Rake's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  “As the wood ages, it improves as a bow, you see. That bow has belonged to another twice, once by a local woman, not of our Clan, used for hunting. It fed her family. After a year, she returned it for one more powerful. She swore by it. The next owner was one of us. She lived down in the valley where you will travel tomorrow. While hunting alone one day, four highwaymen attacked her. She killed three in defense of herself with that bow.”

  “The fourth?” Cinder asked.

  “Killed her with a knife after charging and knocking her down before she could draw on him. Still, when you consider they ambushed her while alone and she managed to kill three of them, I am proud of my work. And her.”

  “How did the bow come back to you?” Cinder asked.

  “Her sister was also a ‘customer’ of mine. She returned the bow when she took it from the dead fingers of the last of the highwaymen a few days later.”

  Rake felt conflicted in the story, however, Cinder held the bow up, tested the pull, and said, “I’ll proudly use this one if permitted.”

  “And mine?” Rake asked.

  “Yours has no story, yet. The one beside it has an interesting one if you care to hear about it.”

  Rake made the exchange for the used one. He noted it was stained, there were scratches and two gouges, numerous nicks, and dents, and the varnish was worn in places, then he turned to Carver. The wood was laminated, the bend sharper than any he’d ever used. All in all, it had what others might call character.

  The bowman said, “That one also had two previous owners. One was bonded with a Blue and died young as they fought together against a troupe of bounty hunters. The other owner was a member of the Dragon Clan who took to wandering the Brownlands, upriver, Breslau, and who knows where else. The kind of man who cannot sit still over his lifetime. I remember him well. The bow was returned to me many years after he left my shop. No story arrived with the return. Sorry.”

  Carver seemed pleased Rake had chosen a used bow over a new one, although the old man would have respected Rake’s decision for either, he felt sure. Carver selected two plain quivers and tossed them to each as well as a pair of leather sheaths for the bows. He pointed to a keg filled with battered arrows standing inside it. “Grab a handful and follow me.”

  At the foot of the porch steps, unnoticed until now, Rake saw a target backed by bags of compacted straw. Carver limped about twenty steps away and said, “We’ll start here.”

  Rake hesitated. The bows his father and he had made at home had a maximum range of about twenty steps. Beyond that, the arrows lost velocity and fell helplessly to the ground. The crooked arrows made it hard to hit a target from that far away. His expectations were few.

  The usual method of hunting was to get close to the game and hope to strike it with an arrow then chase it because often the arrows barely penetrated. Even larger birds had to be chased down, following their blood spoor. He chased deer on foot until they tired from loss of blood, and usually killed them with his knife. He’d chased one deer for two full days.

  Carver had said, “We’ll start here,” meaning he intended to increase the distance. Rake wanted to go first.

  He readied himself. Carver made a few minor adjustments to his stance and said, “You will tire and do not have the strength to hold the arrows in place to aim. Not yet. I just want you to draw and fire. One continuous action.”

  Rake did as told. The arrow struck the target and penetrated so deeply only the fletching showed. It had struck exactly where he intended, right beside the red circle. He was astounded.

  “Again,” Carver said.

  It was a repeat of the first. The arrows flew true, the pull felt right, if a little too hard, and he briefly wondered at the strength of those who used the bows hanging on the wall to the right.

  Cinder went next and duplicated his two shots. Both were closer to the red circle than his, but she didn’t remark on it. They moved back five more steps. Then five more. And another five.

  Rake realized that it hadn’t been his skill that required him to get so close to the prey, but his use of poor weapons. It was a necessity to make the kills. He mentioned that to Carver, who laughed at his explanation and said, “Consider it a blessing. Training. Your skill in getting so close before shooting will help you.”

  His arrows were now hitting high, low, and wide, however, still with power. If he was aiming at an imaginary man, he missed from the distance more often than not. Cinder had quit at the last distance, understanding she had reached her limit and accepting it.

  Carver motioned for them to approach as if he were a ruler and they were his subjects. He sat in his old chair as if it was a throne, elevated by the single step on the porch. He had a few things spread in front of him.

  His gnarled finger pointed. “A quiver for each of you. Wear it over your right shoulder so the arrows are in reach of your drawing hand. The leather is waterproof, but you have to keep the flap over the top when it rains, or the fletching will fall off. In your travels, keep an ear out for a waterproof glue. I have heard rumors such a thing exists but never encountered any. I would be greatly pleased if you brought me information about it. Underneath that quiver, worn crisscross to the arrow quiver is a sheath to protect your bow, also waterproof.

  They nodded in unison.

  “You’ll take three kinds of arrows. Practice ones that you’ll use almost daily. Shoot them at something soft or they’ll break on contact. A few hunting arrows with stone tips that make a big hole going in and lets blood flow past the shaft. And metal-barbed arrows. Sharp like knives on the leading edges and the barbs make them hell to get out. Rips and tears flesh. Only use them on people you wish to kill or cause great pain. Practice ones are white, hunting red, killing black.”

  Cinder furrowed her brows and Rake made a motion to silence her, knowing what was coming, but she asked, “What do we use for people we don’t want to kill?”

  “Kindness works for me.”

  Rake withheld his laughter. He’d seen the old joke coming, mainly because his father had told it to him years earlier. Carver was not laughing. He’d provided them with weapons that would kill, and a gentle warning about using them only on people they wanted to kill. Cinder scowled, then started to understand.

  They put the quivers and sheaths on, trying them for fit, then their rucksacks, along with a fistful of spare strings, and adjusted the straps to be more comfortable. As they turned to leave, Carver said, “Get very close to a Green before you shoot, Rake. Act like you are still using your old bow. Their skin is like the thick bark of a tree. It slows arrows so they never reach vital organs unless you’re close.”

  “Anything else?” Rake asked.

  “Take care of my bows and bring them safely home to me.”

  They turned and walked back to the road and turned away from their own homes. As they did, Cinder said, “We would have known.”

  “Known what?”

  “That he’s Dragon Clan. I saw at least six varieties of apples at the edge of the woods. All trimmed and properly cared for.”

  Rake repeated the old mantra, “Apples year around means you never starve.”

  “I know the stories by heart, maybe better than you,” she snapped. “So, shut up.”

  “My family repeats them at any chance. Sorry if you’re offended but telling me to shut up is only going to get you in a fight.”

  “My family does the same thing with the old stories. Come on, we have a mission and a duty to perform.” She led the way to the road without apology.

  Rake walked in the other rut of the dirt road, the center filled with weeds competing for a place to grow. Where they walked was mostly packed dirt, the plants crushed or torn out by the passage of wheels on the carts belonging to farmers taking crops to the nearest town to sell.

  He said, “This mission and duty are new to me. The whole trip. Remember? I was just going to the village and listen for others to mention the Green dragon. I wasn’t even supposed to ask questions be
cause they might wonder at my interest and question if I am Dragon Clan. That was before you kidnapped me and brought me here.”

  “I prefer to tell a story about how you were swept off your feet at the sight of me and followed me on this adventure, professing your undying love for three full days and nights before I allowed you to walk in my shadow. At least, that’s the story I’m going to tell when we return.”

  “Y-you can’t say that!”

  “Why not? It’s all true, isn’t it?” She flashed a smile that would melt the hearts of most men.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rake followed along, stumbling occasionally because he was lost in thought and didn’t watch where his feet landed. Now that they were in unfamiliar territory, the understanding of what they were doing impacted every thought. While the sudden appearance of the Green dragon had been an event that took them all by surprise, he hadn’t anticipated any of what had happened after the acorn had struck his head. He needed time to put it all into perspective.

  All morning, Cinder had acted as if she was in charge—and perhaps she was. She had teased him, ordered him, and as much as threatened him. Since she had the advantage of advance knowledge such as meeting with Carver, he was placed in a subservient role time after time. He didn’t like it. In his family, he’d worked to be the one the others depended upon. He also shared information.

  He didn’t know if he liked Cinder, even considering how pretty she was. If she failed to share more useful information, he might do as he threatened and continue to investigate the dragon alone. Now that he’d thought of it, he gave more thought to the idea as Cinder kept up her steady pace and managed to gain distance in front of him. His eyes raised and came to rest on her backside.

  Her long strides made it move in interesting ways. He studied the motion and noticed it subtly change. He looked up to see if there was danger ahead. There was. Her eyes were locked on his as she looked over her shoulder.

  She said, “What are you looking at?”

  “I-I was just looking ahead,” he stammered as he moved closer. “My mind was elsewhere.”

  “I saw where your mind was, and it can go somewhere else.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  She said, “You listen and get this once because we will not have this conversation again. Our families and our clan are depending on us. I have no time for romance. Got it?”

  “Got it. How do we know there are not others on this road doing what we are? I mean, the Green flew over and other families may have spotted it too. They would come to the same conclusions and maybe send their people to investigate.”

  Cinder chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered her answer. “You are free to pursue any other clan members that we encounter if that is what you’re suggesting. I’m capable of doing this on my own and only agreed to nursemaid you because my grandmother ordered it.”

  “What? You didn’t want me?” Rake howled.

  She stood her ground, hands on hips, eyes flashing. “What’s to want? You’re a big oaf who can’t take a joke very well, gets fooled by the most elementary trickery in the forest, can’t shoot an arrow twenty paces, and you never once noticed the trading post is a center for Dragon Clan communications in all the years you’ve gone there. You didn’t even know your nearest neighbors are Dragon Clan. So, I ask, what good are you?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Then how about this. If you never figured out any of that stuff that was right in front of you, what makes you think you can figure out if Breslau is planning a secret invasion? If you cannot see the obvious, you’re bound to fail at the unseen.”

  Her tirade didn’t offend him. Much of it was true but arguing any item would give her more information to use against him. He had a pair of sisters to contend with and knew the position he was in. Yes, he’d been caught looking at her behind when she walked, but when at Carver’s when he was using the new bow, he’d seen her looking at his chest in much the same way. He hadn’t said anything about it then, but the time had come to establish the pecking order—or perhaps to confuse her demanding ways.

  He smiled the small smile that allowed his eyes to twinkle. At least, that’s what one of the girls in the village had once told him. He said, “You ask, what good am I? Well, to begin with, I’m pretty.”

  Her scowl held for a scant moment then twisted and broke into a full belly-laugh. She said, “That, you are.”

  He said, “Come on, we can talk while we walk and if you want to take another look at me as you did at the weapon-makers you don’t have to sneak a peek, feel free.”

  “I am not falling for that. You do not have permission to look at me like I’m a newly skinned deer hanging outside the cabin of someone starving. Keep your eyes looking ahead. Movement or color. Watch for tracks, especially at the edges of the road where someone might walk if they’re trying to hide them.”

  Rake pulled his bow free and paused long enough to string it.

  “See something?” she asked, reaching for hers.

  “Nope. Just thought I’d see how it came free while wearing the rucksack and all. Besides, I’m going to give it a few pulls to strengthen my arms.” He raised it without an arrow and drew the string then relaxed it. He did it again. On the third attempt, the string slipped from his fingers and snapped against his forearm.

  Cinder said, “Lucky you’re wearing long sleeves.”

  He pulled the string again. “Yes, I’ve burned myself more than once.”

  “Burned? Oh, from the string. I see. It hurts for days like a burn.”

  From that, he knew she’d suffered the same fate at least once. “You keep looking at the sky.”

  She snorted, “That’s where dragons fly. Since you are watching the forest ahead and the ground around us for tracks and footprints, I’m free to watch for that Green. It flew east to reach us, but nobody mentioned it returning west. It could have flown north or south I suppose, then back home, but who knows?”

  “I’ve heard they’re controlled by Dragon-Masters in Breslau. Like dog trainers. The Greens do what they are ordered like big pups.”

  Cinder nodded as she walked. Without looking at him, she said, “They feed them, chain them at night—at least some of them, and they sleep right next to the nests. The soldiers usually camp near the main body of the army. The Greens are treated like big attack dogs. I don’t know if all that is true, I’m just repeating.”

  Twice they saw other people. One of those times, two men ducked into the forest and disappeared. They may have been farmers or highwaymen, but in either case, it was always safer to hide when strangers were about. Still, the idea two men had run from them made Rake uneasy. It indicated the local people were suspicious, probably from previous encounters on the road they traveled. It also told him that since he and Cinder were not highwaymen, there were others nearby. The second encounter was with an older man who wore a battered sword and looked the type to know how to use it. Probably a former soldier. His eyes challenged them as he walked past, another indication that highwaymen were not uncommon. Rake touched his finger to his forehead in the traditional, casual salute in an attempt at friendliness. It was not returned.

  Late in the day, smoke trailed into the sky and drifted on the wind before they rounded a bend in the poorly maintained road and found a village squatted near a river. The buildings were one-story, wood-clad, weathered gray, and most were no larger than his home. Small outbuildings scattered about like flakes of dried pepper. At first glance, the village appeared depressing. Moving closer did nothing to improve his initial impression.

  Large trees surrounded the buildings, growing almost to the nearest. Pigs, chickens, cows, and sheep wandered the streets and yards freely. After the clean scents of the forest they had traveled, the village smelled sour, matching the expressions on the nearest people.

  Rake estimated twelve families at most lived in the community, which was conveniently located where two smaller streams converged to form a small ri
ver at the south end. Twelve families were about all he’d ever met in his life, and never all gathered in one place at the same time. A few sheep contentedly grazed within the confines of a rail fence, probably placed in there each night for safety from wolves and other predators, although it was the middle of the day. A small black dog yapped as they walked nearer, then others took up the cry until eight or ten had joined in the welcoming chorus.

  “I don’t like this place,” Rake hissed at Cinder.

  “We’re just passing through. No reason for trouble.” Cinder lifted her chin a little and strode along with him, matching his strides. She repeated the old adage, “Give a smile, get a smile.”

  Her phony good attitude didn’t fool him. She was as nervous as he was, and her way to deal with it was arrogance. Or pretended arrogance. By her own admission, she hadn’t visited anything larger than the trading post. Rake had his own fears and ways of handling them. He said nothing else to her.

  A few people paused in their daily chores to watch the strangers walk down the road that split the village in half. None offered smiles, not one of them responded with as much as a half-hearted wave. But there was an air of expectancy about their actions, a tenseness that transmitted itself. The feeling was one of watching the icicles at spring thaw, knowing they would fall soon, but not when.

  Rake said, “Something is wrong with this place. We should go around.”

  “Or wrong with these people. Keep walking. We won’t stop.”

  It was understandable to an extent. They were strangers in a land where strangers often meant danger. It was obvious they were armed with their bows prominently protruding from one side and arrows the other. For most of the villagers, they would probably keep an eye on them, duck away at any sign of trouble, and then quickly put the travelers out of memory as they returned to their tasks.

  All went well until they reached the center of the village, a wide place located between four of the largest buildings. More people turned to look at them. More dogs barked. A single dog set itself apart by its appearance and actions. It was a large one with a wild look about it. The short brown coat revealed several healed scars. It crept closer, lowered its ears and bared its teeth. A low growl deep in its throat warned Rake. Usually, remaining calm quieted a strange dog. The brown and tan animal crouched lower and edged to intercept them. Rake stopped walking in an effort to appear non-threatening