Instead, he shrugged, making his stance wobble for a moment. “I don’t know why I don’t feel enough like an elf. Or why I can’t seem to embrace that side of myself the way I can my human side.”
Dacha sighed again as he moved into the next form. “When you were born, your macha and I feared that you would struggle, being half-human, half-elf. We hoped that the fact that you would be surrounded by others like you growing up would help, but it seems you all were locked in the same struggle.”
Not that Merrik seemed to struggle with it the way Fieran did. Or perhaps his struggles were simply the opposite of Fieran’s.
“It did help, I think.” Fieran matched Dacha’s movements. The sun peeked over the horizon, already burning away the coolness of the night. Sweat slicked down his back, and he triednot to let his muscles shake. “I never had such problems growing up. Or I was too happy to realize I had them.”
Dacha let another pause fall. Then he glided into the next stance. “Close your eyes, sason.”
Fieran did as he was told and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Feel the slight breeze in your hair. Breathe in the scent of the earth. Plant your feet on the grass and feel it beneath your boots.”
Fieran tried. He really did. But the sun was hot, and he was sweating. “It’s not working.”
“No talking, sason. Just listen.” Dacha’s voice remained even. After a moment, the grass crinkled, and Fieran guessed Dacha had moved into the next stance.
Fieran eased his arms and feet into the next form, holding it as he breathed slowly, steadily. The whispering breeze was scented with dry grass and dust, gunpowder and grease.
This wasn’t working. He wasn’t going to magically feel more connected to the earth or whatever elven lesson Dacha was trying to teach him.
There was a whisper of fabric and crackle of grass as Dacha moved again. “When I was growing up, I felt out of place. I was illegitimate. Most elven magic involves healing and growing, and yet mine killed and destroyed. I hated my magic. The more I hated it, the more I lost control. And the more I lost control, the more I hated my magic.”
Fieran had heard all of that before, yet now he actually understood in a way his younger self hadn’t.
“There were many times I did not feel like a true elf. I was not like those around me.” Dacha’s voice remained as steady as his movements.
Now that hit harder than Fieran would like to admit.
Except that Fieran hadn’t always felt like this. Or hadn’t realized those feelings were buried deep inside him. Yes, hefelt lacking. But he felt it because he couldn’t measure up to his dacha, not because he felt alienated from everyone and everything.
“I needed your macha’s help and more years of perspective before I finally came to terms with my magic.” Dacha gave a sigh, and there was a tightness in his voice that betrayed just how much emotion was behind those words. “It took seeing your macha wield my magic and eventually you and your sisters before I began to love my own magic. I could not hate it when wielded by her or by you, and thus I could not hate it when it was wielded by me.”
Fieran risked cracking his eyes open and peeking at Dacha.
Dacha had his eyes closed as well as he moved into a new stance with fluid movements, his hair floating across his shoulders. His jaw was hard in a way that gave away just how hard the words were for him.
Fieran squeezed his eyes closed again and hurried to match Dacha’s current stance.
“The truth is that all elven magic has the ability to kill and destroy, not just yours and mine. Plant magic can kill trees as easily as grow them, and elves with that magic have used it in battle for generations. Healing magic can kill, and such killing is considered so terrible that healers take oaths to prevent it.”
Fieran hadn’t considered elven magic in quite that way before.
“If all elven magic kills, then all elven magic also protects. Plant magic’s purpose is to protect the forest. Healing magic protects the body.” Dacha’s voice strengthened again, that edge of emotion disappearing. “And our magic’s purpose is to protect the kingdom’s people.”
Fieran had experienced that aspect of his magic many times over now. He’d come to terms with that long before now.
“If my magic has essentially the same purpose as all elven magic, then I am just as true an elf as an elf with plant magic or healing magic.” Dacha’s voice changed, as if he’d turned toward Fieran. “And you, sason, are just as much a true elf as I am.”
Fieran opened his eyes and dropped from his stance as he faced Dacha. “Half of me is a true elf.”
Dacha lowered his swords and held Fieran’s gaze. “You cannot always divide yourself, as if dissecting yourself into the pieces that are human and the parts that are elven. That is not how a body or soul works. You are an elf. And you are a human.”
“I’m not a whole elf or a whole human either.” Fieran shook his head before he sheathed his swords. “I’m a messy mix of both, and apparently that is messing with my magic.”
Dacha’s gaze searched Fieran’s for a moment before he, too, sheathed his swords. He waved a hand in the direction of the hangar. “Why is your squadron named the Half-Breed Squadron?”
Fieran blinked at the non sequitur, but he shrugged. “Because we have so many half-breeds as a part of the squadron, including me as their leader.”
