“Wekin,” Eliesmore interrupted. “There is more to life than bacon.”
“Is there? On the contrary, I beg to differ. Show me something that is more important than bacon, and I might consider giving it up.” He threw back his head, laughing at his personal joke. “No, I am sure there is nothing in the world more important than bacon.”
“Look,” Yamier interrupted, pointing ahead to the seven currents. “We have arrived!”
A cool breeze floated by, stirring the broad mint green leaves of Werivment. The water rushed by in its many currents, tossing deep blue and golden droplets of water in the air. Eliesmore’s emerald green eyes widened as he stared at the enchanted beauty of the land. Like every city, every country and every creature was its own self in the South World, and not to be compared to each other, so Werivment held its own enchantments.
“It looks different from when I was here last,” Yamier nodded, crossing his arms as he walked toward the river, hopping up on a boulder to peer down at the raging waters.
Eliesmore sat down in the grass, leaning his back against a tree as Lythe settled near him. He sighed as thoughts flitted back to Optimistic, wondering what he would say if he could have seen the glory of Werivment. A wave of sadness and loneliness pierced his heart, and he placed a hand in Lythe’s mane, stroking it as he allowed the thunder of the currents to drown out his thoughts. Those who stayed with him roamed through the woods, some setting up camp, others walking together as they talked of this and that. Idrithar had hastened away earlier taking a large detachment of the army with him. They’d agreed to join Eliesmore just outside the Torrents Towers for a winter battle for the city. Still, Eliesmore marveled about those who choose to stay with him, or rather, with the energetic Yamier and Wekin.
Visra walked by and sniffed in Eliesmore’s direction. “This is Werivment?” she waved her hands in disgust. “Are you going to sit here and sleep for the rest of the winter?”
Eliesmore sat up straighter, giving her a half smile. He found the fact that originally, he’d been frightened of her, quite comical. “Visra, must you always greet each new experience with unpleasantness?”
She shrugged her shoulders, reaching for her blade. “Truth and fact, not unpleasantness,” she stuck out her tongue at the wood. “Nothing is as beautiful as the forests of Shimla.”
“Careful,” Eliesmore warned her, still amused. “You do not want to insult the great powers that hold this land. There’s no knowing what they will do with you.”
Visra stuck her chin in the air. “With me? Bah. I will catch up with Idrithar, at least the army is more entertaining than listening to these fools prattle about bacon and sailing and mysteries they understand nothing about.”
Lythe lifted his head, emitting a soft growl of warning in Visra’s direction. Unable to resist, Eliesmore chuckled, surprised at how much lighter his spirits felt. “See, even Lythe is warning you!”
Visra stuck out her tongue at them. “Humph, where is Captain Elidar? We must go!”
Eliesmore shook his head. “Careful you don’t let your wild tongue get you into trouble.”
Visra spread her wings and lifted off, ignoring him.
“Eliesmore,” Skip beckoned to him from a fire, “join us. Don’t sit there all alone.”
“I’m with Lythe,” Eliesmore called across the grass to her.
“Go ahead, I could use a nap,” Lythe grunted.
Eliesmore glanced down at the lion who had already closed his eyes. Part of him wanted to lie down and sleep, drinking in the beauty and crisp air of Werivment. Instead he got up and moved closer to the fire, joining the circle where Yamier and Wekin were tossing leaves of murthweeld into packs and heatedly discussing sailing. Navigation by the Green Light has been agreed upon, but storing bacon brought a stalemate, although Wekin kept pressing the issue. They were discussing who they wanted to be in their crew, and Eliesmore noted Skip, Bruthen, Wyndler, and Trecon listening with flushed faces. Yamier and Wekin both wanted to be captains and sail together, but first mate would not do.
“We still have the concern of food,” Skip spoke up. “We have to make port during the winter to stock up, and there aren’t any good trading routes yet. They must be set up.”
“You’re sounding like Wekin, worried about food,” Eliesmore remarked with amusement.
“Been in the company for a while,” Bruthen murmured.
“Yes,” Skip’s long braid swung behind her as she spoke, waving her hands. “Bacon is good, but I want none of it. Now, murthweeld is delicious…”
“Unless you eat it for days on end,” Wekin interrupted, holding up a finger and wagging his head.
“Actually, I like the taste of mocholeach better now,” Skip went on.
“How can you say that?” cried Wekin. “Mocholeach is…is…”
“Good, yes,” Eliesmore agreed. “We have been eating it for many months and you,” he gestured toward Skip, “not for so long.”
“Yes,” started Skip, but Wekin broke in again.
“I want something tastier than plants and roots, give me meat, real meat, now that’s a welcome change!”
“Aye.”
“Hear hear,” a few voices chimed in.
“Here’s a solution to the problem of stocking up. You know the Rulers of the West,” Eliesmore leaned back. “On occasion stop in to the Constel Heights. Wekin, you are a mapmaker and you know Oceantic is quite close to Castle Range, you can simply map it into your travel routes.”
Wekin nodded, considering. After a moment he hopped up and walked closer to the mud by the riverbank, snatching up a stick so he could scratch out a map.
“He knows there’s no need for that,” Wyndler pulled out a scroll. “I have a map right here.”
Yamier waved him away with a yawn, “It’s Wekin, he likes to draw from scratch, you know, he’s an artist and all,” Yamier made quotes in the air with his fingers.
“Let’s cook,” Bruthen dropped a few more sticks into the fire, motioning toward Yamier.
“Aye,” Yamier agreed, reaching for his pack.
Eliesmore tucked his hands behind his head and lay back, letting the conversation drift around him. An odd feeling of peace settled within him and he felt like the old Eliesmore, full of hope and energy, like when he dissolved the Green Stone. He may have fallen asleep when an urgent voice yanked him back into the present. “Look! Look in the water!”
94
Wekin
A beautiful rivulet of light drifted down the water like a golden path to follow until sky and land met. Wekin stood up, his jaw dropping as he stared into the water. At first, he thought he saw a large fish in the water, for something brown bobbed in and out of sight. After a few moments, he realized they were otters, lying on their backs and floating down the current that ran across the western South World to the Jaded Sea. They waved at him, diving and splashing in the water as if it were their private playground.
Wekin lifted a hand to wave back when he saw them. Creatures in the water. Not animals. They were people, all dressed in colorful coral-like clothes. They wore headbands of small shells and colorful ocean treasures over their long light hair that flowed as long and as smoothly as the waves. They ranged in all sizes, some three feet long, others five, moving in and out of the waters as they played with the otters, shouting with merriment, their voices like jeweled droplets of song, rising high above the rushing waters.
“Under Water World People,” Eliesmore whispered beside Wekin, and Wekin knew it must be true. He’d heard of the creatures in tales of old, yet never thought to consider he’d ever come across them. Now a vague sensation came over his body as he observed them.
“They returned!” voices shouted around him as others joined him. “They came back!”
“I didn’t know they were gone,” Wekin whispered, an undercurrent of anticipation rocking through his body. His hand trembled, and he dropped the stick he’d been using to draw into the mud. His body moved forward as of its own accord
.
“Look! Look!”
“Come and see!”
“Under Water World People!”
“And they brought their otters!”
The cries of joy rang out about him, and Wekin felt a warmth flash across his heart when he saw her. He stood to catch a better glimpse as she dived and sprang back up into the air. She had white bangs that fell just above her eyes, hiding her eyebrows. Short white hair brushed her shoulders, thick and wet, the water rippling off it like stardust as she rose. Her hands twirled above her head as she spun, showing him flashing of light brown bare skin. He swallowed hard when he saw the curves of her breasts and the roundness of her navel. A flood of desire hit him full force as he watched. She landed in the water with a splash, a gentle wave hiding her from view.
He walked forward without allowing his gaze to move from the waters, unaware his jaw hung open. Kneeling on the shore, he watched the creatures leap and dive yet his eyes keep going back to the one with white hair. She twirled, disappearing under the waves as he leaned forward, his fingers digging into the rock for balance. Time slowed down as she rose, the silver waters parting as her white head appeared. Her eyes were teal as she caught his and paused, moving in waist-high water toward him. She held out a hand, and he watched while the light caught the dark tones of her skin, and he thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d seen in his entire, short-lived, adventurous life.
He tumbled off the rock, splashing into the water, ignoring the cries.
“Wekin, what are you doing?”
“Where are you going?”
He waved the voices away for it seemed, for the first time in his life, everything became clarified. When he gazed at her, he understood everything to a depth he’d never grasped before, and the world revolved around nothing else but her. Thus, he stood in the water, as the waves threatened to sweep his feet out from under him, and he called out to her. “Lovely lady of the water, what do they call you?” His voice came out high and hoarse, but there was no embarrassment left as he held out a hand, hoping to touch her, to caress her cheek, to kiss her neck, to pull her into an embrace and never let go.
“My name is Ray’nava,” she spoke like one who belonged to the water, and for a brief moment, Wekin saw nothing but her teal eyes. “What do they call you?”
“Wekin,” he whispered, unsure whether she heard him for his heart pounded louder than the currents of Werivment. “Wekin the Warrior.”
She paused and smiled at him, her white square teeth gleaming as she tilted her head. A wave rose splashing in front of them, and she dived.
“Wait!” Wekin cried as she disappeared into the waters. He moved forward. “Please, wait!”
When she resurfaced, she was further away, laughing with her people. She waved at him, sending water spinning through the air in a riot of giddiness. Wekin felt his heart leap. The Under Water World People continued down the current, and his companions shouted from the shore.
“Wekin! What are you doing in the water?
“Come on, food is ready.”
“We even saved you some bacon?”
Wekin spun and glared at them, hands on his hips. “Bacon?” he shouted at them. “Bacon? Bacon is a food, which does fill one self. Yes, that is bacon. But did you see what I saw? The Under Water World People? What compares to them? Not bacon. Bah. Forget bacon. Forget the taste of food. Nothing, I tell you, nothing else matters but the Under Water World People. I swear,” he placed his hand on his strangely beating heart. “I will sail the seas forever just to be with the Under Water World People.”
He spun back, leaning out over the waves, hoping to catch another sight of her. “Ray’nava,” he whispered, and even her name felt like a kiss on his lips.
“Oh, that Idrithar and Zhane were here to see the day,” Eliesmore’s voice rang out. “Lythe, wake up! The impossible has happened. Wekin has given up bacon!”
95
Eliesmore
Winter passed, and Eliesmore took his friends across the Monoxie Meadows to the Torrents Towers. Lythe was thankful to return home for brief moments, and at times Eliesmore imagined the wind laughing at them as she blew past.
Now, Eliesmore stood alongside Idrithar, staring across the plain at the winking stones of the Torrents Towers. He nodded at the words Idrithar spoke, but his eyes were watching the shift in the clouds and the way a darkness seemed to hang over the city. It was unsettling as if the stones were alive, watching them. “The Rakhai are here,” Eliesmore interrupted, his voice low. “They have changed into something else since the demise of the Changers. I will hunt them down.”
“It would be wise,” Idrithar agreed. He paused as if a thought troubled him. “Have you destroyed the Phutal yet?”
Eliesmore’s head snapped around as he faced Idrithar and a sudden pulse began within. “I must go to Daygone to destroy it,” he kept his tone even. “After this battle, after the lands to the south are secure, I will hasten there.”
Idrithar’s eyes seemed cool as he continued. “Do you think it is wise, carrying such a tool, such a weapon with you?”
Eliesmore dropped his tone even lower and turned back toward the city. “I am Eliesmore. The One. I carry the Jeweled Sword and the power of the Green Stone. There is no one who can take it from me. You know this.”
“I do,” Idrithar’s words flowed like water over stone. “I also know what I saw in Daygone. There was a darkness within you, a restless beast waiting to grow and pounce. Perhaps, now that the Changers are gone, the darkness within is now dormant. Or,” he raised a finger in warning, his brows drawing together. “Perhaps it is biding its time, like the Changers. Tell me, Eliesmore, do you know who you are? Do you know what you have become?”
The words struck Eliesmore as if he’d been given a physical blow. He pulled himself together before he stepped backward, meeting Idrithar’s intense gaze head-on. “I know who I am,” he tried to keep the hidden threat out of his tone. “You and the others have never let me forget it. When I say I will destroy the Phutal, I will. Just as I destroyed the Dark Servant, the Dark One and the Dark Figure. You do not need to concern yourself with what I will become. The world is saved. Isn’t that your concern now?”
“There is a reason they call me Idrithar the Wise,” Idrithar stepped forward, ending the conversation. He waved over the others which included Visra and Captain Elidar, Yamier and Wekin, Trecon and Wyndler, Mattio and Sir Regante, Skip and Bruthen and a few others.
“Are you ready?” he asked them, drawing the sword of Alaireia, Keeper of the Clyear.
Wekin winked. “It’s about time. I’ve been spoiling for a good fight.”
“Archers with me,” Yamier grinned.
Skip and Bruthen exchanged glances, backing away.
“There need be no fear,” Eliesmore told them. “But if you are afraid, look to the skies and stay behind, there is nothing wrong with that.”
“We are marching into the gates of death,” Sir Regante murmured.
“We are going in the front door,” Eliesmore nodded. “We know who we are, and we are not ashamed. It is time for this city to be released from the control of evil!”
Eliesmore glanced back at his companions, noting their long faces. Skip and Bruthen were from the Torrents Towers along with Sir Regante and Mattio.
“There is no fear here,” Sir Regante spoke, his voice mournful, “yet I doubt anyone will fight for the White Steeds. The power of darkness is strong here.”
“Aye,” Mattio whispered, his blue eyes taking on a vague haze as he stared as the winking stones. “The Way of Phimm is worshipped here.”
Way of Phimm. The words hushed through Eliesmore’s mind and he felt a sudden anger, such as he had not felt since Optimistic’s death and the darkness rushed out of him. Instead of replying he squared his shoulders and looked to Idrithar, giving him a quick nod.
They moved forward with three hundred Crons and Tiders following them. White flags were high in the air with the symbol of a silve
r horse rearing on them. Their silver armor has been polished until it shone while their feet flatted the wild grass of the prairie into submission. Eliesmore reached out with his mind, searching for the red Zikes that followed him, having them on standby just in case capturing the Torrents Towers proved to be more intense than he expected. The black gates rose twenty feet high, and above them, Eliesmore saw sentinels marching back and forth while archers pointed their arrows down at them.
“Open for the White Steeds,” Eliesmore commanded. He planted his feet in front of the gate, a hand on his sword hilt while Idrithar stood a pace behind him.
Silence swept over the city, and after a few moments, Eliesmore heard whispered voices conferring. He kept his posture, determined not to display any signals of weakness as they waited. The silence stretched on and became rather painful, like one waiting for news from war, discovering who lived, who died.
At last a muffled voice filtered through the wall. “White Steeds are not welcome here.”
“Will you open for the One?” Idrithar called out. “Finder of the Jeweled Sword, dissolver of the Green Stone, conqueror of evil?”
Another pause, shorter than the previous one occurred before the response came hurling down the wall. “You are not welcome, no matter who is in your company. Black Steeds rule here.”
A chant began on the other side of the wall. “Black Steeds. Way of Phimm. Black Steeds. Way of Phimm.”
Wekin turned away from the gate, sputtering. “The imprudence of them, not even for the One? We ought to…we ought to…”
“Roast them in their beds, kill every one of them!” Skip scrunched up her face. Her cheeks turned bright pink.
“Skip,” Idrithar’s tone gave off the rebuke she needed.
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword Page 38
