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.”
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.