Blood Memories [Last of Elves book 1] (NaNoWriMo 2014)

Three: Naameh

Naameh

I knew that he would come. I had seen him in the fire, seen him many, many years ago. His eyes have haunted my dreams. I knew when I saw him who he was. What he is. He’s been running for so long, yet it’s not easily seen in those dark blue depths.

He’s had to learn to hide himself. Disguise his true ways, disguise his true self. He’s too young for this, too young to be running, hiding, knowing that if he was caught, he would be killed.

It’s not right.

He should be with the land. Where he belongs. He is always on edge, only his eyes betraying his wariness. I know he hates the confines of the temple, the stone that presses in on him from all sides. But I cannot let him go.

He will be killed.

The law has made it clear that elves are to be killed on sight. But he is the key to our future. He has to stay, to learn, and to be safe.

I cannot let him die. Not when our world hangs in the balance. And I know that if he left, especially now, the townspeople would kill him. Already, they distrust him, for being different. For having the dark blue eyes of the past, instead of the green or brown that they are used to. He is so different to us humans. We don’t have that unconscious grace that he does, that ease with his surroundings, or the so very distinctive colour of his hair. The only reason he is not dead already is because they don’t believe he is an elf. The images they have of elves are of killers, of beings that come in the night with blood stained blades. Of long dark hair, and sharp teeth, fire in their eyes.

Instead, they believe that he is a merchant from the other side of Elseer, come to settle in the town for a few years before returning to his home. If they knew who he was, what he was, they would kill him.

Such a petty reason. Such a stupid reason. Yet powerful enough to unite the rich and the poor. The nobles and the merchants. Both classes, united for a few moments.

All because he is an elf.

And because the elves were to blame for the Great Famine, all those years ago. Before the days of snow and ice, of rain and wind. And, according to legend, the last days the elves were seen.

Sometimes, I wonder what makes us human. What makes us ourselves. Whether it is our childhood, or our adulthood. The trials we go through, or the teachings we learn.

Whatever the answer, he’s had it hard.

He has the look of the hunted.

I want to be able to wipe that look from his eyes. I want to help him, bring him back from the brink that I can see that he’s at. I want to know why he’s like that, what he’s hiding, why he’s fled his home.

I want to know why he ended up here, where the goddess wants him. She keeps sending me dreams of him, dreams of our land sinking into the ocean, or life flourishing once more. In every one, he is the centre. He is the reason for the changes. I have to help him get to his full potential, so that the land can be saved. So that the people can be saved, even if the elves couldn’t.

I hope he’s up to what the goddess has chosen for him. He has to have a steel core to him. An inner strength that he knows how to access.

If he doesn’t, nothing I can do will help him. If he doesn’t choose to let me help him, there’s nothing more I can do.

All I can do is hope.