Kay earned the nickname ‘Pennant’ when he turned ten. He was ever up for a prank and us kids followed him with glee. We always seemed to be in trouble. The day his birthday arrived, to celebrate his double digits, he thought up quite the plan. We crept up the old watchtower shortly after sunrise with a furled flag under Kay’s arm. The tower was unattended, but it was old and considered dangerous. No one climbed the worn stairs anymore.
At the very top Kay slotted his makeshift pole into the sunken receptacle for the watch flags of warning … and his pennant flapped over the city of Orlean. A massive raised middle finger, no less.
A search for the pranksters followed, but we were not caught.
The next year, eleven years old, Kay flew naked buttocks over Orlean. The boy’s reputation was that day entrenched. We were caught then, but it did not matter. Kay is the Pennant. In the years since, he has raised many flags in many cities.
“I heard about the eye you flew over the coastal cities,” Damin grins at Kay. “Good move.”
Kay laughs. “It raised the questions we wanted asked, yes.” He squints at Damin. “Like to Mirlin, I wonder how you know about it.”
Damin shrugs. “Mirlin isn’t the only westerner to cross the plains. A few plateau dwellers braved the wastes to your territory also. We understood we needed to communicate.”
I stare at Damin. The man has utterly surprised me. His view is not what surprises me, for it is logical; my surprise is for his ability to keep it close. We have discussed many issues, yet not this one.
“Why did you not say?” I ask.
He turns to me. “I waited for you to share what your talent is able to do. I, after all, revealed mine and thus put my life in your hands.”