Eleven

High above the called, an eight-year old boy named Squee was scampering among the trees, tracking their every move, and pausing now and then to scan their minds for scattered thoughts. He was only able to pick up pieces. The old man's transmissions were the clearest for him, but they hardly told a coherent story. The group was off wandering without direction. How could they know what 'remarkable' meant? This was something that Squee felt vibrating over and over again. The cluster he followed was puzzling over that word. It must be important. He might even get a gold star for this.
Squee kept well out of range, or so he believed. Ember knew he was there but didn't concern herself with him. She knew all about the Watchers, who had never caused any disturbance. They were out of the game but into their own, a network of spies vying for prizes from someone, she wasn't sure who, someone who kept himself even more hidden than her grandmother did. She had her suspicions about who he was, but so far she hadn't been able to prove it.
Squee knew, of course. Every Watcher knew the one who commissioned their actions, the one to whom they reported, the one who handed out stars. Squee's arms and sides were lined with gold. The silver and bronze he received he kept in a special reserve, but the gold he had stamped on his body. He loved the way they glittered in the water. Leaping about the highest limbs, he giggled with glee thinking about his next treasures. He clambered away from the group and made his way straight for the lakeside where the Spymaster lived.
Bumbarta - the Spymaster - knew he was coming but acted as if he did not. He remained in his hut, anticipating the news he'd receive. Usually the Watchers had nothing to tell him, nothing of any importance, but he kept them all at it for a day such as this. He clasped his hands tightly, nervous by the fire he kept burning inside of his hut. He liked to say that the heat was meant for his bones, which were old, cold and frail. His slender frame and narrow face, topped by a mop of silvery hair and a goatee of which he was proud, was bent by the flames when Squee scrambled inside.
"Master," Squee cried, "I brought you some news. Real news! Real news! I think you will like it."
"In a moment," said Bumbarta, feigning indifference, "I can't seem to make myself comfortable." He sat creakily down in the hollowed out stump he used for a chair. When at last he had settled himself, he looked up at the impatient child, who was hopping around on one foot, keeping himself entertained while the old man was busying himself.
"Now then, little one," Bumbarta said quietly, "you seem to be somewhat excited."
"Oh yes," Squee burst out, rushing up to the man. "You are not going to believe it. No, you are not."
"Maybe we'll see, if you tell me," Bumbarta said, smiling.
"There's four of them," Squee burst out in a jumble, "gathered together you'll never guess where."
"You're right," Bumbarta sighed. "I shall never guess, so I shall never try."
"Then I'll tell you," said Squee. Bumbarta did not hold his breath.
"The Particular tree," Squee reported. "That's where they met. I was following the new one, the one who just came yesterday. Do you remember? I told you about her."
"The pretty one, yes," Bumbarta replied. "The one who was traveling with Ember."
"With Ember, yes, that one," Squee nearly snarled. Bumbarta pretended to yawn. He did not want to get into eight year olds' spites. Nearly all of the "children" had grievances among one another. It was quite complicated.
"They met up with others," Squee told him. "The others were waiting, already there. Then they talked among each other. A lot of words going back and forth. They sat in a circle for awhile. A whole lot of words spoken then. I only got bits, but one word a lot. Remarkable. They said it and thought it a number of times. Remarkable this, remarkable that. They yelled at each other. Or some of them did. One of them we already know. That one Barque. The Striker, you know. He was there with his snake, darling Princess. Princess he kept coiled up around him. She did not seem to be enjoying herself very much. I could hear Princess breathing a lot."
Squee paused to catch his breath. Bumbarta tried his best to hide his displeasure. He had sensed the four gathering and knew who they were. What he didn't know was what they were saying. For this he had Watchers. For this he needed their vigor and spirit, but most of all their proximity. Bumbarta wasn't able to travel, not much, and certainly couldn't go following like them.
There were perhaps a dozen of them, most of them eight, a couple sixteen. They weren't the cleverest people, but they did like to have their fun. He'd found the first of them resigned to playing tag in the forest forever, Blajha and Creigh, the twins. They'd stumbled upon his retreat, Blajha hiding in his hut while Creigh circled suspiciously around. They'd been a definite nuisance, returning over and over again to play hide and seek in his dwelling, each knowing perfectly well where the other one was, all the while calling for them to come out. At last, Bumbarta lost patience, and suggested a different game they could play, called Watching. He assigned them a target and made them compete with reports. Whoever could bring back the most information would get a reward. Over time there came some refinements, along with some other recruits, until he finally settled on the system of stars. By then he had filled up on gossip, and knew practically everything about every other exile around.
By then, Bumbarta had already resolved to utterly destroy Canopus. He hated it, and even more hated the people who'd put him in there, and silently promised revenge. This was the real meaning of fire in his life. He kept himself hot to keep up his fury. Outside he seemed calm to all comers. To the Watchers he was even a benevolent presence. They loved him, in fact, and were happy to go along with his game. It also kept them busy and amused, and the Watchers enjoyed laughter more than anything else.
"Remarkable what, exactly," Bumbarta pressed Squee behind drawn lips.
"Places, I think," Squee frowned, trying to remember exactly, "Remarkable places and things, yes, I'm sure that was it."
"What does it mean?" the older man uttered, not meaning to say it out loud.
"I don't know, master," Squee shrugged. "Should I go back for more? Follow them again? I can pick up some words, I know that I can."
"Yes, yes," Bumbarta nodded. "That would be good, "And take Soma this time. She can get closer."
"Soma?" Squee asked as if hoping Bumbarta would relent.
"Yes, Soma," Bumbarta repeated. "Go find her now and take her along. I'll need you both. Yes, together you'll earn double stars. Come here now," he added, and as Squee approached he held out his hand, in which there lay a gold star.
"This one's for you now," Bumbarta said. "There'll be more when you and Soma report with more words. And directions as well. I want to know where they go, where they are."
"Yes, master," said Squee, gingerly taking the star from his hand, and then slapping it onto his forearm, where he pressed it and rubbed till it stuck. Squee let out a yelp of delight and rushed out of the hut. He jumped into the lake to moisten the sticker and held out his arm to inspect and enjoy it. After splashing around for a bit he came out, and without waiting to dry he ran off, back into the trees, to find his companion as ordered.
Bumbarta observed all of this from his seat in his hut, then returned his gaze to the fire. Four people gathered at the particular tree, meeting up there as if by assignment, then going off, all together, a Striker and Savior among them. It was curious, curious indeed. Strikers and Saviors were never together, except at a moment of strikeage, and certainly never so socially. The word Squee reported didn't interest him much. Remarkable. Such a vague term. Never mind that, he said to himself, but I must find out more about this group and what they are doing. Although, he sighed sadly, it's probably nothing at all.