by V K Majzlik
His brother was also finding it difficult to comprehend. Although he did not feel jealous, he knew Nechan was different. They could never be as close as they used to be because Cradon would never be able to feel what Nechan felt. They had travelled different pathes to reach this point, experienced separate things, would their lives continue to diverge?
“Soldiers have been sent out to discover the whereabouts of the Dark Ones, but there is little we can do except let things unfold in their own time.”
“How so?”
“You did not expect this war would be won in a day, did you?”
“Well….”
Nymril laughed, a delicate sound floating like bird-song in the calm, warm air. In recent days her entire demeanour was lighter “This is just the start. There are many people who are yet to be turned to our ways of thinking, and many others who will never change.”
“But what is my role in all of this?”
“Your role is to help spread the peace. To survive and tell our story. But, your not alone in this task.” She placed a gentle hand on his forearm, a reassuring smile on her face.
Nechan shook his head, almost laughing to himself. He still found this all very hard to take in. Nervously he rubbed his bare arms, conscious of the markings he bore, perhaps slightly embarrassed of her touch.
Trying to maintain his composure, he continued walking, moving the conversation on. “Do you think I should return home?”
“Do you think you should?”
He sighed. “I know it is what my brother wishes, though he does not say in so many words. I, however.......” his words faltered.
“But you read this longing in his heart?”
“Yes,” he nodded, his expression one of anguish “I, however, am worried about returning. I want to stay and finish the fight, that's what I've been given this gift for, isn’t it?”
This was true. Whilst the battle had been won, a war was still raging throughout the Empire. There was still much work to be done before all evidence of the dark reign was obliterated. Small factions of clansmen and beasts remained loyal to the dark lords and their reign of tyranny. They would not bow down easily. Then there was the question of the three Rjukhan. When the fortress of Damankhur had been stormed by the Elves, it was found vacant. The Rjukhan had fled, living to see another day. With them still at large, a malignant, ominous threat would continue to hang over the Empire and any hope for peace. They would need to be found and killed, destroying their Dark Magic once and for all.
“I know you are concerned that you will no longer be accepted, but are you not merely delaying this by staying and fighting?”
Nechan knew she was right. He would have to face his family and friends at some point.
“What if people know I'm different? They will know that Cradon and I did not fight for the Empire. They will know that…….” He broke off again, unable to formulate his fears into words. It was a deep seated fear that had been eating into his nightly dreams.
“Nechan, for now you and I have done our part. A small number may have started the battle, but it is the masses that have to finish it.” The elf pushed her silver hair behind her ear again, glancing at Nechan. “You cannot stay here forever.”
“But why? Surely this is where I belong.” This was not the first time he had asked this.
“The age of White Magic is beginning. All elves must go out to the people. We must begin to prosper as one nation. Loreandril will no longer exist in its current form. There is more to a revolution than fighting” Instead of appearing sad at this prospect, Nymril seemed keen at the prospect.
A revolution; Nechan had not thought of recent events as a revolution. It suddenly dawned on him, “So you are all leaving?” Nechan was surprised, he had not comprehended this in their previous conversations.
The elf's laugh was musical and light. “We no longer need to live in hiding,” Nymril explained. “There is much we need to do before this is completely over and our work finished. But times will be good!” She took his hand, squeezing it, a beaming smile spreading.
Nechan could not help but smile in return, it was infectious.
A seed of excitement had sprouted.