The vision faded before his eyes and as he strode out of Daygone, he saw them. Idrithar. Zhane. Yamier. Wekin. Optimistic. His old self would have been surprised to see them, standing over a battlefield, strewn with the bodies of dead woísts. However, now, he saw the great power that hovered above them, brought on by a combination of the weapons and the power of the Green Stone. Before anyone spoke, he heard the thud of marching.
“Woísts approach from the west,” Zhane shouted.
All heads turned, except for Idrithar’s. He stared at Eliesmore and Eliesmore stared back, walking right up to him. “Idrithar.”
“Eliesmore.”
“We must go to Sidell, where the Dark Figure resides. I know how to destroy her.”
“Her?” Idrithar’s eyes shifted past Eliesmore, staring into the wasteland. “Her. Tell me. What happened in Daygone? Where is the Dark One? Is the Phutal destroyed?”
Eliesmore frowned at the questions, the unsaid accusations. He clenched his fists, his eyes flashing as he stared at Idrithar. “The Dark One is dead. The Dark Figure has the Phutal. We must go to Her.”
“The woísts are marching; there is a vast army in the west. We must return to the fortress and retrieve your army. As we speak they are in training, the ships are being built, they are almost ready.”
Eliesmore gave a curt nod, moving past Idrithar. He saw the confusion on the faces of the others. They expected to meet him with joy and excitement, praising his accomplishments, patting him on the back. He knew something about his aura kept them in reserve, and he knew why and he hated himself.
“Eliesmore,” Optimistic called out to him, even as he pulled an arrow from his quiver, getting ready for the onslaught of the woísts. “What’s wrong?”
Eliesmore paused. Zikes. Kill the woísts. The red grass rushed forward, headed toward the marching.
“Whoa, what is that?” Wekin stepped back, mouth open as he stared at the carpet that moved on its own.
Eliesmore turned his eyes on the warriors who stood before him. Movement toward the woísts was forgotten as they stared at him. Optimistic alone moved. His arms came down, his bow fell to the ground, and he strode forward, a pillar of light as he reached out his arms. Not a word passed between them as Optimistic lifted his hands, touched Eliesmore’s head and closed his eyes. Eliesmore watched as if he were not there while vines shot out within him, wrapping around the darkness and holding it at bay. “Don’t listen to it.” Optimistic whispered. “Don’t let it control you.” He stepped back.
56
Eliesmore
The fog of hate and rage rolled away from Eliesmore’s mind, leaving an intense burning sensation radiating from his core. He nodded at his companions. “The Zikes will kill the woísts for us and clear a path to the fortress. We need the army. We have to return to the west as soon as possible.”
“Eliesmore, we are thankful you returned to us,” Zhane nodded at him, his face solemn. “You were in Daygone for seven days, we were worried…” he trailed off, unasked questions dropping like snowflakes to rest at their feet.
“Seven days?” Eliesmore raised an eyebrow, he hadn’t noticed the passage of time, yet when he read the book, the trance captured him body and soul.
“Will you tell us?” Zhane pressed on.
“No,” Eliesmore shook his head, glancing at Yamier and Wekin. The two were bigger, more muscular and their eyes glittered. An odd gold sheen surrounded them. Their auras were potent, yet it was the relentless buzz of adventure that made him move toward them. Yamier and Wekin had always been the least heroic, the most troublesome, yet, against all odds, there they were, standing outside of Daygone. At some point, they’d lost their cloaks, and their shirts were torn. Grime covered their faces, and their hair was slicked back from their faces with sweat. “What is done in Daygone is done. We have to ensure no one ever goes there again.”
“Seal it,” Idrithar suggested. “Use your power…”
“It will not hold,” Eliesmore swung his arms. “We need a solution other than a shield of protection. Barriers fail and fall; it is not enough.” He glanced at Yamier and Wekin again, holding their eyes for mere seconds. Treasure Hunters. Gifted Ones. Family lines. Bloodlines. They were the ones willing to risk everything, life and limb, for an adventure, for a story they could boast about later.
Idrithar gave a quick nod, his eyes thoughtful. “We will consider a resolution.”
“For now, we leave, we rouse the army, we march,” Eliesmore walked south. A moment of hesitation passed before the others turned and walked with him, weapons in hand.
He sensed their confusion, their restlessness as they moved. They had run, fought, and braved many dangers to join him in Daygone. Expectation of a great victory to celebrate coursed through their veins. His demeanor rendered them mute, and disappointment was swift although they tried to hide it as they walked.
They’d gone only a mile when he turned to face them, holding out a hand to halt their progress. “I apologize,” his voice came out flat, unapologetic. “My mind is consumed with dark things. Please. Talk. Distract me. Tell me of the journey across the west. Tell me what you saw. Tell me what you learned. My heart is heavy but do not let that stop you from celebrating our accomplishments.”
“Eliesmore…” Optimistic began but trailed off.
Zhane took a long drink from a water skin, shaking it for the last few drops before tossing it away. “The west lands are crawling with woísts, they are entering each city, although whether they are destroying the people groups who live there or holding them hostage is unknown. We saw them at Castle Range, in the Monoxie Meadows and entering the Torrents Towers. It is doubtful they will return to the Holesmoles after the Dark Figure is destroyed. They are intelligent beasts. It is likely they will continue with their orders, long after the Dark Figure is gone.”
Zhane launched into the tale of what happened to him and Idrithar after the battle at the Constel Heights. He explained the death of Dathiem, detailed the flight to Werivment and the reunion with Arldrine. From there, he and Idrithar ran across the lands toward Daygone, stealing a vessel from one of the storehouses of the Torrents Towers to cross the sea and running into Optimistic before they entered the border lines of Daygone.
Zhane did not explain why he and Idrithar separated from the others and Eliesmore did not press him on the topic. Instead, he watched Zhane’s hands as they held the sword of Crinte the Wise. Each of them carried their weapons openly as if afraid to put them away in case unforeseen monsters rose out of the ground and attacked them. Eliesmore noticed a white aura glowed around Zhane and oracles whisked off of the blade of his sword, fading into the light before Eliesmore could read them. Although, after the encounter in Daygone, he was not keen on reading any ancient words.
“We found a boat,” Wekin pipped out. For the first time, Eliesmore realized why Wekin talked so much. He was eager for attention and praise. He liked to bask in the glow of other’s opinions, whether it was praise or frustration, he fed on the thoughts of others while proceeding to do exactly what he desired. His character and strength of mind was strong. Wekin was also stubborn. Once he made up his mind, he did not change or lose faith. While he was conscious of right and wrong, and would own up to making mistakes, he’d rather slip through life enjoying adventure and eating bacon. Impatience bounced around Wekin like butterflies chasing each other. It was hard to look at Wekin’s bright aura and all the same hard to ignore it.
Wekin droned on, his excited chatter spinning across the air like the flower petals of Monoxie, dancing on the back of the friendly wind. He explained, in great detail, how he and Yamier saved the boat from the currents of Werivment, a place Eliesmore desired to visit as the opportunity arose. As they detailed their escapades fighting the woísts, Yamier spoke up. “The first time I lifted the bow, the bow of Marklus the Healer, I heard voices whispering around me. They told me what to do, where to point the arrows, and reminded me to watch my back.” A vague look of confusion pass
ed over Yamier’s glowing face as he spoke, holding up the bow, aiming toward the sky as he let an arrow fly.
“And the sword of Starman the Trazame…it…it…it fights for me,” Wekin’s words died off. “I told Yamier afterward; we had to do it again and see if it wasn’t just some stroke of fate. We couldn’t stop fighting woísts. There’s a thrill when it comes to fighting, a heady excitement because there’s no fear, we can’t lose. We have the power of the Heroes of Old. So next time the woísts come marching, Eliesmore. Call off your Zikes and let us fight. It’s all we want to do now.”
His eyes glowed brighter for a moment as he licked his lips, anticipating more bloodshed. For a moment flashbacks invaded Eliesmore’s mind. Now you yearn for years of peace, but it will bring boredom, and soon you will seek strife. You shall seek the ruin of all, which shall be your salvation. He stared at Wekin and Yamier in horror, wondering when they’d turned into such bloodthirsty warriors.
“We seek peace. Not war. Life. Not death,” the words fells quietly from his lips as he walked. “War is all that stands between us and peace, but when peace comes, we must have the good faith to enjoy it instead of seeking bloodshed.”
Wekin lifted an eyebrow. “Only if peace allows me to eat bacon by the barrel, and in honor of Dathiem, I will start drinking. Someone needs to honor his memory.”
A stab of irritation passed through Eliesmore, and he quickened his pace, suddenly wishing to be alone, away from the annoyance of conversation.
57
Arldrine
Arldrine felt a sinking feeling as they walked back into camp. The female Tider, their fearless leader rose, a cloud of anger hovering over her face. In one bound she snatched up her ax, and thundered toward them. “Why is she still here?”
“Dyinka,” Róta addressed her. Stepping forward, she quickly explained what happened.
“They refused her?” Dyinka stood with her hands on her hips, incredulous. “Do you understand what that means? We have to give them something, or they will slaughter us all.”
“Surely it will not come to that,” Arldrine spoke up tentatively, watching Dyinka’s face to see how far she could push. “You understand the ways of the people of the mountains, surely you can reason with them?”
“You understand nothing!” Dyinka snapped. “There is no reasoning with the Therian. A sacrifice must be given.”
“But why a mortal? A life? Surely a great kill would be more worthwhile to them. There must be a need for food to feed their clan.”
“It’s different.” Róta shook her head. "They hunt and feed themselves, but what they need are females to procreate. Their line is dying out just as the Ezincks are dying out. The old die young, the young do not live many moons, babies are born and yet they die. It is the way of the mountains, the way we were taught. Male and female must live separate, so we can be free and independent.”
Arldrine eyebrows creased. “What about marriage and families? Is there no such thing?”
“No,” Dyinka scowled. “Marriage to a male Therian means we come under his rule, it undermines our abilities. Therefore, a sacrifice is needed.”
“How can that be true? If two people love and respect each other, the union will not take away their freedom and independence. It will help make a greater impact in the world and create new life to build up a stronger tribe.”
“We have no knowledge of such ideas,” Dyinka’s dark eyes bored into Arldrine’s, challenging her way of thinking.
“No knowledge?” Arldrine went on, determined not to be intimidated. “You live and thrive because everyone does their part and together you are a stronger people. Take myself, for example, I have dreams for the Ezincks. I want to see them rise again but I am only one person. I came here to help but, as a whole, you are set against me. You are stronger than I because you have many on your side and you all have the same mindset. Imagine what we could accomplish if we join with the Therian? A sacrifice would no longer be required. You would find safety and security instead of waiting for an attack. Your numbers would improve and the concern of dying out will vanish. In believing in this false independence and forcing the males to walk away, you are limiting your freedoms. Division means we are alone, uniting means together can step into a new era.” Arldrine paused as she watched their faces, hoping against hope they would agree with her.
Dyinka stepped back, crossing her arms as she eyed Arldrine. It was Róta who spoke up. “Arldrine. I am sorry, but I don’t understand. We don’t need them. We are enough.”
“Male and female, we are enough,” Arldrine agreed, her thoughts forming as the words left her tongue. “We are enough as individuals. We can stand, we can fight, we can be strong and independent. We are enough. But if we choose to be together, if we choose a tribe, a clan, and if we go even further and choose a mate, everything changes. We think, not only of ourselves as independent, but as a whole. If we choose to unite with another, mind, body, and soul, it changes us. Now, self is the last thing we think about, we are concerned with the unit, with the whole. It is no longer about ourselves and what we choose, it’s about what is better for us, and if we operate in like-mindedness outside of our selfish thoughts, we can become so much more. The possibilities become infinite because we are together. I made a mistake in coming here alone. I always think I can do everything myself, and while that may be true, if I had listened to the one who chose me, it would be different now. He could intercede with the Therian on your behalf, and I could intercede on your behalf. He is one of them, and I could be one of you. I came alone, and I see now I was wrong.”
Dyinka’s frown deepened, and her eyes shifted back and forth as if weighing the words Arldrine spoke. Finally, she lifted her chin, and her voice came out harsh and firm. “Yes, you were wrong.” Spinning she lifted a hand and commanded, “Send her horse, Goldwind as a sacrifice. The Therian may relent if we send a talking beast.”
A bolt of fear struck Arldrine as if someone punched her gut. “No,” she clasped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop the urgent shriek of fear. She took a deep breath before she spoke again. “Please, you don’t understand. Goldwind is my friend.”
Dyinka narrowed her eyes. “We were more than willing to sacrifice you, what makes you think you can save your horse? You will stay here with us with your high-minded ideas, while they are not completely wrong, joining with the Therian is impossible.”
“Please, we can work through this!” Arldrine begged.
Dyinka turned her back and whistled. “Give the signal!”
Blood rushed to Arldrine’s head as she spun, picking a direction at random she dashed forward as the Ezinck warriors moved around her. “Goldwind!” She screamed. “Where are you?”
“Stop her!”
“Capture her!”
She dogged throwing a fist as a hand reached out. She kicked at the next body that came toward her and threw a punch as someone slammed into her back, tackling her to the ground. “No!” She shouted as a hand, heavy on her head, pressed her cheek to the stone. “You can’t do this! Please. We must figure out something else.”
“This is the Tribe of Minas, and you must bow before our authority,” Dyinka’s voice thundered. There was more, but fury roared through Arldrine’s ears as the sinking feeling returned and someone clotted her over her head. Her last thought before she sunk into darkness, was a cry for help. An ally. For their stubborn hearts refreshed to turn.
58
Optimistic
The call of a bird pierced the air, a high sweet note, calling, calling, calling. Optimistic tilted his head up, narrowing his blue eyes to watch. A black raven flew back and forth, yet it did not call out in warning, only surprise at the group of travelers walking across Sanga San. Sunshine warmed Optimistic’s shoulders, yet he still shivered with cold.
“It’s the turn of a new year,” Idrithar called. He’d found a thick branch when they crossed the Sang Sizge Hills and was using it as a walking stick. It made him appear more like the old Idrithar,
the wise Cron Optimistic had met so long ago.
“A new year?” Wekin rubbed his hands across his arms, attempting to warm up as his breath blew out in a white cloud, a halo above his head. “Don’t we usually name the new year?”
Frost and snow covered the ground, and even the red Zikes were slowing down, huddled together as if they’d rather be underground, or back in Daygone where the fires kept them warm.
Idrithar held up three fingers. “Since the reign of Magdela the Monrage, the naming of the years is controlled by the Black Steeds. It has been years since the White Steeds named the year. Last year was the Year of the Rakhai; this is the Year of the Great Conqueror.”
Eliesmore was silent although his green eyes glanced at Idrithar’s in acknowledgment. Optimistic watched, a growing discomfort surrounding him. When he touched Eliesmore, he felt the darkness swirling inside of him, and a deep hopelessness and sorrow. Even in the midst of darkness, the light of the Green Stone still pulsed and so Optimistic spoke the words to bury the darkness, yet Eliesmore was changed all the same. He was quiet and brooding. At times a vile expression of disgust came over his face and he walked faster with his head down, contemplating.
Hope was the reason they pushed forward, and Optimistic questioned what had happened in Daygone and wished he had been there with Eliesmore.
“The Year of the Great Conqueror,” Eliesmore repeated. “It will not be an easy year. We go to war. We will wipe the abominations of the Dark Figure and her army of woísts from the face of the Four Worlds.”
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 125