And he would go on to Center Trunk, he now accepted. His dreams of living with Merilla among the humans were clearly not meant to come to pass. He had received a very direct sign from the gods that he was to return to Center Trunk, and see Alicia once again, despicable and untrustworthy as she was, pretty as she was, married to Silvan as she was, and let the surgery on his ears be carried out one more time. Then he would receive his assignment and go forth. He had demonstrated his ability to live among the humans; if anything, he realized, he had demonstrated that he could live among the humans better than he could live among the elves, he bitterly told himself.
His thoughts wandered among the possible scenarios his life might have been, or might still be, until he looked up and saw that the stars had moved far across the sky, and time had passed. He lifted each of the small blue people from the water, then gently shook them awake.
“How is it that you understand the Elvish language but not the Human language?” Kestrel asked Jonson once the two had collected their clothes and started to dress.
“The elves are interesting, and fun to annoy, and live in such close proximity to my own people’s lands,” the water imp explained, referring to the great Swampy Morass that bordered the Eastern Forest and the East Sea. “Although I think you’re the only elf we have befriended in recent times, since the evil Chandel came to power; before him in the past, there have been friendly relations between our people and yours.
“The humans are less tolerant, and more inclined to fall into ugly battles faster. They are not worth the trouble of trying to get to know,” he contrasted.
“But you have found a different experience, at least with one human, perhaps?” Jonson asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“My human friend is not warlike at all,” Kestrel smiled in agreement.
Dewberry came over to join the two. “So you will take me back to my room now, and then continue your honeymoon?” Kestrel asked.
“Unless you have a better plan,” Jonson jested He and Dewberry wrapped their arms around Kestrel and initiated their magical travel back to the room at the inn. “Thank you for your gift, my friend,” Jonson said as Dewberry kissed his cheek in the darkness, and then the two of them were gone.
“Is everything okay?” Merilla asked sleepily from the bed. “Are you alright?”
Kestrel sat and removed his boots once again.
“Everything is fine, my friend,” Kestrel told her. He gently lowered the water skins to the floor, then shed his shirt and lay back on the mattress.
“Kestrel, are there others like you? Are you something special?” Merilla asked quietly.
“I thought I was pretty ordinary,” he replied after a long silent pause as he thought. “Then something happened, that led to something else that led to something else that led to me looking like a human and fighting a yeti to save someone else’s life.
“And then I found out how good you are, and that seems pretty special to me,” he rolled toward her as he said the last phrase.
“You are an elf, and yet a part of the human nobility. You kill yeti and you travel with sprites. You speak both human and elven tongues, and you know what is right and wrong, and try so hard to stick to the right. These are special things, Kestrel,” she spoke firmly. She rolled against him and draped her arm over him. “Hold me and let me sleep in your arms tonight, and then tomorrow we can go see my house and you can meet my mother, and then you can go off to do whatever it is you must do.” And so that night they peacefully slept in each other’s arms, knowing that they could expect no more.
Chapter 21 — Merilla’s Home
The next morning Kestrel was back in his ordinary clothes, freed of the bright display he had worn at the palace, and he drew fewer stares as he followed Merilla through crowded city streets towards the neighborhood that was to become her home. He still wore the bandages around his head to cover his ears, and that caused some eyes to track him, but there was nothing out of the ordinary otherwise on their trip.
Their first stop was at the shop that Merilla’s father kept, a tidy store that sold cloth, thread, needles, buttons, and everything else that might possibly be of use for clothing. Merilla’s mother sat in a rocking chair in the corner, sewing a smock when they entered the store.
“Good morning dear,” her mother called cheerily. She placed her sewing on a table and lifted her bulk from her chair, a warm smile on her face. She bent and kissed each of the boys, then stood and faced Kestrel. “So this is you hero, protector, and friend?” she asked, studying him closely, examining him with an attention to detail that Kestrel thought was unnerving.
“This is Kestrel,” she affirmed. “Kestrel, this is my mother, Durille.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of our Merilla and her boys. You must have taken quite a wound to still be bandaged,” she said, looking at his head.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Kestrel answered nervously. “Merilla says she has a home in mind, and I thought I might look at it with her this morning,” he added, nervously hoping to change the topic.
“It’s a nice home, and there’s a wonderful young man who works in the leather goods shop that takes up the street level. He’s a good friend of the family, and has a good, steady income with his shop,” the mother immediately answered. “Perhaps you can meet him when we go over.”
And with that the whole entourage was out of the shop and on its way around the corner. They entered a darker store front, where the sunlight did not penetrate directly, and most of the outside illumination was quickly absorbed by the dark wood paneling and the dark leather goods that hung and were heaped all about the store.
A heavyset young man, one with a chubby baby face, sat at the back of the store working on some intricate piece of leather. He looked up and squinted at the people who entered his store. As they came closer he recognized Merilla, and a genuine smile lit up his face. He put down his tools and wares, rose awkwardly from his stool, and came forward to greet them.
“Hammon, please meet Kestrel,” Merilla introduced. “Kestrel is the man who killed the yeti that attacked Youkal, and then he brought us back here through the wilderness,” she rested her hand on Kestrel’s shoulder as she spoke.
Hammon seemed to deflate at the heroic introduction. “It’s nice to meet you,” Kestrel said, feeling a combination of sympathy for the poor man and jealousy over Durille’s evident intention to force the two together. “You have some nice work in here. Do you do all this yourself?”
“I do, thank you,” Hammon replied, grateful for the kind words. “So you want to go upstairs and see the rooms?”
He provided the keys to them, and they left him in his shop as they went upstairs to tour the rooms. “Wouldn’t this make a great room for Merilla and her husband someday?” her mother asked Kestrel. “The connecting room would make a nursery for their babies, and there is space for Jacob and Marco in the rooms upstairs. And of course, we’re just right around the corner.
“I can’t believe she has so much money, that she can afford to buy a house. She said that selling things from the yeti made all this money,” the mother chatted on as they wandered from room to room. “What will you do with your share?”
Kestrel looked at Merilla momentarily, not sure what her mother knew, or what Merilla had chosen to reveal and to refrain from telling.
“What time do you need to leave?” Merilla suddenly asked, saving Kestrel from making any statement.
“I probably do need to go,” Kestrel agreed. “I wouldn’t want to be late.”
“But you were supposed to tell me all about the palace!” Durille protested.
“I know mother,” Merilla answered for him again, starting to usher the party back down the stairs and towards the door without looking at the rest of the rooms in her haste to prevent further questioning. “Maybe the next time you see him he can talk to you,” she said.
“Do you think I’ll see him again? I imagine you’ll be leaving the city soon, won’
t you, to go back out to the wilderness?” Durille queried.
“I suspect I’ll leave someday soon,” Kestrel agreed as they headed downstairs. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Kestrel said. “Please tell your friend I enjoyed meeting him. I wish we would have saved some yeti hide for him to tan! That would have made quite a vest!” he added, waiting to see Durille’s response, but also thinking that such a vest would be a tremendous protective garment to wear, though he never expected to see or fight another yeti again.
Durille’s face grew grim in response to his comment, but she said nothing, and he walked down the street, wondering how he was going to enjoy his next appointment.
As part of being named a Captain of the Fleet and the People’s Champion, Estonian custom called for Kestrel to receive large colorful tattoos, one for each of his honors. He was on his way to Castona’s shop, and from there he was going to be led to the tattoo shop where his colors would be inscribed upon his chest. In the midst of all the bustle and confusion of the previous night’s activity, not to mention the surprise visit from Dewberry, Kestrel had not told Merilla about the tattoos, or even about the room at the palace he was entitled to, and he smiled as he walked along the street and thought about the surprise she would receive when he revealed his new marks.
As it turned out, he was the one surprised when he reached Castona’s shop. “I will personally lead you to the palace and then the tattoo shop,” the merchant had greeted him. “And we need to go immediately. I want to stop at the auction on the way and introduce you! It will rouse up the bidders!”
“I thought the auction was going to be two days from now!” Kestrel protested.
“We’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot,” Castona answered. “There are a couple of Lakeview traders in port today, and the local folks are all stoked up by your ceremony yesterday. We’ve got things set to begin in about an hour.”
So they strolled through the city to an open arena, where many people were gathered, and Kestrel was introduced to the crowd. Cheers resounded among the people gathered to bid, and those who gathered to watch the bidding action. “How long will this last?” Kestrel asked Castona, after they left the stage and sat in a private box to one side.
“I suspect it will last about an hour. We won’t stay to watch. We need to get you to your next stop,” the merchant said. Just then the auctioneer came by, and was introduced to Kestrel.
“Tell me some stories about the battle with the yeti,” the auctioneer asked. “It gives the auction more color when I can pepper some topical references into the action.
So Kestrel repeated parts of the story, telling about the arrows that bounced off the tough hide, the mighty blows that had harmed him and his companions, the death of Artur. They remained in the box after the auctioneer left, and watched as the action began. A pageant of helpers began to carry goods out onto the stage, placing them on tables and stands.
“Where’s the keg of blood?” Kestrel asked after the last item was put on display.
“We split it up into twenty containers. Each one will be sold off separately, because we know there are so many bidders interested in yeti blood. But we need to get going,” the merchant said, standing up, and he led Kestrel back to the palace. “The herald will take you from here; they decided to inject your tattoos here. I’ll talk to you later. Come by my shop this afternoon or tomorrow and we’ll settle up on the proceeds from the auction.”
“Welcome back young champion,” the herald said. He was the same black-garbed announcer who has spoken to and for Kestrel on the stage the previous day.
“What is your name?” Kestrel asked.
“Moresond,” the man replied with aplomb. “And you are Kestrel, correct?”
After Kestrel’s nod, Moresond began to lead him back through the palace to a small stone structure set in a private garden. “This is the palace chapel to Kai,” the herald explained. They opened the door and stepped in, where Kestrel was surprised to see three men and several bouquets of flowers. He saw several candles burning, and smelled incense as well.
“The Doge commanded that you receive your tattoos here in this chapel,” Moresond said. “It’s quite unusual, but of course the artist agreed.”
“Who says no to the Doge?” one of the waiting men said with a smile.
“Now, if you’ll remove your shirt, we’ll take a look at what we’ve got to work with,” he commanded.
“I’ll leave you now,” Moresond announced. I’ll come by, or send someone by to check on you from time to time. If you need anything, just find a guard in the palace and tell them.
“Lie down over here,” the tattoo artist told the shirtless Kestrel, gesturing towards a plain cot set up on the altar.
“It looks like a sacrifice,” one of the attendants joked as he watched Kestrel take the position.
“It isn’t, is it?” Kestrel asked with a grin, and they all laughed.
“Now, I hope you’ve got a reasonable pain tolerance level. I’m going to spend the next few hours poking lots of needles into your skin. If you think you need a shot of white corn, let me know, and we’ll set it up for you,” the tattoo artist told him, opening up a large wooden case that he set down next to where Kestrel lay.
“Keep your mind clear, my servant,” a ghostly female voice whispered in Kestrel’s brain.
His eyes popped open, and whirled around, examining the ceiling overhead, trying to discern what had happened.
“I take it you want the liquor?” the tattooist asked, mistaking the cause of Kestrel’s reaction.
“What? No. No thanks.” Kestrel answered. His mind was racing, trying to guess what had caused Kai to speak to him. He knew the feel of Kai’s touch on his soul, and there was no mistaking the source of the voice.
“My lady, what can I do for you?” he asked silently.
“Wait patiently. Let the engraving begin. I will do the rest when the circumstances are right. Just relax,” the voice soothingly said.
“Alright; let’s begin,” the artist spoke, and Kestrel saw his hands move, then felt the process begin. The pain was not bad; each prick was worse than annoying, but not unbearable. There was pain, though it was tolerable pain. But it was constant. Every few seconds the pain was renewed. It slowly spread as the design work on Kestrel’s chest widened.
“What is it you are creating on me?” Kestrel asked at last, following what seemed like hours of needle pricks.
“Well, here on the right side we’re putting the portrait of a sailing ship, a symbol of your rank as a Captain of the Fleet,” the tattooist told him as he pressed another needle into Kestrel’s skin. “I’ve virtually got it finished.
“And over on the left, above your heart, we’re putting the symbol of your role as the Champion of the People of Estone,” he explained.
He poked a needle into Kestrel’s right breast, then sat back. “There, the ship is finished. In a couple of days when the blood is wiped away and the swelling goes down it will be a beauty.
“Now,” he said, and Kestrel felt a needle prick on his left breast, directly over his heart. “Here we go starting the crest.”
“And what exactly does the crest of Estone look like?” Kestrel asked. There was a sudden noise from outside as a gust of wind blew loudly around the chapel structure.
“For you, it will be personalized — quartered on the left, and whole on the right. On the right we will silhouette a yeti, the monster that you bested. On the left the upper quarter will bear a star, the north star that leads travelers to our land, and the lower quarter will bear…”
His words were drowned out by a stone-rattling crash of thunder, as the interior of the chapel suddenly dramatically darkened. All heads looked at the windows, where large drops of rain began to splatter loudly against the panes of glass, falling faster and harder with each second.
“That’s quite a storm moving in,” someone said loudly. The building lit up as lightening streaked across the sky outside, and then another fli
cker relit the interior again, as another bolt struck very close by, shaking the building and crashing so loudly that one assistant placed his hands over his ears.
There was another crashing lightning strike just as close on the other side of the chapel, that struck so hard dust fell from the rafters above, and then a third strike seemed to hit the chapel itself, the deafening noise making the inside of the church ring, and streaks of light ran along the joints between the stones in the wall, multiple streaming snakes of light that traveled downward, and then congregated together and produced an explosive burst of light and another, bell-like ringing sound.
When the sparks from the explosion faded away, a tall regal figure stood in their place, a woman who glowed faintly. The golden halo was a gentle light, but as she began to walk towards the stunned tableau of men at the front of the chapel, each footstep she took left behind a golden glowing print on the polished marble floor.
“Gods above preserve us!” the tattoo artist screamed, rising and backing away from his seat next to Kestrel, joining his assistants who were huddled together against the wall.
“Kestrel, today you commit yourself to me,” the woman said aloud in a resounding voice.
He lay on his board, preternaturally calm, his head raised, looking up at the approach of Kai, the Air Goddess of the Humans.
He started to rise from his board, so that he could kneel. “No, do not rise. Lay back down,” she commanded him as she approached.
“Where are your manners?” she asked the frightened men against the wall. “Do you not bow down to your goddess?”
All four of them immediately prostrated themselves on the floor, their heads touching the ground.
“Kestrel, you have prayed to me, and you have called upon me for help. I have heard and accepted your prayers. I have granted you favors that you wanted. I have directed your steps at times, so that you might grow and learn in ways that please me, for I have plans to use you for the good of humanity, and for my own needs,” the goddess spoke as she reached Kestrel’s side. He looked directly up into her face, staring upon holy perfection, beauty beyond anything he had ever imagined, and found his sight went blind the instant he perceived how beautiful the goddess was.
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