Eliesmore and the Green Stone

by Angela J. Ford

  “I can’t believe you forgot me.” A reproachful voice interrupted his thoughts.

  Dathiem pivoted to see Glashar gliding toward him, her golden hair tumbling around her heart shaped face and giving her sharp features a delicate look. He inhaled, tasting hints of mint and lavender with each step she took. His mouth set in a thin line as his eyes roamed over her body. Glashar’s golden eyes stiffened at his reaction. He gestured toward the window seat, forcing the unintentional frown from his face. “It was seven years ago,” he protested, slinging his bow off his back as he sat down. “You left abruptly. One day you were here, the next you had gone with Ellagine. At least she said goodbye.” He was blaming her, driving accusations into her heart. He bit his tongue, cursing his direct nature and starting over. “You were here little more than three months. I do remember. You taught me the language of the Iaen and we…” He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “Why did you leave?”

  Glashar moved to sit beside him, turning her body toward him. Hazel flecks flickered in her eyes as she searched his face, gauging how much she could tell him. “Dathiem.” Her voice dripped with regret. “This is hard to say.”

  He crossed his legs, facing her and letting her scent hold him captive. Reaching out, she lifted his right hand. She held it between her palms, tracing the lines of his fingers. A strange sensation vibrated through him at her touch, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise when he saw the raw desire and vulnerability in her eyes. A small sound escaped from her parted lips before she continued, speaking his name as if under a spell. "Dathiem, I left because I could not bear it. I was mortified when I found myself falling in love with you, a mere mortal. It is not probable that the lives of a mortal and an immortal should intersect in such a way. There may be Blended Ones in this world, but I would not be part of that crime; those with mixed blood are powerful and unpredictable. Besides, my kind, the immortal Falidrains, are not born. We wake as we are, fully grown and alive, and are filled with our share of knowledge and power. I never wanted to come here. I warned Ellagine against it, and she did not heed my words.” She shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes were drawn to the lights that danced in circles in the middle of the hall.

  Dathiem’s fingers curled around hers, encouraging her to go on. “When I came to the fortress and saw the mortals for myself and met you, I felt something else. Something I have been reluctant to admit. I thought by leaving I could spare myself. If I returned to my own kind, the Idrains, and threw myself into the song and dance of life, I would forget you. For a time, it was easy. It seemed as if we would go on hiding until the threat of the Changers ceased. But Dathiem, you are hard to forget. There is no use pretending. I love you. It is not the kind of love that varies; it doesn't matter who or what you are or how long or short your life span is.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes swimming with certainty, tempting him. “I am whole when I am with you. I feel like I am myself, as I am intended to be. When you touch me, it sends shivers through my body, and even just the thought of you brings me joy. My heart overflows when you look at me. I think if only I could stay with you for as long as eternity would have us, I would be grateful. It doesn't matter what goes on in this world, whether we win or lose the war, as long as I have you. I never knew love was like this; I did not know the strength of my own feelings. It does not matter that we are different kinds. Our mortal and immortal blood is only a blip, and I will surpass every obstacle that keeps me from being with you. You are the epitome of everything I want, and I know you feel these feelings too, although they have not awakened in you. Please, do not feel burdened with what I have told you.”

  She leaned forward, angling her head toward him. Whiffs of her scent floated around him, confusing his thoughts and intoxicating him. “Why do you tell me this? Why now?” he mumbled, taken aback by her confession and refusing to answer her open invitation.

  She pulled back, a cloud of sorrow moving over her hopeful face. Her golden glow turned dark. “The barrier of protection over Shimla broke, allowing the Rakhai to invade the forest of the Idrains. Many of my kind fled, seeking the Beyond and the Pillars of Creation, but I could not make myself go. Even as I fled through the woods in that direction, it seemed fate steered my steps. I happened upon Ellagine right after the Monrages stabbed Eliesmore.”

  Dathiem gasped, and his fingers tightened around hers.

  “No, you would not know this. I had to use up the rest of my power to save him, pulling him from the dark grasp of the Monrages.” At Dathiem’s expression of disbelief, she added, “He has more strength than he appears to.”

  Dathiem snorted. “I doubt that. Alas, I am going on this quest though. I made a vow, and I will see it through. Although now that you are here…” His voice trailed off.

  “I must admit.” Glashar let go of him. “I used to be powerful. Although I miss it, I am also glad. When I was here, before, I was not sure I could stay my hand from seducing you. If I did so, you would belong to me without a say. I'd rather you make that choice.”

  Dathiem grunted as he raised his eyebrows, a shudder of fear running through his veins. His next words came out more harshly than he intended. “Don’t pretend. You know what happens when a mortal and immortal fall in love. There is a history that should never be repeated. It is their fault the world is in the mess it is. It is their fault the Changers arose and created the Monrages. Mortals and immortals should never mix. Love is powerful and only leads to the destruction of all.”

  Glashar bit her lip. “You don’t know that. Our story can be different; it will be different. We have a choice to create a future for mortals and immortals alike. Why should we run because we believe love will doom us? We are not them. We will not make the same choices they made. We will not let love blind us.”

  “You say this, yet you are already blinded by love. Do you know who I am? Do you know what blood flows through my veins?”

  “I don’t have to know.” Glashar’s eyes flashed with reproach. “And I don’t care. Love doesn’t depend on your history. It is the here and now; it is present and future, not past. Stop denying yourself love because of what happened in your past; don’t let those circumstances make you choose who you are.”

  Dathiem blinked; her words were hard to swallow. “Glashar, come, let’s not argue. I wish you had not left, but I am glad you have returned. Walk with me. I must pack for our journey.”

  They stood, and she slipped her hand into his, a firm reminder of what had transpired between them.

  28

  Eliesmore

  “Ready?” Optimistic flung open the door, pausing at the worried look on Eliesmore’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  Eliesmore brushed his hair back from his face, coming to a decision. “Nothing. What are we doing now?”

  Optimistic let the silence linger a beat, giving Eliesmore space to say more. When nothing was forthcoming, he nodded, a smile coming to his face. “Let’s go help Yamier and Wekin.” He led the way, closing the door behind them.

  “Where are they?” Eliesmore asked, happy for something to take his mind off Glashar’s words. He trotted down the stairs behind Optimistic, back toward the entrance of the fortress.

  “They are underground,” Optimistic explained, a lightness in his voice. “Where the barrels come in from Oceantic. Ever since the time of Magdela the Monrage when this fortress was first built to protect White Steeds, barrels began to drift into the gateway. I think the Daelidrains send us food or we would starve.”

  “You don’t have to grow your own food?” Eliesmore interrupted, thinking of the gardens he and his mother planted and harvested each year.

  “No.” Optimistic shook his blond head. “We live in hiding; we cannot go out into the forest to hunt, and there is no space to grow seed except down by Oceantic. In fact, once one enters the fortress, he or she isn’t allowed out again.”

  Eliesmore frowned. “What do you do all day here?”

  Optimistic moved into the passageway, leading t
he way down. “Now? I haven’t been here in months. When I was here, we would train, make weapons, and study. We’d all help out with the work around the fortress. Back then, there were more of us. There used to be mice who would bring in the barrels; they were amazingly strong for mice. Now they have all fled, and everyone takes turns doing the work. It often serves as a punishment for Yamier and Wekin, but we should help. Everyone has to haul in barrels every now and then.”

  “Ah, I see.” Eliesmore nodded, although he did not understand at all. It seemed odd to him that a group of people would live together in one building when they could be free and wild, the way he was born. “Where do you take the barrels?”

  “Up to the cooking room to the Mermis. They essentially run the fortress, even though Idrithar is our leader.”

  Eliesmore’s face brightened at the mention of the Mermis. “Are they the same ones we met at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry?”

  “Aye, they have been here for years. When you have a chance, ask them stories from the past. They knew Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword.”

  “How surprised they must be,” Eliesmore mused, “to see the Jeweled Sword again.”

  “Indeed.” Optimistic would have said more, except they heard voices shouting.

  “Is that…them?” Eliesmore pointed ahead, unused to hearing discord.

  “Yes.” Optimistic grew quiet, twisting his fingers before replying. “Zhane, Dathiem, and I found Yamier and Wekin three years ago. Their parents were massacred by the Black Steeds, just like mine. They were only fourteen and fifteen back then; they were too young. I think their mischievousness is a way of dealing with their grief. It helps to have something to take your mind off of how serious it is out there. The Black Steeds need to answer for their crimes, which is why I am determined to see this through.”

  Eliesmore felt selfish. Thoughts of his mission consumed him, so much so he’d forgotten to ask his companions about their backgrounds. They all had lost those they loved, and he hadn’t even thought to offer condolences. Again, his thoughts were distracted by distant shouting.

  “How can you think of going? You can’t even fight Wekin!”

  “Ow! Yes, I can, a little bit, but not really. At least I’ve got a sword,” Wekin shot back.

  “No, you can’t fight. No more than you can stay out of trouble.”

  “I am learning. Zhane is teaching us.”

  “They still might not let us go. You know those looks Idrithar gives us.”

  “Yes, he thinks we are troublesome.”

  “Yes, he would say no, no matter what.”

  “But…we can sneak along! I want to go, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes…”

  The voice was lost in a loud crash, and Optimistic and Eliesmore trotted down a short flight of stairs in time to see a barrel roll off another one, sending apples flying. Another barrel burst and wine sprayed out of it. Wekin, who was lying on the floor, sat up and rubbed his curly brown head. “Ow, ow, ow, that hurt,” he moaned, falling backward.

  Yamier jumped up and began throwing apples at Wekin. “See? You hurt yourself. If we get to go on this journey, then you can’t lie down and go ‘ow.’ You have got to get up and keep running.”

  “But Yamier,” complained Wekin, “this is not funny. We will really be in trouble. We didn’t bring up the barrels the Mermis want, and we spilled a whole barrel of wine. Dathiem will have our heads.”

  “Well, it’s your fault. If you hadn’t decided to have an apple war…” Yamier started.

  “An apple war?” Optimistic interrupted. He grabbed an armful of apples. “Arm yourselves,” he called to Yamier and Wekin. “It is time for round two.”

  “Optimistic!” Yamier hollered. “It’s about time you got back.”

  So began the apple war, where the four of them threw apples at each other. They slipped in wine, rolled over barrels and each other, ducked and dodged apples, and, in general, got as dirty and disheveled as if they were in a real war. In fact, they were having so much fun running and shouting that they failed to hear footsteps in the hall. When the footsteps stopped they froze, and the four young Crons looked up to see Idrithar. “Young Crons,” he thundered, clearing his throat and attempting to look serious. “I am certainly displeased with you.” Here he was caught by a fit of coughing. “Clean up and haul these barrels upstairs to the cooking room. All four of you!”

  Eliesmore was horrified, knowing his behavior had not been such that resembled the One. He watched as Idrithar turned away, his shoulders shaking. “Was he very angry with us?” he pleaded, looking to Optimistic.

  Optimistic glanced at the passage where Idrithar had disappeared. “Him? No, he was laughing at us. He knows what Crons are like. He was young like us once.”

  “Do you think he’ll let us go along with you to the Constel Heights?” Yamier asked.

  “Not a chance,” Optimistic teased. “Zhane was talking of leaving you behind, and he and Idrithar are always in full agreement. I think that if you really want to come, you could, but you have to be serious about it and persuade Idrithar that he needs to keep you two in sight. And then you must be perfectly good.”

  “Optimistic, that’s hard,” Wekin complained.

  “We’ll try anything to be able to go,” Yamier interrupted, nodding his head eagerly.

  “That would be nice,” Eliesmore said, thinking of the long journey and the terrors it held.

  “Are you frightened Eliesmore?” Wekin’s eyes widened. He was serious for once.

  “You don’t know what’s out there.” Eliesmore shuddered. “The Rakhai will chase us. We will go through many dangers. The quest is impossible because of all the horrors waiting for us. And if we fail, if I fail, then everyone will be given over to the Black Steeds to be tormented forever.”

  The fun and laughter fled from the room, even Yamier and Wekin’s faces grew long at the prospect of doom and gloom. Optimistic put a hand on Eliesmore’s shoulder. “Look for the light,” he whispered.

  Eliesmore took a deep breath. “Let’s get to work.”

  They cleaned up the spilled wine and bruised apples. It took two to carry barrels, and they ended up making a game out of it, seeing who could carry the most barrels up to the cooking room. As they marched along the passageways and staircases, they sang the “Barrel Carrying Song.” It was first invented by the mice and did not make much sense, yet it matched the rhythm of their work. Eliesmore found thoughts of doom and gloom disappearing as they worked.

  “Heave-ho!

  Here they come.

  Roll them, store them.

  Here they come.

  Heigh-ho!

  Here we go,

  Marching upwards.

  Here we go.

  Heave-ho!

  Upstairs and downstairs,

  Carrying barrels.

  Here we go.

  Heigh-ho!

  Bring the food

  In and up.

  Still down we go.

  Heave-ho!

  Here we go

  Through the fortress,

  Moving barrels.

  Heigh-ho!

  Back down again,

  Barrels floating

  Here and there.

  Heave-ho!

  Roll them, push them

  Empty out to sea

  Return them full.

  Heigh-ho!

  So I am told.

  Thank you, land.

  Thank you, sea.”

  The barrels were stacked in the kitchen, where the Mermis laughed and thanked them as they cooked. The last meal was announced shortly afterward. Although the fortress was well equipped with a dining hall, the long tables and chairs dwarfed the small company of thirteen White Steeds and eleven white horses. They moved the meal to the kitchen where Indonesia, Sletaira, and Leaka served them.

  Idrithar sat with Zhane and Arldrine at one end of the table. Ellagine appeared, and shortly after, Glashar and Dathiem walked into together, carefully looking away from eac
h other, even as they sat down together. Eliesmore sat with the young Crons, finding himself ravenous. Fastshed and company, seeing as there was nothing important being discussed, eventually left. As they dug into the food, Zhane glanced around the small company. “Where is Visra?”

  Idrithar pursed his lips in displeasure.

  Sletaira said, “She will be back tonight.”

  A slight mummer rose over the table. Eliesmore could see it like colors. Ellagine was annoyed. A flush of anger rose over Glashar’s face. Eliesmore wondered who Visra was. He did not get a chance to find out because everyone began to talk amongst themselves. As Eliesmore listened, he felt his appetite disappear, and the rich flavors were not enough to tempt him. Soon they would be leaving the secure walls of the fortress, venturing back out into the outside world where they would be chased and hunted. His thoughts turned pensive and sad as he listened to the light talk and laughter. One day they might not have food, and they might not be sitting in safety—eating, drinking, talking, and laughing. The meal passed, Eliesmore grew weary, and the next thing he knew, Optimistic was leading him along a hall. “Come, you will stay with me, Yamier and Wekin. I forgot how tired we all are.” They entered a room with four beds, and Eliesmore collapsed into one. “Good night.” He heard Optimistic chuckling.

  “Good night,” Eliesmore echoed back.

  He closed his eyes, shutting out all the worries and cares of life. He was exhausted, but he was glad to finally be back in a bed with the strong walls of the fortress securing him. Within minutes, he was asleep, and it seemed to him he was back at the glorious house of Novor Tur-Woodberry. His dream from that house arose before him. He was sailing upon beautiful water, and he saw the shimmering curtain, full of light. He heard words singing a song that faded from memory the moment he awoke.