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.
Chapter 8 — Messenger Duty
Kestrel reported to his commander early the next afternoon.
“Here is a report,” Mastrin told him, handing him a sealed wooden tube that presumably held papers. “You are going to be the courier for this; I’d like you to take it to Center Trunk,” he told Kestrel, referring to the far-off capital of the eastern elves. Kestrel had never ventured more than a few miles from Elmheng in his life, making the prospect of such a journey seem filled with potential excitement.
“It’s a report on your fire and your rain,” Mastrin explained, dimming some of the adventure Kestrel had imagined. “I haven’t put anything in writing about your brush with the deities, but I want to make sure you speak about that with Colonel Silvan. It doesn’t need to be in writing at this point, but the colonel will be interested in your story. When you reach the receipts desk at the Center Trunk department of the headquarters building, make sure you tell them you are to hand it over directly to Silvan yourself. Wait as long as it takes,” Mastrin emphasized. “This blue ribbon on the end of the tube shows that it’s meant for direct delivery, so they can’t argue with you.”
He felt guilty for sending the boy on this mission. His conscious weighed heavy, but he had concluded that Kestrel’s uniqueness — unique in multiple ways — had to be shared with someone in command of the elf defenses against humanity. He trusted Silvan to have the judgment and scruples to use the knowledge and the boy fairly. Kestrel’s story had set Mastrin’s mind adrift in speculation about all the implications of what the boy might face in the future.
“How long will the journey be?” Kestrel asked cautiously. “I’ve never been there before.”
“Never been to the big city before?” Mastrin asked with forced jocularity. Now that he had handed the report to Kestrel to take to Center Trunk, he had a foreboding sense that he had sealed the boy’s fate. “You’ll think it’s a wonderful place. It’s big — the trees are big, and it’s spread out from morning to night. There’re more elves than you thought lived in all the land, all gathered in one place.
“It’s about a two day trip, maybe three, if that arm slows you down. You don’t have to hurry,” Mastrin said reassuringly.
“It’s okay if I stop to say goodbye to Cheryl?” Kestrel asked.
“Certainly, certainly,” Mastrin affirmed.
“On your way, you can stay in any inn you want to. Just show them the ribbon on the tube; it entitles you to shelter. The innkeepers know they have to give you a spot — it’s the law, so don’t let them give you some sad story about how full they already are.
“Take care, Kestrel,” Mastrin stood and walked around the desk to shake the boy’s hand firmly. “Safe travels in your journey. May all the gods, ours and theirs, look upon you kindly.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kestrel replied, uncertain about his commander’s surprisingly friendly expressions, out of character from his usual military mien. He left the office and walked over to see Cheryl, carrying the message tube carefully in his unencumbered hand.
She greeted him at the door. “Kestrel? Again in the middle of the day? Please come in,” she ushered him into the parlor. I’m sorry that Malsten isn’t here to enjoy your company,” she laughed as they were seated. She sat on the divan with him, he noted exuberantly, though she kept an appropriate distance by sitting at the far end of the piece of furniture.
“Your father has sent me to Center Trunk,” Kestrel blurted out. “I wanted to see you before I go.”
“That’s such a long way!” Cheryl exclaimed. “Have you ever gone there before?”
“No, never. I’ve never gone nearly so far away,” Kestrel admitted.
“How long will it take?” she asked.
“Your dad said to take two or three days to get there, so I’ll need a couple of days to get back too, plus whatever time I spend there,” Kestrel estimated. “About a week all told.”
“It will be such an adventure!” Cheryl told him, her eyes shining.
“Have you ever gone there?” Kestrel asked.
“No. We were up in Firheng when I was a baby, but I don’t remember. Elmheng is the only town I’ve known,” she replied. “They say the trees are so large in Center Trunk.”
There was a silent pause, as Kestrel desperately tried to think of some topic to discuss.
“I better go. I don’t want your father to think I’ve been dawdling,” he at last said awkwardly. “I’ll miss you,” he told her as he stood. He hesitated just a moment more, then leaned towards her to kiss her, only to find that she was rising from her seat as he was lowering his head, and their foreheads knocked sharply.
“Ouch!” each exclaimed as they stood rubbing their foreheads, Kestrel blushing with embarrassment, until Cheryl removed her hands from her forehead and placed them on his cheeks. They looked into one another’s eyes, then Cheryl stood up on her toes, and their lips touched each other’s firmly, in a warm kiss.
“There, that was better,” Cheryl spoke first.
“I’ll miss you,” Kestrel answered breathlessly.
“You better! Don’t you get distracted by all the girls in Center Trunk!” Cheryl scolded him.
“They have girls in Center Trunk?” Kestrel asked, his eyes growing wide in mock surprise.
“Bad, bad boy!” Cheryl shrieked with a grin as she pushed him.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kestrel said at last, after a long hug, and then he was out the door.
“What do you have for a traveler?” he asked the cooks in the commissary ten minutes later, and five
