The Complete Four Worlds Series

by Angela J. Ford

  “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” A collection of voices rang out.

  Eliesmore turned toward the east and saw Idrithar running toward them, leaping over the cracks in the ground. Visra twirled as she flew and Captain Elidar ran at her side. Optimistic led the remaining archers while Yamier, Wekin, Skip, Bruthen, and Sir Regante moved toward the city. The ground shuddered as it began to close, taking the army it has swallowed with it into the pit of darkness.

  “For the White Steeds!” Wekin shouted, raising his sword.

  Spirits renewed the army surged forward, and this time nothing could stop them. The remaining woísts tried to stand firm, yet they were buried under the avalanche as the White Steeds broke open the gates and hurled into the city, streaming over the cobblestone roads like water, taking down anyone and anything that stood in their way.

  As Eliesmore ran, he saw the city was built in layers all pointing toward the center. Buildings lined the roads in a matter Eliesmore had never seen before, being used to the countryside. As he moved to the center of the city, a river of water rushed in, filling a bubbling stream that moved in the center, shooting hot steam off into the air. He paused, listening.

  The Zikes scattered, searching. They rushed past him, rutting out those who ran, those in hiding. The army moved westward in a river of green and white, chasing the remaining woísts. The city was theirs, it seemed to be over, yet a niggling crept over Eliesmore. Where was she? If he had been in Castle Range or Daygone, he would have sought a tower, high enough from the ground where the mortals crawled, and close enough to the heavens. Wasn’t that what the Changers desired, to commune with the stars above? The black words from the book rang in his mind, and he shuddered as the sky turned even blacker than it was. A cold wind began to blow as a shadow from the east hung over the city. Heart thudding Eliesmore turned slowly, sword in hand, aware of what he would see, standing behind him.

  She stood in the middle of the battlefield, her ironclad feet propped up on the dead bodies of her army. One hand was outstretched, tossing her giant shadow over the city as if she claimed it for her own. Her body was covered in a long dark robe, and a silver chain hung about her waist, glittering in the dying light. Her skin was pale, almost a ghostly pale as if she was not used to the light of the sun. Her face looked as if it were chiseled out of marble, the high eyebrows, curved cheeks, and a pointed chin. Her lips were blood red in her heart-shaped face, and one eye was black while the other was red. He saw the resemblance then. She looked like her brother, Sarhorr, the female equivalent of him.

  She opened her mouth and let a sound usher forth. It sounded like the roar of a deadly beast mixed with the wild winds of Oceantic and the thunder of a quake. The cobblestones beneath Eliesmore’s feet began to break, and the great walls of the city of Sidell crumbled into dust. Pillars of dust and rubble rose above Eliesmore, and the cries and shouts of those nearest the destruction seemed to fade into the distance as he strode toward her. He lifted the Jeweled Sword, squeezing the hilt until the jewels were embedded into his palm. A surge of white-hot heat burned through his body and sweat poured from his temples as he sped up, running toward the monster who stood in the battlefield of destruction and glory, ready to curse her demise.

  A bolt struck him before his feet left the city and Eliesmore was hurled backward, his head sticking hard against a rock. He blinked as darkness covered his vision, and white spots danced before his eyes. With a grunt he pulled himself it a sitting position, noting the sticky red blood matting his head. In a fury, he rose, allowing a cry of anger to pour out of him. The pain faded away as darkness took over and he strode forward once more.

  She beckoned to him with one dark hand while with the other she held up a whip. Her arm bent in a graceful arch as she snapped her whip and the nine tongues of it hissed a song of death. Eliesmore saw the ends of the whip were the heads of snakes, with eyes of lava and tongues of fire. Pulling back her arm she released the whip, and it shot out, its heads lolling as they reached across the battlefield for Eliesmore. Before the whip could wrap around him, he sliced through it with the Jeweled Sword, ducking as another dark bolt moved toward him.

  A malevolent laugh swept over him although he barely heard it as he moved toward her. As she pulled back the whip, the nine missing heads grew on it again, and he saw the object around her neck. It shone with a dark luster, a combination of obsidian and starlight, glistening with brilliance. There was a pulse of outer-worldliness, and yet, as he stared, he realized it was the item he sought. The Phutal.

  She noticed his eye lingering on her neckpiece, and she covered it with her long, wicked fingers, hissing in disdain. She charged forward, her dark hair moving above her like an elusive cloud, dark and deadly with reaching fingers of its own, striving to choke out the light and cover the lands in darkness. Eliesmore stormed across the battlefield, his feet crushing black armor and white bone as he shouted, lifting the Jeweled Sword to strike the Dark Figure.

  The nine-headed whip hissed out once more, lashing through the air with a sharp bark, spewing venom. Maneuvering past it Eliesmore ducked, moving with lightning speed as he came face to face with the Dark Figure. A wave of dark power permeated the air, and the scent of blood hung heavy around her, as if she had taken the souls of mortals, used their bodies as vessels, and drank her fill until she was bloated on their life force. The air whistled around Eliesmore as he stood face to face with her and a sudden weightlessness captured him as his body was lifted into the air. She reached out a hand, and his mind slowed down, moving with sluggishness as her fingers gripped his neck like a claw. He brought up the Jeweled Sword, determined to remove her presence from the Four Worlds when the whip wrapped itself around his sword arm. Tiny mouths leeched through his armor and sunk through his shirt, irritating the skin of his arms and prying his fingers free. The Jeweled Sword dropped like a stone, and Eliesmore kicked in panic as the fingers tightened around his windpipe and the Dark Figure lifted him high into the air.

  He gasped for breath, his eyes growing wide with panic. His mind began to shut down as the venom from the snakes flowed into his body, cutting off his union with the Green Light. The valve from which the power of creation flowed closed down, and he sunk in misery as the cold eyes of the Dark Figure bored into him. She blinked once, allowing her eyes to turn blood red, the same color as the ring the Dark One, Sarhorr, had dropped in Daygone. A vague mist swirled around Eliesmore and the Dark Figure as they faced each other. She seemed oddly calm in the situation and in control as if his coming did not concern her, as if the armies of the White Steeds were not enough to dismantle her ultimate plan.

  Her red mouth opened, and words as wicked and evil as the black words written in the book in Daygone came out. The hope that had struck Eliesmore when Zhane and Arldrine appeared in the white light forsook him, and the darkness within him rose with icy determination to squeeze his will into a bleak nonexistence.

  In vain he struggled while her grasp strengthened, and her nails pierced the soft flesh of his neck. Her worlds moved around him until he could not only see but also hear them. The words of his vision. “You are not the One. Your fate is a game. Created by Sarhorr, my misguided brother. Perpetuated by those he deceived. The Green People. You have lost. Because you are too blind to see. I shall win this game. Because I alone understand the rules. Failure is your reward.”

  Her words dripped like poison, striking his body as he shriveled and sank from her. As the last words curved from her forked tongue, she pulled back her arm and hurled him north. Eliesmore’s vision blurred, and he thought he saw jewels pour through the air, like sand poured out of a bag, flowing endlessly until a wave of blackness rose up, and the eternal lights were banished into darkness.

  77

  Eliesmore

  Pain seared Eliesmore’s body as he landed as if his skin had been ranked over with hot coals. His neck swelled, and each breath was agony as he rose to his knees. Holding his head in his hands, he touched his forehead to the heated grou
nd and leaned forward, rocking back and forth as soundless sobs shook his body.

  When he lifted his eyes, he saw her standing in a glory of violent darkness. She waved her hand, mowing through the army of the White Steeds as she searched. His heart sank with dread as she moved toward the flagpole, and by the time he regained his footing and ran, he already knew it was too late. Somehow, he knew what she planned next, what she wanted to do, the bait she would use to ensnare him. The game did not end here and now, there was something she wanted from him, something he should have realized all along. It would not be enough to enslave the people of the South World and turn their hearts and mind to worship her. It would not be enough for them to bow their knees and swear allegiance to her. She wanted, nay, she craved the power of the Green Stone, just like her brothers. She desired ultimate power to win although she’d paralyzed his motions. The words he’d learned in Daygone danced before him and as much.

  You cannot save the world. In saving the world, you bring about the damnation of the Four Worlds. Yet if you would plunge ahead, you must understand, ultimate power belongs to the immortals.

  As he did not want to believe them, he knew, without doubt, they were true. This was the curse the Truth Tellers spoke of. It was the weight of knowledge he bore. He willed his body to move faster, tearing through the agony he felt even as every footstep sent a jolt of healing power through him.

  She paused when she reached the flagpole and with a wave the archers scattered, their bodies soaring through the air like flower petals in the wild wind. Before she reached out, Eliesmore felt a quake in his heart, and his far-seeing eyes revealed what he hoped wasn’t true. She snatched up Optimistic by his hair, flinging his weapons to the other end of the battlefield.

  Thunder roared through Eliesmore’s ears, and he saw the warriors who stood rally. Lifting their weapons, they dashed heedlessly toward Optimistic’s salvation. The Dark Figure faced them, a smirk spreading across her face as if they were nothing but a fly on her back. Holding Optimistic close to her body, she lifted a hand up to her neck. A flare of power surged across the open field, and a ripple of light rose in the air as she stepped through the portal and disappeared. It closed almost as quickly as she had opened it, yet allowing Eliesmore to see a glimpse of where they went. He willed his feet faster, recalling the tales of the remnants of portals. He reached the opening as the smell of acid burning stung his nostrils, and he jumped, the tang of electricity moving around him.

  Nothing happened. He stomped the ground in frustration before trying again, running back and forth through the ring where the portal had opened, hoping to trip through remnants and follow them through. He heard Optimistic cry out from a distance as the Dark Figure pulled him close, sniffing the aroma of his power. Eliesmore closed his eyes and held his hands out, pulling the surge of power toward him. Sensory input flowed through him, lush green grass, cold gray stone, the Green Light beaming down in full intensity, creatures of glass grieving in their frozen state while the guardians kept watch. The Rain Warriors.

  “Eliesmore!” A cry jerked him away from the sights and smells, and he turned, standing in the heap of destruction. Cries and moans emitted around him while death and destruction stretched as far as the eye could see. Black dust settled around prone bodies, hiding the endless streams of rusted blood that flowed toward the Jaded Sea. Eliesmore blinked as the remaining warriors walked out of the gloom, gathering around him as a snuffling silence overcame the air.

  Zhane and Arldrine strode toward him, the urgency gone from their footsteps as a host of Tiders and Ezincks, both male and female, covered in war paint moved behind him. Eliesmore stared, as if seeing them for the first time, a fearsome army with two forms, both mortal and beasts. A thought began in his mind, yet its meaning was lost as he noticed Idrithar with his warriors, walk toward them. Visra hovered above the ground to the right of Captain Elidar. Sir Regante and Mattio walked to the left of Idrithar. Yamier and Wekin ran up, wide-eyed, mouths agape as they stared. Skip, Bruthen, Wyndler and Trecon stood with them, hands on their weapons, grime covering their faces. The horror of what they’d just seen pierced Eliesmore’s soul. It seemed as if he could hear their thoughts, a lack of trust in his abilities to protect them. They had just seen him bested by the Dark Figure and she’d taken the Jeweled Sword along with Optimistic. He couldn’t blame the horror, the creeping hopelessness in their eyes. Their shoulders slumped, their eyes strayed to the massive number of those they had lost.

  “Eliesmore,” Zhane’s voice called to him once again.

  Eliesmore met the Tider’s eyes. Zhane held both his swords, one in each hand, his feet planted. His brown eyes were calm, steady, imparting strength. His thoughts were not those of devastation and hopelessness. He was ready to move forward, to take the next step, to do what needed to be done.

  “What did you see?”

  “They went to the Constel Heights,” Eliesmore gasped.

  “What must you do?” Zhane encouraged him.

  “We have to go to Castle Range. I know what I need to do,” Eliesmore walked toward Zhane and Arldrine, noting the white luminosity that glowed about them. “How quickly can you get me there?”

  Zhane gestured toward Arldrine who nodded. “The Therian and the Tribe of Minas will escort you there.”

  Lythe padded up, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “I’m coming with you,” he brushed up against Eliesmore. Eliesmore nodded, grabbing Lythe’s mane and holding on as if it were his lifeline.

  “Idrithar,” Eliesmore turned back. “Take care of the army.”

  Idrithar bowed his head, hiding his expression. “We will meet you in Castle Range.”

  A host circled around Eliesmore, and they ran north, away from the battle at Sidell and the dark smudge of hopelessness. Eliesmore’s feet touched the ground for moments before he found himself lifted and he became airborne. They flew upward into a storm of dark clouds with the mist floating around them. Far below in the ground, Eliesmore heard the heart of the Four Worlds weeping as clouds covered the Green Light and a horned shadow reared its head across the bleak skies.

  78

  Idrithar

  Idrithar lit the fires, igniting the tips of arrows, showing the remaining archers how to let them fly. The night deepened as they stacked the bodies, separating White Steeds from Black Steeds. The Mermis weaved around them, bringing refreshment for the warriors, holding those who wept, their hearts deepened with sorrow. Visra played a mournful flute, the sounds of tears weaving with the hot flames flickering, eating up the field of blood.

  Indonesia stood with Idrithar as the fires burned, the pyres the only bright lights of night. “The army must go, this is only a reminder of loss. They will need to march into the sunlight, march into the mountains.”

  “Many will fall away because of what happened here,” Idrithar mused, crossing his arms.

  Indonesia turned to face him, her expression deep with sorrow. She placed a hand on his heart. “Not if you persuade them. They fought well, I saw it, and I saw the power of the weapons of Our Father.”

  “They saw failure,” Idrithar interrupted, meeting her eyes. “They saw the failure of the One, the loss of the Jeweled Sword, and a victory for darkness. They saw what happened in the past repeated. Even if Eliesmore succeeds in the Constel Heights, what happened here will not be forgotten.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “That’s the reason the old people are gone, that’s the reason only the young ones remain, it’s because they are impressionable, and they remember what they saw with their own eyes, the things the Changers wanted them to see. If all they know is darkness, how will they respond to right? How will they know the difference between good and evil?”

  “You must show them. Around us, I have seen White Steeds step into their powers. You saw Zhane and Arldrine descend from the mountains with a lost army. You saw the strength of Wekin the Warrior and what he and Yamier can accomplish when they stand together. You saw the unwavering f
aith of Visra and Captain Elidar as they fight together. You, yourself, have power beyond your imagination. Use it. That’s what power is for. Eliesmore left you his army, he left you in charge.”

  “Yes, he did,” Idrithar raised his head, his eyes growing hard as his gaze drifted toward the burning pyres. With a sudden movement, he grabbed Indonesia’s arm. “Before, you took the army back to the fortress, because you wanted to wait for Eliesmore. You claimed the army would follow him.”

  A hint of a smile touched her cheeks although she did not let it shine through. “My actions were not because of Eliesmore. My actions were because of what you will do. Yes. You. You are clever and wise. You understand timing, and you understand more lore and deep mysteries of knowledge than you will ever reveal. Now you have everything you need to fulfill your plans,” she cocked her head. “It is your time now.”

  Idrithar stood tall, stepping back. “At daybreak, gather the army, I must speak to them.”

  79

  Wekin

  “This is bad, isn’t it?” Wekin whispered to Yamier as they watched the army gather. The Mermis had called for a gathering in the city and Idrithar was preparing a speech before they left. “Remember how long we took to cross the mountains before? We will not make it in time, not even if Idrithar blows the Horn of Shilmi, which I doubt he’ll do. I don’t know how we will reach Optimistic in time. I hope he still lives. I can’t get that creature out of my head. She was beautiful and ghastly and wicked all at once. Did you see the evil pour out of her like a river? She’s the first Changer I’ve seen, and I hope the last. How will Eliesmore best her?”