great body of water called Oceantic. It was impossible to travel between the Worlds unless portals were used. Yet who was powerful enough to control the portals? The twins shivered as their minds twined together.
“I used to live in the South World in the country of…what was it? Oh. Shimla. I think. There in the shifting forest, with the ‘wild things,’ where the mortals never come. It was there we chose sides. You see. There are the black steeds and the white steeds. The immortals and the mortals. The Blended Ones and the Purebloods. The ‘wild things’ versus the four people groups. We had to choose sides. I did not know. I did not think. The white steeds claim they are right. The black steeds say their way is right. I went to visit the black steeds in Rededak. The Dark. They urged me not to believe the white steeds; they told me they would destroy the world. I knew their words were truth. I choose a side. I choose the white steeds. I was…I was a Green Person. Half-Green Person.
“I was with the white steeds for years until I met a black steed who told me the truth. He told me what the white steeds truly are, and I believed him. He took me to a place called…called…” Her voice became agitated, and she twirled strands of her dark, transparent hair round and round. “Where did he take me?” She lifted her head, her eyes unseeing as if asking the fire to tell her what happened. The fire flickered in answer, and she gasped. “Chunskin olwlen.” The words dropped dourly away, and a horned shadow seemed to creep over the room. “The truth. That’s where all truth is. I would be protected. They said. I would have power. They offered. I listened to their lies. I believed them all. And I did what I did. I would not change that, not for all the worlds. I am not sorry. The Green People. They can see versions of the future. Shifts in time that will change what will happen. I went to the white steeds, I pretended to be one of them, I told them lies, and I learned their schemes to overthrow the black steeds.
“The white steeds sing of how they will win and how it will end with a great war between the white steeds and the black steeds. They will go to paradise, a land beyond this world and beyond knowledge, where only those who do good can enter. The black steeds claim they will rule this world, throw down anyone in their way, and exult those who help them achieve their goal of turning these worlds from war into a paradise for the immortals.”
Suddenly, her eyes took on a wild look, she moaned, and she rocked back and forth. “They are right. They will win. I was wrong. It is because of the Green Stone. They will find it. They will use it. They will win. I told the black steeds what I knew. I showed them the book of knowledge and what I learned there. And I burned it. Many believed me and went to join the white steeds, but I learned to hate them and learned how to destroy them. I learned the Great, Black Evil, and I told lies to the black steeds and lies to white steeds. I went back and forth between them, spreading tales and lies and stories until they were utterly confused. I killed thousands of white steeds and thousands of black steeds because they had turned me into this. Because they both wanted me to spy on the other side. Instead, they had nothing. I would not pick a side; sides are nothing. Power is everything.”
She babbled on incoherently for a few moments, and Phyllis, glancing at the others, saw they all felt horrified. The nonsense drifting from her tongue held them spellbound as she spoke of her sins. A wild look came over her eyes as she spoke of ripping throats out and tearing mortals and immortals alike to pieces.
“They took me to trial at Chunskin olwlen. Both sides. They threw me into the fire. They threw me into the water. They tortured me. I used to be a tall, beautiful Green Person. Half-Green Person. And now I am this. I am nothing. But now I am everything. I am a Monrage. I am not sorry for what I have done. They killed me. They stole my soul. Yes. They threw me in the fire. Yes. They threw me in the water. Yes. They took my mind. Yes. They banished me here. Away from my beautiful South World. If only. If only the white steeds had never existed. If only the black steeds had never existed. I would not be ruined!” She shrieked the last words as she stood. “Now, I take my revenge!”
She leaped to her feet as the six leaped to theirs, wildly turning to dash toward the door before the girl-lady could say or do anything more. Instead, they saw the room had changed. It was a perfect circle with the fire in the middle. There was no door. There were no windows. There was nothing but solid stone surrounding them.
When they spun back to face the girl-lady, she stood over six and a half feet tall and a fearsome shadow covered her face. She chanted softly: “When the shadows grow long, my memory returns, as does my power!”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Sorcery
“What do you want with us?” Pharengon demanded, reaching for his sword hilt.
The others stood frozen and shaking, their tongues unwilling to find words.
“I want you to be like me!” the Monrage shouted with glee. “Now you will know what it is like to be me!”
She lifted her hands and darkness encircled her head. A black crown sprouted from her head with six, pointed spikes. Black light flowed out of each spike, each light identified a target, and hurled toward them in a ball of fury.
Phyllis was thrown to the ground as a pain saturated her body. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out nor would breath enter her body. In a daze, she saw the others lying stunned around her as the Monrage roared.
“Run, you mortals. Run!” she cackled.
But they could not rise, and instead, they lay groaning as if someone had beaten them all over and left them for dead. The Monrage laughed as she leaned forward and blew upon her fire, bringing it to a roaring height. But the last thing Phyllis saw before she passed out was the Monrage retrieving an enormous black book from the fire. Lettering in blood-red glittered on it as she flipped it open and began to read.
***
Phyllis woke to cold. She sat up shaking, recalling the events of the night before and leaped up in terror. Her body sagged, complaining from the cold, and she was sore all over from the black light. She sat back down again and looked around, realizing she was in something of a cell with bars over it, keeping her in place. Across from her was Ilieus, still passed out, and on one side of her were Cuthan and Artenvox. Cuthan was peering over the bars while Artenvox kicked them. Thangone and Pharengon must have been in the cells beside her because she could not quite see them.
“What madness is this?!” Artenvox was swearing as he pushed against the iron bars.
“When she wakes up, we can ask her to let us out,” Cuthan suggested. “It’s not like she’ll remember during the daylight.”
The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2) Page 24
