The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  “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.

  “Rude, I would like to give them a piece of my mind,” Yamier raised his bow.

  “Not even for Sir Regante?” Mattio hollered.

  “Mattio!” Sir Regante hissed.

  “Sir Regante is a traitor!” the voice shouted back.

  “Step away from the gate,” Eliesmore motioned to his companions. “We will do this my way.”

  His companions backed away, Idrithar raising an eyebrow as he retreated, leaving Eliesmore alone. Eliesmore closed his eyes and grew still, clenching his fists as he searched for what was left. There was something there, he was sure of it, yet he’d been reluctant to search for his powers after giving in to the will of the Dark Figure. Sarphimm. He refused to process the thought the Green Light was gone, and he’d lost the power of creation. He took a deep breath and felt the spirits of the Zikes as they pricked up their ears, listening, waiting for his call. He smelled the rich soil beneath his feet, traveling to the dead iron of the gates. He cocked his head, keeping his eyes closed as he reached out, both physically and spiritually, using his thoughts to twist the iron and pull it apart. In his mind’s eye, his fingers ran through the ground and climbed the gate. Zikes. Find the leaders. Bring them to me. Unlock the doors. Rouse the city.

  His fingers curled around the gates and he pulled, breathing hard, his muscles straining against his body as he yanked. The ground shuddered under his feet, and unintelligible yells drifted through the air as he pulled against the gates. Green light glowed around his fingers and with a sense of relief he found the power of creation, the Green Stone was still with him, rising in a purity he had not experienced since his first battle with a Changer, the Dark Servant, over a year ago.

  A victorious yell came from his mouth as the gates shuddered and opened against their will. The hinges squeaked, resisting his efforts.

  Shouts echoed around him, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the gate shudder and fall forward while the three hundred marched toward the walls, eager to enter the city. Idrithar, Sir Regante, and Captain Elidar took the lead, separating into three divisions as they led the army onwards.

  Eliesmore’s fingers shook from the excretion as he dropped them to his side and noticed Lythe trotting up beside him. Eliesmore shuddered, eyes narrowing as he watched the halo of darkness over the city. He drew the Jeweled Sword in one sweeping motion. “Lythe. Let’s give them hell.”

  Lythe bounded into the city, leaping toward a group of black guards who scattered, their spears dropping onto the cobble stones. Eliesmore walked through the ruined gates which collapsed in a cloud of dust, wailing in their surrender. The voices of the Zikes shirked in victory as they surged through the city while Eliesmore’s army moved through, taking down everyone and everything in their path. Eliesmore saw the light from Idrithar’s sword create a rift in the stone as he entered the city, while all bowed before Wekin’s sword and the arrows flying from Yamier’s bow. Again, an illusion passed before Eliesmore’s eyes, and it seemed he was in a rich red canyon, fighting with a great multitude of warriors around him. He saw the curly head of Marklus the Cron as he lifted his bow again and again while Alaireia, Keeper of the Clyear wielded the light, her followers weaving in and out of it, using it like shadows. Meanwhile, Starman the Trazame fought with a strength he had not known before, and everything that came in contact with his blade met a fatal end.

  Eliesmore snapped out of the vision as a shout of victory thundered around him, and the army moved toward the towers while the Zikes prodded the leaders onwards, striking down their defenses, rendering their control useless.

  “Get the flags up,” Sir Regante shouted. “Take down the Black Steeds’ flag and raise the White Steeds’ high. The city is ours. All must know!”

  Eliesmore nodded in agreement as the Jeweled Sword came down while a niggling crept up his spine. Sound faded away as the hush of death and darkness covered the Torrents Towers. He looked up, watching the pointed towers reaching toward the sky, shading the light. The stone walls of the city stretched onward, weaving into streets and massive buildings in a way Eliesmore had never seen before.

  “Round up the leaders,” Idrithar shouted. “Bring them inside. Captain Elidar, Sir Regante, with me!”

  They moved toward a building, their feet clattering over cobblestones when the dense darkness gathered, and out of a foggy cloud stepped the Rakhai.

  Eliesmore’s senses buzzed with energy as he lifted the Jeweled Sword and ran, moving through the crowds who had stopped to gaze while around him the voices of the Black Steeds lifted in renewed hope. Way of Phimm. Way of Phimm. Way of Phimm. The chant swelled through the air as if the speakers were building a strong power with their words. Eliesmore saw his moment as the creature grew, a blend of shadow and flesh, a creature of old crossbred with the Rakhai to create something despicable. It lifted a pitchfork, and a piercing memory swept through Eliesmore.

  He slowed everything down until he could taste the air with each breath he drew and the slow heartbeat of life as the frightened faces of the White Steeds turned toward him. The beast threw back its head and roared. Eliesmore absorbed it, allowing the darkness to enter him and be burned away by the Green Light. The creature stamped its pitchfork on the ground, once, twice, thrice, and Eliesmore lifted the Jeweled Sword and hurled it. It sailed through the air, flipping in slow motion while the blade held steady. The pointed edge kept its course as it flew as straight as the arrows from the bow of Marklus the Healer. The beast threw back its head to roar again when the blade entered, piercing its throat, stopping the roar in its tracks. The creature’s bullish head went back while the whites of its eyes rolled in shock. Eliesmore raised a hand, a surge of Green Light passing through his fingers and he tossed a ball of light at the beast, determined to finish the Rakhai once and for all.

  The beast waved its arms as it fell backward, an expression of shock and dismay covered its face. As it fell it changed, shifting and morphing as ten Monrages appeared, one after the other. The Jeweled Sword clattered on the cobblestone behind them as one by one they wavered, holding their hands to the crimson flow of blood that poured from their necks. One of them choked, spitting up a handful of blood as her dark eyes met Eliesmore’s. She pointed at him before her eyes glazed over and she collapsed. As the bodies hit the cobblestone, the fog of darkness lifted, and a cheer went up from the White Steeds while the Black Steeds knelt on the ground, covering their faces while they wailed and moaned.

  The winking stones of the Torrent Towers fell silent, yet somehow Eliesmore thought he saw ten black ravens soar, soundlessly into the sky, flying in an eastward direction. When he blinked, there was nothing. Walking across the stones he retained the Jeweled Sword while Lythe ope
ned his powerful jaws and roared, sealing the events of what happened there.

  “Black Steeds and followers of the Way of Phimm,” Eliesmore announced. “The city is ours!” Then he turned, meeting Idrithar’s gaze, noting the respect Idrithar held in his eyes as he nodded. “Idrithar, the city is yours.”

  96

  Eliesmore

  “What will you do?” Idrithar asked as they stood in one of the towers of the Torrents Towers. It was a few days after taking the city from the Black Steed. The vibe of the city was sullen although Eliesmore had full faith in Idrithar, Mattio, Visra, Captain Elidar, and the detachment of the army who would remain.

  “I will go conquer every country and raise the flag of the White Steeds in every city. I am taking Lythe and the Jeweled Sword. Those who desire to move on can come with me.”

  Idrithar nodded, stroking his beard. His eyes were alive with the challenge the Torrents Towers presented him, and Eliesmore was grateful Idrithar found where he belonged. “Only the countries south of the Cascade Mountains remain.”

  “I know,” Eliesmore agreed.

  “Will you come back?” Idrithar lifted an eyebrow.

  “I doubt it.” Eliesmore moved forward, dropping a hand on Idrithar’s shoulder. “Set yourself up here as Ruler. You must be the wise one on this side of the mountains. You have friends in the west, between Castle Range and the Torrents Towers, there shall be peace.”

  Idrithar grasped Eliesmore’s shoulder in a surprising gesture of friendship. “Others will stop following you, as you continue through the South World. But they will never forget what you have done for this world.”

  “I know,” Eliesmore let a gentle smile come to his face.

  “Well done,” Idrithar ended with words of praise.

  Thus, Eliesmore took up the Jeweled Sword, and with Lythe at his side, set off through the Monoxie Meadows, across the Cascade Mountain Range to Sagta Por. Fifty of his friends followed him, including Sir Regante who determined not to stay in the Torrents Towers. Along with Eliesmore traveled Yamier and Wekin, Skip and Bruthen, Wyndler and Trecon. They planted a flag of the White Steeds in the country town of Sagta Por and welcomed the Trazames who had come out of hiding.

  They marched to Itmether and were met with shouts of joy and praise for what they had done. Eliesmore took his friends to the high city of Clovernridge and planted a flag on the mountain there, while the citizens saluted him and promised to give up the Way of Phimm. At long last, Eliesmore returned to the city of Sidell where the first battle against the Dark Figure took place. The city had been renamed Ellsmore in his honor and was humming with Crons, Tiders and even Trazames who were intent on rebuilding.

  By the time they reached the bustling city of Sanga Sang, off the coast of the Jaded Sea, Eliesmore knew everyone in his company by name, for, with each city, Eliesmore’s company had become smaller until there were only twenty. They were a jubilant group, given over to song and enjoying the best foods in the land. Upon their arrival, they burst into the first inn they could find, demanding ale.

  Eliesmore stood near the shore, lifting his face to the moist air, and he thought he could smell the sweet scent of the Eastern Hill Countries calling him home.

  “Eliesmore,” Wekin came up on one side, his arms crossed while Yamier walked up on the other.

  Eliesmore glanced from one long face to the next, a knowing slamming into his gut at the words they would speak.

  “Our road ends here,” Yamier nodded, his eyes glistening. “We have to go sailing.”

  “We will gladly escort you back to the Eastern Hill countries, but this is it for us,” Wekin pipped up, spreading his arms to indicate the port. “We are turning Sanga San into our new port and taking Skip and Bruthen with us.”

  Eliesmore nodded. The two had grown, the shadow of a beard crossing their young faces, and imprudence did not shine out of their eyes any longer. He saw the love of adventure and seeking an exhilarating journey instead of giving into killing for the White Steeds.

  “You don’t need us anymore,” Wekin’s blue eyes were calm as he reached up, dropping a hand on one of Eliesmore’s broad shoulders. “You are the legendary Eliesmore.”

  “I know,” he whispered, nodding at them.

  “But come visit us from time to time,” Yamier grinned, cutting the sadness of the moment with mirth. “We will be on the high seas chasing sea monsters.”

  A blush covered Wekin’s face as he added, “Searching for Under Water World People.”

  “Finding hidden treasure,” Yamier went on.

  “Adventure for all,” Wekin cried, grinning so hard it looked as if his face would burst.

  “It is time, more than time,” Eliesmore held out his arms. “You have done enough, you have sacrificed and given more than many others.” They embraced tightly for seconds before letting go and thumping each other on the back, attempting to keep from shedding tears.

  “Never forget what we witnessed,” Eliesmore told them as they backed away, lifting their chins in the air, determined to keep their composure. “Tell stories wherever you go, we must not forget.”

  “How could we?” Wekin winked. “We are heroes.”

  “That we are,” Eliesmore nodded. “That we are.”

  He stood on the shore, watching, while Yamier and Wekin went to their ships. Skip boarded Wekin’s vessel to become his first mate on White Steeds Sail, and Yamier and Bruthen boarded The One Lives. Just before Eliesmore boarded the ship sailing to the Eastern Hill Countries, he felt Lythe come up, rubbing against his leg.

  Looking down, Eliesmore felt his heart drop as he placed a hand on Lythe’s head. “You’ll be going as well?”

  Lythe looked up at Eliesmore, his liquid eyes conveying the depth of his decision.

  “You are in no way bound to me,” Eliesmore went on. “You are free to go back to the Monoxie Meadows, chase the wind, and live out your days of freedom and joy. I can’t imagine returning to the fortress will bring you much joy. You were meant to be out in the wild, in nature, sleeping under the stars.”

  Lythe sat back on his hind legs, looking at Eliesmore before shaking his great yellow mane. “How can I say how grateful I am?”

  “Say nothing,” Eliesmore whispered, and then launched himself at Lythe, burying his head Lythe’s mane. “You long for home as do I. Go and live.”

  “Come visit,” Lythe suggested. “When you find yourself in the Monoxie Meadows.”

  “That I will do,” Eliesmore let go, rolling his shoulders back. He turned to move toward the shore where the last boat was waiting to take him to the ship. As he turned his back on the west side of the South World, a great cry and cheers rose above him like the waves of Oceantic.

  They will come out and rejoice, Eliesmore thought to himself as the words of “Song” danced through his mind. I wish Optimistic could have seen this. A bitter sweetness passed through his mind of his long lost friend, and turning for one last look, Eliesmore raised his hand. A roar of joy erupted like a fountain overflowing, bursting as he turned to sail east, back home.

  97

  Eliesmore

  Eliesmore knelt on the shore, grabbing fistfuls of sand and letting it run through his fingers.

  “Home at last. The Eastern Hill Countries,” he breathed.

  “Onward to the fortress?” Sir Regante asked as he eyed the quickly disappearing ships.

  Eliesmore rose to his feet, breathing in the rich scent of soil and new life. When he closed his eyes, he could hear the voices of every living thing reaching upward in silent awe and joy. “You all should return to the fortress but take your time, enjoy the journey. Follow the paths of life where it might lead you, and if you end up somewhere unexpected, maybe it’s where you are meant to be.”

  “You sound like you aren’t coming with us,” said Triften. He was a fair-headed Cron with a youthful face.

  “Nay. I am going to the Land of Lock. Back home. It’s a journey I must take alone for there are a few things I want to see a
nd do before I reach the fortress.”

  “Will we see you again?” Triften asked, his face stricken.

  “I expect you will. We say goodbye now, but it’s not the end, merely a parting. We shall see one another time and time again until our souls are united in the Beyond.” He held out a hand and motes of emerald shot off his fingertips as he turned, following an invisible tug on his heart southwards.

  Eliesmore heard their murmured voices as he left while the enchantment of the land compelled him onward until his feet sped up to a run and the world flashed by in a riot of colors.

  Eliesmore reached the Land of Lock in five days. Sunset was still a few hours away as he walked through the meadows, the gentle breeze lulling him in. As he surveyed the land, his eyes fell upon a beaten down hut, and his heart dropped. It was his old home. Heart pounding, he walked toward it. The roof had fallen in. The door was hanging off its hinges as he peered in. Eliesmore pushed aside the door into a musty room and stepped inside. Daylight streamed in through the cracks in the roof, displaying an overturned table and dusty chairs lying on their sides. The floor was covered in dirt and leaves from springs, summers and winters. Eliesmore’s knees gave out from under him, and he knelt in the muck. Memories of his mother rushed through his mind. He recalled her fixing the first meal, it was already ready when he woke up, his nose quivering as he climbed down the ladder, his mind whirling with inquisitive questions to ask her. It seemed as if his mother’s voice surrounded him, telling him stories of Heroes of Old, great adventure, epic quests, and heroic deeds. He blinked back tears as he remembered how he woke each morning, his mother shaking him awake and telling him he smelled like the forest. His head dropped onto his chest and his shoulders shook as he wept for a past life when the darkness of the world was hidden from him, and all he saw was sunshine and light. Even in the depths of his grief, he recognized the gift his mother had given him, and he brought his hands together, whispering words of blessing as he thought of her.