The White Arrow

by P. H. Solomon

  Through his grimace, the man nodded. "Don't think I broke nothing. Just hurts bad."

  Athson pulled the other man to his feet and dusted off his back.

  The fellow started walking but winced again and ground his teeth through the pain. "Twisted it good."

  Athson glanced to the side of the road and glimpsed a forked limb lying on the ground. It looked sturdy. He walked over and picked it up. "Here, give this a try."

  The man took the branch and hobbled a few steps with it, then declared it helpful. He started to move on but paused, then turned to Athson. "My thanks. Can't waste time on this road injured if trolls are coming."

  "You're welcome. I'd let you ride my horse, but I'm on duty with the rangers." Athson climbed back on his horse and waited for the man to walk out of earshot. He leaned over to Apeth where he sat astride the mule. "Like that?"

  Apeth chuckled. "Something like that, I suppose. But I heard nothing about you doing all that. You just needed to show kindness."

  "So, a trick?" His ire rose, heating his cheeks. Nope, grab the sword. Learn something here. He touched his sword-hilt, and his anger subsided. "I don't understand."

  The Withling grinned. "It's simple. You heard nothing, and I heard nothing from Eloch about helping that man. Therefore, it wasn't Eloch. See what it means not to hear?"

  Athson rubbed his chin. "I guess."

  "Anyway, there is a bit of a lesson in it otherwise."

  "What's that?"

  "Oftentimes, it's good to just be kind regardless. Refrain only when instructed." Apeth shrugged. "At those times, it may be another's time to help. Withlings have often learned to hear Eloch by just dedicating themselves to simple actions like this one, since it's what he likes. Simple obedience to the general rule of kindness will take you far." Apeth gathered his reins in one hand. "Speaking of which, I'm restrained from healing right now, since I'm supposed to lie low. However..." He kicked the mule and rode off, tossing a final word to Athson. "Better get going before the trolls catch us."

  Athson kicked his horse into motion, and Spark trotted alongside him.

  Ahead, Apeth rode up to the man who had fallen and stopped within earshot of Athson. "Here, ride my mule this afternoon, and I'll walk with you." The Withling winked at Athson and mouthed, That's what I heard for me. He pointed at his chest and started off with the man, talking with him. The two of them chatted and laughed throughout the afternoon.

  Meanwhile, Athson tried listening to his thoughts. He had a lot of them to sift. Then he laughed. It would, indeed, be a long journey to the city with lots of little accidents in need of attending. Maybe others would take heed and learn kindness in the midst of their fear. Perhaps they might hear just because he was learning.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Days of riding and "listening" consumed Athson. Some days he thought he heard something, and others just seemed like an exercise in frustration that left him with a headache.

  Rumor of trolls faded over the miles, and with them the fear. The ninth day out from Marston's Station, Athson rode his horse with one thought nagging his mind like scavengers around a carcass. The people around him idled and laughed as if ravaging hordes of trolls were a distant, harmless tale. He adjusted the reins in his grip. Maybe he'd been too long in the wilderness with trolls as an ever-present danger. But the trolls still marched west, and the forgotten danger bothered him.

  "What's got you knotted up now?" Apeth rode the mule beside Athson. He had reclaimed his mule after the injured man awakened the next morning with a foot suddenly well enough to walk on. The Withling only replied when Athson queried him about it that some miracles needed less fanfare.

  "Nothing." Athson checked himself. No sense in sulking like normal. He grabbed his sword, and the sulking, nagging feeling lifted. Yep, that was the curse. He was learning, albeit slowly, to check all such negative thoughts. "Actually, I think these folks are taking all this too easily. There are real trolls coming this way. I know they shouldn't live in fear, but they need to travel faster than they are." Other groups had joined them over the last few days, so they traveled even more slowly.

  Apeth considered Athson’s thoughts. "I don't think that horde will go fast enough. They have to forage. But yes, more people need to take it seriously. They will in time. Some will stop, thinking they have plenty of time, and then run for it when smoke drifts on the eastern sky."

  Athson gazed at the sky over his shoulder. Nothing yet. "I know what will do it for some of them. Lukey's Post. It's not but a few days west, the way we're traveling. Just seeing what trolls did there will remind many here to get moving."

  The Withling offered Athson a grin. "Just remember, you're used to traveling long days both mounted and afoot. Most of these people are used to slower paces."

  Athson sniffed. "That won't help them when troll scouts come tracking their heels." He sat atop his horse in silence for some minutes. "Anyway, I’ve been thinking about something else." And it was much clearer with the sword in hand, sheathed though it was. "There's a couple who likely needs some rations from the ranger wagon. They’ve been with us over a week, and they don't seem to have much."

  Apeth's sidelong glance drew Athson's attention. "Maybe you're hearing something."

  "You think it's what I've been trying to hear all along?" Athson failed to restrain his enthusiasm.

  "Maybe. You have to learn that for yourself." Apeth offered one of his noncommittal shrugs. "You thinking anything else?"

  Athson thought a moment and rolled his tongue around his cheek. "Might need to say something like a blessing when I give them the food."

  "Then it could well be from Eloch." Apeth hesitated, and Athson guessed he was watching him grasp the sword-hilt. "You learning anything there with that sword?"

  "Yep. Learned a lot, I guess." He scratched the back of his head and wondered how much to say. Stop hiding things. He's teaching you, and you're a Withling now. He wanted to cross his arms and grind his teeth. Instead, he worked his jaw a moment, like he was loosening his muscles. "I've learned several times that my moods are the curse. Just now I was sulking when you asked about me. Touched it, and the feeling left. I don't think I do it enough, so I guess I need to learn to know what's me and what's the curse. Maybe I'll hear more that way."

  The elder Withling rode a for several long moments. "I guess that's right. That sword is a bit of a shortcut for you to learn your own thoughts better. But then, not many live under the curse you have. You'll still have the same amount to learn. The more you give yourself time to listen, the more you'll learn the difference."

  Athson grimaced and slouched. That was disappointing. He'd heard one thing in nine days. Maybe. He arched an eyebrow. He still clutched the hilt, so that was his own line of thinking. Maybe he'd clutch the weapon all day in the saddle. He might learn more from it that way. It would be like the makeshift crutch he'd given that man on the road a week earlier. "Um, Apeth?"

  "Hmm?" The old man stirred from nodding with the rhythm of his mule's gait.

  "Maybe what I did with that crutch was something for me." When Apeth looked his way, Athson met his gaze. "You know, maybe that was to tell me to use this sword as a crutch, because it's what I need now."

  Apeth rubbed his neck and scratched behind his ear. "Could well be. Sounds about right." He chuckled. "Took you about a week to figure that out. I've seen some learning the way of Withlings go far longer."

  Athson looked at the sun shining through the bare limbs overhead. He smiled, and an odd excitement set his heart racing. That made two. And one on his first lesson.

  Apeth spat to the side and then shrugged. "You know, Eloch sometimes makes something out of nothing, and you never see it coming at the time, but only later when you look back. Remembering something is a good teaching too. The why of something can become clear. Keep working at it."

  They rode on in silence after that.

  Evening found Athson strangely exhilarated at the prospect of doing something for the couple he
'd seen arrive in their group with little in their possession. How had they been eating well since? Or sleeping? Maybe it was the kindness of others on the road. He walked toward the wagon where the elves guarded the supplies and made their meal.

  Minith arched her brow at seeing him. "You still with us? I haven't seen you in two days."

  Elves and their dry wit. Athson shook his head. "It took me that long to catch up to this slow-moving wagon train."

  The rangers snickered, and Minith answered, "Yes, they are slow."

  Athson nodded farther west. "When they see that Lukey's is burnt out, I think they'll have a reminder to move along."

  Minith motioned to the other elves. "We thought so too." She paused. "Guess we should have seen this coming after those trolls raided this far west last fall. I heard they were west of the city then."

  Athson leaned against the wagon and propped his head in his hand. "Yeah, I was there. Almost got me and Gweld once."

  "Yes." She cocked her head. "Strange, that." She eyed the Bow of Hart. "I've heard a rumor there's some Withling prophecy caught up in this. You've been with Hastra. What do you say?"

  He shrugged. "It's trolls, so Magdronu is mixed up in it, you can bet. But she had us looking for something he wants." This was getting too close for him to discuss much further. "Anyway, I just came to—"

  Minith lifted her head toward the darkening eastern sky and pointed. "That wandering star is a sign, if anything is." She looked at Athson. "I wouldn't think a Withling would bring trouble on us like this, so I hope it's worth it." She coughed and resumed sharpening her ranger long-knife. "Anyway, what did you come for?"

  Athson glanced into the wagon. "Just some rations."

  Minith motioned toward the crates half-opened at the rear of the wagon. "Get what you need. I guess you're feeding that old man too?"

  As he grabbed an armload of rations, Athson grinned. "Yes, he's with me. And yes, he's part of all that's going on. And yes, so am I."

  The elven ranger's eyes narrowed in answer, and one of the others spat in the fire. Minith stirred and stood. She walked to the wagon and removed a few more rations. "If I guess right, then what is needed must be given."

  Athson nodded without saying more. They knew what Apeth was, if not who. He took two steps down the road.

  "Athson."

  He turned to Minith, who walked closer to him.

  She ran her hand along the Bow of Hart. "I'm not sure what this is, but don't worry about the trolls coming just because of you or Withlings or anything else. They've been aiming this way for decades, and we've known it." She glanced over her shoulder. "Nobody blames anyone for it. It's just the way of that wizard and the dragon." She stared into his face for several long moments.

  "I guess so. Thanks for, uh, everything." He left and stopped by the fire kindled by Apeth. He looked at the rations. That thought had bothered him for several weeks. He, and the bow, had brought this on everyone. But he knew it wasn't really true. It was just Magdronu, his way, as Minith had said.

  Athson grabbed several ration packages and stood. "Guess I better get this done. Don't know what I'll say, though."

  Apeth swallowed what he'd been eating. "Just say what you know should be said. Nothing more, nothing less. You'll be fine."

  Athson’s hands shook as he left in search of the couple. The paper-wrapped rations crackled in his grasp. Easy, take a deep breath. Where was Spark? Then he remembered he had the mountain hound circling the camp again. How could he forget? Just nervous about this visit to strangers, though he didn't know why. Athson wove between campfires and peered at the people gathered around them. He didn't much like talking to strangers most times, but this was just handing people some food. Where were they? He supposed this was just a new process to learn as a Withling. He didn't want to fail. How could he? Those two had to be around here somewhere. They never camped with other people. Private, he supposed. Athson pulled up short at the thought. He didn't want to intrude, to presume anything. Sudden sweat beaded his brow and trickled along his spine under his shirt. He took a deep breath and went ahead. He had to do this.

  A few campfires later, he found them. He cleared his throat and approached slowly. "Uh, good evening."

  The man ducked his hood-covered head. "Good evening, uh, ranger."

  The woman stared at the fire, her head down and hooded too. "Hello, ranger. What can we do for you?" Her eyes glittered in the light of the campfire when she lifted her gaze, though she hardly moved her head.

  Athson hesitated. They were so stiff, like they feared him. He must be intruding. "I'm Athson. I have a few extra rations and thought you might want them." What did he need to tell them? Nothing special came to mind. He almost tossed the rations toward them and rushed back to Apeth. His cheeks flushed warm.

  "Oh, uh, thank you." The woman rose, her head still down and her movements stiff.

  How oddly they behaved. Was he that scary? He gave her the rations. "Don't worry too much about trolls. We need to keep moving, but they’re still days behind us, and there are other travelers farther back."

  The woman sat with the packets of food in her hands, unmoving. Neither one gave their name. Athson fidgeted with his shirt and cloak. "Uh, well, that's not much. No fancy wine to be had on the road, or much fresh bread." He motioned toward the rations. "Those will keep you going, though." He almost turned and left but paused. "If you follow Eloch, you will be blessed."

  If anything, the man and woman stiffened at his words.

  Athson offered an odd, half-wave in the firelight. "Well, time to get back to my fire. Good evening."

  "Thank you for your kind words and deeds." The woman's voice held a tense but uncertain tone.

  With a nod and a quick glance, Athson caught sight of the woman's hands clenched around the food, trembling in some effort. "You're welcome."

  He left with a quick step and felt exhausted by the effort. How silly of him to feel that way. It wasn't much to give some food to people and speak some encouragement. He took a deep breath, and on his exhale realized his stomach had stopped fluttering. He stumbled among the trees, feeling a sudden weakness, and rested a hand on his sword-pommel. The edgy weakness cleared.

  He'd done it, though he didn't know why. He hoped his words were correct. Athson halted. His weakness had cleared? So maybe the curse had halted him from acting kind? Over his shoulder, Athson beheld the pair huddled at their fire. Certainty gathered and settled in his mind like a flock of birds to a tree. They'd needed the food and the words. He didn't know why, but he'd have to live with not knowing until it was revealed.

  Athson heard the man speak lowly, "I don't know about you, but I'm weary of these things. Doing what we do."

  Athson half-turned and observed the woman nod and her shoulders shake. Her answer was soft but tremulous. "I do as well. Can we turn from it?"

  The man touched her hand and said, "I don't know if we can. We'll do this one thing, because we must. Then maybe we'll go to Auguron City and it will be better, easier."

  The woman sigh. "He can do it when he comes."

  Athson sighed. So they were in some predicament. His gift was necessary. He squared his shoulders and headed for his camp and Apeth. "What is needed is given." He'd done what was needed, given what was needed with actions and words. Distant thunder rumbled overhead with the promise of storms to come. He wondered what those two were discussing. He shrugged. It was none of his business.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Days passed on the boat, and the tension of guarding the arrow weighed on Limbreth's mind like a pending avalanche. Doubt often settled like ice and pressed on her. When it worried her the most, she stole away to the little cabin she shared with Hastra, removed the arrow and stared at it in awe. It gleamed white, though its brightness faded some each day.

  Limbreth stared at the arrow now. She caressed the shaft, the pale feathers, and peace filled her from the belly up, ending with a surge of her heart. She covered her mouth and restrained the laughter
—holy joy, Hastra termed it. Though this joy overcame her, Limbreth considered it more of a bother. Her odd laughter over this arrow left her feeling almost crazed in some way. But it lightened the load, and she needed that today.

  Three more times, the Bane had stolen fake arrows from the others, according to their reports. Limbreth embraced the arrow. She had to protect it, with her life if necessary.

  The door to the hold opened and footsteps scuffed on the creaky steps. Limbreth re-wrapped the arrow and stowed it in her pack. Don't let anyone see it. She stood and drew a sword, waiting by the door. When the door opened and Hastra peered inside, her apprehension displayed on her face, Limbreth exhaled and sheathed her sword. "Good, it's you."

  Hastra pushed into the little room of wooden bunks normally meant for crewmen. "You need to keep that hidden more."

  Limbreth's jaw tightened. She needed to see it, feel the encouragement from it. But Hastra was right. "I was just, uh, checking on it."

  Hastra sat on the lower bunk. "Rain's settled in for the day." Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked in the distance outside the hull. "We best stay below and dry."

  Limbreth sat beside the old woman and sighed. "Great, nothing to do but stare at walls instead of the river and the banks." Her world shrank further, and with it her concern. "Wish there was something to read."

  The Withling snapped her fingers. "I have my Book of Prophecies. You can listen to me awhile."

  Limbreth resisted rolling her eyes and moved for the door but hesitated. What about the arrow? "You going to be here awhile?"

  "Don't want to listen?" Hastra flipped through her book, found a spot, and ran her hands over the page.

  "Uh, not really. Not now. I can't stand the waiting, the confinement aboard this boat. I need something to do." Limbreth crossed her arms. She could practice with her swords, but there was no room for that below the deck, and out in the rain it would be slick.

  "The crewmen have games to pass the time when they're off duty." Hastra peered at Limbreth over the top of her book. "But you'd need money."