Zhane was already gone, tumbling in the direction of Yamier and Wekin.
Eliesmore froze, watching the white arrows spin in the moonlight. He turned to follow Dathiem, dreading what he would find. Even as he spun, something cold and hard dug into his neck. It was sharp enough to tear the soft skin around his hair. Jerking backward he knew, even before his eyes saw her. When he tilted his head, he found himself face to face with a Monrage.
We meet again, her eyes said, although not a word came from her lips. The dark eyes flickered as she pushed the sword into his neck. A drop of blood rolled down; its fall cushioned by his shirt. Come with me.
The words danced in his head, shutting out everything else. You’ll be free. You’ll be powerful. Come.
Why? He didn’t understand. How could he be free if he went with the Rakhai?
They brought this upon themselves. They are using you for their own wishes. Come.
Eliesmore did not have a response; he felt trickles of sweat rolling down his cheek while the Monrage pushed harder with her sword. An odd sensation rippled through his body. He heard someone calling his name; they sounded far away. His hand twitched, and suddenly he brought his sword up. The Monrage hissed, recoiling at his sudden action. He could feel his hands shaking as he swung the sword toward her, unsure as to why she hadn’t killed him when she had the opportunity. A profound sense of foreboding overcame him as he fought, knowing it was only a matter of time until she stabbed him again. His wounded side hurt, reminding him he was too weak. He couldn’t fight a Monrage and expect to win. Although she was not in his head anymore, he could see the laughter in her dangerous eyes. She meant to kill him one way or another.
“Get away from him,” a voice demanded from behind him. It was cold, hard, and furious. A ball of green erupted, lifting up the Monrage and throwing her flat on her back. Ellagine strode forward with a sword in hand.
The Monrage attempted to rise. Ellagine hurled another ball of green flames at her, driving her into the ground. The Monrage lifted her hands in front of her face, ducking and cringing in anticipation of the next blow. It came without hesitation. Ellagine moved forward, relentless, and hurled flames of light into the Monrage until she lay prostrate on the ground.
Eliesmore gaped in horror, unable to look away from the lack of control displayed by Ellagine. Two strong hands grasped his shoulder. Zhane. “This way!” he ordered.
Eliesmore was restored to his feet, and even though his legs felt heavy, he ran with the others. The night passed in a blur. He found himself once again on Flywinger’s back. A torrent of thoughts flew through his mind. What happened to Optimistic? Where were the Monrages? Had they lost them? It seemed so long before they slowed to a stop and Eliesmore heard Idrithar calling, “We rest here tonight.” Eliesmore tumbled off Flywinger and sank down where he landed. He used his pack as a pillow. The strain of the night was over, and he relaxed into a blessed sleep.
36
Zhane
“Something is wrong.” Idrithar leaned on his staff, his brow heavy with trepidation.
Zhane folded his arms across his chest, letting his fingertips graze the hilt of his sword. His body was alive with adrenaline from the intensity of their encounter with the Rakhai. The undercurrent of anger pulsed through him like a need. Once he started fighting, it was hard to stop. “They had us.” His left hand squeezed into a fist. “They should have slain us all.”
Idrithar narrowed his eyes, reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “They want to frighten us and make us run. Think about it. Optimistic could have been killed today. Instead, they stabbed him and moved on.”
Zhane hummed, uncertainty tickling the back of his throat. “Why are they doing this?”
“Remember when Optimistic left, in January, to search for Ellagine?”
Zhane nodded. He’d disagreed with Idrithar’s choice to let Optimistic leave. By the time he had a chance to voice his opinion, Optimistic was gone. “It was a needless danger to send the Keeper of the Green Stone out on his own.”
Idrithar scratched his beard, ignoring Zhane’s rebuke. “You know I followed him for a while. Nothing touched him. According to the old scrolls, the Green People discovered the location of the Green Stone over two hundred years ago. In fact, it stands to reason that Magdela the Monrage was aware of the Green Stone and the prophecies concerning it. It begs the question: why have the immortals left something so powerful in the hands of the mortals? Why not take it for themselves?”
The knowledge danced just out of his reach as Zhane turned his body to face Idrithar. “What are you saying? There’s a reason Optimistic has the Green Stone? Still has the Green Stone?”
“Perhaps.” Idrithar grunted. “It is purely speculation on my end. I believe the Green Stone is useless.”
Zhane gave a short, barking laugh. “Useless? Have you not held it in your hands and felt the power?”
Idrithar held up a finger, continuing his thought. “Unless Eliesmore dissolves it. I think the immortals know there’s no point in killing Optimistic or Eliesmore until it’s done.”
Zhane sighed, confused. “Then why keep the rest of us alive?”
“It is peculiar. We may see they start to cut off us and divide us from each other one by one. Zhane.” Idrithar’s hand gripped Zhane’s shoulder, the solemnness of his next words driving into Zhane’s core. “If that happens, if we fall, you must keep going. Do not turn back; do not stop. Forward is the only way. You and I both know the way to the Idrain Fountain. Eliesmore will need one of us to complete his quest.”
Zhane nodded, frowning. There was no need to confirm Idrithar’s words; they were both aware of the oath they had sworn. Idrithar dropped his hand from Zhane’s shoulder and turned his gaze toward the west. The land was eerily quiet. Zhane squeezed his fists, allowing doubt to poke holes in his mind. He bit his tongue before he let his next words drift to Idrithar’s ears. “If the Changers are waiting for Eliesmore to dissolve the Green Stone, they are planning an elaborate deception and are waiting to ambush us.”
“Yes,” Idrithar replied. His voice was bland and matter-of-fact.
This was what Zhane liked about Idrithar; they tended to be alike in their thinking. They could speak plainly with each other, weighing the pros and cons of a situation before coming to a decision.
“Then we need to find out how to avoid the trap before we reach the Constel Heights.” Zhane scrubbed at his face in frustration.
“We have to think like they do,” Idrithar suggested.
“It makes me question why we need to dissolve the Green Stone.” Zhane shrugged. “But I can’t see any way around it. Either we go to the Constel Heights or else the Changers take over. I fear we may find ourselves in a worse predicament once Eliesmore dissolves the Green Stone.”
“I will continue to think about this. Let’s discuss this again soon,” Idrithar reasoned.
“Should we talk to the Idrains? Perhaps they will know?” Zhane offered.
“Perhaps.” Idrithar pinched his lips together as if he disagreed.
37
Sarhorr
Year 783 (160 Years Ago). Castle Range.
He spent the next year drowning in pleasure. Once the Green Lady agreed to help him, it seemed as if she cast her spell over Castle Range. She deceived his brother and sister into trusting her and decided to take over the care and management of their prisoner. She dropped clues regarding the Green Stone while pretending she needed to study the knowledge of the deep to find it. She taught the people groups to trust them and encouraged them to move into the castle to not only guard it, but also take care of their daily needs of food and drink. Within the month, she became his lover, or he became her lover. He could not tell how she had bewitched him.
“Tell me,” he’d asked her once. “What do they call you? Do you have a name?” The Green People had a naming tradition. The daughter usually took the last syllable of her mother's name. A name would give him a clue to her parentage.
He’d frowned, but he hadn’t given in to her charms. His name was sacred. He feared speaking it, lest the people groups hear and discover him alive against all the odds. As for her, he could not understand why she was tight-lipped when it came to her past.
“Who are your parents?” He lay in bed, propped up on one elbow as he watched her.
She wore a sheer gown that left nothing to the imagination as she perched on the windowsill with her leather journal in hand. It seemed to be her constant companion. She only wrote in it occasionally, but, from time to time, she studied it. He planned to steal it from her, yet the opportunity eluded him.
“Does it matter who my parents are…were…” She stumbled over the words, chewing on the end of her quill. “Who are your parents?”
“I am much older than you. Besides, I have no family.” The truth was all he could give her. She was too young to understand half-truths. “I heard the Green People dwelt solely in the Western World.”
“They did,” she confirmed, nodding yet refusing to take the bait. “They migrated here after the great war.”
“But you have always been in the South World?” He knew every face of the Green People, yet he’d never seen hers. Either she’d always been in the South World, or she was new and young. Quite young. He shifted in annoyance.
“Yes. Where does this line of questioning lead? What are you attempting to guess?”
“If you had family, we could stay with them in hiding. We could no longer be prisoners within these stone walls.” He gestured to the room that bound them inside. “We could leave, build an army, and throw down the Dark Two who quest for the Green Stone, the ultimate power. You know what will happen if they find the Green Stone, dissolve it, and take the power of creation for themselves.”
“Yes.” She rose. Leaving her journal by the window, she returned to the bed and straddled him. Placing her hands on his naked shoulders, she stared down at him. “I have been thinking about our dilemma, and since you mention family, I have a solution. It will not be swift, but as you say, ‘Blood of my blood’, one does not betray one's own bloodline. If you had a child, if we had a child, it could be the start of our own army. You are as strong and powerful as am I. Think of what we could accomplish with our own children.”
She rocked against him as he grabbed her waist, hard enough to bruise her. She hypnotized him with her words. He knew he was an all-powerful being; he should never stoop to mix his blood with those beneath him. She was beneath him, but he was lost, drifting and drowning in her embrace.
“Children.” He repeated, loathing the word yet recognizing the hope it gave him. “Children will be our allies, and none will suspect them.”
“Yes.” Her breath came short. “They will complete the deeds. Find power for us. Free us from tyranny. They will be our hope.”
“Freedom,” he whispered. It would take time. Time he had. And just before he succumbed to pleasure, a plan unfolded and ripened.
38
Eliesmore
Eliesmore awakened lying face down in a pile of damp moss near a bush. He rolled over, blowing leaves out of his face and wrinkling his nose against the rotting smell they gave off. It seemed to be midmorning, and he could hear the gentle snore of his companions. He sat up, counting them with his eyes. In the distance, he could make out what looked like Idrithar, standing with his back to the Green Company. He was hunched over his staff in a way that it appeared he slept standing up. Yamier and Wekin lay near him, back to back, with their hands tucked under their heads as they snored faintly. Zhane was leaning against a tree. Eliesmore could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. Dathiem and Optimistic were sprawled out behind some bushes. Before he could figure out where his female companions were, his stomach rumbled in dissatisfaction.
Reaching for his pack, he opened it for the first time and peered inside to see what kind of treasures the Mermis had given him. At the top, there was dried meat wrapped in leaves. Eliesmore unfolded one and began to chew; it was salty with hints of hickory. He turned it over on his tongue, unsure how he felt about the taste. A sound made him jump; he looked around. The quiet snores of his companions continued. He took another bite, and then it came again: a hiss and then chattering above him. Eliesmore craned his neck, searching for the source. His eyes spied a booted foot hanging from a tree branch. It moved. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of Glashar’s golden hair. “I just want to talk,” Glashar whispered.
Eliesmore, keeping an eye on her, crawled closer to the tree until he could hear the exchange properly. He wondered who she was talking to. A squirrel? A bird? He couldn’t imagine why she would take the trouble to climb a tree to speak to an animal.
“Go away,” a creature replied to Glashar; its tone was hostile and forceful.
The words were almost visible, sharp as a pointed sword, driving into Glashar. He could see her petite frame perched on a tree branch. Her legs swung free as she held on to a twig with one hand. Although her face was hidden, he could tell she was angry by the way her shoulders hunched forward. “We are only passing through; we will not bother your tribe.”
“You are trespassing on our land. Get out!”
“I will wake my companions, and we will leave. You have my word.”
“No, you will leave now. We detest people. The very sight of you makes our eyes hurt. Go a different route that is not through our land.”
Eliesmore determined the person responding to Glashar was a female, but he could not see her.
“You have my word,” Glashar went on. “I will return to the ground, wake my companions, and we will leave you in peace. Will those terms be agreeable?”
A hush came over the treetops as if the creatures were considering. There was a hasty chatter, and Eliesmore saw the branches flutter and shake as if tiny animals were climbing through them. He was puzzled as to why he couldn’t see them.
“Agreed,” the spiteful reply came.
“I thank you.” Glashar turned to climb down.
A buzzing sound sprayed the air, and a dark form landed on the branch beside Glashar. “Glashar. Wodnidrains!” Visra shirked in glee.
Glashar arched her back and hissed, either in surprise or anger, Eliesmore wasn’t sure which. Her eyes settled on Visra, begging her to shut up. “We just made a deal.”
Visra threw back her head and gave a harsh laugh. “A deal? You can’t make a deal with the little devils.”
“It is the enemy!” a Wodnidrain (Eliesmore assumed) cried. “Rally! Rally!”
The call of a horn blasted through the leaves that began to shudder and shake when a large number of voices took up the cry.
“See what you’ve done!” Glashar spun to Visra in a fury.
Visra snickered and lifted off, drawing her bow and arrow. “Oops, looks like we have to fight them.”
Eliesmore crawled away from the tree. “Wake up,” he shouted to his companions. “The Wodnidrains are assailing us!”
Dathiem walked up from behind a bush. His bow was slung on his back. “Wodnidrains? In these parts?” Optimistic stumbled behind him.
“Yes, look!” Eliesmore cried, pointing to the tree where Glashar and Visra were still arguing.
Arldrine appeared with her hands on her hips. She glanced at the tree in displeasure. “What do they think they are doing? You can’t negotiate with Wodnidrains.”
“We should be going,” Idrithar called, reminding them to get moving instead of staring.
“Going? Now? But we haven’t eaten yet,” Wekin protested as he picked up his pack.
“You will have to learn there are more important things than eating on this journey, Wekin.” Idrithar frowned at him.
Wekin stuck out his lower lip, caught Yamier’s eye, and gave a deep sigh.
“Seftisws, I wonder where Fastshed and his company have gotten to.” Zhane peered at their surroundi
ngs; the white horses were nowhere to be found.
“This way.” Dathiem pointed, striding through the trees.
Eliesmore fell in step with Zhane, noticing no one seemed to be as concerned about the Wodnidrains as he was. “What was that word you just said? It didn’t sound like the common tongue,” he asked
“It’s the language of the Iaen.” Zhane shrugged. “It comes so naturally now that I often forget I am speaking a different tongue.”
“I would like to learn it,” Eliesmore said tentatively.
Zhane paused, glancing down at Eliesmore before nodding in agreement. “So you shall.”
He said nothing more so Eliesmore turned to Optimistic. He was unusually quiet; his lips were closed tight. “How is your wound?” Eliesmore ventured, regretting the question the moment it escaped his lips.
Optimistic blinked, a streak of agony piercing his face. “It wasn’t deep. Thanks to Dathiem’s healing skills, it barely hurts now.” He shrugged.
“Oh…” The look on Optimistic’s face discouraged further conversation.
As they strode out of the sparse wood, they found Fastshed and company standing in a circle with their heads down. At first, Eliesmore thought they were grazing, but as he watched them, he saw they weren’t moving.
“What’s wrong?” he asked Zhane.
Zhane waved his hand, motioning for the others to halt as he and Dathiem walked forward to join the circle of horses.
Eliesmore counted, and there were only nine. He felt his heart sink. What happened to the other two White Steeds? He felt cold and glanced over his shoulder, searching for the enemies of darkness that had come to steal away his peace. Idrithar strode past; his face was an impassive mask. “Those who are lost remain lost,” he muttered.
“This is a great loss indeed,” Arldrine said. She moved between Eliesmore and Optimistic. “We should grieve with them.” She led them up to the circle of white horses.
Eliesmore and the Green Stone Page 20