The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Crinte hung back for a moment, watching his warriors leap ahead, strong and resilient. It was unfortunate, but already he could feel a vision clouding his eyesight, forcing itself in front of him. He saw his warriors running and himself far behind, attempting to catch up. They dashed from the shelter of boulders to fields of dry grass, and at last, a dark line ahead, which he could only hope was the boundary forest Legone had spoken of. A whooshing sound drowned all noise from his ears, and as he turned, a balloon of pressure rushed towards him. Right before he could reach out, it exploded, throwing him and his warriors into…

  The vision faded before he could tell. He awoke, heart racing, as if out of a dream, and lifted his sword, the strange markings fading in and out of view, tantalizing him. A guttural sound behind him compelled him to turn, finding himself staring into the yellow eyes of what appeared to be a giant lizard. Its long, scaly body curved away, mirroring the dusty ground. A pink forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth as it summed up Crinte, determining whether it should eat him or not. Four stubby legs lay close to the ground, and Crinte was sure if the creature were vertical it would stand taller than him. The lizard lunged and Crinte jumped, landing squarely on its scaly back. He teetered for a moment as the lizard whirled around, attempting to shake him off. Crinte crouched low as the lizard moved forward in a surprisingly speedy fashion, shooting past Gaslinks who were thrown off guard for a brief moment before they ran towards him. Crinte raised his sword and roared as the lizard stopped short and threw him into the midst of the battle. Weariness left him as he slashed and kicked and slew and roared. He was, again, Crinte the Warrior, no longer Crinte the Wise, and he felt the confinements strip away as he let loose his anger at the unfairness of the World.

  Starman ran ahead of Marklus, determined to catch up with Legone and Alaireia, but as the creatures streamed towards him from every corner, he wondered if they would make it at all. Adjusting his grip on the silver hilt of his blade, he prepared to combat the Gaslinks eagerly racing towards him. Behind him, an arrow flew, taking out the Gaslink in front of him. Quickly, he tripped one to his left and stabbed the one to his right in the face. Their deathly eyes glittered in the sunlight and he gritted his teeth, refusing to let their heinous faces deter him. He could feel a pulse of energy each time he swung his blade and it shattered bone. This is for my family, he kept telling himself. Deep in his heart, he knew his family would no longer recognize the Trazame who swung a blade better than any known Cron.

  “Scale the rocks!” Marklus shouted to him from behind.

  Although he wasn’t as nimble or as quick as Legone and Alaireia, Starman reached a boulder and bounded his way up. The top of the next one was only a leap away, yet he hesitated with the sun in his eyes. Standing high above the world, he could see the endless swarm of Gaslinks and realized there in the desert they would make their last stand. He shook his head, sheathed his sword, and ran. His feet pounded across the rock and lifted off, airborne. With a shuddering crash, he reached the next boulder, stumbled, and rolled across it almost to the end. Catching his footing at the last minute he pulled himself up, feeling a heady rush from the experience.

  “Watch out!” Marklus’ voice rang out again as a blue tipped arrow shot past him, taking out the Gaslink climbing up the rock below.

  Starman ran forward again, but as he leaped, he saw a Gaslink waiting for him on the next rock. Midair, he drew his sword and landed, slashing out urgently, forcing the Gaslink to back away until Starman violently kicked it from the rock. It landed with a crunch on a dozen Gaslinks below. They looked up, the bright sunlight glinting off mail, and yelled, scrambling up the rock for him like beetles escaping the hot sun. Heeding Crinte’s words, he leaped forward again, only to hear a sickening crash.

  The ground shook under Marklus’ feet as he paused, trying to take down three Gaslinks who had snuck up on him. He knew he should seek higher ground but Crinte was trailing behind, and with the Gaslinks about to overtake them, he knew they needed something to happen quickly. Each arrow buried its head exactly where he imagined it would, yet it was not enough. Until he saw what caused the ground to shake. A great gray boulder, which should have been impossible to move, lay on its side covered with brown dust from the impact, the bones of a dozen Gaslinks splintered below it. Marklus could just make out Alaireia sprinting away from the boulder and running to another. She was circling back towards him and Crinte, ensuring they all escaped together. She yelled as another boulder crashed into the ground while Gaslinks shrieked and dispersed, some running away from her but others running towards her in confusion. Marklus raised his bow in the air and roared in encouragement, but it was short-lived. More of the Gaslinks made their presence known, and archers appeared again. Marklus felt an arrow graze the curls of his head. He quickly ducked to the side of a boulder, peeking out while shooting back. A moment’s lull gave him the chance to climb up the side of a rock, his fingers slipping against the stone as he attempted to haul himself up. He gained the top, out of breath and sweating. Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he noticed he was getting low. Legone was too far out of earshot to call. Measuredly, he took aim while Crinte rode a lizard towards him. Already, he knew it was too much; they had been fighting too long, yet it appeared the Gaslinks’ numbers had increased. It was then he saw the wisp of smoke in the air and dread clogged his throat. A blackness so deep his eyes sank in it appeared, and blood orange flames licked the air tauntingly. It materialized in front of Crinte, standing at least four feet taller than him. The hooded shadow pointed its pitchfork at Crinte, and the world exploded.

  35

  The Time Continuum

  Legone sat up quickly, reaching for his ribs as they cried out against his movement. Holding his side, he stretched out stiff fingers for his bow and arrows as his vision cleared. Goosebumps rose on his arms from the chill, and the pain in his stomach reminded him he was hungry. He felt for his pack, only to discover his bow and quiver of spilled arrows was all that remained. Staying low, he looked around as he pulled debris from his long hair. He sat in a brown thicket with low lying cacti pointing their thick, sharp spindles at him. They provided the perfect cover as he peered around, but there was no sign of the Gaslinks or Crinte, Marklus, Starman, and Alaireia. He rose gingerly, holding onto his ribs as he breathed deeply. Bone stabbed his soft insides, confirming that his ribs were indeed broken. He tested his weight against one foot but it did not complain. Slowly, he dragged his other foot forward, finding it stinging with pain when he stood on it. He wiggled his toes inside his boot. They felt larger than usual but no bone cracked under his weight. He would manage. He hobbled forward as stealthily as possible, keeping his ear pricked for enemies in the thicket. Yet as he moved to a clearing, he saw a sight that made him draw a sharp, painful breath.

  Coughing violently, Starman rolled over onto his back. A sticky substance trickled down his face and he brushed at it impatiently with his free hand. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into a blue sky with dark clouds threatening to hide it. Still coughing, he sat up, turning his head quickly to determine where he was. A pack full of torn bread lay at his feet, but even as he lifted it he saw everything was spoiled and moldy. His tunic clung to his sweaty back and his head came to life, roaring at him as if it were splitting in two. Starman fell flat again, and the agony subsided to a dullness pounding on his skull. He touched the substance dripping from his head and held his dirty hand in front of his eyes. Maroon blood stained his fingertips. Starman sat up again but more slowly this time, waiting for the numbing panic to take over. He was alone, in a brown field stretching onward. Beside him lay his trusty sword, and as he picked it up, he realized he knew exactly what to do. Since his head would not let him stand, yet he tucked his sword into his belt and crawled forward, towards the shade.

  An audible ripple brought him back to consciousness and Marklus lay frozen, listening for a moment. He had landed awkwardly on his quiver and his back ached as it bit into him. Yet he couldn't m
ove as he listened to the ripple. He heard the sound of iron and metal striking each other. A cold fear struck Marklus, and fighting his paralysis he forced himself to roll over and push his weight off the barren ground. Dust covered his fingers, and even as he brushed the grime off, it smudged his cheeks and turned his hair a darker color. He reached for an arrow, only to meet air. His quiver was empty. Frantically, he searched the ground, but there were none. It was as if he had been knocked clear out of memory into…he wasn’t quite sure. The sound continued to jar his eardrums. He pulled a dagger from his belt and ran forward.

  Her whole body trembled as she knelt on the ground. Her hands, holding her up, would not stay still. Her insides felt as if she had been ripped apart and put back together. There was a whooshing sound in her ears which would not cease ringing. Each breath hurt like a blade stabbing her insides. Tears blurred her vision. A pure whiteness gazed at her, the Clyear in the form of flesh and blood. It lay on the ground, its long white legs curled under its giant body. Large soft eyes looked at her and for a moment, it spread its long white wings before folding them onto its giant back. Alaireia determinedly lifted her chin and gazed at it, blinking rapidly while her vision cleared. “What,” she asked between gulps of air, “happened?” Her voice was pleading, broken, and the trembling would not stop. She remembered lifting the Clyear as the wisp of smoke began to transform. A fiery pitchfork reached out to consume her and she had shouted a command. Now, her body felt as if it would give way if she tried to use it. Her sword lay beside her, useless in the dusty brown grass. The golden line had faded, no longer glowing. The Clyear gave no indication it had heard her question. It arched its long neck and leaned its nose towards her. Its form became translucent, fading away until it was nothing more than a small crystal horse which could fit in her hand, lying on the ground in front of her. Her resolve shattered and she could hear a cold voice in her head repeating over and over. The one who wields its power must be strong and wise lest it be the destruction of us all. The one who wields its power must be strong and wise lest it be the destruction of us all. Weakened by her question, she reached out a hand to take the Clyear, but found herself folding up on the ground, sobs shaking her body despite her intentions. She had awakened a power and she did not know how to handle it.

  Crinte saw it happening in slow motion; a dark pressure rushed towards him and the world exploded, whirling him into a cyclone. He could see his warriors ahead of him, tossed screaming into the void, forward across the miles of dusty land, across the time continuum. His sword hand hung limp as he was swept along, and he felt everything being torn away. The horde of Gaslinks faded, shrieking as the pressure pushed them backwards. At one moment, it felt as if the extreme pressure would break every bone, but he could not tell if he were shouting at all from the pain. He saw the sun, orange and low in the sky, and the moon, wan and faded. A dozen rushed sunrises and sunsets blurred through his vision and he saw a tree sprout, grow, and die in a matter of seconds. A wave of wind rushed past him, sweeping his breath away and threatening to drown him. Before it disappeared, it turned, and he saw a female standing in the wind. Her eyes were green as the grass in Zikeland and her hair the color of sunlit straw. It faded into the wind and with a swirl she was gone. A moment later, a herd of white horses galloped past him, their coats so white it hurt his eyes, but he could not close them. A giant white horse led them and when he counted, he saw the herd was only six. They spread their wings and leaped into a crystal sea. A moonless night rose out of a pink sky, hard and inky black. Shadows drifted through it, unseen yet recognizable. He was turned round and round until at last the world was still, and he was dropped, unceremoniously, onto the ground before a great green forest. His body cursed him as he tried to rise, for he saw the wisp of smoke that had been with him throughout. Already, the flamed pitchfork was in front of him, and he dared not look up into the face of the Gim.

  A long, agonized cry echoed throughout the grassland. Alaireia found herself on her feet running, sword in hand. Each footfall burned as she ran, but it wasn’t weakness. She felt the invincibility potion struggling within her, the surge of raw power. It hurt as it grew, and she felt a rage as she arrived. A black, ten foot tall hooded figure stood over Crinte, who lay prone on the ground, his chest ripped open, a sea of crimson flowing endlessly. Alaireia paused mid step as if she’d been slapped in the face. “No!” The words fell from her lips in a whisper and she felt the trembling begin. “Face me!” she shouted at the monster, who turned, its wide blade dripping with blood. In one hand it held a sword; the other, a burning pitchfork. It began to walk towards Alaireia, its face hidden within the dark hood.

  Alaireia took a deep breath, her insides boiling as the thrill of power filled her. She reached for her sword, sliding it slowly out of its sheath, the golden line already glimmering as she took her stance. She lifted her blade in front of her, eyes narrowed as the creature glided towards her. The blackness of its cloak cut out the light, and every time she looked at it, the cold feeling of being lost on a bleak, dark night bit at her bones. She shuddered but refused to look at its face. It raised its sword and held the pitchfork out towards her. Alaireia sidestepped the pitchfork, pivoting herself to escape the flames and swinging towards the bloody sword. The Gim raised it to meet hers, the clash of blade resounding through the emptied pasture. Quick as a flash, the Gim moved its pitchfork towards her again and arched its blade in a beautiful curve towards her neck, causing spots of blood to splatter through the air. Alaireia threw up her sword to meet it, pushing the Gim’s blade back up, away from her neck as it struggled to hold it down, inching closer to her bare skin. With a cry of rage Alaireia finally flung the sword away but the Gim advanced on her, bringing its pitchfork. The flames shot higher in the air as Alaireia navigated away. But the Gim was relentless, driving its sword towards her side in a killing blow. Alaireia knocked it away, chopping the Gim’s cloaked hand. It moved it out of her reach and pointed the pitchfork at her as it swung towards her head. Alaireia ducked and swung her sword, slamming it into the pitchfork. Yellow sparks flew into her face as the gong of the pitchfork drove her backwards.

  Inch by inch, the Gim gained ground as they continued their duel around Crinte’s prone body. Alaireia could feel the fear impregnating the air, the force of the Gim seeking to pull her across the barrier between life and death, and as her sword blocked its again and again, she saw what it really was. A collection of spirits pulled from the edges of death, restless, trapped, tortured, yet completely mastered by the one controlling them. Alaireia struck, and struck again, each blow as ineffective as the last, a game of power against power. The Gim brandished its pitchfork at her again, throwing her off her feet, knocking her to the ground. Alaireia rolled to her side and struggled to her feet, panting.

  The Gim waited while Alaireia regained her footing. She looked up into its faceless cloak for the first time. “You will not defeat me!” she shouted at it. She stepped forward, feeling the power flow through her body. The light on her sword began to expand, leaping out at the Gim, and she let her powers funnel through it. In a cry of rage, she ran forward, feet pounding the ground, prepared for what would happen next. The Gim pointed its pitchfork at her but she batted it aside with her sword and came on. The wide sword moved down, ready to cleave her in two, but she dodged it and leapt into the air. In one last effort, she swung hard at the Gim’s cloak. There was a crack as her sword connected with the Gim’s anchor, its Boleck. Her momentum carried her sword through its swing until she found herself thrown violently into the grass. The Gim’s death cry pierced the air with a mixture of agony and relief, forcing all living things that heard it to cower. The last thing Alaireia saw before her eyes closed was the Gim fading away into nothing.

  36

  Into The Forest

  Marklus ran up with wide eyes in time to see the Gim shrinking into its Boleck with a puff of gray smoke. Alaireia lay headlong on the ground, but it was Crinte that made Marklus drop his dagger, his bow,
and throw his quiver. His chest had been torn open and a river of blood streamed out. His eyes had already glazed over, and his mouth was awry in surprise and pain. “No!” Marklus screamed as he flung himself to the ground beside him. “No, no, no, no! Crinte, stay with me, you’ve got to stay with me!” The blue light did not ignite from his fingertips quickly, and even as he touched Crinte’s cold face, he could feel his power had been zapped. He bowed his head and placed his hands on either side of Crinte’s face. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, calling his flagging powers out of the deepest places within him. He lifted up his voice and called in the old tongue of Mizine, knowing he had not recovered from the explosion, unsure whether he would be able to bring Crinte back. He could hear the vessels of Crinte’s body crying out; they still carried life and yet they needed something more. Marklus could hear his own body straining against his mind, begging for relief, a break, a rest. But Marklus did not have time to rest. He opened his eyes, desperately looking for a solution, and his gaze fell on Alaireia’s prone body.

  “Starman?” a hushed voice whispered.

  Starman turned in the shadows of the forest, his heartbeat quickening. Legone limped slowly out of the shadows, his long hair a tangled mess and his clothing covered in dust. His quiver still clung to his back but his bow hung down as if his arms were too tired to carry it. “I am glad to see you at least,” he went on. “Never thought I would hear myself say those words. Have you seen the others?”

  Starman shook his head. “No. I was hoping I might find them here. Do you know where we are?”