The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  She was flying; great wings the length of a towering tree stretched around her. Below her was a sea; its waves throwing themselves against cliffs like battering rams. She wheeled and turned, feeling the wind caress her back. She took a deep breath and felt the tickle of fire before it exploded from her mouth, painting a picture in the sky and burning away the wisps of clouds that dared cross her path. Ahead rose a black and grey forest, and just over a crest, lay her deepest desire.

  The scene blasted through her thoughts, so fast and instantaneous she missed it. All she recalled from the nanoseconds of that moment was a brief flash of euphoria.

  “Phyllis?” Cuthan’s voice called, just when she thought he hadn’t been paying attention. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine!” Phyllis choked out. She didn’t know why she did it, but she felt an overwhelming urge to keep the rock. She picked it up, dropping it into the folds of her cloak; it gave off a pleasant hum as she touched its warmth.

  The next second, Cuthan’s hand was on her arm, helping her to her feet. “Did you find something?” He glanced from her face to the ground, an eyebrow quirked.

  “No.” Phyllis blurted out, not sure why she lied. “I just tripped. I’m fine.” Yet her fingers stroked the stone, and she smiled as it hummed to her.

  29

  Bad Luck

  Phyllis woke with a start. Something was wrong. Her head throbbed like it was being stabbed with the sharp end of a stick. Vivid pictures twirled through her spent mind. She had dreamed of fire that came from the sky. Not on the feathers of pointed arrows, but from creatures that flew in the night, their great wings shutting out the stars and their ragged voices, hoarse and low, calling to one another in their own powerful language. Phyllis threw her head back, her eyes rolling back and forth as she searched the sky, but it was empty. The starlight shone wan above the sleeping travelers, shedding a thin luster that let her see mist and shadows. A black winged-beast fluttered across the sky, and she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth before she recognized it was only a bat. It gave a high-pitched whine as it continued out of sight, hunting the invisible creatures of the night.

  Sighing with relief, although still shaking because of the cold and the traces of the dream, Phyllis leaned over to check on Ilieus. As she touched her shoulder, Ilieus fell over on her back, frozen. One hand was lifted up as if plucking an apple from a tree. Her cloak had fallen away, and the fingers lay curled, exposed to the cold. Ilieus’s face was a mask of petrified surprise; her eyes were round and unseeing, and her mouth was slack and drooling. “Ilieus!” Phyllis moaned, recoiling as her skin came into contact with her sister’s; it felt as if she touched ice. Holding her breath, she bent her head to Ilieus’s chest. It was there; the soft thump that told her Ilieus would still be fine.

  “Ilieus,” Phyllis whimpered, cradling her sister’s head in her lap.

  A chill wind blew in the darkness, and a flock of bats flew overhead, shrieking out their eerie song. Phyllis gave a start when she heard the thin, reedy voice of a flute playing again— a slow, long tune that sounded as if it exuded from her very heart.

  “Are you okay?” The sudden voice spoke from the darkness as if it had been there all along.

  Phyllis squeaked in surprised, but it was only Cuthan, gliding out of the blackness. He came to squat in front of her, reaching out a hand to touch Ilieus’s frozen, uplifted one.

  “Don’t,” Phyllis snapped, slapping Cuthan’s hand away. “She had another episode.”

  “Is she…” Cuthan’s voice broke, and he straightened up. “Is she always like this?”

  “Yes.” Phyllis wiped scattered tears from her face before the wind froze them there. “You see why we need help!” She cradled her sister closer, sheltering her from dark dreams.

  “I do.” Cuthan paused as Khalil walked into view, leading one of the horses.

  “Time to go,” Khalil announced.

  “Now?” Phyllis raised her eyebrows, shaking her head as her dark hair tumbled into her face. “It’s the middle of the night, and Ilieus had an episode. She can’t travel like this!”

  “There is something out there.” Khalil’s voice was low and wary.

  Cuthan stretched. “We can stay here, hidden and quiet; they won’t find us,” he offered.

  Khalil shifted from one foot to the other. “It is better to outride them. If we let them pass, we may overtake them during the day.”

  “What about Ilieus?” Phyllis protested.

  “Lilhak will take care of her.” Khalil gestured into the darkness.

  “I’m not leaving her.” Phyllis wrapped both hands around Ilieus’s prone body.

  “I did not suggest that,” Khalil said.

  Ilieus’s body gave a sudden jolt, and she came to life, gasping for air like one pulled out of the drowning waters of death. Her eyes were shut tight; her breath was ragged and hissing. Her arms flailed about her body, pushing Phyllis away as she sat up, opened her eyes, and began to scream in terror. Her shrill voice ripped through the air, shattering their hidden cover of darkness. It echoed in the distance, alerting nearby lurkers of their position.

  Lilhak ran up to them, dragging the other two horses behind him as Ilieus’s screams died away. “We have to go!” He waved his arms as he reached for Ilieus.

  She gazed up at him as if she didn’t know him. “Help,” she whispered, her voice strained from the scream.

  In one fluid movement, he lifted her onto his horse, swung up behind her, and galloped off into the darkness.

  “It is time. Go,” Khalil commanded Cuthan, holding out a hand to Phyllis.

  “Wait!” Phyllis cried, half rising.

  An arrow shattered the grove, sinking into the tree behind Phyllis’s head. Khalil’s horse whinnied and reared in surprise, and Cuthan threw himself to the ground, avoiding two more arrows that flew through the air. Phyllis froze in shock and horror as Khalil drew her curved blade, throwing herself behind a tree to avoid the arrows. Cuthan slithered on his belly toward the horses as another arrow slammed into a tree branch, raining dried, dead leaves down on their heads.

  Phyllis could feel the rock she’d picked up earlier humming in concern. She had to move, her life depended on it. Unsure where the will came from, she rose and ran toward the tree Khalil was behind and the panicked horses. As she reached for Khalil’s outstretched hand, the pounding of horse hooves exploded behind her, and she felt herself pushed away. The words “Run!” were shouted at her, and the jarring ring of metal and iron striking was the last thing she heard as her feet took flight.

  30

  Guilt

  Cuthan lay low over the horse, digging his heels into its sides as he twined his fingers through the ribboned mane. He tore across the countryside, bushes and forest on one side, as he ducked in and out of open lands and back into the safe cover of the forest. He couldn’t tell if they were still chasing him, or, when they saw he clearly was a Cron, they had given up. Curses. This is what he got for traveling with the Blended Ones, hunted down as if he were one of them. He tried not to let the guilt change his course of action; after all, the Dezzi queen was right not to trust him of all people. Sometimes he was Cuthan the Charmer; most of the time he was Cuthan the Adventurer, but right now, he was Cuthan the Spy.

  Part one of his plan was already in motion; his next goal was to overtake Lilhak and Ilieus, and, due to his kind attentions, she would trust him. Part of him was tempted to return for Phyllis; she’d done nothing to deserve this treatment, nothing but be his best friend from childhood. He snorted, repressing those fond memories. He had a much bigger purpose that his Father had made clear when he told Cuthan of their family history. They were the Jeweled Ones, Treasure Hunters, and he had a map to help them find legendary treasure from tales of old. Since the first mission had failed, Cuthan had moved on to the second one, guided by the knowledge that the Dezzi were sending a message to Wind Fresh. A message that would unlock the key to finding the next treasure; only Cuthan had been surprised
to discover the message was locked inside of Ilieus’s dreams.

  From there, it was simple to guess what the Dezzi would do next. They would send the twins to Wind Fresh, making it clear they intended to use Phyllis as a decoy along the way, leaving her to the Riders if they attacked. Poor Phyllis, little did she know that she had walked into a trap. He’d done his best to warn her. She was too innocent and naive to be out in the wild lands. He hoped she would be resourceful because he doubted she would have understood had he explained his role in the deception. She would never forgive him.

  His mount moved out of a hedge of trees, and he saw them in the distant darkness, Ilieus and her Dezzi guard, thundering toward the sea. She wasn’t aware that she wasn’t free. No one was genuinely interested in helping each other in the Eastern World. It was all a game. Who had the most to gain? Who was the cleverest at ousting their enemies? His fingers brushed his sword hilt; the answer was the only reason he was still alive.

  31

  The Riders of Phillondorn

  Phyllis ran without giving thought to her destination. Brambles and trails of ivy sought to entrap her fleet feet as she fled. There was only a scant covering of trees. Dawn was coming when she paused, hiccuping and almost sobbing as she bent over, attempting to catch her breath. Great birds flew through the air above her—crying, warning, and shrieking—but she didn’t know where she was or where her companions were. The arrows of the night seemed to have disappeared, and she lifted a hand to steady herself against the thick trunk of a dead tree. Its leaves were gone, and it held out drooping branches, as frozen in place as Ilieus had been a few hours prior. The morning mist hovered just above her head, watching her like an overcautious mother hen guarding its chicks. For some reason, she could still hear the flute, much farther away and muted as if it were being played underground. She spun around, searching for a sign to tell her which way to go.

  What had she been thinking, running off like that? They were all lost now except for, perhaps, Ilieus. Phyllis took a deep breath to calm the rising panic; how Ilieus would worry when she discovered Phyllis wasn’t there. To avoid the upsetting thoughts, Phyllis turned to look west, still holding onto the tree like a crutch. That’s when she saw him.

  He stood a few paces away, close enough to overtake her if she ran, but too far to swipe at her with his weapon. Phyllis noticed, with relief, that he did not have a bow and arrow. His left hand held a long sword, pointed to the ground, a sign that he meant no harm, while his right was held out, his flat palm facing her in warning. He stood a full head and shoulders taller than her, and she couldn’t help but notice the broadness of his chest. Her gaze traveled from his brown tunic and jerkin to the black belt around his waist, which held the sheath for his sword. His feet were shod with black boots, and his fur billowed out behind him. Even in the dim light, she could tell his clothes were old and ill-fitting; his fur appearing to be the nicest item he had. His face was beardless and surprisingly young; Phyllis figured he could not be much older than herself. Chestnut hair hung in waves, dancing across his high forehead, but it was his eyes, the color of dark honey, that made Phyllis find it hard to breathe. They were kind and honest while he continued to stand with his hand out as if trying not to frighten a deer.

  “Do you hear it?” His voice was deep, and his accent was thick.

  “Hear what?” Phyllis’s voice caught in her throat, taken aback by the question. Having a conversation with a strange male in the wood near dawn was the very last scenario she’d ever expected to find herself in. Her gaze drifted from his eyes to his naked blade and back again.

  “The flute.” His eyes never left her face. “In the distance, can you hear it?”

  Phyllis’s nostrils flared in surprise. “You hear it? I thought I was the only one who did.”

  “Nay, ‘tis the death song; it plays for those who have had someone close to them die.”

  Phyllis took a step backward, scanning the woods for an escape.

  “I’m sorry.” He examined her, considering. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Look.” He lifted his sword and slid it into his scabbard. “I don’t know you. You could be a spy, an innocent, or one of the blended. Whoever you are, I don’t want to know.” He took a slow step forward. “Now.” He lowered his hand. “I don’t mean you harm, but at times like these, I can’t know who you are. So don’t tell me; just let me know how I can help you.”

  Phyllis took another step backward, grasping at a tree branch as if it would protect her. The golden eyes followed her; they were dark and intense. “You can’t help me,” she whispered.

  He laughed gruffly as he swept locks of hair out of his eyes. “‘Tis good you say that; it means you don’t know who I am.” He took a step closer.

  “Who are you?” Her eyes scanned him from head to toe and came to rest on his intense eyes. She forgot to step backward.

  “I can’t tell you.” A small smile played around his lips for a second. “Remember, I can’t know about you, and you can’t know about me.”

  “I see.” Phyllis nodded; a wave of tiredness threatened to overwhelm her. “In case we are…enemies?”

  “That’s right.” He took another step toward her.

  “Not even a name?” Phyllis asked. He was tall and rugged. Why was her heart beating so fast?

  “Especially not a name.” He did smile then; a smile that stayed on his lips but did not reach his eyes. Now he was just a step away, his warm aura enveloping the air. “You are in the wild lands of Phillondorn; it’s not safe here, especially alone. My horse is nearby. Where do you need to go?”

  He smelled like the wild lands, of mist and fog with hints of herbs. If she moved, if she took one step, she would be in his arms.

  “Where do you need to go?” He asked again, reaching out a hand before changing his mind and dropping it.

  “The sea.” Phyllis heard her voice, although she wasn’t sure how her tongue was moving. “I need to get to the Westiles Sea.”

  “Good.” He did not move, just studied her, considering. “It’s a day’s ride or so.” He walked away from her, scouting the area, a cautious hand dropping to his sword hilt. “We should go before the light reveals all.” He moved back, nearer to her, and cocked his head to the side. “Who are you?” he whispered, causing locks of his uncut hair to fall across his forehead. “Don’t answer that.” He reached out a hand, spreading his long fingers toward her. She could see the lines on his palms and the tips of his calloused fingers.

  Phyllis hesitated as worries for Ilieus, Cuthan, Khalil, and Lilhak jostled through her mind. Where were they now? Were they okay? Would they make it? Should she stay where she was or continue the journey with this handsome stranger? There was no guarantee they would meet again at the end, but the goal was always to get to Wind Fresh. She looked down, twisting her fingers as she struggled with indecision, wondering why she wasn’t more afraid. When she looked up, the golden eyes were waiting.

  “Okay,” she said, putting her hand in his.

  He held tight and pulled her through the trees out into the open. Letting go of her hand, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. It was only mere seconds when, out of the fog, a pure white horse leaped. Its white mane fluttered as it obediently trotted up to the male who held out of his hand, whispering under his breath. There were no reins on the horse nor a saddle; it seemed as if it had been dreamed up out of the mist.

  “You ride?” The male glanced back at Phyllis as he stroked the horse’s nose.

  She nodded, enchanted. “A little.”

  “Good.” He twined his long fingers through the horse’s mane and swung up on its bare back. Reaching down, he grasped Phyllis’s arm and pulled her up in front of him. Wrapping his arms around her, he clucked to the horse. “Hold tight,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ears. The horse leaped into a gallop. “We are going to join my tribe,” the male warned her.

  Phyllis, watching the landscape flash by, considered whether she had made the
right choice. They rode with the sunrise at their back, sending streaks of light to burn off the mist and displaying the endless horizon of the wild lands. Phyllis had never seen a sky quite so big and wide; it was as if they were traveling to world’s end. She hoped against hope that Cuthan and Ilieus would be at the Sea, waiting for her. Just when she was beginning to relax in the arms of the nameless male, she saw the riders of his tribe.

  They lifted their hands when they saw them, fists pumping the air. The male let go of the horse’s mane to signal back to them. There were hundreds of them, armed to the teeth with sword, knives, bows, and arrows. Phyllis’s heart sank in dread as she saw what they were wearing. Dark green. Midnight black. And most of them wore floppy hats on their heads.

  32

  The Edge of the World

  Firelight danced across her face, and Phyllis threw her head back, watching the starry sky twinkle into view. It may have been the trick of the eye, but she thought she saw a circle of stars spin and twist, like the snorting Crons, as they wheeled around the fire. A fiddle played a longing tune, thrust into the silence, heedless of the desire of some for rest and sleep. She caught sight of the shadow behind her and instantly knew it was him. Jerking her head back down, she shifted on the flattened grass underneath her. Already her cheeks were warming and glowing, even though she wasn’t sure he sought at her at all. She took another sip of the strange liquid they had given her; it burned her throat and warmed her belly. Her fingertips were cold; the tops of them numbing as the nightfall chill seeped its way through every bone.

  The shadow drew nearer, and the rider who had borne her there came into view. She felt the warmth of a blanket settle around her shoulders, and suddenly he was squatting in front of her, reaching out his long, limber fingers to cup her hands. “Stay warm tonight, eh,” he said in his thick accent. The way he drew his vowels was long and deep as if he paused to think about each word he said. The firelight highlighted the honey in his golden eyes, deep-set in his strong face. His brows were bushy yet his face was still clean-shaven, despite his disheveled hair. His gaze met hers, and something flickered behind those unreadable eyes.