The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Optimistic climbed up behind Eliesmore with little difficulty. Flywinger rose, and the two watched as Dathiem gave Yamier and Wekin a leg up; then he sprang onto his mount. Arldrine was the last; she glanced back at the people, and then they set off while the people continued to run and shout: “White Steeds!”

  Eliesmore saw a swarm of angry faces, which were quickly left behind in a cloud of dust. The village grew smaller as well, turning into merely a speck on the landscape.

  Back on course, the horses began galloping. The grass was now yellow-green. The ground swelled and rolled into gentle hills that were spaced evenly apart.

  Eliesmore rode uneasily on Flywinger. He was still upset by the episode at the village. He wondered if all Black Steeds in the South World hated White Steeds with a passion. The nauseating fear began to creep up on him as his brain whirled with thoughts. If all the Black Steeds, even those who seemed to live at peace in their villages, wanted to hunt and kill the White Steeds, how much more dangerous was the world? With every route and every road they took, they had to stay out of sight from everyone. It was a task hard to accomplish within such a large company. Slight mistakes led to an uproar; wisdom had to be at the forefront of every decision. Impossibilities rose up in his mind: the Rakhai were chasing them, the Black Steeds were full of hate, and he, the One to do the three deeds, was laughable. Others were better equipped; others had more knowledge.

  Eliesmore wondered if he would ever be carefree and happy again, such as the days when he danced with the Iaen. He wondered if the land would ever be bright and beautiful as it once was in a time he had never seen.

  Eliesmore closed his eyes, and a sad, tired look stole over his face. They had only been traveling three days, and already the Monrages had chased and fought them, the Wodnidrains had come after them, they had lost two White Steeds, and Yamier and Wekin had gone off to get bacon and caused an uproar in the village. But it wasn’t their fault that they did not think. Beginning to feel amused, Eliesmore opened his eyes and looked back at the two. They looked very sorry as they rode together. Eliesmore wondered how their lives had been when they were younger. As for himself, he felt he had woken out of a beautiful dream and come to terms with the evil of the world. His childhood seemed far away. As if sensing his thoughts, Optimistic placed a comforting hand on Eliesmore’s shoulder and squeezed.

  After a while, Idrithar called out, “Rashla alhsar, we rest now.”

  “Rest?” Yamier perked up. “For the second meal? Does that mean I get to cook?”

  “Yes.” Idrithar gave a noncommittal nod. “Zhane will give you a lesson in sword fighting.”

  “How long do we have?” Wekin grinned in triumph, punching a fist into the air.

  “For an hour or so,” Idrithar responded. “Then we ride long and hard far into the night.”

  The horses slowed to a stop on an elevated area. The company dismounted in various ways: jumping, tumbling, or floating to the ground. Once free of all burdens, the horses began to graze. Yamier sat down and pulled open his pack, murmuring to himself. “It’s a good thing I thought to bring my cooking gear. Wait, there’s no firewood!”

  “Come, and I will help you find some.” Dathiem walked down the slope.

  Yamier jumped up to join him, and Wekin set down his pack before he ran after them, calling, “Wait for me!”

  Glashar eyed Dathiem’s retreating form. “They might need my help.”

  While the laughing four disappeared down the hill, Eliesmore lowered his pack to the ground, deciding what to do. Idrithar was sitting at the edge of the incline, eating a bright red apple and talking to Ellagine and Visra. Optimistic perched on a large rock, also eating an apple. Arldrine was nearby, clearing a place for the fire. Zhane, with a glance at Arldrine, pulled out his sword and walked toward Eliesmore. “While we are waiting, do you feel up to a lesson in sword fighting?”

  Eliesmore’s face brightened. “Oh yes.” As he pulled out his sword, the jewels began glistening on it.

  They started out with a few well-aimed blows, and after a few minutes, Zhane called, “Halt!” They stopped. “I see you hold your sword well, but loosen up your grip when you fight. Don’t be afraid to move around and follow through with your blows. I can tell you are pulling back at the last moment; don’t be afraid of hurting me,” Zhane instructed.

  “That’s right,” Arldrine called as she sat down beside Optimistic to watch. “Zhane’s the best sword fighter around; you couldn’t possibly hurt him.”

  Zhane shook his head, pretending not to hear. “Let’s give it another go.”

  The two went for another round, metal clanging together in the sunlight. By the end, Zhane was saying, “Better, better. Now faster.”

  Up and down their swords flashed side to side and over- and underhanded. Their feet moved quickly. Zhane stepped backward, and Eliesmore kept right up, moving forward until Zhane called for another rest. “In battle,” he began, “you may be surrounded by enemies on foot, so you will have to learn not only to move from side to side but backward and forwards. All the while laying blows.”

  “Now it starts to get complicated.” Eliesmore laughed.

  “Of course, you seem to be naturally good at swordplay. All you need is the practice,” Zhane encouraged. “Let us stop for now and have an apple for your hard work,” he said, grabbing one from his pack and tossing it over to Eliesmore.

  “Thank you.” Eliesmore sheathed his sword. Maybe he would be good at something, and he smiled to himself as he sat down.

  42

  Eliesmore

  Yamier and Wekin ran up the hill with their arms loaded with firewood. Another minute or two behind them were Dathiem and Glashar. The two were deep in conversation. Yamier and Wekin dumped their wood on top of the place that Arldrine had prepared. Dathiem came and dropped his pile on top. “Build your fire, Yamier.” He nodded. Then he turned to Glashar, and the two strode off together again.

  “Good.” Yamier threw open his pack, not noticing that Dathiem had walked away again. “What should we eat? Oh, I saved some sausage from Wekin…”

  “I wasn’t eating it all!” Wekin interrupted.

  “You ate about half of it, and you can’t deny a thing because I saw you.” Yamier wagged his finger at Wekin and gave him a superior nod. “As I was saying, we have sausage, and I could make stew. Ah, it’s rather warm for that and takes too long, don’t you think? Or I could make some…”

  “Just make something and hurry because some of us are hungry,” Idrithar informed Yamier.

  “Good,” Yamier agreed yet continued to dig into his pack, muttering, “Now, let’s see, we could have…”

  Finally, Yamier started his fire and began to cook sausage with wild herbs and vegetables. As the delicious scent filled the air, the company crept together to take their share before dispersing into groups to eat.

  Eliesmore surveyed the company before deciding which group to join. It seemed each person fell into a routine and drifted into the same groups. Idrithar and Zhane could generally be found together with Ellagine nearby. Dathiem and Glashar were inseparable. When they were apart, Glashar seemed to steal glances at Dathiem as if he might disappear if she were not watching him. There was something unusual about their friendship; Eliesmore felt uncomfortable speculating any further. Optimistic and Visra were working on their book of songs, and Arldrine often joined their company. Eliesmore still shuddered when he thought of Visra. Every now and then, she’d catch his eye and give him a devilish wink that made him wish some evil would befall her. Wekin and Yamier tended to be doing one of three things: talking too much, laughing too much, or eating too much. Currently, Yamier was being mercilessly teased about some stale bread that had been found in his pack.

  Eliesmore walked away from the merriment over to the Idrithar, Ellagine, and Zhane. “Eliesmore.” Ellagine’s face brightened as she made room for him beside her, reminding Eliesmore he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her since they left the fortress. It seemed her
attention tended to be elsewhere instead of solely focused on him.

  “Eliesmore,” Idrithar said keenly. “You look as if you have questions for us.”

  “I do.” Eliesmore nodded, the mouthwatering odor of his sausage distracting him momentarily. “I would like to learn about languages, particularly the one the Idrains speak.”

  “That would be the Iaen language.” Ellagine smiled at him and held up four fingers. “There are four main languages of the world; the one we speak is the common tongue. The Black Steeds speak the common tongue, and another language called Blackbastia. They created the language during the time of Magdela the Monrage to keep the White Steeds from figuring out their plans. There is an even older language called the Valikai Dialect; perhaps it is as old as the common tongue. It is a dark language that no one speaks yet it is still written. There may come a time when you need to know how to read each language.”

  “Yes,” Idrithar added. “We use the Iaen language for the words that carry a deeper measure of potency than if they were spoken in the common tongue.”

  “For instance,” Zhane went on, “say something, and I will say it back to you in Iaen.”

  “Alas, the world is dark,” Eliesmore lamented.

  Ellagine translated. “Ìal iál íthar isgurald ea hearstra.”

  “It…it sounds beautiful. Like…singing,” Eliesmore exclaimed in wonder.

  “It’s supposed to be. There are no harsh sounds in the Iaen language,” Ellagine explained. “You speak it higher than you normally would and softly, so it blends and flows together.”

  “Beautiful,” Eliesmore repeated. “What does each word mean?”

  “Ìal iál means ‘alas’; íthar can mean ‘the,’” Idrithar explained. “Isgurald means ‘world”; ea means ‘is,’ and hearstra means ‘dark’ or ‘black.’ Or something bad or evil. In some cases, the sentences translate word for word to the common tongue. Often that is not the case.”

  “Like?” Eliesmore asked around a mouthful of sausage.

  “Ti hititer retith fatverivóg,” Ellagine breathed.

  “It translates, ‘and listen, faster,’ but it actually means, ‘listen and go faster.’” Zhane leaned back, enjoying the lesson.

  “What do you say to Fastshed and his company?” Eliesmore wrinkled his nose.

  “Wistfes seftisws mocteo etomoc,” Idrithar said, “which translates: ‘White Steeds come.’”

  “I am beginning to understand. When can you teach me all the words?” Eliesmore asked impatiently.

  “Along the way, a little at a time. If we say something in the Iaen language—or any language unknown to you for that matter—just ask us for the translation.” Zhane got to his feet, glancing quickly to where Arldrine was sitting with the Crons. “Mocteo etomoc Yamier and Wekin, time to learn sword fighting.”

  Yamier and Wekin jumped up and pulled out their short swords, grins splitting their faces.

  “Who wants to go first?” Zhane chuckled.

  “Wekin does,” Yamier volunteered him, sheathing his sword and returning to the group around the fire with a smirk on his face.

  Wekin opened his mouth and stared at Yamier in protest. “Come on, Wekin," Zhane called. "We have to go over how to hold the sword."

  “How to hold a sword?” Wekin made a face. “Bah, I know how to hold a sword; we've done this ten times.”

  “Yes," Zhane grunted. "I tell you the same thing every time. You hold your sword too tightly to twist and turn it in the way necessary. Grip it loose enough so that you can turn it under- and over-handed.” Zhane glanced in Arldrine’s direction, nodding in admiration. “You should see Arldrine with her dagger; she can flip it with her fingers. Will you show them, Arldrine?”

  Arldrine stood, leaving Visra and Optimistic dreaming up songs. She pulled out her bone-white dagger, and she tossed it in the air. It flipped twice, emitting a whistle as it sliced through the breeze. Arldrine watched it, reaching out a hand at the precise moment the blade lined up with the ground. A smattering of applause met her, and she gave a mock bow, throwing a hand out as she smiled.

  “Arldrine?” Eliesmore moved closer to her. “There are strange markings on the blade. What are those?”

  “Ah.” She held it up to the light, allowing Eliesmore to see the oracles on it. They tilted and twinkled in and out of view as the blade caught the light. “They are relics, jewels, and other symbols. See?” She pointed to one. “Here is the Light of Shalidir and the Horn of Shilmi. This one is the Green Stone, and here is the Clyear of Power. There are many others you might not know yet."

  Eliesmore opened his eyes wider in awe. “Where did you find this blade?”

  “It was a gift from Ellagine.”

  Eliesmore wanted to ask more, except her tone suggested she was done explaining. He turned to rejoin Ellagine while Zhane continued to instruct Wekin. “No, Wekin, not like that. Loosen up your wrist.”

  “Like this?” Wekin held his sword up in triumph.

  “Finally.” Zhane sighed, wiping his brow. “Now, try to hit me.”

  Eliesmore watched them for a bit longer until Ellagine touched his shoulder. “Come. I will teach you the Valikai Dialect.”

  Eliesmore met her eyes, watching the shadows behind them. He shuddered. “It seems like an evil language. Are you sure I need to learn it?”

  Ellagine nodded. Her eyes were earnest while her fingers applied pressure to his shoulder.

  He sighed. “Did it take you long to learn these languages? Blackbastia and Valikai Dialect?”

  “No.” A shadow flickered behind her eyes and she looked away. “Knowledge is heredity among the Green People.”

  “You have always known?” Eliesmore clarified, wondering what it would be like to be born with knowledge.

  “Ci—which means ‘yes’ in Iaen. The Valikai Dialect is written with symbols, and each symbol translates to a word or sentence. Multiple symbols could convey a story or meaning. However, the translation is not as simple as translating from the Iaen language to the common tongue. Many of the words the Black Steeds use come from Valikai Dialect and have not been translated. For example, the word ‘Monrage’ has not been translated into the common tongue.” She leaned over, her hair falling past her shoulders as she reached for a stick that was charred from the fire. Kneeling, she scratched a symbol into the mud. “This is the symbol for ‘Monrage,’ and here is the symbol for ‘Rakhai.’” She drew what looked like lines.

  “I see,” said Eliesmore, even though he didn’t. “But what do the words mean? If I see the symbols, how will I recognize the words?”

  “I’m hoping you will come to understand them,” Ellagine admitted. “In the same way, I have come to know languages. The meaning for ‘Monrage’ has escaped me for some time.” She bit her lip, her eyes shifting away. “The word ‘Rakhai’ means ‘sisters’.”

  “Sisters,” Eliesmore repeated, his eyes locking onto Ellagine’s face as she studied the symbols she’d written. He caught a faint glimmer of green light, and sensed the topic was uncomfortable for her. Yet it seemed as if a key unlocked his mind, and he caught a glimpse of the knowledge she’d mentioned. The symbols rearranged themselves in front of his eyes, glowing, and as he gazed, he sensed the meaning. “It means ‘blended one,’” he said at last.

  Ellagine went still. She cocked her head, facing him; her eyes were guarded. “You do understand.” She nodded like an instructor who was both proud and frustrated with her student. “It has a darker meaning though,” she added. “Each symbol can have two meanings.”

  “Like Rededak,” Eliesmore went on, eager to impress her. “It means ‘The Dark’ or ‘Great-Black-Evil.’”

  A sudden gloominess cuts off the sunlight, and shadows grew long about them. A wind started to blow, tossing sparks and charred bits of wood toward Eliesmore’s face. He straightened, growing cold as he realized the words he spoke inadvertently invoked doom.

  “Words have power,” Ellagine whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
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br />   Glashar stood with a hand on Dathiem’s shoulder; her gaze was directed north. “We should go.” The wind snatched her words, ripping them away.

  “Put your weapons away,” Zhane called. “It is time to ride long and hard.”

  “All night,” Idrithar added, rising with his staff in hand.

  Yamier poured water on the fire. Wekin put his sword away and scrambled for his pack. Visra spread her wings, flying low toward the horses. Eliesmore reached for his pack, finding his fingers trembling as he rose.

  They set off with Idrithar in the lead, trotting toward the rolling hills and gathering speed as they approached flat lands. Eliesmore found himself riding close to Glashar and, knowing she had far sight, called out, “What do you see moving among the hills?”

  Glashar glanced over her shoulder, her long hair streaming out behind her. “Nothing yet. We must keep moving and allow our trail to grow faint. The Rakhai will not be merciful the next time they find us.” Eliesmore could see her shoulders quaking. “If our luck holds, we may cross the Jaded Sea before they find us.”

  “What’s that?” Wekin yelled as he rode up with Yamier not far behind him.

  “Prepare for long, sleepless nights of riding and then running after that,” Optimistic teased.

  “What?” exclaimed Wekin, his mouth dropping open. “I hadn’t bargained for this when I decided to join the company!”

  “Well, you are stuck now. There is no turning back,” Optimistic shouted as he galloped past.

  43

  Eliesmore

  Seven days passed and Eliesmore began to grow used to the friendly banter of his companions, the steady pace the horses kept, and the frayed edges of fear dancing away in the wind. The Rakhai seemed to have faded into obscurity because no warnings reached their ears. One afternoon, just as they were reaching the foothills of the Sandg Sizge Hills, the horses stopped. Idrithar waved for them to dismount, and Eliesmore, thinking nothing of it, settled down with the young Crons, fully intent on resting before traveling on into the night as usual. Idrithar, Zhane, and Dathiem moved among the horses, touching their heads and exchanging words. Finally, Idrithar turned and called, “Here we go our separate ways. Fastshed and company have decided to rejoin us on the other side of the Jaded Sea in Silversliversidell.”