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

Fifteen: Naameh

Naameh

I never thought that he was that skilled. Even after talking to the captain, I didn’t imagine that he could do what he did. I still, though, have the feeling that he let me defeat him. That only makes it worse for me.

I must know what he can do. It is vital to the work he has to do, but how can I know if he refuses to tell me? He is insolent and ungrateful, distrusting of everything I try to do to help him.

Part of me doesn’t blame him.

What I showed him shocked him, I believe. But even though he accepted that, I can see that he wasn’t surprised that my people need it. I think he’s seen worse. Much, much worse.

I don’t want to try and imagine what he’s seen

If the stories of the elves are true, then he could be old. It is told that they can live for hundreds of years, that they only look to be young, despite their great age. It makes it hard to work out how old they are then.

But the stories could be just that. Stories. Like the beastkins.

The last beastkin that was seen, according to the stories, was the beastkin that belonged to the first elf. It is said that he brought the days of snow and ice, of fierce wind and unrelenting rain at the end of the Famine.

I don’t believe it. Nothing could have done that. There is magic in the land, yes, but it is fading. Even I, who is the most powerful, can no longer do what I used to. It seems like the elves are – were – the same.

I wonder if what he did today was what he actually wanted to. The plant only grew to twice its size. I know that when I was in my prime, I could do more. I can’t any more.

It’s grown too hard.

I can barely light the fire. Barely call for rain. Barely get a plant growing from a seed. Barely make music with the air.

I can still stir the air, and I do it, often. The sea breezes are becoming few and far between, and we need them. The River Sae is slowing, beginning to run dry.

I’m worried for my people, worried for their wellbeing and future.

Panthera is the key to that.

From what the goddess has shown me, he is the key to bringing back the health of the land. What she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, show me was how or why.

I don’t know what he has to do, what he is supposed to mean to me. If he’s even supposed to mean anything to me.

I’m scared of what could happen.

It’s at times like these that I hate my place in the world. Where I have no control over the destruction that might occur if he does something. If I do something.

I want to be normal. I never wanted to be the priestess, the oracle. They have given me many names, many titles, but the one that I am, they haven’t given.

I’m lonely. I’m alone. I’m tired.

I just want to lay down my duties, disappear into the background of the town. Give the title of High Priestess to someone else. Someone who deserves it.

Someone who wants it.

I want my own life, where all I need to worry about is my life. My children, my husband. The food that we work for on the table. I want to have a simple life, where no one knows me for what I can do, but knows me for who I am.

If I can get past the barriers that he’s put up, get into who he truly is, I don’t know what I will find. I’m scared to try, for fear of hurting him, or forcing him away. It is too risky right now, for the land. But what he said to me … about me being the lifeblood … I want to know what he meant. I want to know what he didn’t say.

I know that it is what he didn’t say that is important, but I don’t know how to ask him.

There are bruises on my elbows from his grip. I don’t think he realised at first that it was hurting me, or that he was even holding me that tightly. When he did, I saw the flash of shame in his eyes. He seems to be someone who doesn’t like hurting women, even if he appears to hate me. I don’t blame him if he does. After all, I am the one who’s taken him away from his home, the land, and his freedom. I just hope that in the end, he forgives me.