The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Zhane and Idrithar exchanged a glance. Idrithar was the leader of the fortress of the White Steeds and had spent most of his life there. Zhane, who had moved there ten years ago, was second in command. Their travels were sparked by their relentless search for the One to end the conflict between the Black and White Steeds.

  Zhane spoke first. “The west is overrun as it has been for years. We did not meet any White Steeds there nor heard a word of any. We spent most of our time listening to the horrors of the Black Steeds. Two of the Dark Three are in the west, across the Jaded Sea, and people there feel their cruel powers. There is nothing good to say about the west.”

  “Arldrine.” Idrithar took over, keeping his voice low as if the woods were eavesdropping on their conversation. “It has been rumored for many years that another like Magdela the Monrage might rise up. It has been thought several may study the Great-Black-Evil and come to know the deep power of darkness and its temptations. I fear these rumors may come true, within a year even. Monrages will not be some dream of the past, a horror spoken only in passing. They will be real, chasing down White Steeds and seeking to eliminate us so the One will not rise up after all. Keep your ears open because this is what you will have to watch for. You may very well be the first to hear. Especially since you are out here instead of hidden in the fortress.”

  Arldrine nodded, unable to speak. The knowledge made her feel as if her heart would quail. For a moment, she wanted to slip back into hiding within the safety of the fortress. The very word, Monrage, evoked certain death. They had not even found the One yet. What would be the point of living if he were not there to save them?

  “I will listen, and I will be on guard. You must get back to the fortress safely and secretively before they find you,” Arldrine cautioned the two.

  Idrithar brushed crumbs off his cloak as he rose. “Yes, with all haste. We have already seen what the Black Steeds can do to the fortress and our friends.” He started to walk through the trees and then turned back in farewell. “Arldrine, we will meet again.”

  She nodded in his direction before turning to Zhane, who still sat before her. Unfolding her legs, she stood and reached out a hand to pull him upward. His grip was warm and comforting. She suddenly missed the familiarity of being around other people. Zhane held her hand a moment longer than necessary. "Will you return with us?"

  Arldrine tugged her hand out of his, finding it hard to meet his eyes. Ever since she'd met Zhane, a keen sense had begun to awaken within her. She was unsure what it meant, and it frightened her. At times she questioned whether Zhane felt it too, yet they spent so little time together. "I cannot." She lifted her chin in determination.

  Zhane nodded, seeking to hold her gaze, but he did not touch her again. "I thought not, but I had to ask. I know you follow your heart even though I wish you were not alone out there."

  "If the One comes in our lifetime, when he comes, I will return to the fortress," Arldrine assured him.

  Zhane crossed his arms, towering over her. "There is safety in numbers."

  Arldrine raised her eyebrows, noting the irony. "There is little hope in numbers. As you said earlier, the west is lost to us. The Eastern Hill Countries will soon fall lest the prophecy comes true."

  "Aye." Worry creased Zhane's brow. "We hear no word."

  “You should go.” Arldrine pointed, ending the conversation. “Idrithar is waiting.”

  Zhane’s eyes softened. “Arldrine, stay safe. I will see you again.”

  “And you.” Arldrine placed her hand over her heart in farewell.

  Then he was gone, blending with the trees until he caught up with Idrithar. The two followed the path of the forest until they faded away, leaving Arldrine alone once again. She lifted her bow. Hope was fading. The One had to come soon.

  9

  Optimistic

  Year 943

  Desperation was in the air as the chill of January moved over the South World. A blond Cron walked down an empty hall in the fortress of the White Steeds, which stood at the edge of Oceantic, hidden by a forest. He had made up his mind. He was going away and not coming back until he found the One.

  His black boots rang ominously on the hard floor. The fortress, once filled with life, was strangely desolate. He was going to see Idrithar, hoping to get away before the others woke and he had to explain himself. Yamier and Wekin would not understand, and they would try to come with him. He would say yes, and then a slew of difficulties would arise for those two were unthinkable troublemakers.

  The Cron reached a door and tapped lightly before opening it and sliding inside. Idrithar was already in there and eyed the blond Cron, taking in the pack on his back and the boots on his feet. “Optimistic, you are up early,” Idrithar said, rising with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Idrithar.” The Cron called Optimistic put down his pack and took a seat across from the other Cron. “I am leaving. It is the turn of a new year, and we have heard no news. Others have gone, and I feel it is time now. I have to go.”

  Idrithar gave Optimistic a measured look before nodding. “You have been here six years; the world has not changed much. I know you can defend yourself, but keep an eye out for the evil that surrounds us. Where will you go? When Arldrine, Ellagine, and Glashar left, they all returned to their homes.”

  Optimistic rubbed his hands together in excitement as he leaned forward. “I know I have no home to go back to. I am going to seek out Ellagine, and I am not returning until we have found the One.”

  “I know what you will need then.” Idrithar rose and pulled open a wardrobe; within it, he found a secret drawer and pulled out a carved box, which he set in front of Optimistic.

  Swift emotions flooded Optimistic’s face, and a series of flashbacks filled his mind. Six years ago, all he had known had been destroyed. One day he lived peacefully with his mother and father, the next the thunder of the Black Steeds came rushing down upon them. He remembered the shouts, the clang of steel, and the burnt smell as they set the house on fire. As the flames licked up everything surrounding them, he remembered his father scrambling through the house before pushing the rough box into his hands. “Léthin, I hail from the west, and this comes from there. Guard it with your life because through it the world will be saved.”

  Those were his last words as he went out to face the Black Steeds. The flames would have devoured Optimistic had not three White Steeds come riding in. They were too late for his parents, but Idrithar, Zhane, and Dathiem, who were returning from a search for the One, defeated the Black Steeds. They took Léthin the Optimistic on to the fortress with them. The first time he had opened the box, Optimistic had seen why his father had cautioned him so, and not feeling up to the task, had passed it on to Idrithar. Now his destiny was at stake. The treasure was returned into his hands, and his job was to protect it.

  Optimistic reached for the case and opened it. Even in the lit room, a faint, green glow began to shine out. A stone lay cushioned in the box; it was smooth with hints of a crystal emerald color. The light faded as soon as Optimistic touched it. The stone filled the palm of his hand as he lifted it out. He could almost see the captive power shivering in it, green light dancing in his hands. The unearthly tales he had heard of the Green Stone flooded his consciousness, but he felt no fear nor intimidation. Léthin the Optimistic was the Keeper of the legendary Green Stone--a stone the mortals spoke of in reverence, and the immortals searched for with zeal. Optimistic hid the stone in his tunic and rose. “I will guard it with my life.”

  “I know,” the older Cron replied. “You have been nothing except trustworthy.”

  “If anyone asks, I have gone to seek the One. Let Yamier and Wekin know. I am leaving them without saying goodbye.”

  An exasperated frown crossed Idrithar’s brow. “The others will understand. I have a feeling the Mermis will also leave us soon. Optimistic, beware. Monrages may appear without warning; we do not know what the Black Steeds are planning next.”

  Optimisti
c opened the door. “I will see you again.”

  “Farewell.” Idrithar waved.

  Optimistic met no one as he sneaked out of the fortress and soon disappeared into the underbrush. He was on his way to Shimla because the One should come soon. The world was silently crying out in desperation. Even the cold and snow could not deter Optimistic. With white-tipped arrows on his back, bow in hand, and the Green Stone pressing against his heart, he set off, taking his belief with him.

  10

  Eliesmore

  March 6. Year 943

  Eliesmore was nineteen. He had wavy, black hair, which touched his eyebrows, danced on his ears, and ran all the way down his neck. His large, green eyes were thoughtful, for he was a quiet individual, yet curious about everything. He hunched over the wood table across from his mother. His short legs stretched out under the table as he and his mother ate the second meal. Eliesmore felt the familiar disquiet of life. He was resigned to the tedious routine of daily life with his mother because the enchantment of the forest and the wild dance of the Idrains had worn off long ago. He half-heartedly listened to his mother as he chewed, humming in agreement to assure her he was listening as she explained what they would plant that spring. He reached for another slice of crusty bread when a tug made him jump. He dropped the slice and bolted straight up, shaking the table in his surprise.

  “Eliesmore!” Myran leaned back, steadying the table with her hands. “What’s wrong?”

  He swallowed, shrugging as he sat back down. “I’m sorry; it was nothing,” he mumbled, ducking his head.

  The sudden tug came again, gripping his heart and yanking. It was firm and persistent; it wanted, no, it needed him to follow its calling. Grabbing his chest, Eliesmore lifted his eyes to the eaves of the hut. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at his mother who had fallen silent, watching him out of concerned eyes.

  Pushing back his chair, Eliesmore stood and began to pace back and forth. Suddenly the realization dawned on him. He heard the call of the creatures of the wood, a call he thought he’d never hear again. It wasn't the same as before. The call wasn't for him to join a night of revelry; there was something deeper and urgent in the way it held him, demanding something from him. It was time for his life to unfold, time for his quest to begin. Only one question remained: how would he persuade his mother to allow him to leave? Once he left, there would be no return.

  “Eliesmore, what is wrong?” Myran repeated, jarring him out of his thoughts.

  Eliesmore clutched the back of his chair for support as he faced her. “Mother, I have to go,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm and mellow. “I know it is hard because you do not want me to leave.”

  “Eliesmore!” Myran’s face turned pale and pained. “Why? You are my only son, my only child. I may never see you again. Why do you want to go? Where will you go?”

  “All this is true.” Eliesmore wondered how much he should tell her. “The Iaens are calling me. I cannot refuse.”

  Myran’s chair fell to the floor with a crash as she leaped up, her hands trembling as she stared at Eliesmore. “The Iaens? The creatures of the wood? Eliesmore, are you sure?”

  “Yes. Mother, I have done everything. I have stayed with you and not run away. Will you let me go?”

  Myran spun, walking the length from the table to the door and back again as she wrung her hands. “I have told you nothing of the world and the Black and White Steeds; you could be captured,” she objected.

  “Mother, I know more than you think.”

  “No, Eliesmore,” she whispered back. It was less of an order and more of a desire for him to stay.

  Eliesmore marched to the door, turning back towards his mother when he reached it. “I cannot stay here for the rest of my life. What will I do?”

  “No, Eliesmore,” Myran whispered, her eyes unseeing. She seemed taken by memories.

  “Mother, I will not go until you let me. You see, I am a Cron, the spirit of a Cron dwells in me, and I want to live. I long to experience life like the Heroes of Old. I want to see and feel and touch the world for myself instead of hearing about it through stories.”

  “No, Eliesmore.”

  “I know you have never felt the call of the Iaens. I cannot refuse. The longer I stay here, the stronger it grows.” Eliesmore placed a hand on his heart as the persistent tug continued.

  Myran seemed to return to the present, and there were tears in her eyes as she turned to face her son. “Eliesmore, you don't have to explain yourself. I know.” Her voice was quiet; the determination to keep her son was gone. “What do you see when you look out into the world?”

  Eliesmore opened the door, allowing the scents of spring to imbue the tiny hut. “Adventure beyond the woods, a way of living, no longer hiding, and the Idrains calling me forth.”

  Myran came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her tone was gentle and curious. “What do you know of this world?”

  “More than you believe I know. It is dangerous and unsafe. I will be careful.”

  “Eliesmore,” Myran hesitated, unsure of how much to say. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she turned him to face her, searching his green eyes. “You can do this. I believe in you. You are the One. The Green People will tell you everything. Eliesmore, I will miss you.”

  “So you will let me go?” Eliesmore asked incredulously.

  “Yes.” She pulled him into her arms and held him for a long time. She told herself to let go of the last one she held dear instead of watching him get ripped away like the others. She could feel how grateful he was as he held on. He was excited about his own future, but he would be a fool if he were not duly frightened. His life was not his own; it was a mission now, and he did not fully understand.

  “Thank you.” Eliesmore smiled as she released him.

  “Goodbye, Eliesmore.” Myran ran her fingers through his dark curls for the last time, knowing he would be okay. After all, he was the One, and he was going to see the Green People, perhaps the very ones she had been raised by. Even though she discerned she was making the right choice, tears blurred her vision as Eliesmore strode out, walking up the hill towards Shimla. At the top, he turned around and waved. Faintly she heard him shouting, “Goodbye, Mother,” before he disappeared down the hill and out of sight.

  The intoxicating rush of freedom filled Eliesmore as he hastened up the grassy hill toward the dark line of trees. If possible, they appeared even more mystic in the daylight, hiding their mysteries behind weaving boughs. As he walked towards those silvery trees, he felt it was time to retrieve the Jeweled Sword. It had rained the night before, leaving crystal dewdrops sparkling on the grass, keeping the ground soft and boggy. He slipped in the slick mud as he stood before the forest, wondering where he’d hidden the sword. Slowly he walked down the line of trees until he reached one that made him stop. There were no strange markings on the tree, yet he felt, with magnetic certainty, it was the right tree. Kneeling on the soft ground, he reached for a stick and began to dig. It did not take long to find the muddy box because it wasn’t buried as deeply as he’d thought.

  He yanked the box out, brushing flecks of dirt off before pausing. His heart beat hard in anticipation as he pried off the top. The weapon capturing his vision was more beautiful than he recalled. With reverence, he lifted the sword, slipping it free from its sheath so he could admire the long, naked blade. The jewels danced on the hilt just as before, and he noticed one design at the top of the handle. It was a Green Stone encircled by a crown with four points, like a compass pointing north, south, east, and west. Running his grimy fingers over the hilt, he grinned. At last, he was free to seek his own adventure. No one would stop him for he had the Jeweled Sword, and it had to mean something.

  Standing, he fastened the sheath around his waist and slid the sword back into it, feeling like a great warrior. He swaggered back and forth to get the feel of the sword swinging beside him. The call of the Iaen broke through his proud moment, tugging at him stronger than befor
e. Leaving the box and the hole in the ground, he plunged into the forest, following the call as it lured him deeper. He expected the call would fade the closer he came, as it did when he used to dance with the creatures of the wood. Yet the farther he went, the more tenacious and demanding the call became.

  The woods were bare because spring had not arrived. Eliesmore stepped on dead leaves and passed twigs and branches lying forlornly where they had fallen months earlier. Despite the barrenness of the wood, the majestic trees hide the sky from sight, giving a dark gloom to the trail he followed. At first, it seemed he traveled old paths towards the circle where the Iaen and animals danced each night. When he arrived, the call pulled him past the dancing glade. He gazed at it longingly as he continued, his initial excitement fading. Questions filled his mind as his pace slowed. What did the Iaen want with him? Why were they calling him at midday? Would he want to hear what they had to say?

  A cave appeared before him, breaking up a grove of trees, and Eliesmore stepped inside. He thought he recognized it as the home of the Nigidrains where Irnidrathe had brought him four years ago. Eliesmore stretched his ears as he walked inside, hearing nothing other than trickling water. He felt uneasy as he stood in the cave, unsure where he should go.

  Presently, a pale green glow shone out of one passage, beckoning him onward. He followed the light until it disappeared, and he found himself back outside, yet in what seemed like a room. Thick pine trees acted as the walls and ceiling, and, in the middle of the clearing, a stream flowed. Here was where the call led, and now it vanished, leaving Eliesmore uncomfortable and the forest far too quiet. Unnerved, Eliesmore sat down in front of the still waters, noting it seemed to be the other half of the crystallized stream that Irnidrathe had shown him.