“Arldrine.” He winked inappropriately at her.
His light brown curls danced on his forehead. His dark blue eyes sparkled with mischief. He had long cheekbones, a high forehead, and long lashes that swept down toward his rosy cheeks as he blinked. He was only five and a half feet tall and quite young, barely over seventeen, if that.
“You brought…” He stared at Eliesmore, Ellagine, and Glashar. Unable to recall their names, he continued, sweeping out his hands to include them. “Everyone with you! I was wondering. Idrithar said you would be returning for a council or something. I don't know. Don’t just stand there. Come in! There is nothing much to do here. It is very boring, waiting for people and meetings and such. Oh, eleven white horses joined us seven days ago, and the Mermis are back now. They went off to seek some wisdom of the world or something like that. I don’t know. I thought everyone was going to leave Yamier and me alone at the fortress, but now that you’re here it’s getting exciting. Oh, and…”
The Cron would have talked all day, but Zhane put a hand over his mouth. “Thank you Wekin. Where is Idrithar? Go find him for me, please, and do not talk his ears off.”
“Yes, of course!” Wekin clapped his hands together and ran off.
Zhane led them into a large room with a winding staircase that led upwards. On the left side, a passage led into the fortress. The rest of the room was open space, rock, and stone, with a scattering of wooden chairs. Zhane motioned to them. “Rest for a moment.” He sighed. “Wekin is…” He shook his head and started again. “Yamier and Wekin are excitable. They need more adventure in life; however, we will be leaving them here. Idrithar is our leader; he holds more power than any other White Steed, and he carries the Horn of Shilmi as well as a sword called Elidíather. He and I traveled the South World many times together. I tell you,” he addressed his last words to Eliesmore, “I only saw the fountain where the Green Stone is to be dissolved once.”
Eliesmore barely heard Zhane as he gazed at the massive room. A tall Cron appeared at the top of the stairs, pausing as he gazed down at the small company. He wore the usual green pants, white shirt, and a green jerkin. A sword in a black scabbard swung by his side. His face lightened when he saw the company. His light brown hair swished behind him as he moved. “Welcome, welcome friends,” he called as they rose to meet him. The nuances of his low voice carried across the room, warm assurance dripping from his voice. “Zhane, you have returned.” He reached out a hand to clasp Zhane’s shoulder and turned to the others, greeting them in turn. “Arldrine, it is a relief to see you here; we are thankful for your return. Optimistic, I see you have done what you set out to do. Glashar, it is a pleasure and a surprise. Ellagine.” His calm voice never wavered, yet his eyes flashed as he met hers. “You have brought him.”
Eliesmore stood straighter as the powerful gaze of the Cron swept over him. He thrust out his chest, anxious for acceptance. He felt the overwhelming need to impress the known leader of the White Steeds. His face flushed as he wondered why he—a young, inexperienced Blended One—was called to be the One. Those surrounding him were wise; they were warriors, and each one of them was better suited to the task.
“Idrithar, this is Eliesmore. He is the One.” Zhane motioned toward Eliesmore.
“Idrithar.” Eliesmore bowed his head, feeling the strength, wisdom, and power radiating from the Cron.
Idrithar’s dark eyes studied him as if he could read Eliesmore’s mind. Finally, he stepped back, nodding as if Eliesmore had passed a test. “He is indeed the One, Eliesmore, the Great Conqueror.”
Idrithar’s voice held them like a spell, and Eliesmore found himself leaning into it. A pleasant silence hummed throughout the fortress until a boisterous voice from upstairs hollered. “You didn’t tell me, Wekin. I told you to tell me first!”
The spell was broken, and all eyes were lifted upward.
“But he sent me to get Idrithar first and then you. I couldn’t help it,” the other voice shrieked with laughter.
“I wanted to be the first one, and you had to beat me to it.”
“Okay, okay, please stop,” the second voice begged. “We can go see them now.”
A minute later Wekin and another Cron ran down the stairs, their clothes damp and rumpled. The Cron with Wekin had a short sword strapped to his waist. He was the same height as Wekin with dark brown eyes. His hair stood up straight on his head and was streaked with brown and blond, giving him a comical appearance. He dashed down the stairs and skidded to a stop. “Arldrine, Zhane, and Optimistic! Home again! And leaving when? Tomorrow?”
“Or the day after that.” Idrithar’s tone turned dry with frustration. “You will have to dry up the floor after introductions.”
Wekin and the other Cron looked at each other and grimaced. Idrithar moved to stand behind the two, placing one hand on Wekin’s shoulder. “Ellagine, Glashar, and Eliesmore, this is Wekin.” He put one hand on the other Crons’s shoulder. “And this is Yamier.”
Zhane motioned to Ellagine. “This is Ellagine, Lady of the Green People, you may have met her before.” He motioned to Glashar. “Glashar the Falidrain.” He finally motioned to Eliesmore. “And this is Eliesmore, the One.”
“Oh, ones.” Wekin’s eyes grew large. “I’ve never heard of that people group.”
Yamier stared at Wekin. “Shh, he’s the One that ‘Song’ is sung about.”
“And furthermore,” Optimistic added, “he’s a Cron.”
“He doesn’t look…” Wekin started, but Yamier clasped a hand over his mouth.
“Half Cron, half Tider,” Eliesmore explained.
“Now Wekin,” Idrithar said with a stern look, “go dry up the floor.”
“But…” Wekin started. Idrithar’s face was immovable. Wekin looked at Yamier, who gloated and put his nose in the air.
“Yamier, make sure the meeting room is in order,” Idrithar told him.
Yamier’s head came down fast, and the mischievous two ran off grumbling.
No sooner had they disappeared then there was a quiet step, and someone cleared his throat. A male Tider walked up from the passageway, followed by eleven white horses. He was over six feet tall with rich dark brown hair. It was pulled back from his face yet cascaded down his back, nearly to his waist. His chiseled face was unsmiling, and his hawk-like gaze swept over them; it was dark and intense as if he disproved of everyone in the room. A quiver of white-tipped arrows was slung on his back along with a bow because everyone in the fortress carried their weapons in case of a surprise attack from the Black Steeds. His voice was deep and almost hostile as he spoke. “So, you have come.” He nodded, expressionless, at Zhane, Arldrine, Optimistic, and Ellagine. His dark eyes met Eliesmore’s and swept past him to Glashar for a long moment. “Who may they be?” He turned to Idrithar.
Glashar stepped forward. Her eyes were wide in surprise or shock, Eliesmore could not tell. “I am Glashar the Falidrain. I used to stay here, if only for a few months.”
“I am Eliesmore,” said Eliesmore quietly because being the One was implied.
“You must be the One.” The Tider’s eyes narrowed. “May I see your sword?”
Unsure what to make of the Tider, Eliesmore pulled out his long sword with the jeweled hilt. All turned to gaze at it and then at Eliesmore with respect and honor. The Tider kneeled before Eliesmore, just as Zhane had done. He looked up into the face of the One. “I am Dathiem—a warrior and a healer. I will come with you.”
Idrithar motioned toward the stairs as Dathiem rose. “The day grows old. We shall sit together for the last meal and meet in the morning. For now, let us disperse so that the travelers may rest from their journey.” His words sank in; there would now be seven to go against the Rakhai as they began their quest. He turned to the horses. “Fastshed and company are welcome as well.”
The horse called Fastshed moved his neck up and down, his silvery mane flashing. A slow thought occurred as Eliesmore considered the horses, they must be the ones sent to the
South World to assist him and his companions. Puzzling at the turn of events, he followed his companions up the winding staircase, taking in the curving architecture of the fortress. The stairs ended in a spacious hall, allowing them to walk four or five in a row down to the meeting room at the end where there were another two doors. Idrithar opened one into a dark passageway where torches flickered in pools of light, showing off occasional doors. Yamier and Wekin were strutting down the hall toward them, mischievous grins on their faces as they elbowed each other.
“There you two are.” Idrithar held open the door, waiting for them to pass. “The Mermis need barrels brought up to the kitchen before the last meal is prepared.”
Wekin’s eyes became round. He opened his mouth to protest, but Yamier grabbed his arm and dragged him off. “Yes, yes, of course.” He flung his words over his shoulder at Idrithar.
Idrithar pulled open another door. Before Eliesmore could follow the others through, Optimistic grabbed him. “Come on, I’ll take you to get a new shirt and tunic so you don’t have to wear this blood-stained one.”
“Oh.” Eliesmore looked down at his travel-stained clothes as if seeing them for the first time. “Thank you.”
“No need.” Optimistic led the way down the hall, his boots echoing in the silence. “What do you think?” he asked, spreading his arms.
“What do I think?” Eliesmore repeated. “Why is it that so few White Steeds live here? This fortress seems impenetrable.”
“Aye.” Optimistic sighed, his shoulders slumping. “We were attacked from the inside years ago. By then, everyone had given up, and that was our breaking point.”
“I’m sorry,” Eliesmore whispered, realizing he did not know much about Optimistic’s background. “This is all quite terrible. I wish good people like you and others did not have to be involved. If the Dark Three had never risen, we would not be in this…” He broke off as visions of the torture chambers of the Torsilo Quarts flashed through his mind. He saw the red flesh, bone, and stripped backs. “It is too dark to speak of…” He gasped. Suddenly he felt hopeless; the number of White Steeds was so small. How could they possibly win against the strong power and many armies of the Black Steeds?
“Eliesmore.” Optimistic paused, turning to face him. “Find a little hope. It could be just you and me, the Keeper of the Green Stone and the Finder of the Jeweled Sword. But it’s more; it’s all of us, from Idrithar to Wekin.”
“You’re right,” said Eliesmore, suddenly finding Optimistic easy to confide in, “I feel I can’t see the way and I’m trapped deep underground. Much like I was when I was taken to the Black Steeds’ fortress in the Torsilo Quarts. I feel like I am back in that tunnel of darkness and I will never see the light.”
“But you did.” Optimistic patted his shoulder. “And you will find it again; do not despair.”
Eliesmore studied Optimistic, unable to hide his astonishment. “It is such a dark time in the world, and yet you find hope.”
“Eliesmore, I first came to this fortress when I was fifteen after the Black Steeds slew my parents and burned my home. I escaped, and here I found people to help me. When I first came to the fortress, there used to be great joy. As the world turns darker, I have seen some of my very best friends and the wisest leaders turn into Black Steeds to serve evil. I did not want a fate such as theirs; I had to remain strong and keep hoping the One would come soon. When I was seventeen, Ellagine left. However, in January, four years later, I remembered her, and I went to find her in Shimla. She told me what happened when she met you, and I set off to bring you back. Now here we are about to embark on our great quest. There are friends I will never see again. I have had experiences in this corrupt world and so will you. The most important lesson I have learned thus far is if you look for the light, you will find it. If you give up all hope, you will stay in darkness forever.”
Eliesmore let the words sink in, washing over him like a cleansing rain. “Optimistic, I hope you are always here to encourage me.”
When the two Crons reached the end of the passage, Optimistic opened a door into a cavernous room. Its ceiling rose high in an arch above their heads, while a musky scent swept over him as Eliesmore stepped inside. He gasped in surprise as his eyes took in the rows of shelves and weapons hanging on the wall. Swords were ranked in a corner; each hilt was polished until it shone. Bows of all sizes lined the back wall with quivers full of white arrows stacked in rows. It was curious to note that the weapons accommodated the various sizes of the people groups: some were made for those closer to five foot while others were made for taller people groups with greater strength. Shields of silver and gold, with the crest of a white horse rearing, lined one wall with spears beside them. There were blades, sharp and gleaming. A collection of arrowheads and steel lay in another corner, and there was a stone to sharpen weapons on.
Eliesmore rotated, his eyes flying around the room as his jaw dropped. He wanted to touch every weapon; he desired to pick up a bow and nock an arrow in it, practice his sword, throw a spear, and shield himself from invisible enemies. The innate love of adventure rose within him, and he was seized with an excitement unfamiliar to him.
Clothes were folded on shelves; there were forest green pants, pure white shirts, and green tunics along with black belts, walking staffs, and travel-ready boots. There were empty sacks he could sling around his waist and packs he could throw on his back. A table sat toward the middle of the room, overflowing with maps, heavy books, quills, and ink. How had they done this? How had the White Steeds accumulated such a collection?
Meanwhile, Optimistic nonchalantly strode over to the shelves of clothing and pulled out a shirt and tunic. He held them up, considering their size. “Here, Eliesmore. These should fit.” He handed the clothes to Eliesmore before grabbing a pair of pants and tossing them to him. “I have to run an errand. I will return shortly.”
Eliesmore nodded as Optimistic left, shutting the door behind him. He continued to gaze about the room, seeing shelves with round bottles of substance shimmering in the oil they lay in. He saw rolls of bandages, which reminded him of his own nasty wound. Quickly he took off his tunic and his shirt and looked down at his side. It had an ugly, black hole in it that sent chills down his spine. Eliesmore flashed back for a moment to that horrible night. He felt his heart pounding violently in his chest as he pulled on his clothes and stumbled over to the table, sitting down to catch his breath.
Once he was seated, the fear subsided, and Eliesmore looked at the maps spread out in front on him. One was a map of the whole South World, neatly drawn with all the cities named and portrayed in great detail. At the bottom of the map was signed the name “Wekin.” So, apparently Wekin the Foolish was skilled at drawing maps. Eliesmore traced his journey with his finger. His heart sank as he realized just how long it would take them to get to the Constel Heights. At the fortress, they were as far away as they could possibly get from his destination. Indeed, unless they cross the Jaded Sea in the north, they would have to cross the Cascade Mountains, an enormous mountain range that traversed the western South World.
There was a creak, and the door opened. Unbothered, Eliesmore looked up, expecting to see Optimistic. Instead, his eyes met Glashar’s. She was clothed in golden light, and hints of mint and lavender drifted around her as she shut the door. She had bathed or at least cleaned herself from the journey. Her golden hair had a bounce to it, and her eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them. “Eliesmore.” She shut the door, leaning against it for a moment to ensure no one was listening in. “I have come to tell you about your wound.”
Eliesmore smoothed his fingers over the map, arching an eyebrow as she approached him. “What do you mean?”
Glashar covered her mouth with her hand, her long fingers touching her nose as she considered. He felt like he could see thoughts move through her mind, shifting through what she knew versus what she wanted him to know. “I used all my powers to heal you, yet I fear the Rakhai may retain some control over
you.”
Even as she spoke, Eliesmore knew what they could do. They would call to him, draw him out, and try to force him to give up the Green Stone. Before, this knowledge would have frightened him, forcing him to react out of fear. It may have been the strength of the fortress or his companions that reassured him. “I will be aware.”
Glashar nodded, opening her mouth once again. A thought perched on the edge of her lips; she had knowledge that she did not want to escape. Her face turned a shade darker. “Be careful.” She turned to leave, although Eliesmore could tell she had more to say. It burst out of her when she reached the door. She glanced over her shoulder, her sharp chin almost jutting into her thin shoulders. “Beware the Green People. They are up to something.”
Eliesmore froze. “What?”
“I am an Idrain; the Green People are Iaens. I know my kind. We are treacherous. We care only for ourselves and our wishes. Once they are granted, we leave the mortals to their own folly. The Green People set in motion the events of the world long again; now they have come to fruition. There will come a time when you should stop trusting the Iaens.”
She opened the door, her eyes repeating the warning as she disappeared.
Eliesmore sat still, eyes glazing over as he stared after her. What should he do? Who should he talk to? Frustrated, he stood and began to pace back and forth, wondering what he had gotten himself into and questioning whom he should trust.
27
Dathiem
Dathiem walked through the hall of mirrors, pausing to watch the light bounce off the windows and send shafts of rainbow light across the room. He’d broken away from the others for two reasons. Firstly, he wanted to pack his healing supplies for the long journey ahead. Secondly, he found himself irritated with the company that appeared at the fortress, more specifically, the One. Eliesmore was nothing like he should be. He was not a strong warrior like Zhane. His strength did not flow from powerful abilities or remnants of wisdom like Idrithar. He had no knowledge. No healing in his hands. Eliesmore was not only young, but he was also naive and fear shone out of his green eyes. There was something about him Dathiem could not quite put his finger on. He moved like the Idrains, and his voice had the same musical pitch as if he might break into song. Eliesmore was not an obvious choice, but perhaps his true strength would be proved in the quest. Dathiem sighed; nothing ever turned out like he expected.
Eliesmore and the Green Stone Page 15
