“None of us did,” Optimistic countered. “All the same, we should send them to the fortress. Regardless of what you would say, I am coming with you to Daygone.”
“I must admit,” Eliesmore stepped closer to Optimistic. “My vision is hazy when it comes to Daygone. When we reached the Constel Heights, we needed an army to hold the Black Steeds at bay. I sense Daygone will be different, but I’m not sure why or how… I don’t know what I will do when we get there. Will it be just as simple as walking into the stronghold and killing the Dark One?”
“I know not,” Optimistic dropped a hand on Eliesmore’s shoulder. “Mayhap the decision will become clearer the closer we get.”
“Perhaps,” Eliesmore nodded. Bending down, he scooped up Lythe, thankful for the calming sensation as he stroked Lythe’s fur. “We should run today, I think.”
Bruthen sat up with a yell, a frantic glaze fading from his face as he realized where he was. He rubbed his shorn head, his fingers tugging on his sister’s shirt, shaking her awake.
Eliesmore recognized the movements. Fear still shone brightly on their ruddy faces. Squatting, he dropped Lythe in the grass and strode over, handing out leaves of murthweeld. “I can’t promise you we won’t run into danger; there are evil beings that follow us, attempting to halt our progress.” He felt himself relax as the truth spilled from his lips. “I can’t promise you will always be safe with me… but I will tell you,” the words came to him on a fair breeze. “Nothing will daunt our hearts and souls.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he picked up the song of the fields, their voices whispering about the One, passing a message from one to the other. Nothing will daunt our hearts and souls.
Skip met his eyes, her darker ones glimmering with unshed tears. “No one has been kind to us until you came along with the Green Light. I am frightened, but with you, and your odd companions, I believe.”
Bruthen put his hand on her shoulder. “So do I,” he echoed.
Skip and Bruthen mounted Flywinger, and Eliesmore bade them run ahead while Lytle dashed at Flywinger’s hooves.
Optimistic grinned, the fire of adventure flashing across his face as he set off on a run through the dancing meadows. Eliesmore momentarily turned to the south where a distant cry echoed and faded. They were coming. Instead of giving in to the token of fear, he balled up his fists and raised his chin.
Days drifted into each other, one as beautiful as the next. A peaceful sense of urgency settled around Eliesmore. At times, he saw traces of the wind, pointing a finger east, guiding their journey through the grasslands. The voices of the meadows were jubilant in secret glee, passing secrets from blade to flower. Basking in the whispered awe of voices, Eliesmore let his thoughts stray as they traveled. Each morning was cooler than the last. Although they moved at a quick place through the prairie, he could not help but wonder how his other friends, the remainder of the Green Company, were faring and whether the woísts had taken over the western lands. Memory took him back to the Holesmoles, teeming with the bodies of those warrior creatures. He could not help but think it would have been best if the Green Company had sealed the doors to the Holesmoles, trapping the creatures inside before they escaped. He’d never seen nor heard of such dark creatures roaming the underworld, and the fact that his companions knew the lore of the world so intensely they could produce a name for the tall fighting creatures, worried him. Although he would destroy the Dark One, words Idrithar spoke about assumptions ambushed his thoughts. If the Dark One controlled the woísts, what would happen in the west once the Dark One was dead? Would the armies return to the Holesmoles? Would they run wild without a leader? The more Eliesmore considered, the more he was reminded of the stories of Magdela the Monrage. There was a time when the people groups assumed it was safe because she had been banished. They came out and rejoiced, yet they were still hunted down and slaughtered. Perhaps it would be the same now, if the Dark One was destroyed, the woísts would rally to another leader. He shuddered as he recalled dead bodies floating in the breeze and the putrid, decaying stench of Sidell. War was coming to the South World, not this secretive sneaking around borders but all out-and-out war. He could not stop until all the Black Steeds were dead. Again, a bubble rippled inside him, as if something were struggling to escape. He glanced down at his hands as he ran. Despite Optimistic’s encouragement he could not shake the feeling, he did not understand how to use the power of the Green Stone. He recalled the tales of the Five Warriors and what mighty feats they accomplished with the Clyear of Power. Even Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and his companions had used its power to help save their world. Surely the power of the Green Stone was greater.
A few days later, Eliesmore saw a dark mass on the southeastern horizon. As he gazed at it, he noticed a twinkle in the air, as if light were reflecting off a surface. “Do you see that?” he pointed.
Optimistic walked up, shielding his eyes against the sunlight. “No. Your vision is better than mine, Eliesmore.”
Skip and Bruthen had yet to mount up on Flywinger. The pair moved to Eliesmore’s left side, Skip biting her lip while Bruthen crossed his arms, protecting his healing side even though there was no danger of an attack. Eliesmore noticed their thin, tattered clothes. Even though he and Optimistic had given the two their green cloaks, winter would be harsh if they did not find their way to the fortress before the cold winds swept over them.
“What lies to the south of us?” Eliesmore gazed upward as if the open skies would give him a clue.
“We are in the Monoxie Meadows,” Optimistic offered. “It’s hard to gauge exactly where we are, but south of us rises the Cascade Mountains and the Torrents Towers.”
Skip gave as sharp hiss at the words. “What do you see?” she demanded, spinning to face Eliesmore.
Eliesmore squinted. “Lights, reflecting off of each other. Perhaps something sharp, like the quills of a porcupine.”
“It’s the Torrents Towers, there is no other explanation,” Bruthen’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
The panic in Skip’s voice was potent as she spoke. “We are too close. The Traders are relentless. If they find us in the meadows, they will attempt to capture us.” She grabbed Eliesmore’s arm, her fingers digging into flesh. “We have to go.”
Eliesmore swallowed hard, one glance into her dark eyes revealed her sheer panic and terror. Visions of the torture chambers at the Torsilo Quarts rose before him. He lay his hand on top of hers, turning his head. “Flywinger. We must run.” His words came out calm as he met Skip’s eyes again. She tore herself away, not waiting for an answer as she fled to Flywinger, her brother in her wake.
“Go, head toward the shores, we have to find your old village, we have to find supplies before we reach the sea.”
“What are you going to do?” Skip demanded.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Bruthen added.
“Yes, momentarily,” Eliesmore reassured them. “I want a closer look at the city.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Optimistic glanced from Eliesmore to Flywinger and the siblings, as if he disagreed.
“No, I’ll be quick,” Eliesmore shook his head.
“Why?” Optimistic dropped his voice, only letting his words drift to Eliesmore’s eyes.
Eliesmore met Optimistic’s gaze, torn between the curious feeling, the need to see. He could not explain why he should walk toward a city he knew was so potently evil. “I will not approach the city. I want to see what we are up against, what we will face in the days to come.”
Optimistic furrowed his brow, saying nothing else.
“Take Lythe and go, I will catch up shortly.” Eliesmore turned and jogged south, his feet tearing through the meadows as he headed toward the lights. His speed increased as he ran, and it seemed the meadow blurred before him as if he were no longer a mortal, but a creature of the wild, bounding over the hills faster than any mortal could dare run.
An uneven slope rose, and he came to a halt on the crest. Looking back, he cou
ld not see his companions anywhere, and when he put his hand to his chest, his heart thumped like a drum. The revelation crept up on him, something he’d known all along. He was taller, stronger, and faster now. The hidden effects of dissolving the Green Stone were coming to light; an uncanny power rose within him. He needed to find out more about his unique gifts and how to use them. Why were his wise guardians gone? He thought again of Idrithar falling into the mountain of fire, and even as his mind flashed back, he remembered the oddness of the moment. Idrithar had not fallen. He’d jumped. It was so quick, Eliesmore had only noted it briefly and dismissed the impossibility. Now, thinking back, he was sure. Idrithar jumped to his death on purpose. But then there was the horn, perhaps there was a reason Idrithar had jumped. Eliesmore’s breath caught in his throat as he considered. Then perhaps Arldrine had stayed behind, she had not fallen as they had assumed. Eliesmore shuddered, regretting he'd left his companions at Castle Range, although they should not come with him to Daygone.
He saw Ellagine’s regal face as if she stood before him again. Her words clear and crisp, the shadows in her eyes hidden as she told him. “Go to Daygone.” Questions rose in his mind. There were many things he wanted to speak with her about, to explain further the lore of the world and the knowledge of the Green Stone. She knew much more than she had imparted to him, he was sure of it. With a pang, he wondered why he’d left her at all. A blush of warmth came over his face as indelicate considerations entered his mind. He thought of her as she was in Rashla, tall, regal, wild, yet staying by his side, even as her demeanor was always reserved. He’d tried to break through her walls, yet she would tell him nothing more about herself. It seemed to him that he was lost in a hidden dream when he thought of her.
As if cast in a vision he heard children laughing, saw golden hair twirling around and the sweetest voice he’d ever heard calling his name. Eliesmore. Eliesmore. Her face flashed before him, and he realized, with a sudden longing, that what he felt for her was not friendship. Nay, it went beyond the confinements of esteem and comfort, it was something else, something deeper. For the first time, he considered his attraction toward her, his desire to know she was out of harm’s way. He was much older now, if not in years, then in knowledge and experience. His level of maturity had changed, perhaps she would see him for who he was now, and not the stubborn child that ran away from her. Visions of her consumed his mind and when he came out of his trance, sweating and blushing, he could not tell how long he’d stood in the same place.
He looked south. A dread set heavy on Eliesmore’s heart as the city came into view. Above him rose black towers, sharp and wicked, their points like the tip of a needle, winking in an irresistible call for blood. His feet turned back as of their own accord. An unending line of darkness poured into the city, like a black python streaking over the southern lands. “Woísts,” Eliesmore whispered.
A faint sound, like a meow, came from the west. He tilted his head, his mouth dropping open in alarm as he watched. In the distance, the eleven Rakhai walked. Their dark hair streamed out behind them, and their hands lifted while their mouths moved. Ripples of black light streamed off of them as they moved in a weird dance, their faces pointed toward the Torrents Towers. A shadow of horror crept over Eliesmore and he spun, running in the opposite direction as fumes of darkness streaked toward him.
32
Sarhorr
Year 797 (146 years ago). Daygone.
She stood in the rose garden watching the green vines curve around the stunted trees. The red flowers opened their petals as her fingers touched them. A black butterfly landed on her arm, and she giggled. She was limber and lanky with his dark hair and her mother’s light eyes. Her pale green skin caught the radiance of light, and her ears quivered at the sound of the burnt red grass parting before his feet. She was his creation, his first pure creation and not a transformation. He did not have to meld her soul and twist it to his desires. She was his.
She raised her eyebrows when she saw him, her eyes meeting his in respect. “Hello.” She clasped her hands behind her back, swaying back and forth as she studied him. He was glad to see there was no fear in her thoughtful eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” he came to a standstill at the edges of the garden, his eyes flickering to the crimson bower he’d created. Nature was his domain; he’d always been able to pull life to him and create beauty from his presence. He enjoyed twisting nature to his designs, red grass instead of green, purple skies instead of blue, hints of black instead of green twisting through his gardens.
She paused her movements, a sudden pang moving through her body as if the lights had gone out. “They didn’t tell me,” she muttered, biting her lower lip. “You must be the Sage.”
“Who made you think that?”
“Mother. She said we must come here to see the Wise Sage. She said you would grant our wishes. Are you the Sage?”
“If I were, what would be your wish?”
“Is this a test? If it is, I would wish for freedom for my people, the Green People. They are afraid. They have hidden in the forest with a barrier of protection. They are afraid to leave and see the world. They don’t know what they are missing. I need to help them.”
“Why? Is it not enough that you are curious and willing to travel beyond the wood?”
“No. It is not enough. The mortals rule the world. It is not right that a lesser people should control the destiny of the world. My people are superior in every way. If we ruled and mortals were below us, we could make the world better. “
“Better?”
“We can create a paradise here.”
He could almost see a combination of colorful thoughts whirling through her head. “Where is mother? She wanted to come here,” the child asked.
“She will stay with me for a while. I need her.”
She nodded as if the words were no surprise to her as if she knew. Sarhorr felt a brief flash of rage. Shalidir. He walked toward the child, holding out a hand. “Let me look at you. Blood of my blood.”
“Are we related?” she tilted her head upwards.
“Yes,” he took her hand and led her to the bower. “Tell me, what has your mother taught you. What do you know?”
“I know many things,” the child began. “I belong in the forests of Shimla with my people, where we sing and dance with the creatures of the wood. One day the Rulers of that land will leave on a journey to the Beyond, and when the time comes, I will be Queen of the Green People. I will guide my people into a new era where the immortals no longer live in hiding, in dread of what the mortals will do to us. We shall rule the world.”
The words that came out of her mouth were not her words; they were her mother’s words. Sarhorr folded his hands in his lap, a grim smile coming to his face. Blood of his blood. She was his daughter through and through.
“You do not have to wait to rule the world. If you want to make a change, you must start now. Go home. Take up your rule, and when you are ready, come back here. I will teach you everything you need to know.”
Her eyes locked on his, a mixture of surprise and confusion. “You are powerful,” she sniffed. “I can smell it.”
He watched her expression change, the shameless desire for ultimate power. It was time for him to set his plan in motion. It was time to write the book of the Great-Black-Evil. He spoke with her at length, noting her youth yet her unexpected knowledge. When the evening shadows turned the red hues of his garden to blood, he sent her away without another word. Refusing to let her say goodbye to her mother. Then he turned back to his tower and climbed the gray stone stairs, each step sealing the delight in his heart. Secrets fluttered through his mind, and he plucked one as easily as he’d snatch a bud off a blooming flower. His mouth set in a grim line as he strode upwards, it was time to deal with Shalidir.
33
Eliesmore
“What’s wrong?” Optimistic whispered later that evening as they regrouped.
Skip and Bruthen were stretching
their legs, sore from the constant riding. Flywinger’s tail swished back and forth as he chewed grass, while Lythe trotted around the perimeter of the group, sniffing the grass as if he were a wolf on the hunt.
Eliesmore crossed his arms, facing west. The last glow of light hung over the skies like a fading rainbow, the tips of light visible for mere seconds as they disappeared, one by one, like the creatures of the wood leaving the dancing glade. Eliesmore noticed with increasing uneasiness how clear his vision was, despite the darkness dipping over the meadow. “I am concerned,” words tumbled from Eliesmore’s tongue, his thoughts relaxing as he was able to confine in Optimistic. “I saw the Rakhai. They have forsaken their beasts and are walking, strolling through the land.” He scratched his head. “When I saw them, they faced the Torrents Towers. Their hands were raised, and they chanted as if casting a spell across the land. Optimistic, I saw woísts, marching into the city, an unending line. If we have to fight the way we did in the Holesmoles…” he trailed off, the words not coming out he way he desired.
“If they are leaderless, it will be difficult for them to win. If they have no motive, no cause to rally, we will win the war.” Optimistic prompted. He lifted a leaf of murthweeld to his mouth, chewing methodically.
“You are right. It’s just… I can’t see the plan. There’s something in the way, and the Rakhai are coming…”
Eliesmore could not sleep that evening. He sat in the grass, facing west as they made camp, ignoring the easy chatter from Optimistic, Skip and Bruthen. Lythe rubbed up against his back and snuggled down with his head on Eliesmore’s knee. Lifting a hand, Eliesmore rested it on Lythe’s head, a calming sensation passing through his veins as Lythe purred.
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword Page 13
