69
Rulers of Wind Fresh
The door to her study was cracked open when Pharengon went to find her. He nudged it with his foot, and it swung soundlessly open, but she didn’t notice. She looked older, he thought, although not much time had passed. She perched on the edge of her chair; one finger was raised in the air, posing a question, while the other held a quill. Rolls of parchment covered her desk, and candles held the curling edges down, casting dancing light across the room. Ink splattered across the pages of words, written now in the common tongue. He crossed his arms, a smile touching his lips as he watched her in a world of her own. She’d taken to wearing her dark hair in a long braid, and he missed the wild curls that sprung across her forehead. Her mouth was frowning as she whispered words over and over, attempting to figure something out. At last, breaking the spell, he spoke her name aloud: “Phyllis.”
She jumped and squealed, dropping the quill and leaping up.
“Pharengon!” she cried, running to him. The joy radiating from her face cast the hollowness from her eyes. He held out his arms as she flung hers around him, burying her face into his broad chest while breathing in his scent. She held him tight, sighing with pleasure as he kissed the top of her head. “How long have you been back?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet his and pulling back, her cheeks red in embarrassment.
“Only a few hours,” he replied. “There is much to be said and done.”
“Ah yes,” she noted, pulling back even more. “You are a great king now and quite busy.”
“Quite,” he quipped. “Now, where are you going?” He teased, tightening his arms more securely around her waist.
“You are a great king now and not the Horse Lord I met in the wild lands.” She smiled and her eyes were bright. “I must give you due respect.”
“And you are a great Oracle now,” he returned. “I know your time is full spent here, translating the words of Tharmaren the Wise. May he rest in peace. But come, I would speak with you for a time.”
She pulled away completely, turning her back on him to return to her desk. “I am glad you are here. I have been feeling uneasy about this.” She lifted the Clyear from where it perched and held it up in the candlelight. “I must admit.” Her voice dropped. “I am frightened of its power. What should we do with it?”
He held out a hand to her. “Come, the night is young. Let us ride on the waves of the sea while we talk. There is a question I desire an answer for.”
They left her study, winding their way through the castle to the moat. Boats rocked in the waters, and Pharengon untied one before rowing them gently out to the Westiles Sea. They were quiet for a time, listening to the lapping of the voiceless waves. The sounds of terror had drifted from the world and left calm in its place. Phyllis noticed, with pleasure, that when she looked at Pharengon, his eyes smiled at her. The sorrows of a past life had drifted away.
He caressed the curves of her cheek in the moonlight; his rough fingertips tiptoeing as gently as possible across the map of her face. He stopped just shy of her trembling lips, dropping his hand to her shoulders. His eyes were dark blends of honey, and the moonlight made him stand out from the shadows, a white being in the darkness. “I know it is unfair to ask this of you. You have seen much loss, and yet I would ask you to give again. In exchange for my love, will you be my queen?” She opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head and went on. “I know what you would think. You doubt whether the people groups will follow us. In part, that is why I ask. I am young, and you are one of the Blended Ones. By our union, we can show the people groups there is nothing to fear from us. It is as Ilieus once said, words and deeds will save us, not power. Let us leave the powers to the immortals, wherever they may be. It is more important for the people groups, the Purebloods and the Blended Ones, to live in harmony with each other. Will you help me make it so?”
The words should have been easy, but she pulled back, gazing up at him and understanding the burden of what he was asking. “I would rather belong to you in the wild lands of Phillondorn, where adventure is free for the taking. I would rather set sail and battle the endless monsters of the Westiles Sea. But more than anything, I’d rather be at your side. So yes.” She took his hand, turning it face up and lifting his palm to her lips. “Yes, I will help you.”
He leaned in until his forehead touched hers. “My queen,” he whispered.
Phyllis held onto him, for he was all that was left, but even as she did so, she saw visions of the future. The sun would rise in the east and set in the west, and their children would run forward in a free, new land. There would always be the rise and fall of powers, but the Watchers would keep the world safe. And so she let him kiss her because she knew when the sun rose, everything would be new.
“Our tokens of power…” she reminded him after a moment.
“Yes.” Pharengon pulled the oars against the shining sea, dropping a hand to his sword hilt. “I must keep the Jeweled Sword for a while longer, but none should control the Clyear of Power; it attracts more evil than good.”
Phyllis held it up, and as she did so, something shone within that clear, crystal horse that made her want to keep it. She turned it over in her hands, seeing her sister’s face once again. “It calls to me. It wants to stay.” She held it out over the water, unable to let go.
“Where it goes, it attracts a higher power, a power we cannot control. It cannot stay here.”
“And if it goes somewhere else? If it goes down south and destroys that land, that would be because of our actions?”
“We cannot waste time wondering what if a great many things may happen. The sea serpent could swallow it whole; it might fly away into time and space itself. We cannot guess what will happen.”
“Pharengon.” Phyllis held out the Clyear to him. “If the words of ‘Song’ are true, the One will need your sword.”
“When the time is right, I shall know,” he replied as he brushed the Clyear from her fingertips. It fell like a lightning bolt, dropping over the edge of the boat with nary a splash and sinking down into the depths of the Westiles Sea. A small glimmer was all that was left, and as Phyllis watched it, she thought she saw a crystal path leading south.
“I wonder,” she spoke as much to herself as to Pharengon. “Do all roads lead south? I wonder what is there.”
“There is a tale I heard.” He moved to wrap his arms around her until her back rested against his chest. “A tale told by one of the Order of the Wise.” His breath tickled her ear, tingling with mystery. “They say if one sails south until the world tips over and falls into the void, there you will find paradise, and there is where all the ‘wild things’ go when their time has come to an end.”
“Tell me. What do they say about paradise?”
“It is said that the mortals and immortals will, indeed, live forever there. There will be no more war, pain, sorrow, or loss. Only love and beauty and life everlasting.”
“Do you think such a land exists? It sounds impossible…”
“Nay, does it?” His arms tightened around her. “All the best things are impossible to attain. Yet, when they happen, it seems so possible that we wonder why didn’t we believe in them before.”
“Pharengon,” She tilted her head so he could kiss her. “I’m tired of mysteries. Will you take me home?”
“Aye, my queen.”
As their boat sailed into the cove and they followed the spiraling staircase back to the castle, a red dranagin flew overhead, landed atop the castle, and roared.
70
The South World
Over 100 Years Earlier.
The quiet lapping of the waves continued as they always had, washing up on the white beaches of the eastern end of the South World and rushing back out into the deep waters of Oceantic. Yet at their last pull, they tossed a silver boat upon the shore and raced away in haste as the boat transformed. A dark-haired male fell out of what had once been the boat, coughing and stretching as he attempted to p
ick himself up. He was long and lank and sat still for long moments, holding his head in his hands as he attempted to remember how to use his legs again. The waves slowed, pulling back to watch and whispering in hushed tones to each other because they had never seen quite a thing before in all of the Four Worlds.
At last, the male stood, swaying slightly on his feet and his loose dark hair tumbling to his waist. He turned in slow circles; his sky-blue eyes stared in bewilderment as he took in the waves, the ocean, and the outcropping of greenery that lay before him. A dense forest, thick with mystery, trailed into unknown lands. Emotions moved in swift entanglements over his face: first relief, a hint of fear, and then confusion. A sound made him jump. The waves rose up, moving closer up the shore, as a name was called out of the woods. “Legone!” It came again, a broken melody seeking an answer.
“Paleidir,” the male whispered, and he stumbled desperately toward the line of trees.
A blur of shimmering green burst out of the forest, and a lady ran, her skirts lifted in both of her pale green hands, while her long locks of translucent hair streamed out behind her. Ripples of green light rolled off her as she ran to the male, calling and crying all at once. His face broke as he reached out to her, and she threw her arms around his neck, fastening them tightly as if she would never let go.
“Legone.” She wept, tears rolling freely down her face as she kissed his shoulder, his neck, and his cheeks. “My love,” she whispered over and over again.
His arms encircled her waist as he leaned against her for support, yet held on, his eyes unseeing as he sobbed into her shoulder, coming undone for what may have been the first time in his life.
The waves thundered onto the shore, and, embarrassed by the number of tears shed between the couple, rolled back out as the two sank to their knees, continuing to hold each other. At last, forehead to forehead, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her long and deep. And the waves grew bored and filtered out to play in the deeper oceans for a while. When curiosity beckoned, and they returned, the two still remained on the beach, but they were standing again, arms around each other.
Her tears had dried as she leaned into his shoulder, and he spoke to her of things past. “I did not dream I would see you again, and yet it came, a whispered thought of salvation, just as you said it would be.”
“Did you bring them?” she asked.
“Aye.” He held up two objects before her: one was a horn and the other a crystal, winged horse.
“Well done, my love.” She looked at both the objects and pulled him tighter into her arms. “I have news. I know where the Green Stone is. Now, we can begin.”
Eliesmore and the Green Stone
The Four Worlds Series Book 3
1
Sarhorr
Year 762. Castle Range.
He lay in the grass, listening to the crashing waves of Oceantic. They roared about him, a sound he was weary of hearing. He should have been grateful he had finally washed up on dry land, but dread sat heavy on his heart. There was a reason he had run through the portals all those years ago, and now he was right back where he had started with nothing to show for hundreds of years of work. His body healed itself as he rested, feeling the skin cover his shadow, hiding his true form. Straight, black hair fell to his shoulders, and his eye color changed from red to black. He was beautiful, and already he imagined the stars gathering to worship him once again. He kept his eyes closed, folding his hands across his naked chest as he waited.
A cold shadow fell over his body, blocking out the warm rays from the sun. “So.” A voice laughed bitterly. “You have returned.”
He opened his eyes. They stood over him. His brother and sister. He was too weak to challenge them, and his body was too broken to flee through the portals again, if they were still open. He much doubted it. He had tried to close the portals after he went through, leaving only remnants.
“Can you speak?” his sister asked, prodding him with her scepter.
He groaned in response as anxiety built inside him. He opened his mouth. No words came out. It would take time for his body to heal, and in time, his brother and sister would rip him apart.
“I see,” she went on, her tone settling into a deadly calm. “You need time to heal. Time you will have. It is my turn to speak now and to make you aware of what you have done. You are selfish. You only think of yourself and your wishes. Don’t you realize we are in this together? You have shown the mortals our hand; you have displayed our weaknesses to them. What did you think you could do in the Western World? Think of the nothingness you accomplished. Because of you, the mortals know our shadows. It is your fault they know our powers. You have ruined us. It will take twice as long to deceive them into giving the world to us. A world you will have no place in. You have disgraced yourself. It is in my command now. No more poison. No more portals. No more transformed creatures. You are our prisoner. You are our slave. You will only do what we command for eternity. Understand?”
Words did not come out. He saw his brother lift the black pitchfork. The same kind of pitchfork he'd designed for his Gims. The razor edges glinted in the sunlight. Birds sang in the breeze. Waves lapped on the shores. It seemed too calm, too peaceful. The sharp edges sliced through his healing body, and, unable to scream, he tumbled into darkness.
2
Myran
Year 924
“When the terrorizer of the Black Steeds and White Steeds,
Magdela the Monrage, has gone and been killed,
When everyone has gone and hidden in the land down South,
Up there will rise, Finder of the Jeweled Sword,
Conqueror of Evil.
He will come when he is young.
He will wield the Jeweled Sword.
He will dissolve the Green Stone.
Where he goes, the people will no longer live in hiding.
They will come out and rejoice.
For evil has receded, but not completely destroyed until the end of Time.”
- “Song” - as told by
Paleidir, Lady of the Green People,
Daughter of King Islider, King of the Green People,
Wife of Legone the Swift.
The lady recited those words over the newborn baby she held and turned to his mother, Myran the Cron. “He is the one who will rise up, ‘Finder of the Jeweled Sword, Conqueror of Evil,’ he is the One,” she repeated with conviction.
Myran looked down at her son. He was tiny with small wisps of black hair covering his head. He was all she had left to remind her of the Tider she had married. “Him? The Great Conqueror?” Myran shook her head, terrified.
The lady nodded. “He is the One.”
“He’s my only son; pick someone else. Not him!” cried Myran, snatching him out of the lady’s arms.
“I don’t decide. The child is who he is,” the lady confirmed.
Myran trembled as she shook her head, her bright green eyes shifting across the small hut towards the door, terrified the Black Steeds would show up and kill her son for being the One.
“What is his name?” the lady inquired.
Myran looked down at her son, and suddenly a proud joy shone out of her eyes. “Eliesmore.”
3
Eliesmore
Year 929.
Five-year-old Eliesmore stood on the ragged shore of the Jaded Sea. Small waves lapped at his feet, and a gentle sea breeze blew twigs and leaves out of his curly, black hair. His wide, green eyes mirrored the color of the sea: a bluish green color. Eliesmore’s small chest heaved up and down from the adrenaline of his impromptu adventure. He was curious although he knew his trip to the Jaded Sea was foolish. Mother would be angry with him because she was overprotective and cautious. He had not meant to leave. One minute he was sitting on the doorstep, watching the lazy, white clouds in the endless sky and the red birds flying overhead. The next moment, he looked up, and his mother was not watching him. She hummed a snatch of a song to herself as she kneaded bread, lo
st in thought. Knowing he shouldn't, Eliesmore stepped outside, glancing over his shoulder to see if she noticed.
It was her fault he stood by the sea now because she was always telling him tales of old heroes and stories of their great feats and incredible adventures. She had mentioned the sea once. It was almost at their doorstep, and while he slept, it seemed as if he could hear the thundering waves rolling against the shore, calling him to visit and see their mighty power. Without his mother watching, he decided to take a glimpse. When a few steps did not bring her running to scoop him up in her arms and drag him inside, he darted off into the underbrush, determined to have an adventure of his own.
It was spring. The land was sending up new green shoots, trees were blossoming with white and yellow, and the underbrush was as thick as ever, tenacious even, trying to hinder little Eliesmore’s progress. He fought on with an unwavering purpose because he could hear the sea. Half an hour later, he tumbled out of the underbrush and found himself at the edge of his known world. It did not take long for him to run, unobstructed, to the shoreline, and there lay the Jaded Sea before him, wild and beautiful, filling his young mind with thoughts and dreams. Life stretched out like the sea, wild and unknown, crashing waves challenging him to tame them. He watched as the waters splashed droplets on his thick eyelashes, and the scent of rain devoured his senses until everything mounted up to an undeniable excitement. There he was, free from the eyes of his cautious mother, allowed to do anything and everything he desired.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 65
