Marklus the Healer left the Zikes at the Great Water Hole, leaving them in charge of ensuring no one dared live there again. He traveled with Crinte the Wise to Spherical Land, restoring the Mermis to their immortality once again. Finally, he returned to Zikeland and took up his rule as the first Watcher, a Dunithair, ensuring the land was peaceful and blossomed once again. It was not long after the wind returned, and he asked of her what had happened to his brother.
Alaireia the Ezinck and Starman the Trazame spent most of their days between the fruitful land of Trazamy City and repairing the forests of the Ezinck. In a way, on perspective, he found his family again, for sometimes it is those who pull the best out of you who truly can stay with you throughout life. He and Alaireia shared the life anyone would dream of, a life full of love and passion and adventure.
No one in the Western World ever saw Legone the Swift again, but months later, the Clyear of Power washed his immortal body onto the shores of the South World. He woke again in the arms of his beloved, reunited with the Green People at last.
As for the spirit of Sarhorr the Changer? Now that is a tale for another World.
The Blended Ones
The Four Worlds Series Book 2
Dear Readers,
If you are hoping for a realistic fantasy, this is not it. These words you’ll find swimming through your dreams are unrealistic and full of flights of imagination. If reality is what you seek, turn back before it is too late.
“The eyes of the jeweled ones will see it first,
Hidden in the boughs in the forests of the north
Among the evergreen where the midlands dance.
Beware the blended, exiled ones.
Past the death the Marshswamps brings,
Hidden in rock the sunlight dares not part,
Beyond the green havens of the creatures of the wood,
Neither friend nor foe guards the keep,
A horse of silver and winged with power,
Keeping watch over the end of days.
There you seek, and you shall find
All you dream and fear and more.
The death and life of all awaits.
Seek, and ye shall find.
Find, and ye shall perish.
Perish, and ye shall live.”
The Order of the Wise
Prologue
“No one can know the things he knows.” The Mermi King twirled his golden scepter in his left hand as he perched on the edge of his throne. Snatching his dark eyes away from the globe undulating on the top of his scepter, he sighed as he turned weary eyes to his granddaughter. “Take him to a world where they will never believe him, even if he talks.”
His barefoot granddaughter paced back and forth on the weightless surface below the King’s throne. “You are asking us, the Blended Ones, to leave?” Her shoulder-length hair swished as she tilted her dark head and quirked a puzzled eyebrow, unafraid to test the King’s authority. Her petite frame was just over five feet tall. She’d inherited her mother’s midnight blue hair and her father’s aura of authority and overwhelming desire for adventure. “You are asking us to go into exile?” Her voice faltered as she clenched and unclenched her fists, inadvertently brushing them against the silver feathers of her short tunic, created of feathers and mist. She paused to lift her eyes to the King’s, blinking her thick, black lashes.
“I ask nothing of you that your heart does not already desire.” King Vincsir’s smooth voice reminded her of the lapping of waves after a violent storm. Leaning his scepter against his throne, he rose to his full height of six feet, his deep purple robe sweeping the dais. He wore a golden circlet on his head while his deep black hair hung to his shoulders. His build was just as slim and lithe as his granddaughter’s, but his features were harder. His face was ageless although his sharp, keen eyes looked tired. Underneath his purple robe, he wore a white tunic, allowing the delicate wings on his ankles to flutter back and forth as he floated off his dais.
His granddaughter paused as he stood in front of her, reaching out his long, smooth fingers to take her hands in his. “Indonesia.” His words floated to her ears and danced around her head for mere seconds before they sunk into her mind, their meanings hazy like the morning fog. Further distracting her, he rubbed his thumbs across her palm as he spoke, his voice rising and falling like a lullaby sung to a calm a fledging hatchling. “You and I both know you don’t belong here. I’ve seen the shadows behind your eyes and the questions you’ve bitten back. You desire to leave and find your own place to belong, but you’re afraid to ask. It makes sense; you were born here, and none of us were born here. We come from air and mist, at least until the curse. Our race is stagnant and will be until we find a way to procreate. But time is on our side as, although your father is a mortal, you are immortal. Our race must survive, and we must spread the blended across the Four Worlds. I know you desire to find your place and discover where you belong, so I’m releasing you. Since you cannot fly, take the Silver Herd and discover what lies beyond the Western World beyond Oceantic. All I ask is that you do me a favor and take Tharmaren the Wise to his exile to the Eastern World.”
The silence after the hypnotic song jolted Indonesia out of her stupor. A sudden tingling behind her eyes forced her to blink away moisture, as if she’d just emerged from the land of sleep. She pinched her brows together as the rhythm of his words swarmed through her mind, yet clarity of meaning seemed lost and forgotten. He dropped her hands and stepped away a pace, his eyes narrowing as he watched her struggle to recall his words. He nodded as her face changed and the words he wished for her to remember marked themselves in her memory.
Indonesia smiled; her white teeth gleaming sharp and pointed as her mind latched onto the thoughts he’d implanted. Her heart began to race in anticipation. “I can leave? And take the Silver Herd?”
“Yes.” The King’s lips lifted, effectively removing the hostile demeanor from his stoic appearance. “Yes, Indonesia, and take the Blended Ones, your cousins, at least those who are willing. Fly to the ends of the World, find adventure, and find out where you belong.” He stepped closer to her again, the smile fading from his face just as quickly as it had appeared.
Indonesia’s brow furrowed, and the grin slid off of her face. “What is it?” A twinge of anxiety forced her voice to bite the air much harder than she intended.
The King placed his hands on her shoulders, his height forcing her to look directly up at his sharp, golden eyes. “Your father is the last of the Order of the Wise, but he is not the One. Look for him.”
“The One?” Indonesia swallowed hard, the hairs on her neck standing up as she moved her head to avoid her grandfather’s hooded gaze. “I’m not sure why…” She attempted to pull away. “What do you mean? Isn’t the world safe after all my father and his warriors did?”
“For now.” The King’s voice sank to a confidential whisper. “But I fear…” He trailed off, dropping his hands from her shoulders and turning away hastily in an attempt to hide his true thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Indonesia repeated the question, but her voice trembled with hints of fear.
King Vincsir turned back to her, flashes of regret hiding from her questioning gaze. “It is not to frighten you,” he assured her gently. “You will see much in your life, but remember my words. And watch out for the Green People; they are up to something.”
1
An Unusual Death
The amulet that hung above the curved arches of the doorframe was broken. It had fallen into the dusty footpath, its once sharp four points splintered into fragments. Her thumping feet brushed past the shards, scattering them even further into the muck, but she was running too fast to notice. Flinging herself against the cracked door, she burst into the hut and tore through the open living space. The edge of her blurred vision grasped and discarded the disarray of the room, devoid of life. It was only when she reached the second door in the hut that she paused, chest heaving and eyes streaming. Impatiently
she swatted at the tears, a hint of anger radiating from her jerking movement. Her fingers shook as she reached for the curved handle while her thumb pressed down on the brass latch. Hesitantly she added her other hand, swallowing hard at the scene on the other side of the door she longed to escape from. It was as if a nightmare were seeping into her life, the lines between dream and reality conjoining into the most unfortunate event she ever could have imagined in her fifteen years. This all could have been avoided had they listened and heeded the warning.
“Phyllis? Is that you?” a muffled voice called from the other side. It sounded strained, as if it had come to the same realization Phyllis had.
“Yes.” Clearing her throat, she pushed open the door, raising her head to the dreaded sight. If this were the end, she had to be strong.
Mother lay in the bed, her face white and drawn with pain. Her light hair was damp and hung in limp strings around her shoulders. At the sound of the door shutting, she turned, the fingers of one hand twitching as she reached for Phyllis.
In a low chair sat Phyllis’ twin sister, Ilieus. Her dirty blond hair was braided tightly around her head like a crown. Her pale face and glassy, wide eyes made her look like a frightened rabbit that was startled out of sleep by a wicked fox eating her children. Ilieus held Mother’s other hand with both of her own, hunched over so her hands were close to her heart, as if it could keep Mother in the land of the living.
“Phyllis.” Mother’s voice was a kind whisper, a statement of assurance. Yet it still frightened Phyllis. Even through her tears, she was sure she could see the white strands of her mother’s soul leaking out of her mouth.
“I’m here,” she whispered, tip-toeing across the reed woven floor. It sprung back up at her feet with each step, and she felt fear constricting her heart. It was more than unfair; it could not be possible. She’d heard of mothers in her village that had died young from childbearing, long illness, or some odd disease. But no one in her household had passed from the land of the living into the shadows, and she’d never anticipated having to go on without Mother. Dreams were only supposed to be dreams; even in tales of old, none had warned about the reality of dreams.
Mother’s fingers twitched again, reaching for Phyllis but impossible to move closer. Phyllis imagined she was reaching with her heart and it bled dry from the strain of movement. Dropping to her knees beside the bed, Phyllis took Mother’s free hand and held it to her lips, kissing it with reverent love before resting it against her cheek. Phyllis’ unruly, wavy hair cascaded around the intertwining of their fingers, bringing the scent of green meadows, muddy ponds, and fresh dirt into the room.
The window was open, and a sudden gust of wind rustled the amulets hanging in the room. There was one above the bed, dangling from the ceiling as if too much movement would send it crashing from its perch. The crude design resembled a round object surrounded by a circle; this one had been hammered out of black metal into a flat shape. Four points spread out from the center like a compass. According to Mother’s tales, each point symbolized one of the four people groups of the Four Worlds. It was a symbol Mother had grown up with, a sign of peace, an omen of conversion, and a sign of the times when all people groups lived in harmony with one another.
“I’m sorry.” Mother’s hoarse voice floated to Phyllis’ ears. “My daughters, I did not wish to leave you so soon.” She paused, her breath becoming labored. “You must know.” Her fingers attempted to tighten around their hands but failed. She turned her face to gaze at Phyllis first and then Ilieus, her breath quickening all the while. “I did not want you to bear this burden alone. Listen. You must find…” Her words trailed off as the door burst open yet again.
A tall male stood in the doorway, his frame casting a shadow across the room. A braid of dark hair snaked to his waist as he rushed in, his bearded face a storm of twisted emotions. As Phyllis turned, she saw, on her father’s face, the same agony she felt inside. In a helpless gesture, he moved towards the bed, his large hands resting for mere seconds on Phyllis’ and Ilieus’ heads as a sign of solace. Phyllis bowed her head, the presence of her father confirming the disaster; this was the end.
“Naya.” Leaning over, he gently kissed her forehead while she lifted her eyes as best she could and sought his.
“Listen to me.” In the seeming darkness of the day, her whispered voice had an aura of authority as it sank away, even as her soul leaked out and her body wasted away.
It had happened so suddenly. One day the four of them had been as any family in the Eastern World, hardworking yet full of life. Then the dream had come and Mother had taken ill. Just as the words of the sleepless had said, three days passed, and she drifted. There was nothing they could do, and yet she seemed at peace, only heartbroken she had to leave them so soon. “It is not the end of life,” she went on, the words and songs of tales of old standing as ghosts in the room. “There is more after death. That’s how you shall find me again. Remember.”
She paused, sucking in air hard as she summoned her strength. With a gasp, she turned her head, and her eyes met Ilieus’s eyes. Phyllis recoiled in horror at the last words her mother spoke.
Go see Grandmother.
The dreams are real.
The dreams are true.
Go ask Grandmother.
Grandmother.
Dreams.
Truth.
Reality.
Those words danced through Phyllis’ head like a headless chicken during the first five minutes of death. They circled with raving madness, as if by becoming more intense, they would resolve themselves into a phrase that made sense. Even as Phyllis stood in the graveyard, where the smell of freshly turned dirt and dung imbued the air, the words could not escape her. She saw them sliding off the rough-cut rock quarries and dancing above her sister’s head. Father stood alone, several paces from Phyllis and Ilieus, with his arms crossed and jaw set, a stance Phyllis knew well. Father was quiet, but when he was upset, a whirlwind storm built inside him until it exploded. Mother was often the eye of the storm, showing him the way to peace with a look or a touch.
But the one thing both Mother and Father agreed upon was Grandmother. One did not speak to Grandmother. The last time she had come to visit was ten years ago when Phyllis and Ilieus were five years old. Foolish and curious, their ears had pricked when Mother announced sternly, “Not in front of the children” and dragged Grandmother into the bedroom. Although the heavy door was shut, they still crawled to it and pressed their small ears against the wood, listening with wide, round eyes, even though they did not understand.
“Naya,” Grandmother’s voice reprimanded, “this is exactly why I told you not to marry that Tider! The blend between two people groups is too dangerous and look at what’s happening to my granddaughters.”
“Mother!” The sharp voice was a cross between a warning and a growl. “You are not welcome in my house if you continue to spew hate against my husband and my children. I told you my choice long ago, and I am tired of having the same conversation over and over again. If you have simply come to remind me of my sins, I want you to leave.”
“I came to bring healing and clarity.” Grandmother’s voice was cold, without a trace of apology. “But you won’t let me help, you want to block everything out and deny what is happening in your own household. If you ignore this, I won’t be able to help you.”
“Help?” Astonishment dripped from Mother’s voice. “You walk into my house with your veiled threats and tell me you are helping? You couldn’t be happier if I left Antharn and returned to live in your hovel of a home. My life has been better since I left you, and he’s my husband. I love him, something I suppose you could never understand since you have never loved anyone but yourself!”
Grandmother’s voice rose higher with every word. “You never should have married him; he’s not one of us, and now your daughters, my grandchildren, can never be like us. You aren’t listening; you don’t know the consequences of what you have done.”
“Let’s go play,” Ilieus whimpered, her eyes dark with fright.
Phyllis nodded, reaching for her sister’s hand. As their skin came into contact, a spark flashed between the two and a picture swept in front of Phyllis’s eyes. She saw a horned shadow in a forest blurring into the trees. Its form was turned towards a house perched on a hill, watching the figure of a female sweeping the porch. The female’s lips moved in song, and the shadow lifted its head and howled. The vision only lasted a second, but Phyllis snatched her hand away, shaking as goosebumps rose on her arm, unsure of what she had just seen. Ilieus looked at her, confused, and continued to hold out her hand. The voices behind the door grew louder, snatches of phrases leaking out.
“…Blended Ones…wrong…they will destroy…what have you done?”
“You must leave…. go and never come back…
“What have you done?”
“You are no longer welcome here.”
“What have you done?”
2
Truth
He ran in the gloom, bare feet fleeing over the ice fields. Despite the fear that drove him forward, he glanced back, his heart torn, desiring to return when he knew he should run. Any moment he expected to see a crown of leaves smash onto his head, but there was nothing but the eerie silence.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 37
