“I’ve got no rooms left,” the man at the counter said gruffly. Kestrel thought his tone sounded peremptory, as if the man thought he was the final word on the matter, and it rubbed Kestrel the wrong way after traveling so far that day. He had looked forward to the opportunity to rest, especially to taking the sling off his healing arm.
Consequently, Kestrel took his tube and placed it firmly on the countertop, displaying the ribbon prominently. “You can find a room for me, can’t you?” he asked bluntly.
The expression on the proprietor’s face was momentarily inscrutable, then showed a craftiness that made Kestrel uneasy. “You’ll have your room, just like the regulations say,” the man told Kestrel.
“Orris, Captain Orris, come here,” the innkeeper barked loudly into the tavern, causing heads to turn.
A beefy man among the militia group rose and came sauntering over to the counter; he wore a deep red robe over his shoulders. “What is so important that you’d call me away from my ale and men?” he asked with an easy smile.
“The courier here wants to have your room. You’ll need to move your things out so that he can have it,” the innkeeper explained.
“I’m not asking for his room in particular!” Kestrel protested. “I just know the regulations say you have to give me a room.”
Captain Orris was studying Kestrel closely. “What happened to your arm? Did you get hurt in the battle?”
Kestrel blushed, feeling defensive. “No,” he mumbled, “I fell and hurt it.”
“Come on in here and have a drink with my boys before you go up to your room,” Orris wrapped his arm around Alec’s shoulder and directed him into the tavern room. Kestrel wanted to resist, but was at a loss for a polite way to refuse the seemingly friendly overture.
“Boys,” Orris greeted one of the tables as he planted Kestrel among the men, “this important messenger needs to kick me out of my room here at the inn, so he can rest that injured arm he got when he fell down.”
“He’s got awfully rounded ears; is he even an elf?” a militia member across the table asked.
“Why didn’t you fight in the battle, straight eyes?” another member asked.
Kestrel felt a sharp elbow jab his injured arm, causing him to flinch in pain. He stood up abruptly, but Orris placed a ham hand on his shoulder and forced him back down.
“You need to stay and have a drink with us, to show there’s no hard feelings,” the captain said.
Why are your eyebrows so straight?” Orris asked. “Are you mixed blood?”
Here it comes, Kestrel thought to himself, despairing over the manner in which his heritage had arisen to haunt him once again.
“Look at the size of those ears!” an unidentified voice called.
Sensing that he was about to be assaulted while injured and outnumbered, Kestrel felt a sudden sense of outrage at the injustice of the situation, and rashly decided he would manage to inflict some pain on his assailants before they completely overwhelmed him.
The desperate elfling rose with an explosive thrust of his body off the bench, and aimed his head at Orris’s unprepared chin, jarring the commander with a vicious thrust that cracked his jaws together, and tumbled him backwards, unconscious. Kestrel pulled his injured arm in close to his chest, then threw his heavier part-human weight at the guard who sat next to him, the one who had elbowed him seconds before, and knocked the man to the floor, both of them falling. Kestrel landed on top, driving the air from his opponent’s lungs, then rolled quickly to the floor.
In his roll he jarred his arm; he winced in pain as he started to rise to his knees, then saw a booted foot approaching, and turned his head just in time to avoid receiving the kick squarely in his face. After that the only thing he could do was curl up tightly in a defensive ball as kicks and punches rained upon him, drawing blood and leaving bruises until someone took mercy on him and put an end to the lopsided beating.
Several minutes later, Kestrel was unconscious, lying on the floor, and the innkeeper at last had a twinge of concern that he might be guilty of failing to honor his obligation to assist the messenger who carried the tube with the blue ribbon. He ordered two of his stable hands to carry Kestrel upstairs to the room that was rightfully his, where they carelessly threw him on the floor, obeying their instructions to not get blood on the bed, then carried out the belongings of the still unconscious militia captain.
When the beaten messenger awoke the next morning, the sun was well above the horizon, and he listened to the bustle of business on the ground floor below him as he felt every ache and injury he had suffered the night before. He rolled onto his knees, then held that position as waves of pain penetrated his consciousness from every part of his body. He held the position and thought not about the pain, but about the insults he had heard the night before. He’d heard them all before, and heard others as well, more creative ones.
He gave a painful smile as he realized he was judging his assailants by their lack of imagination in the insults they had hurled at him, not by the thrashing they had given him. With effort and groans, he rose to his feet, then spotted his message tube on the floor and groaned again before he painfully bent over and picked it up. He left his room, limping down the hallway and down the stairs, purposefully leaving the door to his room open, then leaving the front door of the inn open as well as he went past the unmanned front desk and back out into the road that would lead him gladly away from the village where his luck had been so dismal.
Kestrel told himself he’d come back and settle the score with the innkeeper and the militia someday. He knew he never would carry out any vengeful deeds, but it felt like a release of his pent-up aggravation to make the promise to himself, and the release of the anger helped him start his legs moving forward at a slow trot, a painful pace that he knew was not going to propel him very far over the course of the day.
After only two hours he stopped in a village and bought three apples from the greengrocer’s shop, then continued his plodding progress throughout the afternoon, passing the scattered traffic that headed west along the deeply shaded road. He stopped before sunset in a village with an inn, both to assure his chances to reserve a room while open rooms were available, and to let his body rest and recover.
“You’ve had a rough journey,” the grandmotherly woman at the inn commented as she assigned him to a room, tossing a key to him.
“More than I expected,” Kestrel agreed.
“There’s a hot spring outside of town where the water helps heal,” the woman offered. “It’s at the foot of the hills south of the village.
“You ought to go there and soak in the water,” she told him bluntly. “You’ll feel better.
“You might even look better,” she added with a wink.
“You really ought to go,” the lady spoke loudly as Kestrel thanked her non-committally, and started to walk towards his room.
There was a force of command in her voice that startled him, and he turned to look at her questioningly. As he glanced at her his eyes widened, and he felt frozen in place, astonished, fearful, and amazed, as he suddenly perceived that the woman at the counter was not what he had thought at all, not simply a village woman peddling local lore – she was Kere, the Elven goddess of fortune, who his mother had taught him to pray to and beware of. He felt guiltily aware of the attention he had paid the human gods, and he hoped that Kere did not know of his religious promiscuity.
“It took you a little longer to realize than it should have, Kestrel,” she told him, as his aching joints painfully obeyed his will and creakingly bowed him down to his knees. “You’re so seduced by the human goddess that you pay no attention to we simple Elfish deities, is that it?”
“Great lady, no,” Kestrel protested. “I’m just so tired and sore I wasn’t paying attention,” he tried to excuse himself. Kere was the most powerful and unpredictable of the Elven gods. His mother had alternately warned him to beware of her treats while also offering unceasing devotions to the singula
r goddess who could pluck any mortal out of the fabric of everyday life and subject them to hideous defeat or glorious success – or both.
Kestrel had always imagined the goddess as a glamorous, regal figure. The grandmotherly woman, short, squat, and solid, who was coming around the desk to approach him, did not match his imagination in any way. Yet as he watched the goddess approach, he knew that the sense of divinity he felt and the aura of power that he saw were true indications of the sacred entity whose presence overwhelmed his senses.
“You are so unusual, little one. You are clearly one of ours, and yet you are clearly one of theirs as well. I’ve known a few other subjects who were mixed race, but they have always been only subject to one set of gods or the other. Not you though,” the goddess said, and she placed her hand on his head as she spoke. It was a touch that made Kestrel wince in anticipation, until her fingers actually rested on his scalp, and it suddenly felt more like a benediction that a punishment.
“You will be subject to whimsies of fortune that are not my doing, Kestrel,” Kere told him. “I will aid you when you are within my power, if you deserve assistance. In return, when you find another one like you, a girl who also is of mixed blood, you must rescue her and take her with you until you can save her.”
“If I rescue her won’t I save her?” Kestrel asked, confused by the words of the goddess. “What girl do you mean?” he asked a moment later. “Will she be at Center Trunk when I get there?”
“Your appointment with Moorin is far in your future, at a far-away place, if you live long enough to get to that portion of your destiny,” Kere replied, “not that you should be questioning anything that a goddess tells you. Now, go to the hot springs and heal yourself, then come back here to spend a restful night.”
“What will I do then?” Kestrel asked.
Why elfling, you will do what you are ordered to do, I’m sure,” the goddess answered with humor in her voice once again. “Now go, work hard, and remember to carry out your first appointment,” Kere replied. She removed her hand from his head, then vanished from his view.
Kestrel knelt on the floor for long moments of astonishment after he was left alone, wondering if what he had just experienced was real, or some type of waking dream, the product of a damaged brain.
It wasn’t imagination, he knew; the goddess Kere had appeared to him, had spoken to him, had commanded him. He knew the touch of a divine being, and Kere was just as much a goddess as Kai was. But there was a difference, a dissimilarity in the way he felt the goddesses perceived the elves and humans; he sensed that each deity had a different perception of the role of their subservient races that they ruled, and Kere’s was the warmer regard. Regardless of those differences though, the sacred power of both of the great ones was undeniable.
He rose obediently and walked slowly to the door of the inn, then headed to the dusty crossroads at the center of the settlement, and took the road that led south. Five minutes later the road began to turn to the left, circling beside a small hill, and Kestrel turned off the road onto a well-trod path that he hoped led to the healing spring he was directed to visit. Enclosed within the thick underbrush, the air was even more still than out on the road, warmer and thicker than it had been on the road through the woods.
As he pressed through the underbrush. Kestrel heard a scream ahead of him, and abruptly stopped. With his good hand he awkwardly pulled his belt knife free and advanced to the edge of an opening, where he discovered an elf standing over a girl, who was sprawled on the ground at the edge of a pool of water, screaming and crying. The elf was large, built at least as unusually bulky as Kestrel himself was built, looking strong as a bull, and taller than Kestrel. His face was savagely contorted with powerful emotion.
“You’re mine now Moorin, and you might as well accept that you’re going to get the punishment you deserve,” the man shouted angrily at her as he kicked her ribcage viciously. “There’s no one around this time to protect you.”
The girl was named Moorin, the name that Kere had told him was the name of the girl he would have to rescue. He hadn’t expected to see the girl already, but he knew that he had to do as Kere had told him – he didn’t want to make the goddess of fortune angry with him, nor did he want to see anyone get beaten in an unfair battle, as he himself had just been pummeled the night before. He looked at the size of the man, and considered his own battered condition, then decided that a surprise attack was his best, frankly his only, option.
Kestrel charged out of the bushes and dove at the man, aiming to tackle him below the shoulder and drive him into the water. Because of his injuries he couldn’t muster the ability to sprint as quickly as he wanted; but he was only five steps away from the attacker when the man realized he was present. Kestrel left his feet and jumped at the man, determined to drive him away from the endangered girl.
And then the man vanished and Kestrel went flying through empty air and into the pool all alone.
The pool was deep and cold, causing Kestrel to sputter and swallow a great mouthful of water in surprise at the disappearance of his anticipated adversary. He thrust up to the surface of the water, then stroked blindly until he reached the edge of the pool. He reached up and grabbed a double handful of the weeds growing on the edge of the bank, and coughed explosively until he cleared his chest of its watery contents. When he was finished coughing he opened his eyes and focused on the girl he had attempted to rescue.
She was sitting up, casually straightening her clothing. She grinned at Kestrel. “You ought to take your clothes off before you dive into the water. Just a hint of friendly advice,” she told him, and suddenly Kestrel was once again astonished to discover that he was conversing with Kere.
“Is this more along the lines of your expectations for a goddess?” she asked as her hands gestured up and down her curvaceous figure.
“Goddess? What happened?” Kestrel asked.
“I wanted to test you, to see if you would honor my command. It was a harmless, simple opportunity for you to decide what to do, and I’m so happy to see that you passed the test!” she told him in her now alluring voice.
“Is this what you really look like?” Kestrel asked as he propped his elbows up on the grassy bank and looked up at the goddess.
“For you, for now, this is how I appear, though appearance is of little consequence to a god, unless seduction is called for – which it is not right now,” she added sternly. “Now, get out of the pool and go past it to the hot springs just beyond, and soak until you feel better.”
She stood up, then reached down and easily pulled Kestrel out of the water. “And elfling, you ought to take your clothes off before you get in the water next time. It will be much more comfortable!” she grinned at him again, then vanished instantaneously.
Kestrel stood with his jaw hanging open in astonishment. He had encountered a goddess twice in less than an hour. Kere, his mother’s own chosen deity, the capricious goddess of fortune, had spoken to him directly, favorably. He began to walk towards the hot springs, not even conscious of the water dripping off of him, and when he got to the steaming water of the narrow, spring-fed pool that was partially wedged between two high, stony shoulders, he disrobed without considering anything other than the need to obey Kere.
The water was very hot on one side of the pool, but only moderately warm on the other side, where Kestrel settled into a niche between two rounded boulders, and sat back with his eyes closed, half asleep as felt the magical properties of the briny spring water wash away his aches and pain. He nodded into a semi-comatose state, and sat for long minutes in blissful peace, until he heard a rustling noise nearby.
When he opened his eyes he saw a beautiful girl on the brink of dipping her toes in the water. She was extraordinary in her beauty – while Kere had been gorgeous in her most recent incarnation, this girl was beyond comparison in the symmetry of her features, the perfection of her complexion, the proportions of her figure. Yet she was only three feet tall, roughly, and
her skin was blue, which Kestrel realized meant that she must be a sprite.
He sat stock still in the water, only his head visible between the boulders, and watched the smaller being in enchantment. Never in all his life had he ever expected to see one of the mystical figures whose mischievous deeds and good services were talked about by people who were virtually guaranteed to never know anything firsthand about the small races. The lesser beings – the sprites, the water imps, the leprechauns – were known to inhabit all the lands, but to possess the ability to fly, disappear, and to hide at the drop of a hat.
The sprite was looking at the water apprehensively, and unconsciously stroking one arm as she stared down at the water. Her behavior puzzled Kestrel, but he was content to sit silently and watch the sprite carry out her internal debate. She was beautiful, and his observation of the mobile expressions that passed across her lovely face as she studied the spring water only added to his enchantment.
Kestrel watched and the sprite stood indecisively for several minutes, until there was a momentary rustle in the bushes nearby and a wolf jumped out of the greenery, clamping its fangs upon the screaming girl’s thigh, then disappearing back into the forest. Kestrel sat stunned at the suddenness of the violent assault.
The girl screamed again at some distance, and Kestrel realized that he could perhaps rescue her. He stroked across the water, and picked up his knife from the pile of clothing he had left on shore, then ran into the underbrush, spotted the wolf’s trail, and sprinted in the direction that that animal had carried the female sprite away.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 01 - The Healing Spring Page 5