Eliesmore and the Green Stone

by Angela J. Ford

  “Eliesmore!” Wekin had seen them and was waving. A knife glinted in his careless hands. “You’re awake; come join us. We have much to tell you.”

  Wekin inevitably had too much to say. Ellagine touched Eliesmore’s shoulder to draw his attention back to her. “Find me when you are tired of working. I will teach you more languages. Time is of the essence. Once the boats are complete, we will drift into the west.”

  Eliesmore gave her a quick nod as he headed down the hill. She watched him go, pausing to consider whether she should have told him more. Visra and Glashar were missing from present company; she could only hope they were gathering instead of fighting.

  54

  Arldrine

  Arldrine crouched by the falls, watching the tiny birds flit in and out of a small pool. They cleaned their feathers as they scolded each other. A bluebird, twice the size of the smaller birds, landed on a rock. Arldrine laughed, allowing the mist from the water to splash her face. She missed the vibrant life of nature, and in Rashla, there was an almost playful air to the land. It was easy to believe death and destruction could not touch it, much like the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

  “Arldrine?”

  She turned with a smile on her lips as Zhane walked up behind her. “Zhane,” she welcomed him. She looked calm, although her eyes narrowed slightly. She felt torn whenever she looked at Zhane: part of her wanted to move past the confines of friendship, yet another part of her was terrified. She’d spent years in the forests of Truemonix, hoping she’d find her people again. It would only be right to mate with an Ezinck and bring back the line of forest dwellers. A line she worried would be lost forever. “What do you think?” She pointed to the white trees growing along the shore.

  Zhane reached out, running the palms of his hands over the white wood.

  “For oars,” Arldrine continued, standing to join him. “Wekin wants to carve designs on them if we have enough time.”

  Zhane nodded, lifting his blade to strip the tree. “We should; it will not take long to fashion these into oars. Two or three for each boat should be plenty. I did not come to speak to you regarding oars though.”

  “No?” Arldrine prodded him, her smile dropping away. “Speak, Zhane. What is on your mind? I am always happy to listen to you.”

  “Listen, I heard a tale that you are going to search for mankind in the Cascade Mountains. They might be another army to aid the White Steeds when we take back the South World.”

  Arldrine put her hands on her hips. “You’ve been talking with Dathiem.”

  “I hope you do not mind,” Zhane offered. “Dathiem and I come from the west. I would warn you not to seek help there; the Tiders of the mounts are ruthless, as are the people groups who live in the foothills and onward. To seek help there would be to needlessly endanger your life.”

  Arldrine frowned. “Zhane, everything we do threatens our lives. This quest is beset with obstacles; we are delayed time and time again. We have to take aggressive action to save our world.”

  “Not at the risk of your life.” Zhane reached up, stripping a branch from the tree. Shavings of white rained down, sprinkling his dark head. He had tied his hair back from his face, yet strands sprang loose as he worked. Arldrine paused, watching him and admiring the strength in his arms. He had a broad chest and big arms from swinging his sword.

  “Zhane.” She felt something in her heart as she looked at him. Something that was shut, closed, and locked tight was beginning to open. She reached out a hand as if to touch him. “Our lives have been forfeit since the moment we began this quest.”

  “No.” He dropped a branch onto a pile of white wood. “Arldrine, sit down. I will tell you a story.”

  Arldrine dropped her arms and reluctantly sat down across from Zhane. His eyes were dark and protective.

  “I mean well,” he began, “but the past has been difficult.” His jaw was set as he gazed at the waterfall before meeting her eyes. “There is a clan of shifters in the mountains where I grew up called the Therian. They possess the unique ability to transform into talking animals, and they rule the land and air. Rumor has it there was a time when Magdela the Monrage walked in their midst, teaching them the ways of the Great-Black-Evil, and that land has not been the same since then. The Therian hunt anyone who cannot shift, using both people and animals as a life force. Only the strongest survive. It took Dathiem and me years to escape their lands; we saw many of our family members torn to shreds. There is no reasoning with the Therian. They are wild, vicious, and loyal to no one. It is because of them I implore you not to seek mankind in the mountains; the west is evil. I know you can take care of yourself, but the east is safe compared to the west.”

  “The Therian,” Arldrine repeated, seeing the pain in Zhane’s eyes. She reached out a hand to touch his. “I’m sorry; I did not know.”

  “It's nothing to apologize for; you know many things, yet there are still mysteries of the world hidden from us. I want you to be aware. There is safety in numbers.”

  Arldrine considered his warning, studying his face. A brief glimmer caught her attention, and she dropped her eyes, looking to where their hands met. For a moment, she thought she saw a white flash. She yanked her hand away with her pulse racing.

  He smiled at her, diffusing the tension from his words. “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought…I saw…” She glanced down again. “It was nothing. It was just white wood. I appreciate your warning, Zhane.” She stood, reaching for the branches they’d cut. “But our focus is this quest. We have to do what is best for the world, not only ourselves.”

  “True,” Zhane agreed. He reached out a hand, tucking her hair behind her ear, his fingertips unintentionally brushing her cheek. “We have a responsibility to each other first. Arldrine, you should know I care about you. If anything were to happen to you, I don’t know what I would do.”

  “Zhane,” Arldrine scolded, although her heart felt warmed by his words. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  55

  Dathiem

  Dathiem took a long drink from his flask, relishing the warmth spreading across his tongue. It was almost empty. While he knew he should save some of the liquid, his desire for it overcame his patience.

  “What are you drinking?”

  He jerked, almost spilling the precious drops.

  Glashar kneeled a few paces away from him, picking medicinal herbs. A crown of green leaves was weaved through her loose golden hair, which was the same color as sunlight. He wiped his mouth, cursing under his breath. He hadn’t noticed she was there.

  “A draught from the fortress,” he admitted. “The best wines come in from Oceantic and mellow in the barrels. There are rich, dark flavors with oak, even you would enjoy the fine taste.”

  “Dark flavors?” Glashar repeated, lifting her face up to him. “My palette enjoys sweeter, lighter undertones when it comes to wine.”

  “Our tastes are quite different.” He tucked away the flask. Her aura was intoxicating. Every time they were alone, he felt he was on the verge of losing control. The way she looked at him—a mix of eagerness, honest admiration, and lust—did not help. The distraction from the realities of their quest and the vague evil pressing into his consciousness served as a welcome respite.

  “May I have a taste?” Her pink lips curved up into a seductive smile.

  Catching the double meaning behind her words, he weighed the cost again. The love between a mortal and immortal was forbidden. While the blend between the people groups was frowned upon, copulating with the immortals was not only unwise, but it was also treacherous. He would lose his soul if he went down this path. His eyes roamed back over Glashar’s heart-shaped face, committing to memory the way her large eyes welcomed him and the graceful arch of her limbs. He walked toward her, anticipation hastening his movements. He could hear the faint spray of the waterfall as it clashed against the rocks while a pulse of life whispered through the trees. Why should he hold back? The west would be the rui
n of the Green Company; he should act while he had the time.

  Glashar waited for his answer. Her eyelids dropped when she discerned none was forthcoming.

  The light struck her long lashes, and the breeze tussled her silken garb, giving him further flashes of bare skin. He licked his lips, tasting elderberries in the air or perhaps the aftertaste from the elixir he drank.

  White flower petals exploded in the wind, their fragile leaves spinning and curling over Glashar’s head as she moved to her feet. He came up behind her; his breath was heavy as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. She was quite small, reminding him of a fledging bird that was ready to take flight if capture was foreseen.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  His fingers caressed her hips on their journey to the core of her body, stroking, teasing, and memorizing. She felt warm against him as he nibbled her ear, fingers tracing the swell of her breasts and pausing as her nipples grew hard from arousal. Her arms came up as she arched her back, rolling her head into his shoulder.

  “Kiss me,” she begged, pushing against him and demanding more.

  His breath tickled her neck, watching the veins pulse in anticipation. “No.” He stroked her golden hair off her neck, leaving it vulnerable and open to his attentions. “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

  Fingers closed over his hand, her touch sending waves of electric shock ripping through his body. She slid his hand down her waist, guiding it past her belly. “Please.”

  He froze. The moment of indecision was gone. In one move, he spun her to face him, studying the wanton expression on her face. Her eyes were dark, and her nostrils flared as she struggled for breath. Her mouth was half open, waiting.

  Lifting her in his arms, he felt her legs wrap around his waist. One hand cupped the curves of her bottom as he walked forward, pressing her back into the trunk of a tree. She squirmed under his touch, pressing herself against his fingers, as her body pleaded for more.

  Her fingers wound through his long hair, pulling his face closer to hers. There was a moment before they crossed over into the throes of passion when he met her eyes. His lips grazed hers when he spoke. “Is this what you want?”

  It was not too late. They were still two people. A mortal. An immortal. Separate. Distinct. If they did this, everything would change.

  When their lips met in soft, tender exploration, bliss exploded around him. The past and future ceased to exist, leaving nothing but the intoxicating moment as their tongues explored each other’s mouths. At first, it was cautious as they felt each other, yet the politeness drifted away as the desire for more took over. Seconds blurred into minutes as they kissed. Her nose bumped into his cheek, and her teeth nibbled his lips. His tongue tasted the hazy gold as a heady fragrance consumed them. He couldn’t tell at what point they fell, yet suddenly they were sprawled out in the fields with their clothes tossed in a heap. He found himself stroking her porcelain skin, determined to enjoy every inch of it. She cried out as she pressed harder, bucking into him. A hand came up to touch his cheeks and trace the line of his mouth before it captured his lips again. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if the simple act could fuse them together for eternity.

  Later, they lay in the field as darkness fell and the stars twinkled high above. They shared their secrets, one to the other. She lay on top of him, breathing shallowly with her face nuzzled into his neck. Her hand rested on his chest. Sighs of contentment escaped her lips as he stroked her bare back. Now and again, when he had the strength, he kissed her head. “I don’t want anything but you,” he murmured.

  In the distance, the sound of the waters had stopped. Instead, he could hear the stars exclaiming in soft wonder. A song was birthed into the night. It rushed over him: a multitude of melodies sung for the first time. They matched the rhythm of his heart. As he pulled her closer against him, he found, for the first time, he felt complete.

  56

  Eliesmore

  “A storm will come, we have seven days,” Ellagine said to Idrithar as the company walked toward the river.

  “Load the boats,” Idrithar ordered. “We leave now.”

  “Has anyone seen Dathiem and Glashar? I can’t find them.” Arldrine pushed the boats, one by one, into the river. She gave the waterfall a quick glance as she worked, as if it would answer her question.

  Visra gave a high-pitched, screeching laugh. “Let’s leave them behind.”

  “Visra,” Arldrine scolded her.

  “Do we have to leave today?” Wekin groaned, dragging his pack across the ground. “I wanted to go on one last hunt for bacon. Do they even have bacon in the west?”

  “Wekin, spare us your laments regarding food,” Idrithar warned him. “If you would like to return to the fortress, the Mermis will prepare a meal fit for a hero.”

  “Never,” Wekin replied. “They are beautiful but boring; they don’t believe in excitement the way us Crons do.”

  Yamier nodded in agreement. “After all of this traveling, how could we return to living in the fortress?”

  “Ah, look,” Optimistic interrupted. “Here they come.”

  Dathiem and Glashar strode down the hillside as if they had been with the company all along. Their faces were slightly flushed, and Dathiem lagged behind.

  “Where have you been?” Wekin shouted to them. “We haven’t seen you for days.”

  “We were picking herbs by the waterfalls.” Glashar lifted a pouch bursting with greenery as if there were nothing to it.

  “Just in time,” Idrithar noted. “We follow the river to the Jaded Sea. At times, it may be shallow, and we’ll have to carry the boats. We aim to reach the sea by midday.”

  “Carry the boats?” Wekin leaned over to Yamier, putting a hand over his mouth to keep from being heard by Idrithar. “Did you hear Yamier? We have to carry the boats, oars, our heavy packs, the clothes on our backs, and ourselves? This is sure to bring dehydration.”

  Eliesmore sighed as he walked beside Optimistic, reluctant to leave the hidden beauties of Rashla. Although their journey had been delayed two weeks, he found himself wondering if it were possible to delay even further. They’d had the chance to enjoy full bellies each night; thanks to Yamier’s cooking and the bounty the land provided. Eliesmore had the opportunity to increase his skill with the blade each day, practicing with Zhane when he took a break from building the boats. He’d finally had the time to learn more languages and lore from Ellagine, although he began to suspect she had more to tell him. Idrithar often joined their sessions, leaving them little time to talk alone.

  The morning heat began to grow as they trudged along the river. Sometimes they walked in it. Other times, they carried the boats over small stints of grasslands. As Idrithar said, they reached the Jaded Sea by midday, and Eliesmore felt his heart swell and lift as he watched the great waves on the shore.

  “The boats seem so small,” he remarked to Optimistic.

  “Yes, we will make it nonetheless.” Optimistic smiled, a light in his eyes as he watched the waves. “I look forward to our crossing; there is something about the sea that calls to me.”

  “How shall we ride?” Wekin called, climbing into a boat and rocking back and forth in it with glee.

  “I will lead with Optimistic and Eliesmore.” Idrithar motioned to them to join him. “It might be necessary to separate Yamier and Wekin…”

  “I won’t hear of it,” Wekin interrupted indignantly while Yamier stared with his mouth wide open at the nerve of Idrithar to suggest such a thing.

  Idrithar pinched the bridge of his nose, weary from Wekin’s demands. “Very well then. Zhane and Dathiem can take Yamier and Wekin. Arldrine with Glashar and Ellagine. Visra?”

  “I’ll fly,” she announced, sticking out her tongue at Glashar.

  Glashar tilted her head away, crossing her arms and refusing to rise to Visra’s bait.

  “When you grow tired, join us,” Optimistic told Visra
.

  Eliesmore frowned. Although Visra had done nothing to upset him as of late, he preferred not to be in close proximity to her. Particularly in a boat where they could not escape each other.

  “Optimistic. My hero.” Visra snickered, winking at him. She spread her wings and flew out over the waves, shouting back to them. “I’ll scout ahead.”

  “How long will it take to cross?” Eliesmore asked Idrithar as they climbed into the oblong boat. The dark bark stood out above the green waves. Eliesmore noted the symbols Wekin had carved into each leaf-shaped oar.

  “We take the current leading down toward Sanga Sang,” Idrithar explained. “With luck, it will take us only five days, more or less. Without the current, it would take us closer to two weeks.”

  “Weeks.” Optimistic gave a low whistle, dipping his fingers into the water. “It is lucky we have the current.”

  Idrithar gave a sharp nod. “It is farther west than I would prefer. We will have to cross the mountains; that was something I was hoping to avoid.”

  “Mountains,” Eliesmore whispered, enthralled.

  The first day was calm. Eliesmore felt something akin to terror as the shore disappeared from view and he found himself surrounded by bright waters. Idrithar rowed, Optimistic hummed, and every now and then, Yamier and Wekin waved. They shouted and listened to their voices echo across the waters.

  On the second day, they saw shapes in the distance, covered by mist. “Is that land?” Eliesmore pointed.