The Outlanders

by Erin Rhew

  The Elder’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ordain anything. The Prophecy commands it.”

  “Why are you here, Werrick?”

  “You have entered my territory, Wilhelm. I belong here. You do not.”

  Mia leaned forward. “The King of Etherea does not have to answer to you.”

  Gritting her teeth, Layla fought the urge to knock the girl off her horse. Wil let out a small but exasperated sigh.

  “And what do we have here?” Werrick asked. “A girl with purple eyes and black hair? Tell me, Wilhelm, how did you come to be traveling with two women with purple eyes and black hair?” Wil did not reply. “Well then, thanks be to the First Ones. We have another Candidate.” The two men beside him repeated his accolades. “I am relieved to see a new potential wife for you since Layla has proven to be such a disappointment.”

  “You can’t bind us, Elder. Volton Mars made sure of that,” Wil shot back heatedly.

  The smirk slid off the Elder’s face. “I want to test the new girl for candidacy.”

  “No way in the Great Beyond or the Three Kingdoms will that ever happen.” Samson reached for the hilt of his sword as his face turned fiery red.

  “You again.” Elder Werrick snickered at Samson before turning back to Wil. “We want the new girl.”

  Wil faced Mia. “Do you want to go with the Elder?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “That’s your answer, Elder.” Wil pulled his reins to the right in an attempt to ride around the Ecclesiastics.

  “We will take her by force if necessary.”

  As she studied Werrick, Layla couldn’t recall why she had ever been afraid of him. He controlled her destiny at one time, but Volton Mars had made sure the smarmy Elder no longer could. Her fear gone, Layla laughed. Wil turned to her, startled, and broke out in his own laughter. Purple spread from the bottom of Werrick’s chin to the top of his forehead.

  “How dare you laugh at me, an Elder, the leader of the Ecclesiastics!”

  Layla cocked her head to the side. “How could you possibly take Mia by force? You are facing three Vanguards and two Ethereals. You have no army and no weapons. Tell me, how do you propose to take her?” While Layla had no great love for Mia, she could not allow the Elder control over anyone again.

  A crushing weight pushed Layla down onto the mane of her horse. This same force crippled her before, first in the carriage ride and again in Etherea. She gasped. Wil cried her name before a low growl emanated from him. When the pressure upon her released, she sat up to find Elder Werrick frozen on his horse, his mouth slack. Fury coursed off Wil in palpable waves. She touched his arm, breaking his hold on Werrick.

  Samson laughed. “That may just be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

  His mirth jolted the rest of their party. They glanced back and forth between one another. Mia’s head bobbed from Wil to the still frozen Elder, her purple eyes wide.

  “We should ride away while he’s still under the Alteration.” Vespa tucked a strand of hair behind each ear.

  “No. We won’t run.” Layla had run from a confrontation once, and the regret, the shame of it still gnawed at her. She never wanted to run again.

  The glazed look slid off Werrick’s face. His gaze darted around, absorbing the scene before him. Brow furrowed, he glared at Wil.

  “I will not soon forget this slight, Wilhelm.”

  Wil drew up to his full height, impressive atop his steed. “I hope you won’t.”

  Without another word, Werrick turned his horse around and galloped back to the compound in an angry huff.

  Wil leaned over to whisper, “I can’t believe you laughed in his face.”

  “I can’t believe you Altered his mind.”

  He chuckled. “Just a little Alteration.” His expression sobered. “He uses the First Ones and his position as Elder to advance his own cause. Werrick disgusts me.”

  “He may have spent his life studying the Prophecy, but we are here to fulfill it,” Layla said. “His time has passed while ours has just begun.”

  He nodded. Love and respect radiated from him, surrounding and filling her. As she met his gaze, Layla noticed the subtle change in Wil’s breathing—from a soft sound to a strangled gasp. A red dot appeared on the left side of his shirt. She tensed. Wil’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Groaning, he slid out of the saddle.

  * * * *

  Samson, whose reflexes had always been quick, leapt off his horse and caught Wil before the Ethereal king hit the ground. Mia and Vespa screamed. Layla jumped down, trying to control her now erratic heart and breath.

  “Wil.” She slipped her hand into his. He gave no response. “We need to get him to the Voltons now!”

  “I’ll carry him on my horse,” Grant said. Samson lifted Wil’s limp body and handed him to Grant who took off toward Volton.

  Samson swung into his own saddle and grabbed the reins of Wil’s horse, guiding the riderless steed along beside him. “I’ll stay with Vespa and Mia. You go with Grant.”

  Layla shot him a thankful smile, vaulted into her saddle, and sped after Grant.

  “How far is Volton from here, Samson?” Layla called over her shoulder.

  “Not too far. Just ride straight ahead, over the bridge. Volton is on the other side.”

  When Layla saw a group of men in green robes guiding a herd of sheep, she breathed a sigh of relief. She urged her horse to ride faster, eager to get Wil the medical attention he needed. Relief flashed through her as the Volton Village came into view.

  “Whoa!” Grant pulled back on his horse’s reins. Layla stopped beside him, reaching into her saddle bag to retrieve Volton Mars’ note. Together, she and her brother maneuvered Wil’s lifeless body into the largest of the Volton buildings. Wood covered the walls, ceiling, and floors, casting a light brown hue around everyone and everything. Fires roared on both ends of the main room while green clad men bustled about.

  “Someone help us!” Layla’s voice sounded strange to her ears—hoarse and fearful.

  A group of men rushed forward.

  “How can we help you?”

  “Volton Mars told us to come to you.” Supporting Wil with one hand, she waved Mars’ note with the other. “Please, King Wilhelm is injured.”

  A green-clad man with golden ties, different from the brown ties of the other men, disengaged from a group. “I am Volton Holt, head of Black Arts studies and a High Volton of the Council. Please allow me to assist.” He took Mars’ note, opened it, and skimmed the contents. With the flick of his hand, Holt sent several other Voltons scurrying.

  He smiled at her, warmth and kindness radiated from him and enveloped her. “Welcome to the home of the Voltons. Please, follow me. Some of our men have been preparing rooms for you. Bring your injured man this way.”

  Layla found the presence of mind to say, “We have three others in our group. They are just behind us.” Holt nodded and then whispered something to a younger man who scampered off.

  Layla and Grant, supporting Wil between them, followed Holt down a short hallway. He gestured to the room on his right, and they shuffled in, easing Wil onto the awaiting table. Layla brushed the blond hair out of his face. She kissed him on the cheek.

  Holt, who towered over her with his impressive height, patted her shoulder. “We will take good care of him.”

  “May I stay with him?” After sitting by Wil’s bedside for over a month, she couldn’t fathom leaving him alone with strangers.

  Holt considered her question. At first, she feared he’d say no, but he acquiesced. “Just please stand back so the medical Voltons can do their work.” He turned to Grant. “Would you like to accompany me to the gathering room to await the rest of your party?”

  Grant nodded and stepped outside the door while Holt gestured to the men entering. “Here are the medical Voltons. I shall leave you in their capable hands.”

  “Thank you, Volton Holt.”

  She stepped back and watched, her hands clenched in tig
ht fists by her side, while the specialists worked. They cut away Wil’s shirt to reveal a blood soaked bandage. Hadn’t she just changed that this morning?

  “This wound is infected,” one of the Volton’s murmured. The others nodded their agreement.

  They drained his injury, applied a thick salve, and sewed the hole closed. Though she wished Wil would open his eyes, Layla took comfort in the fact that he remained asleep for the most painful part of their process. The Voltons muttered to one another again, a satisfied sound she took to mean the procedure had gone well.

  The Volton who had taken the lead during Wil’s procedure, who wore a golden tie like Volton Holt, stepped forward. “I am Volton Mil, head of the Medical Voltons and a High Volton of the Council. We’ve stabilized the patient. His wound was deeply infected, but I believe we successfully remedied the problem.” He held up a vial. “When he wakes, please make sure he drinks two sips. He must continue this dosage for the next nine days. We will provide you with additional bottles as needed. Do you have any questions?”

  “Will it become infected again?”

  “As long as his bandage is changed daily and he continues to drink the medicine, he should heal without further issue.”

  “When will he wake?”

  “You can wait for him to regain consciousness naturally, which may take minutes or hours—one can never say in these situations—or we can wake him for you.”

  As much as Layla wanted Wil to awaken, she knew he needed his rest. “I’ll wait. Thank you, Volton Mil.”

  Curious, Layla walked over to inspect the long table and wide variety of medical apparatuses splayed out on it. When the door opened, she jumped back, knocking a metal scalpel to the floor. She closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as the instrument clanged to the ground, the sound accusatory.

  “Layla?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when Vespa peeked around the door. Stepping into the Ethereal’s view, she gave a lame wave. “I’m here.”

  Vespa and Grant came in with Mia following right behind. Grant carried a bowl of soup and a small roll, which he handed to Layla. She smiled and devoured it while Vespa and Mia hovered over Wil, fretting.

  “How is he?” Vespa pushed back Wil’s blond strands, tucking a small piece behind his ear as she often did with her own hair.

  “His wound became infected,” Layla said between bites. “They treated it and gave me medicine for him. He should heal quickly.”

  Mia pulled a small stool from the corner of the room to Wil’s side and sat. She took his hand in hers and bent down to whisper in his ear. A hot flush rose through Layla, and she knew the warm soup and roaring fire had not caused it. Vespa’s gaze bounced back and forth between Layla and Mia, an amused grin upon her face.

  Wil stirred. They rushed to the other side of his bed. Layla took Wil’s other hand while Vespa placed a steadying one on his shoulder.

  He opened his eyes and moaned, “Layla.” When he saw Mia beside him, Wil’s body jerked. The movement caused a fresh wave of pain to wash over his face, giving him a white pallor.

  Layla squeezed his hand. “I’m here, Wil.”

  He turned his head, relaxing as his gaze landed upon her face. Despite his discomfort, he managed a smile for her. Layla couldn’t contain her tears. The drops landed on intertwined fingers. Mia stood to go, but she paused with her hand on the door. Yearning dominated her expression. Her gaze lingered upon Wil before she slipped out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Layla

  Layla jerked awake when her head slipped off her hand. Gauging the time proved difficult with no light coming into Wil’s room. Standing, she stretched her sore muscles. She’d remained at his side as he woke off and on, still delirious from infection and pained by the Volton’s procedures.

  “Layla?” She spun around to find Vespa in the doorway, a bowl of porridge and a pear in her hand. “You’ve been cooped up in here for the past day and a half. Why don’t you let me sit with Wil for a while so you can visit your parents? I know you’ve been anxious to see them, and they want to see you.

  “It’s been a long time since I saw them. So much has happened.”

  Vespa set the food down on the table beside the Voltons’ medical supplies and crossed the room to place an arm around Layla’s shoulder.

  “They are excited. No matter how much time has passed, no matter what has happened, they love you.”

  Layla smiled and patted Vespa’s hand. The Ethereal princess settled into a chair beside her brother while Layla devoured her meal. Pushing up off the table, she walked toward the door but paused and turned back to her friend, concerned.

  “I’m reluctant to leave him, Vespa.”

  “I know. But he’ll be fine. If he wakes and asks where you are, I’ll tell him. He’ll be happy you’re reuniting with your parents after all this time. Grant is waiting for you in the main hall.”

  Layla nodded once, opened the door, and followed the flow of green robed men headed toward the main hall. She caught sight of her brother, engaged in conversation with Volton Holt. Waving, Grant’s face lit up at the sight of her.

  “You’ve emerged from your cave, I see. Ready to go see Mother and Father?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’ll excuse us, Volton.”

  “Of course, Grant.” Holt tipped his chin down in a slight bow before blending in with the crowd.

  Layla followed her brother outside into the blinding sunlight. Had it really only been a day and a half since she’d seen the sun? She squinted against the harsh rays, following Grant to a pair of horses.

  “Where are we going?”

  “They are in a small cabin on the very edge of the Village.”

  Intrigued, she mounted her horse and followed Grant to the outskirts of Volton, in a space closer to Etherea than either Vanguard or the Ecclesiastical compound. The number of men, women, and children surprised her. She thought only Voltons lived in the Village.

  “What is this place, Grant?”

  Before her brother could answer, Layla spotted her adoptive father coming out of a nearby hut. She slid out of her saddle, ran to him as fast as her legs could carry her, and hurled herself into his outstretched arms. The smell of him—fatherly, smoky, musky, and familiar—engulfed her.

  “Layla girl,” he whispered, smoothing down her hair.

  “Father, I’ve missed you.”

  “We’ve missed you. Come, Mother will want to see you.”

  She fell in step behind him. Children squealed and ran about, a sharp contrast to the seriousness of the Voltons back at the main house. As they strolled, she noticed an inordinate number of maimed girls. She opened her mouth to ask her father, but he halted in front of a small cabin.

  Opening the door, he gestured for her to enter. “Mother’s inside.”

  Though her adoptive mother bent over the bed of some infirm person, Layla recognized her. She wanted to rush forward and wrap her up in a hug, but she hung back, waiting. Lia finished with her patient. She turned as she wiped her hands against her skirt but froze when she gazed upon Layla.

  A small squeak emanated from her. “Layla?”

  “Mother.”

  Lia rushed forward and absorbed Layla into her arms. “I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”

  Tears poured down Layla’s face. “Are you okay? The last time I saw you, Elder Werrick…” Her building rage choked off her words.

  “I’m fine. The Voltons took good care of me, and I’m trying to return the favor to the people here.” Her mother gestured to the young woman on the bed.

  Another maimed girl. Reality, the truth, careened toward her. They all had black hair. They all had bluish eyes with wisps of purple. Prophecy candidates. Her hand flew to her mouth as her stomach roiled.

  “Layla?”

  “They’re candidates.” She stumbled backward until she hit the wall behind her. “He did that. Elder Werrick did that.” Hatred boiled within her. Layla wished she’d killed the man when
last they met. He deserved death a thousand times over for the pain and suffering he caused to countless people.

  Lia drew Layla into her arms again. “Yes, they are, and yes, he did. Werrick is a most vile sort of man.” She placed a hand on Layla’s cheek, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears. “Every time I see one of these girls, I’m thankful it’s not you. Layla, we tried to protect you the best we knew how. When you showed up on our doorstep as a baby, Jensen and I knew what fate could befall you. I tried, Layla. I tried.”

  She caught her mother’s face between her hands. “You are a great mother. You have always protected me and almost gave your life for me on the Day of Dawning.”

  “But he took you anyway.”

  “Werrick took me to Etherea. That’s all. When I got there, I worked with the Ethereals and a Volton to thwart the Elder’s plans. He holds no power over me, Mother.”

  Lia smiled through her tears and took Layla’s hand. “Tell me about your time in Etherea.”

  The two women walked out into the sunshine as Layla unburdened her heart upon her mother.

  * * * *

  Layla stepped out of Wil’s room, giving him the chance to take a much needed rest. Since their arrival in Volton two days ago, Wil’s recovery proved swift, just as Volton Mil promised. They should be able to resume their travels by the next day, but Layla felt torn. Though she wanted to give Wil sufficient time to heal and wanted more opportunities to see her parents, Layla also worried about Nash. Did the Outlanders still have him locked up? If so, why? What did they want, and when they got what they wanted, would they release or kill him? Were they torturing him? Had Nash been shown any kind of mercy at all? The litany of thoughts and images assaulted her mind, gnawing on her, fraying her nerves and urging her to get on with the mission.

  “Layla Givens?” a young man called from behind her.

  She turned, surprised to be addressed by name. “Yes?”

  “I am a Volton trainee. My name is Creede, and I am Volton Holt’s assistant. He told me to check on you and see to any needs you or your party may have.”

  Layla decided Creede must be close in age to her. Like most Vanguards, he had dark hair.