The Unfulfilled Promise

PROLOGUE:

Staring accusingly at the landscape, the man watched from his crouched position as the miasmata clustered the final sunset. A crushed crimson backdrop shone through the livid, bruised-purple clouds, adding a damper to the dullness of the night, though, in the man's heart nothing could curb the unjust cruelty of life.

He had aged beyond what was thought to be impossible for his kind and yet the young here, tonight, had passed away, before his aged eyes, quicker than the buzz of emotion. After hiking up this treacherous hill-site with hundreds, he was now left to survive with merely one other- one too young to witness the atrocity of the night, one too determined to serve his so-called 'purpose' in life.

He glanced down at the life form beneath him as it shivered under the many cloaks piled on top of its chest, its ragged breathing fogging the air in short gusts of white; it's feeble life force only just clinging to its torso through the sheer stubbornness to prevent evil from prevailing. So fine was the interface between life and death.

Carefully overlooking the slain corpses littering the fields, the man lifted his gaze from beneath his grey unkempt eyebrows to the source of the fresh pitter-patter of on-coming rain. A lot more would be needed to cleanse the souls of tonight's troubles. Who judged victory as being sweet?

There would be no celebrations tomorrow, just the mourning of the many deaths. Funny how all of these deaths were caused by one wizard- a wizard who grew up rough, a wizard who took his pain and force fed it to the world. Funny how one victim of his taunting, more than half his age, had rose to defeat him.

"Poor boy," the old man muttered under his wilted whiskers. "You've accomplished what the people deemed you would achieve- but at what price?"

PART 1/6:

The moon hovered in the air, illuminating all within its grasp, highlighting the droplets of dew settled on the blades of grass that sparkled with diamond-like brilliance. A thin mist divided the earth viewers from the silver stars of the sky and only the pale flicker of lanterns hanging off of the low forest branches granted snapshots of the woodland's deeply carved paths.

The man sat on the stone ledge of the fortress, his legs hanging off the ledge and several metres away from the earth of the forest below. A gentle breeze coming from the western shore stroked through his long fine hair, which ran freely down his back. As part of his permission to stay here, he was obliged to consider the Elvish customs, one of which being to grow your hair.

He remembered fondly how Dumbledore had argued how his identity was not to be quashed by these 'finicky' customs and that they should not be an obligatory task, however, he was intrigued by the elves and could not give a shit about his identity. In his heart that other life was dead. He had a new name here- Kaleo.

Kaleo wore a forest-green waistcoat embroidered with golden leaves by the elf-maidens of the northern shore. Its toughness would withstand the rough labour of the hardest days yet it was silken to the touch. No one save the ones who crafted it knew how to produce this wondrous fabric and they passed their knowledge to their kin and their kin only.

The waistcoat had no fastenings along the front edging and so was left gaping, baring his defined, bronze chest. The power of the Elven shores had great healing powers and only one wound remained since the beginning of the half decade he had dwelt here. A pure-white, sinuous line slashed across his skin, sweeping diagonally from his right shoulder to slightly above his left hip.

That scar would remain with him till the end of his days. Replacing the lightening bolt on his forehead, this mark would now tell everyone who he was.

Absently tracing the tip of the mark with a finger, he cringed as he felt his cropped trousers snag on the rock beneath him. Kaatje would have his blood for this. There had not been a week gone past his stay when she did not have to repair something or other for him however he had a feeling she enjoyed doing it.

The others had told him about her 'infatuation'. Kaleo could easily admit that if his heart did not belong to a well-remembered promise then that infatuation could readily become a two-way situation.

Lightly hopping off of the ledge he quietly ambled inside. He stuck to the stone paving not wanting to get lost, for like the old Hogwarts castle things had a way of shifting around here. At the other end of the hall he could see the familiar transparent veils billowing in the breeze and he smiled as he quickened his pace.

Kaleo loved Kaatje's room. It was like being surrounded by a great gnarled tree. Twisting vines ran up the smooth, bark-like walls, blossoming delicate pastels at the ceiling and the earthen floor sprouted with the odd mushroom and toadstool here and there. The room was alive- nourished by Kaatje's compassionate touch. As long as Kaatje was well and alive, this garden would continue to flourish.

Walking towards the open balcony, Kaleo paused at Kaatje's dresser. He picked up a slender twig from her needle kit and propped his leg against a free branch examining the extent of his trouser's damage. It was only a little tear but enough to have Kaatje in fits no doubt, he mused. It took him a couple of minutes to thread the loose thread through the eye of the elfin twig but he did so eventually and prepared to start sewing.

"Oh no you don't- you always just manage to make it worse!"

The sudden voice behind him startled his thoughts, though not in a scared manner. The voice was smooth and glided through the air like silk against the skin. Looking up he caught sight of himself in the dresser's misted mirror and nearly jumped upon seeing the piercing emeralds staring back at him.

His eyes no longer hid behind those round-framed spectacles, his eyesight having taken it upon itself to cure itself and after the healing process a new fire kindled within them.

Behind his reflection, a figure of white stood in the doorway. Tall and slender, her beauty radiated around the whole room and Kaleo was certain it had somehow sensed her presence- twigs immediately began to curl and buds began to open greeting her arrival. It was Kaatje the elf-maiden, daughter of chief of healers.

Kaleo watched as her lips formed a small 'o' shape as she whistled a low note. Before he could stop it, the needle followed her command promptly by slipping away from between his thumb and fingers and settled on the palm of her hand.

"You would be better to leave the mending to me Kal."

She spoke in Elvish but Kaleo was able to understand. Five years at the sanctuary had not been for nothing. He had been taught in the lores of the Elves and had learnt in their ways of healing, combat and worship. He watched Kaatje's expression soften as her gaze reached his. Her sorrow was enough to make any bold man cry.

"Do not leave Kaleo, your happiness lies here. I know father says you are ready but why do you have to leave now? We are akin Kal- we share the same blood, we are both immortal. What happiness do you seek there that you do not already have here?"

Kaleo smiled at the elf-maiden. Only her wells of wisdom deceived her youthful figure. Hundreds of years she had spectated with those marble blue eyes yet to the elves she was still young. She was the symbol of eternal youth and so, it was said now, was he.

When he had come to the sanctuary for healing the elves had had to summon ancient magic to bring him round. It was this that had somehow connected him to the elf race.

He would never truly be healed of the ordeal he had faced but he was now fit to go back according to Kaatje's father. Kaleo had never truly understand why he had to wait for so long before he could leave but he was grateful to have had the chance to spend his time here.

"You have to understand Kaatje that I cannot hide here forever. I cannot stay here forever without seeing what is going on in the world now, sooner or later I will have to face up to the place where I came from," he answered, voicing the thoughts that had troubled his mind for some time now.

Kaatje sighed in agreement with the young man in front of her, knowing in her heart that he was right. She knew 'his' heart belonged to a promise made long ago but it hurt dearly to be so close, yet still so distant, to the one she would not have as her own. She handed him a long hooded cloak and, after a final embrace, gestured down past the steps of the open balcony and into the exposed freedom of the valley.