The Four Worlds Series
An Epic Fantasy Saga: Book 3
Angela J. Ford
Contents
Eliesmore and the Green Stone
Map of the South World I
Map of the South World II
1. Sarhorr
2. Myran
3. Eliesmore
4. Eliesmore
5. Eliesmore
6. Ellagine
7. Glashar
8. Arldrine
9. Optimistic
10. Eliesmore
11. Eliesmore
12. Optimistic
13. Eliesmore
14. Sarhorr
15. Eliesmore
16. Eliesmore
17. Eliesmore
18. Eliesmore
19. Eliesmore
20. Eliesmore
21. Eliesmore
22. Ellagine
23. Eliesmore
24. Eliesmore
25. Sarhorr
26. Eliesmore
27. Dathiem
28. Eliesmore
29. Arldrine
30. Eliesmore
31. Eliesmore
32. Eliesmore
33. Glashar
34. Eliesmore
35. Eliesmore
36. Zhane
37. Sarhorr
38. Eliesmore
39. Dathiem
40. Arldrine
41. Eliesmore
42. Eliesmore
43. Eliesmore
44. Glashar
45. Eliesmore
46. Wekin
47. Eliesmore
48. Arldrine
49. Zhane
50. Eliesmore
51. Zhane
52. Sarhorr
53. Ellagine
54. Arldrine
55. Dathiem
56. Eliesmore
57. Eliesmore
58. Sarhorr
59. Eliesmore
60. Glashar
61. Eliesmore
62. Arldrine
63. Eliesmore
64. Eliesmore
65. Eliesmore
66. Sarhorr
67. Eliesmore
68. Eliesmore
69. Dathiem
70. Eliesmore
71. Arldrine
72. Zhane
73. Zhane
74. Dathiem
75. Eliesmore
76. Sarhorr
77. Eliesmore
78. Zhane
79. Glashar
80. Eliesmore
Thank You
Acknowledgments
Also by Angela J. Ford
Recommended Epic Fantasy Books
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 Angela J. Ford
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by HellYes.Design
Edited by Todd Barselow, The Bookish Fox, Red Rose Author Services and Pinpoint Editing
www.TheFourWorldsSeries.com
Created with Vellum
Also by Angela J. Ford
The Five Warriors
The Blended Ones
Eliesmore and the Green Stone
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword
Tales of the Four Worlds
Myran
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To my four hilarious sisters, Dorthea, Annie, Rebecca and Katrina, for being persistent enough to have an entire fantasy world created just for them.
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, lost 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.
Fear was alien to him as he took off, racing alongside the sea and shrieking with laughter as the green spray hit him, soaking his clothes and coaxing him into the cool waves. Soon he was barefoot, feet pounding the gritty mixture of dirt and sand. He laughed and danced until he was wholly exhausted. He collapsed in the grass, giggling with glee as he listened to the song of the sea. He grew drowsy as he listened. Just as his eyes were closing, dragging him into the land of sleep, he heard a splash. Every muscle in his body turned rigid as the warning from his mother pervaded his memory.
They lived in hiding for a reason. There was a conflict between two great powers, which was why Eliesmore should never go out alone. He had to stay with his mother, under her watchful eye to prevent harm from coming to him. He had intentionally disobeyed her laws in search of an adventure, and because of his willfulness, the glory of the sea was going to betray him. He sat up, whimpering as he sought for the intruder, desperately wishing for the safety of walls and his mother’s arms.
Instead, he saw a white object floating in the water. He stood on his tiptoes, squinting against the light reflecting off the waves as he struggled to see what it was. At first, it appeared to be a box sitting low in the water, and as it bobbed in the waves, Eliesmore wanted to know what was inside. He waded out into the sea, watching the waves bump the box towards him as if they were sending him a present.
He waited for the box to come closer, but progress was slow. Taking a risk, he waded further into the water, heedless of danger. He kept going until the water was pushing at his chest. Any farther and the waves would drag him below to a watery grave. Eliesmore did not discern the consequences as he lunged for the box. He reached and missed it, splashing water into his face as he lost his footing. But the sea was giving, and with a final push, a small wave sent it into his arms. Eliesmore turned back for the shore, gleeful because of his prize, just as the current rolled towards the beach, sweeping waves over his head and dragging him down.
He gasped for air, his legs kicking as his arms reached for solid ground. The sea rolled him over and spat him into the air. With his lungs on fire, he strained for one last breath and reached for land. His foot caught in weeds, and he tried to see through salt-stung eyes as the soggy ground turned solid and he kicked himself free. He crawled out of the green water onto the sand, still holding the box.
Spasms wracked his body as he inhaled the clean air, heaving salt water onto the ground. He collapsed in misery, his clothes doused from the battle with the sea. Breath returned to his heaving body as he lay on his back, allowing the warm sun to dry his clothes into a waterlogged paste against his chilled skin. The bleached sand stuck to his face as he raised his head and reached for the box.
It was heavier than he expected because the waves had been more than helpful, making the box appear light. He reached for the sealed cover to tear it open; only something caused him to pause. It seemed as if a cloud of darkness passed over him. Goosebumps rose on his arms, and his body quaked with chills. Eliesmore glanced behind to see who might be watching and found himself shaking. With the impulse and strength fear gave, he darted towards the thick underbrush, dragging his present with him.
Pale, green shoots blurred before his eyes. Dark, brown twigs, still holding the morning dew or moisture from the sea, stained his clothes and tangled his curly hair. He felt as if something unseen was chasing him, although all he could hear was his heart beating loudly in his panic. It may have been only a perception; it may have been real, but there was something heinous in the air that didn’t want him to look inside the box. If he had been thinking clearly, Eliesmore would have let the box slip from his fingers and carried his frenzied run alone.
Myran stood on the shore of the Jaded Sea, holding a pair of shoes. Her son Eliesmore had been here after all. She had been lost in thought, thinking of old times when she realized he was gone. Afterward, she had torn through the small house, even though there was no point. Then she remembered telling him the stories of the sea, heroes of old, and their grand adventures. The sea was the only logical place he would have gone. She had run out of the house, screaming his name, frightened of what he might meet. Were Black Steeds in the vicinity? Would they find him first?
Myran wiped anxious tears away. She needed clear sight to find her son. If he were lost… she dared not let the terrible thought enter her mind. Her entire life, all she loved and held dear was snatched from her, even her husband, a Tider from the west. Eliesmore was all she had left. What if she lost him too? Panicked, she squeezed his shoes until the sea water started dripping out. Where was he? “Eliesmore!” she called again, running along the sea and searching its depths to see if it gave away anything.
“Mama!” Eliesmore shouted, bursting into the hut. The door had been left open. All was quiet. His alarm started to dissolve, leaving only traces of fear. Tear stains streaked across his dirty face; scratches covered his bar
e arms and clothes from his headlong plunge through the underbrush.
“Mama!” he cried again, dashing through the house. He searched under the bed and even climbed the ladder to the loft, dragging the box behind him as he searched. His lower lip stuck out and trembled. Where was his mother? Was she searching for him? Eliesmore paused, at a loss of what to do. He was exhausted and sorry he had even thought to run away and see the sea. His hands opened, dropping the box. Startled, he jumped because he had forgotten what he carried. Bending down, he ran his tiny hands over the covering of the box as a strong desire to discover what lay hidden inside overcame him. Swallowing his tears, he knelt down on the wood floor and, with some difficulty, pulled off the top.
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