Search for the Extinct [Last of Elves book 2]

Thirty-Four: Kuraĝon

Kuraĝon

One sunny Midspring afternoon, the sun just touching the earth sending bursts of red and pink light across the sky, both Kuraĝon and Aura got a shock.

“Stop.”

The elf looked over her shoulder at her brother. He looked back at her, for once actually seeing her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. For a long time, she’d feared that he wouldn’t come back to them.

“What is it?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aura watching them closely, both beastkins sitting beside her horse. The nightbird was perched on the girl’s saddle, an inquisitive tilt to her head.

Ailill shook his head, his hair flying about his face. He pulled the reins out of Kuraĝon’s hands and turned off the dirt road.

“This way.”

She stared at him, but Aura was the one who moved.

What are you doing?

Kuraĝon snuffed a laugh, making him look back at them. “What?”

Aura repeated her question, and he grinned.

“Åska knows that I’m close,” he explained. “He’s weakened the call. I know where he is.”

The look of wonder on Aura’s face warmed Kuraĝon. Even with her human upbringing, she still had the sense of awe and wonder that was such an integral part of elfin society.

They urged their horses after his stallion, and the beastkins went to surge in front, as they were used to doing. Ailill hissed though, and they stopped, looking up at him.

“Here, you two,” Kuraĝon said, seeing that he wanted them behind. She exchanged a glance with Aura, but didn’t say anything else.

In silence, even the beastkins quiet, they followed Ailill deep into the forest that the road wound through. Bird sounds were muted, and there were very few animal sounds – sounds that were to be expected.

Riding single file behind Aura, Kuraĝon saw her shiver, and had to suppress her own. There was something odd about the forest, and she was beginning to wish that they’d left the girl with her mother. She knew Ailill wouldn’t have been able to do that, though.

Just as she hadn’t been able to let her brother do this alone.

It seemed like they rode for hours straight into the heart of the forest. Nothing changed, and the trees all stayed the same. Tall and strong, they pushed their branches to the sky. The dark green leaves soaked up the last of the sun’s rays, barely letting any down to the three riders. Darkness had just about fallen when Ailill halted his horse.

“Rest,” he said shortly, still staring towards the heart of the forest. “We’ll finish tomorrow.”

Kuraĝon hesitated. “Ali, you can’t vanish in the middle of the night.”

He glanced at her, a half-smile playing on his lips. “I won’t.”

Aura slid off her small mare to land amongst the beastkins. They were all nearly the same height, but she didn’t care.

Working together, all three of them set up camp. They had become very proficient at it, and never tried to do each other’s jobs. It made for a quick and effortless settling down. Ailill disappeared for a while with Hunaja, and as much as Kuraĝon worried, she knew that he would only have gone hunting.

She hoped.

The small hand on her arm made her turn, and she looked at Aura quizzically.

Can you teach me to cook?

Kuraĝon couldn’t help it. She laughed, hard enough that her stomach hurt, and tears were streaming down her face. She was still giggling helplessly when Ailill came back.

“What’s got you worked up?”

She snorted, and tried to speak. “Aura … she …”

“Let me guess. Cooking?” His voice was dry.

She nodded, and wiped her eyes, finally calming down. She caught sight of Aura, who looked more than a little hurt. Ailill saw it too, and answered kindly as he skinned the two rabbits he’d caught.

“She burns water, Stjärna,” he explained. “That’s why she’s stayed with me all these years. She can’t cook.”

Realisation dawned in the girl’s eyes, and she grinned. Can she teach me how to burn water then?

It was a cheeky question, and was so like Ailill that Kuraĝon felt a pang of loneliness. She pushed it away, determined not to spoil anything. She could sulk and complain to him later.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” she said, watching her brother turning to the makeshift spit. “There’s not enough water to practice with, Aura.”

The girl grinned again, and patted Hunaja as the beastkin attempted to crawl into her lap.

“Ali?”

He barely looked up from where he was staring into the fire, absently patting the feathered head and body of the nightbird. “Yeah?”

“What are you going to do when you find him? You know the legend.”

“I do. So do you. You’re not going to lose me, Kura.”

As always, he cut to the heart of what she was feeling. She glared at him, snatching her share of the meal and filling her mouth. He made no comment, and calmly gave Aura her share. The girl’s eyes were wide, and Kuraĝon guessed that she’d never heard the story before. She wasn’t in the mood to explain, but apparently Ailill was, for he started speaking again.

“You should probably know what happened, Stjärna,” he said softly. “You haven’t heard it, have you?”

Aura shook her head. No, she signed. My mother always refused to tell me.

“Smart woman,” Kuraĝon muttered, earning a sharp glare from her brother. “What?”

He only shook his head, and stared into the fire. With a silent sigh, Kuraĝon recognised the look in his eyes. Whether she wanted to or not, she would hear the tale again.

She refused to acknowledge the fact that it still scared her.

“The long-held belief of the elves is that the world was made by the first beastkin, and the first elf.” Her brother’s voice was quiet, different somehow. As always, he captured her attention, showing the rare skill of a true storyteller. He’d always been able to do it.

“The land of Elseer was filled with plenty. Enough food to go around, and enough space for all, animal, human and elf. When the First Pair were happy, they disappeared. No one knows where they are, or when they will return.”

Opposite Kuraĝon, Aura frowned. But who were they?

“The elf’s name is unknown, and the beastkin became known as Åska. Thunder.”

Aura’s eyes widened, and her fingers flew, rushing to say what she wanted to say. But … you said that he returned with the end of the Great Famine.

Ailill smiled, inclining his head. “You will do well to remember that,” he murmured. “But the legend has always been about the last elf.”

Aura nodded. They say the last elf is Thunder’s companion. But aren’t they already dead? It’s been so long.

Again, Ailill smiled. “That is where the humans misinterpret what they have heard,” he explained. “They hear that the last elf will call Åska out of hiding, and they fear that the old beastkin will be furious because of the slaughter after the Great Famine.”

So that isn’t what happens?

“I don’t believe so. The legend tells that the beastkin will only return when the last elf is dying, so that they die together. What the humans don’t understand that beastkins only ever have one companion. If Åska is reunited with the last elf, as the legend predicts, then the last elf is also the first elf.”