The White Arrow

by P. H. Solomon

  Letting his horse drift to the rear of the line of travelers, Athson faded farther back. They needed someone watching for anything amiss approaching from the east. He had just the idea for that, and he'd try it, now that he'd agreed to become a Withling. Doubt or not, he'd do something. Maybe it was Eloch's leading.

  "Hey, Spark."

  The mountain hound trotted close by Athson's horse and flicked its eyes his way. The dog's dark back and brown underbelly coat shimmered even in the late afternoon daylight.

  "Anything watching us from close by?" Why not talk to him more?

  Spark offered no sign of anything nearby, and his tail didn't wag. It did sometimes when asked a question, as Athson remembered. But Spark just trotted along the road without any apparent care, panting like any dog.

  "Well, how about you follow farther back and bark if you spot anything?" Athson didn't know if it would work.

  Spark wagged his tail and slowed until he was several hundred paces behind Athson's horse.

  "Hmm, that worked." He should have gotten Spark involved in things much sooner. Better now than never.

  When the merchants called for a halt far too early, Athson sighed and instructed Spark to circle the area. The mountain hound trotted away, and Athson spotted him go past several times after he dismounted next to Apeth where the Withling had set their part of the camp away from the others.

  The Withling started building a fire. "You having second thoughts?"

  Athson settled his gear, careful to keep the Bow of Hart within reach. "I did, but I took your advice about making choices."

  A little flame danced to life in the kindling, and Apeth carefully added more sticks and then larger pieces of wood. "What's that?"

  "I grasped my sword, and the doubt went away."

  Apeth nodded approval. "A good start. Stop listening to the wrong things. Won't be so easy for you all the time, though."

  Athson sat at the growing campfire and warmed his hands. There was no snow here, but the late winter still brought a deep evening chill. "I'm also trying something else." He watched Spark circle by in the nearby forest.

  Apeth added more wood to the fire and coughed as the smoke blew in his face. He waved a hand to clear it away. "Uh, have a care what you say. You don't have that much experience yet."

  "Nothing like that. I've only heard Eloch when I hold the sword. It's about Spark.

  Apeth nodded and fanned the smoke with his hat.

  "Well, since we're so thin on guards, I set him to guarding behind us this afternoon and walking circuit of this camp."

  The old Withling chuckled. "Wise, I'd say. I doubt you'll wear him thin any time soon. Let's eat, and we'll get down to our business, shall we?"

  They ate rations from Marston and then watched the fire in silence. Smoke curled into the mostly bare limbs that swayed in the evening breeze. Spark slipped by again. Amazing—the dog did precisely as he asked. He snorted. All the times he and Gweld had argued about Spark, and now he’d set the dog to work. The elf would ask if he needed more Soul's Ease if he knew.

  Apeth stirred. "What's so funny?"

  Athson stared at the fire. "Just that my friend, Gweld, never believed Spark was real."

  "Really?" The Withling sat up.

  "Really. Always said I needed Soul's Ease to stop my hallucinations."

  Apeth tilted his head. "I guess elves aren't always as thoughtful."

  Athson brushed crumbs from his lap. "He just remembers what I was like with my fits. The sword helped me with those, though. I gave up the medicine, and Spark is there even when I touch the sword."

  The Withling inhaled and yawned. "Those fits were from the curse. Spark's not."

  Athson's brow furrowed. "I hadn't thought of that."

  Silence passed for a while as the last rays of daylight succumbed to night. Apeth stirred from his thoughts and rubbed his hands together, extending them toward the campfire. "So you're going to be a Withling?"

  "I guess so." Athson shrugged and scratched his ear. "I'm starting to act more and more like one. You said so yourself."

  Apeth nodded and stared into the flames beneath his hands. "Will you follow Eloch's instructions the best you can, even to stay your hand or not speak, though you do not understand why?"

  Athson sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. "Yes, I will."

  "Will you help others in need as often as you can?"

  "Yes, I will." Athson furrowed his brow again. Didn't he do that already, as a ranger? Perhaps Apeth meant more than being a ranger. He scratched at his cheek in consideration.

  "Do you forsake your own interests for those of serving Eloch as a Withling?" Apeth fixed his gaze on Athson.

  Athson held his own gaze steady under the old Withling's unyielding stare. He swallowed. This was it. Committing to something beyond himself, beyond doing what he wanted. He'd done that plenty over this journey. How often had he chafed at Hastra? He realized how selfish he'd been all too often. What must his other companions think of him?

  He cleared his throat. "Yes, I will do that."

  There, he'd agreed, and now it was done. No more acting petulant. That was what he'd been often enough. Maybe it was the curse, maybe not, but he was determined to learn another way.

  Apeth stood, edged around the fire, and touched Athson with his forefingers. "May Eloch dwell with you and guide in peace, no matter the troubles that surround. May you come to know his presence, hear his voice, and take action accordingly. May you be a balm to others in need." He withdrew back to his bedroll. "There, it's done."

  Athson was a Withling. He didn't feel any different, but somehow he felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, from his thoughts. "Now what?"

  The other Withling drew his blanket over himself. "Now I get some sleep while you stand watch."

  "Spark can do that, I think."

  "Oh yeah. Well, get some sleep, then."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Ralda stood at the front of the boat. He'd forgotten what they called it, but front wasn't the right word. Funny how these boats had such odd names for their parts. Ralda watched for any signal from Gweld. These hand-signs were different from his people’s. So simple, these motions. They conveyed nothing of emotion, color, or anything else.

  The boat rocked slightly under Ralda's feet and left him only mildly unsettled. The first day was different, though. He had stumbled everywhere and almost fallen over the side. His head felt funny, and his stomach flopped some. He rubbed his belly. Thankfully that had passed.

  His brow furrowed. Gweld bothered Ralda for some reason. Something was different about the elf since—he thought back— since Ezhandun at least. No, it was further back, but Ralda wasn't sure how far. But leaving Ezhandun had bothered him. That odd look from Gweld still puzzled Ralda.

  Just before they'd left, he'd rested in the dwarven barracks and fallen asleep. Gweld had frowned at him over by the mirror. At the time, Ralda just thought he'd surprised the elf, but there was more in that passing expression. Something of—he tapped his cheek with a finger in thought—hate? No, not that. Malevolence. That fit better. Very odd for Gweld, who was respectful to everyone.

  Movement from the barge ahead drew Ralda's attention. Gweld signaled, and Ralda squinted to see the gestures. Arrow gone, Bane came. Ralda's eyebrows climbed his forehead. So the Bane could get at them on the water like this? Not good.

  Ralda turned and found Makwi, who stretched and yawned. "Makwi."

  The dwarven champion moved near Ralda. "Good morning. Something from Gweld?"

  "He hand-talk. Bane take his arrow." Ralda added with his hands that the encounter on a boat among so many elven rangers surprised him.

  Makwi crossed his arms and gazed ahead. "Didn't think that Bane could get at us so easily on the river. It's faster, but we are limited in movement. Did you answer his signal?"

  "No. Gweld just pass it over."

  "Well, you answer him, and I'll pass it along to the others behind us as soon as I see the
m." Makwi turned for the back of the boat.

  Ralda turned forward again. There was a name for the back end of the boat too, but he’d forgotten that as well. He replied to Gweld, "We'll pass the news along. When did it happen?"

  The elf replied that the Bane came in the night, and Ralda acknowledged the message. He told Tordug, who relayed the information to Makwi.

  Ralda kept his watch for more word from Gweld. He steadied himself as the boat rolled beneath his feet. Odd that it should go after Gweld, who made no real effort to hide the disguised arrow.

  Ralda scratched the back of his neck, and a memory came to mind. Back at Ezhandun, Gweld's reflection in the mirror had been odd. There had been light like fire in his eyes before he turned to Ralda. Back then, Ralda had dismissed it as light from a candle in the room. But he'd never seen light reflected like that. It came from Gweld's eyes. At least that was what Ralda thought. And Gweld had been odd in the Troll Heaths and even since then. Maybe it was just that little memory that disturbed Ralda for no reason. He glanced the elf's way. There was no further signal.

  Ralda rubbed his chin, and his stomach rumbled. Best get some food. Maybe he should ask Hastra about his concerns. He shrugged. Probably not. He wasn't sure of what he'd seen. He left the rail and went in search of some food.

  CHAPTER TEN

  More groups of panicked travelers joined Athson's caravan by noon the next day. He eyed them at Spark's first signal, then rode back to question them. He found no rangers to guard them, and they'd been harried by a few lone ne'er-do-wells along the way. But the group of more than forty people included a few guards hired by merchants and other men experienced with weapons who had driven the thieves away in the night.

  It was only a matter of time before the single thieves banded together and attacked. Too bad there weren't enough rangers to patrol the road and put down such roving bands. He shrugged. But then, the thieves had few places to hide from the trolls other than the city. Thieves would be turned away if identified and forced farther west or south. Those who kept traveling beyond the city would prove troublesome to other refugees traveling further too.

  Two people, a man and a woman, cloaked in chestnut brown wandered past Athson, their hoods pulled over their heads. Were they troublemakers? There was nothing he could do unless they stole something. The two travelers weren't well-equipped and likely didn't have much food. They'd look for handouts from the rangers. Athson fingered his sword as he rode, hoping for insight, and left the bow mostly covered from prying eyes. He decided those two cloaked travelers would likely find aid with his fellow rangers if they weren't quarrelsome. Regardless, they bore watching.

  Apeth eyed a few of the travelers but never reacted to them. The Withling otherwise ignored the added number of people. When he caught sight of Athson watching him with a questioning lift of his brow, Apeth just shrugged and rode the mule in silence.

  Athson sighed. It was a long road, and some of these people would likely stop off at different places and linger, joining later groups. They'd probably have several hundred before they reached Auguron City. He yawned as the last of the new travelers melded into the current group, leaving him alone at the rear. He glanced at Spark.

  The mountain hound sat farther back in the road.

  Athson motioned for the dog to follow. Odd that he'd stop like that. He shouldn't get tired. Was there someone who bothered Spark? Athson eyed the mass of travelers, now mingled together. It was hard to tell them apart.

  Apeth drifted back to Athson. "Something bothering you?"

  Athson scratched the back of his neck with a frown. "Just wary of these new people. Spark's acting odd." Maybe he needed a few Withling tips. "What about learning to, you know, do things? Like a Withling."

  Apeth snorted. "That's right, I did mention I'd train you earlier today. But there are no tricks or shortcuts to the training. You have to listen to Eloch, and that's no easy task when you first start."

  People chattered ahead of them, and Athson extended his hand, palm up, toward the refugees under his care. "So I can't just, uh, somehow know there's trouble in this lot ahead of us?"

  The old Withling shook his head with a frown and closed his eyes for a moment, then fixed his gaze on Athson. "I can't even do that. Sure, I might get an impression to handle an issue that's coming, but just knowing people's intentions is not part of being a Withling. It's about listening to Eloch and acting accordingly. If Eloch is saying to do something, then it needs doing for his purpose. But we're not about tricks or miracles just because, or else it would be magic. And we're mystics."

  "Do I need to learn prayers or something?" This was not what Athson had thought it would be like. Listening, knowing what to do, sounded nothing like what he'd witnessed Hastra, Howart, Zelma, or Apeth do. A flush of heated irritation rose on his face.

  "Don't let it irritate you." Apeth sighed. "It's simple, and it's not. Being a Withling is about serving and listening." He raised an index finger in the air. "The trick is learning—accepting, actually—that your mind is not as disciplined as you think. Learning to be attuned to the spiritual, to Eloch, teaches you much. When to speak and when to be silent. When to act and when to refrain. It is in that discipline that miracles are demonstrated. If you don't know when and how to do it, how will you know what to do? Are you going to just think you must do something and learn by trial and error? That's mostly failing, and you'll do plenty of that. Don't be irritated, Athson. Touch that blessed sword and learn to recognize when you are being affected. At least in that, you thwart the curse and learn to know your own thoughts from the curse."

  Athson touched his sword and gaped. That was a simple lesson, but he'd never noticed his ire growing into anger over nothing. So that was the curse and how it played him. He cleared his throat. "I guess you're right. I'll have to remember that."

  "Don't just remember—pay attention to your own thoughts. Know when they wander from attentiveness, when that curse sets you on evil's path and off that of being a Withling." Apeth steered the mule around a rut.

  Athson rode on in silence for a few minutes. He turned back to Spark, who followed with seeming alertness. "How do I listen to Eloch? I've heard nothing like what you or Hastra talk about." He waved his hand at Spark. "How do I know what Spark really knows about things?"

  Apeth turned in his saddle and looked behind them, though there was nothing for him to see. "As to your dog, that's something people have reported at times in the past. Usually it's a person. That you see an animal like a dog means it's an image you trust." He eyed Athson without turning his head much. "You must like dogs, eh?"

  "Well, yeah. Had them around Depenburgh when I was a kid."

  "Anyway, that's a guardian spirit. I suppose many have one, but this one seems to do a lot for you. Likely about that, uh, foretelling."

  A young woman ahead of them removed a rock from their shoe, and they paused their discussion. For some reason, Apeth liked his anonymity more than Hastra. The young woman finished with her shoe and ran to catch her father, who Athson knew was a merchant.

  Apeth coughed into his hand to get Athson's attention. "Anyway, listening is just what I said. But you don't start with important things, at least not usually. Sometimes that happens, but mostly you just learn to hear small things. Once you have learned to hear about little things, then you begin to hear about much more."

  Athson rubbed his cheek where his beard had started growing again since leaving Marston's Station. "What little things?"

  The elder Withling shrugged and pointed to the young woman who had stopped for her shoe. "Small kindnesses are a start. What if you'd been instructed to help with her shoe? You might not know why, but you do it because it's what's needed and you give it. Learn to give what's needed, and you'll see what you need given."

  Athson's eyebrows climbed his forehead in reaction. "I just do nice things, and I'll hear Eloch speak and get good things back as a result?"

  Apeth waved his hand and shook his head. "No, no, no. N
othing of the sort. This isn't spells or controlling Eloch with your behavior. It's being part of the saying, living it. 'What is needed is given.' Learn to hear Eloch's purpose, beginning with trivial things, and you'll go far as a Withling." He shrugged. "It's as simple and as hard as that. You want to think I'm being mysterious or talking in circles. Be faithful in small things, and you'll be given bigger tasks. Until you can hear about little things, you don't even know what to do. You'll have to know your own thoughts to hear from outside yourself, from Eloch."

  Athson rode his horse in silence. Listen. That was all? Thoughts whirled through his mind. Where was Limbreth? How had she survived? What was he to do with the bow? Then there were all the noises and signs of the forest he had been trained to note. He did that without thinking and reacted to them. The forest informed him of his surroundings. His head hurt at trying to sift his thoughts constantly. Training. Apeth was just teaching him concepts. He already knew how to focus on the forest and know things from it.

  "Is it like what I know as a ranger? I can spot all kinds of information around me that other people are ignorant of."

  "I suppose you listen to the forest and know what's going on around you. A good merchant, let's say a horse trader, learns to know when he's about to be cheated. He can spot the signs. It becomes almost an instinct." Apeth wiggled his fingers at the side of his head. "Almost no thought, just reaction to information. It's a similar thing. Learn to listen for Eloch like you listen to the birds twitter. Know what's you and what's not. Want some help getting started?"

  "Uh, sure? I suppose." Suddenly, Athson remembered his father teaching him the bow or Heth showing him how to track. "Yes, that would be helpful."

  They rode in silence for a while. Ahead, a gaunt man with a bald head and a long beard laughed at some jest but stepped on a rock oddly and twisted his ankle. He fell hard with a cry and a wince. His friends laughed and walked on, jeering about walking it off.

  Athson glanced at Apeth, who nodded. Athson steered toward the traveler, dismounted, and offered his hand. "You need help?"