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

Thirteen: Panthera

Panthera

His rest was nowhere near restful. His past crept into his dreams, tormenting him with what had happened, and what could have happened had he been there. Not knowing that he was making sounds of distress, he moved around in his sleep, trying in vain to escape the memories.

It was only when the moon slipped into the room, bathing his troubled face in light, that he woke, gratefully sliding into reality. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he rubbed his face, the image of his sister stark against the black of his eyelids.

She had been distraught when he’d left her.

Sighing, he did the only thing he knew that would calm him. Brushing the dividing curtain aside, he stepped onto the terrace, leaning against the railing as he closed his eyes.

The cool night breeze flowed around him, calming him. The sound of the River Sae was a deep roar in the background, overlaid with the calls and whispers of the nightbirds. They were an interesting animal, with four clawed feet and wings like a bat that were lightly feathered, and about the size of a medium dog. The rest of their body was covered in light fur, all different shades of black and brown. They were called Terrors by the humans, but they weren’t something to be afraid of. They ate only small animals, mostly rodents, easily hunting them with their sharp eyesight and even sharper beaks.

It was their call that inspired the terror. Designed to make their prey freeze with fright, it was an eerie, high-pitched call that lanced through whoever heard it. The elves had long admired the nightbirds for their stealth and skill at hunting, and many of their art and carvings had mimicked the powerful creature. Their songs had picked up the danger of them, the beauty of them, and tried to capture it.

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and he cast his eyes over the Sae, to the woods that edged the walls. Called Mutestep Wood, it was nearly as dark as the Dark Forest, but since the well used trade route wound through it, it didn’t have the dark reputation as its sister forest.

He knew the woods well, had lived among the trees for a number of years. Just as he knew the Dark Forest well. He knew most of the land like the back of his hand. He’d travelled far and wide during his years, learning his swordsmanship from the best he could find, and learning the ways of the wild. All to survive.

To hide himself, he’d travelled.

He’d travelled all over the land, going as far from his home place in the Dark Forest as he could. Memories followed him to begin with, and he’d run, fleeing the grief that had caused him to leave. The Western Wasteland had been home for only a few weeks, the heat and sun soon becoming too hot to stay. He’d travelled constantly after that, staying in the various towns and villages littered across the land, never staying more than a few days at most. He couldn’t afford to be caught, to be recognised. Wherever he’d stayed, he’d made sure to keep his belongings on him at all times.

He couldn’t take the risk of being recognised for what he was. The bounty that had been placed on elves after Famine had never been removed, and being recognised meant being caught. Being caught meant being taken to Highstone, and being taken to Highstone meant being executed.

All for something that his people had never done.

So he’d kept moving. He knew that his sister had wanted to follow him, to find him again and try to persuade him to come back, but they both knew deep down that it wasn’t an option. He’d had no choice but to leave, and she’d had no choice but to stay.

He’d roamed the land, his feet never content to stay still. Always, though, he was always heading for the eastern coast, where Highstone stood proud and strong on the cliffs.

It was only when he’d come to Highstone, the capital of the land of Elseer, that he’d felt the urge to settle for longer. He’d found a home, a plain merchants house that wouldn’t attract attention, and stayed. He didn’t mind Highstone, didn’t mind that it was on the far east of the land, almost cut off by the River Sae. On a clear day, the ocean spread out below the city as far as the eye could see, and the Sae thundered along its banks, eager to reach the salty sea. The only thing he hated were the high stone walls that surrounded the city, giving it its name.

He had to stay though. Not only because the priestess would refuse to let him leave, but because the earth was calling him here. There was a reason he’d been forced to leave his home, forced to travel and hone his sword skills. Forced to come to Highstone, even forced to be shut away in the temple.

He could feel the life force of the earth, and the land. It was being drained away, and he was the key to helping it. Him, and the priestess.

As he watched the quiet night, the conversation drifted back to him in bits and pieces. It was reasonable to assume that she wanted to see his swordplay, but he wasn’t going to give in easily. She would have to work to see it, to make him reveal even a little of what he knew.

Even if he was made to fight the captain again, he wasn’t going to kill. Too much blood had stained the blade of his sword over the years of the Famine, and he wasn’t going to begin again.