Eliesmore and the Green Stone

by Angela J. Ford

  “I can’t stand it! I can’t! Make it stop!” Wekin shrieked, jolting Eliesmore out of his dark vision.

  Eliesmore found himself sweating. His arm was across his shoulder, and his hand clasped his sword hilt. As his vision cleared, he realized most of his companions were holding their weapons with their faces turned north.

  “It must be the Dark One,” Idrithar confirmed. “Calling something to join the war. Let us continue. Talk among yourselves lest the voice persuade you.”

  The Green Company moved forward across the barren hills, stomping over slabs of stone with dirt and brown grass in-between them. The Sandg Size Hills was a rocky, desolate country with few inhabitants, or so it seemed to Eliesmore. Once in a while, a raven would circle above them, screaming out a cry. The first time it happened, Wekin jumped, muttering curses and something about shooting it down and cooking it. The second time, Idrithar ordered them to keep the hoods of their cloaks up to obscure their presence on the hilltops. The sun beat down unmercifully. Eliesmore kept thrusting back his cloak, wishing for the chill of the night to sweep away the burning heat of the sunrays. His side began to ache, his pack was heavy, and the walking turned monotonous. Eliesmore glanced at Optimistic from time to time, remembering it could be worse.

  The second meal passed uneaten. Yamier appeared at each person’s elbow, giving dried meat and encouraging them to drink from their water skins to stay hydrated. Eliesmore accepted his food gratefully. He was hungry despite his irritation with Fastshed and company and his discomfort from the uncanny call originating from Daygone.

  Idrithar led the way, setting a quick pace over the hills. Ellagine walked beside him, and Eliesmore could not help but admire her beauty, even in the fog of his own uncertainty. From time to time, he could see the profile of her face; her expression was unreadable. Visra half-walked, half-floated behind her, making unpleasant remarks to Arldrine. Optimistic walked beside Eliesmore, humming under his breath as if he were not hot and bothered. Wekin and Yamier were behind them, singing offbeat words in tune to the ditty Optimistic hummed. Just behind them, Glashar, Dathiem, and Zhane walked.

  Music wove through the thin air, fragments pulsing through Eliesmore’s mind. They shut out the dark call that thudded through the ground. He noticed the entire company seemed to take up the tune. Some sang the words; others whistled or added their own variety of soft noise. It was contagious, and in that beautiful moment, Eliesmore felt his heart lift while the fears of his quest faded. Between beats, he felt he was back in the shady forest of the Iaen, preparing for a night of song and dance, and his heart swelled with joy. The drums tapped out a rhythm while the creatures of the wood gathered. Warmth flooded his heart because he was one of them: young, wild, and free.

  Night came, bringing the cooler air. Idrithar waved for them to stop. “We may have a short rest before going on. Yamier, it is too dangerous to start a fire from this height.”

  They sat down among the boulders, each pulling food from their packs. The darkness and silence lay in hostile heaviness, weighing down their buoyant spirits.

  “Cold sausage would have been incredible today,” Wekin remarked, ignoring the death grip of grimness in the land.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Idrithar ordered.

  Wekin sighed as if he hadn’t heard. “There isn’t a town though. It would only cause more trouble.”

  Yamier changed the subject. “What will we do when we run out of food?”

  “We will find more when we reach Truemonix,” Zhane answered. “There is a store house for the White Steeds with supplies and boats for our journey across the Jaded Sea.”

  “Do we have time for a short lesson on languages?” Eliesmore turned in Ellagine’s direction.

  “Ci,” Ellagine replied, her face brightening.

  “It means ‘yes,’ right?” Eliesmore confirmed.

  Ellagine nodded. “Now you must learn some Blackbastia.”

  “It is the easiest language to learn.” Dathiem walked over. He picked up a stone to write in the dust.

  Eliesmore did not know exactly what to think of the tall, grim Tider. He seemed quiet, reserved, and always holding something back. The others appeared to have formed some sort of a bond with him, yet for some reason, Eliesmore found Dathiem difficult.

  Wekin, noticing Dathiem’s actions, murmured, “Humm…rocks and dirt mean maps." He snatched up a stone and began to draw a map of the Hill Countries.

  Meanwhile, Dathiem wrote out the Blackbastia alphabet, and with the last traces of light still surrounding them, Eliesmore looked at the alphabet writing.

  “It’s easy, you see,” Zhane, who had also come around, pointed out. “Blackbastia is written the same way the common tongue is written. The only exception is the order of the alphabet. The sounds are the same.”

  “I see.” Understanding dawned on Eliesmore. “So the word ‘journey’ would be spelled ‘vgqinxp’?” Eliesmore wrote in the dirt.

  “Ci, you have gotten it right. Now let us move on.” Idrithar stood.

  “Time to go already? We just stopped, and I haven’t finished my map,” Wekin complained.

  “Your map,” Idrithar stroked his beard. “Let me see it.”

  Eliesmore followed Idrithar and Dathiem over to look at the map. Wekin stood back, hands spread out to display his drawing of the hills they were traveling across.

  “That is correct.” Dathiem bent down and pointed to a hill. “We are about here. Before long, we will have to go down.”

  “Yes. Our path takes us across the farmlands of the north. Though it is early in the year and their plants aren’t as tall, our presence should go unnoticed.” Idrithar sighed as if something else weighed heavily on his mind. “Come, we will go downhill to find a shelter from searching eyes.”

  Eliesmore stared at the map of hills; he was curious about how they could make sense out of it. It just looked like lines scratched in the mud. Shrugging his shoulders, he hurried back to grab up his pack and join the rest of the company. As they walked across the hills before going down, Eliesmore thought he could hear the foul words repeating. He tried to block them out with his mind, yet they rang on, even though the potency he’d experienced before was gone. He thought about the words and questioned whom the Dark One was calling. Was he waking a beast to destroy them? Were the Rakhai not enough? The fear started again, and Eliesmore shook his black hair out of his eyes as if he could shake the anxiety away. His mind filled with a thousand questions for Idrithar.

  Time passed, and they started down a steep hill. It was barren and dusty with a scattering of shrubs the company held on to as they slipped their way downwards. When they got to the bottom, they looked back at the tall hills and felt quite small. Before them lay flat farmland. “We rest here tonight,” Idrithar told them, his warm voice enveloping the silence. “Be prepared to go on early tomorrow; we need to be seen by as few eyes as possible.”

  Wekin looked off in the direction of the farmland and sighed. “Only if there were bread and cheese, everything would be all better.”

  “First watch, Wekin!” Idrithar called.

  “What?” squeaked Wekin; he was astonished and horrified at the same time.

  “I’ve warned you before about making remarks about food,” Idrithar quipped. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have come if you are so worried about food.”

  “I wasn’t worried about food. It is just something interesting in life, like adventure,” Wekin complained.

  Eliesmore smiled to himself as he stretched out. He could see stars shining in the distance. Eliesmore looked over at Optimistic, who was already asleep. Soft snores drifted from his nose. It was another night they weren’t being chased. Another night in which they could sleep in peace.

  44

  Glashar

  The stone was cool beneath her, and she was thankful for the slight glimmer of moonlight as she watched. The shadows were quiet in the night; so far, nothing was moving on the outskirts of their encampment. Her fingers clenched her
bow. She was alert and ready for movement. Dropping her eyelids, she watched Dathiem sleep beside her. He looked like a bronze statue with his eyes closed and his long, light lashes brushing his cheeks. The intense thunder of his gaze softened by dreams. She wanted to reach out, stroke his hair, touch his lips, and listen to his heart thump in his chest. If he belonged to her, she would without hesitation, but he had made his position clear. He would come to her when he was ready, leaving her in torture. Making a fist, she watched the golden glow of her lost powers settle around her skin. Traces were all she had left, the visages of a past life. If she were a Changer…A mirthless smile crept to her lips at the thought. If she were a Changer, she’d steal power from an immortal, ripping and tearing until she was whole again. Even that act required power. No, it would not work. There was no way for her to regain what she had lost. Instead, she would have to wait for him to love her, to say the words, and to take action.

  A deep breath escaped his parted lips, and his eyes fluttered. He was awakening. She turned away while he stretched, giving him those moments of privacy between sleeping and waking. He sat up hastily, reaching for his bow and rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?” His voice rumbled low, sending a tingle of emotion rippling down her spine.

  “Midnight.” Resting her chin on her fist, she leaned forward to watch him. He was solid and smelled like a blend of cedar, pine, hints of a rich wine, and splashes of a dark, earthy chocolate. When his eyes met hers, they were gentle. Rescuing herself from the drowning sensation, she added, “You should sleep longer.”

  “No,” he murmured. “I’m awake now. I should make the rounds.”

  “Don’t go.” She hoped it did not sound like she were begging. “You forget that I can see in the dark. All is quiet.”

  He paused mid-rise and sat back down, laying his bow at his feet. He gave her a half-smile, one corner of his face turning up; his eyes were soft. “I grow restless out here without the daily routine of the fortress. I always want something to do; my hands should be mending and healing and fixing. I should be studying or plotting or planning. I forget how easy it is to sit here with you under the moon and just be present.”

  “What did you do before?” She found herself gravitating toward him, slipping off the stone until her knees touched his. “Before you came to the fortress.”

  He glanced from the rock she had been sitting on to her, noting their close proximity. He was making calculations in his head. “Glashar, we should not speak of the past. Let’s stay in the here and now. See how the blades of grass stand upright in the moonlight? Watch the way the night flows around our companions. See how they are sprawled out. They aren’t all asleep; they know better. If you listen close, you can hear the song of the night, weaving through tree and bough. It’s a wordless lullaby, singing us to sleep. Don’t you feel your eyes grow heavy as you listen? The moonlight flickers because it knows a secret it cannot tell. It hides its face yet comes again. See? The present is much better than the past.”

  He spread his arms, and when his fingers brushed her shoulder, she shuddered. “I see,” she whispered, unable to drag her eyes away from his face to see the shapes he was pointing out. She could hear the song of the night, a song which inspired her to dance. Instead of singing her to sleep, it woke her senses. The way Dathiem painted the night was beautiful, unlike the way the Idrains described the time when they were most active.

  “Do you truly never sleep?” His curious eyes strayed to hers.

  She shook her head. The last time she’d slept was after healing Eliesmore. The loss of power left her weak. “There is no need. I can tune out my consciousness, but it is not like the way you sleep.”

  He leaned back, tucking his hand behind his head and considering. After a moment, he reached out his other hand and pulled her to him, pressing her head to his chest and allowing his arm to drape around her shoulder. “Listen,” he whispered. “Just listen.”

  She breathed in, allowing his scent to envelop her as she smiled into his chest.

  45

  Eliesmore

  “How do you do it?” Eliesmore asked Optimistic.

  The Green Company was following a dirt road; white dust parted before their feet and swept away their existence as they passed. Golden fields, dotted with stripes of green, stretched high on either side. Hills rose in the distance with circular huts perched atop flat mounds, allowing the farmers to easily watch their fields from home.

  “Do what?” Optimistic raised his fair brows.

  Eliesmore gestured toward the company. “Everyone likes you and prefers you.” He hated to admit it, but he found himself a bit jealous of Optimistic’s easygoing nature. Optimistic could laugh and tease Yamier and Wekin while exchanging lore of the Four Worlds with Arldrine. He could slide into a deep conversation with Zhane and Dathiem. Even Idrithar did not seem to mind taking time out of his pensive thoughts to speak with Optimistic. Ellagine smiled when he came near. Eliesmore had seen her aura, reaching out to Optimistic to welcome him. Visra’s hostile attitude became tolerable as they argued over lyrics, and Glashar’s concern for their safety was friendly instead of patronizing. “When you are near, everyone feels at ease. It feels…it feels…” He struggled for words to convey his meaning. “This quest seems possible.”

  “It’s my nature to draw others to me,” Optimistic explained, although his face began to turn a pinker shade. “It is as my father told me. When it comes to others, they are interested in themselves. It is not selfish; it is simply the state of our world. If you can find what one truly desires, you gain a simple advantage.”

  “Advantage?” Eliesmore wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand.”

  “Nay, let me reword it. It is the understanding of one’s desires and how they are revealed that allow me to empathize. It might be a result of carrying the Green Stone or perhaps my inner quest for knowledge. Have you ever thought of the meeting of two people, particularly two individuals from different people groups? When you meet, each of you brings a past, rich with history, to the present moment. How do you find out about it? You must ask. There is a sort of a bond between two people when you share your past. Telling stories will always lighten your inner burden of worries, thus creating a kinship with those you share your concerns with. This is why I write songs. My father was poetic and set many words to lyrics. Repeating his habit and following in his footsteps makes me feel closer to the family I lost.” Optimistic swept his blond hair out of his eyes. Although there was sadness in his eyes, Eliesmore also saw a calmness. Optimistic was proud of his family and the values they passed on to him. He enjoyed speaking of them, letting the sorrow stand as a reminder of who he was.

  “What was your father like?” Eliesmore asked, the heaviness of Optimistic’s words passing over him. Ask. That’s what he should do. Ask his companions for stories and for tales and try to understand their desires. It felt contradictory to attempt to care about others when he was at war with his own inner thoughts.

  “He was brave.” Optimistic smiled. “During the time of Magdela the Monrage, he lived in a tribe in the west, a mix of Crons and Tiders. He left everything he knew to come east, bringing word of hope to the White Steeds. He also carried the Green Stone because he feared the Changers were growing too strong in the west and would soon discover his secret. My father was unselfish; he risked his life to return and help as many as he could escape from the wrath of the Black Steeds. I see him as a hero. By the time I was born, the terrors from his past had faded, and he was happy, funny even. You would have liked him. What was your father like?”

  Eliesmore tasted the sourness of jealousy as he bit back his desired response. All the same, it came out harsher than he intended. “I never knew him.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry.” Optimistic’s tone turned warm and understanding. “The pang of loss and never knowing isn’t a wound that heals. The Black Steeds have done this, ripping families apart and draining power. For that, they must pay.”

  They were the most viciou
s words Eliesmore had ever heard Optimistic speak, yet they came out as a lament instead of angry. He opened his mouth to respond when Visra buzzed in front of them. “Eliesmore. Optimistic.” She grinned, showing all her teeth. “Why the gloomy faces?”

  “We were speaking of loss.” Optimistic nodded encouragingly at her as she landed and folded her wings into the skin of her back.

  Eliesmore grimaced at the movement; her aura continued to repulse him.

  “Loss.” She grunted, sticking out her tongue in distaste. “Pathetic. Optimistic, I’ve thought of a fine phrase to complete our sonnet.”

  “Tell me.” A light sprang to Optimistic’s eyes.

  Visra leaned over, cupping her hand to whisper in his ear. Her body bumped Optimistic’s side while they walked. As she whispered, her eye caught Eliesmore’s; she wiggled her eyebrows and winked.

  Blushing and swallowing hard, Eliesmore slowed his pace. He rubbed the back of his neck as he left Optimistic and Visra to their songwriting.

  Yamier and Wekin sprung up on either side of him as if they’d been waiting for the opportune moment. “Whatever were you talking too Optimistic about?” Yamier quizzed.

  “You seemed deep in conversation; it must have been extremely important,” Wekin added, his curious, dark blue eyes rounding and his eyebrows rising.

  Eliesmore shrugged. “Optimistic was explaining something to me.”

  “Oh. What?” Yamier rubbed his hands together.

  “Something,” Eliesmore snapped, not realizing how short and brusque his answers sounded.

  Yamier and Wekin exchanged glances. “You seem annoyed,” Wekin announced a bit bitterly.