21
Eliesmore
Evening drew near as they entered the forest, stealing the dim light of the setting sun. It shut out the faint moonlight that dared to shine and even the kind glimmer from the stars of the heavens. Trees grew close together, their branches interlocking and hiding their deeds from the outside world.
Eliesmore’s imagination ran wild as he entered the sinister forest. Clawed fingers reached out for him, and he ducked. He found it was only a misshapen tree branch. A dark shadow drifted past him; his eyes widened as he thought he saw a mounted rider, one of the Rakhai. It was only the trees. A small noise in the underbrush made him jump, a bird taking flight jerked his head upwards, and he watched the dark skies in fear, although he could see nothing. Nocturnal creatures growled, defending their territory from the hunt of the night.
Eliesmore had not gone more than a few feet in the forest when he felt absolute misery. He peered back into the blackness from whence they had come. Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land was gone as if it had never been. Dread filled Eliesmore’s heart.
There was a rustling in the underbrush; leaves flew as an animal ran for shelter. Eliesmore jumped, and his hand flew to his sheath. How could he be the One, the Great Conqueror, when he was afraid of his own footsteps? He imagined the One as a strong warrior, not someone who barely knew how to hold a sword, let alone use it to bravely defend himself and his comrades against the onslaught of evil. The farther he went, the more fear threatened to ice over his heart. How could he dissolve the Green Stone? How could he defeat the Black Steeds? The world was wild; the Changers were almost wholly in charge. Why was he born to be the One to save them all? If he reached the other end of the forest, met the few White Steeds who were left, and dissolved the Green Stone, he would need strength.
Night cast a quilt of gloom over the forest. Ellagine called for a halt, her green shimmer muted in the dark. They sat down in a clump of trees to eat the last meal while Arldrine cast worried glances at their surroundings. Optimistic opened his mouth to say something encouraging, but the forest was oppressing and silenced his words before they left his tongue. Ellagine was still as a statue, listening to the discernible hush, which seemed to be a warning of nothing more than the impending hostility of the forest.
“I don’t like this.” Arldrine crossed her arms, protecting herself from unseen assailants.
Ellagine sighed as her eyes met Arldrine’s. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Eliesmore curled up on his side, cushioning his head with his arms. He closed his eyes. Try as he might; sleep would not come. The eerie silence of the woods kept him awake, and the knowledge of a growing evil in the shadows pricked his mind. Whenever he opened his eyes, all he could see was the vague shape of Ellagine standing against a tree, watching and waiting. He could hear Arldrine and Optimistic breathing deeply and wondered how they could be sleeping. Time passed. He sat up, still feeling as if a deep menace were surrounding them. Suddenly Ellagine was beside him. “Eliesmore,” she whispered, her face so close to him he felt her nose bump his ear. “You should rest.”
“I know.” Eliesmore turned to face her, the darkness around his heart increased, pounding out failure. “But…tell me the words to ‘Song’.”
She sat down beside him, her green glimmer soothing him, and her words curled around him like an embrace. He felt them like a lullaby his mother would sing to calm the fear in his heart.
“When the terrorizer of the Black Steeds and White Steeds,
Magdela the Monrage, has gone and been killed,
When everyone has gone and hidden in the land down South,
Up there will rise, Finder of the Jeweled Sword,
Conqueror of Evil.
He will come when he is young.
He will wield the Jeweled Sword.
He will dissolve the Green Stone.
Where he goes, the people will no longer live in hiding.
They will come out and rejoice.
For evil has receded, but not completely destroyed until the end of Time.”
Eliesmore fell asleep listening to those words, and they filled his mind with peace and strength. The night passed, fear abated, and the silent watchers gathered. As the thin light of dawn drew near, brightening the blackness of the forest, they began to approach. Ellagine, tired after a long and silent night, sensed them first. She stretched her ears, whispering a warning to the others in her language, compelling them to wake with the power of her words. The moment they left her mouth, she knew she was too late; they had slipped past her guard.
Eliesmore woke, lying on his back. His pack lay beside him, and as he reached for it, he realized the fear of traveling through the boundary line forest was gone. Something had woken him up; the memory of it was fresh in his mind. He turned his head, searching for it, and found himself looking up into Ellagine’s face. Only, it wasn’t Ellagine. She was tall and unnaturally thin. Her face was hallowed as if the skin had been stretched taut over her bones. Her skin was both black and white, a mixture that made her appear like she was morphing and changing, yet something paused the transformation. Her eyes flashed black with streaks of red through them as she gazed at Eliesmore, a mixed expression of adoration and terror rippling over her features.
The hood of her dark cloak was thrust back, allowing her transparent black hair to hang long and loose. In one motion, the Monrage pulled out her sword. Black horses moved on it, racing in place with their eyes red. Chills ran up and down Eliesmore’s spine, and he opened his mouth to scream or shout for help, yet nothing came out. An invisible evil reached out its hands for him, and as he looked into the dark eyes of the Monrage, he knew she was involved in something sinister.
“Eliesmore!” the scream ripped from Ellagine's throat.
Eliesmore came to life and rolled over as the Monrage sank her sword into the ground instead of flesh. Leaping to his feet, Eliesmore yanked his sword out of his sheath, throwing himself off balance with his quick movements. Regret flashed through his mind as he realized he’d never fought before, let alone against a Monrage.
The Monrage curled her fingers around the hilt of her sword and drew it from the ground like one pulling an arrow from a bleeding wound. Her eyes met Eliesmore’s and then roamed over his body, searching for his weaknesses. Clouds of darkness gathered on the edge of Eliesmore’s vision as the Monrage flexed her bare hands. If her fingers folded around his neck, she would crush his windpipe in one motion while her cold eyes stared into his soul, savoring each second of pain she gave him.
The moment her sword was free, the Monrage spun, twirling the sword through the air and driving its glinting end toward Eliesmore’s heart. With surprising quickness, Eliesmore blocked her blow. Without hesitation, she swung the flat end of her sword toward his head, intending to cleave it off in one sweep. Eliesmore saw the movement and thrust his sword in the way, throwing his weight behind it. The Monrage snarled, and one red eye winked at Eliesmore, even as her lips curled upward in a hideous sneer. Quickly they maneuvered—up and down, this side and that side, always in circles—until Eliesmore began to have the feeling that maybe he could not fight. Perhaps she was toying with him.
In his peripheral vision, he could see his three friends moving in an awkward dance as they warded off the other Monrages who stepped out of the woods. Optimistic was shooting arrows, but they had no effect. The Monrages advanced, their swords in one hand while the other warded off arrows. Arldrine had her bow and arrow ready. When a Monrage got too close, she ruthlessly drew her dagger. Ellagine shimmered with pale green light, an arch covering her like a shield. Lifting her hands, she called: “Ilidifurthien, reihturfidli!” A sword appeared, shimmering pale green as it hovered above her waiting hands. Ellagine snatched it from the air and advanced on the Monrages, brandishing a green fire.
Eliesmore noticed the Monrage he fought was becoming more aggressive. Her sword seemed to be in three places at once, and the strength at which she swung her lethal weapon jarred his
bones. Sweat dripped down his face, dripping into his eyes and soaking his shirt. He was unsure how much longer he could hold the Monrage at bay when he heard a pounding in the wood. Out of the dark trees, seven Monrages materialized. They swung off their mounts with barely a sound, flipping through the air like it was water. Their black and white faces glowed in glee as they surrounded the four, swords strapped to their sides and black-tipped arrows on their backs. Long bows were tied to their backs, freeing their hands for the next part in their deadly game.
The Monrage fighting Eliesmore stepped away from him, retreating toward her companions and sheathing her sword as she went. Eliesmore paused in confusion, clutching his sword as his chest heaved. He wiped his mouth as he turned in a panic. He watched the Monrages back away, circling him like a lion that flirted with its prey before devouring it. They lifted curved bows off their backs, drew black-tipped arrows, and took aim. When they loosed them, instead of arrows, black light streamed toward Eliesmore.
It twisted, it twirled, and it multiplied. Eliesmore saw the Rakhai were using their hands, and light flowed through their fingers, swirling onwards. He could hear their victorious laughter over the fear that threatened to choke him.
“No!” He swung his sword hard; he couldn’t let the black lights touch him. Ten were demolished by his sword. He swung the other way, knowing the black light held power that would make him bend to the will of the Rakhai. Ten more were destroyed. Thirty of the black lights slammed into his body. He flew through the air. At some point, he lost the grip on his sword, and he landed with such an impact that his breath left his body. In a fog, he heard a shriek from the Rakhai as they received black-light-swords. Eliesmore struggled in vain on the ground as a paralyzing pain gripped his body. When he tried to lift his head and roll over to his side, his body screamed in agony as if he had been beaten all over. The last thing he saw, before he was plunged into darkness, was a Monrage driving her black-light-sword into him.
Eliesmore screamed as he passed into the shadow land, yet even then he was aware of the Rakhai. Heat seared his flesh while the ice-cold sword drove into his body, ripping and tearing. Teeth chattering, he shook with chills as his torture began. Dimly he heard Ellagine shouting, “Wistfes seftisws, mocteo etomoc” as she began to use her powers to drive the Rakhai away. The world withered as the pain in his side took over, and the Monrage started goading him.
“You are not the One!”
Ellagine drove two Monrages away; they mounted their horses and galloped off in a northwest direction.
The Monrage snarled at Eliesmore. “You are not the One.” He knew she was holding his Jeweled Sword, even though he could not see it. “You do not have your sword, and we have more power than any of you. You are weak and afraid; we are strong. Nothing stands in our way. We will kill all the White Steeds.”
Four Monrages galloped off, one to the northwest and three to the northeast.
Eliesmore gasped for breath and found himself panting, his heart threatening to give up. The air was too thick for him to breathe. If only he could escape from the torturous sword.
“Admit it.” The Monrage’s voice twisted through him like rope, binding and choking. “You will not die just yet I shall turn you into a Monrage, and you can see for yourself…”
“Stop,” Eliesmore moaned, striving to drive away the sound of her voice even though it rumbled through him, dragging life away. The Monrage, who was clearly enjoying herself, pushed her sword down deeper into Eliesmore until she reached bone. Eliesmore’s green eyes grew wide and then rolled white. He gave a gasp, swimming in a sea of blackness beyond the extent of the Monrage’s power, and then he was gone.
22
Ellagine
Ellagine spun in a green fury, her eyes darting to where Eliesmore lay. The wicked Monrage crouched over him, turning her black-light-sword in his shredded body. Ellagine saw him exhale, and the life drifted from him. She watched the wisps of his soul float upward, and a tidal wave of wrath swept over her. She wanted to kill the Monrages; nay, she personally wanted to hunt them down and rip them to pieces with her bare hands. She felt her lovely face twist into pure hatred, deeper than any emotion she’d ever know. Lifting up her voice, she roared, and her aura of green shimmered twice as bright. With absolute hatred, she turned on the five remaining Monrages.
One pulled her sword, stained dark red, out of Eliesmore’s body, allowing his crimson blood to flow in rivers into the ground. Ellagine leaped on top of the Monrage, kicking the Jeweled Sword out of her hand. The Monrage grew a crown on her head and sent out black shafts of light. Ellagine raised her sword of green fire, opened her fist, and released a blow of power. The Monrage stumbled backward, lifting her fingers to counter the blow. In her fury, Ellagine did not feel herself weakening. They were both using different extremes of power, yet suddenly they both used the same measure, and it was as if hot and cold had clashed. The ground began to shake, and a black and white whirlwind arose, two strong forces battling.
At that moment, a profound change took place in the South World, and everyone in all the Four Worlds was frozen in awe. The only person who did move was Ellagine; she snatched up Eliesmore and sank to her knees, feeling her power drip from her body. The Monrages turned to flee, and as they did, their horses fell dead before them. They ran on with their swords out, killing any that happened to be in their path. The White Steeds continued in their flight; the Iaens that escaped slaughter were able to reach the shore and struck out for the beyond, searching for the Pillars of Creation. While they went, eleven white horses, sent by the Daelidrains, entered the South World.
When the Rakhai disappeared, a deep sadness swept through the land. Many were slain in their wake because the Black Steeds were not fair in any of their ways. If the One could not live and go on to dissolve the Green Stone, then no one could, and not just the South World, but all the Four Worlds would perish. Then it would be too late to fight back, and life would come to a dreadful halt. The Changers would rule the worlds, and there would be a tortured end for the people groups and mortals. It was Ellagine who understood those things, and hot tears poured down her face as she held Eliesmore, even as he grew cold in her arms. Optimistic came forward and took him from her while Arldrine reached out to steady her. A heavy sadness descended on them as they sat, bereft, in the wood.
The Iaens left the South World. The land of Novor Tur-Woodberry and his Singing Men grew quiet. Darkness and hopelessness were at its peak for there were less than fifty White Steeds alive in the whole South World. At that crucial moment, there was only one voice and one heart that held on to the words and believed them to be true. The voice sang out, slowly, gently, and clearly. A song of hope twisted through the air, dissipating the evil fumes that surrounded them. It was the song Novor Tur-Woodberry had given them, and Optimistic sang the words like a cure as they lay in the forest, where life flowed into the unknown.
Ellagine’s blue eyes met Optimistic’s, even as she leaned against Arldrine and felt her strength fade away. “You still find hope, even in the blackest moment.”
Optimistic said nothing at all as he continued to hum. Ellagine lifted her head from Arldrine’s shoulder and saw a flash of gold. She gasped and, gathering what was left of her strength, stood. Arldrine held on to her as she struggled, recognizing she’d spent too much of her power. It would take some time to recoup; Ellagine had to be careful. She opened her mouth, and a name drifted out: “Glashar.”
The golden light paused and moved closer until a Falidrain appeared. Her eyes were round with terror; her pale face was streaked with a combination of blood, tears, and dirt. “Ellagine,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she crept toward the wounded company. “You must run. They have come to destroy us.”
Ellagine pointed at Eliesmore. “Please. Please save him. He is the One.”
Glashar’s face darkened into an unreadable mask as she stared down at the blended male. Her gaze roved over him and returned to Ellagine’s. “He is dead.”
“You have the power. Please. I would not ask this if I could. Save him. He is our hope. He is the One.” Ellagine fell to her knees, hands clasped before her. “Glashar, think of this world. Think of all you have lost and all you could gain. Please.”
Glashar paused, an inner turmoil within her as she observed what had happened there. “Ellagine. My powers fade.”
“Save him,” Ellagine beseeched her. “Save him. You owe me that. At least.”
Glashar remained still for long moments. At last, she took a breath, clenched her fists, and opened them. A golden fire appeared on her fingertips, and she walked toward Eliesmore.
23
Eliesmore
Eliesmore woke. His throat was dry, and his eyes were sticky. He coughed and swallowed, stretching his fingers. He was astonished to find himself alive. He felt his face; it was still there. His side was bandaged and throbbed when he touched it. He sat up, assuming he was still in the boundary line forest, yet it seemed he was alone. He stood, allowing the balance to return to his body. His fingers closed over the hilt of his Jeweled Sword, which had been returned to his sheath. As he clenched it, he felt a stubbornness rise within. He was the One, and he would do as “Song” said, even with the risks it entailed and the evil chasing after him. He wondered how he had escaped with his life and where his friends were. He stumbled in circles, feeling his strength return. As he did, he saw he was not quite as alone as he’d thought.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 76