The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  Eliesmore tore the blade from his shoulder, a growl escaping from his throat as he reeled against the pain. A warm stream of blood ran down his shoulders, soaking his shirt through to his tunic. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he stumbled over to where the Monrage lay burning and drove the Jeweled Sword through her heart. A nauseating pain swept over him. Somewhere, deep below the ground, he thought he heard a deep, evil laugh, strong enough to send goosebumps down his arms, although he was sweating from exhaustion and pain. He limped away from the battle, fighting to keep consciousness when a word came to him, as clearly as if someone had whispered it in his ear. Hítherald.

  36

  Eliesmore

  A cool wind woke Eliesmore, stirring him from the depths of dreamless sleep. Fingers tugged at his cloak, but when he opened his eyes, no one lay beside him. Skip and Bruthen lay curled up, back to back, fists clenched tightly as if ready to spring into action the moment they awoke. Eliesmore felt a momentary sorrow for them, lost in the world of dreams where sleep was their only peace. He hoped their nightmares were gone, and when they woke, they’d remember they were safe. For now.

  Optimistic met his gaze, a hand resting on Lythe’s back. Earlier that evening, Eliesmore had appeared before his companions, soaked in blood. The word in Iaen closed the wound, all the same, he had few words to say to them, other than. “It’s done.”

  Now Eliesmore rose, putting a finger to his lips. “I will scout ahead,” he whispered, even though there was no need. He desired time alone while invisible fingers continued to tug at him. Turning, he tiptoed over the dead leaves, the strong odor of cedar wood pulling him onwards while once again he felt as if he were being lead forward by some hidden force. A faint reminder of the call of the Iaen touched his mind, bringing a bittersweet nostalgia before it faded away in entirety. Pausing, Eliesmore leaned against a wide nut-brown tree trunk, hardly daring to breathe. Unsure of what he waited for, his eyes flittered across the forest floor, noting the bright yellow leaves mixed with the decaying rot of a death. The wind blew back and forth, collecting leaves and whirling them together into mini cyclones. As Eliesmore observed he noticed the wind seemed denser to him. At times, he thought he saw something more than the wind, but no, it was only his imagination. The wind was only a gust of air.

  He closed his eyes, sinking into his thoughts as a chatting flowed through the air. His eyes popped open as a swirl of brown leaves rose. They twirled like a dancer during his nights of dancing with the Iaen, wild and out of control, drunk on the strange elixir of light. The leaves rose higher into the air like a funnel, spinning into a frenzy as they rose three, four, five feet in the air before rising to six. A rush of excitement thrummed through Eliesmore’s body until the leaves froze midway and dropped to the forest floor as effortlessly as someone tossing them away. In their place rose an astonishing creature. The being stood at least six feet tall, and as she turned, Eliesmore saw she was a lady. Her light brown skin glowed in the dim forest light as she faced Eliesmore. He knew, without a doubt, he looked upon the wind-lady. At first thought, she reminded him of the Iaen, yet as he took in her appearance, he realized she was nothing like the mythical beings he used to sing and dance with in the wild woods of Shimla. The wind-lady’s round cheeks curved up in a smile. “I have returned,” her voice crept through the air. Eliesmore felt as if a lover had snuck to his side, whispering enduring words into his ear.

  His mouth hung open as he observed her, noting her voluminous curves, and the way her blue and white dress offered him a full view of her smooth legs while hugging the curves of her hips and chests. The material of her gown responded to a hidden breeze, covering her form for moments, giving her brief hits of modesty before revealing her natural beauty again. Her hair streamed out, dancing on the ends of a breeze as she walked toward Eliesmore, leaves stirring and rustling under her bare feet. “Long have I been gone from this world, but the Lady of the Green People bade me return and follow you, as long as you are in the west, playing in my meadows.”

  “Aye, you have been the wind following us,” Eliesmore exclaimed, realization dawning on him. He watched her dark eyes and round face, her lips were full, and her long fingers danced as she spoke as if playing an unseen stringed instrument.

  “Aye, you speak the truth. I have come to express my gratitude for your service and curing my meadows from the scourge of the Rakhai, those creatures of darkness. You have entered the forest, a realm not of my domain. At the end of the forest, you shall reach the Jaded Sea.”

  “I know,” Eliesmore replied, “and I thank you for following me.” He felt unsure about the wind-lady keeping watch over him; she seemed quite young although, like the Iaen he was sure her age was indefinite. “Where do you come from? I have never heard the tale of the wind-lady.”

  Dark eyes considered him, and as her gaze meet his, he realized she was much older than he’d anticipated. “You are thinking of the Iaen, those glorious immortals you love.” She cocked her head at him. “You are disappointed I am nothing like them.”

  “N-noo,” Eliesmore stuttered, his face turning warm. “Only, you mentioned the Lady of the Green People sent you.”

  “Yes,” the wind-lady whispered. “None can compare to her beauty, yet I am nothing like them. My father was a Cron, Locklen, they called him. I come from the Western World through portals, although the Monoxie meadows have always been mine.”

  “I don’t understand,” Eliesmore admitted.

  “Nor should you, not all things in this world should be understood. There are mysteries far and wide; you should let them be, lest you destroy your mind. To be all powerful, all knowledgeable is not a desire mortals should have.” Lifting a finger, she pointed at him, gasping in surprise. “You are a blended one yet you are not like them, you are one like my father’s brother, one who is gifted.”

  “Gifted. I suppose,” Eliesmore mused, not following the cryptic conversation. “I am the One. I have dissolved the Green Stone. I carry the Jeweled Sword.”

  “Aye, this I know,” leaves stirred around the wind-lady’s feet. “I came to grant you a gift in exchange for a favor. Should you return to these meadows, grant me a boon and bring me a mortal worthy of these meadows.”

  “It is not up to me to grant you what you desire,” Eliesmore admitted. “I will do my best since you have guarded my passage through your lands. What do you offer me?”

  “You have honored my meadows with your passing, now, let me guide your journey across the Jaded Sea. My winds will steer your passage, opening the paths of the sea before you, speeding your journey back east.”

  Eliesmore watched her calmly explaining. “Why?” the words dropped like a stone from his lips.

  A flash appeared across her face, a mix between displeasure and a foreign emotion. Her voice did not change as she uttered the next words. “The Lady of the Green bade me come to your aid. One does not take lightly the words of the Green People.” There was something else, Eliesmore was sure of it as the wind-lady spun, lifting her hands, her form wavering as the wind rose. Her words ceased, and Eliesmore was certain she was hiding her true opinion from him. “I give you the blessing of the wind, may your road open before ye and all of nature bow in your presence.”

  Eliesmore bowed his head, accepting her blessing. When he lifted his eyes to hers again, she had disappeared, and nothing but a slight stirring of leaves told him she had been there at all. He took a step forward, lifting his face upwards, searching for any sign up her. The air was still and silent.

  “Your name.” He whispered. “You did not give me a name.”

  Two hands appeared from behind a tree trunk, and he saw her long tangled hair as her face peeked out. “Never give a name. To know a name is to hold power over someone. When you reach the shore and find a ship, I will guide your way to the Eastern Hill Countries. Until then, Eliesmore.”

  She dropped his name like a stone as she flittered away, this time a rush of leaves rose to follow her, threading their way throu
gh the thick trees and out of sight. A pang struck Eliesmore’s heart as he stood in the wood, and one name rose to his lips. He whispered it, wondering why he wished she would appear before him. “Ellagine.”

  37

  Idrithar

  “I saw Eliesmore standing in a tower,” Zhane explained as he and Idrithar sat in the grass. Hiding. Before them stretched an unending army of woísts. Idrithar watched them travel north, splitting off east and west in certain areas. It was an army to shake the hearts of the people groups, a force to reckon with. Fear was a foreign emotion to him; he only felt frustration, and sometimes hints of anger.

  “Go on,” he grunted.

  “He was furious. I could see rage pouring out of him. The quest went wrong.”

  “Because he was angry?”

  Zhane narrowed his eyes, facing Idrithar. “The emotions were strong, potent. I could sense the darkness, the anger roaring over me.”

  “You understand, visions of the future aren't fixed, they can be changed.”

  “Yes, which is why we are running. If we reach Daygone before Eliesmore, we can warn him.”

  Idrithar pursed his lips. “How do you propose we warn him? If we make him aware of this, we could force his hand, causing the vision to come true.”

  “And if we don’t warn him, we could allow the vision to happen,” Zhane’s voice came out clipped and hard.

  “What will happen, will happen,” Idrithar countered. “Regardless, we have to keep moving. The woísts continue to march, we have to go through them or around them.”

  Idrithar trailed off, feeling no motivation to keep moving. Zhane glanced at him and turned his dark head back to study the woísts.

  After a few moments, Zhane spoke again. “We should consider our next plan of action after the three deeds are complete. The South World will descend into chaos as the people groups discover their new-found freedom. It’s been well over a hundred years. We need to teach them how to behave, how to live and how to accept freedom from tannery.”

  “You share a concern of mine. Without the pressure and fear of the Changers and the Black Steeds, what will the people groups do? Are they more inclined toward good or evil? There is another, more concerning matter I haven’t discussed with you.”

  Zhane raised his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest. “We haven’t discussed before? This is alarming news; please share.”

  Idrithar stroked his beard for a moment before continuing. “I have reason to believe the Rakhai, under orders of the Changers, have killed off almost everyone who was alive during the time of Magdela the Monrage. Although we have been discreet in our travels, word spreads and the rumors are far-flung. There is a reason the young live while the elders are slain.”

  Zhane nodded, his eyes dark as he considered Idrithar’s words. “The Black Steeds have always seen fit to massacre White Steeds, do you believe you’re focusing on the elders? Why would they be targeted?”

  “Zhane, think of all the White Steeds you know now. Think of your past life in the mountains, with your clan. How old were the elders? Was there anyone alive older than I?”

  “Yes,” Zhane spoke quickly even as his brows furrowed. “I am sure of it, there were many older than myself…” his voice trailed off as he spun, turning his entire body to face Idrithar. “One by one, they were killed or died. I know some were still alive before I left but that was many years ago. The burdens of this world are too heavy to carry; sometimes death seems a worthy escape.”

  Idrithar sniffed. “What dark secrets were told in the time of Magdela the Monrage? What truths and untruths were spread throughout the people groups? What do the elders know that no one is supposed to know?”

  “Idrithar. Your speculations are dangerous. It is possible that there is truth to what you say, but we cannot fix what we don’t know. All we can do is move forward, complete the three deeds and teach the people groups how to live in harmony with each other as we bring peace to the South World. I understand that you are one of the Wise Ones. You are a Seeker. Unanswered questions will continue to rise before you. We were concerned about the Rakhai, and look, we succeeded. The Green Stone has been dissolved. Perhaps there is a reason the elders are dead; perhaps it is nothing. We should run while we can, and fight what is tangible, instead of this hidden knowledge you bring up over and over again.”

  “Aye,” Idrithar wagged his head. “My friend, your words make sense, but I am concerned. If we don’t ask the tough questions, what has happened before will happen again. History is doomed to repeat itself. If I can search the wisdom of the world and find knowledge that will halt the progression of darkness, I would do so. I am not saying we shouldn’t take action, nay, I am warning you. We are walking a dangerous path, and we are not aware of all the nuances in our way. Knowledge is what will save us, strength and knowledge. If we are wise, if we ask the right questions, it will keep us from making false assumptions and falling into folly. I cannot help but consider whether we mortals stand a chance, or if the Changers are toying with us. How do we know?”

  Zhane drew his sword and pointed it west. “We will go find out. I see the towers in the distance, they twinkle. We are nearing the sea, let’s take our chances and run.”

  38

  Arldrine

  Arldrine stood on the slope of a mountain peak while the wind rushed around her. The dull roar of life blew through the evergreen treetops, shaking pine needles in its wake, tossing them unceremoniously into the cracks of the sharp rocks. Her journey across the seven rivers had taken much longer than expected. Yet afterward, Goldwind rushed her to the peaks where they entered the lower mountain ranges. The air was queer up there in the mountains, cold, crisp, and odd. Arldrine felt as if she were intruding on sacred ground, and each rustle of underbrush, crack of a branch, or scatter of rocks rolling down the mountainside made her want to scurry into a hiding place. The inhabitants of the mountain were close, she was sure of it. Yet what was watching her was unknown. She dismounted, walking up the slope, although her foot throbbed with a dull pain, less painful, more annoying, like a dull ache. Above her rose fog and she could see only the trees, digging their roots into the rock, searching for water. If she continued upward, eventually she’d come to a place where she’d have to climb and leave Goldwind behind. She pushed the nagging thought out of her head, consulting her mind for knowledge regarding the Cascade Mountains.

  A low growl, echoing off the stones, made her jump. Glancing back to Goldwind she held a finger to her lips, cautioning against further movement. For a moment she wished she had gone with Yamier and Wekin, down the river, instead of treading deeper into enemy territory. There was one question which continued to invade her thoughts. What did the white motes mean? Why did they only appear when she touched Zhane? What gift had been given to her? Her moments with Zhane were far too brief, and her fingers tingled as she considered the day when the opportunity would grant her the good fortune to spend time with the tall Tider from the west.

  Another howl shook her out of her musing, and she paused, perceiving a hollow point between two trees, a shallow cave for her to take shelter. Turning back to meet Goldwind’s eyes, she pointed. When she turned back, two eyes stared back at her and before she could react a weapon came hurling out of the blackness, and a sudden pain struck her head. She faltered, reaching out a hand to keep herself upright as pain seized her. Darkness blasted across her vision, shutting out the light. She reached for an arrow, biting her tongue to keep herself conscious but it was already too late. She wavered and collapsed. Goldwind’s scream of terror was the last sound she heard as curses flew through her mind, and the darkness took over.

  Arldrine woke in darkness. Opening her eyes, she noted the blackness, realizing she must be blindfolded. Her wrists were tied tightly behind her back, and her head throbbed. She was upright, which made her assume she was tied to a structure. Using the only sense she had left, she strained her ears, hoping to hear something useful. Voices murmured around her in a crude
tongue. Words, rough, and unfamiliar whispered through the air. Arldrine felt her heart rate increase, thudding against her chest in a way that made her feel nauseous. Her hands trembled as she twisted her wrists, hoping to wear down the knots and free herself. It was difficult to keep an Ezinck in captivity because her people group were known for their astounding strength. A rustling sound made her pause, and a wind of movement swept over her face.

  “Call Dyinka,” a voice whispered. “The prisoner is awake.”

  Arldrine froze.

  A few moments later, she heard the gentle pad of footsteps, like the slunk of a wildcat as it neared her. Nostrils sniffed at her as rough hands grabbed her arms, removing her from the structure she was tied to. Although her hands were bound behind her, she attempted to move her feet as they dragged her forward. A sickening hum of silence invaded her ears as they brought her to a halt and, without ceremony, ripped off the blindfold.

  Arldrine blinked in discomfort as daylight streamed into her eyes. Tears threatened to drip down her face, yet she held her head high, taking deep, long breaths to calm her heartbeat. She would not panic in front of this tribe, this clan that claimed her. She would make the White Steeds proud, come what may.

  As her vision became used to the light, she saw broad evergreens towering above her, yet it seemed she was in an opening, with trees and craggy rocks rising on all sides, like the bowels of the mountains. She gasped as her eyes took in the people standing before her, they ranged in size, yet they stood before her, grim faces, smudged with grime. Each held a stick or staff in one hand, expressionless faces turned toward Arldrine, watching, waiting. What made her gasp in surprise, forgetting the fear of the unknown, and the question of what they would do to her, were the people standing before her. They were Ezincks, dark-skinned with shiny black hair and taunt muscles from roaming up and down the mountainside. Speech abandoned her as she stared, an avalanche of emotions hurled through her mind, like stones rolling down the mountain.