The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  “What?” Wekin stopped digging through his pack. “Why? What are we supposed to do?”

  Idrithar frowned. “All White Steeds have free will and can choose how long to continue with us. Our road is perilous, and we must honor the requests of our comrades. As for what we will do, we will walk.”

  A hushed mummer swept through the company, and Eliesmore stood at a loss. His eyes fell on Flywinger, who had his head down. He was avoiding Eliesmore’s gaze. Idrithar leaned on his staff; his eyebrows took the shape of angry v’s as he watched the countryside. It was Arldrine who stepped forward. “Come. We must say goodbye.” She walked among them, much like Zhane and Dathiem, touching their noses, stroking their manes, and wishing them well.

  Optimistic was quick to join her, whispering words of blessing under his tongue as he weaved through each one. Visra gave a mocking laugh and walked on alone. “Of course, they choose to leave us,” she called. “We are too close to Daygone.”

  “Visra,” Ellagine scolded, joining her. “You should not say such things.”

  Visra merely laughed and spread her wings.

  Eliesmore walked up to Flywinger, a blanket of unease pricking his shoulders. “Must you go with them?” he asked.

  “Fastshed is our leader as Idrithar is yours.” Flywinger lowered his head. “I must do as I am commanded.”

  “Goodbye then,” Eliesmore offered, his shoulders slumping.

  The nine horses galloped southwest, and as they disappeared, Eliesmore felt like he was losing old friends. He could see their auras as they disappeared into the horizon, a grayish blur snapping in waves against the air. It reminded him of the conversation he’d had many years ago with one of the Idrains regarding auras, and he narrowed his eyes. Gray. What did it mean?

  “Cheer up, Eliesmore.” Optimistic walked up to him. “At least we will meet them again on the other side.”

  “They are gone though.” Eliesmore sighed, allowing his fears to surface. “Our journey will take twice as long, What if the Rakhai return? How will we defeat them if we cannot flee? Why did they leave us? Why are they afraid?”

  “It could be worse.” Optimistic’s tone was gentle and understanding. “We are still together, all eleven of us. The fates have been with us; perhaps the Rakhai will not return. Besides, there is strength in the company; we could all be going our separate ways. We are free White Steeds, yet we have chosen to come with you.”

  “You and I don’t have a choice in this,” Eliesmore huffed.

  “I would not have it any other way,” Optimistic mumbled.

  “Look at Glashar?” Wekin interrupted from behind them. “What is she doing?”

  Ahead of them, Glashar stood at the high point of a hill with Zhane and Dathiem on either side of her. Zhane was kneeling while Dathiem squatted with an arrow in his hand. Glashar tilted her head, first to one side and then the other. Her large ears moved back and forth as if she were listening to something almost indistinguishable.

  “The way she’s always on the watch scares me. You know she doesn’t even sleep!” Wekin went on, not allowing anyone to get a word in edgewise. “I wish she would relax like the rest of us.”

  “Like the rest of us?” Eliesmore repeated. “I’m not relaxed, even in sleep. I don’t think I will relax again until the three deeds are completed.”

  Wekin’s sharp blue eyes stared at him. They were round in shock. “I couldn’t do that!” he blurted out.

  “Look, Idrithar is stopping.” Yamier nudged Wekin.

  Wekin straightened up and put a hand over his mouth as if to keep himself from spewing out his opinions.

  “What happened?” Optimistic hurried forward to where Idrithar stood with Glashar, Zhane, and Dathiem.

  “From now on, we will go straight west across the hills.” Idrithar pointed.

  Eliesmore noted their route would keep them high up on the plateau; it was close to the summit where they would not have to tirelessly climb up and down the craggy hills. He took a deep breath, already feeling the veiled thinness in the air.

  “Be prepared,” Idrithar went on. “We move quickly and only stop when needed. We will not run all the time, but be ready.” His deep eyes swept over the company. “Glashar? What do you hear?”

  “I hear a strange call,” she admitted. “If I had to guess, I would say the Dark One in Daygone is sending out a message, calling something or someone. Listen.”

  They stood silently. Eliesmore glanced at each one, noting the way Ellagine turned her back to them and twisted her hands together. Closing his eyes, he opened his ears and listened. At first, there was nothing, and then he began to notice the wind across the hills and the odor of mud, dust, and something else. It was in the wind, yet it thudded across the ground. There was a voice that was so deep and quiet that it almost could be missed. It repeated a chant: “Harbfigula, owml fogethesta moragah.” Then it came again in a different language. Again and again, it repeated the chant in those two languages. Eliesmore listened, and an ache began in his heart. It spread throughout his body, taking root and dragging him toward the source. He wanted to and needed to march up and out of wherever he was. It seemed he was underground--climbing stairs, running through passages, and searching and yearning for the summit. He climbed and clawed. He lifted his weapon; he was ready to slay all he saw. Blood. He needed the blood to flow. He had to make it run.

  “I can’t stand it! I can’t! Make it stop!” Wekin shrieked, jolting Eliesmore out of his dark vision.

  Eliesmore found himself sweating. His arm was across his shoulder, and his hand clasped his sword hilt. As his vision cleared, he realized most of his companions were holding their weapons with their faces turned north.

  “It must be the Dark One,” Idrithar confirmed. “Calling something to join the war. Let us continue. Talk among yourselves lest the voice persuade you.”

  The Green Company moved forward across the barren hills, stomping over slabs of stone with dirt and brown grass in-between them. The Sandg Size Hills was a rocky, desolate country with few inhabitants, or so it seemed to Eliesmore. Once in a while, a raven would circle above them, screaming out a cry. The first time it happened, Wekin jumped, muttering curses and something about shooting it down and cooking it. The second time, Idrithar ordered them to keep the hoods of their cloaks up to obscure their presence on the hilltops. The sun beat down unmercifully. Eliesmore kept thrusting back his cloak, wishing for the chill of the night to sweep away the burning heat of the sunrays. His side began to ache, his pack was heavy, and the walking turned monotonous. Eliesmore glanced at Optimistic from time to time, remembering it could be worse.

  The second meal passed uneaten. Yamier appeared at each person’s elbow, giving dried meat and encouraging them to drink from their water skins to stay hydrated. Eliesmore accepted his food gratefully. He was hungry despite his irritation with Fastshed and company and his discomfort from the uncanny call originating from Daygone.

  Idrithar led the way, setting a quick pace over the hills. Ellagine walked beside him, and Eliesmore could not help but admire her beauty, even in the fog of his own uncertainty. From time to time, he could see the profile of her face; her expression was unreadable. Visra half-walked, half-floated behind her, making unpleasant remarks to Arldrine. Optimistic walked beside Eliesmore, humming under his breath as if he were not hot and bothered. Wekin and Yamier were behind them, singing offbeat words in tune to the ditty Optimistic hummed. Just behind them, Glashar, Dathiem, and Zhane walked.

  Music wove through the thin air, fragments pulsing through Eliesmore’s mind. They shut out the dark call that thudded through the ground. He noticed the entire company seemed to take up the tune. Some sang the words; others whistled or added their own variety of soft noise. It was contagious, and in that beautiful moment, Eliesmore felt his heart lift while the fears of his quest faded. Between beats, he felt he was back in the shady forest of the Iaen, preparing for a night of song and dance, and his heart swelled with joy. The drums tapped ou
t a rhythm while the creatures of the wood gathered. Warmth flooded his heart because he was one of them: young, wild, and free.

  Night came, bringing the cooler air. Idrithar waved for them to stop. “We may have a short rest before going on. Yamier, it is too dangerous to start a fire from this height.”

  They sat down among the boulders, each pulling food from their packs. The darkness and silence lay in hostile heaviness, weighing down their buoyant spirits.

  “Cold sausage would have been incredible today,” Wekin remarked, ignoring the death grip of grimness in the land.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Idrithar ordered.

  Wekin sighed as if he hadn’t heard. “There isn’t a town though. It would only cause more trouble.”

  Yamier changed the subject. “What will we do when we run out of food?”

  “We will find more when we reach Truemonix,” Zhane answered. “There is a store house for the White Steeds with supplies and boats for our journey across the Jaded Sea.”

  “Do we have time for a short lesson on languages?” Eliesmore turned in Ellagine’s direction.

  “Ci,” Ellagine replied, her face brightening.

  “It means ‘yes,’ right?” Eliesmore confirmed.

  Ellagine nodded. “Now you must learn some Blackbastia.”

  “It is the easiest language to learn.” Dathiem walked over. He picked up a stone to write in the dust.

  Eliesmore did not know exactly what to think of the tall, grim Tider. He seemed quiet, reserved, and always holding something back. The others appeared to have formed some sort of a bond with him, yet for some reason, Eliesmore found Dathiem difficult.

  Wekin, noticing Dathiem’s actions, murmured, “Humm…rocks and dirt mean maps." He snatched up a stone and began to draw a map of the Hill Countries.

  Meanwhile, Dathiem wrote out the Blackbastia alphabet, and with the last traces of light still surrounding them, Eliesmore looked at the alphabet writing.

  “It’s easy, you see,” Zhane, who had also come around, pointed out. “Blackbastia is written the same way the common tongue is written. The only exception is the order of the alphabet. The sounds are the same.”

  “I see.” Understanding dawned on Eliesmore. “So the word ‘journey’ would be spelled ‘vgqinxp’?” Eliesmore wrote in the dirt.

  “Ci, you have gotten it right. Now let us move on.” Idrithar stood.

  “Time to go already? We just stopped, and I haven’t finished my map,” Wekin complained.

  “Your map,” Idrithar stroked his beard. “Let me see it.”

  Eliesmore followed Idrithar and Dathiem over to look at the map. Wekin stood back, hands spread out to display his drawing of the hills they were traveling across.

  “That is correct.” Dathiem bent down and pointed to a hill. “We are about here. Before long, we will have to go down.”

  “Yes. Our path takes us across the farmlands of the north. Though it is early in the year and their plants aren’t as tall, our presence should go unnoticed.” Idrithar sighed as if something else weighed heavily on his mind. “Come, we will go downhill to find a shelter from searching eyes.”

  Eliesmore stared at the map of hills; he was curious about how they could make sense out of it. It just looked like lines scratched in the mud. Shrugging his shoulders, he hurried back to grab up his pack and join the rest of the company. As they walked across the hills before going down, Eliesmore thought he could hear the foul words repeating. He tried to block them out with his mind, yet they rang on, even though the potency he’d experienced before was gone. He thought about the words and questioned whom the Dark One was calling. Was he waking a beast to destroy them? Were the Rakhai not enough? The fear started again, and Eliesmore shook his black hair out of his eyes as if he could shake the anxiety away. His mind filled with a thousand questions for Idrithar.

  Time passed, and they started down a steep hill. It was barren and dusty with a scattering of shrubs the company held on to as they slipped their way downwards. When they got to the bottom, they looked back at the tall hills and felt quite small. Before them lay flat farmland. “We rest here tonight,” Idrithar told them, his warm voice enveloping the silence. “Be prepared to go on early tomorrow; we need to be seen by as few eyes as possible.”

  Wekin looked off in the direction of the farmland and sighed. “Only if there were bread and cheese, everything would be all better.”

  “First watch, Wekin!” Idrithar called.

  “What?” squeaked Wekin; he was astonished and horrified at the same time.

  “I’ve warned you before about making remarks about food,” Idrithar quipped. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have come if you are so worried about food.”

  “I wasn’t worried about food. It is just something interesting in life, like adventure,” Wekin complained.

  Eliesmore smiled to himself as he stretched out. He could see stars shining in the distance. Eliesmore looked over at Optimistic, who was already asleep. Soft snores drifted from his nose. It was another night they weren’t being chased. Another night in which they could sleep in peace.

  44

  Glashar

  The stone was cool beneath her, and she was thankful for the slight glimmer of moonlight as she watched. The shadows were quiet in the night; so far, nothing was moving on the outskirts of their encampment. Her fingers clenched her bow. She was alert and ready for movement. Dropping her eyelids, she watched Dathiem sleep beside her. He looked like a bronze statue with his eyes closed and his long, light lashes brushing his cheeks. The intense thunder of his gaze softened by dreams. She wanted to reach out, stroke his hair, touch his lips, and listen to his heart thump in his chest. If he belonged to her, she would without hesitation, but he had made his position clear. He would come to her when he was ready, leaving her in torture. Making a fist, she watched the golden glow of her lost powers settle around her skin. Traces were all she had left, the visages of a past life. If she were a Changer…A mirthless smile crept to her lips at the thought. If she were a Changer, she’d steal power from an immortal, ripping and tearing until she was whole again. Even that act required power. No, it would not work. There was no way for her to regain what she had lost. Instead, she would have to wait for him to love her, to say the words, and to take action.

  A deep breath escaped his parted lips, and his eyes fluttered. He was awakening. She turned away while he stretched, giving him those moments of privacy between sleeping and waking. He sat up hastily, reaching for his bow and rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?” His voice rumbled low, sending a tingle of emotion rippling down her spine.

  “Midnight.” Resting her chin on her fist, she leaned forward to watch him. He was solid and smelled like a blend of cedar, pine, hints of a rich wine, and splashes of a dark, earthy chocolate. When his eyes met hers, they were gentle. Rescuing herself from the drowning sensation, she added, “You should sleep longer.”

  “No,” he murmured. “I’m awake now. I should make the rounds.”

  “Don’t go.” She hoped it did not sound like she were begging. “You forget that I can see in the dark. All is quiet.”

  He paused mid-rise and sat back down, laying his bow at his feet. He gave her a half-smile, one corner of his face turning up; his eyes were soft. “I grow restless out here without the daily routine of the fortress. I always want something to do; my hands should be mending and healing and fixing. I should be studying or plotting or planning. I forget how easy it is to sit here with you under the moon and just be present.”

  “What did you do before?” She found herself gravitating toward him, slipping off the stone until her knees touched his. “Before you came to the fortress.”

  He glanced from the rock she had been sitting on to her, noting their close proximity. He was making calculations in his head. “Glashar, we should not speak of the past. Let’s stay in the here and now. See how the blades of grass stand upright in the moonlight? Watch the way the night flows around our companions. See h
ow they are sprawled out. They aren’t all asleep; they know better. If you listen close, you can hear the song of the night, weaving through tree and bough. It’s a wordless lullaby, singing us to sleep. Don’t you feel your eyes grow heavy as you listen? The moonlight flickers because it knows a secret it cannot tell. It hides its face yet comes again. See? The present is much better than the past.”

  He spread his arms, and when his fingers brushed her shoulder, she shuddered. “I see,” she whispered, unable to drag her eyes away from his face to see the shapes he was pointing out. She could hear the song of the night, a song which inspired her to dance. Instead of singing her to sleep, it woke her senses. The way Dathiem painted the night was beautiful, unlike the way the Idrains described the time when they were most active.

  “Do you truly never sleep?” His curious eyes strayed to hers.

  She shook her head. The last time she’d slept was after healing Eliesmore. The loss of power left her weak. “There is no need. I can tune out my consciousness, but it is not like the way you sleep.”

  He leaned back, tucking his hand behind his head and considering. After a moment, he reached out his other hand and pulled her to him, pressing her head to his chest and allowing his arm to drape around her shoulder. “Listen,” he whispered. “Just listen.”

  She breathed in, allowing his scent to envelop her as she smiled into his chest.

  45

  Eliesmore

  “How do you do it?” Eliesmore asked Optimistic.

  The Green Company was following a dirt road; white dust parted before their feet and swept away their existence as they passed. Golden fields, dotted with stripes of green, stretched high on either side. Hills rose in the distance with circular huts perched atop flat mounds, allowing the farmers to easily watch their fields from home.