“Look.” Optimistic’s gaze did not move from the stone, and a green glow settled on his face. “I did not understand how great our journey is and the mission to dissolve this stone. It has been deemed dangerous and impossible. Yet we, ordinary people, are called to go.”
“Yes, this is true.” Eliesmore nodded, unsure what else to say.
“Some are born with power, like Idrithar and Ellagine. Some are born warriors, like Zhane and Dathiem. And then there are others like us, who do not know their real strength until they are tested and tried.”
“It is like the Heroes of Old.” Eliesmore put in. “No one knew the Five Warriors would save the Western World. Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and his Companions were brave and stopped the civil war.”
“Along the line, someone always gave up his or her life to ensure the salvation of their world,” Optimistic finished.
“Yes.” Eliesmore scratched his head, not understanding his full meaning. “Others have already been slain, and we have not reached the fortress yet.” He fastened his sword around his waist. “We should go.”
He opened the door and saw a room filled with the golden-yellow rays of sunlight streaming in. The song the Fúlishités were singing seemed far away, but much closer were beautiful creatures. Their hair was long and as bright and bold as the light from the sun. Silvery feathers fluttered on their feet, and they wore clothes of white and blue. It seemed as if light shone through them as they moved through the air. Eliesmore gawked, enchanted; his face was warm as he observed them. They looked nothing like the creatures of the wood he'd danced with when he was young, although Iaens varied. There were three of them, and they stood still as statues when they saw Eliesmore watching them; their eyes were the only parts of their bodies that seemed alive. They motioned for him to come out because a table was set with fruit and sweet bread.
As Eliesmore sat and the strange creatures joined them, Eliesmore found he was quite curious about the ever-changing home of Novor Tur-Woodberry, his delightful food, and the entertaining guests. “Who are you?” he asked the creatures.
“We are Mermis. I am Indonesia, and these are my companions: Sletaira and Leaka. We came from the Eastern World twenty-five years ago and took up residence in the fortress of the White Steeds. We have come to visit Novor Tur-Woodberry and hear what he would say before we return.”
Her dark lashes blinked in curiosity as she stared at him, and he got the sense she had seen mysteries and knew many secrets. Eliesmore let his thoughts roam as he recalled what old tales were told to him regarding Mermis. They hailed from a place where there was no fight between the Black Steeds and White Steeds. There was no call for hiding and sneaking through the land, always looking over a shoulder. They sat before him, an inner light shining out of their stoic faces, and Eliesmore felt his heart grow still. A gradual realization crept over him, reminding him of what he had to do, the long road ahead, and what would be chasing him. The cold hand of fear surrounded his heart, and the chill made him shudder. “What made you come here?” He reached for a sweet bread that was covered with a sticky nectar that had nuts on top of it.
Indonesia smirked, a secretive smile dancing on her face. “If you must know.” She glanced slyly at her two companions. “It was because of Cuthan the Adventurous.”
“More like Cuthan the Charmer,” Sletaira interrupted with a giggle.
Eliesmore perked up. “Wait…you knew Cuthan the Adventurous?”
“We used to live in the Eastern World,” Indonesia explained. “Before the rise of Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and Queen Phyllis, Keeper of the Clyear of Power.”
“You are the same Mermis from the tales! How can that be?” Eliesmore dropped his bread in surprise. It rolled face down on the floor where a line of ants calmly began to clear it away.
Indonesia glanced at Sletaira and Leaka. “Should I tell him?”
Leaka nodded, hiding a smile with her hands. “I never tire of hearing the reactions.”
“Please don’t.” Sletaira rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of hearing about your father.”
Indonesia sighed, turning back to Eliesmore. The flirtatious grin was gone from her face. “Our Father told us to search for the One. At long last, we have found you.”
Optimistic burst into the room seconds later, adjusting his quiver on his back. His paused mid-stride when he saw the Mermis. “Oh, I did not know you were here,” he breathed, a welcoming smile spreading across his face.
“Optimistic.” Leaka stood, showing off her long legs. “Join us.”
“You know them?” Eliesmore glanced from the Mermis to Optimistic in confusion.
“Yes.” Optimistic sat down beside Eliesmore and began to heap his plate with fruit. “We live in the fortress together.” He turned to address Indonesia. “Did you tell him?”
“We come from the Western World,” Sletaira explained, “we are children of the great Heroes of Old.”
“More specifically?” Optimistic encouraged.
“My father, may he rest in peace, is known throughout the land as Crinte the Wise.” Indonesia bowed her head in reverence. “These are my cousins, children of Marklus the Healer, the first Watcher.”
Eliesmore’s eyes grew wide, and he stared at them dumbfounded. “But…but…how…” he sputtered. “Your fathers? That was well over 200 years ago! What were they like? How did you come be here? How old are you? I must know.”
Indonesia laughed and stood, her long, dark hair swishing behind her. “We will meet again, Eliesmore. For now, it is an honor to finally meet the One.”
Leaka and Sletaira joined her and bowed. As they did so, Ellagine and Arldrine walked into the room. A few seconds later, there was a hearty laugh, and another hidden door was thrown open. Sunlight streamed in behind Novor Tur-Woodberry and his Singing Men as they walked into the room. “Ready to go?” he called, a jolly smile spreading across his broad face.
Eliesmore stood reluctantly, wishing his conversation with the Mermis had not been interrupted. The Mermis were the first to leave, nodding at Ellagine and Arldrine and exchanging a few words with Novor Tur-Woodberry before disappearing with a brief farewell. As they ran through the door, Eliesmore saw them mount winged horses and wondered why he couldn’t fly away with them.
Ellagine led the way outside. She called, “We should go. The Rakhai will be on our trail. They have gotten a head start. By the time we reach the boundary of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land, and enter the forest, they will be with us.”
“I have helped you,” Novor Tur-Woodberry boomed. “They will no longer be able to follow your scent on land, even though they have a general idea of where you are going. I will hurry them into the forest, which is a three-day journey from here. As long as you are on my land, you will be safe. I must warn the inhabitants though that they are passing through; the time has come to flee.”
“Thank you,” Ellagine replied as the others gathered around to give their thanks and farewells.
Novor Tur-Woodberry laughed. “Maybe if all goes well we shall meet again? Eh? Go out, and do not fail.”
The four took off and headed towards the thick forest while Novor Tur-Woodberry waved until they were little more than a blur among the grassland and he was a tree in the distance.
The land seemed different; it was no longer brilliant and growing, or maybe the magical effect was lost as warnings of darkness took hold. As Eliesmore ran, he thought he heard the cry of the Rakhai in the distance, and a profound foreboding overtook him. Even in the safety Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land, he thought he saw a dark mass to the north, racing ahead of them to the forest. Once again, the Rakhai were going to catch up with him. Horrors twisted through Eliesmore’s mind. The Rakhai held the power of the Great-Black-Evil, and their destiny was to destroy him and the Green Stone. Already they were succeeding, less than a hundred White Steeds were left, and Eliesmore dared not think of what would happen should he fail. Precious memories rose before him: nights spent dancing with the creatures of the w
ood, listening to his mother tell him stories of Heroes of Old, and laughing in the rain while she spun him round and round. He recalled the glorious sights he beheld in the forests of Shimla and the songs the Iaen brought forth on their clever tongues. He remembered being young when the world was still bright, and he had no knowledge of good and evil. Those times were not to be anymore because the woods held the silence of a forgotten place. Those who sang and danced had been destroyed.
Eliesmore knew his mission was to restore not only the times they had had before, but also to bring about a better life for those who called the South World home. His mind traveled back to tales his mother would tell him. When he was little, he would sit in her lap and sometimes play with her long hair while she whispered stories. He remembered his eyes wide in awe as she told of impossible deeds, and he would ask for them again and again. The Five Warriors had set out to find the secret that the ruler, Sarhorr, harbored, and because of their deeds, the Western World reunited and found peace. Maybe he could be the One to complete impossible quests and bring peace to the South World. Surely the King and Queen of the Land had a purpose, and they would not forsake the South World. Yet Eliesmore could not remember any story being so dark; the terror the Rakhai brought surpassed all he had heard.
Eliesmore glanced over at Optimistic, and his heart relaxed. Optimistic would be there, his voice encouraging him every step of the way. After all, he was the Keeper of the Green Stone. Fear did not fill his heart; only hope looked out from his eyes. He turned his eyes from the blond Cron and looked at Ellagine, his first friend. Her long, transparent hair streamed out gold behind her, and for the first time, Eliesmore realized she carried no visible weapon. He knew she held power; would it be enough? He glanced at Arldrine, careful to only look at her face. She was sure and steady, always moving onward yet harking to any knowledge that was brought to her. Eliesmore was grateful his companions were with him; his worst fear was being alone in the heart of evil.
Only when night fell, did they stop for the last meal and to sleep. Eliesmore felt restless all night long, knowing the Rakhai were not far away and already were devising a plan. He felt a deep dread of the boundary line forest. Nothing good could happen there.
In the morning, the air was foggy, and Eliesmore found hoof prints in the soft ground. The Rakhai had been circling them, and for a moment, he thought he saw dark shapes. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out to calm his mind before standing up. His clothes were wet and clammy and clung to him. He pulled out his sword and moved forward, the jewels sparkling vaguely in the fog. The dark shapes were there no longer; maybe he had imagined them. Eliesmore put his sword away, his hands trembling. He took a deep breath and turned back to where his friends were sleeping only to find Ellagine awake and watching.
The day passed in a haze, although the fog was not thick enough to block their passage. Often, they stepped in deep hoof prints, and although they did not intend to follow them, the hoof prints were going the same way. A meeting would be inevitable. The knowledge they were on Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land could not keep fear out of Eliesmore's heart; even the fact that the Rakhai were obeying the law of the land and waiting until the boundary line forest did not calm him.
By afternoon, the sun had dried the fog, and a thick, dark line of the trees could plainly be seen. Eliesmore kept his head down, watching the ground under his swift feet and not the blurred line. When they stopped for the night, Eliesmore drew alongside Ellagine. “Is there another way? Do we have to go through that horrible forest?”
“No,” Ellagine whispered. “I’m afraid not. We have to get to the fortress as quickly as possible. The woods are long and wide; the quickest way is through them.”
Eliesmore’s shoulders dropped. He was resigned to whatever would happen in the woods. Even as he watched, he realized why. The Rakhai dared not attack them while they were safe on the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry because they would be in danger of their lives. The words of Novor Tur-Woodberry were law, and everyone on his land had to obey his words. His land was a safe haven, and although the Iaen had tried to do the same with Shimla, their power was not strong enough. In the boundary line forest, there was no law; the Rakhai could do what they liked without reserve.
In the morning, the four got up and began their last run through the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. The forest beckoned to them, looming tall and powerful with every step they took. The thick oak and pine trees stood tall and forbidding, dripping with evil. Enormous evergreen trees appeared black rather than green with their multitude of permanent leaves. Eliesmore did not turn back; they were going through because they had to. Fear stilled his heart. It was on to the boundary line forest.
21
Eliesmore
Evening drew near as they entered the forest, stealing the dim light of the setting sun. It shut out the faint moonlight that dared to shine and even the kind glimmer from the stars of the heavens. Trees grew close together, their branches interlocking and hiding their deeds from the outside world.
Eliesmore’s imagination ran wild as he entered the sinister forest. Clawed fingers reached out for him, and he ducked. He found it was only a misshapen tree branch. A dark shadow drifted past him; his eyes widened as he thought he saw a mounted rider, one of the Rakhai. It was only the trees. A small noise in the underbrush made him jump, a bird taking flight jerked his head upwards, and he watched the dark skies in fear, although he could see nothing. Nocturnal creatures growled, defending their territory from the hunt of the night.
Eliesmore had not gone more than a few feet in the forest when he felt absolute misery. He peered back into the blackness from whence they had come. Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land was gone as if it had never been. Dread filled Eliesmore’s heart.
There was a rustling in the underbrush; leaves flew as an animal ran for shelter. Eliesmore jumped, and his hand flew to his sheath. How could he be the One, the Great Conqueror, when he was afraid of his own footsteps? He imagined the One as a strong warrior, not someone who barely knew how to hold a sword, let alone use it to bravely defend himself and his comrades against the onslaught of evil. The farther he went, the more fear threatened to ice over his heart. How could he dissolve the Green Stone? How could he defeat the Black Steeds? The world was wild; the Changers were almost wholly in charge. Why was he born to be the One to save them all? If he reached the other end of the forest, met the few White Steeds who were left, and dissolved the Green Stone, he would need strength.
Night cast a quilt of gloom over the forest. Ellagine called for a halt, her green shimmer muted in the dark. They sat down in a clump of trees to eat the last meal while Arldrine cast worried glances at their surroundings. Optimistic opened his mouth to say something encouraging, but the forest was oppressing and silenced his words before they left his tongue. Ellagine was still as a statue, listening to the discernible hush, which seemed to be a warning of nothing more than the impending hostility of the forest.
“I don’t like this.” Arldrine crossed her arms, protecting herself from unseen assailants.
Ellagine sighed as her eyes met Arldrine’s. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Eliesmore curled up on his side, cushioning his head with his arms. He closed his eyes. Try as he might; sleep would not come. The eerie silence of the woods kept him awake, and the knowledge of a growing evil in the shadows pricked his mind. Whenever he opened his eyes, all he could see was the vague shape of Ellagine standing against a tree, watching and waiting. He could hear Arldrine and Optimistic breathing deeply and wondered how they could be sleeping. Time passed. He sat up, still feeling as if a deep menace were surrounding them. Suddenly Ellagine was beside him. “Eliesmore,” she whispered, her face so close to him he felt her nose bump his ear. “You should rest.”
“I know.” Eliesmore turned to face her, the darkness around his heart increased, pounding out failure. “But…tell me the words to ‘Song’.”
She sat down beside him, her green glimmer soothing him,
and her words curled around him like an embrace. He felt them like a lullaby his mother would sing to calm the fear in his heart.
“When the terrorizer of the Black Steeds and White Steeds,
Magdela the Monrage, has gone and been killed,
When everyone has gone and hidden in the land down South,
Up there will rise, Finder of the Jeweled Sword,
Conqueror of Evil.
He will come when he is young.
He will wield the Jeweled Sword.
He will dissolve the Green Stone.
Where he goes, the people will no longer live in hiding.
They will come out and rejoice.
For evil has receded, but not completely destroyed until the end of Time.”
Eliesmore fell asleep listening to those words, and they filled his mind with peace and strength. The night passed, fear abated, and the silent watchers gathered. As the thin light of dawn drew near, brightening the blackness of the forest, they began to approach. Ellagine, tired after a long and silent night, sensed them first. She stretched her ears, whispering a warning to the others in her language, compelling them to wake with the power of her words. The moment they left her mouth, she knew she was too late; they had slipped past her guard.
Eliesmore woke, lying on his back. His pack lay beside him, and as he reached for it, he realized the fear of traveling through the boundary line forest was gone. Something had woken him up; the memory of it was fresh in his mind. He turned his head, searching for it, and found himself looking up into Ellagine’s face. Only, it wasn’t Ellagine. She was tall and unnaturally thin. Her face was hallowed as if the skin had been stretched taut over her bones. Her skin was both black and white, a mixture that made her appear like she was morphing and changing, yet something paused the transformation. Her eyes flashed black with streaks of red through them as she gazed at Eliesmore, a mixed expression of adoration and terror rippling over her features.
Eliesmore and the Green Stone Page 11
