The Healing Spring tisk-1

by Jeffrey Quyle

  He was studying her features, the first human woman he had seen.

  “He’s dead, my Youkal is dead, and we would be too if you hadn’t saved us,” the woman said between sobbing gulps. “Thank you.”

  Kestrel saw the pain and shock in her eyes, and he saw the tiny figures that shrunk away from him, trying to hide themselves in the folds of the skirt they clung to.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Kestrel replied. “Is anyone else hurt?”

  “No, there are just the three of us,” the woman answered, her words and accent growing more intelligible to Kestrel as he listened. “What’s happening over there?” she nodded with her head to the mounds in the darkness at the edge of the fire’s illumination, the lumps that were the dying yeti and the grieving Arlen sitting over Artur’s body.

  “The yeti is dying, and one of my partners is dead,” Kestrel replied. He looked down again. “Why don’t you take the little ones back to the cabin? We’ll help start preparing a burial plot for your man,” he suggested.

  The woman obediently rose, and ushered her children away from their father’s body.

  “Do you have a shovel?” Kestrel asked as they walked away.

  “In here,” the woman replied as she entered the broken cabin. Kestrel trotted over, as the woman picked up the shovel from the spot where she had dropped it. She had been using it as a weapon, Kestrel realized. He took the implement from her, looking at her face in the firelight.

  Her face was more angular than an elven maiden’s face, he realized. The lower part was more prominent, and her cheekbones were more pronounced. She reacted to his scrutiny by unconsciously sweeping her hair behind her ear, and he stared at her ear, her human ear, for a long second, before he broke from his immobility and turned away with the shovel in his hand.

  He walked back to where Arlen was standing, still looking down at Artur.

  “What’s the shovel for?” he asked.

  “I told her we’d bury her husband,” Kestrel replied.

  “That’s good. Go get a bucket first,” Arlen told him.

  “Why?” Kestrel asked, surprised by the request.

  “We need to save the yeti blood. The healers in Estone think that yeti blood gives strength and virility to people who drink it. The woman is going to need some money to recover from this,” Arlen said, looking up from Artur at last. “We can collect some of the blood, and cut off the head and,” he paused, “other things. She’ll be able to take them to Estone and make a good amount of money.”

  Kestrel dropped the shovel and obediently walked back to the cabin. The fire in the shack was dying down, and the scene was growing darker around the farmstead, but the woman had a lantern lit inside the cabin, where she sat on the side of a bed and softly stroked the hair of the two little children who were snuggled together under a cover.

  “Do you have a bucket?” Kestrel asked as she watched him approach.

  “We have two, but they’re both in the shed where we kept the cow. They were our milk pails,” she finished her sentence and began to cry, pressing the back of her hand against her face to hide her emotion.

  “I’ll try to get them, you just stay here and watch the wee ones,” Kestrel said sofly.

  He walked out to the remains of the shed, hot embers all around the burnt carcass of the cow that had died there, and he spotted the pails. He got a long tree branch from the forest, and fished the pails out of the ruins, then carried them over to where Arlen waited.

  “We’ll need a rope to do this,” Arlen said. “I’ll go back to the campsite and get our horses. We’ve got rope there, and we’ll need the horses anyway. You stay here and honor Artur,” he commanded Kestrel, then turned and was gone.

  Kestrel gave a sigh, in physical pain and in shock from the events of the battle, then sat cross-legged beside Artur, and began to recite the good things that he remembered about his instructor, and called upon the gods to hurry his soul to the other realm. “Give him peace, Kere, and let all of us here who remain also accept his loss with peace,” he finished up his devotions just as Arlen returned.

  “He was a good man. His wife will be heart-broken when we return,” Arlen said as he led the horses into the clearing.

  “Here, tie this rope around the yeti’s feet,” Arlen told Kestrel who stood up.

  “Wait just a moment,” Kestrel replied, as he went to his horse and pulled a water skin off. It was one of the skins from the healing spring, and he knew there was never a time when its effects would be more welcome.

  “Here, take a drink of this,” Kestrel instructed Arlen, shoving the uncorked skin at him.

  “What is it?” Arlen asked as he held the skin.

  “It’s water from a special spring. It will help heal any wounds you may have gotten,” he explained.

  Arlen held the skin upward and took a drink then handed it back to Kestrel. “I’m going to give some to the family. I’ll be right back,” Kestrel said, and crossed the yard again.

  “Here, this water is from a healing spring. Take a drink,” Kestrel urged the woman.

  She obediently raised the skin and took a drink. “It tastes refreshing,” she commented.

  “Do the children need any?” Kestrel asked.

  “No, they weren’t hurt. Their bodies weren’t,” she replied softly.

  Kestrel held the skin up high and took a long drink for himself, a draught that left the skin half empty. He hoped it would help soothe the headache that pounded in the back of his skull, and take away the pain in his ribs that increased with every deep breath.

  Without further word he returned to where Arlen already had the rope tied around the yeti’s feet. “Throw the other end of the rope over that tree branch,” Arlen directed. He had his small lantern open to provide feeble light that helped the stars and the crescent moon illuminate their actions, now that the shed fire was nearly gone.

  Kestrel threw the rope, then tied it to the saddle of his horse as Arlen directed, and they raised the dead yeti four feet off the ground, its fingers nearly touching the dirt below. Kestrel was horrified by the butchery that followed, but obeyed every command he was given. He felt disrespectful; the yeti had only been a monster, but it was too elf-like, with two arms and two legs, not to find the process of harvesting its parts distasteful.

  They finished their work around sunrise, and in the red morning glow, Kestrel liked the looks of his work even less. He had found additional buckets, and they had gallons of blood, the hairy head, and numerous body parts stacked in a pile.

  “I’m going to take Artur back to Firheng,” Arlen announced as Kestrel began to lower the yeti.

  “I want you to stay here. you need to bury the human and the yeti, then I want you to take the woman and her children to Estone. Find a human trader named Castona there, and tell him what you have, and that you want to sell it all into the market to give the widow money to live on,” Arlen explained as Kestrel listened in astonishment.

  “You can tell Castona you were with me and Artur, but don’t tell him you’re really an elf; you have to keep that secret, you understand?” Arlen said intensely.

  “You’re going to leave me alone to do these things without any help?” Kestrel asked in fear.

  “Yes,” Arlen said. “I want Artur to be treated to the ceremony of our own people, so I need to hurry his body home. And I know you’ll do fine — you’ve killed a yeti, you’ve given us all some secret healing potion that works, and you and the widow will make a good team on this journey,” he said.

  “When all that is done, come back to Firheng, and Cosima will have some new assignment for you, I’m sure,” Arlen told him as the two of them hoisted Artur’s body onto his horse, and Arlen strapped it in place.

  “That woman may only be human, but she needs someone right now, and you’re the only someone available,” Arlen added as he climbed onto his own horse. “She’s just lost her husband and her home. Isolated like this, he was probably her only friend; be good to her.”

&
nbsp; The sun was fully risen, and Kestrel could see the haggard sense of loss in Arlen’s face. The armsman had lost a close friend himself, and had missed a night’s sleep.

  Arlen held his hand down, and Kestrel clasped it. “I’ll see you in Firheng,” he said insistently.

  “Yes,” Kestrel pledged.

  “Don’t have any second thoughts; don’t be tempted to stay among the humans and live with them, just because you look like one now,” Arlen continued to hold firmly to Kestrel’s hand as he spoke, seeming to read some of the musings in the back of Kestrel’s mind. “You must come back. We need you.” He released his grip and sat up, gave Kestrel a sad smile, then turned the horses and began to walk away, back into the forest.

  Kestrel stood and watched as the two horses stepped into the shadows of the trees, then grew faint and disappeared. He was suddenly alone in the human world.

  Chapter 17 — Recovery from Disaster

  “Mister,” the woman’s voice called behind him, and Kestrel turned to see the woman outside the cabin, walking towards him, the children standing uncertainly at the edge of the ruined wall.

  Kestrel began to walk towards her, and met her in the middle of the yard.

  “Are your friends leaving?” she asked.

  He sighed heavily. “They are,” he confirmed.

  “Were they,” she paused. “Are they elves? They kind of looked like it from the cabin.”

  Kestrel paused, as he struggled to adjust his point of view. He was now officially seeking to pass as a human, and he had to adopt that perspective. He was now officially thinking as a spy.

  “They are elves. One of them died fighting the yeti, and the other one will take his body back to their land for their ceremonies for the dead,” Kestrel explained.

  “I’m going to stay here for a bit to help you. By the way, don’t let you children come out of the cabin yet,” he instructed. “I haven’t buried your husband, and I want to get the yeti carcass buried too. They don’t need to see a sight like that,” he explained.

  “I’ll explain more later,” he told her. “You go on back to the cabin and feed your kids some breakfast, okay?”

  “I will,” she agreed. “First, tell me your name.”

  “Kestrel. My name is Kestrel,” he repeated.

  “My name is Merilla, and I am in your debt for all that you’ve done,” she told him. They exchanged a momentary frank stare, then she left to return to the cabin.

  “Where do you want your husband buried?” Kestrel asked as she walked away.

  “Beneath that elm tree,” she pointed at a prominent patriarch of the forest that was growing on the western edge of the clearing. “He loved to sit under that tree and sing songs to us.”

  Kestrel nodded, then grabbed the shovel and began to dig in the soft soil beneath the tree. He spent three hours excavating the shallow grave, then returned to the cabin.

  “Do you have a blanket we can wrap your husband in?” he asked Merilla.

  “Yes,” she answered, looking haggard and drawn, before she went to the back of the cabin and brought out a bright, colorful quilt. “This was our wedding night cover,” she explained as she accompanied Kestrel to her husband’s body. Together they lifted the body into the blanket, then trudged across the yard to the grave site, and lowered the body into the bottom of the grave.

  “Do you mind waiting a moment?” Merilla asked as Kestrel prepared to cover the body. “I want the children to say good bye.” She reached down and folded back a corner of the blanket to reveal the dead man’s face, then ran to the cabin and brought the two small children, both boys, Kestrel thought, over to see their father’s face for the last time.

  Merilla let the boys clamber down into the grave to kiss the cold gray face farewell, then she kissed him as well, and folded the blanket back to cover him once again. Kestrel allowed the boys to throw the first fistfuls of dirt atop the blanket, then he told Merilla to take them away while he finished the chore.

  When he was done he leaned against the shovel handle, exhausted. He heard a noise, and turned to see Merilla and her boys bringing out a wooden pitcher and a covered platter. “You’ve been up all night and worked all morning,” she told him. “Rest your bones and have a bite to eat.”

  “Thank you,” he replied gratefully. “I will as soon as I tend to my horse. He’s had a long night too, he gestured over to where the horse stood near the yeti carcass. “I’ll feed and water my horse, then eat a bite, then bury that thing. That may be about all I’ll get accomplished for you today.”

  By late afternoon he had carried out his plan of work, allowing him to walk his horse up to the cabin and tie it in place.

  “You look exhausted,” Merilla said. “I can’t thank you enough for saving our lives and all your help.”

  She paused. “There’s a spring in the woods behind the cabin, if you feel you want to go clean yourself up. You can use Youkal’s towel if you want.”

  Kestrel looked down his front, where dirt and yeti blood were liberally smeared. “I’ll get a change of clothes if you would fetch the towel,” he offered, looking up.

  She nodded in agreement, and he turned to dig through his saddle bag and pull out cleaner clothes, while she rummaged in the cabin and returned with a towel.

  Kestrel strolled back along the path in the trees and found the spring, its cold waters bracingly refreshing. He scrubbed himself, and soaked his clothes, achieving some success in scrubbing them cleaner, then dried and returned to the cabin.

  Merilla was sitting on a tree stump gazing with empty eyes across the yard as her boys ran about in a mindless game of chase. Kestrel went to his horse to take him out in search of fodder while the sun still lit the forest, as the two little boys came running over to see the animal.

  “There’s a pasture down by the brook, that way,” Merilla seemed to anticipate his need as she suddenly stood and pointed, still looking lost.

  “I’ll take the boys with me if you’d like some time alone,” he offered gently.

  “We’ll all go with you,” she answered, and so the four of them and the horse walked the short distance to where the steed could graze contentedly while Kestrel and Merilla sat on a log and the boys chased after crickets, while Kestrel looked on with mild longing.

  “Arlen told me that all the things we saved from the yeti will fetch good money at the market in Estone,” Kestrel spoke at last, after several minutes of silence.

  Merilla nodded silently.

  “Our plan is to take you and your family back to Estone and sell everything we can. Arlen thinks it will give you a good amount of money you can use to support your family,” he continued.

  She turned her head to look at him, still silent.

  “So maybe tomorrow we can pack up the things you want to take with you, and then start the trip the day after that. What do you think?” he asked, unnerved by her lack of comment.

  “Youkal will be lonely if we leave here. He was the one who wanted to live out here. He built everything. He cleared the trees, made the cabin, put up the shack,” she droned tonelessly. “I don’t think I can just leave him.”

  “You can’t stay here,” Kestrel told her gently. “Your cabin is missing a wall, your cow is dead, and I’ll be leaving pretty soon. I don’t want to leave you alone out in the forest.

  “Come with me to Estone and we can set you up for a new beginning with your boys. Merilla, you have to see this,” he told her.

  She blinked her eyes, as the boys came running up to her to show the crickets they had caught.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s go back home, and I’ll cook some dinner for us all. After all the work you’ve done today, you deserve a hot meal,” Merilla told him as she stood. They walked silently back to the broken cabin, each boy holding one of her hands as Kestrel led his horse. They ate potatoes and cheese for dinner, then Merilla arranged a place for Kestrel to sleep on the floor in the front of the cabin, while she and her children went to their bed in the back o
f the structure, and they all fell asleep.

  Kestrel dreamed of Merilla that night. She came to him in the middle of the night, her human figure enticing in its voluptuous curves, and he let her seduce him, until she suddenly pulled a knife from her hair and plunged it down into his chest. He awoke from the nightmare with a start, and sat straight up, then looked around the peaceful scene. Merilla and her children were silent, and the crescent moon was straight overhead. Nothing was moving or threatening, and he slowly lowered himself back down into his covers, and waited for his racing heart to return to a calmer beat.

  When he fell asleep again he slept soundly and dreamlessly throughout the rest of the evening, and didn’t awaken again until well past dawn.

  “Do you feel better?” Merilla asked him when he sat up in the sunshine that streamed in through the open cabin wall. “You looked exhausted last night, as you should after all you did.

  “I sent the boys to play down in the meadow so they wouldn’t make noise here and wake you,” she continued. “I was just down there with them and got back a minute ago, to see if you’d like some breakfast.”

  “Is it safe to leave them alone like that?” Kestrel asked.

  “I told them to stay away from the water, and other than that they’ll be safe,” she spoke assuredly. “When you’ve had a yeti in the region for a few weeks there aren’t any wolves or bears or even lynx left around to bother about.”

  Kestrel excused himself to go in the woods for a minute, and when he returned, Merilla had a bowl of oatmeal waiting for him, with some brown sugar on top. “It’s the best I can give you, I’m sorry,” she told him as she handed the bowl to him. “With the cow dead there’s no milk, and the yeti got the sow we kept in the woods, and all her litter too, when he first came down out of the mountains, so there wasn’t going to be any bacon this season any way.”

  “Thank you,” Kestrel said, eating the bland food without enthusiasm, wanting to show appreciation for her effort.