“Why are you here?” the Tider’s demanding tone shattered her thoughts.
Arldrine opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, or how to explain her presence. Her people were alive, thriving in the Cascade Mountains. A swift pain shot through her body as if someone had slid a knife into her side. Betrayal swept over her. They had been here all this time and left her to rot in the forests of Truemonix, their true home. They had fled across the sea to hide in the far-reaching mysteries of the mountains. Suddenly, being their prisoner seemed like the last blow. As if they had trampled her underfoot, and this was the final trial. They wanted nothing to do with her. They had forgotten her, forsaken her, and continued their loyal tribe together. It burst through her mind as everything she’d fought for, the reason she left the fortress time and time again, the reason she was in the mountains, was because of them. All of this time, she’d been searching for them. Now they were before her, the answer to her heart’s cry, and they treated her as if she were the enemy. It was all a bitter betrayal. Emotion whelmed up in her so strong she bit her tongue, yanking on her restrains as she attempted to move forward. How dare they leave her in her misery, alone to fend for herself while they grew their numbers in secret. How dare they. Her next words did not come out as gentle and understanding as she intended. They came out hard and haughty as she glared at them. “I came to look for you and to search for mankind.”
The Tider snorted, twirling a short ax in one hand. The edge glinted sharply in the fading light as she held her blade in both hands again, facing Arldrine as she propped up a foot on a rock. Her legs were bare, yet her feet were shod in what looked like a golden boot, created out of metal and welded to her feet. It climbed up her calves while the ends were sharp as if she used them for kicking and slicing opening her opponent. “Mankind does not exist. If you do not wish to tell us why you are here,” she shrugged, “we will send you to the Therian. They will be happy to rip your flesh from your bones and leave our tribe alone for a few more weeks.”
Arldrine glared at the Tider, nostrils flaring. “You would give one of your own kind to the Therian?”
“You are not one of our kind,” the Tider examined her fingernails for a moment as if Arldrine were not worthy of attention. “You were trespassing on our land. You and your steed would have awakened the Therian. We captured you before they could. It is better to bargain with them than risk war. Your coming put our tribe in danger.” She pointed her blade at Arldrine. “You are going to explain why you are here, or we will turn you over to them, as a peace offering.”
Arldrine narrowed her eyes, bringing her shoulders up. Fury poured out of her as words filled the air. How dare her people not recognize her. How dare they threaten her. “My name is Arldrine of the forests of Truemonix. I traveled with the One who dissolved the Green Stone. I fought the Rakhai. I saw the woísts stream out of the Holesmoles. They are coming for all people who live in the South World. Soon the west will be taken, and we are in need of an army, a great army to fight against the power of darkness. I took a risk, I came to the mountains seeking mankind, to ask if they would fight with me. I have found more than I have hoped for. You, the Ezincks, are my lost people. I come in peace and harmony, and you face me with threats and death. This is what is wrong with this world; this is the reason why we live in dissension and disharmony. If you cannot even recognize one of your own, what good is it to save you, to save the people groups of the world? I came with a request for help, but I see the tables have turned. It is you who need my help, not I.”
The Tider turned her back on Arldrine, addressing the stoic faces before her. “You heard the Ezinck. She has come to save us,” the Tider’s harsh laughter ripped through the air and Arldrine recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “She is young and proud, she believes she can teach us, yet she knows nothing about us. I say we turn her over to the Therian, let them have their way with her. Let them teach her.”
Mumbled words hummed through the air as Arldrine realized they were sealing her doom. She tugged harder as the Ezincks and Tiders stood to attention. One by one they raised their hands and nodded their heads, agreeing with their leader.
“Wait,” Arldrine pleaded as they came up to her. “You have taken my bow. You have taken my horse, Goldwind. Please, I will leave these mountains and never return.”
“It’s too late for that,” the female Tider eyed her. “You came into our house and spat on all we hold sacred. You have no respect. I condemn you to a lifetime of service, to the Therian.”
39
Wekin
Wekin lay in the bottom of the boat, his new sword by his side. A white oar lay across his chest, and he strummed it like a fiddle. Yamier perched near the front of the boat with his back to Wekin. “This is good,” Wekin hummed. “Much better than running across the country with Idrithar and Zhane. I wish Arldrine had stayed though.”
“She should have come with us,” Yamier threw the words over his shoulder, shading his eyes against the sunlight.
Wekin wrinkled his nose. “What do you suppose she’s doing? Is she going back to the fortress?”
“She always does whatever she wants,” Yamier turned around, resting his arms on the side of the boat and peering down into the water. “It’s slightly unfair. How come she gets to all the adventure she wants without consequence, and when we try to do something, we get Idrithar yelling at us?”
Wekin chortled. “Idrithar is too serious, so is Zhane. They need to appreciate the adventure in life; they are always going on and on about the Black Steeds and the White Steeds and how everyone is going to die.”
Yamier raised a finger in imitation of Idrithar. “We are going to die, unless we fight. No bacon. Not now. Not ever.”
Wekin brayed with laughter. “His life would be better if he embraced the power of bacon. Speaking of… Yamier.” Wekin sat up, dropping the oar in the bottom of the boat. “I wager we can find a pound of bacon in the west.”
“What? No,” Yamier shook his head. “We might be hunters, but the west is swarming with woísts. You heard what Idrithar said.”
“Yamier, it’s not like you to disagree with me,” Wekin grinned, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, are you afraid? Are you worried about danger?”
“No,” Yamier scowled. “I think it would be wise to move down the current a bit further before going ashore to hunt.”
“Wise,” Wekin turned up his nose. “Yuck, now you are going to be the boring one who stops us from having an adventure.”
“No,” Yamier shook his head. “This entire trip down the river was my idea. I’m the Captain of this boat; I decide when we stop and when we go. I say it’s too dangerous to stop now. We will try again in one day.”
Wekin crossed his arms, frowning. “It’s been five days. I don’t know how much longer I can eat this stinking fish, and dried meat, I need substance. I need food.”
“And food you will get,” Yamier returned, “when I say so!” He sat up straight, glaring at Wekin.
A ripple of tension hung in the air as the two cousins glared at each other. Wekin raised an eyebrow before bursting into laughter, and Yamier joined him, thumping his knees as they laughed.
Wekin fell back, crossing his legs over the edge and tucking his hands behind his head, elbows up. “Do you suppose we’ll run into sea monsters, like in the tales of old?”
“Monsters?” Yamier trailed his fingers through the water, shaking them off and holding a finger up to the wind.
“Actimics, Under Water World People, Sea Serpents… what are you doing?”
“Following the wind,” Yamier explained. “If we had sails we’d move along much faster. I’ve never heard of any sea monsters around these parts, at least. I don’t think they live in the Jaded Sea. Besides, they shouldn’t be called sea monsters. They live in Oceantic, in the deep waters that have yet to be explored.”
“Ah. What about the legends of Under Water World People? The Udi? When the balance of power is restored, do you think they’ll retu
rn to the South World?”
“The Udi? What do you know Wekin?”
Wekin shrugged. “I’m just trying to amuse myself with stories. Yamier, look.” He pointed toward the shore. “It’s just wild grass. We can build a fire, and you can cook, something warm and delicious. We can sleep with our bellies full, safely in the water. What do you say?”
Yamier eyed the shore. “I want to hunt. What do you suppose lives out here in the wildlands? We should have asked Idrithar and Zhane before they ran off.”
Wekin sat up. An odd glitter coming to his eyes. “What do you say Yamier? Shall we hunt?”
Yamier grinned, turning to face Wekin as he snatched up his oar. “Aye, when night comes we shall hunt.”
Midnight hour found Yamier and Wekin relaxing in the wild prairie grass. A fire smoldered on a bare patch of ground. Wekin sat cross-legged, rubbing his hands over the fire and inhaling just as much smoke as air. Yamier attempted to hide the flame, but the yellow light shone forth nonetheless. Although the smoke flittered away, invisible in the night. Hunting had been a poor sport, they found a lame rabbit and ate it, using the fur as firewood. Wekin glowered at the glowing embers, his stomach rumbling from lack of food as he glanced across the fire at Yamier. “We should hunt further inland. Perhaps wild game is frightened off by the current.”
Yamier gnawed on a bone. His lips pulled downward in disappointment. “It’s doubtful. If I were a wild animal of the prairie, I’d stay close to a source of water. Nay, they seem to have run off, disappeared.”
Wekin stared out into the darkness, a chill passing over him. He shuddered. “We should return to the boat and sail onward. I don’t like the idea of being out here in the dark and cold. I feel like something is watching my back.”
“You feel it too,” Yamier grunted, although his voice came out thin and high.
Wekin stood, putting a finger to his lips although Yamier was not speaking. He turned his face upwards, allowing the chilled fingers of the wind to touch his face, like an icicle during winter’s freeze. His blue eyes drifted over the quiet prairie as an uneasy feeling crept down his spine. Goosebumps stood out on his arms and he swallowed hard, unsure what he was faced with. For mere moments he wished himself back at the fortress, yet the heartbeat of adventure would not let him complete the thought. The Green Light winked in the distance, yet giving way to the silver glow of a hesitant moon.
“It’s quiet,” Yamier’s concerned words drifted through the night air. “Too quiet. Wekin?”
Wekin’s hand dropped to his sword hilt, and even as he squeezed it, his fingers warming to the grasp of solid metal, he saw they were not alone. Swallowing hard, he faced the darkness. Hunger forsaking him as a numbing sensation froze his limbs. This time there was no one to save him, his folly had taken him too far. “They are here,” he attempted to point but his arms felt like lead.
“I see them…” Yamier trailed off.
Woísts surrounded the pair, perhaps drawn by the firelight or the smell of food. Wekin was unsure if the creatures from the bowels of the Holesmoles ate and drank, yet a foul stench swept over him as the wind blew in the opposite direction, as if fleeing the scene of an impending slaughter.
“Yamier,” Wekin could not help the trembling in his voice. “We’ve had many narrow escapes, but this looks like the end.” He counted twenty creatures in all.
“Let’s make our parents proud,” Yamier echoed the sentiment, picking up the bow of Marklus the Healer he drew an arrow.
Wekin brushed a hand over his face, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. One of the woísts stepped out of the shadows. It drew a broad sword, raised it above its head and roared. Wekin could see brief glints of the armor the woísts wore, and he pulled the blade of Starman the Trazame from its sheath.
A battle cry rippled over the grass as the woísts leaped forward, blades in the air. An ax thudded into the ground before Wekin’s feet. He stumbled backward, lifting the blade like a shield. As he did so, a heat surged through his shoulders, almost dragging him forward and lifting him up. His feet moved over the grass, thumping it into submission. A wave of determination rose within him and he opened his mouth, letting loose a scream as he swung at the creatures rushing toward him. Another bolt of heat passed through his body as he swung and suddenly he could see, as if he were two different people, where the woísts were going to swing their blades, and how he was going to fend them off. As if on its own accord his arm moved, dragging him forward, slashing through the creatures. He opened his hand, attempting to let go of the sword, but its will wrapped around him, dragging him in, refusing to let go. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again as he stood face to face with the snarling, growling creatures. It seemed the sword attacked them as of its own volition, whining through flesh with a scream of fury, cutting, stabbing, slashing, breaking bones, ripping through armor as if it could not get enough. He was no longer in charge of the sword, he was only the person whom the sword was using to get its way, to complete its mission: to rid the world of the scourge of the Black Steeds.
When, at last, Wekin came to himself, he was sweating. A sticky substance dripped down his face and his chest heaved as he stood upright, his blurred vision clearing. The blade hung silent in his right hand. A stream of muddied blood dripping from it. Each drop a silent message as it fell, muted, into the carnage. Bodies lay over each other, wide eyed in death. A stench of fresh blood hovered over the grasslands. Yamier stood a few feet away, holding the bow. An arrow flew from his fingers, sinking into the last pile of bodies, nestling with the arrows that already gathered there. Yamier’s eyes glowed a bright yellow as his gaze met Wekin’s.
Wekin opened his mouth, yet no sound came out. He felt a shift come over him as if a switch inside him had gone off and he was himself once more. He blinked, and something like scales fell from his eyes. He faced Yamier again who stood gaping at the devastation they had created. Confusion took on a riot in his head as Wekin glanced from his sword to the dead woísts back to Yamier.
“Your eyes were glowing,” Yamier spoke first.
“Yours were too,” Wekin added in a frightened whisper. “They stopped now.”
“So did yours,” Yamier picked up an arrow, staring first at it and then at the bow. “Do you think…?”
Wekin shrugged, holding up the sword. “It’s the weapons. It has to be. What do you think?”
“We should go back to the boat,” Yamier’s voice sped up as of buzzing with an undercurrent of excitement. “I think we should stop again, further down, and try again.”
Wekin nodded. “We have to see if this happens again. We have to find out what these weapons can do.”
The two Crons stared at each other a beat, a slow grin of curiosity spreading across their faces. Then, as one they turned and jogged back to the boat.
40
Arldrine
Words fell useless from Arldrine’s tongue as she struggled in bitter disappointment. Her confidence shattered as she was blind-folded and forced to march. At times they lifted her, and other times a rope was attached to her waist, and she was hauled upward. With each step, a bleakness arose, and her introspectiveness grew. She refused to believe she’d made the wrong decision in returning to the mountains. She needed something else to persuade the people groups, yet it as all over too soon.
When they pulled the blindfold from her eyes, she saw they stood on a cracky peak. Walls of stone rose above her, rugged and worn. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw five of the Ezincks duck down, lying flat on rocks until they were nearly invisible, fitting arrows into their bronzed bows. Female Ezincks stood on either side, holding her elbows. Even though a cold wind blew, their arms were bare. They wore a gold circlet around their upper arms and leather boots that rose to their knees. One had long black hair that fell to her waist while the other had a shorn head. Their dark eyes looked forward, their faces as unmoving as the mountain. There were words Arldrine desired to utter, but when she opened her mouth, they died
on her lips.
Three beings appeared on the rocks above her, moving down the face of the mountain by bounding from stone to stone, running down a staircase as if it were a flat stretch of land. They landed a few feet away from Arldrine and the two Ezincks, crouching on the balls of their feet, one hand planted in the ground before they stood and strode forward. They were males, six and a half feet tall with the same broad shoulders and smaller waist that Zhane had. Arldrine’s stomach hurt as she eyed them, understanding making her mind reel. Brawny muscles rippled as they cross their bare arms, their shirts were open, showing off the hair on their chests as they glared at the newcomers. The one in the middle stepped forward, a scowl on his hard face, a scar running across his left cheek. His brown eyes were void of emotion as he glared, one hand curling into a fist. His eyes locked on Arldrine. He sniffed. His other two companions held back as if waiting for a signal.
“What kind of offering is this?” Barked the male. He was a Tider and something about the way he stood, and the sound of his voice reminded Arldrine of Dathiem. Her insides quaked as Zhane’s words of warning returned to her ears. The Therian. The monsters Zhane and Dathiem had spent years escaping from. If they escaped, surely she could.
“We found her wandering our mountainside,” the Ezinck with longer hair spoke up, her words quick as if she feared her throat would be torn out. “Our tribe elected to offer her as tribute to your clan.”
The male leaned forward, coughed up a ward and spit at Arldrine’s feet. Crossing his arms he circled the group, sniffing the air. He walked quite close, waves of his waist-length dark hair touched Arldrine’s bound hands. She could smell his aura; it was husky but more overpowering was his desire to hunt, to toy with his prey and to devour. She stiffened involuntarily as he passed before rejoining his two companions. He turned his back and started back the way they had come. Before he climbed the mountainside, he turned back. “Your offering is rejected. She smells.”
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword Page 16