Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword

by Angela J. Ford

  25

  Yamier

  “Wekin,” Yamier yawned as he stared out over the water, watching the cascading waves move back and forth. “Do you want to go sailing again?”

  Wekin gave a noncommittal grunt without opening his eyes, waving a hand in dismissal.

  “I’m serious,” Yamier went on, watching the object bob and weave in the waves. It got caught in the current and spun around. With a gasp he sat up, his fingers fumbling at the clasp of his cloak, quickly removing it. He tossed his tunic beside his new bow and arrows. There was only the briefest moment of hesitation as he tossed his shirt and pants on to the boulder and stood above the currents, watching the seven rivers ebb and flow. The object he spied riding the current was a boat and not just any boat. Yamier recognized it was as one of the vessels he’d helped to build in Rashla, with white oars stored in the bottom of the boat. Taking a deep breath, Yamier dived.

  Cold water coasted over his skin while the strong pull of the river dragged him west. He allowed himself to sink before striking out, kicking his legs hard and keeping his head down as he moved through the water. The current dragged him until he saw an opening and hurled his body in to the next current, surfacing to gasp for breath. The boat twirled in the next current and with another gulp of air, Yamier allowed himself to sink back down. A tunnel of water pulled him eastward, toward the boat. His teeth began chattering as he surfaced again, seeing the boat within reach. Kicking and swinging his arms, he moved toward the boat, grasping at it when another splash drew his eyes. “Yamier!” Wekin decided to wake up after all.

  Yamier snatched at the rim of the boat and missed, his hand flapping wildly in the cold water. He ducked back underwater like a fish before leaping, hurling his body out of the current. This time his hands caught the boat, and he rolled over, throwing himself down to lie gasping at the bottom. “Aye!” He shouted with glee, raising a fist in victory. He pulled out an oar just as Wekin dived into a second current.

  “A little help here?” Wekin yelled, his head bobbing in the current like a duck.

  Yamier spun his oar and laughed as he attempted to steer toward Wekin. Growing up the two of them had lived close to a river and several underground springs. Swimming was as natural to them as hunting and cooking, yet the love of sailing had never awakened until they crossed the Jaded Sea.

  Yamier held out the oar for Wekin who scrambled aboard, shouting with glee as he splashed water into the vessel. He picked up an oar, and the two attempted to row back to shore.

  “Row a little harder right here Wekin; we’re going over a rough spot.”

  “Aye Captain, now we swing a little to the left, right?”

  “Right? No, we go straight ahead.”

  “Dig in your oar Yamier, keep the boat from turning.”

  “Got it, that’s the way, keep rowing strong.”

  “Almost there, we’re across the currents; the shore is looming.”

  “There now, drop anchor.”

  “There isn’t an anchor.”

  “Err… rather pull her up to shore.”

  By the time the two had finished pulling in the boat and dragging it just out of reach of the water, Arldrine and Goldwind stood side by side, observing their movements.

  “See,” Wekin announced, soaking wet as he spread his arms at his achievement. “We found a boat and brought her in.”

  “We!” exclaimed Yamier in disgust. “I found the boat, and you came along later to row it in.”

  “I saw it at the same time you did, I just needed a few extra seconds of sleep,” Wekin countered.

  “After I swam across three currents to retrieve it!”

  “I swam across too,” Wekin lifted his arms, flexing his muscles.

  “Okay you two,” Arldrine laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Wekin, I was hoping you could draw a map for me.”

  “Why?” Wekin asked as he tugged on his clothes again, Yamier following his example.

  “I’m leaving soon,” Arldrine replied. “Idrithar and Zhane have chosen their path, and I must choose mine. I’m returning to the mountains; I have to search for an army.”

  “No,” Wekin pleaded, his eyes going wide. “Please don’t leave us too.”

  Arldrine tilted her lovely head, her eyes almost teasing. “I will meet you again, at the fortress. Don’t forget. We come, and we go yet we always return.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Yamier crossed his arms, not intending for his voice to come out like a pout, yet it seemed that way.

  Arldrine gestured toward the boat. “You have a ride now. If you follow the currents east, you’ll find yourself back in the Eastern Hill Countries and, eventually, back at the fortress.”

  “Still, I don’t like it,” Wekin added. “We just got you back, and now you’re off again.”

  Arldrine turned east, pointing across the waves. “Just think of the rushing water as you make your way through the west. Consider the beauty of the open skies and the light of the Green Stone at your back, guiding your journey home. Imagine the warm reception you’ll receive at the fortress and the stories you’ll be able to tell of your adventures in the South World. My friends, you are quite young, the youngest of the Green Company. Others seem to doubt you and to judge you for your love of bacon and hunting, and the satisfaction of a meal. Your hearts are full of adventure; you carry the weapons of the Heroes of Old. There is nothing that can stand in your way. Remember all you have accomplished and all you will achieve. You are Yamier and Wekin. You traveled with the One. You fought the battle at the Constel Heights and escaped with your lives. There is nothing more than a glowing future ahead of you. Think of that as you set forth on your next adventure. May the fates always be generous in your journey and may the Green Light shine down upon you as your guide, evermore.”

  She placed a hand on her heart as she blessed them, her words ringing through the air. As she spoke, Yamier saw white lights hurling themselves through the air, bursting in sparks around them as if confirming her words rang true. Later, as he and Wekin pushed the boat into the eastern current, Yamier began to wonder. He was a hunter, a traveler, and, perhaps, a Treasure Hunter. Yet, there was something eternal about his friends and their wisdom, and he wondered what Arldrine had brought back from the mountains, for she seemed quite changed.

  26

  Arldrine

  Arldrine hoisted herself up on a misshapen gray boulder, lifting a hand in farewell as Yamier and Wekin faded from view in the current traveling east. She knew she should have gone with them not only to protect them from their foolishness but also to return to the fortress. It was her destiny to join with the White Steeds and strategize the next step they would take in the war between the mortals and immortals. An undercurrent of guilt rippled through her as her thoughts strayed back to Zhane. A deep longing welled up within her with such force she bent forward, wrapping her arms around her waist as if the mere physical response could hold her together. Memories of Zhane rose before her as vapid as the air. Closing her eyes, she recalled the feeling of his arms holding her against him and his solid strength. Her insides ignited with passion each time she remembered his lips on hers. Rocking herself back and forth, she took deep breaths, unused to the sudden burst of emotion.

  Zhane's stern warnings regarding the Therian crashed through her mind like a waterfall. She cringed as if he were before him, knowing she was free to pursue her quest to find mankind. Shaking herself free from anxiety she weighted the cryptic words from the Green People. Ellagine told her if she sought mankind, she would find an army in the mountains and perhaps her people. Zhane would not approve, although he had run off with Idrithar, giving her the opportunity to begin her search. The knowledge that he was alive—she refused to consider what he might face in the prairie lands—was worth the descent from the mountains. Winter chill would soon sweep the land, and while it would not be wise to return to the mountains during such a season, it seemed no choice was left before her. It was risky, yet in a world overrun with
Black Steeds, what choice did she have but to take a risk?

  Relaxing her shoulders, she watched the shining waters of Werivment as she mulled over her options. She needed to cross the river, yet the currents were too powerful. She slid off the rock and walked over to where Wekin had sketched a map of the South World. According to his design if she crossed the waters of Werivment she would enter the foothills of the lone western mountain range. It was where Dathiem told her to search for mankind. Thoughts of him invariability led her to thoughts of Glashar and Arldrine shuddered, feeling sorry for the pain the Falidrain lived with. Blinking hard, Arldrine traced a finger through the mud, marking her route on the map. It would be quite out of the way to follow the river back to the desert and from there head west. Although, she supposed she could find a crossing where the river was low. Furrowing her brow, she thought back to her flight to Werivment, yet she could not recall a time when the current did not rush swiftly east and west. Even Yamier and Wekin’s devilish rush through the currents had been nothing short of miraculous. Tilting her head, she glanced toward the rushing waters. It would be folly to consider crossing, especially when she could not see the shore. There was no knowing how many miles it would take to reach the other side. Even if she had a boat, the seven currents made crossing impossible. Wiping her hands on the seat of her pants, she paced back and forth on the shore, eyes narrowed, tilting her head as she worked around the problem.

  “Please.” Her lips moved in a whispered prayer. “I need to cross here. Time is wasting. Show me a way.”

  Goldwind trotted up, green grass sticking out of her mouth while her hooves squelched in the mud. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Tis nothing,” Arldrine shook her head. “I was thinking; we should return to the mountains. Are you with me?”

  “Always,” Goldwind moved her neck up and down, chewing the last strands of grass.

  “I am going to search for mankind, an army to help restore this world to the White Steeds. It will be dangerous, it’s risky, but I believe we will succeed.”

  “I will come,” Goldwind replied calmly.

  Arldrine faced Goldwind, laying a hand on her nose. “I want you to know how grateful I am. Even though Eliesmore dissolved the Green Stone, the world is still dark. We don’t know what evil lies in wait.”

  “I will come,” Goldwind nuzzled her. “Stop trying to scare me away.”

  Arldrine chuckled. “I don’t want to hide anything from you. Zhane told me the Therian roam the mounts and they are quite dangerous.”

  “You have the bow of Legone the Swift,” Goldwind huffed at the quiver.

  “Aye,” Arldrine noted, reaching up to rub Goldwind’s mane. She glanced at the wood, the words of the Trespiral coming back to her. Perhaps the mountains held a key, and she could unlock the mystery of the trees. A vague sense of horror rushed over her as she eyed the barren wood and, swallowing hard, she turned her attention back to the waters. The Green Light twinkled and shifted in the waves, a beam catching the waters and casting a mirror across the land.

  Arldrine gasped, squinting as she gazed in wonder. Lifting a hand off Goldwind’s neck, she pointed. “Do you see it?”

  A rainbow winked into existence, colors shimmering before her eyes as an eerie luster swept over the waters. Reds and yellows blended with emerald and sapphire, ending in gentle hues of violet and indigo. Turning, Arldrine ran west toward the source, straining her eyes to keep them from blinking, least she miss the glory.

  “What do you see?” Goldwind trotted after her.

  Arldrine paused over the water’s edge, watching the colors change. Hardly daring to breathe, she reached out a trembling hand, her fingertips skating over light. Her forefinger tapped something solid. Lifting her foot, she sat it on the light. It held her weight, and she took another step, her fingers grasping the firm edges of light.

  “Goldwind, it’s a Rainbow Bridge.”

  She took another step, noting the shift in colors as the bridge flickered. “Follow me, Goldwind,” she took another step, rising above the rushing water. “I am not sure what’s happening, yet it seems the light guides us, opening the road before us, making our path easier. The fates have aligned, we were meant to walk this way. Follow me.”

  “What if we fall?” Goldwind pawed at the flickering light, sniffing at it in distrust.

  Arldrine did not look back. “If we fall, we will fall into the waters of Werivment, and the current will take us with it. I do not believe this bridge was placed here to let us down.”

  The gentle clop of Goldwind’s hooves echoed on the bridge, settling into a steady flow as they walked together. Arldrine matched her steps to the sound of Goldwind walking as they rose higher in the air. The wind blew sharply on occasion, forcing her to grip the vague aura of the bridge, unsure how the light could turn it solid. She continued to walk, taking deep breaths, refusing to allow doubts to sway her mind.

  “We walk a path not tread by other. We go where the wild creatures roam, and safety is not certain. We have no quest, no powers on our side, but go since we must, go since we may, on and beyond. Goldwind, I feel that I have been given a second chance to change the world. Change is not made by returning to the fortress again and again. Someone must take a risk and seek help where others dare not tread. Perhaps this risk will provide the greatest reward.”

  She did not say it aloud, but another thought pricked her mind, leaving a hazy unsettlement in her thoughts of hope. Perhaps this risk would prove the greatest folly.

  27

  Eliesmore

  “Where do you hail from?” Eliesmore glanced toward Skip and Bruthen. The five companions traveled through the meadows, an easy journey with scant conversation. Over the past few days, Eliesmore attempted to give the siblings space, yet as he eyed their torn clothing and healing backs, he could not help but find himself curious. Optimistic kept the conversation turned to mundane topics, yet Eliesmore wanted to know their history. Their lives were quite different from his. “What happened to you?”

  Optimistic walked up, nudging Eliesmore’s shoulder. “Don’t push them,” he whispered. “They will talk when they are ready.”

  “No,” Bruthen waved a hand, wincing and grabbing his side. “We can speak.” Sadness rang out in his low, mellow voice.

  “Are you certain?” Skip’s higher voice faltered as she pivoted toward her brother, eyeing him with a look Eliesmore could not quite explain.

  Flywinger slowed his pace, moving into an even walk while Lythe padded beside him. Lythe’s light fur flashed in and out of the long blades of grass, some taller than even his back. Optimistic strode to the left of Flywinger while Eliesmore marched on the right, peering ahead as he noticed light movement in the grass. Now and then it seemed as if the wind fluttered by him, touching his shoulder, running its invisible hands through his hair. When he tuned out the sound of his companions, he heard an unmistakable voice. The words were garbled and mismatched, in no language he had studied. After a moment it died away, and like a dream he watched the wind dance its way onward, threading its breeze through the vibrant meadow.

  “I recall little of my earlier life,” Bruthan spoke hauntingly, an odd, faraway gleam in his eyes. “We lived with ma and da, by the waters of the Jaded Sea.”

  “Our parents were fishers,” Skip added, clenching her fists. “At least, from my memory.”

  “Aye,” a slight smile touched Bruthen’s chapped lips, a warm halo of hope and light covering his ruddy face. “Evening tides, we’d head out to the great seas and fish until the morn dawned. Those were great days.”

  “Do you still know how to fish?” Eliesmore interrupted. “Do you know how to steer a boat?”

  Skip gave a short chuckle. “Boats? We did not fish on boats. Nay, we had a great barge. We’d fish with our tribe. We used to fish for trade in our village, at least, we did, back when there were Trazames.”

  “Trazames?” Optimistic gave a low whistle. “None have heard of Trazames in this land, they s
till live?”

  Skip gave a noncommittal shrug. “That was long ago,” she trailed off.

  “Before they took over our village,” Bruthen’s voice sunk lower.

  “The Black Horse Lords,” Skip continued, echoing a lost thought.

  “They made the families work for them; I don’t know why they needed so much food…”

  “They killed all the elders and forced us to march to the Torrents Towers,” Skip shivered.

  “They took our barge, our fish, our tribe,” Bruthen’s voice trembled.

  “How old were you?” Optimistic’s gentle voice broke the spell of terror.

  “I don’t recall, I had not reached my tenth moon,” Bruthen shrugged.

  “Moon?” Eliesmore furrowed his brows, not understanding.

  “We count the cycles of the moon, not years,” Skip explained. “We fished at night and slept during daylight, but everything was different in the Torrents Towers.”

  “We were with our parents at first,” Bruthen’s voice grew hallow and haunted. “Until the Traders came.”

  “Don’t talk about them,” Skip snapped. “We’re not going back.” Her tone was hard; anger radiated from her body as she sat up straighter.

  Bruthen looked over at Optimistic. “The Traders, they are the political sect that controls the Torrents Towers. They teach us how to live, to please the Dark Figure, and if we disobey, they send sacrifices to…”

  “Don’t talk about it,” Skip interrupted. “The horror… please…” she turned to face Eliesmore. “We can’t go anywhere near that place, not if you value life.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eliesmore offered, taking aback by the intensity on her face. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed hard, purple splotches breaking out on her face. “How come you are out here? Aren’t the Torrents Towers far from here?”