Leaka returned with a heavy-laden pack and extra furs. “It’s winter, it will be cold,” she pressed the items into his hands. “I called for Gykin the Xctas. He is a messenger although he does not have the gift of speech. You will learn how to communicate with him. He is a fighter, something you will need for where you are going.”
He shouldered the pack and draped the fur over his shoulder. Leaka leaned out over the balcony and gave a piecing whistle. A high pitched cry called back, echoing over the clouds. A golden brown Xctas wheeling over them, its wings stretching twelve feet over the mist. It perched on the golden rails, clutching it with long, deadly claws. Bright yellow eyes examined Zhane. He watched, noting the curved beak and claws that could rip him apart.
Leaka laid her hand on the Xctas’ head. “Gykin. Meet Zhane. He is in need of transport to the western end of the Cascade Mountains. Zhane. I hope you find the treasure you seek. Go in peace, my friend.”
Zhane reached out, sliding an arm around her shoulder and hugging her tight. “Words cannot express how much this means to me.”
She gave a quick nod, her eyes looking off far away. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Zhane mounted Gykin who stretched his wings, and they flew west toward the Green Light.
66
Eliesmore
Boisterous voices echoed through the fortress even though the hour was late. Eliesmore noted it was nearing the middle of the night as he walked through the halls with Lythe, letting himself and the lion cub outdoors. He’d spent a few days in the Cloud Kingdom and returned earlier that day, at least, Eliesmore assumed most of them had. Sletaira had guided him, Optimistic, Yamier and Wekin back to the fortress. Eliesmore hadn’t seen Idrithar or Zhane since, not that he was concerned.
He strode out the hidden back door and found himself on a patio, overlooking the shore. The guards were lax at the fortress; it differed from when he’d arrived, almost a year ago, when the spiraling castle lay silent and heavy with grief.
Eliesmore leaned out over the balcony while Lythe sniffed the air. Eliesmore place a hand on Lythe’s back, noticing how the lion cub’s head now came to his waist. A spiraling staircase led to the ground, where a dusty path sneaked into the grove where the trees were felled, and the ships were built. In the distance, Eliesmore heard the loud, rough voices of the White Steeds, feet stomping while mugs of ale were thumped across the table. It was hot and sweaty in there, loud and wild. Out in the darkness it was cool and refreshing. Snowflakes dusted the ground like shy water creatures, hesitant to come out in the open yet sending a greeting all the same.
“You prefer the silence too?” A question danced through the air, and Eliesmore realized he and Lythe were not alone.
A few seconds later the rich scent of tobacco drifted to his nose, and he turned to see a lanky Tider, hanging over the balustrade. Short dark hair touched the Tider’s neck while his long nose protruded from his face. His shoulders dropped, as if weary from carrying a heavy burden. He held a pipe in one hand and lifted it to his mouth, puffing slowly as if it were his last smoke and he trying to savor it. When he turned toward Eliesmore his eyes were sunken and his cheeks sallow.
Eliesmore continued to stoke Lythe’s back, saying nothing. Lythe wrinkled his nose toward the Tider, but when Eliesmore did not react, continued to stand still, his tail swinging back and forth.
The Tider went on, turning his sad eyes back out toward Oceantic. “They are rejoicing because of you.”
“Why aren’t you with them?” Eliesmore asked with genuine curiosity. He breathed in the night air, watching the stars which seemed to wheel and dance above him. There was a circle of stars surrounding the Green Light, parading around it in worship.
“I am not worthy,” the Tider whispered. He put his pipe back in his mouth and took a long drag. When he was done, he put his lips into an o and below out white smoke rings. They shifted like visions, straying and bending into the deepness of night.
“Where are you from?” The words left Eliesmore’s lips before he could halt them. He hadn’t come for conversation, and he wasn’t keen on the learning the history of the various Crons and Tiders who inhabited the fortress, but something about the Tider’s demeanor made him ask.
“The Torrents Towers.” The Tider shuddered. “We followed the Way of Phimm. We did not know it was wrong. We did as we were told until we saw the Green Light and the city descended into chaos. We took advantage of the confusion and ran while we could, Mattio and I.” The Tider scrubbed his face, wiping away invisible tears. “The Xctas appeared on the shore and asked us if we would come. They brought us here along with the others to train, to march to war.”
“What was it like? Living in the Torrents Towers?” Eliesmore recalled the towers winking in the sunlight while the Rakhai walked toward the city with their hands lifted.
“We did as we were told. I never known life could be different. I never knew what freedom was until I saw the Green Light. Coming here, I see now, we were deceived. We were all deceived. How could we have known the Way of Phimm is a lie?”
Phimm. A drum sounded in Eliesmore’s head. Phimm. It thudded onwards, halting on an odd beat and thrumming forward yet again. He wanted to know, yet he didn’t want to know at all. “Who is Phimm? What is the Way of Phimm.”
“I don’t know. There are no explanations, only the law, and those who question it, those who ask why are killed. Phimm is why I’m here. I was deceived. I did terrible things because I thought I was right, I knew it was the right way. I’m not the only one. If I can save others, and help them understand the truth, going back will be worth it.” The Tider shook his head and leaned over the balcony, taking another long drag of his pipe.
The beat inside of Eliesmore’s head thudded away as he left Lythe’s side and moved closer to the Tider. “You may call me Eliesmore. What is your name?”
The Tider faced Eliesmore, standing eye to eye. He placed a hand on his heart and bowed his head. “I am called Sir Regante.”
“Sir Regante, you have my word. We will go to the Torrents Towers and help the people of that city find freedom and forget the Way of Phimm.”
“I know many are clamoring for your attention, and I know the world thanks you for what you have done. But I thank you,” Sir Regante kept his head bowed. “I know I am not worthy, but I will follow you for the rest of my days.”
When he raised his head, Eliesmore met his eyes and saw it. It wasn’t fear or hopelessness, it was the knowledge of wrong doing, and the hope to spend a lifetime making up for sins of the past. It struck Eliesmore, and even in the grip of darkness surrounding him, he saw the true soul and strength of mortals. He saw the Tider refused to forgive himself for being blind, and the desire to change and grow.
“You know you are forgiven, for whatever wrong doing you have done,” the words came from Eliesmore lips, almost as if he were not speaking them. “I forgive you, but, nothing I say matters unless you can forgive yourself and move forward instead of dwelling in your past.”
The Tider turned away, shaking his head and lifting his pipe. “Not until my city is free.”
Eliesmore nodded. “Come Lythe,” he whispered, turning toward the steps. “Let’s go walk by the waters.”
Lythe purred in reply, giving the Tider a final glance before following Eliesmore down the stairs to the soft carpet of grass.
Eliesmore searched his mind for the red Zikes that followed him, but they were sleeping in the depths of the fortress. He walked through the shadows of midnight, feeling the awareness of light as it shuddered around him. Free. The world was not free yet. His hands curled into fists. He would not stop until every living thing was free from the tranny of the Black Steeds. Come what may.
67
Zhane
White snow peaks rose before him as Zhane leaned over Gykin’s back. Their flight was swift and cold, leaving no time to do anything other than sleep. A numbness swept over Zhane as they flew, first over the barren forests of Shimla and th
e Land of Lock, then over the swells of the Jaded Sea. The jade waves were rough and unsettled, the winter storms taking full control. The snow-capped mountains appeared breath-taking with grandeur from the air, and even as they soared westward, Zhane appreciated the pure beauty of the Cascade Mountain Range. They descended into the fog, and the time came where Zhane grabbed a sword, taking slow and steady breaths to calm himself. Eleven years ago he left never to return, and he was unsure who or what was waiting for him.
Gykin landed on an outcropping of rocks. A path led downward, and Zhane dismounted. He crossed both of his swords over his back and pulled the fur on top of them, hiding them from the watching eyes of the mounts but leaving his weapons within easy reach. “Many thanks,” he placed his hand on his heart. “Please find out where the army is, I await your signal.”
Gykin gave a sharp cry, spread his wings and lifted off. Zhane watched until Gykin was little more than a dot in the sky and he was left alone. Bending, he tightened the laces of his boots before standing straight and running. The stone path led downwards, but it was an old trail, seldom used, leaving rocks and boulders from avalanches in Zhane’s path. He leaped over them, grateful for the small challenges in his run. It kept his mind off of what he would find. The pace of his run and the steady beat of his heart brought an air of peaceful familiarity.
A growl echoed through the air, and Zhane paused, recognizing it for what it was. A warning. They were already on his trail and perhaps they knew who he was, for they sent a warning instead of outright attacking. Reaching back Zhane drew his blades and held them down in a manner of surrender. He turned, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the mountainside.
“Come out. Face me!” He ordered.
The growls drifted into silence. He whirled as the cold air rushed over his fur and cooled his fingertips. A thin whistle pierced the air as the wind moved over the blade of the sword of Crinte the Wise and oracles winked off, disappearing into the thin mountain air.
Stones crunched under foot and out of the shadows three creatures morphed from their animalistic form, changing into Tiders. They stood just as tall as Zhane with board shoulders and rugged faces. The biggest one, the one with a scar across his cheek stepped forward, sniffing and growing.
“You should be dead.”
Zhane shrugged at the statement. “Do you lead the clan?” He asked instead, hoping for a clue, a display of authority to guide his next questions.
The Tider ignored Zhane’s question and barred his teeth. “Why are you here? Why are you back now?”
Zhane’s eyes flickered to the Green Light in the northwest before returning to the Tider’s face. Pain and disgust shone out of his hard eyes, a reminder that life was not easy for the Therian. “You have someone I want,” Zhane admitted.
The Tider spat, a menacing growl rising in his throat. “Do you propose a trade? If we have the one you want what will you give us?”
Zhane’s fingers tightened around his blade as blood rushed to his head. He gritted his teeth, keeping the bloodlust at bay. “What do you want?”
The Tider angled his body sideways, moving into a crouch. “Nothing you can give us.”
The Tider transformed into a black beast, a long snout coming out as white fangs glistening as he leaped for Zhane’s throat. The other two Tiders stood back, watching.
Zhane moved fast, his lip curling as flashes from the past came back to him. He brought one of his swords up and lashed out at the beast who jumped away at the last moment. The beast landed on all fours, the hair on its back standing up as it crouched and growled, intelligent eyes blinking at Zhane. Leaning back on its haunches the creature transformed back into a Tider, standing from a kneeling position as he eyed Zhane, a look of disgust covering his face.
“Is there no honor left in the House of Therian?” Zhane snapped, even though he knew there was none. “You have driven everyone away from you, is there nothing left for those who return to your clan?”
The Tider grunted. “Nay. As long as I live, Halbrin of the House of Therian, those who invade our mounts are not welcome, not until our stronghold is returned to us.”
Zhane took another warning step forward and paused. Stronghold. It was a fortress for the Therian in the lowlands, near the foothills of the Cascade Mountains in Itmether. The Therian had lost it to an invasion years before Zhane was born. Keeping one of his swords at waist level, Zhane stepped close. “Halbrin of the House of Therian. Tell me. What if I help you regain Stronghold?”
Halbrin scowled. “It is not our way. You have two choices. Leave our mountains or fight to the death.”
“I did not escape a decade ago to return to these threats,” Zhane raised his sword, pointing the blade toward Halbrin’s heart.
Halbrin’s eyes narrowed. “You are one of the outcasts. It was rumored you might return to regain your rule.”
Zhane dropped his sword. “I have not come to rule.”
“Bah, ruling is in your blood,” Halbrin motioned to his companions. “Come, son of royalty, you shall stand trial before the brethren.”
Zhane remained silent, thinking through his next actions. Returning to the clan of the Therian was a death sentence. Although he sensed a sliver of hope, since Halbrin had not killed him, however, he suspected Halbrin had ulterior motives for taking him to the clan. Time was of the essence. He could not stay and argue with the Therian, regardless of how many or few were left.
“If I don’t come with you?”
Halbrin crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently on the flat side of a rock. “Tell me, the outcast you used to protect, does he still live? Why did he not return with you?”
Zhane crossed his arms, grief sweeping over him. “He is dead,” he rejoined.
“Ah, perhaps the clan will see you in a different light,” Halbrin shrugged. “Come!” He dropped to all fours, morphing back into his wolf-like form as he began to run. His companions shifted and moved down the hills.
Zhane sheathed his swords and ran after them, dashing over stones toward craggy cliffs.
When they arrived at the camp Zhane paused, painful memories sweeping over him. The Therian were great beasts, powerful and mighty. They’d migrated higher into the mountains, yet the aura was the same. Their campsite was nearly invisible, hidden in the rocks and great boulders. Tents made out of skins dotted the camp, and the Therian stood around a few small fires, although their bodies held in warmth and they were not too fond of eating cooked meat. It was an aversion Zhane developed. He preferred the taste of cooked meat without blood, although the Therian claimed they gained strength from the blood of their kills. Bones and skulls littered the ground.
The Therian were shifters. They changed at will into Xctas, great horned bulls, wolves, and bears, based on their born shifting abilities. There had been a time when the Therian were divided by clan, but invasions by the Black Steeds forced them to rely on each other. Those who could not shift and those who showed weakness were driven out or eaten by the clan. Zhane paused at the entrance of the camp, noting the way it was setup, to allow the Therian the advantage to see who was coming from a distance. A few Xctas perched on a higher slope, their beady eyes watching, and Zhane wondered if they’d seen him fly in on Gykin and sent Halbrin to welcome him.
A bitter tang of frosted blood hung in the air, mixed with the sour smell of bad breath and body odor. As Zhane moved to the circle where the clan would hold the trial, he sensed, more than heard, the growls and hostile murmurs of the Therian. One by one they stood and stared at him. Those who had been in their animalistic forms shifted back to Tiders.
Their faces were sharp, eyes bold and intelligent, while muscles stood out on their arms and legs. Dark eyes narrowed, and tanned faces twisted as they rose, a fur hanging off one shoulder as they picked up various weapons, as if Zhane’s presence was enough to start a civil war in their midst.
“Who authorized you to be here?” One of the males demanded. He strode forward, throwing a quick glance at Halbrin.<
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“I have come of my own accord,” Zhane moved toward the circle, turning to address each of them in turn. “I did not come to stake a claim to this clan or to rule. I am passing through, and I believe someone I want is with you.”
“Bah,” the male spit, glaring at Halbrin. “If you speak of the Ezinck, we declined the sacrifice of the heathen tribes. She was not worthy. She already has a mate.”
Zhane stepped backward. “Sacrifice? I do not understand.”
“Nor would you,” the male continued. “You do not live in these mountains and do not understand our customs, our ways. Your return is unsavory.”
“I understand,” Zhane bowed his head. “As a token of my goodwill, I am willing to perform an act of selflessness in accord with your customs.”
“There are no acts you can perform which will lead us to trust you,” Halbrin growled, even though the other male gave him a warning look.
“We go to attack the Tribe of Minas in the lowlands,” the male spoke up, lifting a hand. “You may come fight with us. If we sense treachery, we will kill you.”
“If I may be so bold,” Zhane’s eyes flashed at the thought of the attack, “what is the reasoning behind this attack? Have they done wrong to the Therian? Is this a punishment?”
“They missed the sacrifice and offered a white horse instead of a mortal. That is punishment enough. The Tribe of Minas has sworn to serve us, and they have not kept their end of the bargain. As punishment, we shall show them what happens when they dare to disobey.”
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword Page 26
