Worldshifters

By Rebecca Shelley

Hunted to the edge of chaos for crimes spawned by his untrained shifting powers, Alamon Truda hatches a desperate plan to turn the tables on his pursuers. His plan is threatened, however, when the son of the Goddess of Chaos steps into the human realm, shattering the world’s balance. Now pursued by servants of both Order and Chaos, Alamon has to fight to keep both himself and the son of Chaos alive. The hunters chase him across the continent in a desperate bid to save the unraveling world, but both hunters and hunted stumble into the clutches of an unexpected foe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Shelley
• Release date: Jun 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386324058

Rebecca Shelley

Rebecca Shelley writes a wide variety of books—everything from picture books to spy thrillers.She especially likes to write about fantasy creatures such as dragons and fairies.Her children’s books are written under the Rebecca Shelley name.Her thrillers and other books for adults are written under the R. L. Tyler pen name.She also has two books out under the R. D. Henham pen name—Red Dragon Codex and Brass Dragon Codex.

Book preview

Chapter One

Alamon Truda's sword hilt bit into his clenched hand. Sweat trickled down his neck and dropped into the dust that grimed everything in this mining town at the edge of the world.

He licked the salty moisture from his lips and glared at the jeering crowd that surrounded him in the street.

Hand it over. Give it to her! The angry miners' cries rose among the squat log cabins. The men's faces were set as hard as the stubborn rock they hammered deep underground for the hope of wealth that few obtained.

In his free hand, Alamon clutched a folded parchment, the claim to the gold mine he'd discovered in the Bitterstone Mountains that hemmed the town on three sides. He'd found the gold deposit because he believed it was there, and he'd promised himself it would be the last time he'd use his powers.

Calden, a burly miner with hunched shoulders and greed in his eyes, stepped out from the crowd. Justice, he cried, raising his fist in the air. His other hand clenched his own sword, a heavy, crude blade that, wielded with a miner's strength, could be just as deadly as Alamon's sharp steel.

This man raped my sister. I demand justice. Calden advanced another step.

His sister, Bliss, stood behind him at the edge of the bloodthirsty crowd, her stomach distended. Tears streaked her beautiful, heart-shaped face. Though Alamon had given his heart to her, the child she carried was some other man’s, her accusations a lie to gain Alamon’s gold.

Burning rage filled Alamon. Hot breath worked through his mouth. I never touched her, he said through clenched teeth.

The beam! screamed the mob. Let the beam settle this.

The beam then, Alamon said. He was no stranger to it. A warning voice in his head urged him to hand over the claim and walk away. What was gold to him without Bliss?

But he was innocent.

So many other crimes hung over him—things he had truly done—that this accusation was one injustice too far.

Alamon strode down the street to the open space at the center of the mining town. He glanced at the drink house and longed for the taste of whisky to wash the dust from his mouth and the anger from his heart. It would have to wait.

The crude beam consisted of two pine trees stripped of branches, laid horizontally twice a man's height above the ground with the tips lashed together in the middle. Sharpened wooden stakes jutted up beneath it.

Alamon shoved the claim in his pocket, worked off his deer-hide jacket, dropped it at the beam's base, and climbed the stand to the top. The bark crunched beneath his boots as he stepped onto the trunk.

From this height, Alamon could see past the general store and the palisade that surrounded the town to where the human world ended. Beyond the edge of the world lay the Ellavion, the realm of Huius, Goddess of Chaos, where a lowland forest that had been in place for nearly half-an-hour shifted into a barren steppe with brown grass, rustling in a hot wind. After a moment, a granite mountain rose out of the steppe, and black clouds pelted its face with freezing rain.

The sun continued to burn over Alamon's head. Thankfully, the human world did not shift like the Ellavion. Alamon gazed into the face of Chaos and cursed the goddess he served. He'd almost settled down—would have married Bliss if she'd waited for him.

He imagined Huius's sultry voice laughing at him in response, a musical waterfall that rushed in his ears.

If things had been different, Alamon would have been living in the east, serving Illius, the God of Order, married to a wealthy woman his father had picked for him, admired and respected by everyone. But Chaos had swept him away in a torrent of power, and now he walked the beam for the only crime he hadn't committed.

Calden heaved himself up onto the beam opposite Alamon.

Alamon stepped out to meet him with a fatal air, one foot in front of the other, each step placed carefully between the knots and cracks in the wood.

He'd killed before. Hundreds of lives snuffed out in moments—innocent victims of his uncontrolled power. If Calden knew who Alamon really was, he'd be on the fastest horse he could find, riding the other way. But Alamon didn't want to use his powers here with so many people watching.

He'd hidden his identity, changed his looks, believing he looked like a different man. And he did, now. The hordes of hunters searching for Alamon Truda would not know him unless he shifted something here with all these witnesses.

If he believed Calden could not breathe, then Calden would not breathe. If he believed Calden's heart stopped beating then it would stop. But if Calden dropped dead without apparent cause, it would be a giant bell, tolling Alamon's position to every greedy soul who wanted the reward for his capture or death.

Alamon stood at the center of the beam with one foot on the tip of each sagging tree. He swung his sword in a lazy figure eight in front of him while he waited for Calden to inch out to meet him. Better to cut Calden down with the sword, or knock him from the beam and let him impale himself on the stakes.

Bliss's white face appeared at the edge of the crowd. She wrung her hands, seeing now that Alamon was more at home on the beam than her brother. Alamon forced her tear-streaked face and red lips from his mind and focused on Calden.

Billy! Bliss called to Alamon. Billy, don't kill him. Don't hurt Calden. Please!

Billy, the name he'd given himself when he'd come to this town, when he'd still hoped he could settle here like a normal man.

Calden wobbled, easing out toward Alamon with unsteady steps, his hands stretched to the side to center himself, but the heavy sword kept him off balance. The beam swayed and dipped farther the closer Calden got to Alamon. The tall stakes stood like an army of spears waiting to impale whatever victim gravity claimed. Alamon laughed at the thought of his own body splayed out on the stakes, a sharp wooden point thrust through his heart, protruding up out of his back. Death could be that easy if he chose to embrace it. A small part of him wished for it, but the rest clung to life with desperate vitality.

Calden swung at him in a wide arc that Alamon ducked. A simple thrust with his own blade while Calden fought to regain his balance would have ended it, but a flash of blue from the crowd caught Alamon's eye.

A young boy stared up at Alamon in horror. The wispy blond hair and cream-white face seemed familiar, but Alamon had never seen the lad before. The boy wore a blue tunic with a white rabbit on the front—the Kedra coat of arms. That, Alamon did recognize.

Kedra, like Truda, was a large householding out on the Midlan Plains. The Kedra Householding claimed neutrality, so Kedra men often served as armed escorts for merchant convoys that carried ore from the mines. The boy had probably come with his father, but Alamon didn't have time to search the crowd further.

He parried Calden's next thrust and twisted his sword, locking the blades together while he punched Calden in the face.

Calden staggered backward but remained standing.

The Kedra boy winced, too young to witness death like this, brutal and swift. Innocence glinted in his wide blue eyes.

Alamon swore. Calden deflected Alamon's blows, but he didn't have the grace it took to fight on the beam. While keeping Calden's sword busy, Alamon hitched his foot around Calden's ankles and kicked sideways, knocking Caldon's feet out from under him.

Calden fell.

The Kedra boy's wide eyes flashed through Alamon's mind. Alamon believed Calden would miss the stakes—for Bliss whom he'd loved, for the Kedra boy, and for his own innocence, lost years before.

Calden hit the ground wedged between two spikes against his chest, three more at his back, and one sticking up between his legs. He wiggled out from between them and stood unscathed.

Alamon flashed a smile at the Kedra boy, and his heart froze. A man in a matching blue tunic now stood beside him, a bow in his hand with an arrow already on the string, pointed at Alamon's heart.

Chapter Two

Alamon sucked in a sharp breath and almost dropped his sword. The bowman had wild blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

Ian Kedra, Alamon's boyhood friend.

They'd trained together at the Truda Academy, fought side by side in the battle that had destroyed Alamon's life. Ian had not come as a merchant guard. He'd come for Alamon.

Their eyes met, and recognition passed between them. If Alamon's fighting style hadn't given him away, Calden's amazing escape from death surely had.

Ian eased the arrow from the string and spread his hands, his mouth open in fear, knowing Alamon could kill him with a single thought. If he'd gotten the arrow off before Alamon saw him, he might have succeeded in bagging his prize. He'd paused to make sure, and it could cost him his life.

Alamon scowled and tightened his grip on his sword until his knuckles hurt. He had no desire to kill Ian. Alamon's father, who led the householdings in the hunt for Alamon, must have figured that. If anyone could find and kill Alamon, it was Ian.

Seconds passed while the two stared at each other. The crowd jeered at Calden for not having the good sense to die and called for Alamon to come down, offering him a drink in celebration of his victory. Fickle. They didn't care whose blood spilt as long as it offered them a spot of entertainment.

The boy, who had to be Ian's son, frowned. He knew how close his father stood to death, a heartbeat only. Alamon took a step back toward the end of the beam. He dared not take his eyes off Ian.

Ian eased the arrow back toward the string.

Don't! Alamon mouthed to him.

Ian pressed his lips together in a grim line. He'd guessed Alamon didn't want to kill him, or didn't dare in front of the crowd. He nocked the arrow and pulled the bow back.

The crowd fell silent as it became aware of the drama between the two men.

It won't work, Alamon thought. You must realize that I'll simply believe the arrow won't hit me.

Come down, Ian called to him.

He was worth more alive than dead, but few hunters had dared try to take him that way. Past hunters had tried to kill him. Most of them were dead.

Alamon took another step back. He’d rather deal with Ian one-on-one than in front of the whole crowd. But Ian would have moraceae, the bitter herb that could shatter Alamon's concentration and keep him from shifting anything. Everyone who hunted chaos shifters carried moraceae.

He couldn't let Ian get too close.

Another step toward the end of the beam. The sword clutched in his hand. He should have just given Bliss and Calden the mine and rode away.

Come down. I just want to talk, Ian called to him.

The miners filled the air with whoops and jeers.

Alamon stopped, perched on the beam, his life a precarious balance. A wrong step now and he would have to kill again, or spare Ian and forfeit his own life.

His gut twisted, and then the world twisted with it—a jolt in the world's balance tore through chaos and order, sending Alamon's mind spinning.

He fell.

Alamon caught the beam with his hands as he went down. The bark stung his palms. He scrabbled to keep ahold without dropping his sword.

The beam swayed back and forth as the ground shook beneath it. Alamon's foot slammed into the top of one of the stakes and a sharp pain shot up his leg.

Alamon, No! Ian screamed—a terrified yell, filled with the memory of another time.

It isn't me! Alamon yelled while he clung to the swaying beam.

Terrified cries from the crowd drowned out his protest.

Did he call him Alamon?

Alamon Truda, The Sword!

Run!

An arrow whizzed past him, grazing his side.

Alamon hooked his arm around the beam and pulled himself up while believing Ian's bow burst into flames.

The world stopped shaking. Alamon got to his feet on the beam and turned to face Ian, but found the town square deserted except for the charred remains of Ian's bow, smoking on the ground.

Ian and his son had vanished with the rest of the men, but Alamon doubted he'd given up.

The beam bounced and swayed, and Alamon whipped around to see a young man standing in the middle of the springing beam, his arms cartwheeling as he tried to keep his balance. He had ragged dirty-blond hair and some kind of a wooden case slung over his arm. He cried out in dismay as he lost his footing and fell.

Alamon shifted the stakes out of the way, and the young man hit the ground, landing on his stomach, and splintering the wooden case. Charcoal sticks tumbled out, along with cakes of colored paint. The wind tugged loose parchment from the mess and whipped it away.

Alamon sheathed his sword and climbed from the beam, retrieving his jacket as he stepped to the ground.

The young man groaned as he drew himself up, then cried in dismay at his mussed art supplies and clutched at the sheets of parchment to save them from the wind.

Alamon started to walk away, but stopped when he felt an abrupt shift behind him. He looked back and saw the young man, standing with the wooden case intact in his hands.

Alamon's heart sank.

The boy was a shifter. Powerful, and so young. Couldn't be more than fourteen. Much younger than Alamon had been when he'd discovered his powers.

Here at the western edge of the world he’d find no order shifters to teach him before . . . before chaos claimed him.

You shouldn't do that, Alamon said, walking back to the boy.

Why not?

The boy’s eyes startled Alamon as they shifted in a slow swirl from blue to gray to black to green as if Huius had already enfolded his very soul.

I said, why not?

Alamon blinked and shook his head, unsure how long he'd been staring into those eyes.

Because, Alamon snapped. There are consequences for every action. You can't shift something without it affecting something else.

Oh. The boy looked perplexed. He glanced around at the town, taking in his surroundings. Wh-who's that? He pointed behind Alamon to the door of the drink house.

Ian stood just inside, watching Alamon. He gulped a glass of whisky with one hand while he held his sword ready in the other.

No one important. Alamon spat in the dirt in Ian's direction, then caught hold of the boy's arm and pulled him out of the open square to a pair of horses tied in front of the general store. The Kedra coat of arms decorated the leather saddles.

Mount up, Alamon told the boy. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Ian would try to stop him as he untied the horses and climbed onto one.

Ian stepped out of the drink house onto the wooden porch, his face flushed, his sword-hand shaking. He pointed at the store behind Alamon.

Twang! Twang! A pair of arrows shot from the store's roof.

Alamon jumped to the side, and the first arrow caught him in the shoulder instead of square in the back. Pain lanced through him, and he doubled over against his horse's neck.

The second arrow thunked into the dirt just beyond the horses' withers. The boy-shifter opened his mouth in surprise.

Get on! Alamon yelled at the boy who stood staring at him in shock.

The boy dragged himself up onto the horse, fumbling to find his seat in the saddle. He gripped the saddle-horn with two hands.

Alamon believed the roof under his attackers would crumble before they could send another volley. The roof groaned then crashed inward. His attackers cried out and disappeared in the pile of rubble and dust.

Alamon's heart thundered in time with his throbbing shoulder. He believed the arrow out. It fell from his shoulder and skittered to the ground, but the wound remained.

A fully trained order shifter could heal it, but Alamon had never mastered healing. He had no training, and had never been able to disregard his own pain enough to believe a wound gone. Belief was the key to shifting, and some things he just couldn't believe.

Seeing him wounded, men surged back into the streets.

Alamon gritted his teeth and kicked the horse into a gallop out of town. The boy's horse followed.

Chapter Three

The freezing rain that pounded the mountains in the Ellavion stopped, replaced by a starry night sky that shifted within moments to burning sunlight.

Tagen shook the water from the fur on his back. He squinted through the bright light. A mountain lake still stood before him. Boulders spread from the top of the rise to the water's edge. The fox was out there behind the rocks. He'd hunted it in succession through the forest, across the steppe, and up the granite mountain.

The distance and the shifting terrain did not bother him. He was a member of the Great Kiki Pack, the Far Runners.

The lowest member.

Watering post for bigger males. Tormented and treated like the weak creature he was. He lowered his head in shame and tugged on his thick golden beard.

His hand strayed to the smooth bone totem at his neck—two interlocking circles. He might be the lowest, but his father was pack leader.

He would catch this fox and make himself a new covering from its pelt. He needed it. He was too often cold.

Other pack members had fur growing on their whole body. Not Tagen. He had long fur only on his head and a shaggy main on his shoulders and down his back. He also lacked the strong claws and sharp teeth other Efferuns had. His fingers were long and thin. The nails at the end short and flimsy. He kept them filed to a point.

The pack would not let him hunt with them. He hunted alone.

He caught sight of a flash of red and launched himself toward the fox. He often went hungry. He would not be hungry today.

The mountain shifted. The boulders tumbled away into sand. Tagen landed on the soft golden grains on top of the fox. It tried to bite him. He snapped its neck before the teeth could sink into his soft skin.

The great goddess Huius created many creatures for the Efferuns to hunt. Creation was her greatest joy. Tagen ran his hand down the soft red fur. He said a prayer of thanks to Huius before he skinned it with the rock he'd sharpened into a knife. The meat was sweet and filled his aching stomach.

At least he only had to hunt for himself. He'd never fight well enough to win a mate. Certainly not a rare and tender beauty like his mother.

Tagen's father guarded her with ferocious jealousy. She had even less hair than Tagen. The long golden strands grew only from her head, with patches of fuzzy yellow hair in just a few other places. Her skin was a creamy white.

Most of the pack believed she was not Efferun at all, but one of Huius's other creations. Maybe even one of the mythical humans that lived beyond the edge of Huius's realm.

The pack had found her wandering alone. Starving. She did not speak their language, but learned it quickly.

When Tagen was young, she spoke to him in her old tongue. Told him stories of strange structures called buildings, and horses and carriages and members of her previous pack. He loved the way those words flowed. They remained meaningless to everyone except Tagen and his mother.

He longed to show her the fox pelt he'd taken. It could not happen. His father would kill any adult male that came close to her.

A hot wind whipped the sand into his eyes. Time to rejoin the pack. He sniffed the air, caught their scent, and loped across the sand dunes toward it.

Tagen, a voice that sounded like rushing water filled the air around him.

Tagen stopped, the fox pelt clutched in one hand and the uneaten part of the carcass in the other.

Tagen, the voice called his name again. It was high and low. Angry and sweet. Loud and soft. All at the same time.

A dust devil rose up in front of him. It whipped the sand into a golden pillar then took the shape of a woman more beautiful than his mother. Black hair swirled around a brown face. Flecks of moisture beaded on lips as red as the fox's blood. She wore a shimmering cover on her body that changed color like fish scales in the sunlight.

Huius? Tagen dropped to his stomach and pressed his face into the sand.

Get up, Tagen. I have an errand for you.

Great Goddess. Tagen lifted himself to his hands and knees but dared not go further. You need only command. I would shed my last drop of blood for you.

Huius laughed, her voice tinkling like rain against pine needles. With any luck, there will be no blood-shed. Tagen— she laid a soft hand on his shoulder.

He shuddered with pleasure.

You must go into the human realm, find someone, and bring him to me. His name is Wayde, and he is young. More than a child, but not come into full manhood yet. Here is his scent.

Huius held out a covering like the one she wore, except it was white and remained that way. The scent on the covering was faint. More like Tagen's mother than any other Efferun. It still had the sweet smell of childhood mixed with the first scent of manhood.

I will remember that smell, Tagen whispered. It is true then, there is a realm beyond our own?

There is. Huius bent close to him. She smelled like summer and winter, roses and sulfur, water and barren ground. Her breath burned cold on his face. Bring Wayde to me, and you will be a servant in my house forever. I will cover you with the finest clothes, and you will never be hungry again. No other males will beat you or claw you, and you will have whatever female you desire.

And humans? Are there really humans? Tagen's heart beat hard in his chest. He could hardly speak for the joy of what she offered. And for fear.

Huius's red lips parted in a smile that showed star-white teeth. You are half human, Tagen. That is why I am sending you. You speak their language, and if you keep your shoulders covered, no one will know you are anything else.

I don't have any covering that big.

I will cover you. Huius shifted into a sparkling column of water. Do not fail me, Tagen.

The water poured over him in a shock of cold against his skin. Then vanished.

He found himself wearing a white covering on his chest like the one Huius had let him smell. It was soft and smelled like plant fiber instead of animal fur. A brown covering hid his body from the waist down. Another long brown covering hung from his shoulders to the ground, with a hood over his head that shaded his eyes from the sun.

Clothes. He spoke the word for coverings his mother had taught him.

Huius had placed him at the edge of the Ellavion, a step away from where the sands stopped and black mountain soil began. Just beyond that, a line of trees grew all in a row. But they had no bark. No branches. And their tops ended in a sharp point. A bewildering stand of square trees stood behind it.

Tagen sucked in a breath. Buildings? They had to be. Someone had cut the trees and shaped them into the structures in front of him. His mother had called a group of buildings a town. But who would go to so much work when they would disappear as soon as the next change came?

He loped around the outside of the bare trees until he found an opening into the town.

He entered and walked between the buildings on the hard packed dirt. Smells assailed him—rancid meat, urine, sweat. Humans smelled different than Efferuns. He wrinkled his nose at their sour odor. The scent of fear hung everywhere. A clamor of voices rose from the center of town. He made his way to it and found a group of men in a large clearing between the buildings.

They shouted and argued with each other.

If we all go to together we can take him.

He's killed more men than us before.

We'll ambush him.

He's got a head start.

I'm not going anywhere near The Sword. All that money won't do me a bit of good if I'm dead.

Tagen stayed in the building's shadow and watched them try to form a hunting party. Behind them loomed a strange structure of sharpened sticks with two trees raised on their sides above it. It puzzled him. His mother said that buildings were for shelter from rain or snow. Whatever it was, it couldn't provide much shelter.

In the end, only one man decided to go after the creature they called The Sword. He gathered supplies and packed them on a couple of tall, four-legged creatures that had to be horses.

Tagen grunted in surprise when he realized the man intended to take his son along with him. The cub was too young for hunting, especially for a hunt the rest of the pack feared to make.

The father and son got on the horses and left the town, riding along a line of cleared ground that led off between the mountains—a road.

The rest of the pack left the open area and went into one of the buildings. Tagen waited a moment to be sure they were gone then moved across the clearing to examine the strange structure. He rubbed his hand over the rough pine poles and sniffed the ground beneath it.

His hackles rose. He'd caught the scent of the boy he'd been sent to find and bring back. Tagen licked his lips and followed the smell from beneath the poles to the front of one of the buildings.

Wayde's smell mingled here with horse-scent and blood. Not Wayde's blood. Another man's.

The smell led from in front of the building, down the road the hunter had taken. Tagen took a step out of the clearing onto the road between the houses, and the ground shifted.

The sand he'd left behind in the Ellavion spread around him. The buildings dissipated, leaving the humans standing on the burning sand with nothing but the clothes they wore and whatever was in their hands. Surprise and terror showed on their faces.

A woman screamed.

Tagen winced, pressing the hood against his sensitive ears with the flat of his hand.

The Ellavion! a man shouted. The Ellavion is spreading.

Tagen loped away from the stunned humans. He had the scent he needed. It was still fresh. If he ran hard, he might catch Wayde before long.

Chapter Four

Eldon sat on a marble chair overlooking the clear blue lake called Serenity. A cushion beneath him spared his old bones from the marble's chill and hardness. The lake lay placid, as it ever was and ever should be. Not even a ripple marred its mirror-like surface.

 The sun hung overhead, lighting the crystal mountains on the far side of the lake. Each peak jutted up in complete symmetry with the ones around it—the gateway to Illius's realm. The sunlight sent a spray of rainbow light reflecting from the mountain slopes.

At the base of the mountain the twelve towers of The Order Sanctuary reached up to catch the light. Stone walkways arced between them.

At the water's edge, Eldon's newest student continued with the task he had set her an hour before dawn. Verity collected a basket full of small rocks and dumped them in a pile next to a similar pile of medium-sized rocks, and another of large rocks she'd hardly been able to carry. The pebbles clattered as they tumbled down the ones she'd already collected.

A petite woman, Verity struggled with the heavy basket. She was the daughter of Councilor Warrick, the most influential member of the People's Council. A shifter in his family would consolidate his hold over the nation, making him equal in prestige to The First Brother of the Order of Illius.

Eldon chuckled. He preferred the term Brother to the lengthy official title. As for prestige, he'd never set out to be First Brother. His beginning day at Sanctuary had started just as Verity's was.

He’d only become First Brother because everyone before him had the good sense to die when they grew old. Still, he lingered because Illius said he hadn't learned enough yet, and Eldon believed the god he served. Too bad it would go against the world's order for him to believe himself young and spry.

Verity approached Eldon and