Chapter Twenty-One: Revenge at Its Sweetest
"I still say we should have tied her upside down to a tree branch near a bees' nest," Firar said, jumping down from the back of the horse he was sharing with Mychal.
"Maybe we'll do that next," the Warrior said thoughtfully, rubbing his stubbled chin. "But, this first." He dismounted and took the still- sleeping Scout from Araphel, who followed them to the sound of rushing water. Stepping carefully over various weeds, the elf brushed hanging limbs aside as the three stepped onto a low stone ledge overlooking the frothy pool of a waterfall.
Mychal shifted his grip on Kaylee, who miraculously had not awoken or made any other sign of life. When the Scout was asleep, she was very near comatose. "Araphel, grab the two corners of the cloak by her feet."
The Healer began to get a vague idea of what the Warrior and the Keeper had planned as he obeyed. Mychal grasped the shoulders of the cloak, forming the garment into a sort of hammock. A devilish grin dawned on the man's face as he said quietly, "On my count. One . . ."
They began to swing Kaylee back and forth, building up momentum with every swing.
"Two . . ."
There was a muffled sound, almost like a half-formed question from a subconscious mind that knew something was not quite right, but by then it was far too late.
"Three!" On the downswing, both Mychal and Araphel released the girl, cloak and all, to the mercy of the blue-green water.
SPLASH! Great water droplets flew in all directions, and the Scout sank like a stone. After a few moments, she surfaced, spewing words that in every way classified her as awake.
"You moronic, idiotic, noodle-brained nincompoops! You stupid, conceited, arrogant, stinking excuses for men!"
"Elf," Araphel corrected, having a difficult time concealing his mirth over the sight of seaweed plastered to the Scout's head, tangled inextricably in her hair.
"Dwarf," Firar added, leaning on his mace, stroking his black beard and letting his guffaws escape at will. Mychal was holding his sides he was laughing so hard.
"Shut up! Just . . .zip it! I don't want to hear another stupid word out of your gaping holes, any of you! When I get out of this . . ." Kaylee hadn't even paused to take a breath between sentences, she was so livid. Then suddenly her eyes went wide and all anger drained from her face as she disappeared underwater. There was a heartbeat of silence. Then:
"You do not have any carnivorous water-dwelling creatures in your world, do you?" Araphel asked, keen eyes searching the foamy, turbulent water.
"None that I know," Mychal said, his humor dissolving in an instant. "But that does not mean that there are none." A note of worry began to grow in his voice.
"Kaylee!" Firar shouted, crouching near the edge of the stone shelf, hoping that perhaps she would surface and he could grab her.
"If this is another of Shkena's tricks, so help me . . ." Mychal muttered. "Do you see her?"
"No," Araphel called over his shoulder, stepping closer to look.
"Yes!" Kaylee shouted, and there was a mighty splash as she burst from beneath the water like some seaweed-covered leviathan. Before Firar could react, her hand had attained a firm grip on his long beard and he was sailing head-first into the waves. Araphel was quicker and tried to jump aside, but failed miserably as Kaylee got hold of the front of his robes. A good yank and it was all over.
Firar bobbed to the surface, roaring that his armor would rust.
"You are not wearing any," a dripping Araphel pointed out, only to be caught full in the face with a wave of water the dwarf sent in his direction.
Mychal paid no attention to either of his now-sopping companions as Kaylee swiftly hauled herself onto dry land. She had let her cloak go, and the white of her dress had been hard to distinguish from the white foam of the waterfall. That was how she had gone undetected. But Mychal had bigger problems than that. There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes.
"So, thought you'd teach me a lesson, did you? Thought you'd get revenge, did you? Well, let me tell you what I think, Mychal the Warrior. I think you're going to get a bath." The entire time she had been speaking, (snarling, rather) Kaylee had been circling Mychal around. In a sudden heart-stopping instant, the Warrior realized that he was on the wrong side of the ledge. The one facing the water.
His realization came one half-second too late. Kaylee hit him with a flying tackle, and both went splashing into the pool, Mychal with an award- winning bellyflop. What ensued then was an all-out water war in the established age-old tradition: guys against girls.
"Take that, you scumball!"
"May your hide be devoured by sharks!"
"What are sharks, Firar?"
"Araphel, look-! Never mind."
"Ha ha! Enjoying your bath, O Warrior of mine-hey!"
"May you fall in a sinkhole!"
"If she did, you would have to retrieve her, Master Dwa-Ai! Do not strike at your own team member!"
"What business is it of yours, Elf? I shall splash whomever I please!"
"Hush, both of you. Kaylee is getting away!"
"Not on my beard, she doesn't."
"Aye. I shall have her back soon enough."
"Hey, lemme go! Pumme down! I'm warning you . . . no, not the waterfa-!"
Araphel at last succeeded in dunking the Scout beneath the tumbling water of the falls. She came up spluttering, more weeds stuck to her face. Peeling them off, Kaylee shook her head, trying to disentangle the other aquatic foliage.
"Now that we are all quite clean," Mychal said, his tone the only thing in the vicinity that was dry, "perhaps we might continue in our journey?"
"I trust you have learned your lesson, girl," Firar growled, stumping ashore while trying to wring water from his beard.
Kaylee rolled her eyes, but had the grace to concede, "Yes, sir. Never fall asleep anywhere near you three."
Mychal glared at her, but she smiled impudently. "It is no laughing matter. We could have been hanged! And then where would you be?"
"Oh please. I was going to confess my mistake at the trial the next morning. You were perfectly safe," Kaylee replied, combing out her hair with her fingers, tossing seaweed aside.
There was a moment of silence, and Araphel raised an accusing eyebrow at Firar and Mychal. The two exchanged sheepish glances and shrugged. "I thought you said there would be no trial," Araphel said pointedly.
For the first time in a long time, Firar was speechless. "I-well . . ."
Mychal flung up his hands. "Forget it. We were wrong. However, in any other town it could have happened. Do not be so foolish again, Kaylee. You must grow up before you regret one of your childish actions." He looked long and hard at the girl, who sobered immediately and frowned at him.
Araphel interrupted the tense moment by clearing his throat. "I do not know about any of the rest of you, but I have no desire to ride a horse in wet clothes."
"I much agree," Firar spoke up, already removing his soaked overtunic. "We have spare things in our packs. Perhaps Mychal's garments will fit you."
In short order the four of them had retrieved dry clothes and had laid their wet things out in the sun. Firar handed out some dried meat and apples and the three sat amiably in the grass, watching Kaylee stroke one of the horses while the other cropped grass a short distance away.
Mychal polished off his fruit and tossed the core away before asking, "So, Araphel. I know we have had little time to talk, but I would like to know more about your world. Is it only elves that live there?"
"Yes. There are ancient stories of other beings that dwelled there long ago, but they have since disappeared, or so we believe."
"Are all elves healers?" Firar questioned, chewing on his meat.
Araphel shook his head. "Some are merchants, others craftsmen. We all have different skills that we use for different purposes. My brother is skilled in silverworking, and my sister in weaving. I possess a rare kind of talent, one that few elves inherit."
"So Kaylee and I have seen." Mychal glanced up as the said girl sauntered back to the informal circle the others sat in. Only a trained eye and a good memory would have noted the slight hitch in her gait.
Araphel apparently had both of these, for he looked up at the Scout and said in a forceful tone that was not to be refused, "Sit."
Kaylee complied before she realized what she was doing. And then she immediately hopped back to her feet. "Why?" she demanded. Whether she was angry at being ordered around, or merely for the pure sake of being contrary, Araphel was not sure. One thing was for certain, however. He was far older than her and was not accustomed to being disobeyed by anyone he considered a patient.
"Sit."
Kaylee sat, fidgeting nervously. Araphel settled himself on the side where he knew her knife-wound to be. "You know I already had it looked at, just let it go," she pleaded somewhat half-heartedly.
"What is this animosity you have towards those who would look after you?" Mychal wondered aloud, lacing his fingers together and placing his hands behind his head before lying back in the grass and gazing up at the clouds overhead.
"Bad memories," Kaylee said quietly. "Things that you experience once and never like again from there on out. One of the big things with me is healers. I hate them in general, no offense, Araphel. And also a great deal of self-dependency. I don't want others doing for me what I should be able to do myself." She cringed and bit her lip as the Healer carefully rolled up her legging to reveal the crude stitching job done by Magnum's excuse for a doctor.
Araphel's brow furrowed and he murmured a prayer under his breath. "What is this barbarism?" he asked.
"They're stitches, meant to hold the skin together until it heals," Kaylee explained through firmly-clenched teeth.
"Firar, lend me your knife."
"Hey, what do you think you're-ow!" Kaylee recoiled as Araphel meticulously sliced the threads away, removing them from the swollen and reddened flesh around the deep wound.
"Stay still!" he commanded, clamping one hand down firmly over the reopened gash. Focusing, drawing on the vibrancy of the earth, the elf closed the incision and sat back, before returning Firar's knife.
"I'll have you know that you did not improve my opinion of medicine in any form," Kaylee said sourly, jerking her legging back down and stalking back to the horses. "Thanks," she called over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought, leaving a bewildered elf in her wake.
"She is an odd child, I will admit as much," he muttered before imitating Mychal's position on the grass.
"Everybody is odd once you get to know them," Firar stated philosophically, restocking the hidden pockets in his clothing with all the small articles he always carried in case of any number of emergencies.
"Truly," Mychal agreed. "So we head for Southwicke from here?" he addressed the Keeper.
Firar squinted up at the sun. "We'll not make it by nightfall. But at least we can expect a warm welcome there, as opposed to Gerinhall."
Araphel looked between the two of them with an amazed expression on his face. "How do you know where we are simply by looking at the sun?"
Mychal let out a short laugh. "Not the sun, our surroundings. You see the Howling Mountains to the west?" He gestured vaguely without opening his eyes. "If we travel on their course southward, we can't miss Southwicke. Trust me."
Araphel cocked an eyebrow at that, but refrained from giving a smart response.
"I still say we should have tied her upside down to a tree branch near a bees' nest," Firar said, jumping down from the back of the horse he was sharing with Mychal.
"Maybe we'll do that next," the Warrior said thoughtfully, rubbing his stubbled chin. "But, this first." He dismounted and took the still- sleeping Scout from Araphel, who followed them to the sound of rushing water. Stepping carefully over various weeds, the elf brushed hanging limbs aside as the three stepped onto a low stone ledge overlooking the frothy pool of a waterfall.
Mychal shifted his grip on Kaylee, who miraculously had not awoken or made any other sign of life. When the Scout was asleep, she was very near comatose. "Araphel, grab the two corners of the cloak by her feet."
The Healer began to get a vague idea of what the Warrior and the Keeper had planned as he obeyed. Mychal grasped the shoulders of the cloak, forming the garment into a sort of hammock. A devilish grin dawned on the man's face as he said quietly, "On my count. One . . ."
They began to swing Kaylee back and forth, building up momentum with every swing.
"Two . . ."
There was a muffled sound, almost like a half-formed question from a subconscious mind that knew something was not quite right, but by then it was far too late.
"Three!" On the downswing, both Mychal and Araphel released the girl, cloak and all, to the mercy of the blue-green water.
SPLASH! Great water droplets flew in all directions, and the Scout sank like a stone. After a few moments, she surfaced, spewing words that in every way classified her as awake.
"You moronic, idiotic, noodle-brained nincompoops! You stupid, conceited, arrogant, stinking excuses for men!"
"Elf," Araphel corrected, having a difficult time concealing his mirth over the sight of seaweed plastered to the Scout's head, tangled inextricably in her hair.
"Dwarf," Firar added, leaning on his mace, stroking his black beard and letting his guffaws escape at will. Mychal was holding his sides he was laughing so hard.
"Shut up! Just . . .zip it! I don't want to hear another stupid word out of your gaping holes, any of you! When I get out of this . . ." Kaylee hadn't even paused to take a breath between sentences, she was so livid. Then suddenly her eyes went wide and all anger drained from her face as she disappeared underwater. There was a heartbeat of silence. Then:
"You do not have any carnivorous water-dwelling creatures in your world, do you?" Araphel asked, keen eyes searching the foamy, turbulent water.
"None that I know," Mychal said, his humor dissolving in an instant. "But that does not mean that there are none." A note of worry began to grow in his voice.
"Kaylee!" Firar shouted, crouching near the edge of the stone shelf, hoping that perhaps she would surface and he could grab her.
"If this is another of Shkena's tricks, so help me . . ." Mychal muttered. "Do you see her?"
"No," Araphel called over his shoulder, stepping closer to look.
"Yes!" Kaylee shouted, and there was a mighty splash as she burst from beneath the water like some seaweed-covered leviathan. Before Firar could react, her hand had attained a firm grip on his long beard and he was sailing head-first into the waves. Araphel was quicker and tried to jump aside, but failed miserably as Kaylee got hold of the front of his robes. A good yank and it was all over.
Firar bobbed to the surface, roaring that his armor would rust.
"You are not wearing any," a dripping Araphel pointed out, only to be caught full in the face with a wave of water the dwarf sent in his direction.
Mychal paid no attention to either of his now-sopping companions as Kaylee swiftly hauled herself onto dry land. She had let her cloak go, and the white of her dress had been hard to distinguish from the white foam of the waterfall. That was how she had gone undetected. But Mychal had bigger problems than that. There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes.
"So, thought you'd teach me a lesson, did you? Thought you'd get revenge, did you? Well, let me tell you what I think, Mychal the Warrior. I think you're going to get a bath." The entire time she had been speaking, (snarling, rather) Kaylee had been circling Mychal around. In a sudden heart-stopping instant, the Warrior realized that he was on the wrong side of the ledge. The one facing the water.
His realization came one half-second too late. Kaylee hit him with a flying tackle, and both went splashing into the pool, Mychal with an award- winning bellyflop. What ensued then was an all-out water war in the established age-old tradition: guys against girls.
"Take that, you scumball!"
"May your hide be devoured by sharks!"
"What are sharks, Firar?"
"Araphel, look-! Never mind."
"Ha ha! Enjoying your bath, O Warrior of mine-hey!"
"May you fall in a sinkhole!"
"If she did, you would have to retrieve her, Master Dwa-Ai! Do not strike at your own team member!"
"What business is it of yours, Elf? I shall splash whomever I please!"
"Hush, both of you. Kaylee is getting away!"
"Not on my beard, she doesn't."
"Aye. I shall have her back soon enough."
"Hey, lemme go! Pumme down! I'm warning you . . . no, not the waterfa-!"
Araphel at last succeeded in dunking the Scout beneath the tumbling water of the falls. She came up spluttering, more weeds stuck to her face. Peeling them off, Kaylee shook her head, trying to disentangle the other aquatic foliage.
"Now that we are all quite clean," Mychal said, his tone the only thing in the vicinity that was dry, "perhaps we might continue in our journey?"
"I trust you have learned your lesson, girl," Firar growled, stumping ashore while trying to wring water from his beard.
Kaylee rolled her eyes, but had the grace to concede, "Yes, sir. Never fall asleep anywhere near you three."
Mychal glared at her, but she smiled impudently. "It is no laughing matter. We could have been hanged! And then where would you be?"
"Oh please. I was going to confess my mistake at the trial the next morning. You were perfectly safe," Kaylee replied, combing out her hair with her fingers, tossing seaweed aside.
There was a moment of silence, and Araphel raised an accusing eyebrow at Firar and Mychal. The two exchanged sheepish glances and shrugged. "I thought you said there would be no trial," Araphel said pointedly.
For the first time in a long time, Firar was speechless. "I-well . . ."
Mychal flung up his hands. "Forget it. We were wrong. However, in any other town it could have happened. Do not be so foolish again, Kaylee. You must grow up before you regret one of your childish actions." He looked long and hard at the girl, who sobered immediately and frowned at him.
Araphel interrupted the tense moment by clearing his throat. "I do not know about any of the rest of you, but I have no desire to ride a horse in wet clothes."
"I much agree," Firar spoke up, already removing his soaked overtunic. "We have spare things in our packs. Perhaps Mychal's garments will fit you."
In short order the four of them had retrieved dry clothes and had laid their wet things out in the sun. Firar handed out some dried meat and apples and the three sat amiably in the grass, watching Kaylee stroke one of the horses while the other cropped grass a short distance away.
Mychal polished off his fruit and tossed the core away before asking, "So, Araphel. I know we have had little time to talk, but I would like to know more about your world. Is it only elves that live there?"
"Yes. There are ancient stories of other beings that dwelled there long ago, but they have since disappeared, or so we believe."
"Are all elves healers?" Firar questioned, chewing on his meat.
Araphel shook his head. "Some are merchants, others craftsmen. We all have different skills that we use for different purposes. My brother is skilled in silverworking, and my sister in weaving. I possess a rare kind of talent, one that few elves inherit."
"So Kaylee and I have seen." Mychal glanced up as the said girl sauntered back to the informal circle the others sat in. Only a trained eye and a good memory would have noted the slight hitch in her gait.
Araphel apparently had both of these, for he looked up at the Scout and said in a forceful tone that was not to be refused, "Sit."
Kaylee complied before she realized what she was doing. And then she immediately hopped back to her feet. "Why?" she demanded. Whether she was angry at being ordered around, or merely for the pure sake of being contrary, Araphel was not sure. One thing was for certain, however. He was far older than her and was not accustomed to being disobeyed by anyone he considered a patient.
"Sit."
Kaylee sat, fidgeting nervously. Araphel settled himself on the side where he knew her knife-wound to be. "You know I already had it looked at, just let it go," she pleaded somewhat half-heartedly.
"What is this animosity you have towards those who would look after you?" Mychal wondered aloud, lacing his fingers together and placing his hands behind his head before lying back in the grass and gazing up at the clouds overhead.
"Bad memories," Kaylee said quietly. "Things that you experience once and never like again from there on out. One of the big things with me is healers. I hate them in general, no offense, Araphel. And also a great deal of self-dependency. I don't want others doing for me what I should be able to do myself." She cringed and bit her lip as the Healer carefully rolled up her legging to reveal the crude stitching job done by Magnum's excuse for a doctor.
Araphel's brow furrowed and he murmured a prayer under his breath. "What is this barbarism?" he asked.
"They're stitches, meant to hold the skin together until it heals," Kaylee explained through firmly-clenched teeth.
"Firar, lend me your knife."
"Hey, what do you think you're-ow!" Kaylee recoiled as Araphel meticulously sliced the threads away, removing them from the swollen and reddened flesh around the deep wound.
"Stay still!" he commanded, clamping one hand down firmly over the reopened gash. Focusing, drawing on the vibrancy of the earth, the elf closed the incision and sat back, before returning Firar's knife.
"I'll have you know that you did not improve my opinion of medicine in any form," Kaylee said sourly, jerking her legging back down and stalking back to the horses. "Thanks," she called over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought, leaving a bewildered elf in her wake.
"She is an odd child, I will admit as much," he muttered before imitating Mychal's position on the grass.
"Everybody is odd once you get to know them," Firar stated philosophically, restocking the hidden pockets in his clothing with all the small articles he always carried in case of any number of emergencies.
"Truly," Mychal agreed. "So we head for Southwicke from here?" he addressed the Keeper.
Firar squinted up at the sun. "We'll not make it by nightfall. But at least we can expect a warm welcome there, as opposed to Gerinhall."
Araphel looked between the two of them with an amazed expression on his face. "How do you know where we are simply by looking at the sun?"
Mychal let out a short laugh. "Not the sun, our surroundings. You see the Howling Mountains to the west?" He gestured vaguely without opening his eyes. "If we travel on their course southward, we can't miss Southwicke. Trust me."
Araphel cocked an eyebrow at that, but refrained from giving a smart response.