The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Fear was alien to him as he took off, racing alongside the sea and shrieking with laughter as the green spray hit him, soaking his clothes and coaxing him into the cool waves. Soon he was barefoot, feet pounding the gritty mixture of dirt and sand. He laughed and danced until he was wholly exhausted. He collapsed in the grass, giggling with glee as he listened to the song of the sea. He grew drowsy as he listened. Just as his eyes were closing, dragging him into the land of sleep, he heard a splash. Every muscle in his body turned rigid as the warning from his mother pervaded his memory.

  They lived in hiding for a reason. There was a conflict between two great powers, which was why Eliesmore should never go out alone. He had to stay with his mother, under her watchful eye to prevent harm from coming to him. He had intentionally disobeyed her laws in search of an adventure, and because of his willfulness, the glory of the sea was going to betray him. He sat up, whimpering as he sought for the intruder, desperately wishing for the safety of walls and his mother’s arms.

  Instead, he saw a white object floating in the water. He stood on his tiptoes, squinting against the light reflecting off the waves as he struggled to see what it was. At first, it appeared to be a box sitting low in the water, and as it bobbed in the waves, Eliesmore wanted to know what was inside. He waded out into the sea, watching the waves bump the box towards him as if they were sending him a present.

  He waited for the box to come closer, but progress was slow. Taking a risk, he waded further into the water, heedless of danger. He kept going until the water was pushing at his chest. Any farther and the waves would drag him below to a watery grave. Eliesmore did not discern the consequences as he lunged for the box. He reached and missed it, splashing water into his face as he lost his footing. But the sea was giving, and with a final push, a small wave sent it into his arms. Eliesmore turned back for the shore, gleeful because of his prize, just as the current rolled towards the beach, sweeping waves over his head and dragging him down.

  He gasped for air, his legs kicking as his arms reached for solid ground. The sea rolled him over and spat him into the air. With his lungs on fire, he strained for one last breath and reached for land. His foot caught in weeds, and he tried to see through salt-stung eyes as the soggy ground turned solid and he kicked himself free. He crawled out of the green water onto the sand, still holding the box.

  Spasms wracked his body as he inhaled the clean air, heaving salt water onto the ground. He collapsed in misery, his clothes doused from the battle with the sea. Breath returned to his heaving body as he lay on his back, allowing the warm sun to dry his clothes into a waterlogged paste against his chilled skin. The bleached sand stuck to his face as he raised his head and reached for the box.

  It was heavier than he expected because the waves had been more than helpful, making the box appear light. He reached for the sealed cover to tear it open; only something caused him to pause. It seemed as if a cloud of darkness passed over him. Goosebumps rose on his arms, and his body quaked with chills. Eliesmore glanced behind to see who might be watching and found himself shaking. With the impulse and strength fear gave, he darted towards the thick underbrush, dragging his present with him.

  Pale, green shoots blurred before his eyes. Dark, brown twigs, still holding the morning dew or moisture from the sea, stained his clothes and tangled his curly hair. He felt as if something unseen was chasing him, although all he could hear was his heart beating loudly in his panic. It may have been only a perception; it may have been real, but there was something heinous in the air that didn’t want him to look inside the box. If he had been thinking clearly, Eliesmore would have let the box slip from his fingers and carried his frenzied run alone.

  Myran stood on the shore of the Jaded Sea, holding a pair of shoes. Her son Eliesmore had been here after all. She had been lost in thought, thinking of old times when she realized he was gone. Afterward, she had torn through the small house, even though there was no point. Then she remembered telling him the stories of the sea, heroes of old, and their grand adventures. The sea was the only logical place he would have gone. She had run out of the house, screaming his name, frightened of what he might meet. Were Black Steeds in the vicinity? Would they find him first?

  Myran wiped anxious tears away. She needed clear sight to find her son. If he were lost… she dared not let the terrible thought enter her mind. Her entire life, all she loved and held dear was snatched from her, even her husband, a Tider from the west. Eliesmore was all she had left. What if she lost him too? Panicked, she squeezed his shoes until the sea water started dripping out. Where was he? “Eliesmore!” she called again, running along the sea and searching its depths to see if it gave away anything.

  “Mama!” Eliesmore shouted, bursting into the hut. The door had been left open. All was quiet. His alarm started to dissolve, leaving only traces of fear. Tear stains streaked across his dirty face; scratches covered his bare arms and clothes from his headlong plunge through the underbrush.

  “Mama!” he cried again, dashing through the house. He searched under the bed and even climbed the ladder to the loft, dragging the box behind him as he searched. His lower lip stuck out and trembled. Where was his mother? Was she searching for him? Eliesmore paused, at a loss of what to do. He was exhausted and sorry he had even thought to run away and see the sea. His hands opened, dropping the box. Startled, he jumped because he had forgotten what he carried. Bending down, he ran his tiny hands over the covering of the box as a strong desire to discover what lay hidden inside overcame him. Swallowing his tears, he knelt down on the wood floor and, with some difficulty, pulled off the top.

  Multi-colored lights streamed out of the box as he opened it. His breath left him as he took in the sight of his gift. It was a sword with a long, naked blade, and beside it laid a sheath and a leather belt. But what made the sword magnificent and what made Eliesmore’s eyes widen in astonishment was its hilt. Jewels covered it: diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. As Eliesmore reached out a hand to touch the gems, they dwarfed his hands. Eliesmore sat back on his heels, gazing at the sword that was almost as big as he was. He knew what it was; it was the legendary Jeweled Sword, known from the tales of Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and his Companions.

  The sacred moment was broken as a voice in the distance shouted: “Eliesmore!”

  A hint of dread touched Eliesmore again, and in one swift motion, he shut the box and slid it under the bed. “Mama!” he shouted and ran towards the open door. The two of them met by the house, tears covering their faces. Eliesmore leaped and was in his mother’s arms. She held on to him tightly, as if she would never let go. “Oh Eliesmore,” she choked. “I thought I had lost you too.”

  Much later, as dusk was falling, Eliesmore lay in his mother’s arms as they rested on the bed. They were both dry-eyed, having stayed close throughout the remainder of the day. Eliesmore watched the shadows surrounding the house. One candle burned just enough to illuminate the table it sat on. He peered up at his mother, but her face hid in the shadows. She was quieter than usual; he could almost see the thoughts turning over in her mind. “Eliesmore,” she whispered. “Why did you go to the sea?”

  “I wanted to see it. I can hear it at night. It wanted me to go.” The words sounded rational to him.

  “Did you like what you saw?”

  “Yes, it was very nice.” He nodded.

  “Then why did you get scared?” The sight of her son in torn clothes and with a tear-streaked face had frightened her. At first, she thought someone or something had harmed him.

  “I couldn’t find you.” Eliesmore shrugged; the box and its contents were out of sight and out of mind.

  Myran sighed and stroked his dark head. “Eliesmore, next time, tell me. I would have taken you. Do not go to the sea again. You are too young, and this world is too dangerous.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Eliesmore whispered, accepting her rebuke.

  “Eliesmore.” Myran turned so she could study his face in the dark. “Wou
ld you like to go on an adventure?”

  “Yes.” He closed his eyes for this was always how she started out old tales of great deeds.

  “There is a house,” she began. “When I first saw it, the glory of spring was upon the land, and the flowers were blooming. It lay at the foot of a forest, far away from here and the sea, close to a hidden world of its own. There we can be safe from those who come across sea and land, and you will feel closer to the wild world and farther from the grasp of the dangerous sea. We will be free there, freer than we are here, cooped up on the edge of the world. Do you want to go there, Eliesmore?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, although his eyes were closing. A house at the edge of the forest sounded better than hiding.

  “Okay.” Myran's heartbeat slowed in relief. “We will go in the morning.”

  As Eliesmore fell asleep in her arms, she hoped the home her late husband had built for her would still be there. She had not been there in over five years, and there was small hope that the hut would still be standing unoccupied. But she had to get Eliesmore away from the sea. There was no knowing who had seen him or how long he was out there.

  Eliesmore jolted awake. His mother bustled around the hut, packing. He sat up, disoriented, with his heart pounding furiously. What was the dream? It had frightened him. Then he remembered the sword he had hidden under the bed. They were moving, and he did not know what to do. Blinking against the sunlight coming through the open door, he glanced at his mother before eyeing his hiding spot. Stealthily he rose and dropped to all fours, wiggling under the bed. The box was still there, gathering dust from the night. An idea struck him. He pulled the quilt off the bed, wrapped the box in it, crawled out from under the bed, and announced, “I’ll carry the blankets.”

  Myran smiled fondly at him. “Come get some food. We have a long journey today.”

  “Will we be there tonight?” Eliesmore asked in excitement as he settled down to eat.

  “No.” Myran sat down across from him, ruffling his curls. “I do not know how long it will take.”

  The supposed short trip to their new home took a while. The blanket and the sword turned out to be quite cumbersome, and Eliesmore dragged them behind him day after day. Myran carried everything else and rarely slept as she led the way, only hoping she was going in the right direction. The world seemed dark indeed and unusually silent. It was rare they saw animals in the open, although they heard them. The night was a time of horror. Eliesmore suffered nightmares, and his mother held him as he slept, barely sleeping herself. The day they arrived at their new home, they felt like shadows of themselves; they were hungry, sore, and sleep-deprived. The house was waiting for them, with a single elm tree growing up the side of it. If Eliesmore thought to look, he would have seen tears in his mother’s eyes, but he was lost in relief at arriving at their destination. So their brief adventure began and so it ended. That night it rained fit to drown the world, and Eliesmore slept alone in his new room.

  Eliesmore woke early the next day and, taking the box with him, crept downstairs. He opened the door and saw the water glistening around him, creating a world of mirrors. He slipped outside and looked towards the forest. Although it was dark and thick, it did not frighten him. He walked towards it, thinking to hide his sword there. As the sun rose and began to burn the fog away, he found himself at the top of the hill. Looking down, he could see the hut where his mother slept, making up for lost nights of sleep.

  He pushed on for the trees. When he finally reached the foot of the forest, he found a stick and began to dig. The ground was soft and gave way, crumbling beneath his small hands. It was no trouble to push the box into a hole and cover it up, although it took him almost two hours before the task was done. Satisfied with his handiwork, Eliesmore stood up and took his dirty hands, clothes, and shoes back home with a lighter heart.

  4

  Eliesmore

  Year 937

  Eliesmore jerked and sat up. It was close to midnight, and the moonlight was shining into his room. He got out of bed and went to the window. The leaves of the elm tree glistened in the silvery luminescence, and he felt a call.

  Myran and Eliesmore had been there for eight years. Eliesmore was thirteen now and not more than five feet tall. His wavy, black hair grew halfway down his neck in the back, tickled his ears, and danced on his forehead. His large, green eyes took in everything. He was naturally curious, however his mother’s overprotectiveness often frustrated him.

  Now he stood at the window, hearing a faint call in his heart. It was inviting yet persistent. Quietly as he could, Eliesmore pulled opened the window, cringing as a hinge squeaked. The warm night air imbued the room while the soft wind tugged at him like fingers. Who was calling him and why? How did they know how to reach his very heartstrings? Should he go into the night and find out? If he asked his mother, she would say no, but this was his adventure, wasn’t it?

  Eliesmore sat on the windowsill, watching the branches of the elm tree reach for him through the window. Thick ivy circled the tree, its vines twining around the hut. The longer he sat, the more confident he became. The call could not be ignored. He had to go. Forgetting caution, he reached for the ivy and swung his way down the elm tree. Right before he reached the bottom, he flung himself into the air, limbs flailing for a few seconds before he landed. He crouched on all fours in the grass. A broad grin split his face as he caught his breath, stood, and turned towards the forest. Animals were assembling on the hill, their various shapes creating a trail for Eliesmore to follow as they lumbered into the wood. Delighted to be free of his room and knowing he was meant to follow them, he took off running. His feet were bare, and his white shirt flapped behind him. Anticipation built in his chest until his cheeks hurt from grinning.

  The grass was springy under his feet, and the moonlight lit his way. By the time he reached the top of the hill, the animals were already gone, although he could see the last ones scampering into the forest. Eliesmore paused to catch his breath and then, at a much slower pace, started after them. He did not even hesitate as he crossed the boundaries of his home, the Land of Lock called Locherenixzes, and slipped into Shimla, home of the immortals, the Iaen, more commonly known as the Idrains.

  It was summer, and even though the trees and underbrush were in full growth, the forest was not as dense as he expected. Dark green appeared like velvet in the light, and Eliesmore felt something old and enchanting as he stole into the hidden world. Ahead of him, he saw a group of beasts, following a secret path to their destination. In his rush to keep up, he stepped on a twig. A sharp snap rang out behind him, and he spun around before he understood it was his footfalls making the noise. He rushed forward again, tripping on tangled brambles. The racket echoed harmlessly through the wood while slivers of moonlight teased his progress. He found himself sliding on grass and leaves, reaching for ivy and vines to help keep his balance as he continued. After a time, he found he could scarcely see the animals ahead nor hear them anymore. Alone in the shadowed forest, he felt as if he were making the din of a hundred people. No longer was the impatient call firm in his heart, but there was no way back from the impossible maze of the wood.

  Eventually, he began to hear something. It sounded like soft thumps in the ground as if someone or a large number of someones were stomping in a rhythm. It grew louder as he continued, and just when he thought he would burst from curiosity, he came into an opening. A pure white radiance beamed down, displaying the antics in the clearing. A fire glowed in the center, surrounded by smooth round stones that were double stacked upon each other. The fire flicked in glee, daring to compete with the light of the moon. Around the circle of fire, a group was beginning to gather. White horses pranced in place with their gray-colored foals—for they had not chosen a side on the Black or White Steeds. Their choice would determine their color. Short-horned goats and round, fluffy sheep were there, mingling with tawny brown lions, giant striped tigers, and light-footed deer. Rabbits and hares leaped underfoot while whit
e panthers and wolves chased them in playfulness. Squirrels chattered in the trees, tossing nuts to each other while mice scurried to and from the fire, sniffing and flinging more twigs into the flame.

  Eliesmore spun in a slow circle, wide-eyed as he counted the various species of animals gathered in peace and harmony. Chip-toothed woodchucks and fat rats brought chirping chipmunks and prickly porcupines with them. The red foxes slunk out of their holes bringing weasels, opossums, raccoons, bobcats, and gophers. They kept gyrating as they circled the fire. After a moment, Eliesmore understood they were dancing. His mouth hung open in surprise, and his eyes grew round when he saw the next creatures dancing out of the wood: Iaens.

  First came the pale Green People, bringing with them the Idrains, the night creatures. There were the Myidraids, Idrains only a foot tall with long red hair, big gray eyes, and wings under their arms. Above them floated the Nigidrains, even though they were only five inches tall they were pronounced the ruling Idrains. They were known for creating beauty whenever they went, turning caves in the forest into glorious kingdoms. Upon their fair heads, each one wore a golden crown and carried a specter, sparkling with light. Their clothes rippled in the glow, shining as if carved from jewels. The Shimidrains followed in their wake. They were often mistaken for large butterflies. Most of them had wavy, black hair and were quite fair and slender. They ranged in sizes; some were large while others were small. Their majestic wings caught and reflected the light of the moon and the flickering fire, scattering prisms of light across the clearing. They landed on trees, animals, and Green People, briefly fluttering before flying to another perch.

  The fire roared, casting its flames above the tallest creatures, and the beat of the drums took on a frantic rhythm. Eliesmore felt the thump in his blood. His feet moved, and the sky began to rain. It was an unusual sort of rain because Rainidrains burst out of the droplets and fluttered down on the revelry. Each had at least two pairs of transparent wings on their backs that flapped continuously like hummingbirds’ wings. As they flew, an enormous flock of birds descended and began to sing, their voices blending in with the drums. There were sparrows, robins, chickadees, woodpeckers, cardinals, mockingbirds, thrushes, bluebirds, martins, hummingbirds, terns, orioles, mynas, nightingales, warblers, and many others. Eliesmore could not begin to describe their bright and delicate colors. They flew here and there, landing in the trees and on the ground, spreading their wings, and lifting their voices above all others.