The Xctas stared at him, their beady eyes glaring, but they did not say a word as they folded their wings and let the dranagin carry them onwards toward the Jaded Sea.
83
Visra
A roar hurled over the mountains and Visra paused to stand flat-footed. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes as she looked up. A dark mass rose in the sky, flying over them. “Idrithar, do you see that?”
Idrithar raised a hand and marched back toward Visra. Captain Elidar stood behind her, helmet in one hand as he gazed up. “It could be the Snatchers. The Black Steeds send them out to destroy any form of resistance.”
“I’ve flown with the Snatchers,” Visra rolled her eyes. “There are two dots in the sky, I can see them quite clearly.”
“What is it?” Skip asked, walking up with her brother Bruthen. She lifted her chin, although Visra could tell she was afraid. A taunt rose on Visra’s lips, drowned out by cries and shouts.
“Dranagins! Dranagins in the air!”
Visra giggled, nudging Captain Elidar. “Dranagins?
“Dranagins,” Idrithar crossed his arms, a frown covering his face as his brows drew together in frustration.
Indonesia joined them with her cousins, Leaka and Sletaira. “The Xctas confirm it. Two went missing around the same time Yamier and Wekin disappeared.”
“What if they didn’t flee from battle?” Bruthen clasped his hands together, staring up at the sky as if it would give him hope. “What if they went to get reinforcements?”
“I was afraid of this,” Idrithar muttered. “They went and struck a bargain, the fools.”
Another deep bellied roar came along with shouts from the air as monstrous beast moved over the army. Visra cackled as she watched the massive beasts soar over Idrithar’s army. There were two dranagins, the first one she recalled as the one Idrithar had brought to the first battle at the Constel Heights. The second one was enormous with a long golden tail that looked as if it could wipe out the army in one blow.
They roared together, deep, long, melodies. The music of wild beasts. Visra grinned as she watched them, and she thought them the most beautiful beasts she’d ever seen. “They come with fire. They come with thunder. When they rise. The cities fall,” she hummed the ditty, thinking of Optimistic and their book of unfinished songs. He’d been captured, and her heart was full of bloodlust, the book of songs would never be finished.
“It gives me hope,” Captain Elidar folding his hands, dropping to a knee. “If the beasts of the mountain of fire see fit to leave their homes and fly across the great unknown, perhaps there is hope.”
Cries of awe filled the air as the beasts swooped over the army before wheeling and turning again.
“It’s Yamier and Wekin.”
“They are bringing the dranagins to war!”
“How did they tame such great beasts?”
Visra touched Captain Elidar’s shoulder, moving her wings back and forth as the army shouted and cheered. “If the dranagins are leaving the mountains, it doesn’t mean hope.” She squeezed her fists shut, remembering the things that had happened since the Green Company set out and the Rakhai rose and overtook them. “Nay, there is no hope,” she went on, daring Captain Elidar to keep the glowing look on his face. “It means the end of the world.”
84
Eliesmore
One by one the creatures dropped out of the sky and landed in the lush grasslands of Castle Range. Eliesmore stretched his cramping legs as he stood tall, the heavy scent of fur and feather rushing over him. During his month-long journey with Zhane and Arldrine, he’d discovered the odd mix of Tiders and beasts were the clan of the Therian. They were a scowling, ferocious tribe with darker looks, some of them even had black hair, an uncommon trait for a Tider. For once in his life, Eliesmore felt like he truly fit in with them. On the other hands, the Tribe of Minas, the female Tiders, and Ezincks were beautiful yet deadly, with a quickness to pull out their blades. They stared at him out of wary eyes, yet every word from Zhane and Arldrine warranted their respect and trust. Eliesmore stayed silence in observation, even as his heart sunk at what he had to do in the Constel Heights.
Arldrine moved to his side, folding her arms. “It’s been a month; do you think he’s still alive?”
“Yes,” Eliesmore eyed her. “He’s the bait. She wants me to come here, to her home where she has the power.” He dropped his hands to his side, feeling the loss of the Jeweled Sword. Although he did not need it for what he had to do, he felt uneasy and less like the One without the solid steel in his hands.
“Eliesmore,” Arldrine went on. “We have faith in you. When I was in the mountains everything I believed was shaken.”
“My faith isn’t shaken,” Eliesmore stopped her before she could continue. He sensed her need to encourage him in his quest and while he appreciated her intentions, he simply did not want to hear another tale of overcoming against all odds.
Arldrine’s dark eyes met his, and she nodded. He saw in her gaze something beyond companionship and friendship. There was something deeper, a wisdom she now held. Her perspective on life, how she made decisions and how she viewed the people groups had changed. She lifted the bow of Legone the Swift and Eliesmore recoiled, stepping back as a lump formed in his throat. If she noticed, she did not mention it. “Where do you want the army?”
Zhane stood at the base of the hill, the Therian standing in various positions around him while the females squatted in the grass, readying their arrows. “The Rain Warriors guard the castle…”
Eliesmore waved his hand in dismissal. “I was meant to be here. The gates will part for me.”
A hot tongue licked Eliesmore’s hand, and Lythe purred beside him. The lion had grown much bigger and, although not full grown, his head reached Eliesmore’s waist. Dropping his hand on Lythe’s head, Eliesmore leaned into the golden tangled fur, letting everything fade away for mere moments. “Will you go down with me?” he whispered.
“Aye,” Lythe shook his mane.
“Eliesmore?” Zhane held out a blade, “Are you in need of a sword?”
“No. It is enough.” Eliesmore gazed at the sea of stoic faces surrounding him and armed warriors as one by one the Therian shifted. The tribe counted their arrows while others pulled out knives and spears. “You need not do this,” Eliesmore’s voice came out haunting with fluid sorrow, the aura of command was gone. “You don’t have to fight this battle with me. Once she is gone, Castle Range will fall into your hands.”
They said nothing, only held their weapons, glancing at each other, a hollow darkness in their eyes. Eliesmore knew, regardless of what he would do, they would follow those who freed them to the death. He saw their eyes flicker back toward Zhane and Arldrine and for brief moments he saw white crowns hovering on their heads while golden robes covered their bodies. He blinked as the vision rippled in front of him, and four words hummed through his mind. Rulers of the West.
“They are here,” Arldrine announced, grabbing Zhane’s arm. “I never understood what the words meant until now. I sense their presence. We must set them free.”
“Who?” Eliesmore slid onto Lythe’s back, weaving his fingers into the mane. A surge of power boiled within him.
“The spirits of the trees,” Arldrine told him. “I met one in the mountains. It told me: ‘Their shells are encased where the rivers meet. On the banks of the heights, they were taken by a powerful force. They stand timeless frozen in horror trapped by stone, unable to escape.’ Now I understand.”
“I have seen then,” Eliesmore recalled the glass figures with twisted faces, “they stand in the courtyard.”
A ripple of thunder boomed over the plain, and a flash of yellow lightning descended from the sky. The warriors turned their faces upwards as electricity crackled around them.
“The Rain Warriors know we are here,” Zhane said.
Purple lightening hurled across the sky, sending a jagged finger into the ground. A near silence hummed over the ground,
and Eliesmore urged Lythe forward. “The time has come,” he faced the others, his face falling. “It is time for me to go.”
He felt as if he went to his death and yet it only seemed fair for a bit of him to die to save the Four Worlds. Lythe bounded forward, his paws tearing up the grass as he moved faster, his haunches gaining speed as he crested the top of the hill, fearlessly bounding between the strikes of lightning.
Castle Range lay before them as did a valley of death. Bleached white bones covered the ground where the great battle had been fought months before. Lythe stumbled, leaping between the clumps of bone, picking his way across the field, while the Therian and the Tribe of Minas gathered on the hill, their numbers increasing as their eyes lifted upward toward the Rain Warriors.
Eliesmore gazed in awe at the white giants of stone surrounding the castle. As he and Lythe moved toward them, a cracking sound rang out clearly, even amidst the thunder and lightning. One by one expressionless faces turned toward Eliesmore, and each one lifted a scythe in their hands. One of the Rain Warriors stepped forward two paces, its feet shaking the ground with tremors of warnings.
There was no fear as Eliesmore squeezed Lythe’s sides, leaning forward. “We’re going directly to the gates, do not stop, do not turn back, no matter what you see or hear.”
They bounded toward the courtyard as another crack pierced the air, the echoes of falling rock, like the beginnings of a white avalanche in the mountains slammed into their ears as another Rain Warrior stepped forward.
A vision flashed in front of Eliesmore’s eyes, taking him away from the present moment and showing him a room. He saw Optimistic, his face pale, his hands folded as he lay on an altar, and above him stood a vague black shadow, horns standing out in the fading light. A second glance revealed a basin with a fountain, and he saw the Jeweled Sword, hanging like a sacrifice. He reached out a hand when a crack snapped through the air and jerked him back to reality.
Dark rain clouds hovered around him and burst as an icy rain fell. Each drop felt like pellets, denting his skin as howls of frustration rose through the air. The Rain Warriors stepped forward, one by one, leaving their presence at the castle, their faces turning south. They lifted their scythes above their heads and took another step, the ground shaking beneath their feet. Eliesmore dived off of Lythe and ran toward the courtyard. “Run Lythe, turn back to safety,” Eliesmore shouted. He heard a battle cry from the Therian as they hurled toward the Rain Warriors. The first warrior dropped its scythe into the ground, sending white bone through the air in a riot of wonder as the Therian moved toward them. White light shot into the air, and the Rain Warriors moved toward the light as Eliesmore leaped over the wall. A screeching bore down upon him, and Xctas rose into the air, gathering the attention of the Rain Warriors, allowing Eliesmore to move toward the doors of the castle.
85
Wekin
Rich red soil and a myriad of black petals, sprinkled through the craters rose up before Wekin’s eyes. He blinked as he leaned over the back of the large dranagin, his movements sending flakes of gold off in the sunlight. A dark cloud hovered over Daygone and glancing back toward the west. He saw the Green Light wink as the dranagins flapped their massive wings. A white feather drifted through the air as Wekin pointed and shouted, “Take us down!”
A black tower rose high in the air. Its stones melted into each other as if their spirits were cowering, frightened because of the aloneness. When Wekin looked at the tower he saw a green glimmer hanging in the air, but when he blinked it was gone, and a strange, unsettling feeling rose within him. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and the scent of acid and burning remains filled his nostrils. In the distance, he saw billows of white smoke rising from the ground. As the dranagins began their descent into the barren land, wheeling and calling to each other, Wekin saw the broken body of a white female giant, lying in a halo of silver hair. A slight fear squeezed his heart, restricting the flow of the love of adventure for mere seconds.
Cold winds rushed over him while a silvery tinging rang through the air as if someone were playing music on an instrument made of icicles.
“Daygone,” Yamier’s voice floated to Wekin’s ears, a tone of excitement laced with fear and perhaps respect.
“Welcome to your new home,” Wekin shouted to the dranagins to take his mind off the unsettling aura which rested upon Daygone like a blanket. In the distance, he saw a liquid pool, winking as traces of light caught its frozen edges. Dark words floated through the air, disappearing into the mist and fog that hung over the gloom.
The dranagins landed with a shudder, and Daygone quaked under their feet. Yamier and Wekin slide off the dranagins, rolling to keep the fall from such a height from hurting them. Wekin wrapped his fingers around his sword, and he leaped to his feet, turning to eye the dranagins who glared back at him. Their horizontal yellow eyelids blinked at him but did not convey feeling, one way or another.
“Well,” Wekin glanced from east to west, “don’t you want to explore?”
“New home,” the larger dranagin sniffed. “We shall see. If mortals return to this land and beg us to fight, you will answer for this.”
A sly grin came to Wekin’s lips. “It is your task to ensure no mortals or immortals enter Daygone. There is only one who has safe passage, and that is Eliesmore the One. Mayhap will come a day when he brings you new instructions.”
The smaller dranagin moved eastwards, ignoring them while the larger dranagin sniffed. “New instructions will not be welcome, nor will the One. The mountains were growing rather desolate and boring. This new land is a welcome relief.”
“Ah, see, you do have a sense of adventure,” Wekin grinned.
Yamier crossed his arms and nodded at the dranagins, although he eyed his bow a bit nervously as he shifted from foot to foot.
“Wekin the Warrior and Yamier the Hunter,” the giant dranagin turned his back toward them. “Farewell. If it comes to pass, you must relay the story of what was done here, let to be known, we struck a bargain. No more. No less.”
“Ha,” Yamier chuckled. “We struck a bargain. I see how it is. Dranagins are for dranagins until the bitter end.
Wekin stepped back, standing shoulder to shoulder with Yamier as the dranagins moved toward the east. The long tails and powerful legs of the dranagins caused slight tremors as they moved away, their long snouts disappearing into the fog and mist. Before it completely disappeared, the larger dranagin turned back, spreading its wings before re-tucking them on its back. Golden eyes full of mischief gleamed at Wekin, and then the beast disappeared into the darkened land of Daygone.
Yamier gave a low whistle. “No one will believe us if we tell them.”
Wekin shook his head, tapping his foot against the blackened ground. “I can’t wait to see their faces! What will Skip and Bruthen think?”
Yamier rubbed his hands together. “The Xctas are still flying above us. We should call them down and return to Castle Range.”
Wekin glanced up. “Aye, this land gives me the creeps. It’s both cold and hot, barren and full of life at the same time. Did you see those strange creatures when we fell?”
“The white giants? What could those be?”
“Part of me wants to explore, but the other part of me knows…”
“It is a terrible idea,” Yamier finished Wekin’s thought. “When the dranagins have had some time to rid the land of evil, we shall return to take their treasure.”
“Nay, we don’t have to return here, we can go back to the mountain of fire and find all the riches in the world there.”
“Errr,” Yamier rubbed his neck. “I think the explosion caved in the mountainside.”
“It won’t hurt to go look,” Wekin smirked. Putting his fingers in his mouth, he whistled and waved up at the Xctas circling above them. He took a step forward as the Xctas dived toward the ground and his foot struck something hard. He glanced down, intending to kick away a rock and instead saw a light winking at him. Bendi
ng he picked it up from the ground with both hands, blowing over the dust that lay there. An ornamental ring lay in his hand with a wide band inscribed with words in what he assumed was the Valikai Dialect. A ruby stone perched in the middle, a perfect oval with a set of tiny diamonds surrounding it. The ruby itself seemed to wink at him, and as Wekin stared at it, he though he saw a liquid move within the stone.
“What’s that?” Yamier leaned over Wekin’s shoulder. “Is that a ring?”
A vague feeling came over Wekin as he stared into it, and voices whispered around him. The liquid swirled and suddenly a burning sensation radiated from his fingers, moving up his arms as if the dranagins had returned to burn him to death. In one instance, he saw he soul apart from his body while deathly fingers reached out, dripping with red blood to claim him.
“Ayeee!” Wekin dropped the ring and shook his hands, shaking the fuzziness from his mind and the image from his vision.
“Wekin? What’s wrong?”
Wekin faced Yamier, his eyes wide as he panted. “We should go, we can’t take anything away from Daygone. It’s evil. Altogether evil. Don’t you feel it?”
“Come on then,” Yamier led the way to the Xctas who landed with gentle thumps on the ground. “We accomplished our mission, let’s go to Castle Range.”
“And hurry,” Wekin addressed his next words to the Xctas. “The army will need our help!”
As they lifted up, a bellow sounded from the east, and Wekin saw a billow of fire and smoke rise as the dranagins claimed Daygone.
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword Page 34