The Forgotten World Read online

  the BLUE FLOWER trilogy

  THE

  FORGOTTEN

  WORLD

  R. GENE CURTIS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 R. Gene Curtis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN-13: 9781730766541

  Cover Design by: Allison P Martin

  Images from AdobeStock © tr3gi, aheflin, Björn Alberts, panaramka, and aliaj

  https://rgenecurtis.com

  For Anna

  Retreat

  Shouts and the clang of metal against metal rang out over the rumble of the storm that had been brewing since supper time.

  The princess. They had come for her.

  Cylus pulled his weary body out of his chair and reached for the cane leaning against the wall. This was no time for slowness, but old age put lead in his feet and made his joints creak as he made his way to the window. With a burst of energy, Cylus threw the window open, and was greeted by the wind, blowing from the west in a terrible gale. Bits of the fall harvest rushed through his hair and pulled at his robe. Raindrops smacked his face.

  But, his eyes focused on the lights. Torches. Thousands of men had come from the outside and were standing at the castle gates. From what he could gather from the screams of the city’s dying guards riding the wind, the king was not with them.

  The small city guard didn’t stand a chance without the power of their Azurean king beside them. Where was he? Dead? Incapacitated? It didn’t matter which. The resistance would be minimal. Without the king, the invaders had a clear shot to the princess.

  It was time for the contingency plan. That last-resort, fool-hardy desperate plan, the king had entrusted him with. The plan he had promised Cylus would never have to be used.

  The promise was broken, and Cylus alone carried the key for the princess’s escape. The king had been too kind-hearted, too willing to forgive. His weakness had put his entire family in jeopardy, and he had known that. And now the king wasn’t here in the midst of a crisis. Hopefully, the princess was safe in the castle with the staff. They knew the plan, they would know Cylus was coming.

  Cylus had to get to the castle before that army.

  He forced his old body into action, moving away from the window to the door. He stopped on the threshold only a moment to gaze back at the small home where he had raised his family. With too little time for nostalgia, and no time to wonder about his grown children, Cylus grabbed the hourglass from its hiding place and stepped out his door for the last time.

  Shouts from the battle at the gate filled the wind. The cries of pain and fear pushed Cylus faster as he trudged through the mud to the tree that held the secret passageway to the castle.

  The passageway inside the tree had been Dee’s passageway, though tonight would be the first time Cylus would use it. He had discovered it only by accident last year, long after the affair was over. But if the army was any indication, the affair wasn’t over, at least not its consequences. Cylus could not let his conscious rest, not even after he had given so much of his life to atone for his mistakes. If he failed tonight, nothing else he had done would matter. All the people he had tried to protect would be dead.

  Cylus reached for the tree as his boots slid in the slick mud and his old body tumbled to the ground. His shoulder slammed against a protruding root, forcing his arm out of its socket. He gasped with the force of the pain.

  Then a crash sounded and the shouts at the gate stopped.

  The army was in the city. And Cylus was on his back, lying injured in the mud.

  Swearing under his breath, Cylus hooked his remaining good arm around the tree and pulled himself up, his clothes heavy and wet. His hand hit the knot on the trunk. Upon contact, blue light flashed out from inside the bark, and the trunk split open. Cylus stepped out of the rain into the dimly-lit passageway that led to the castle.

  He hurried forward as fast as his old body would move. The passageway wasn’t nearly as long as the actual distance that separated his house from the castle. By using Dee’s tunnel, Cylus had a chance to beat the army to the princess. Still, the minutes dragged as he pushed his body through the dimly lit corridor.

  The crisis had come on so suddenly. Only two days ago, the king had shut the castle gates and announced a terrible sickness in the royal family. Even so, everyone had expected a quick and full recovery. No one expected anything less from an Azurean.

  But that was the last anyone had heard from the king. The dread in the pit of Cylus’s stomach wasn’t going away.

  Where was the princess?

  If only Cylus could move faster.

  Cylus walked until there was nothing in front of him but a stone wall. He slowed and looked around frantically, but could see no other way out. Frustrated, Cylus banged his hand against the wall, but his arm never hit anything solid—it went right through the wall, which wasn’t a wall after all. He stepped out of the passageway into a castle stairwell. He squinted down the stairwell, trying to make out where he was in the dim light.

  The passageway had brought him to the wrong tower. Cylus swore and stumbled down a couple stairs to the main floor. He pushed himself through an empty ballroom and shoved open heavy wooden doors to go back outside into the rain. Strong wind greeted him on the causeway separating the two castle towers. The wind pushed him back and moved his limp arm in ways it was not supposed to move. Through the rain, he could see the lights of the army in the distance. They were moving quickly through the maze of city streets. The race was on. He needed to find the staff. He needed to find the princess.

  At this rate, he wasn’t going to make it.

  The rain came down in sheets. Cylus tried to walk faster, his eyes focused on the large doors at the other end of the causeway.

  When he got to the doors, he flung his cane aside and pulled. His one good arm was no match for the heavy door. He pulled again. And again. He wondered if he would pull his other arm out and end up standing in the rain with no arms at all. But then the door started to budge. Another pull. The door opened enough for him to slip inside before the wind slammed it shut behind him, nearly knocking him over.

  His bad arm hurt so badly he could barely think. He was too old for this.

  The main entry hall was silent. Where was everyone? A lantern glowed weakly next to the doorway. Cylus grabbed the light and swung it forward. He stopped cold as the light filled the large hallway.

  Bodies. On the ground. A serving maid lay at his feet, her hair wet with vomit, her lips blue. Just beyond her were two guards, slumped over, also covered in vomit.

  The room reeked.

  Poisoned. All of them. The castle staff was dead.

  Cylus swung the lantern around again and again, but the royal family was not among the dead. Was there a poison that could kill an Azurean? Before tonight, Cylus wouldn’t have believed it, but he wasn’t so sure now that he was looking at all of the staff lying dead on the ground. The king had been missing for so long already.

  Cylus started to run, faster than he thought possible. There wasn’t time to mourn the dead or worry about slipping on the vomit-covered floor. He stepped over bodies and climbed the stairs, ignoring the corpses that littered the stairw
ell.

  A crash sounded downstairs as Cylus reached the top step. He jumped into the king’s bedchamber and slammed the door shut. His breath was rapid and heavy and the pain from his shoulder was taking over his consciousness. The quick ascent up the stairs had pulled muscles he hadn’t used in decades. But he had to keep moving. In a few minutes this would all end, whether he found them here or not.

  The room was as quiet as a tomb; nothing moved except Cylus as he crept forward, dreading what waited for him at the king’s bedside. The light moved with him, each step bringing the edge of the light a few feet closer to the dark forms across the room.

  Cylus stood at the bedside. Light illuminated the still forms of the people he loved so much. The queen lay curled around a bundle, and the king’s hand rested across her bosom, his body kneeling on the floor, his head slumped on the bed. Neither body moved. Cylus reached out tentatively. The king’s hand was cold, icy in the still room.

  He hadn’t saved the king. After all he had done. The king was dead. Tears ran down Cylus’s worn face. And the baby? Was all lost?

  A faint, muffled cry made its way through the thick blanket.

  The cry of hope momentarily disbanded his despair and filled Cylus with determination. The lantern dropped, and the flames engulfed the bedsheets. Cylus reached into his robe with his good hand and pulled out the small hourglass. It would save the baby. He would go with her. They would be safe. Everything was not lost. Not yet.

  Shouts echoed in the stairwell breaking the silence. Cylus pulled the princess from her mother’s cold bosom. The baby wailed as he pulled her close to him, balancing her against his bad arm.

  Hand shaking, he hit the hourglass on the side of the bed. It didn’t break.

  The first soldier banged on the door. Cylus lifted his hand again and struck with everything he had left. The glass shattered, and Cylus winced as splintered glass sunk into the flesh of his palm. Blue sand poured over the princess and his lap.

  The door crashed open, and an arrow flew through the air. Cylus heard the crying stop, he felt the arrow hit his chest, and he fell to the floor with a thud. He gasped as the soldiers pulled his dying body off the floor, but his hands were empty. The Azurean princess was gone.

  1 Raining

  Lydia

  Bright lights in my eyes. Rain on my face and running down my arms.

  Screams and chants from the crowd fill the damp air. I dig my cleats into the ground and account for the opposing players around me.

  My clothes are soaked through from the drizzle, sweat, and mud, and smell even worse than they look. I suppress a shiver and put my hands on my knees, squinting through the lights to watch my teammates on the other side of the field. Maria fakes around a defender and dribbles toward the goal, but she opts out of a shot and passes back to Rachel.

  I swallow hard and look at the stands for the hundredth time. Coach Fant is still sitting there, even in the last minutes of this game, watching my every move. I’ve done well tonight, but she has a reputation of being critical and playing favorites. I’m from the wrong school to be one of the favorites, too many kids at Newport High are from wealthy families, which automatically makes me spoiled and lazy.

  “Your lead won’t last much longer, Thala.” Joana Hart from the other team, Issaquah, jogs up to join me.

  I wish she would leave me alone. I wish I would never see her again after tonight, but I don’t have that kind of luck. Joana is the only other girl on the field that will be playing for U-dub next fall, and from what I’ve heard, Joana is one of the coach’s favorites.

  “My name is Lydia,” I say, and I take a step back. Five more minutes in this game, and with Coach Fant’s eyes on us, there’s no room for error. And, we’re only up by 1.

  Joana laughs. “That’s a human name. You looked more Neanderthal than a human. Neander-Thala. Are you sure the University of Washington is really going to let a Neanderthal play for them next fall?”

  I take another step back; the action is moving toward our side of the field.

  “Where are your parents, Thala?” Joana has her back to the ball. I can’t see around her.

  “Not here.” My eyes follow Joana’s gaze toward the stands. To Mom’s empty seat. It’s been empty for four years now. She would have loved to see me play in the championship game. The last time Newport soccer won the district championship was when she was in school.

  Joana cuts and her body flies past me, pony tail extended. I spin and run after her, but the ball flies over our heads and lands right in front of her. She angles off to the side and shoots, and we’ve lost our lead. The game is tied at 1.

  Joana runs around the field, hugging her teammates and laughing.

  I kick at the dirt and try to ignore my teammates. Up in the stands, Coach Fant scribbles in her notebook. Will she cut me before camp? With so little time left in the game, how did I let myself get distracted?

  “Don’t sweat it,” Shelly calls from her midfielder position. “There’s still a lot of time.”

  I try to return her smile. The team is counting on me to keep my head in the game.

  Coach calls us over and outlines the next play. Issaquah is just as tired as we are. We can get another goal. We can still win this game.

  We put the ball into play, but the play fails and results in a goal kick. Still 1-1. Two and a half more minutes.

  The Issaquah goalie kicks the ball to one of her midfielders. She gets the pass and jukes around Shelly. As she moves downfield, I follow Joana, who takes off running laterally toward the sidelines. The midfielder forces the ball downfield to her, but I’m ready. I break in front and send the ball upfield. Maria jukes around her defender and puts us up 2-1. 110 seconds left. We’re up 2-1 with less than two minutes left.

  I breath a huge sigh of relief. “Great job ladies!” I shout.

  “So, Thala. Why is your nose so flat? I’ve never seen one like it. Is it like your Mom’s?”

  Will she just shut her mouth and play the last two minutes? Ugh.

  “And your hair is so curly. Doesn’t your dad have straight hair?”

  I’m ignoring her. Just a few more seconds and I won’t have to see her again until fall camp.

  “Maybe you’re an alien, and not a time-traveled Neanderthal after all. What do you think, Thala?”

  Watch her hips. She can’t fake past me if I’m watching her hips. Don’t look at the clock. The seconds will tick off whether I’m watching them or not.

  Sweat mixes with rain and stings my eyes, but I keep them open and focused on Joana. My legs ache from exertion, and my pulse pounds in my ears. Despite what Joana says, Mom would be proud if she was here. She never missed a game. Soccer was her life. Our life.

  Joana’s hips move, and I jump into action.

  The crowd roars and the ball sails towards us. Only me and the goalie stand between Joana and our goal. I stay stride for stride with Joana as the ball comes in gently. She takes control and sprints, trying to outrun me.

  Not this time. My cleats dig into the soft, wet turf as I run stride for stride between her and the goal.

  Joana slows as the space between us and the goal disappears. Her ponytail flips back and forth as she jukes, rain drops fly out of her hair and glitter in the light. Time to end this before she gets past me.

  I jump into a slide. Water sprays off my cleats and bare legs as my body flies across the turf. My foot hits the ball with a thud, and it rockets off the field. Joana leaps over me and trips on her own feet, falling face first into the mud.

  There can’t be more than 30 seconds of the game left now.

  My teammates scream, and I let myself smile, too. I hope Coach Fant saw that one.

  I push my hands into the muddy grass and stand, wiping the mud on my already soiled shorts. These shorts started the game colored yellow, and they even were comfortable, too. I offer Joana a muddy hand.

  She glares at me and puts her own hands into the mud. “I don’t think so, Thala. What if I touch your
hand and end up looking like you?”

  “It’s Lydia,” I say softly as she runs away to get the ball back into play. Seconds later, the whistles blow and the game is over.

  District champs.

  My teammates race to midfield in a screaming, hugging mass.

  I smile and walk slowly until I’m a few yards away from the team. I stand awkwardly on the outside, where I usually am. On the outside, waiting for Mom to come out of the stands and find me.

  But this time, Maria leaves the pack and throws her arms around me. My body stiffens, but I try to smile as she jumps and screams.

  “We’re district champs!” she yells. Her blonde hair is matted against her face and her uniform is as dirty as mine. “I can’t believe you stopped Joana!”

  I’m not sure if I should hug her back, so I stand stupidly with my hands hanging by my sides.

  “This is great,” I finally think to say. Maria laughs and runs back to the rest of the team. I play with these girls, but I’m not one of them. Like Joana said, it’s like I’m on the team, but not really on the team. Like I’m an outsider.

  Like I’m Neanderthal?

  The rain slows to a drizzle, and I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the moment. I’m a champion. No one else hugs me or yells at me. That’s okay. I’m not sure what I would do if they did. I belong with them on the field, but when the game ends, we all go home.

  Each girl meets her family and leaves. Eventually I stand alone, in the rain.

  The stands are empty except for the people cleaning up. It’s quiet except for the sound of rain hitting the benches. And there’s Joana at the side of the field, talking to Coach Fant. I walk to the stands and climb up to Mom’s empty seat. I don’t sit in it, but I stand there, stare, and remember. The rain stops, and a gust of wind sends shivers up and down my wet body.

  If Mom were still alive, she would have been here. Her face would have been painted red and gold. She would have cheered louder than anyone. She would have come down to celebrate with the team.