The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Marklus smiled for the first time, his weariness slipping away at last. “I was delayed, er, detained,” he explained, “and Alaireia here helped me escape.”

  Crinte moved to Alaireia and welcomed her by clasping her shoulder as well. “There will be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. For now, both of you could use a wash and a good night’s sleep.” He turned back to the guards. “Please, provide them with our best and bring them to my chambers in the morning.”

  “She said more are coming,” announced Elam the Gatekeeper in an accusing tone.

  Crinte paused to glance at Alaireia for a moment. “I see,” he said. “Take care of them. We shall question them in the morning.”

  Elam the Gatekeeper motioned to his guards. Curiosity unsatisfied, he brushed past the others to return to his post. Meanwhile, the guards escorted Marklus and Alaireia to wash away the grime from their time spent in prison.

  One by one, each of the lost souls knocked and were admitted into the stronghold of the Eka Fighting Camp. Each of them were lightly questioned, fed, bathed, and sent to sleep before the thorough investigation in the morning. Guards paced by their doors, conscious of their weakness, yet still aware of the need to protect their stronghold from the inside, if necessary. Of those who were admitted that night, most were Crons, but one stranger was a Trazame who finally got the courage to ask for help.

  Marklus woke to light instead of darkness, on a soft warm bed, instead of a cold, grimy prison cell. He sat up slowly, drinking in the feeling of freedom as he stretched his aching muscles. A relieved smile covered his face as he quickly dressed in clean clothes, buttoning his green tunic and belting his brown pants. Refreshed, he opened the door to find two guards waiting. They straightened quickly and fell in on either side of him, escorting him to Crinte’s chambers. He found it unnerving to have guards surrounding him again, and his initial reaction was to lash out and flee. Already, he missed the Sea Forests of Mizine and the fresh scent of nature surrounding him. He was not meant to be cooped up indoors, and if he could have his way, would never be again. Even when he had joined the rebels, he had rarely set foot inside the stone fortress, and most parts of it were new to him.

  As they walked through the stronghold, Marklus saw eerie inscriptions and drawings on the walls. Some depicted battle scenes with monstrous creatures, others displayed elaborate drawings of the southern side of the Western World, from the Afrd Mounts in the southwest to the Forests of the Ezinck in the southeastern end. The stronghold had been built long ago, in place much longer than many lives of Crons. It seemed odd to Marklus that such a stronghold had stood empty until it had been taken over and set up as a training camp for those about to go to war.

  Finally, Marklus was ushered into a chamber. Filtered sunlight streamed in from a high, barred window, reminding him of prison once again. At a table in the middle of the room sat two Crons; one was Crinte, the other had a long scroll of dried paper and a jar of black ink. He twirled his elaborate quill while waiting for the interrogation to begin. Alaireia sat calmly at one end of the table, facing Crinte, watching everything out of her dark eyes. She ate the first meal slowly, chewing thoughtfully. Marklus sat down beside her while the guards took up residence on either side of the room. Invisible, yet there, watching in case of danger.

  “Crinte,” Marklus began.

  “Please, sit down and eat,” Crinte said apologetically. “I am trying to keep this as informal as possible, however there are certain laws I must follow here. You know the enemy is becoming too clever, and we cannot be too careful.”

  Markus stole a glance at Alaireia before reaching for the steaming bowl before him. As much as he wanted to get the interrogation over with and hear Alaireia’s side of the story, the prospect of having more than one meal a day was entirely too tempting.

  “Tell me,” Crinte began evenly, “what happened? Start at the beginning and think it through. Carefully.”

  “It’s quite simple.” Alaireia shrugged, lifting her face to meet Crinte’s questioning eyes. “We wandered too far into enemy territory, looking for answers, and were captured by the Slutans. A few days ago, there was a prison riot and we escaped.”

  Crinte sighed, slightly bemused and frustrated all at the same time by Alaireia’s brief explanation. Lifting a hand, he ran his long fingers through his blond hair and turned his intense gaze on the guards. “That will be all.”

  There was an uncomfortable moment of hesitation before the guards reluctantly moved towards the door. The record keeper looked at Crinte for guidance, and at the barest nod, quickly gathered up his paper and ink and stalked from the room, muttering under his breath. The door slammed shut, leaving the three alone at last.

  “Alaireia,” Crinte complained, “you are going to get me into trouble.”

  “What was that about?” Marklus interrupted.

  Pushing the first meal aside, Alaireia scooted her chair closer to Marklus and leaned over the table. “Crinte, you’ve said it yourself. We can’t be too careful. What I have to say should stay between us here and Ackhor, since he first employed my services. You are raising a secret army, but we don’t even know what we are fighting. Have you heard that the Great Water Hole is now the Slutans’ base? They are concocting a transformation potion which empowers those who go through it to become better warriors. They are unstoppable, with less emotion. They are out for blood and won’t quit anytime soon. I started the prison riot because the transformation formula has been perfected, and the Slutans were getting ready to send all the prisoners to the Great Water Hole. After you go through it, you become just a shell of a living being with one purpose only: to serve and obey. This is what we are up against. Is this what your army is training for? To go up against the most indestructible warriors? We have to take a stand, but you must have some other plan.”

  Eyes flashing, Alaireia shut her mouth and leaned back, giving her words time to sink in. Marklus recalled earlier discussions he’d had with Crinte before he left to cross the Dejewla Sea into Slutan. He had been aware of the Great Water Hole, but the words tumbling out of Alaireia’s mouth had a new severity to them. The words on parchment had confirmed Crinte’s plan to raise a secret army and take it into the very nest of the enemy to destroy them. Marklus knew the ultimate goal was to take a stand against the Slutans, but now with the information becoming common knowledge, Crinte’s plan had to be much more complex.

  If the news intimidated Crinte, he did not show it. Instead, he prompted Alaireia further. “What else did you learn while you were imprisoned?”

  “We knew that out of the two countries across the Sea, Slutan was completely overrun. But now, Asspraineya has sworn allegiance with the Slutans and their land is turning into a stronghold. The Slutans and Assprainites combined means our forces are already at a disadvantage, even with Asspraineya being a desert land and having a smaller population. We have to keep in mind that when we do send our force across the sea, there will be no rest. We don’t even have eyes over there, no spies, nothing. It was while I was trying to get a sense of the lay of the land and complete the other task you sent me on that I was captured. I should have started in Asspraineya, which is where I will go next time I get a chance. There is rumor of a route or invisible road they are building to help them travel quickly and in secrecy. We need to find that path and destroy it. It is leading towards us. They will be here at our very doorsteps before we know it.”

  Crinte shook his head, and although his face was impassive, Marklus could tell he was quickly thinking through scenarios. “They have already started testing that invisible road; groups of the transformed started appearing in Mizine some time ago. We send out troops of warriors to scour the land and keep our countries safe, but we never know where they will strike next.”

  Alaireia sat back and crossed her arms, a scowl of frustration on her face. “Tell Ackhor that if he wants me to continue as a messenger and spy I will, but I am taking more than just a dagger with me this time. I need a sword. And tell him i
f he does not act soon, we will all perish here.” She stood rather too quickly, sending her chair clattering to the floor.

  “I thought you had a sword,” Crinte said, perturbed and standing as well. “I will personally escort you to the armory and arrange your meeting with Ackhor. But please do not leave us yet.”

  “I have to practice,” Alaireia retorted. “I have not used the sword in a while. Besides, you don’t need me to catch up with Marklus. I will find you when it is time.” With that last statement, Alaireia slipped from the room before another word could be uttered.

  Crinte dropped his tense stance as he retook his seat. His tight shoulders began to relax and a genuine smile covered his handsome face at last. “Marklus.”

  “How do you know Alaireia?” Marklus jumped in curiously, his brain bursting with numerous questions for Crinte.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Crinte began. “Long has it been since I last saw you, and the truth is, much has happened within that time. Some of it too quickly, which means we must be conniving and fast if we have any hope of crushing this new terror before it completely takes over the Western World. Alaireia came to us because she is strong and invisible. She also carries an ancient power we can leverage. I think she knows people could use it to their advantage, which is why she is quite tightlipped about her abilities. She is loyal, and while I’m not at liberty to share where she came from and why, if you get close enough to her and gain her trust, she may tell you herself.”

  “This wasn’t a coincidence at all.” Marklus paused with a furrow in his brow. “The prison break was something she did on purpose to save the prisoners from transformation. But it felt as if she were trying to save just me, to bring me back.”

  Crinte nodded. “That is entirely possible. Sometimes, I’m not sure of her motives, but she knew I needed you if our plan is going to work. To be honest, after you disappeared months ago, I asked her to see if she could find trace of you.”

  Marklus leaned forward towards Crinte. “Thank you for that. So, your plan must have changed. Was any of Alaireia’s information new to you at all?”

  “I wouldn’t be second in command here if I didn’t already know those things.” Crinte’s voice dropped and took on a new edge. “Yes, I do have a plan, but we should discuss later. Dark times fall upon us, and I need a force I can trust to follow me blindly into the night.”

  “Second in command? What happened after I left to seek answers?”

  “Ah, that is part of the plan as well. Ackhor has to think he is in charge in order for my plan to fall into place, and now that you are back, we can get to work. But come, tell me how you stumbled into Slutan.”

  Alaireia became a shadow again, slipping into the lightless cold passageways of the Eka Fighting Development Camp. The further she drifted, the mustier the air grew, reminding her of the smell of the dead. Brushing those dank memories away and focusing on the plan, she followed the trail until it ended and she found them. The lost souls had drifted together into one square shaped room, cut off from the warriors in the Fighting Camp. Some walked, testing out their sore muscles from their flight. Others ate, hastily and greedily, as if unsure when their next meal would come. Another group sat dazed on mats, their eyes vacant and staring into nothing. Some slept, waking frequently from nightmares only to realize they were safe from prison. Alaireia walked into the room and those that were awake looked at her. The path of light ended at her feet and they recognized their savior from torment and death. She planted her feet, her hands on her hips. “I need you.” Her voice rang clear. “Will you fight with me?” The thunder of voices shook the room. If they had not had strength and a voice before, they did now. Fists raised high, they shouted. There was only one who turned his face and refused to answer the summons.

  4

  Zikes

  There was time before violence began to spread in the land, when the crackle of power was potent across the mountains. There was a time when the immortal “wild things” were not simply whispered tales of old, hushed into stories told to babes in their cradles. Tales that were once true stories, only to become forgotten and hidden in mystery. That was the time Legone thought of as he ran through the Algrema Forest, keeping to the southern curve of the wildwood. He was aware of the shift in the air; of the change in the way the plants grew, the way the people of the forest hid from him. Their eyes watched him even as he moved silently through their territory, unable to hide from them, yet a blur stained in their memories all the same. Legone did not know how he knew where to go; it seemed a hidden path was guiding his footfalls. A name stood out in his mind. One who had seen the world. One who had a formidable plan. One willing to risk it all for the safety and peace of future generations. This leader, Legone had met long before, in a time and place not shrouded in mist. He remembered the persuasive strength of him. He was from the Order of the Wise, one who could not fail. Legone doubted he would be remembered, but that was not the point. Leaping over obstacles, he continued as dusk fell. There would be no rest from here on out.

  Back at the fortress, Crinte and Marklus talked until the afternoon shadows lengthened and began to fade into dusk. They were brothers in a way, having grown up close to the borders of Cromomany. Crinte hailed from Norc, but his family moved to Zikeland when he was young. Marklus hailed from Zikeland, a flat, prairie town, named for the people in the grass, Zikes. At that time, no one quite knew who or what the Zikes were, since they had not been seen in those parts for decades. No one knew they often appeared as stocky blades of grass stinging with poison if touched. Their incredible camouflage abilities kept them hidden for the most part, and Marklus, on the fateful day he met Crinte, had managed to trick one into revealing its true identity.

  Seeking Zikes was a game for children. No one had ever seen one, therefore the thrill of finding one and boasting about it encouraged exploration. Such was the way Marklus felt as he stumbled through tall rings of lime green grass higher than his waist. He carried a thick brown stick in hand, using it to push back grass as he searched for trouble. Stealthily, he made his way through the grassy prairie and accidentally stumbled upon a barren path. Hidden in a grassy hollow was a green tunnel, funneling close to the ground but leading forward into the wild. That’s when he knew he had come upon on a secret. Only ten at the time, and more than willing for an adventure, he immediately wiggled down and started crawling his way through the circle of grass into a world only filtered sunlight could reach.

  It was not five minutes later that he felt the first prick. Hot, searing pain overwhelmed him, knocking the breath from his body, forcing him prostrate on the ground. Tears burst from his panicked blue eyes and rolled down his suntanned cheeks as he attempted to rise, but the sensations increased. Lying there as the blanket of grass held him against the ground, he cried out in pain, yet through his tears, saw it.

  It would have been about his height, if he were standing tall, and wore a deep green cone on its head. The cone seemed to shift with the sunlight—either that, or there was something electric dancing inside it, keeping the cone pointed firmly at the sky. The Zike itself wore a sort of suit Marklus was unable to see clearly, but the eyes were what froze his tears. They were emerald green, round and wide, pulling him in, locking his gaze. He felt as if he were drowning as the pain and mesmerizing gaze paralyzed him on the ground. But the longer he stared, the more the menace in those eyes faded, changing to panic and fear.

  That’s when he heard it. A mirror of his own. Screams of pain in the distance. Marklus startled, and the slight movement was just enough to tear his eyes away from the false glare of the Zike. As he moved, he could feel warmth spreading through his body, devouring the pain, removing the paralysis. His hands, as they lay against the ground, levitated just a bit, and a blue light crackled between his fingertips and the dusty ground.

  Distracted, Marklus glanced at his hands. When he looked back up, the Zike had vanished, but a faint whimper of agony continued. Finding himself in full control of hi
s limbs again, Marklus cautiously continued forward, slithering through the tunnel of grass until he reached a small crossroads. One way led out back into the sunlit prairie, the other led him deeper into the secret entrance, where some creature was being tortured by the Zikes.

  A few minutes later, Marklus found him. It was a boy about his age, slightly taller and fairer. His long blond hair was covered in grass and mud, his dirty face bright red with streaks of tears running through the grime. He lay on his back, his muscles tense as his body convulsed against the unforgiving ground. His cries grew quieter as he submitted to the pain; the fight was fading away from his empty round blue eyes, staring yet not seeing the curtain of green.

  Marklus crawled forward anxiously. Had the Zikes done this? Were they truly evil creatures of the prairie who sought to harm and kill small children? There in the shadows of the grass, hidden from the world, Marklus sat down beside the strange child to keep him company while his life expired. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish I could help.”

  The strange child said nothing; his body shuddered against the ground once more. Marklus reached out to comfort him, laying a hand on his shoulder. The blue light ignited again, flowing from his hand into the boy’s chest. For a brief second, it seemed as if the world froze. The boy went still. His eyes closed. His whimpers faded, and he began to breathe.

  Marklus snatched his hand away, staring first at the boy and then at his hand, but it appeared normal. When he glanced back at the strange boy, he was sitting up and looking at him in awe. “You saved me.” His tongue stumbled across the words. “How did you save me?”