Jeffrey Quyle - The Healing Spring

“It’s not a problem. I just wanted to see you,” he fibbed, “so I got what I wanted. I’ll be around town for a few days while I heal, so I’ll see you soon. I want to talk,” he told her earnestly, squeezing her hand, then releasing it. “Go enjoy your lunch, and maybe Malsten will sell you something for a discount,” he kidded.

“Be nice,” Cheryl chided him, but the sparkle in her eyes was one of laughter, and Kestrel remembered her smile as he turned and walked down the steps to return to the street.

Kestrel did go to try to help a family that had been flooded out by his rainstorms, but everyone soon agreed that his one-armed status limited his utility. After a couple of hours carrying small items around as needed, Kestrel left the flood victims, and went back into town to the military base, where he waited for the return of the patrol from the red stag woods sector.

During the mid-afternoon the two elf patrol entered the gates of the base, and Kestrel followed them into the commander’s building and office without interference.

Mastrin had a different aide accompanying him, Kestrel noticed as he entered a small conference room, one that was adjacent to the office he had spoken in earlier in the day. “Welcome back, guardsman,” Mastrin acknowledged him, then turned to the patrol members, two senior and reliable members of the guard based in Elmheng. “Tell us what you found, if anything,” the commander ordered.

“Well, we found quite a mess,” one of the two elves offered. “The rain up there must have been extraordinary, as if we didn’t know that from the way the streams ran. The mud was something to trek through. There was a fire, and it burnt a good size opening in the forest. It must have been pretty hot; even the biggest trees don’t have any standing trunks left except around the edges of the fire. Things must have been burning along pretty dangerously until those rains put the fire out, thanks be to the spirits.”

Mastrin looked at Kestrel, but said nothing.

“Was there any clue as to how it started?” he asked.

The second guard spoke up. “Not direct evidence, maybe, but we found three metal rods, and a large metal kettle, all made from the blood metal, iron. They’d gotten so hot in the fire they were all deformed — bent and curled. That had to be man work,” he asserted.

Mastrin nodded his head. “That seems right.”

“And we saw some movements in the fringe of the woods on the far side when we first stepped into the opening,” the guard added. “It may have been men. We shouldn’t have shown ourselves so openly, I realize, but we just weren’t expecting men to be inside the forest that far.”

Mastrin nodded again, thoughtfully.

Kestrel,” he looked at the young guard, “I’d say your suspicion was right. The battle down south was just a diversion, designed to empty all of our forces out of the northern border so that the humans could sneak in and start the fire. If it hadn’t been for those rains, we might have lost a fairly big chunk of woodlands.

“Alright men, thank you for the report. You’re dismissed. Kestrel, stay for a moment,” the commander set folks in motion, and waited until the door was closed before he spoke again.

“So you called the human goddess to help you foil a plan of the humans; is that how it seems to you?” he asked quizzically, studying Kestrel closely.

The young elf sat silently for several seconds, trying to find some alternative, some explanation that didn’t sound so preposterous. Nothing came to mind.

“Yes sir,” he said reluctantly.

“Whatever that goddess intends to get from you is going to be a memorable repayment for a favor like that. I hope you’re ready when the bill comes,” the commander said softly. “You’re dismissed. Come back and report to me tomorrow after lunch.” He set Kestrel free, and left the room himself, his aide trailing behind him, leaving the small conference room empty in the afternoon sunlight that filtered into the room through the tree leaves outside the window.

Ferris was rehearsing the report he was going to deliver to his commander, and focused on steeling himself for the abusive response he was sure to suffer. His squad had done everything perfectly to set fire in the forest; they’d known their assignments, and had carried them out flawlessly, without the loss of or injury to a single man — something he was especially proud of.

They’d exited the forest safely, and marched rapidly away from the woodlands for over an hour; Ferris didn’t feel easy being near the forest, and the presence of the fire only heightened his nagging sense of discomfort. Then they had stopped and turned to watch the results of their handiwork.

And they’d seen a deluge materialize from an empty sky shortly after they’d begun to celebrate the ominous pillar of smoke that began to rise from forest. The rainstorm had been unnatural. It had been very specific in its location — as close as they were, Ferris and his men had only felt a few stray drops of the rain. The storm had been uncanny in its character — the water that had fallen had been so dense and heavy in the air that from a distance, the area beneath the clouds had appeared to be a solid column. Steam had risen in copious amounts as the waters had struck the flames and the embers beneath.

The squad stood and watched the half hour of furious down-pouring, and then the abrupt dissipation of the storm; in a matter of moments the rains ceased and the clouds dissipated. “Who made the goddess so mad?” someone in the squad has asked of no one, using a stage whisper that rattled everyone as they all acknowledged the obvious supernatural origin of the phenomena they had witnessed.

Ferris had debated what to do, and decided to stay the night as he pondered his course of action — a return to the forest, a return to the capital, or a return to the Forest Wardens. The next morning he detailed two men to go back into the forest, to follow the tree blazes back to the site of the fire, and to bring back a report on what they found.

The men were gone less than three hours, and came running out of the woods like a yeti was in pursuit. Their report was deflating; the fire was out, extinguished thoroughly by the deluge from the sky before it did more than burn a small hole in the forest, and the elves were already at the site as well. It was the sight of the elves exploring the charred ruins of the trees that had sent the two scouts fleeing in panic, running at full throttle the entire distance back to the squad.

Ferris had idly entertained the thought of trying to restart the fire, if the iron bars and kettle could be found among the ashes, hopeful that perhaps some success could have been attained, but the presence of elves dashed those hopes thoroughly. The elves would be more than angry at the attempt to burn their forest; Ferris was thankful that his two scouts had returned alive and uninjured. He made his decision — to take his squad back to the capital city and report to his commanders there, as a way to avoid letting the Forest Wardens potentially order him to immediately return and commit suicide by attempting to start another fire.

So his men ambled south along dusty country lanes, and Ferris fretted over the consequences of the failed assignment when they reached the gates of Hydrotaz, the capital city, early two evenings later. “You’re dismissed to quarters. Report to the practice yard at third bugle call tomorrow morning, and don’t get thrown in jail,” he had released his men from their labors, then gone on to the office tower where he wrote out his report carefully, and submitted it to the evening watchman, with a pledge to return first thing the following morning for a report in person.