The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Yet, there was a phrase that would not leave Ellagine alone. It buzzed around her, begging her to understand it, to dissect its meaning. She did not understand. If she were supposed to save the mortals, why did this thought bother her? It would not affect the lives of the mortals, in truth, it would keep them safe through the end of the world. If that was truth why did she feel unsettled?

  Invisible fingers of water slipped around her legs, parting them as fingers cleansed her from the filth of her journey, the dirt from her trek through the forest and her time spent in the west with the mortals. Refusing to surface just yet, she spread her arms and wiggled her fingers, encouraging the enchanted waters to wrap around her core and thread through the waves of her long hair, cleaning her from head to toe. She moved back and forth in its essence, encouraging the fingers to build her toward pleasure, arching her back as they moved around her, their pace quickening. The waters tugged her arms above her head, flipping her onto her stomach as they sank her beneath their warm. She allowed the fingers to explore her until she could take it no longer, kicking hard and swinging her arms she tore back to the surface, curling her legs into a sitting position as she moved upward, gasping for breath. Her chest heaved as the mist parted, dissipating as if it could hear her thoughts.

  Droplets of water rolled down her arms like pearls, returning to its sisters, the Waters of Nye. A thought bubble up within Ellagine’s mind, and she lifted a finger to her lips, licking the sweetness of the water off as she considered. It burst through her mind with a sudden shock, like a flash of lightning on a cloudless day. Words whispered from her lips unbidden, yet words she could not take back if she tried. “The new breed.”

  A gasp stirred Ellagine from her musing. She stood up in the Water of Nye as the mist hastened away, refusing to hide her nakedness from the intruder. A male walked out of the woods, standing hesitantly on the gray stones when he saw Ellagine. He was a Green Person, tall and stately, although his cheeks flushed pink, and he dropped his eyes at the sight of Ellagine. Briefly, she glanced down at her green skin, it shone brightly from the heat of the waters while the droplets continued to bead down her breasts, the triangle before her parted legs and the curves of her hips.

  “Fear not,” she told the male. “Those who look upon the Green Lady should have no shame. Beauty should be worshiped, not feared.”

  He lifted his eyes, and she saw the hint of lust he attempted to hide. His voice faulted a moment before he threw back his shoulders and stood tall, moving his gaze to the rocks beyond as he addressed her. “My lady, the Iaen are waking, the Green People are here. We await your presence, my Queen.”

  “Your queen?” Ellagine challenged him.

  “Ci, you are the last of the royal bloodline, all Iaen bow before you. We await your presence to guide us into this new era.”

  “Then there are none left who would question my rule?”

  “None, my Queen. The elders have fled, the Idrains from a hundred years ago have faded into death or taken flight to different lands. You are the only one left who can lead us.”

  Ellagine raised her head high, responsibility floating around her like jewels. It was her time, her turn. After everything she had gone through, her people were turning to her for salvation. The Iaen were hers. A new era had come, it was time to usher in the new breed. “Bring me a new gown, and we shall go.”

  53

  Eliesmore

  Numbness swept over Eliesmore as if the heavens opened and rained ice upon his head. Pure rage, hot as molten lava churned within his soul. It leaked out of his eyes in the form of ruby light, and when he turned his gaze from the starry sky and back toward the stairs, the tower, and the gardens of Daygone, he saw a shadow. At the same moment, the ground shuddered and quaked. Below him ripples opened on the surface of Daygone, eating the red gardens, swallowing the red grass and black trees. The tower alone remained untouched. The emerald stairs Eliesmore stood on faded, and as the cold intensified they dissipated and Eliesmore dropped like a stone, falling from the edge of the world toward the ground. Air moved him onto his back, and his eyes continued to stare upward as he fell. A light came out of the atmosphere. Long white hair streamed from it as it streaked past him, toward the ground, a cry coming out of its mouth. It was a falling star. The knowledge did not surprise Eliesmore, he noted it as calmly as he would observe a bird in the sky. He saw three more stars fall through the world; they wept and wailed as they committed suicide, crying out for the one they talked to, the one they sang their songs to, the Changer who had disappeared. Sarhorr.

  Chills shook Eliesmore’s body. When he held up a hand, the tips of his fingers were blue. His teeth chattered in his skull while droplets of ice rolled down his skin. When he breathed out, a cloud of white mist hovered above his face before freezing into a snowflake, the size of his palm, and diving toward the ground. Cries of horror, of pain, and sorrow echoed about him as he fell. He closed his eyes. Death was preferable to the knowledge he held, the power that gripped him and the intense knowledge of what he had done, nay, what they had done. The words of the Truth Tellers rang out in his ears. …With that power comes a curse and a price. A curse will doom this world, and the price will be the weight of knowledge you must bear.

  In his wildest imagination, he’d never thought it would come to this sort of horror. As the ground loomed before him, a roar made him open his eyes, and he saw a shadow. It held something up toward Eliesmore. He blinked, his eyes lids burning with the movement as he stared out of frosty eyelashes. A dull rhythm pounded in his chest, a voice, just barely there. Fight. Fight. Fight. The words thrummed through him, although he wanted to close his eyes, give up and die, the rhythm became stronger. Fight. Fight. Fight.

  Threads of power wrapped around him and he stretched them out, allowing the light to rotate his body and slow down the speed of his fall. He flexed his fingers although they cried out in agony against the movement, for they were stiff and sore from the cold. As he neared the shadow, the first star slammed into the ground. A wave of dirt, stone, mud, and frost flew up in the air like a giant heaving into an oversized basin. Cracks rippled across the ground and before Eliesmore could recover a cloud of dust hurled into his face as a second, third, and forth star smote the ground. Fire sprang up, eagerly licking up what life was left. Eliesmore landed, stumbling, his feet refusing to carry him, and he fell, sprawled out at the base of the tower. As he raised his head, he noticed the shadow wasn’t as close as it appeared. It was over a hundred yards away, waiting, watching him as it held a pitchfork in its hands. When Eliesmore looked at it, he recognized it. It was the dark creature he’d seen in the Holesmoles.

  The monster towered fifteen feet into the air with three tails swishing back and forth as it waited. Curved horns rolled back from its skull, and obsidian eyes bored into Eliesmore. A creeping discomfort came over him as if the creature could see into his soul and disliked what it found there. Darkness rippled off the creatures like smoke blowing in the wind. The beast opened its mouth, a yawning cave covered with glittering teeth, threw back its heavy head and bellowed. Stamping its hooves on the ground, it put down its head and charged toward Eliesmore like a raging bull. The thunder of its movements carried across the already trembling ground. Staggering, his limbs still unsteady from the cold, Eliesmore got to his feet. Thoughts of running came and went as swiftly as the wind as rage bubbled up within him again. He set his face, lifted the Jeweled Sword and ran toward the creature, answering its bellow with a shout of his own, letting anger, disbelief, and horror flow out of him.

  Heat poured into his body as he dashed toward the shadows. He lifted his sword and slammed it into the pitchfork with all his might. The creature thundered into him, and darkness plagued his vision, driving him into pitch black misery. A storm swirled around him, an unending blot of inky darkness roared overhead with a vengeance. An eerie howl made the hair on his arms stand up straight. He walked forward, blind, swinging the Jeweled Sword in front of him, searching for the cente
r of the vortex. Emotion, other than anger and rage, faded away. Hope. Love. The determination to save the world disappeared as the words from the book flashed through his vision. Sarhorr and Shalidir. Our Father. Our Mother. The creators of the Monrages. Except they only gave birth to two. Despite the power that flowed between them, the words of the Green People rang true. They never had more than one or two children. The other ten were not naturally born, they were creatures, transformed, duplicated.

  The horns of the creature appeared in the shadows, and Eliesmore knew exactly what it was. The other ten. The remaining Monrages in their shadow form. Something deep, something ancient from the pits of the Holesmoles had been used to create them. If he had been himself, if he had been thinking clearly, Eliesmore would have shuddered in revulsion. As it was, he walked into the center of the swirling darkness. The creature thudded toward him, towering over him. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists, thinking the word that lay there. His body screamed at him as he grew, his bones shrieking as they stretched out and lengthened until he stood fifteen feet tall. The world blinked around him, and his breath came short and fast as his body attempted to accustom itself to the unnatural, rapid growth. The beast swung its pitchfork, clanging into the blade of the Jeweled Sword. Red and black sparks flew through the air. They burned Eliesmore’s skin when they touched him, and he flinched. With a yell of rage, he ran for the beast, swinging.

  54

  Idrithar

  “He’s been in there for a week!” Wekin’s high voice called over the battlefield.

  Idrithar whipped around; blond hairs plastered to his sweating forehead and neck. A mound of dead woísts surrounded them. Idrithar and Zhane arrived a day after Eliesmore had disappeared into the rift that led into Daygone. Optimistic was hiding from the woísts and expressed relief to see them, yet his main concern was the lack of communication from Eliesmore. Daygone was silent, hidden from them by an impregnable shield. Idrithar had tried to use his powers to break the shield, but the force repelled him each time. And then the woísts came marching.

  The enhancements of power had almost been enough, but not quite. Yamier and Wekin showed up in the nick of time with glittering eyes as they took down the monsters of the deep, like twin warriors. They appeared invincible. Idrithar was taken aback by the ferocity of their actions; they had become unstoppable warriors. They were Treasure Hunters. Gifted Ones. Despite their abilities, foolish words still slipped from their months.

  Idrithar walked up to the border and tried again. There was a snap of energy as he pushed against it. “The force is weaker now,” he called to them.

  “Can you get through?” Zhane grunted. He stood with his back to them, arms crossed, watching for movement in the desolate fields.

  “No, it’s still too strong,” Idrithar backed away, a sinking feeling starting within him.

  “Wait, I see a ripple,” Optimistic pointed upward. His arms and legs were covered in a mix of black charcoal, brown dust and blood from the ongoing battle with the woísts.

  Idrithar looked to where Optimistic pointed. Toward the heavens, he saw a shimmering as the invisible shield began to fall. A lightning bolt of green shot across the sky and the next moment a deep rumble roared across the sky. Idrithar’s hands flew to his ears and he turned, his feet unsteady. A moment later the ground trembled. Idrithar backed away, “Prepare yourself; we know not what comes through when the shield falls.”

  Drawing the sword of Alaireia, Keeper of the Clyear, he planted his feet and waited. The ripple continued to fade as the ground shook. In the distance Idrithar heard screams of rage and weapons clashing against each other. He dared to hope. Eliesmore was still alive and perhaps fighting the Dark One. They still had a chance; they still had time to rush in and provide support. Although as the curtain continued to fade away, Idrithar’s mind changed. There was no need to help Eliesmore. He had the power of the Green Stone; surely it was enough. He glanced back at his companions. Optimistic stood on one side, raising his bow with a weary sigh. The tension from waiting and fighting was wearing thin on them. Yamier and Wekin stood to his right, their weapons by their sides as they watched, eyes wide. Aside from grit and dirt, they showed no signs of slowing down. Curious. Very curious. Idrithar sensed Zhane’s anger. They’d arrived too late to warn Eliesmore regarding the vision and Idrithar suspected Zhane blamed him. It wasn’t his fault entirely, what would happen to Eliesmore needed to happen. He assumed. While gambling with fate was risky, it would be worth it for the salvation of the Four Worlds. He understood, perhaps better than the others, the true cost of self-sacrifice.

  A defeating roar thundered through the air. The ground gave a violent shiver, and Idrithar held out his hands for balance as he watched shadows fade and disappear. A few moments later, out of mist and fog, strode a monster.

  The monster was six and a half feet tall and held a sword in one hand, ready to swing, divide and kill. Idrithar sensed the aura of fury radiating from the monster, a deep malevolent darkness, hungry for blood, seeking to kill as if its thirst for blood would never be sated. Red eyes met his as the creature’s black hair flowed down to its powerful shoulders. Idrithar blinked as the monster moved forward and he saw with his natural eyes, it was no monster, only Eliesmore. A vague darkness floated around him, and his green eyes burned like an emerald bathed in firelight. The lines of Eliesmore’s face were hard and his expression odd, as if he held the knowledge of one who’d lived for hundreds of years and was weary from it.

  Idrithar knew, without speaking a word, Eliesmore was corrupted. Instead of defeating darkness, he had become the very evil they sought to fight and kill. Their salvation had turned back upon them. Only time would tell which side he would choose in the ultimate war between the mortals and immortals. Eliesmore was one of them now. Idrithar almost laughed at the absorbedness of it. The years of his life, fighting, hoping and studying the knowledge of the deep had come to this.

  “Woísts approach from the west,” Zhane shouted.

  A ringing began in Idrithar’s ears. He watched Eliesmore walk. He heard the sound of marching as creatures came to reinforce Daygone. A river of red followed Eliesmore, and Idrithar questioned what had happened in Daygone to turn Eliesmore into a monster.

  55

  Eliesmore

  The shadow disappeared. One moment he was fighting the beast, the next it had disappeared in a swirl of mist. Eliesmore was left alone, standing in the destruction of Daygone. Great craters covered the ground where the stars had fallen, black holes sucking light and energy into the darkness. Eliesmore swung the Jeweled Sword in confusion, searching for the shadow as black words swirled around him. He knew, even as he searched, it had disappeared, traveling to be with its new master, using the power of the Phutal. The device to open and close portals wasn’t in Daygone after all. When Sarhorr returned from the Eastern World his sister and brother were lying in wait, and they took the Phutal, leaving Sarhorr and Shalidir stranded in Daygone.

  Turning, Eliesmore walked south, a cloud of brooding anger settling around his shoulders. Flashes of red poked at the edges of his vision as if the sky were raining droplets of blood. Eliesmore. Voices whispered in his ears. He shook his head, ignoring them. Eliesmore the Great.

  Leave me alone. He continued to walk as the red moved around his vision and the ground shook. Holding out his hands he allowed light to flow from them, whispering words until the ground settled down, going to sleep like an angry child throwing a tantrum, exhausted from the expense of energy.

  Eliesmore the Great. Eliesmore the Great.

  Ignoring the chant, he strode across the ground, anger rolling off his back in ripples of red. One hand held the Jeweled Sword, the blade pointed down to the ground.

  Eliesmore the Great. Eliesmore the Great.

  What? He shouted in his head, annoyed by the chatter.

  Eliesmore the Great. We hear and obey.

  Pausing he spun around. A patch of red grass froze. His heart thumped oddly in his chest
. The words. He’d heard the words before in tales of old. Creatures that inhabited the grass spoke those words to the one who controlled them.

  Zikes?

  Instantly the red grass changed, coming out of camouflage. A sea of four-foot-tall red creatures appeared, gazing at him with abnormally large eyes. Red cones stood on their heads, shimmering with ruby light. Their voices, spoken in unison, became hard and deep. Aye. Eliesmore the Great. We hear and obey. What are our orders?

  Eliesmore, too exhausted to be shocked, turned to keep walking, stomping across the ground, clenching and unclenching the fist that did not hold a weapon. Follow me.

  The creatures flitted back into the red grass, moved after him, and although their voices fell silent he could hear them moving like the waves of the sea, hushed and calm as if they did not want to be heard.

  As Eliesmore approached the border, he saw the barrier that protected Daygone ripple away, and as it did, he saw five warriors standing on a battle field. A thrill of excitement passed through him and for mere seconds he felt like himself again, the old Eliesmore, after he’d dissolved the Green Stone and before he read the words from the dark book. As he looked out, it seemed he saw the spirits of Heroes of Old. He saw the sword of Crinte the Wise and the bow of Marklus the Healer. He saw the blade of Alaireia, Keeper of the Clyear of Power and the sword of Starman the Trazame. He saw warriors who went on despite what others believed about them and their mission. He saw a group willing to sacrifice themselves for others, and he saw with relief the bow of Legone the Swift was not among them.