Search for the Extinct [Last of Elves book 2]

Four: Kuraĝon

Kuraĝon

She enjoyed the travelling. Never quite knowing where they would end up for the night, never quite knowing where they were going. This journey was no different – to her, at least.

A change had come over her brother. He was quieter, if that was even possible, and his temper frayed more often. She couldn’t resist poking fun at him, though, enjoying the novelty of his anger. It wasn’t often that he lost his temper with her, and she wanted to learn how to do it properly, so she could do it again in the future.

The beastkins, too, enjoyed travelling. They had grown up lean and strong, skilled hunters because of their way of life. Hunaja was now half-grown, her legs too long for her body, but her tail seemed to be the right size. Vakt, because he was older, was more in proportion, but their paws were still too big for them. It would stay that way until they were adults. Until they were the height of an eight-year old child.

She followed her brother as he rode, but she could see that he wasn’t concentrating. His horse was receiving no direction at all, merely plodding along the path, and she began to grow worried. Deciding to speak to him about it, she urged her horse to walk alongside his.

“Ali? Is anything wrong?”

He looked at her, and his eyes seemed to be slightly darker than normal. “Not yet. Soon, perhaps.”

She frowned, utterly confounded. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head slightly, and nudged his horse faster. “But we’re running out of time.”

“Ali, where are we going? I don’t understand!”

Now ahead of her, he glanced back. “Åska,” he called back. “He’s calling.”

“But where?” Frustrated, she huffed, and looked down at the lanky beastkin keeping pace with her horse. “He’s crazy, Vakt. Crazy. I knew it had to happen sometime.”

The companion merely purred, and chased after Hunaja.

She sighed, her worry not leaving her. In all their ten years of traversing their homeland, she’d never seen him quite as driven as this. He’d pushed her, yes, and pushed the horses, but he’d always known, somewhat, where they would end up.

Now, she sensed that he didn’t. All he knew was that Åska was calling to him, and he needed to answer.

The huge old beastkin hadn’t been seen for years. He’d been a legend when she’d been just a girl, safe in the Dark Forest with her family. She’d heard of him around the Midwinter fire, when they’d shared the huge pot of stew that her mother had been making for days.

If he was a legend among the elves, then he was feared among the humans. She knew the stories they told of him. Of how he was never seen with the elf. How the elf was never seen at all. Of how he was almost a monster, something to be feared, and never spoken of. Of how Thunder was terrible, with flaming red eyes, and how he ate small children in the night when they were bad.

Their legends were different.

He was known as a protector. A kind and gentle giant. She knew that he was known as the biggest beastkin in their history, nearly as tall as a ten-year old child. He’d had dark fur, much darker than usual for beastkins. Her people had likened it to the colour of the earth, and told tales of how he had been born from the soil.

He was known as the Soul.

The one legend that she hadn’t liked about him, the one that had always given her bad dreams, was the one that told when he would be seen again. They said that when the last elf was dying, Åska would return, to take the elf. No one could guess where the elf would be taken, or what would happen to Åska afterwards. It was the common belief that the elf in question was Åska's companion.

They were to be reunited at last.

Now, as she gazed at her brother’s back, she felt the old fear returning, coiling uneasily in the pit of her stomach. If the old beastkin was truly calling to her brother, then he was possibly the last elf spoken about in the legend. He was going to die.

But if he was the last, it meant she would die first.