Page 12 of They Call Me Blue

“Two elves arrived at our camp today, carrying a blue-skinned child. I know little about them, except they possess forbidden knowledge from before the Great War. Their scientific research may finally give us the tools to protect ourselves against elgrew, but their child could doom us all. Only time will tell.”

—Roskan of Blackwood, Chieftain of the A’sow Tribe

Personal Journal

“ L eave. You’re not welcome here.” The elven spotter readjusts his dagger, but the blade quivers in his hand, giving away his lack of experience.

It’s hard to tell how old an elf is after they’ve reached their Age of Majority—we don’t age past that—but if I had to guess, I’d assume this one isn’t much older than me.

His ears are pointier than most, the tips bound and stretched beyond their natural length.

A common custom amongst the Lok’owe Tribe.

I hold Nirissa tighter and rest the bulk of her weight against my hip. My arms ache. My bare feet are covered in thorny cuts and weeping blisters. Eyelids drooping, I force myself to meet the spotter’s gaze—not to stare at those hideously long ears his people consider beautiful.

“Please,” I whisper. “We have nowhere else to go.”

We’ve been to all the other tribes already—the Zel’nok, the Bra’ven, the Kantelli, and the Jakir. Like the Starra’lee soldier predicted, no one wants us.

A sympathetic look flashes across his features, but then it’s snuffed out by the crunching of nearby leaves. We both whirl toward the sound, scanning a patch of orange razorbushes and violet canopy.

No one’s there.

“I’m sorry, Blue,” he says, sheathing his blade. It shinks as it hits the inside of a rusted scabbard. “I knew your parents. They were good fae.”

“My name isn’t Blue,” I hiss, lowering my voice to keep from waking my sister. She snores against my chest, drool oozing through my leather breastwrap. “My name is Arden.”

“Arden, then.” He sweeps a silver, flyaway hair back into his bun. A sliver of black elgrew bone juts between the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay with us. Your skin draws elgrew like manure draws flies. We’d be found and burned in a week.”

Every other camp has said the same thing since the last attack. Even with the bite mark covered, they believe we're harbingers of death. I haven’t found our tribe yet, likely because they don’t want to be found.

Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back and shove past him, toward the orange razorbushes where another spotter is likely seated.

It’s been weeks. Surely someone will show mercy on us and take us in.

I can’t do this on my own. I’m too young to have a child, let alone care for one; I barely know how to care for myself.

The spotter clambers behind me, rushing to catch up, stomping over fallen leaves and tangled vines. Like me, his feet are bare.

“I know you’re in there,” I say, stooping in front of the bushes. Each leaf ends in a sharp, serrated point, thick enough to cut skin. A little boy pops out, barely older than my sister, his body covered in leather armor, his eyes hidden behind goggles with green-colored lenses—my father’s goggles.

Fenris. I glance up into the canopy, but he’s nowhere in sight.

It makes sense that my tribe would join up with a larger group, given their losses. There’s safety in numbers. But if Fenris is here, why won’t he show his face?

“How many times have I told you not to play around on the forest floor?” The spotter growls. Stepping between me and the razorbush, he yanks the child to his feet. “An elgrew could have found you!”

Nirissa stirs, rubbing the sleep from her matted eyelids. “Arri, where are we?”

I stroke her long silver hair and kiss her forehead. “Nowhere, bug. Go back to sleep.”

The boy grumbles, wriggling out of the spotter’s grasp.

He stomps up to me and removes Dad’s goggles, revealing one milky eye and one gray.

His mutilated face is split down the middle.

On the left side, he looks perfect, but on the right .

. . I do my best not to stare at the lumpy mess of raised flesh.

“Your skin!” He beams up at me, but only half his mouth turns into a smile. “Did you know you’re blue?”

The amazement in his eyes is unmistakable. So few elves are born anything other than dark gray, and the ones who are, are quickly snatched up by elgrew and either eaten, turned into jewelry, or bred. I’m probably the first elf he’s ever seen that doesn’t look uniform.

Before I can speak, Nirissa yawns. “Did you know your face is weird?”

“Bug, that’s not very nice,” I snap.

She only blinks at me. “But it is weird.”

“I’m not weird. You’re weird.” The boy sticks his tongue out, and the spotter steps between us yet again.

“Excuse him. My son is…My son is not supposed to be here. Go back to camp with the others before an elgrew comes and snatches the rest of your face.”

His body pales.

“Fine,” he says, crossing his arms. “You’re no fun anyway.” The boy pivots and vanishes past the razorbushes. Grasses and leaves sway with his movements, and I track the steps, assessing the final moment he disappears. Bark crumbles and rains from a tree several yards away.

Got you.

I move to follow. If I can talk to Fenris or the tribal elders . . . If I can plead my case . . .

The spotter jumps in front of me and outstretches his arms. “No, Arden.”

“But we’ll die.”

Phantom pains travel up the scars on my palm, reminding me my time is limited. I’ve been marked. Claimed.

“Please,” I say again.

The canopy rustles overhead, so subtly an elgrew might mistake it for wind. At first, I had mistaken it too, only finding the spotter because I knew what subtleties to look for. Elven villages are safe—deadly even to the elgrew who hunt in small numbers. I need them to protect me.

No one can protect you, warns that gnawing voice in the back of my head. Lyrick will come.

“If we let you in,” the spotter says, his gaze shifting to the glove covering my mark, “we’ll all die. That bite will lead the Hunters straight to us. I won’t trade my son’s life for yours. Please don’t ask me to.”

“I’ll cut my hand off,” I blurt. What’s a hand compared to their protection? If I’m trapped out here alone, I’m dead anyway.

“That’s not how bites work. The venom’s in your system now. Hand or no hand, your master will be able to track you.”

My nose crinkles at the vile word. “Then take Nirissa.”

He shakes his head. “You share a bloodline. Her offspring could be blue, too, and then where would we be? I’m sorry, Arden. We can’t.”

The words are a punch to the gut. As they sink in, my knees buckle and I slide to the forest floor. Twigs dig into my worn, animal-skin pants. Dewy ground wets them. I fumble for words, but none come.

The spotter squats beside me and removes the blade from his belt. Reaching for my hand, he folds it over Lyrick’s teeth marks. “Don’t let yourself be taken. What happens in Kariss is worse than anything they might do to you out here.”

“What are you saying?” I rasp.

His jaw hardens, and the softness in his eyes disappears. “I’m saying the blade will be a kindness to her and to you. When you die, your souls will be absorbed into the Korring-Marr. You’ll be at peace.”

Kill myself.

Kill my baby sister.

A small hand reaches for my cheek, wiping at tears I didn't realize I'd been crying. I can’t bring myself to look at her, to admit I’ve failed, that my skin has condemned us both.

I blink past the burning in my eyes, holding onto Nirissa as tightly as I can as warm tears spill into her perfectly normal, perfectly silver hair. This is all my fault.

The sheath digs into my palm, and when I look back up, the spotter is gone. I know better than to think I’ll find him or this tribe again. Still, I continue staring, waiting for my best and longest friend to show himself. Surely, he doesn’t agree. Surely, he doesn’t want to see us dead.

The silence is deafening.

“Arri?” Nirissa asks.

I take a hiccupping breath. Scooting Nirissa from my lap, I unsheathe the dagger. Rust falls from the pointed tip onto my wet clothes.

The spotter’s right. This would be better for us.

My hands shake as I scoop her back up and lay her against my chest. I hold the dagger to her back, unable to speak past the swollen lump in my throat. It’ll be over in seconds, and then we’ll be with our parents again.

“Arri? Are you ok?” The blade wobbles as she wraps her tiny arms around my neck.

My stomach turns. Bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it back down.

“I love you, bug. You know that, right?” My cracked voice is barely audible over the wind that tangles in our hair.

“I love you too.”

Sobbing into her, I angle the blade so it’ll strike true. Then, I think of her lifeless eyes, her broken body on the forest floor. She’ll never fall in love. She’ll never reach her Age of Majority or undergo her Rite of Passage. Neither will I.

The blade drops.

It falls into my lap as I gasp for breath, the world so hot around me, I’m suffocating under the weight of my clothes.

I love my sister.

I don’t want us to die. Not before we've had a chance to experience life.

“I’m going to protect you, bug,” I tell her, brushing the hair from her eyes. “I’m going to keep us safe. I promise.”

I glare up at the canopy and flip Fenris off.

My go-bag thumps onto the cave floor. Green glass goes spilling out, clinking and rolling across the limestone. The Starra’lee soldier is here, lounging on a foldable cot. She peers at the entryway through half-lidded, disinterested eyes as Nirissa and I make ourselves at home.

“I told you, I’m not babysitting,” she says.

“I don’t need a babysitter. I need a place to sleep where the elgrew can’t find us. The trees are too dangerous without spotters.”

The soldier groans, rubbing her hand down her face. “Not happening. Find your own hideout.”

“I can fix your eye problem,” I say, dragging the bag to her, grunting with the effort it takes.

I packed the duffle a little too full this morning, and my shoulder aches from carrying it.

More glass lenses spill out, as do jars filled with viscous green fluid that only I know how to make.

“My green glass dims the light without darkening everything else. I can make you goggles that’ll save you in a raid. All I want is access to the cave.”

She leans over and picks one of the lenses up, holding it to her eyes. “Starra’lee won’t recruit you, you know? You’ll have to hunt and forage for yourself.”

“I know.”

“It can’t be official. If I say yes, this agreement remains between us.”

I arch a brow. “Won’t the others see me in here?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m the only scout they send to this region. If that changes, you’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep. It’s the best I can offer.” She holds out her hand and we shake on it. “My name is Giara, by the way.”

“I’m Arden, but apparently everyone calls me Blue.”