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.”
Optimistic 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 care
ful.”
“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 before. 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.
He heard soft footfalls, and a Green lady emerged. She was six and a half feet tall, at least a foot taller than him, and wore a pale green dress that folded around her body like water with each step she took. Her waist-length hair fell in soft waves and had a gold—or was it a brown—tint to it. Her ears were the size of mortal ears instead of the exceptionally large and pointed ears most Green People had. She was as beautiful as carved crystal and stared at Eliesmore out of light blue eyes with a hint of something darker hidden in them.
Eliesmore did not know what to do. He stood up, thinking he should bow in the presence of a great Iaen, but his legs would not move again. He swallowed hard, his heart flip-flopping under her gaze. Feeling even more uncomfortable, he sputtered, “Who are you?”
“Eliesmore, you have come,” she welcomed him. Her eyes were eager, almost as if she were about to devour him.
“You know my name?” Eliesmore wrinkled his brow in surprise.
“Yes.” She offered no explanation. “I am Ellagine, three-fourths Green Person, one-fourth Tider.” At Eliesmore’s vague expression she added, “I’m the great-great granddaughter of Legone the Swift.”
“Oh.” Eliesmore suspected she wanted him to be impressed with her reference to a hero of old. However, the relationship was too far removed to be of much value. “I am Eliesmore, half Cron, half Tider. Why have you called me here?”
“It is time you know.” Ellagine motioned for him to sit as she knelt beside the stream that lay between them.
“Know what exactly?” Eliesmore sat down again. “I know about the White Steeds and Black Steeds. What more is there?”
“There is much for you to learn about who you are." Ellagine gave him a kind smile, and her eyes were patient.
Eliesmore opened his mouth to argue with her. As beautiful and wild as she was, she seemed to know entirely too much about him. Hints of a smile touched her lips as she shook her head, and, given over to her beauty, he decided to listen.
“Eliesmore, I have much to tell you. I am not sure what tales your mother shared, although surely you are familiar with the legendary deeds of the Five Warriors?”
Eliesmore nodded, thinking he'd been quick to judge her. He should listen to her words; after all, she was a descendant of a hero of old. Legendary blood ran through her. “Of course, I could repeat those tales back to you of how they destroyed the Ruler and his transformed creatures.”
“Yes,” Ellagine’s voice dropped, and she leaned forward. “They thought they killed the Ruler. However, they only destroyed his physical form and wounded his spirit. The Ruler is a Changer, and he is still very much alive.”
Eliesmore recoiled as if someone had struck him. The word, Changer, had no meaning for him. All the same, he was hit with a cold fear. “What is a Changer?”
Ellagine leaned forward, as if confiding in him. “At the beginning of time, the Creator--a great, all-powerful being--gave life to the Four Worlds. At that time, the Four Worlds were large islands, slowly drifting apart from each other. The South World was the largest; however, as it was being designed, the Creator was distracted. Something caught his attention and turned him away, and as he did so, the last sparks of creation fell, and the Changers came into being. You see, when one holds power
, one must be attentive and careful because power is dangerous, mischievous, and always seeks to corrupt. Because the Creator was not paying attention, his creative sparks became a curse and damaged the purity of creation.”
Eliesmore pulled away in distaste, scowling. “What caused the Creator to become distracted?”
Ellagine opened her mouth and closed it in surprise at the unexpected question. “Only the Creator truly knows. Some say his assistant did something terrible to ruin his work, and he was too late to stop her. In fact, many records credit her with the creation of the Changers because they are bent on the destruction of all.”
Eliesmore frowned. “What does this have to do with me?”
“If you will listen, I will explain.” Ellagine held up a hand to pause his questions. “After the Changers had come into being, creation was completed, and the Four Worlds flourished. However, after a time, the Changers arose out of the underworld or the marshes, we now call them Marshswamps. When they came to the surface of the world, they began to realize who they were and what kind of power they held over the people groups and immortals. You see, your people, the mortals, live a normal lifespan, a couple of hundred years at most, but on average, a hundred years. My people, the immortals, live on until we feel our time is at an end. You see, we have a choice. Of course, both mortals and immortals can be killed. However, it is different with Changers.”
“But all things die,” Eliesmore interrupted, not pleased with her direct comparison of “his” people versus “her” people. “How can a Changer live forever? After all, the Five Warriors killed the Ruler!”
“Did they?” Ellagine avoided his eyes for a moment, and he saw something dark flicker behind them. “The Five Warriors destroyed the Ruler’s physical form and trapped his spirit. He escaped into the waters of Oceantic and was borne here to the South World. It is here where he was reunited with the other two Changers.”
Eliesmore and the Green Stone Page 5