“Do what?” Optimistic raised his fair brows.
Eliesmore gestured toward the company. “Everyone likes you and prefers you.” He hated to admit it, but he found himself a bit jealous of Optimistic’s easygoing nature. Optimistic could laugh and tease Yamier and Wekin while exchanging lore of the Four Worlds with Arldrine. He could slide into a deep conversation with Zhane and Dathiem. Even Idrithar did not seem to mind taking time out of his pensive thoughts to speak with Optimistic. Ellagine smiled when he came near. Eliesmore had seen her aura, reaching out to Optimistic to welcome him. Visra’s hostile attitude became tolerable as they argued over lyrics, and Glashar’s concern for their safety was friendly instead of patronizing. “When you are near, everyone feels at ease. It feels…it feels…” He struggled for words to convey his meaning. “This quest seems possible.”
“It’s my nature to draw others to me,” Optimistic explained, although his face began to turn a pinker shade. “It is as my father told me. When it comes to others, they are interested in themselves. It is not selfish; it is simply the state of our world. If you can find what one truly desires, you gain a simple advantage.”
“Advantage?” Eliesmore wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand.”
“Nay, let me reword it. It is the understanding of one’s desires and how they are revealed that allow me to empathize. It might be a result of carrying the Green Stone or perhaps my inner quest for knowledge. Have you ever thought of the meeting of two people, particularly two individuals from different people groups? When you meet, each of you brings a past, rich with history, to the present moment. How do you find out about it? You must ask. There is a sort of a bond between two people when you share your past. Telling stories will always lighten your inner burden of worries, thus creating a kinship with those you share your concerns with. This is why I write songs. My father was poetic and set many words to lyrics. Repeating his habit and following in his footsteps makes me feel closer to the family I lost.” Optimistic swept his blond hair out of his eyes. Although there was sadness in his eyes, Eliesmore also saw a calmness. Optimistic was proud of his family and the values they passed on to him. He enjoyed speaking of them, letting the sorrow stand as a reminder of who he was.
“What was your father like?” Eliesmore asked, the heaviness of Optimistic’s words passing over him. Ask. That’s what he should do. Ask his companions for stories and for tales and try to understand their desires. It felt contradictory to attempt to care about others when he was at war with his own inner thoughts.
“He was brave.” Optimistic smiled. “During the time of Magdela the Monrage, he lived in a tribe in the west, a mix of Crons and Tiders. He left everything he knew to come east, bringing word of hope to the White Steeds. He also carried the Green Stone because he feared the Changers were growing too strong in the west and would soon discover his secret. My father was unselfish; he risked his life to return and help as many as he could escape from the wrath of the Black Steeds. I see him as a hero. By the time I was born, the terrors from his past had faded, and he was happy, funny even. You would have liked him. What was your father like?”
Eliesmore tasted the sourness of jealousy as he bit back his desired response. All the same, it came out harsher than he intended. “I never knew him.”
“Ah. I’m sorry.” Optimistic’s tone turned warm and understanding. “The pang of loss and never knowing isn’t a wound that heals. The Black Steeds have done this, ripping families apart and draining power. For that, they must pay.”
They were the most vicious words Eliesmore had ever heard Optimistic speak, yet they came out as a lament instead of angry. He opened his mouth to respond when Visra buzzed in front of them. “Eliesmore. Optimistic.” She grinned, showing all her teeth. “Why the gloomy faces?”
“We were speaking of loss.” Optimistic nodded encouragingly at her as she landed and folded her wings into the skin of her back.
Eliesmore grimaced at the movement; her aura continued to repulse him.
“Loss.” She grunted, sticking out her tongue in distaste. “Pathetic. Optimistic, I’ve thought of a fine phrase to complete our sonnet.”
“Tell me.” A light sprang to Optimistic’s eyes.
Visra leaned over, cupping her hand to whisper in his ear. Her body bumped Optimistic’s side while they walked. As she whispered, her eye caught Eliesmore’s; she wiggled her eyebrows and winked.
Blushing and swallowing hard, Eliesmore slowed his pace. He rubbed the back of his neck as he left Optimistic and Visra to their songwriting.
Yamier and Wekin sprung up on either side of him as if they’d been waiting for the opportune moment. “Whatever were you talking too Optimistic about?” Yamier quizzed.
“You seemed deep in conversation; it must have been extremely important,” Wekin added, his curious, dark blue eyes rounding and his eyebrows rising.
Eliesmore shrugged. “Optimistic was explaining something to me.”
“Oh. What?” Yamier rubbed his hands together.
“Something,” Eliesmore snapped, not realizing how short and brusque his answers sounded.
Yamier and Wekin exchanged glances. “You seem annoyed,” Wekin announced a bit bitterly.
Too late, Eliesmore realized he was doing the exact opposite of what Optimistic suggested. He’d allowed his vexation with Visra to push away Yamier and Wekin.
“If you don’t want to talk, we’ll find something else to do.” Wekin rolled his eyes.
“Wait…” Eliesmore started, fully intent on repenting. He was already too late.
Leaving Yamier to walk with Eliesmore, Wekin bounded ahead. He sniffed around the edges of a field before he snatched a plant out of the ground and came back shouting, “Look! Murthweeld! We’ll be rich!”
At the same time, two ferocious barks drowned out the sound of Wekin’s celebration.
Zhane grabbed Wekin’s arm and shouted to the rest, “Run!”
Eliesmore dashed forward, wondering what Murthweeld was.
Idrithar pointed north. “There’s an orchard up ahead. Scale the trees.”
A howl echoed through the farmland, followed by sharp barks and a growl. Eliesmore’s vision spun; he couldn’t see the animals, yet it sounded like they were surrounded. The howls and barks continued, raising the hair on Eliesmore’s back. The golden fields blurred before him, changing from gold, to green, and finally to gray. The shapes clicked in his mind before his eyes saw them. Dogs. Wolves. Black and gray creatures raced through the fields, running low on four legs. Their slobbering, pink tongues hung out of their mouths. A lone wolf sat back on its haunches on a hill. It turned back its head and sent a chilling call sweeping across the fields.
Idrithar was already at the orchard, swinging up into the trees in a spry way Eliesmore was surprised to see. Ellagine and Glashar were close behind him. Visra floated above the ground. She had a sword in her hand and a smirk on her face as she watched the creatures dash toward them.
Optimistic snatched at the branch of a tree and scrambled upward. Eliesmore arrived at the base of the tree and reached. A hand grabbed his arm and hauled him to a branch, resting on his shoulder to steady him. Eliesmore looked up and found Arldrine crouched beside him, already reaching for Yamier. He moved back; he was surprised at her ability to lift the Crons. Wekin had his head down; his unruly curls hung in his eyes.
By the time they had reached the lower tree branches, a pack of wolf dogs was at the base, howling and digging at the roots.
“Look!” Yamier squeaked. “They’ll uproot the tree!”
“No.” Zhane shook his head. “Nevertheless, we should move on.”
“Move on?” Wekin perked up, grabbing at a tree branch to steady himself as he swayed. “Where?”
“We go onward through the trees,” Idrithar explained. “The wolves are the least of our worries.” He pointed.
Eliesmore could see figures in the distance. They were Crons or Tiders. They conferred together, pointing to the wolves, b
efore taking out swords and walking downhill, toward the noise.
“I thought we would go unnoticed!” Eliesmore objected, touching his cloak as if to confirm it.
“There is nothing for it; they’ve seen us now,” Idrithar countered, muttering the last sentence under his breath. “The powers that keep us guarded are proving to be unreliable at times.”
They climbed through the treetops like squirrels, springing from bough to bough.
“I can kill them,” Visra shrieked to Idrithar; she waved her sword as she flew behind the company.
“Leave them be,” Idrithar called. “We only fight if we must. There is no need to heedlessly and recklessly spill blood.”
“I think there is,” Visra spun in midair. Her foot kicked out and collided with Glashar, who happened to be in her path.
Glashar hissed; a string of curses in Iaen fell from her lips as she whirled. For a second, the Jesnidrain and Falidrain stared at each other, the heat of crushed orange floated around them before bleeding into red anger. Eliesmore paused as he watched them; he was reminded of Optimistic’s explanation of Visra’s past. Glashar must have had something to do with it.
“Power-hungry tyrant.”
“Murderous villain.”
Words sharp as daggers coated the air.
“Coili!” Ellagine ordered in Iaen, a green fire seeping over her skin.
“Wekin,” Dathiem spoke up, diverting attention away from the smoldering Idrains. “Do you still have the plant?”
“Murthweeld? Yes.” Wekin’s shoulders slumped. “I have no desire to carry the cause of trouble. Here.” He tossed the green leaf he carried to Dathiem, who deftly caught it and held it up, examining it from every angle.
“What is Murthweeld?” Eliesmore asked as he climbed, grateful for the diversion.
“It is known for its mythical properties. It generally gives those who ingest unnatural strength and longevity. It was originally farmed by the Idrains,” Zhane explained.
“This is a fated discovery, Wekin,” Idrithar admonished him. “Perhaps all of your spontaneous urges are not wrong.”
Wekin hung his head, misunderstanding Idrithar’s words. “I did not mean to bring trouble raining down on our heads.”
“You are a young Cron still,” Idrithar added dryly.
“They are coming,” Dathiem pointed north.
Eliesmore peered through the greenery, watching as a few Crons stood on the edges of the orchard. They gazed at the trees. They spoke to each other, shrugging their shoulders and holding their hands up. One reached to the ground, lifted up something that looked like a rock, and hurled it at the trees.
“They think we are birds, eating the blossoms,” Zhane reasoned.
“We will move faster on the ground,” Ellagine pointed out. “If they see us, they see us.”
Idrithar grunted as Visra flew down, alighting on the ground and waiting for the wolves to leap toward her. A gray spotted wolf, almost as large as she was, leaped. She swiped at it with her sword, laughing as it sprang away at the last moment. Pushing off with her muscular legs, she left the ground, floating just out of reach as the wolf snarled and leaped again.
“I’ll help distract them,” Arldrine offered, sliding out of the tree. She swung on a branch before landing on her feet a few feet away from Visra. Lifting her bow, she nocked an arrow in it and let it fly.
“The rest of you, climb down on the other side of the orchard,” Idrithar instructed. “I’ll help keep the wolves distracted while you run.”
“If only Fastshed and company had stayed with us.” Wekin sighed, lifting his eyes to the sky. “We could have ridden out of this mess.”
“You must learn to live without horses to provide a hasty escape from trouble,” Idrithar reprimanded him.
Wekin pursed his lips, giving Idrithar a mixed glare of sorrow and disbelief.
As Eliesmore turned to follow Optimistic back to solid ground, a rock slammed into his head. Jagged pain took his vision for mere seconds, causing his eyes to water. He lost his grip on the tree and felt himself pitch forward, only to be caught by strong hands. One slipped over his head, and a gentle voice whispered, “Hítherald.”
The darkness rolled away, and the pain faded as if chased from his memory by beads of light. Eliesmore opened his eyes to find Dathiem beside him. The Tider removed his hand without offering an explanation and moved on.
“Mocteo, Eliesmore, with me,” Ellagine called.
Eliesmore nodded, glancing at Dathiem before climbing down the tree beside Ellagine. On the other side of the orchard, the wolves had begun to whine and growl, running in circles away from Visra and Arldrine. They strained as if an invisible fence had been built around them, keeping them from the Green Company.
Ellagine squeezed Eliesmore’s shoulder as their feet hit the soft ground. “They are coming,” she whispered. “Run.”
Zhane and Yamier were not far behind them as they set off across the farmland, all pretense of secrecy gone. As he ran, Eliesmore reminded himself this predicament was far better than being chased by the Rakhai. He glanced behind to see how the others were faring and if the wolves were chasing them. As he looked, he saw a black cloud moving toward them. As it neared, Eliesmore could hear the thunder of horse hooves pounding across the farmland, and in a split second, he thought he saw the white-black faces of the Monrages. When he looked again, he saw a company of Crons and Tiders rushing toward them.
“Avoid bloodshed if possible,” Idrithar ordered.
Somehow Eliesmore saw Idrithar had moved to the front of the company along with Arldrine and Glashar. Visra was behind, buzzing as she watched the horses and waving her sword in anticipation. Eliesmore saw a glint of blood; he doubted Visra would heed Idrithar’s words. From all accounts, she seemed set on bloodshed.
“It’s the Black Horse Lords,” Zhane shouted. “We need to avoid them.”
Eliesmore felt his pace slow as a cloud of dust enveloped him. He turned, trying to keep his head and stay with the company.
“Spread out,” Idrithar called.
But Eliesmore could not see him anymore. For a brief moment, he was alone in the cloud, smelling the foul stench of dung and unwashed bodies as the Black Horse Lords swept through the midst of the Green Company. Faces flickered in and out of his eyesight. Beaked noses. Thick beards. Shallow eyes. Bushy eyebrows. Armor glinted in the light. For mere moments, it seemed as if he saw a raven picking at a stump of dead flesh, blood black as ink spreading across the ground. Poison and rot were taking root, and there was nothing he could do.
Eliesmore heard a voice scream in panic: “Help! Help me!”
He choked on a cloud of dust and found himself standing still. The Black Horse Lords were gone as quickly as they had come, galloping north. The dust began to settle, and Eliesmore brushed it off his shoulders. His hands fell to his sword as he turned to rejoin the company.
Yamier’s eyes bulged out of his head as he pointed in the direction the Black Horse Lords had gone. “They took him!” he shouted. “We have to go after them. We have to save him!”
Eliesmore counted. He closed his eyes and found himself in the cloud of darkness again. This time, he saw it. Dark blue eyes in the midst of swirling dust, begging for help. He opened his eyes and counted his companions. Wekin was missing.
“Those who are lost, are lost,” Idrithar spoke with no emotion in his voice.
“No,” Yamier shouted, his face turning red in a fury. “We have to save him. You know they will take him to the Torsilo Quarts. It will be torture and then death. You can’t let that happen to Wekin!”
Idrithar bowed his head, making no move to address Yamier’s cries. The rest of the company stared aghast, looking from Idrithar to Yamier in confusion.
Eliesmore stepped forward, remembering when he was taken to the Torsilo Quarts. As troublesome as Wekin was, he was also a White Steed. Wasn’t that why Eliesmore was the One? To save the White Steeds from the Black Steeds? To save the world from th
e Changers? Letting Wekin fall to his doom would be counterproductive. Besides, if they tortured Wekin, eventually he would give up the details of the Green Company. How could Idrithar let that happen?
“Please?” Yamier was begging; his hands were clasped in front of him as he beseeched Idrithar. “Please.”
Eliesmore looked at the stunned faces surrounding him. They were waiting for a decision. Waiting for Idrithar.
“I’m going then.” Yamier crossed his arms. “I’m going to get Wekin.”
“I’ll come with you.” Eliesmore stepped toward Yamier, his heart thudding in his chest as his fingers gripped the Jeweled Sword.
Yamier stared at him in disbelief. “But you can’t. You’re the One.”
“I’m going,” Eliesmore affirmed, his voice quiet.
“Those who would go with Eliesmore and Yamier may go.” Idrithar lifted his head.
“Idrithar,” Zhane spoke suddenly. “Are you sure?”
Idrithar’s gaze was cold as he looked at Zhane. “Those who would go with Eliesmore and Yamier may go,” he repeated, his words driving into Zhane like a sword.
Zhane stood taller, folding his arms.
“I have been to the castle in the Torsilo Quarts,” Eliesmore spoke again. “I know what they will do to him.”
“You must travel with all speed,” Idrithar told him. “They have horses, and you are only on foot. You must do whatever it takes.”
“I will go,” Optimistic volunteered, moving to stand with Eliesmore and Yamier.
“I know the way.” Arldrine touched her bow as she joined them. “I will lead.”
“We will split, but not for long,” Idrithar said. “You four will go off after Wekin. The rest of us will hurry across the Sandg Sizge Hills in another direction to further confuse the Rakhai should they start following us.”
Remembering the Rakhai, Eliesmore felt disconcerted as he realized the power fighters would not be coming with him. He looked at Idrithar and then at Ellagine.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 89