The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Eliesmore rotated, his eyes flying around the room as his jaw dropped. He wanted to touch every weapon; he desired to pick up a bow and nock an arrow in it, practice his sword, throw a spear, and shield himself from invisible enemies. The innate love of adventure rose within him, and he was seized with an excitement unfamiliar to him.

  Clothes were folded on shelves; there were forest green pants, pure white shirts, and green tunics along with black belts, walking staffs, and travel-ready boots. There were empty sacks he could sling around his waist and packs he could throw on his back. A table sat toward the middle of the room, overflowing with maps, heavy books, quills, and ink. How had they done this? How had the White Steeds accumulated such a collection?

  Meanwhile, Optimistic nonchalantly strode over to the shelves of clothing and pulled out a shirt and tunic. He held them up, considering their size. “Here, Eliesmore. These should fit.” He handed the clothes to Eliesmore before grabbing a pair of pants and tossing them to him. “I have to run an errand. I will return shortly.”

  Eliesmore nodded as Optimistic left, shutting the door behind him. He continued to gaze about the room, seeing shelves with round bottles of substance shimmering in the oil they lay in. He saw rolls of bandages, which reminded him of his own nasty wound. Quickly he took off his tunic and his shirt and looked down at his side. It had an ugly, black hole in it that sent chills down his spine. Eliesmore flashed back for a moment to that horrible night. He felt his heart pounding violently in his chest as he pulled on his clothes and stumbled over to the table, sitting down to catch his breath.

  Once he was seated, the fear subsided, and Eliesmore looked at the maps spread out in front on him. One was a map of the whole South World, neatly drawn with all the cities named and portrayed in great detail. At the bottom of the map was signed the name “Wekin.” So, apparently Wekin the Foolish was skilled at drawing maps. Eliesmore traced his journey with his finger. His heart sank as he realized just how long it would take them to get to the Constel Heights. At the fortress, they were as far away as they could possibly get from his destination. Indeed, unless they cross the Jaded Sea in the north, they would have to cross the Cascade Mountains, an enormous mountain range that traversed the western South World.

  There was a creak, and the door opened. Unbothered, Eliesmore looked up, expecting to see Optimistic. Instead, his eyes met Glashar’s. She was clothed in golden light, and hints of mint and lavender drifted around her as she shut the door. She had bathed or at least cleaned herself from the journey. Her golden hair had a bounce to it, and her eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them. “Eliesmore.” She shut the door, leaning against it for a moment to ensure no one was listening in. “I have come to tell you about your wound.”

  Eliesmore smoothed his fingers over the map, arching an eyebrow as she approached him. “What do you mean?”

  Glashar covered her mouth with her hand, her long fingers touching her nose as she considered. He felt like he could see thoughts move through her mind, shifting through what she knew versus what she wanted him to know. “I used all my powers to heal you, yet I fear the Rakhai may retain some control over you.”

  Even as she spoke, Eliesmore knew what they could do. They would call to him, draw him out, and try to force him to give up the Green Stone. Before, this knowledge would have frightened him, forcing him to react out of fear. It may have been the strength of the fortress or his companions that reassured him. “I will be aware.”

  Glashar nodded, opening her mouth once again. A thought perched on the edge of her lips; she had knowledge that she did not want to escape. Her face turned a shade darker. “Be careful.” She turned to leave, although Eliesmore could tell she had more to say. It burst out of her when she reached the door. She glanced over her shoulder, her sharp chin almost jutting into her thin shoulders. “Beware the Green People. They are up to something.”

  Eliesmore froze. “What?”

  “I am an Idrain; the Green People are Iaens. I know my kind. We are treacherous. We care only for ourselves and our wishes. Once they are granted, we leave the mortals to their own folly. The Green People set in motion the events of the world long again; now they have come to fruition. There will come a time when you should stop trusting the Iaens.”

  She opened the door, her eyes repeating the warning as she disappeared.

  Eliesmore sat still, eyes glazing over as he stared after her. What should he do? Who should he talk to? Frustrated, he stood and began to pace back and forth, wondering what he had gotten himself into and questioning whom he should trust.

  27

  Dathiem

  Dathiem walked through the hall of mirrors, pausing to watch the light bounce off the windows and send shafts of rainbow light across the room. He’d broken away from the others for two reasons. Firstly, he wanted to pack his healing supplies for the long journey ahead. Secondly, he found himself irritated with the company that appeared at the fortress, more specifically, the One. Eliesmore was nothing like he should be. He was not a strong warrior like Zhane. His strength did not flow from powerful abilities or remnants of wisdom like Idrithar. He had no knowledge. No healing in his hands. Eliesmore was not only young, but he was also naive and fear shone out of his green eyes. There was something about him Dathiem could not quite put his finger on. He moved like the Idrains, and his voice had the same musical pitch as if he might break into song. Eliesmore was not an obvious choice, but perhaps his true strength would be proved in the quest. Dathiem sighed; nothing ever turned out like he expected.

  “I can’t believe you forgot me.” A reproachful voice interrupted his thoughts.

  Dathiem pivoted to see Glashar gliding toward him, her golden hair tumbling around her heart shaped face and giving her sharp features a delicate look. He inhaled, tasting hints of mint and lavender with each step she took. His mouth set in a thin line as his eyes roamed over her body. Glashar’s golden eyes stiffened at his reaction. He gestured toward the window seat, forcing the unintentional frown from his face. “It was seven years ago,” he protested, slinging his bow off his back as he sat down. “You left abruptly. One day you were here, the next you had gone with Ellagine. At least she said goodbye.” He was blaming her, driving accusations into her heart. He bit his tongue, cursing his direct nature and starting over. “You were here little more than three months. I do remember. You taught me the language of the Iaen and we…” He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “Why did you leave?”

  Glashar moved to sit beside him, turning her body toward him. Hazel flecks flickered in her eyes as she searched his face, gauging how much she could tell him. “Dathiem.” Her voice dripped with regret. “This is hard to say.”

  He crossed his legs, facing her and letting her scent hold him captive. Reaching out, she lifted his right hand. She held it between her palms, tracing the lines of his fingers. A strange sensation vibrated through him at her touch, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise when he saw the raw desire and vulnerability in her eyes. A small sound escaped from her parted lips before she continued, speaking his name as if under a spell. "Dathiem, I left because I could not bear it. I was mortified when I found myself falling in love with you, a mere mortal. It is not probable that the lives of a mortal and an immortal should intersect in such a way. There may be Blended Ones in this world, but I would not be part of that crime; those with mixed blood are powerful and unpredictable. Besides, my kind, the immortal Falidrains, are not born. We wake as we are, fully grown and alive, and are filled with our share of knowledge and power. I never wanted to come here. I warned Ellagine against it, and she did not heed my words.” She shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes were drawn to the lights that danced in circles in the middle of the hall.

  Dathiem’s fingers curled around hers, encouraging her to go on. “When I came to the fortress and saw the mortals for myself and met you, I felt something else. Something I have been reluctant to admit. I thought by leaving I could spare myself. If I returned to my own
kind, the Idrains, and threw myself into the song and dance of life, I would forget you. For a time, it was easy. It seemed as if we would go on hiding until the threat of the Changers ceased. But Dathiem, you are hard to forget. There is no use pretending. I love you. It is not the kind of love that varies; it doesn't matter who or what you are or how long or short your life span is.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes swimming with certainty, tempting him. “I am whole when I am with you. I feel like I am myself, as I am intended to be. When you touch me, it sends shivers through my body, and even just the thought of you brings me joy. My heart overflows when you look at me. I think if only I could stay with you for as long as eternity would have us, I would be grateful. It doesn't matter what goes on in this world, whether we win or lose the war, as long as I have you. I never knew love was like this; I did not know the strength of my own feelings. It does not matter that we are different kinds. Our mortal and immortal blood is only a blip, and I will surpass every obstacle that keeps me from being with you. You are the epitome of everything I want, and I know you feel these feelings too, although they have not awakened in you. Please, do not feel burdened with what I have told you.”

  She leaned forward, angling her head toward him. Whiffs of her scent floated around him, confusing his thoughts and intoxicating him. “Why do you tell me this? Why now?” he mumbled, taken aback by her confession and refusing to answer her open invitation.

  She pulled back, a cloud of sorrow moving over her hopeful face. Her golden glow turned dark. “The barrier of protection over Shimla broke, allowing the Rakhai to invade the forest of the Idrains. Many of my kind fled, seeking the Beyond and the Pillars of Creation, but I could not make myself go. Even as I fled through the woods in that direction, it seemed fate steered my steps. I happened upon Ellagine right after the Monrages stabbed Eliesmore.”

  Dathiem gasped, and his fingers tightened around hers.

  “No, you would not know this. I had to use up the rest of my power to save him, pulling him from the dark grasp of the Monrages.” At Dathiem’s expression of disbelief, she added, “He has more strength than he appears to.”

  Dathiem snorted. “I doubt that. Alas, I am going on this quest though. I made a vow, and I will see it through. Although now that you are here…” His voice trailed off.

  “I must admit.” Glashar let go of him. “I used to be powerful. Although I miss it, I am also glad. When I was here, before, I was not sure I could stay my hand from seducing you. If I did so, you would belong to me without a say. I'd rather you make that choice.”

  Dathiem grunted as he raised his eyebrows, a shudder of fear running through his veins. His next words came out more harshly than he intended. “Don’t pretend. You know what happens when a mortal and immortal fall in love. There is a history that should never be repeated. It is their fault the world is in the mess it is. It is their fault the Changers arose and created the Monrages. Mortals and immortals should never mix. Love is powerful and only leads to the destruction of all.”

  Glashar bit her lip. “You don’t know that. Our story can be different; it will be different. We have a choice to create a future for mortals and immortals alike. Why should we run because we believe love will doom us? We are not them. We will not make the same choices they made. We will not let love blind us.”

  “You say this, yet you are already blinded by love. Do you know who I am? Do you know what blood flows through my veins?”

  “I don’t have to know.” Glashar’s eyes flashed with reproach. “And I don’t care. Love doesn’t depend on your history. It is the here and now; it is present and future, not past. Stop denying yourself love because of what happened in your past; don’t let those circumstances make you choose who you are.”

  Dathiem blinked; her words were hard to swallow. “Glashar, come, let’s not argue. I wish you had not left, but I am glad you have returned. Walk with me. I must pack for our journey.”

  They stood, and she slipped her hand into his, a firm reminder of what had transpired between them.

  28

  Eliesmore

  “Ready?” Optimistic flung open the door, pausing at the worried look on Eliesmore’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  Eliesmore brushed his hair back from his face, coming to a decision. “Nothing. What are we doing now?”

  Optimistic let the silence linger a beat, giving Eliesmore space to say more. When nothing was forthcoming, he nodded, a smile coming to his face. “Let’s go help Yamier and Wekin.” He led the way, closing the door behind them.

  “Where are they?” Eliesmore asked, happy for something to take his mind off Glashar’s words. He trotted down the stairs behind Optimistic, back toward the entrance of the fortress.

  “They are underground,” Optimistic explained, a lightness in his voice. “Where the barrels come in from Oceantic. Ever since the time of Magdela the Monrage when this fortress was first built to protect White Steeds, barrels began to drift into the gateway. I think the Daelidrains send us food or we would starve.”

  “You don’t have to grow your own food?” Eliesmore interrupted, thinking of the gardens he and his mother planted and harvested each year.

  “No.” Optimistic shook his blond head. “We live in hiding; we cannot go out into the forest to hunt, and there is no space to grow seed except down by Oceantic. In fact, once one enters the fortress, he or she isn’t allowed out again.”

  Eliesmore frowned. “What do you do all day here?”

  Optimistic moved into the passageway, leading the way down. “Now? I haven’t been here in months. When I was here, we would train, make weapons, and study. We’d all help out with the work around the fortress. Back then, there were more of us. There used to be mice who would bring in the barrels; they were amazingly strong for mice. Now they have all fled, and everyone takes turns doing the work. It often serves as a punishment for Yamier and Wekin, but we should help. Everyone has to haul in barrels every now and then.”

  “Ah, I see.” Eliesmore nodded, although he did not understand at all. It seemed odd to him that a group of people would live together in one building when they could be free and wild, the way he was born. “Where do you take the barrels?”

  “Up to the cooking room to the Mermis. They essentially run the fortress, even though Idrithar is our leader.”

  Eliesmore’s face brightened at the mention of the Mermis. “Are they the same ones we met at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry?”

  “Aye, they have been here for years. When you have a chance, ask them stories from the past. They knew Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword.”

  “How surprised they must be,” Eliesmore mused, “to see the Jeweled Sword again.”

  “Indeed.” Optimistic would have said more, except they heard voices shouting.

  “Is that…them?” Eliesmore pointed ahead, unused to hearing discord.

  “Yes.” Optimistic grew quiet, twisting his fingers before replying. “Zhane, Dathiem, and I found Yamier and Wekin three years ago. Their parents were massacred by the Black Steeds, just like mine. They were only fourteen and fifteen back then; they were too young. I think their mischievousness is a way of dealing with their grief. It helps to have something to take your mind off of how serious it is out there. The Black Steeds need to answer for their crimes, which is why I am determined to see this through.”

  Eliesmore felt selfish. Thoughts of his mission consumed him, so much so he’d forgotten to ask his companions about their backgrounds. They all had lost those they loved, and he hadn’t even thought to offer condolences. Again, his thoughts were distracted by distant shouting.

  “How can you think of going? You can’t even fight Wekin!”

  “Ow! Yes, I can, a little bit, but not really. At least I’ve got a sword,” Wekin shot back.

  “No, you can’t fight. No more than you can stay out of trouble.”

  “I am learning. Zhane is teaching us.”

  “They still might not let us go. You know those looks
Idrithar gives us.”

  “Yes, he thinks we are troublesome.”

  “Yes, he would say no, no matter what.”

  “But…we can sneak along! I want to go, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes…”

  The voice was lost in a loud crash, and Optimistic and Eliesmore trotted down a short flight of stairs in time to see a barrel roll off another one, sending apples flying. Another barrel burst and wine sprayed out of it. Wekin, who was lying on the floor, sat up and rubbed his curly brown head. “Ow, ow, ow, that hurt,” he moaned, falling backward.

  Yamier jumped up and began throwing apples at Wekin. “See? You hurt yourself. If we get to go on this journey, then you can’t lie down and go ‘ow.’ You have got to get up and keep running.”

  “But Yamier,” complained Wekin, “this is not funny. We will really be in trouble. We didn’t bring up the barrels the Mermis want, and we spilled a whole barrel of wine. Dathiem will have our heads.”

  “Well, it’s your fault. If you hadn’t decided to have an apple war…” Yamier started.

  “An apple war?” Optimistic interrupted. He grabbed an armful of apples. “Arm yourselves,” he called to Yamier and Wekin. “It is time for round two.”

  “Optimistic!” Yamier hollered. “It’s about time you got back.”

  So began the apple war, where the four of them threw apples at each other. They slipped in wine, rolled over barrels and each other, ducked and dodged apples, and, in general, got as dirty and disheveled as if they were in a real war. In fact, they were having so much fun running and shouting that they failed to hear footsteps in the hall. When the footsteps stopped they froze, and the four young Crons looked up to see Idrithar. “Young Crons,” he thundered, clearing his throat and attempting to look serious. “I am certainly displeased with you.” Here he was caught by a fit of coughing. “Clean up and haul these barrels upstairs to the cooking room. All four of you!”