Eliesmore and the Green Stone

by Angela J. Ford

  42

  Eliesmore

  Yamier and Wekin ran up the hill with their arms loaded with firewood. Another minute or two behind them were Dathiem and Glashar. The two were deep in conversation. Yamier and Wekin dumped their wood on top of the place that Arldrine had prepared. Dathiem came and dropped his pile on top. “Build your fire, Yamier.” He nodded. Then he turned to Glashar, and the two strode off together again.

  “Good.” Yamier threw open his pack, not noticing that Dathiem had walked away again. “What should we eat? Oh, I saved some sausage from Wekin…”

  “I wasn’t eating it all!” Wekin interrupted.

  “You ate about half of it, and you can’t deny a thing because I saw you.” Yamier wagged his finger at Wekin and gave him a superior nod. “As I was saying, we have sausage, and I could make stew. Ah, it’s rather warm for that and takes too long, don’t you think? Or I could make some…”

  “Just make something and hurry because some of us are hungry,” Idrithar informed Yamier.

  “Good,” Yamier agreed yet continued to dig into his pack, muttering, “Now, let’s see, we could have…”

  Finally, Yamier started his fire and began to cook sausage with wild herbs and vegetables. As the delicious scent filled the air, the company crept together to take their share before dispersing into groups to eat.

  Eliesmore surveyed the company before deciding which group to join. It seemed each person fell into a routine and drifted into the same groups. Idrithar and Zhane could generally be found together with Ellagine nearby. Dathiem and Glashar were inseparable. When they were apart, Glashar seemed to steal glances at Dathiem as if he might disappear if she were not watching him. There was something unusual about their friendship; Eliesmore felt uncomfortable speculating any further. Optimistic and Visra were working on their book of songs, and Arldrine often joined their company. Eliesmore still shuddered when he thought of Visra. Every now and then, she’d catch his eye and give him a devilish wink that made him wish some evil would befall her. Wekin and Yamier tended to be doing one of three things: talking too much, laughing too much, or eating too much. Currently, Yamier was being mercilessly teased about some stale bread that had been found in his pack.

  Eliesmore walked away from the merriment over to the Idrithar, Ellagine, and Zhane. “Eliesmore.” Ellagine’s face brightened as she made room for him beside her, reminding Eliesmore he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her since they left the fortress. It seemed her attention tended to be elsewhere instead of solely focused on him.

  “Eliesmore,” Idrithar said keenly. “You look as if you have questions for us.”

  “I do.” Eliesmore nodded, the mouthwatering odor of his sausage distracting him momentarily. “I would like to learn about languages, particularly the one the Idrains speak.”

  “That would be the Iaen language.” Ellagine smiled at him and held up four fingers. “There are four main languages of the world; the one we speak is the common tongue. The Black Steeds speak the common tongue, and another language called Blackbastia. They created the language during the time of Magdela the Monrage to keep the White Steeds from figuring out their plans. There is an even older language called the Valikai Dialect; perhaps it is as old as the common tongue. It is a dark language that no one speaks yet it is still written. There may come a time when you need to know how to read each language.”

  “Yes,” Idrithar added. “We use the Iaen language for the words that carry a deeper measure of potency than if they were spoken in the common tongue.”

  “For instance,” Zhane went on, “say something, and I will say it back to you in Iaen.”

  “Alas, the world is dark,” Eliesmore lamented.

  Ellagine translated. “Ìal iál íthar isgurald ea hearstra.”

  “It…it sounds beautiful. Like…singing,” Eliesmore exclaimed in wonder.

  “It’s supposed to be. There are no harsh sounds in the Iaen language,” Ellagine explained. “You speak it higher than you normally would and softly, so it blends and flows together.”

  “Beautiful,” Eliesmore repeated. “What does each word mean?”

  “Ìal iál means ‘alas’; íthar can mean ‘the,’” Idrithar explained. “Isgurald means ‘world”; ea means ‘is,’ and hearstra means ‘dark’ or ‘black.’ Or something bad or evil. In some cases, the sentences translate word for word to the common tongue. Often that is not the case.”

  “Like?” Eliesmore asked around a mouthful of sausage.

  “Ti hititer retith fatverivóg,” Ellagine breathed.

  “It translates, ‘and listen, faster,’ but it actually means, ‘listen and go faster.’” Zhane leaned back, enjoying the lesson.

  “What do you say to Fastshed and his company?” Eliesmore wrinkled his nose.

  “Wistfes seftisws mocteo etomoc,” Idrithar said, “which translates: ‘White Steeds come.’”

  “I am beginning to understand. When can you teach me all the words?” Eliesmore asked impatiently.

  “Along the way, a little at a time. If we say something in the Iaen language—or any language unknown to you for that matter—just ask us for the translation.” Zhane got to his feet, glancing quickly to where Arldrine was sitting with the Crons. “Mocteo etomoc Yamier and Wekin, time to learn sword fighting.”

  Yamier and Wekin jumped up and pulled out their short swords, grins splitting their faces.

  “Who wants to go first?” Zhane chuckled.

  “Wekin does,” Yamier volunteered him, sheathing his sword and returning to the group around the fire with a smirk on his face.

  Wekin opened his mouth and stared at Yamier in protest. “Come on, Wekin," Zhane called. "We have to go over how to hold the sword."

  “How to hold a sword?” Wekin made a face. “Bah, I know how to hold a sword; we've done this ten times.”

  “Yes," Zhane grunted. "I tell you the same thing every time. You hold your sword too tightly to twist and turn it in the way necessary. Grip it loose enough so that you can turn it under- and over-handed.” Zhane glanced in Arldrine’s direction, nodding in admiration. “You should see Arldrine with her dagger; she can flip it with her fingers. Will you show them, Arldrine?”

  Arldrine stood, leaving Visra and Optimistic dreaming up songs. She pulled out her bone-white dagger, and she tossed it in the air. It flipped twice, emitting a whistle as it sliced through the breeze. Arldrine watched it, reaching out a hand at the precise moment the blade lined up with the ground. A smattering of applause met her, and she gave a mock bow, throwing a hand out as she smiled.

  “Arldrine?” Eliesmore moved closer to her. “There are strange markings on the blade. What are those?”

  “Ah.” She held it up to the light, allowing Eliesmore to see the oracles on it. They tilted and twinkled in and out of view as the blade caught the light. “They are relics, jewels, and other symbols. See?” She pointed to one. “Here is the Light of Shalidir and the Horn of Shilmi. This one is the Green Stone, and here is the Clyear of Power. There are many others you might not know yet."

  Eliesmore opened his eyes wider in awe. “Where did you find this blade?”

  “It was a gift from Ellagine.”

  Eliesmore wanted to ask more, except her tone suggested she was done explaining. He turned to rejoin Ellagine while Zhane continued to instruct Wekin. “No, Wekin, not like that. Loosen up your wrist.”

  “Like this?” Wekin held his sword up in triumph.

  “Finally.” Zhane sighed, wiping his brow. “Now, try to hit me.”

  Eliesmore watched them for a bit longer until Ellagine touched his shoulder. “Come. I will teach you the Valikai Dialect.”

  Eliesmore met her eyes, watching the shadows behind them. He shuddered. “It seems like an evil language. Are you sure I need to learn it?”

  Ellagine nodded. Her eyes were earnest while her fingers applied pressure to his shoulder.

  He sighed. “Did it take you long to learn these languages? Blackbastia and Valikai
Dialect?”

  “No.” A shadow flickered behind her eyes and she looked away. “Knowledge is heredity among the Green People.”

  “You have always known?” Eliesmore clarified, wondering what it would be like to be born with knowledge.

  “Ci—which means ‘yes’ in Iaen. The Valikai Dialect is written with symbols, and each symbol translates to a word or sentence. Multiple symbols could convey a story or meaning. However, the translation is not as simple as translating from the Iaen language to the common tongue. Many of the words the Black Steeds use come from Valikai Dialect and have not been translated. For example, the word ‘Monrage’ has not been translated into the common tongue.” She leaned over, her hair falling past her shoulders as she reached for a stick that was charred from the fire. Kneeling, she scratched a symbol into the mud. “This is the symbol for ‘Monrage,’ and here is the symbol for ‘Rakhai.’” She drew what looked like lines.

  “I see,” said Eliesmore, even though he didn’t. “But what do the words mean? If I see the symbols, how will I recognize the words?”

  “I’m hoping you will come to understand them,” Ellagine admitted. “In the same way, I have come to know languages. The meaning for ‘Monrage’ has escaped me for some time.” She bit her lip, her eyes shifting away. “The word ‘Rakhai’ means ‘sisters’.”

  “Sisters,” Eliesmore repeated, his eyes locking onto Ellagine’s face as she studied the symbols she’d written. He caught a faint glimmer of green light, and sensed the topic was uncomfortable for her. Yet it seemed as if a key unlocked his mind, and he caught a glimpse of the knowledge she’d mentioned. The symbols rearranged themselves in front of his eyes, glowing, and as he gazed, he sensed the meaning. “It means ‘blended one,’” he said at last.

  Ellagine went still. She cocked her head, facing him; her eyes were guarded. “You do understand.” She nodded like an instructor who was both proud and frustrated with her student. “It has a darker meaning though,” she added. “Each symbol can have two meanings.”

  “Like Rededak,” Eliesmore went on, eager to impress her. “It means ‘The Dark’ or ‘Great-Black-Evil.’”

  A sudden gloominess cuts off the sunlight, and shadows grew long about them. A wind started to blow, tossing sparks and charred bits of wood toward Eliesmore’s face. He straightened, growing cold as he realized the words he spoke inadvertently invoked doom.

  “Words have power,” Ellagine whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

  Glashar stood with a hand on Dathiem’s shoulder; her gaze was directed north. “We should go.” The wind snatched her words, ripping them away.

  “Put your weapons away,” Zhane called. “It is time to ride long and hard.”

  “All night,” Idrithar added, rising with his staff in hand.

  Yamier poured water on the fire. Wekin put his sword away and scrambled for his pack. Visra spread her wings, flying low toward the horses. Eliesmore reached for his pack, finding his fingers trembling as he rose.

  They set off with Idrithar in the lead, trotting toward the rolling hills and gathering speed as they approached flat lands. Eliesmore found himself riding close to Glashar and, knowing she had far sight, called out, “What do you see moving among the hills?”

  Glashar glanced over her shoulder, her long hair streaming out behind her. “Nothing yet. We must keep moving and allow our trail to grow faint. The Rakhai will not be merciful the next time they find us.” Eliesmore could see her shoulders quaking. “If our luck holds, we may cross the Jaded Sea before they find us.”

  “What’s that?” Wekin yelled as he rode up with Yamier not far behind him.

  “Prepare for long, sleepless nights of riding and then running after that,” Optimistic teased.

  “What?” exclaimed Wekin, his mouth dropping open. “I hadn’t bargained for this when I decided to join the company!”

  “Well, you are stuck now. There is no turning back,” Optimistic shouted as he galloped past.

  43

  Eliesmore

  Seven days passed and Eliesmore began to grow used to the friendly banter of his companions, the steady pace the horses kept, and the frayed edges of fear dancing away in the wind. The Rakhai seemed to have faded into obscurity because no warnings reached their ears. One afternoon, just as they were reaching the foothills of the Sandg Sizge Hills, the horses stopped. Idrithar waved for them to dismount, and Eliesmore, thinking nothing of it, settled down with the young Crons, fully intent on resting before traveling on into the night as usual. Idrithar, Zhane, and Dathiem moved among the horses, touching their heads and exchanging words. Finally, Idrithar turned and called, “Here we go our separate ways. Fastshed and company have decided to rejoin us on the other side of the Jaded Sea in Silversliversidell.”

  “What?” Wekin stopped digging through his pack. “Why? What are we supposed to do?”

  Idrithar frowned. “All White Steeds have free will and can choose how long to continue with us. Our road is perilous, and we must honor the requests of our comrades. As for what we will do, we will walk.”

  A hushed mummer swept through the company, and Eliesmore stood at a loss. His eyes fell on Flywinger, who had his head down. He was avoiding Eliesmore’s gaze. Idrithar leaned on his staff; his eyebrows took the shape of angry v’s as he watched the countryside. It was Arldrine who stepped forward. “Come. We must say goodbye.” She walked among them, much like Zhane and Dathiem, touching their noses, stroking their manes, and wishing them well.

  Optimistic was quick to join her, whispering words of blessing under his tongue as he weaved through each one. Visra gave a mocking laugh and walked on alone. “Of course, they choose to leave us,” she called. “We are too close to Daygone.”

  “Visra,” Ellagine scolded, joining her. “You should not say such things.”

  Visra merely laughed and spread her wings.

  Eliesmore walked up to Flywinger, a blanket of unease pricking his shoulders. “Must you go with them?” he asked.

  “Fastshed is our leader as Idrithar is yours.” Flywinger lowered his head. “I must do as I am commanded.”

  “Goodbye then,” Eliesmore offered, his shoulders slumping.

  The nine horses galloped southwest, and as they disappeared, Eliesmore felt like he was losing old friends. He could see their auras as they disappeared into the horizon, a grayish blur snapping in waves against the air. It reminded him of the conversation he’d had many years ago with one of the Idrains regarding auras, and he narrowed his eyes. Gray. What did it mean?

  “Cheer up, Eliesmore.” Optimistic walked up to him. “At least we will meet them again on the other side.”

  “They are gone though.” Eliesmore sighed, allowing his fears to surface. “Our journey will take twice as long, What if the Rakhai return? How will we defeat them if we cannot flee? Why did they leave us? Why are they afraid?”

  “It could be worse.” Optimistic’s tone was gentle and understanding. “We are still together, all eleven of us. The fates have been with us; perhaps the Rakhai will not return. Besides, there is strength in the company; we could all be going our separate ways. We are free White Steeds, yet we have chosen to come with you.”

  “You and I don’t have a choice in this,” Eliesmore huffed.

  “I would not have it any other way,” Optimistic mumbled.

  “Look at Glashar?” Wekin interrupted from behind them. “What is she doing?”

  Ahead of them, Glashar stood at the high point of a hill with Zhane and Dathiem on either side of her. Zhane was kneeling while Dathiem squatted with an arrow in his hand. Glashar tilted her head, first to one side and then the other. Her large ears moved back and forth as if she were listening to something almost indistinguishable.

  “The way she’s always on the watch scares me. You know she doesn’t even sleep!” Wekin went on, not allowing anyone to get a word in edgewise. “I wish she would relax like the rest of us.”

  “Like the rest of us?” Eliesmore repeated.
“I’m not relaxed, even in sleep. I don’t think I will relax again until the three deeds are completed.”

  Wekin’s sharp blue eyes stared at him. They were round in shock. “I couldn’t do that!” he blurted out.

  “Look, Idrithar is stopping.” Yamier nudged Wekin.

  Wekin straightened up and put a hand over his mouth as if to keep himself from spewing out his opinions.

  “What happened?” Optimistic hurried forward to where Idrithar stood with Glashar, Zhane, and Dathiem.

  “From now on, we will go straight west across the hills.” Idrithar pointed.

  Eliesmore noted their route would keep them high up on the plateau; it was close to the summit where they would not have to tirelessly climb up and down the craggy hills. He took a deep breath, already feeling the veiled thinness in the air.

  “Be prepared,” Idrithar went on. “We move quickly and only stop when needed. We will not run all the time, but be ready.” His deep eyes swept over the company. “Glashar? What do you hear?”

  “I hear a strange call,” she admitted. “If I had to guess, I would say the Dark One in Daygone is sending out a message, calling something or someone. Listen.”

  They stood silently. Eliesmore glanced at each one, noting the way Ellagine turned her back to them and twisted her hands together. Closing his eyes, he opened his ears and listened. At first, there was nothing, and then he began to notice the wind across the hills and the odor of mud, dust, and something else. It was in the wind, yet it thudded across the ground. There was a voice that was so deep and quiet that it almost could be missed. It repeated a chant: “Harbfigula, owml fogethesta moragah.” Then it came again in a different language. Again and again, it repeated the chant in those two languages. Eliesmore listened, and an ache began in his heart. It spread throughout his body, taking root and dragging him toward the source. He wanted to and needed to march up and out of wherever he was. It seemed he was underground--climbing stairs, running through passages, and searching and yearning for the summit. He climbed and clawed. He lifted his weapon; he was ready to slay all he saw. Blood. He needed the blood to flow. He had to make it run.