Jeffrey Quyle - The Healing Spring

“I slipped in the mud as I was running, and landed on my arm, but I got up and continued to the edge of the fire scene. By then the rain was ending, and the fire seemed to be out.

“It was contained to a couple of hundred acres, but the forest is intact on all sides of it,” Kestrel finished. “I decided I should return and report, but all the flooding made me have to detour, so I was late getting back last night, sir,” he concluded his report and stood at attention as the pen continued to scratch for another few seconds.

“It seems to me that there may be some connection between this fire and the invasion. Was that your thought too?” Mastrin asked.

“I wondered sir; there didn’t seem to be any natural explanation for the start of the fire, and then from what you said about the action in the south, there really wasn’t any good reason for it,” Kestrel replied. “And I apologize for leaving the forest unprotected. I can resume my spot immediately if you want me to.”

“Not with that wing,” the commander told him. “Nothing to apologize for; I think you did right. I’ve already redistributed the guards to patrol the forest, so you can plan to stay here a day or two to heal up. Did the doctor tell you how long you’d need?”

“He said that my human blood might make me heal slowly; it may take a fortnight,” Kestrel said, dragging his nasty heritage out into the conversation again.

“I suppose it might; he’d know better than I would,” Mastrin agreed; he knew about Kestrel’s human heritage, and felt a slight uneasiness about it, but he knew that Kestrel had been a reliable and effective member of his guard unit, especially in the case of the fire, and he knew that the boy seemed to have a healthy friendship with his daughter, one that Mastrin was willing to tolerate and observe for the time being.

“Tell you what — you go on over to let Cheryl see you to know you’re alive and taken care of, and that I’m not a human brute who has slaughtered you, then just be available the next few days. We should get a report back this afternoon from the patrol out looking at your fire spot, so you may want to hear their report later today,” Mastrin spoke in a casual manner that Kestrel suspected hid some machinations.

“We’ll write up a report after we hear the patrol’s information,” the commander told his aide. “Go along Kestrel, you’re dismissed,” he motioned towards a door, and the young elf left the room hurriedly, relieved at the lack of any reprimand or punishment. And then he forgot about all that and began to look forward to seeing Cheryl.

His timing was going to be perfect, Kestrel concluded as he walked through town to the commander’s home. It was late morning; by the time he sat down and saw Cheryl, it would be almost lunch time, and her mother, always a perfect hostess, would invite him to join them for a meal, so he would get more time with Cheryl at the table.

He soon arrived at the high-positioned porch, the height that reflected the elves’ desire to be up off the ground — in the trees, or in something that could approximate a tree’s height if at all possible — and knocked on the door.

Footsteps sounded inside, and Cheryl’s younger sister Crozanna answered the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of the sling that cradled his arm. “Were you hurt in the battle yesterday?” she asked earnestly.

“No,” Kestrel said with a sigh, “I fell in the mud.”

Crozanna giggled. “Would you like to see Cheryl?” she asked mischievously.

“If she has time,” Kestrel tried to answer politely.

“Let’s go see. Come on in,” the young sister spoke, throwing the door wide open, and ushering Kestrel into the house. He’d been a visitor on numerous occasions before, enough that Crozanna felt comfortable casually providing entry to him. She led him right, along a hall, towards a parlor he had shared with Cheryl many time before on visits.

When he rounded the corner, he saw Cheryl sitting in her usual easy chair, looking placid and beautiful as ever, then his vision encompassed the rest of the room, and he saw Malsten, the son of the dry goods store owner, sitting on the opposite chair where he had expected to sit.

“Kestrel’s here to see you Cheryl,” Crozanna chirped brightly, apparently enjoying the opportunity to be an agent of chaos by bringing two suitors together to visit with her sister at the same time.

Malsten scowled deeply as Cheryl popped up from her chair, a look of concern and pleasure on her face. “Oh Kestrel, it’s so good to see you,” she spoke warmly. “Are you going to be okay? What did the doctor say? How were you injured?”

“He fell in the mud,” Crozanna volunteered brightly.

Malsten let out a muffled laugh. “You can go now Crozanna,” Cheryl directed, with a hint of steel in her meaningful glance.

“Please come in and sit down,” Cheryl told Kestrel, who remained standing in the doorway, wishing there was a way to escape from the uncomfortable scene. “Tell us what happened,” she added, as her fingers gently brushed his hand when he passed her to take the proffered seat.

He smiled a warm smile to her, touched by the kind gesture

“What happened yesterday Kestrel?” Cheryl asked again.

“There was a big fire in the forest, but the rains came along and put it out,” the elf guard replied. He was not going to make any mention of the human deities involved, not in front of Malsten.

“Those rains must have been something; we had flooding so bad the water got up into a couple of dozen homes. My dad was selling every mop and bucket he had, plus a whole bunch of other stuff to folks who have to clean up their homes,” Malsten announced, proud of the business success his family had enjoyed as a result of the misfortune of others.

“How is your arm? What did the doctor say?” Cheryl pretended not to hear Malsten.

“It’s broken. He reset the bones last night. Everything should be fine in just a few days,” Kestrel answered. “I reported the fire to your father this morning. He said there’s a patrol looking at the fire location this morning, so there may be more news about it this afternoon,” he told the girl, even though he knew the topic would be of little interest to her. He wanted to talk to her about the human goddess, about Kai, and the direct communication he had with the omnipotent being; he wanted to hear her thoughts, but Malsten’s presence stifled any such conversation.

Just then Cheryl’s mother appeared in the doorway. “Well, hello Kestrel,” she said in a kindly voice. “We’re just about to have lunch. Let me add a plate for you,” she told him.

“No, I can’t stay. I just wanted to stop by to let Cheryl know my arm will be fine. I need to go,” he said as he stood, unwilling to spend time sharing Cheryl’s company with another suitor. “I thought I’d go see if I could help any of the flood victims clean up their homes,” he shot a deadly glance at Malsten as he spoke, but the merchant seemed oblivious to any sense of shame.

“Well, that’s a very nice idea! Don’t strain your arm now. You need to heal,” Cheryl’s mom sounded just like a mom as she counseled him. “Malsten, let me walk you to the meal table, and Cheryl you can see Kestrel to the door,” she directed, giving Kestrel the satisfaction of seeing Malsten shoot a deadly glance back at him.

Cheryl and he walked silently to the door, and stepped out onto the porch. “Mother’s right, you need to be careful with that arm,” Cheryl instructed him as she shut the door behind him. She stood very close, and her hand reached out shyly to hold his. “Malsten just arrived a few minutes before you did,” she apologized. “I didn’t know you were going to come over this morning.”