“When I was young,” Eliesmore began, “the Iaen invited me to sing and dance with them…”
Arldrine walked out of the woods, interrupting. “There you are; you’ll need something more to eat than just apples.” She tossed them something flat and hard, wrapped in a broad, green leaf.
“What is it?” Eliesmore turned it over before unwrapping it.
“Smoked venison,” Arldrine replied. “It may be a little chewy, but it’s filling.”
Optimistic was already gnawing away at his, a little perturbed Arldrine had ruined Eliesmore’s beautiful tale.
Eliesmore opened his mouth to reply when he thought he heard a sound. He stiffened, remembering the Rakhai were hunting them. “Let’s run!” Ellagine ran out of the forest. “No delay!”
Questions were not asked and glances were not exchanged; the four set off as fast as they could. Arldrine led them southwest across a plain of grass, heading for the Jaded Sea, which was several miles away.
At one point, Eliesmore glanced over his shoulder. In the distance, he saw dark shapes undulating over the plain towards them. A cold bead of sweat ran down his neck, and his hands grew clammy. He forced his feet to move faster as sheer panic hit and his vision blurred. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the Rakhai were behind him. As soon as he saw them, he knew. They could smell power and would hunt him down, regardless of where he went or whom he had on his side. The aura of the Great-Black-Evil had an acrid tang to it; its potency poisoned the air.
Eliesmore opened his mouth to warn his companions and to call for help. Nothing but dry air escaped. A great hopelessness welled up from the pit of his belly, like fingers threatening to choke him. The Rakhai drew nearer, and he could see them clearly. They rode black stallions, white foam dripping from their mouths as they drove forward at a breakneck pace.
A muffled whimper escaped his throat, and he saw Arldrine’s head whip around. “The Monrages,” she shrieked. “Ellagine, do something!”
“There’s a wood up ahead,” Ellagine ordered. “Run to it!”
“The Monrages will be upon us then,” Arldrine shouted back.
Music struck Eliesmore’s ears, and he heard Ellagine lift up her voice and call, “Wistfes seftisws, mocteo etomoc.”
Four white horses materialized out of the clump of trees and raced towards them, pausing long enough to let the four swing up on their backs. As soon as they mounted the horses galloped forward, widening the distance between them and the Rakhai. Eliesmore crouched low on the horse, holding on for dear life with his arms and legs. As much as he admired the strength and beauty of horses, he’d never ridden before, and he found the experience terrifying.
A piercing scream of rage echoed over the plains, and Eliesmore cried out in fright. The Rakhai were moving in, closing the gap between them. He could see their black cloaks billowing in the wind and their long, wavy hair—black and transparent—streaming away from their white, hollow faces. There was nothing to stop the Rakhai from crushing all under the churning hooves of the Black Steeds. The world faded away and moved in slow motion.
He saw a ball of green light shatter the air and burst into flames, dividing them from the Rakhai. The black stallions slowed, rearing up to escape the fire. The Rakhai stopped, watching the White Steeds race away before turning to gallop north.
Eliesmore heard guttural shouting in a language he could not understand. He knew, for now, they were safe, but the Rakhai would regroup. They would return after they came up with another plan.
The white horses swept onward, taking Eliesmore and his three companions with them. It was not until nightfall the horses came to a stop, and the four slid off their backs. They stood in the shadows of a few trees while the stars shone above. “Thank you,” Ellagine said. Her voice was soft again; the sharp, commanding edges were gone.
“Call, and we will come,” one of the horses replied, “especially for the One. We must be off though; we would prefer not to meet the Rakhai again."
Once the white horses were swallowed up by the dark of night, Eliesmore turned to Ellagine, Arldrine, and Optimistic. “Should we run on now?” he asked.
Optimistic smiled. “And you didn’t want to go farther last night.”
“I’m serious,” Eliesmore protested, not recognizing the teasing. “The sooner we get to the fortress, the better.”
“You are right,” Ellagine agreed. “The Rakhai know our trail now. Once we reach the sea, we can lose them.”
“Come on then.” Arldrine led the way.
It took two more days and nights of running, snatches of sleep, and stolen bits of food before the four finally reached the Jaded Sea. It was magnificent. Its green waves rolled and splashed upon the ground. Then the waves raced back out to begin again. The creamy flow soothed the four after their long run, and that night, instead of pressing on, they slept by the sea, sprawled out on the sand.
It was a peaceful evening, and Eliesmore dreamed of the Iaen and the creatures of the wood. He saw the stars, blazing across the sky; they were spinning and wheeling in their realms. As he watched, he realized the Iaens were no longer dancing, but they were living in hiding. Aware of this, he could almost hear the stars singing a long tale that twinkled with sorrow, blending together the eternal lights hovering over the South World. When Eliesmore woke, he felt somber; he sat up to watch the dawn. The sun cast colors over the sky, turning the sea into a fire as it rose.
The others woke later and began to eat the first meal. Optimistic stood to smell the sweet air, whispering aloud, “Spring is coming.”
“Spring,” Arldrine rejoiced. “Finally, come on.” She ran down to splash in the sea.
Optimistic laughed and raced after her, light of heart. Ellagine smiled as she looked at Eliesmore. “Spring is in the air,” she said, and she turned to run into the sea as well.
18
Eliesmore
March faded into April as the four ran along the coast of the sea. Spring arrived; only the flowers neglected to bloom, the grass failed to turn green, the butterflies hid, and the tree did not bud forth with flowers. On the third day since they had reached the sea, Ellagine stood on the shore. “We turn inland,” she called. “We can reach the fortress in fourteen days if we head directly there through the Land of Lock.”
“Locherenixzes,” Eliesmore whispered. He was home again. He glanced from the sea to the land, but they were much farther down from where he had found the Jeweled Sword.
“We go with all speed.” Ellagine led the way. “The water will not long cover our trail with its salty tang.”
Arldrine sighed with regret as she captured one last glimpse of the Jaded Sea and its foaming secrets. “To the fortress then,” she said.
Another peaceful three days passed. Eliesmore found it easy to forget the fear the Rakhai brought. Each morning he woke ready to run through lands he’d never crossed before, and he found himself enjoying his adventure. The constant running was beginning to take a toll on his body, yet the excursion was similar to dancing with the Iaen.
As they passed through the Land of Lock, the weather lost its mopey chill, and the sunshine warmed the air. One April day, a soft wind blew, forcing their weary eyes to close in sleep. Even Arldrine and Ellagine, the strongest of the company, instead of keeping watch, fell under its charm.
Scattered trees dotted the countryside, stretching their lofty branches to the heavens. Open meadows surrounded them like a blanket, although the four slept in a boggy part of the land. Exhaustion threatened to leave them sleeping all day and night as well.
Eliesmore tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable on the spongy ground. A warning pricked his conscience, yet each time he regained a state of wakefulness, his eyes refused to open. Mud and water flooded his senses, and the birds sang above him, lulling him back to sleep. As he entered the realm of sleep where the distinction between life and dreams was impossible to find, the warning pulled him back to the surface, refusing to let him down.
“Leave
me alone,” Eliesmore mumbled, turning over. As he did, he felt a distinct shaking. Eliesmore sat up with a start, pulse pounding and eyes wide open. He jerked around, searching for the source, but he only saw the tall trees and his companions, passed out around him. Why were they sleeping so hard? Were they bewitched? A raven perched on the branch above him, spreading its ivy black feathers and calling. Its squawks sounded like “Run. Run. Run.”
Eliesmore swallowed hard as he stood; his hands shook as he reached for his sword hilt. He backed away from the spot he had lain in, wondering why he was so frightened. “Wake up!” he cried, his voice hoarse with fear.
They slept on, unconscious of his voice.
“Ellagine,” he shouted. “Optimistic! Arldrine! Wake up!”
A yellow bubble rose up on the ground and gave a queer belch as it popped. Several more appeared, dotting the area where Eliesmore and his companions slept.
“Wake up!” he pleaded again, running to shake Ellagine first, then Optimistic, and finally Arldrine. “Please, you have to wake up!”
The ground rolled like a blanket being spread out. With one last slurp, it began to sink.
“Marshswamps,” Ellagine screamed as she woke, her eyes wide in panic. “Run!”
Arldrine sat up, dazed with sleep, while Optimistic rolled over, groaning. “Move!” Ellagine shouted as she held up her hands, waiting for her power to flow and stem the rise of the swamps.
Arldrine leaped to her feet just as the ground turned into quicksand. “What nightmare is this?” Arldrine demanded as she struggled to free herself.
“It’s no nightmare.” Optimistic struggled beside her, only succeeding in sinking deeper.
“Don’t move,” Ellagine warned. “We’ll get you out.” She held up her hands again, her eyes darting across the landscape in a sudden panic. As she did, the marshes snuck up to her feet and dragged her in. "Something is wrong." There was an edge to her voice. "My powers aren't working. Something is blocking them." Holding up her hands again, she snarled, only causing an aura of green to glow about her.
“Help!” Eliesmore shrieked to the wind as he stood unharmed. “Somebody, help us!” The words left his mouth as the marshy ground rolled up to him. He clutched at a tree branch, kicking as he tried to hoist himself upwards. He thought he had a good grip and was beginning to escape when the tree branch snapped and down he fell into the marshes, the sour smell of acid and sulfur burning his eyes. He opened his mouth to shout for help when he heard a steady thumping. Voices lifted in song drew near. Arldrine and Optimistic began yelling and waving their arms.
The marching and singing stopped. Eliesmore looked up to see ten, stout, bearded males staring at them. They were only four feet tall with bushy, brown hair. When they saw the four sinking in the Marshswamps, they crossed their arms, swayed back and forth, and began to sing.
“Novor Tur-Woodberry, Novor Tur-Woodberry,
Please come and help our friends are stuck
And sinking deep into trouble.
Novor Tur-Woodberry, Novor Tur-Woodberry,
They’re on your land, and you rule them
So please come running quickly.”
A seven-foot giant bounded across the meadow, carrying an ax in his hands. He held it up and bellowed. “Recede, recede oh Marshswamps of the Black Steeds. You are on my land. Release the prisoners and turn back!”
Like a bad dream, the marshes ceased the deathly suction, erupting the four from its murky folds. The ground became firm, only leaving the travelers sticky from the foul swamp. Eliesmore backed away from the boggy ground, observing the giant who'd saved them. He was as thick as a tree trunk with sinewy arms and legs. His black boots were the size of tree roots, and his clothes were red like bark and green like leaves, giving him the appearance of having sprung from the trees. His beard and hair were the color of mud and were sprouting from his face like branches from a tree. Blue eyes twinkled as he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “That’s what they get for trespassing,” he boomed, leaning against his ax.
The ten little men laughed as well and began to sing a merry jaunt, kicking up their heels and dancing in circles as they sang. “Novor Tur-Woodberry, Novor Tur-Woodberry.” They sang seven verses before pausing.
Novor Tur-Woodberry spread out his massive hands; his blue eyes danced with excitement. “Come and dine at my house,” his jolly voice boomed. “Drink my wine. Smoke my pipe. My Singing Men will lead you to the house hidden in the glade. The one without the door. The rain is sweet, and the grass is fresh. Come along!” He bounded away, giving them no time to answer.
Dumbfounded, Eliesmore turned to Ellagine. She gave a light laugh. “There is nothing to fear from him.”
Eliesmore waited for her to explain, but the ten men still stood before them. The first lifted his knees and marched away; the others followed him in a single file. Lifting up their voices once more, they began to sing of the greatness of Novor Tur-Woodberry.
“Wow!” Optimistic whistled as the Singing Mean disappeared, taking their song with them. In the distance, they heard the low tones. Every now and again, fragments of a line drifted to their ears.
“Novor Tur-Woodberry.” Arldrine beamed, a smile spreading across her somber face. “Tales speak of him and his Singing Men, although I assumed they were long gone from this world.”
“I thought you knew all the lore of this world,” Optimistic teased as they walked, following the faint song.
“I do know what tales say about him.” Arldrine cocked her head. “He is a great Dunithair, following in the same tradition as Marklus the Healer.”
“Oh, I know about Dunithairs,” Eliesmore interrupted, proud to show off his knowledge about something. “They are the Watchers of this world. Dunithairs are a particular kind; they often own land and hold power.”
“Well said,” Ellagine praised him. “Novor Tur-Woodberry is the Keeper of this land. I dare say we shall be safe from the Rakhai as long as we travel on his property. Perhaps he is the reason my abilities do not work here.” She muttered the last few words, holding out an arm and watching her green glow settle around her.
“How far does his land reach?” asked Optimistic.
“There is a great wood three days from here.” Ellagine dropped her arm.
“Ah, I know of this wood.” Arldrine frowned.
“Do we have to pass through it?” Eliesmore glanced from Arldrine to Ellagine.
“Yes,” Ellagine replied absentmindedly. “Many strange creatures live there.”
Eliesmore disliked the distant expression her face held, and suddenly he imagined he heard the neigh of a horse. Jumping, he narrowed his eyes as he looked back the way they had come. Dark and evil did not belong in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.
Thick, lush grasses padded their steps like a carpet, allowing bright red and purple flowers to thread through it and create a colorful path through the meadow. Monstrous red trees sprung up, stretching their branched arms out to provide shade from the warm rays of the bright sun. Eliesmore could feel the pulse of the land in his chest—growing, sprouting, and coming to life as he walked through it. Thoughts of his quest, the horror of the Torsilo Quarts, and the evil Rakhai faded as he gazed in awe; he felt like one walking in a dream.
Here plants grew twice as big than any he’d ever seen and stood strong as the winds danced through them. The sky was a deep shade, blushing between blue and pink as red and blue birds flew across it, blending with the colors. Hills rose and swelled before Eliesmore’s eyes. He stood with his mouth open, pointing a finger, too astonished to say anything at all. A silvery breeze laughed as it ran through the grass and flowers, causing mischief with its dance of light. Songbirds chirped to each other in the distance, passing the tune of the song the Singing Men sang from tree to tree, so that all might hear and praise the greatness of Novor Tur-Woodberry.
Ellagine halted and pointed to a circle of trees that grew before their eyes and visibly swayed as they took up the song of Novor Tu
r-Woodberry. Suddenly, all living creatures seemed to sing, even the grass—there must have been Zikes there—and the flowers. Snow-white rabbits the size of foxes leaped through the air, ears twitching in rhythm to the tune. The sweet nectar of poppy and herb imbued the air as hummingbirds fluttered to dip their long beaks into the delicious goodness.
Eliesmore tried to see how many birds he could recognize as they moved forward again. He saw robins, cardinals, sparrows, swallows, chickadees, and blue jays building their nests. Brown squirrels with streaks of gray in their fur ran through the thick carpet of grass, chattering above the song. A weasel, wiggling its nose as it watched the strangers, stood up on its hind legs. A chipmunk scurried into its hole, scolding at the merriment in the land.
As if these small wonders weren’t enough, Eliesmore heard a roaring, thundering sound, like something falling and crashing and dashing. Within it was a voice, and when it spoke, his heart dropped and he knew he had to know. He took a deep breath and the fresh air shot into his body like an arrow. Every muscle in his body drank it in until he felt himself grow.
He walked like one in a dream, knowing he had found paradise, the Land of Lock. It was a place where the world was different, and evil was shut out. Here they could cease worrying about the Changers and Monrages. With each step, Eliesmore felt lighter, and he was sure if he leaped over the growing hills, he would find himself taking flight.
The four went up a hill. At the top, they found a singing waterfall and watched it go bubbling and leaping. It almost danced down to join a river. It twisted away eastward, continuing its song as it went. The waterfall came from a stream that stretched west as far as the eye could see. It came with great joy to cast itself down and down, crashing into more water and on.
As Eliesmore stood with Ellagine, Arldrine, and Optimistic, staring into the brilliant water, he heard a voice singing. He was sure he saw creatures swimming in the current, leaping down the waterfall, like fish diving, as they shouted with joy. Despite the determination of the world to turn everyone’s mind bitter, they seemed genuinely happy. Eliesmore smiled as he watched the water creatures, but the song the Singing Men sang pulled him and his companions onward, like fingers leading the way. Eliesmore sighed as he gazed at the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry, wishing he could stay for the rest of his life.
Eliesmore and the Green Stone Page 9