“Those Black Steeds back there…who killed the lion. They were taking us to Castle Range,” Bruthen offered. “We were supposed to be a sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice to the Dark Servant?” Eliesmore gasped. Ominous words floated to his memory. The Changers walked the South World, collecting knowledge and power. “You must hold power,” he blurted out.
Bruthen shook his shorn head. “I don’t understand your meaning. We aren’t powerful. It was only by chance we happened upon the lion and were able to overpower the Traders.”
“Where were you planning on going, after you escaped?” Optimistic questioned, glancing back toward the west as if watching for the Traders.
“We were going to head toward the Jaded Sea,” Skip gave a noncommittal shrug. “The fortress of the White Steeds sounds safer. That’s where you said you are going?”
Eliesmore opened his mouth to respond while the wind blew his words away. A vague shadow passed in front of his eyes, and with a shudder, he recalled the Rakhai. “We must return the Eastern Hill Countries,” he altered the words he was going to say. “First, we need a way to cross the Jaded Sea. Perhaps we can return to your village and find the barges, and from there we can set sail.”
Bruthen shifted, biting his lip as if he wished to say more. “It has been many moons. I doubt the village is still there… I doubt there is anything left at all.”
“Bruthen,” Skip comforted him, her voice dipping. “We never should have talked about this.”
“We all have a dark past,” Optimistic spoke, his words like a beacon of light on a cloudy day. “A past that frightens us, and makes us wish for different days, better days. We all have stories we wish we’d never have to tell again, and moments when it seems that fear will overcome us. Yet, when we share our stories, it relieves the burden, and we know we don’t have to carry our fears and frustrations alone anymore. That is why we are White Steeds; we have come to help this world, to ease the pain of loss, to end the suffering once and for all. We come so that others will never have to experience the loss, deprivation, and fear we have faced. We come to bring hope.”
“Hope.” Eliesmore echoed. “Hope and salvation. We have only just begun, but when you look up, look to the west, let the light of the Green Stone fill you with resilience to face another day.”
“Do you think you can do it?” Bruthen glanced from Optimistic to Eliesmore. “Do you believe you can take back the world, the entire world, from the Black Steeds.”
As the question sunk in, Eliesmore recalled the moment he was on his knees in front of the Dark Servant. An odd excitement pulsed through his body and his fingers tingling, itching to hold the sword. A bubbling swept through his inner body and for the briefest second, he saw emerald motes dancing before his eyes. “Yes,” his voice rang out firm. “We will save the entire world from the Black Steeds.”
28
Idrithar
Idrithar slowed his hurried footsteps to a stop. Bending over he placing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Ragged breathes tore through his throat until he could taste blood in his mouth, the warm iron from the exhaustion of running. Daylight was fading, and the trees were growing thinner. They had come far during the day. Idrithar had allowed Zhane to set the pace, moving them speedily through the western lands toward the prairie of Monoxie. Air snagged in Idrithar’s throat, and he coughed, a violent rattling in his chest forcing him to place a hand over his heart as if the simple movement could prevent his lungs from exploding.
“Idrithar?” Zhane stood tall, arms folded as he gulped in air.
Idrithar grunted in response, waving away Zhane’s unasked question. His body was not as strong as it used to be, he had to retrain it to push through fatigue by sheer willpower. For a brief second, he regretted not taking Indonesia’s offer of a winged assistant to carry them to Daygone. Contrary to her earlier words, he was not perfect, and mistakes crept up on him. Zhane’s supposed vision told him he’d made the wrong choice. Fumbling for a water skin, Idrithar took a long draught, standing tall as energy flowed through his body.
“There’s a dark line on the southeastern horizon,” Zhane remarked.
Idrithar shaded his eyes, squinting, wishing he had a staff to lean on while he thought. “Armies, most likely.”
Zhane opened his pack, thoughtfully chewing the dried meat he found there. “I am setting our course toward the Torrents Towers, keeping closer to the Cascade Mountains. I believe it will be swifter than traveling through the prairie lands.”
Idrithar nodded in agreement. “We need to find the storehouses in order to gain access to the Jaded Sea. Crossing this high up is not my preference.” The seas grew rough and wild the further north they went, at times it could take almost a month to navigate them. The boats from the storehouses which belong to the Torrents Towers were much larger than the small crafts Idrithar and Zhane had built in Rashla.
“If my calculations are correct, Eliesmore is at least 4-5 days ahead of us; we must find a swifter way to travel.”
Idrithar stroked his beard. “It will be risky. If we can get to the Torrents Towers and procure dumb beasts, we can speed our journey to the sea. Tell me more about your vision. What did you see?”
Before Zhane could respond an arrow hurled out of the shadows. “Get down!” Zhane shouted while Idrithar dropped to the ground like a broken tree branch, the air whooshing out of his chest as the arrow whistled above his head. He watched the arrowhead embed itself in the trunk of a tree as he slithered his fingers down his side, reaching for the hilt of the blade of Alaireia, Keeper of the Clyear.
“I did not hear them,” Zhane whispered, lifting two fingers he pointed north. “I’ll scout this way.”
“Stay low,” Idrithar cautioned him.
Zhane rose on his hands and knees, waiting for another arrow to come through before he rose and ran north. Idrithar turned his head south, his eyes roaming the increasingly dimming wood for signs of woísts. Silence reigned as he stood to his feet, shifting through pine needs scattered across the ground. Pressing his back against a trunk, he allowed the rough prickle of uneven wood to rub against his back as he drew the sword, the sword he’d never wanted. Indonesia’s mocking face rose before him; her words hissed through his ears. You are nothing like my Father. It was not lost on him, the Order of the Wise had ended, and the Mermis were the reason why.
A deep growl vibrated across the ground, and Idrithar held the sword up, noting the way the golden light in the center began to glimmer. A moment later, Zhane returned, a finger to his lips while he hurled himself again the tree truck beside Idrithar. “A horde of woísts, I counted more than a handful, twenty, fifty, I could not tell. The darkness mars my vision.”
“Are they moving toward us?”
“Aye, in the same direction, one of their scouts must have sent the arrow.”
“A warning. We should keep moving.”
“There could be more out there,” Zhane cautioned, lifting a hand.
Idrithar nodded. “I am certain of it. The woísts will secure the borders of the west; it seems the Dark Figure will abide by intimidation and slather. I fear the mass massacres may start again.”
Zhane muttered a curse in Iaen under his breath. “Why do I get the feeling we’re too late? Again.” He lifted the sword of Crinte the Wise and Idrithar saw the oracles on it go flicking off into the darkness, like omens of a distant future. White sparks leaped where Zhane’s fingers held the sword. Visages of power.
Idrithar took a step forward, lifting the sword as the woísts materialized out of the shadows. There was no need to exchange words with Zhane; the two tended to fight as if they were extensions of each other's minds. Idrithar swung the sword as he stood back to back with Zhane. From his peripheral vision, he could see oracles from Zhane’s sword dashing off into the shadows.
Five woísts approached him and Idrithar swung, blocking a blow, kicking out at a second woísts before spinning and driving his sword into a third. Yanking the
sword free, he slashed at a woíst, noting the glimmer on the blade growing stronger with each move he made. A yell sounded as more creatures ran out of the wood, dashing toward the two. Idrithar ducked as an arrow flew overhead, stumbling as a foot came out, tripping him. He slid forward across leaves, his arm burning as the underbrush tore at his skin. He turned onto his back and dragged the sword up into the air. He spun in an arc as headed tumbled around him. A fire rippled through his chest as he regained his footing. He reached with his second hand to unsheath his second sword. Twirling the blades, he moved forward yet again to aid Zhane as the creatures fell around them. The fire in his chest intensified before exploding; he saw the light in the sword of Alaireia the Ezinck grow brighter for mere moments before it released itself. Fingers came out, and a molten gold light sprang forth, driving into the hearts of the woísts, mowing them down without rhythm or reason. Idrithar held the sword higher as light poured out of it and the edges of blackness crept up on his eyes. He swayed on his feet as the light grew brighter, and with one last grunt of energy, he collapsed.
29
Sarphimm
She stood in the open fields of Sidell, away from the cries of the burning city, facing the mountains. The people groups of the South would rally to her. The elders were dead, as they should be, for the Black Steeds continued to follow instructions from the time of Magdela the Monrage.
Her red mouth drew downwards in fury, and she clenched her pitchfork in her white fists, watching the blood drain away from her hands. Anger constricted her, or was it fear? No. She’d never known fear. It was anger. Sarhorr, her brother, had seen fit to betray her again and again. He was relentless, remorseless, and bent on destroying her. She should have tortured him for a hundred years. She should have executed her plan sooner. Thinking back, she’d assumed if she gave him control over the army of woísts he would display some sort of allegiance toward her. It seemed to have little effect on him, even swearing the blood oath did not bind him to her as she had hoped. He covered the mountains with the army. Yet, with a slip of the hand, still allowed the Green Stone to be dissolved. It could not be helped; she’d expected the stone to fall into the hands of powerful mortals and immortals at some point.
The power of the Green People was strong enough to keep Changers out of their forests, and even the east reeked with their eerie power. It made her feel weak, which is why she’d sent Sarhorr to Daygone, hoping the stench of the Green People’s power would curb his aptitude for destruction. However, he’d stolen the Phutal and escaped to the Eastern World for a time. It was a shame she could not break him. No. The Green Stone had to be dissolved, and the One was on his way to Daygone to stop Sarhorr once and for all. Once he was gone, she would rule, as she was always meant to. The death of her brother, the Dark Servant, in Castle Range, their home, had been nothing short of sabotage. She recalled his rage when she escaped through her secret portal and left him alone to face the One. Her brother was dead now. She felt it. And the One would be encouraged enough to attempt to destroy Sarhorr. Then he would come for her in all his magnificence, and she would rip him apart.
A bitter laugh rose up in her throat. Sarhorr would begin, and she would finish. Ultimately, the power of the Green Stone belonged to her. She would enjoy drawing it from a helpless mortal hero. Then, the world would be doomed. She would rebuild the Four Worlds, a massive task, with an army of immortals to assist her. With the power of creation, she could create a new breed, a loyal race, an immortal race, to follow her to the ends of the world. Once the Four Worlds were hers, she would escape to wreak havoc on other planets. From conversations with the stars, she was aware of planets and galaxies far beyond comprehension. They would be hers, she would not stop until her name was on everyone’s lips and all people, creatures, animals, mortals, and immortals would speak her name, worship her likeness, and follow in her way. The Way of Phimm.
30
Idrithar
Idrithar woke, a buzzing ringing in his head as if his ears had popped. He opened his eyes, noting he lay face up, his vision taking in the woods above him. A scattering of pine needles lay to the right of him, and he saw Zhane leaning against a tree, keeping watch, as usual. Idrithar lifted a hand as sound flooded his senses. A low hum of life, almost unnoticeable was scattered through the trees. The bold tang of sandalwood touched his nostrils, and he sat up, rubbing a bump on the back of his head. His eyes fell to the sword as he moved, and he lifted it up. The gold line on it was still, silent, as if it had never flared up. Idrithar considered the sword as he stood, and as he slipped it back into its sheath, he saw a flash of blue light. Holding his hands up he rubbed his fingers together, considering the possibility that his powers were not quite as lost as he’d thought. As he turned to face Zhane, testing his balance, another thought penetrated his mind. The Mermis. Indonesia was quite vague regarding what power the Mermis held. She’d told him about her past, the ethereal kingdom of Spherical and other great feats in the kingdom of clouds. Yet the kind of power the Mermis held was unknown. Even the Cron who had created the weapons for the Five Warriors held an uncanny power; it had to be something strong, something old, something even the Changers could not touch.
“Zhane, ready to run on?” Idrithar asked. He felt strong, refreshed, better than he’d felt since his fall in the mountain of fire.
Zhane nodded, his eyebrows lifted, conveying curiosity, yet he did not ask.
“There is more to these weapons than meets the eye,” Idrithar went on. “Do you feel anything?”
Zhane stood up straight, angling his broad shoulders to the east. “I’m not sure if I can explain it,” Zhane held out his palms. “It seemed as if the sword knew, anticipated my movements. There’s something else, you feel it too?”
Idrithar held up a finger. “It is possible that Eliesmore passed something to each of us, there are repercussions from traveling with the One and the Green Stone. Perhaps the release of power did not just affect him; it impacted all of us. When the light exploded, there was a surge. I am certain of it. As an additional benefit, we now hold the weapons of the Five Warriors. We are enhanced.”
“Are you certain it came from the Green Stone?” Zhane’s expression was impassive, yet his eyes flickered with unspoken questions.
“There may be other explanations, but I have been watching. You have something now that you did not have before, I can sense it.”
“Arldrine brought back something from the mountains,” Zhane dismissed Idrithar’s words, turning his face away.
Idrithar moved through the woods at a quick pace, continuing the conversation. “That something has been awakening for some time; I’m not talking about untapped powers. There is something in the way we fight.”
“You rule out the Mermis,” Zhane countered.
“Perhaps I rule out no one,” Idrithar pursed his lips. “Tell me, Zhane. What exactly did your vision show you?”
“We should run,” Zhane glanced behind them where the charred remains of the woísts still lay. “We are hard-pressed to catch up with Eliesmore.”
Zhane would not hold his gaze, Idrithar noted. Closing his mouth, he considered, letting his thoughts make calculations as they ran through the woods toward the prairie, while night swept over the South World.
31
Eliesmore
A howl tore through the quiet morning air. Eliesmore stood up straight, thick leaves of rich green murthweeld dropping from his fingers as he spun. It was there again, the cry he hadn’t heard since the incident in the mountain of fire. His heart climbed into his throat as he eyed the south. There was something different about their call, and his heart thudded in recognition. He understood them. They weren’t howling at all, but shouting at each other in shrill voices, arguing about their assignment.
Eliesmore’s shoulders sagged as he listened. A sudden rush of wind blew past him, blurring the translation of the words. He caught brief snatches of conversation.
“… You can’t do that…”
&nb
sp; “… It’s not the mission, he will be angry…”
“… I will tell him…”
“… We need to attack…”
“…But the bloodline is gone…”
“… This is not the way…”
“… No more servitude… we should have it for ourselves…”
“… Don’t you know what will happen?”
The wind grew still as the words died away. Eliesmore believed he heard the distinct sound of steel striking steel, but as he walked toward the sound, all was silent.
“Eliesmore,” Optimistic’s concerned voice broke through his thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
Lythe trotted up, rubbing his head against Eliesmore’s legs as he purred.
“They are coming,” Eliesmore sighed, facing Optimistic, keeping his voice low. Skip and Bruthen were still slumbering, and he was loath to wake them or hint toward the fearsome creatures that chased them. “The Rakhai, I mean. I assumed they would stop chasing us now that the Green Stone is dissolved.” He waved a hand in the direction of the steadfast Green Light. "What do they want from us now?"
“I see.” If Optimistic was afraid, he did not show it. “We should keep moving then.”
Eliesmore jerked his chin toward Skip and Bruthen. “What should we tell them? If it comes to a battle, it will be our fault for putting them in harm’s way.”
“Everything is different now,” Optimistic suggested. “You have the power of the Green Stone; the Rakhai no longer hold sway over us.”
Eliesmore straightened his shoulders, glancing at the sleeping siblings. “If it were only us, I wouldn’t mind it so much. We have to send them away as soon as we reach the Eastern Hill Countries. I refuse to have blood on my hands; they did not ask for this darkness.”
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword Page 12
