The Blended Ones (The Four Worlds Series Book 2)

by Ford, Angela J.

  “What do you want with us?” he asked.

  “Quiet!” barked the voice, and the sound of a crackling whip bit the air again.

  Phyllis worked quickly, her fingers shaking as the strange humming continued. The queer smell permeated the air, and she could feel the blood boiling in her head. A pang took root and began to spread, gripping her head in pain.

  “Ilieus?” she whispered.

  “I’m here,” Ilieus whispered back.

  “Just checking,” Phyllis replied, feeling better for it.

  They continued to work, bending and lifting until Phyllis’s back was cramped. Her legs hurt, and she was sure the pain behind her head was causing her eyes to tear up. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a thin voice called, “Rest!”

  Phyllis sat down cross-legged on the ground with a groan before she lay flat on her back, holding her head in her hands. Around her was silence, save for the humming sound. She wanted to rip off the blindfold and see where they were, but she was afraid to move again, unsure of who might be waiting and watching. She could hear her companions shifting around her, and she was thankful they were together. She waited for a voice and for food—anything to break up the monotonous silence. Eventually, sleep overcame her anxiety, and she passed into a dreamless rest.

  ***

  “Get to work!”

  Phyllis jolted awake to the sound of a thin, barking voice. She sat up, and her head complained; it felt as if something were inside it, moving her brains back and forth. The blindfold was still tight around her eyes, and she felt a wave of nausea against the pain.

  “How long are you going to keep us here?” Pharengon’s voice rang out.

  The voice sighed. “Just get it work.”

  “No!” Pharengon’s voice rang out. “We demand to know why we are here.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence before the crack of a whip rang through the air. “Get to work,” the voice ordered.

  Phyllis cringed, waiting for the blow of the whip to strike. It whistled through the air again, but it did not hit anything. “There will be consequences. Work.”

  “It is not an unreasonable request,” another voice piped up.

  There was a soft smack, and the first voice replied, “Who gave you permission to voice an opinion?”

  “I mean…I do not think Fon would mind.”

  The first voice sighed but offered no objections.

  “Well?”

  “Since you brought it up, go ask Fon yourself.” The whip crackled through the air once more. “Strangers, get to work!”

  Phyllis swallowed, bending to grab a box and reaching for the humming cylinders. Once again, they worked in silence, and she could feel the humming within her skull. Tears trickled down her face, escaping from the blindfold, and she brushed them away in embarrassment, although there was no one to see. She could hear her breath becoming shallow and quick. The darkness was forcing her to panic, and the restriction of movement made her long for the freedom the dark forest granted. Her bones objected, and her movements began to slow. She paused, waiting for the whip and the voice to bark out commands, but there were none.

  Hours drifted until a voice piped up. “Fon is ready for them.”

  “Take them to Fon,” a tired voice replied.

  “Which whephon?”

  There was a long drawn-out sigh. “It’s a Fonamanon; use the fastest one.”

  “How much shock?”

  “As much as needed.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Figure it out yourself!”

  There was a pause. “Should they hear?”

  “Fine.”

  “Should they smell?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Should they be blindfolded?”

  “They already are!”

  “Should I send them in the first or second entrance?”

  “Oh just get it done!”

  A moment later, Phyllis was lifted and moved away. A sharp whistling sound rang in her ears as she went. The queer smell grew overpowering before it faded like the last drops of light at sunset. When she landed, her blindfold was snapped off, and Phyllis found herself standing with her companions in a room with an arched ceiling. Flickering lights had been placed on the ground, casting light only a few feet up into the muddied darkness above them. Aside from the lights, the room was vastly empty, except for one end. A mound of dirt had been shaped into an unconventional throne, and two queer creatures stood near it, holding odd contraptions. A creature stood on top of the dome, looking down at the six out of bored eyes.

  It was about four feet tall, as were the others standing near it. Its skin was as dark as ivy and appeared dusty and dirty as if the creature needed to bathe. Out of its oval face, abnormally large, red eyes stared at the six over a pointed nose that resembled a carrot. In fact, it stuck out at least three inches from the creature’s face. Long ears, with tufts of hair sticking out of them, flopped down past its chin. Its ears went up as it gazed as the six, and it sat down, crossing its webbed feet over each other.

  “What do you want?” the creature tapped its claws on the dome.

  Pharengon stepped forward; his face was flushed bright pink. “Release us,” he demanded. “You have no reason to hold us here, wherever this is. We ask that you let us continue on our quest.”

  The creature glanced off into the darkening light for a moment, considering Pharengon’s appeal. After giving the request the proper amount of consideration, it turned back and crossed its legs the opposite way. It folded its clawed fingers across each other and announced, “No.”

  Pharengon was taken aback at the lack of explanation, but before he could retort, Cuthan took the opportunity to scuttle forward, his green eyes bright in his also flushed face. “Who are you, and where are we?”

  The creature opened its mouth in what would have been a grin on any other creature’s face but only showed off yellow fangs. “You are in the Marshswamps.” It spread its claws in glee. “And we are the Murwumps. You are here because you trespassed on our land. And as much as we’d like to release you, we can’t.” The creature stood up on the dome again, his webbed feet squelching into the mud. “You see, there is no way up to the overland without exploding our underworld. So, you are here until the end of your days.” He bared his teeth again. “Which will be very soon.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Murwumps

  Pharengon stepped forward, his jaw working. “Speak plainly. Are you responsible for the devastation of the Eastern World?”

  The Murwumps clicked his claws together in glee. “We are responsible for nothing.”

  “Tell them the story,” one of the creatures holding a contraption whispered up to the Murwump called Fon.

  Fon slapped him over the head, claws out. “I am speaking!”

  The Murwump squeaked in pain and returned to his position.

  “We are not from this world. The White Ones dropped us here when they fled from the destruction of their planet.”

  Phyllis wanted to ask what a planet was, but she felt too afraid to interrupt the Murwump who continued to speak.

  “Your overworld is a disgrace. The air is thin, and your heads are soft. We are going to make your world compatible with ours.”

  “How do you intend to do that?” Pharengon asked.

  Phyllis drew closer to Ilieus, knowing what the Murwumps meant although they did not say it. This was why Tharmaren the Wise had sent them to the North Forests. The Murwumps were the reason the landmass faded. The impending war between the Contrevails and the Realalons was only a side effect. Which meant the Clyear of Power was the path to stopping the Murwumps.

  The Murwump called Fon lifted his ears. “Simple. We use our explosives to turn your overworld into our underworld.”

  “You do realize there are thousands of people living on what you call the overworld? It will destroy us!” Pharengon objected.

  The Murwump wagged his head. “That cannot be helped. Yo
u ‘people’ are weak and soft. You cannot stop us, an advanced race, from harvesting your world. This is our new home. We must thrive in our new colony. Now…back to work!”

  The thin, whiny voice returned. It belonged to a Murwump with red eyes and drooping shoulders, always looking around as if seeking permission before taking action. As the Murwump returned them to their station, Phyllis could see the spiraling darkness of the Marshswamps further underground. Her eyes swam as she looked down, seeing shadows of the dark creatures moving back and forth in the underground city. They did not seem to like lights, for very few were lit, and Phyllis found it hard to see anything more than indistinct shadows in the dimness. The air continued to be stale and musty because the Murwumps were intent on keeping the air from the overworld away from them.

  When they returned back to the station the Murwumps were forcing them to work in, by some stroke of luck, their blindfolds were not activated again. Now they could see a small group of Murwumps with drooping ears and shoulders overseeing their work. They carried away the full boxes and brought back empty ones. They also swept the humming cylinders into the station, but none of the Murwumps would touch them. Phyllis noticed they all had red eyes that glared about uncannily; however, they did not seem to possess any intelligence or thought processes in and of themselves. When a question was asked, they always looked to a leader, and there was mindless back and forth conversation to clarify a simple question, such as “Should the prisoners eat?”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “I suppose.”

  “What do we feed them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will they eat our food?”

  No response, just shrugging.

  “Should we try?”

  “Ask the scavengers.”

  Phyllis could not help but question whether they were from another “world” or “planet” as they claimed. They spoke the Common Tongue fluently, but every so often, their speech would deteriorate into hisses and clicking, and occasionally they rattled off a long string of numbers. Even after observing their behavior for a day, it did not seem like these creatures were intelligent enough to figure out how to harvest the Eastern World. She speculated whether they could be working with someone or something else.

  “We have to try to escape,” Ilieus whispered as she worked. “These cylinders will kill us long before the Murwumps do.”

  “I have an idea,” Artenvox announced. He stood up and walked over to one of the Murwumps.

  “What is he doing?” Phyllis directed her question toward Cuthan.

  Cuthan grinned, grimaced because of the pain in his head, and grinned again. “What we do best. He’ll charm them.”

  That night, if, indeed, there were nights, the six rested in the station with their heads propped up by their hands. The scavengers had permitted them food; however, once it was delivered, they found mud and mud frogs were a Murwump’s idea of nourishment.

  “I don’t know what will kill us first,” Thangone remarked. “The insistent buzzing or the lack of food and water.”

  “Ah, this isn’t the first time I’ve been a prisoner,” Cuthan said rather proudly, stretching where he lay.

  “The food has to come from somewhere,” Artenvox explained. “I don’t think they are pulling it from the depths of this underworld, especially the frogs; they like to live above ground. All we need to do is figure out where the scavengers go and follow them.”

  Cuthan sat up, glancing around the station. “It seems the Murwumps have gone below. Shall we follow them?”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  The Underworld

  Cuthan felt a thrill of excitement as he and Artenvox followed the Murwumps into their city. Below he could see the Scavengers hopping on all fours as they climbed down structures made from mud, twisting through the shadows. Cuthan had not known it until Pharengon and Thangone remarked on their lack of sight, but he could see in the dark. It was an ability he was sure had not awoken before, and he added seeing in the dark to his list of known powers. Rubbing his hands together, he surveyed the first structure he came to. It was like a pole with a platform attached, and the Murwumps used some sort of device to transport them to a different underworld station. The Scavengers ignored them, and Cuthan made note of the way they were treated. When a Scavenger approached one of the working Murwumps, they were generally kicked or clawed at and scampered off, grunting in pain.

  “Look,” Artenvox whispered, jabbing Cuthan in his side some hours later.

  “I see.” Cuthan rubbed his side, annoyed.

  “It’s the way out, I think,” Artenvox continued in excitement.

  A tunnel wove steeply upward, with grips for the Scavengers to hold on to as they climbed. Cuthan noticed shallow claw marks on the tunnel walls, and as he gazed upward, he saw it. There was a light filtering from the top, bleeding through the shadows of the underworld.

  “Shall we go then?” Cuthan asked, reaching for a handhold to pull himself up.

  “What are you doing?” Artenvox hissed.

  Cuthan opened his eyes wide in innocence. “Just going up to have a look.”

  “What about the others? We have to go back for them.”

  Cuthan felt a small twinge of guilt. “Do we?” he whispered to himself. “There is no knowing if we can find this place again, and the Murwumps will likely kill us as soon as they find us missing.”

  “Cuthan, what are you saying?” Artenvox demanded. “Do you not care what becomes of us? What becomes of this world? You know Pharengon carries the Jeweled Sword and is the rightful king, the first king the east shall see. You know Ilieus carries the map to the treasure in her head. What kind of Treasure Hunters would we be if we left the treasure map in the hands of the enemy?”

  “Ah.” Cuthan sighed. “I know this, but you know what we risk if we don’t go now.”

  “I know.” Artenvox turned back the way they had come. He drew his knife and carved a mark into the mud wall. “This shall be our guide. Besides, once we find the treasure, we have to return here. The Murwumps must be stopped.”

  Finding their way back was not as easy as they had hoped, but they arrived before the Murwumps came to monitor their work.

  “What did you find?” Pharengon whispered as the Jeweled Ones entered the station.

  Cuthan grinned, his eyes lighting up for a moment before the buzzing in his head wiped the mischief out of his face. “We found a way out, but we should go now before the Murwumps come for us.”

  “It’s a tunnel where the Scavengers go.” Artenvox motioned with his hands. “We will have to climb out. By the time we reach it, the Murwumps will notice we are gone and will start searching for us. I do not know how they will react when they find we are escaping, but I doubt they will be diplomatic about it.”

  “It’s clear our choices are to stay here and work another sleep or go now.” Pharengon turned to Ilieus and Phyllis, but his eyes dwelt on Ilieus. “What do you think?”

  Ilieus frowned, glanced at Phyllis, and then looked out into the expanse of gloom. “We should go now,” she whispered. “Another day here and we will…” She lifted her hand to her head for it hurt to create words.

  Thangone nodded, reaching for his sword. “Well then, we should go. Ilieus and Phyllis should be the first ones out. Pharengon and I will hold back the Murwumps, should they choose to attack.”

  Pharengon turned to Ilieus and Phyllis. “Take deep breaths, and stay low and quiet. We’ll be with you the whole time.”

  Phyllis nodded, swallowing hard. Her hands were shaking as they stood, and one by one, they left the station.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Knowledge

  Phyllis ran across the barren ground, flecks of red dust rising in clouds below her flying feet. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she wished it would calm down. She was sure her breathing was too loud and too heavy. She couldn’t help but glance backward every few strides, hoping to see the familiar shapes of Pharengon, Tha
ngone, Cuthan, and Artenvox. The sight of them would ensure they had escaped from the furious, red-eyed Murwumps. At the thought of them, she shivered. Without blinking, she could see their red eyes, pointed ears, and black bodies. She recalled them calmly explaining how they were harvesting the Eastern World to make it compatible for their race. They had found the tunnels that led up, but when Phyllis and Ilieus reached the top, they heard shouting and hissing, a sure sign the Crons would be delayed.

  Ilieus was much farther ahead, her light hair loose in the breeze like a flag. She never glanced back as she ran across the charred terrain as if she knew exactly where she was going. Her certainty terrified Phyllis because she knew they coming to the end of their quest, and a sinking suspicion told her it would not be what she hoped for.

  Phyllis’s legs began to burn as she ran, unsure of how long it had been nor how far they had gone. Ahead, Ilieus slowed down at the base of a great hill. It sloped sharply upward for at least a mile, if not more, and its crest was covered with black ash. Charred stones, branches, and sticks sat in neat piles on the hill as if someone had burned it and then shifted through the debris to find what they were looking for.

  “It’s on the other side.” Ilieus panted, pointing.

  Phyllis leaned over with her hands on her knees, attempting to draw more air into her lungs, but the dryness of the air and the arid smell of burning made her cough. She spit into the ground and turned to face Ilieus, who was watching her with an odd expression on her face.

  “Ilieus, what is it?” Phyllis whispered as her cough subsided. Jerking her head around, she glanced back from where they had come, yet nothing moved in the burnt forest.

  “Phyllis.” Ilieus’s face was white, and her hair, tumbling down her back, appeared translucent. Her pale eyes were round and unblinking as she stared at Phyllis, opening her mouth and closing it again, unsure of how to explain herself.