The Silver Arrow

by Larry Itejere

  Iseac’s heart started racing fast, not just from exhaustion, but from the uncertainty of what he needed to do next. He had just seen an Ackalan killed in front of him, treated like a mouse attacked by an eagle. He wasn’t sure he could fight his way past the creatures in front of him.

  In the corner of his eye, he saw Tremay approaching with three of his men. They were leaping over the heads of the Agoras, trying to cut them off in the air as they made their way toward him; but, he at that moment, felt alone. It was like being on a stage, and these creatures were the only two present, watching and waiting.

  “You cannot escape,” one of the women said in a voice he could barely make out.

  The other continued, “We know who you are and we’ve come for it.”

  “Give us the amulet,” the first one said

  “And we shall consider letting you live,” the other said.

  They spoke as one as if reading the other’s thoughts, which allowed them to finish each other’s sentences, Iseac noticed.

  Their tone was the same−unnaturally distant and empty of any feeling. It sent a cold chill along Iseac’s spine.

  “Your demands mean nothing to me, and what you seek I cannot give,” Iseac replied. He was trying to hold the fear back at the edge of his words, but his eyes were fixed on both women.

  Concentrating, Iseac set off the amulet on his chest; as it came to life, he chanted a few words in his mind as one of the creatures spoke.

  “You humans waste your meaningless life, seeking a greater purpose, hoping to become something greater than the bugs you are that should be trampled underfoot,” said the woman with the red gem. Both of them pulled out black spears that appeared as if drawn from within the darkness.

  They both moved with unnatural speed, blotting the distance between them and Iseac, and the one with the red gem thrust her spear at Iseac. He leaned back almost in a bridge, using his quarterstaff for support. The spear missed its target by an inch.

  As Iseac rose from the bridge, he shifted to his left, pushing the energy he had gathered along the weight of his quarterstaff. As he swung his right hand out, he sent a solid mass of air in their direction. The force from the impact pushed both ladies back, leaving skid marks along the ground to the point where they stopped, but they managed to maintain their balance. Agoras close to them were thrown backward.

  They realized he wasn’t going to be as easy a prey as they had thought, and they both grinned at the challenge as they came back charging, but this time they gave Iseac no room for a counterattack.

  They tore through walls of air that Iseac threw up to deflect their blows as they swung at him again and again. The first blow that made it through to Iseac came with such force that it pushed him backward. The impact slid off the metal ring on his quarterstaff, coursing through every part of his being. The blows continued to come faster and harder as he deflected or dodged while looking for an opening.

  His concentration was intense, but his muscles were beginning to tense up with each contact as he moved. He barely deflected one thrust to his chest that cut him on the shoulder. He was getting weaker from every hit. He knew they had noticed he was slowing down as they continued their relentless attack. Blood was running down Iseac’s sleeves that he didn’t notice. A few seconds later, he got a gash below the rib on his right side; it burnt like hot oil under his skin.

  Iseac was beginning to see double as he tried to maintain his concentration. He caught the glimpse of a spear heading for his throat, and he shifted his body, leaning to his right with his head moving to the right side of his shoulder. Before he could straighten up, he was hit in the stomach, losing the air in his lungs. He fell flat on the ground, releasing his quarterstaff. Like a fish out of water, Iseac gasped for air as blood spotted his nose.

  If this was the end, he thought, then he was going to take the first one that came close enough to him with his last breath.

  One of the women walked over to him. Looking down at Iseac, she raised her spear to finish him, but a flash of silver blade shot up from the ground past her. She squealed and part of her body morphed, changing back and forth from its original form as it tried to grab its throat.

  A silver blade suddenly protruded and retracted from the creature’s stomach, leaving the area dripping with a dark liquid that was its blood. It dropped face down to the ground beside Iseac.

  Still on the ground, Iseac turned his head to see where the creature’s companion was, but it too had dropped to the ground.

  They were linked…somehow, he thought, even in the fog beginning to cloud his mind. He could see Tremay standing where the creature once was, with the same dark liquid sliding down his blade.

  A voice that sounded distant, but yet familiar, called, as everything around him slowed down. He was tired and opened his eyes intermittently. He saw Tremay, tall and muscular with his dark face glowing, the silver lining around his pupil more pronounced. Both braids, which extended over his sideburns to his shoulder, waved in the air as he rushed over to him, with his horse, Durack, by his side. Tremay’s facial expression was that of deep concern, and Iseac’s mind wandered off again. He needed to rest…just for a minute, so he closed his eyes.

  ************

  “Juab and Mosley!” Tremay called as he laid Iseac on Durack.

  Around Iseac’s mouth beginning to froth.

  “See that he makes it to Tru’tia as fast as you can.” Tremay said as he secured Iseac on the saddle. “The spear had something on it and it is killing him. Now go,” he said once Iseac was secured. “We’ll hold them off…now hurry!”

  Sending their horses into a gallop, Juab and Mosley made their way toward a sparsely forested area for cover, but it was too late. A volley of arrows was launched toward them.

  Tremay turned to face the direction from where the arrows were launched. He could see Golans, with their faces painted for war, restringing their bows, led by a person he could not clearly see; the face was hidden by a hooded cloak.

  “Kill them all,” the man in the hooded cloak said to his men as they rushed toward the Ackalans. “Victory shall be ours this night,” the man leading the Golans said.

  **************

  The sound of the continuing fight could be heard at a distance as Mosley rode away. Durack was tied behind Mosley’s horse, with Iseac’s dangling body. Juab had fallen from the wound he took protecting Iseac from the volley of arrows that was aimed at them. He had taken one through his heart, while Mosley had an arrow sticking out from his shoulder close to his chest. Golans rarely miss their target.

  *************

  When Iseac opened his eyes again, he rushed to his feet, ready to fend off any attacker, but none came. After a few minutes looking around, he relaxed a bit, still vigilant. His quarterstaff was gone and he did not recognize the place. It was not where he was a few minutes ago. He remembered being stabbed and should have felt pain from his wounds, but they were also gone. Silence was all around him like a still pond at the crack of dawn.

  He stood alone in a forest he did not recognize, covered by towering trees with their tops hidden by fog. The fog also prevented him from seeing far in front; from the way the air felt, Iseac knew it would be a few hours before sunrise.

  “What is this place?” he wondered, “and what happened to everyone?” Was he dead, or did they abandon him in the chaos? He needed to find answers.

  With little visibility, he tried to find his way, casting a spell that pushed the fog around him some distance. Each time, it slowly moved back, enveloping him again as he moved cautiously.

  Iseac gave up on the idea of pushing the fog around him after a while, and with poor visibility, he tripped over the root of a fallen tree, but caught himself. He turned to see most of the roots sticking out from the ground. He decided to follow the tree to its head. He found a branch that was long and thin enough that he could break off, which he did.

  “No more surprises,” he said to himself.

  The stick was lon
g enough to use as a guide in the fog; however, what he really needed now was to find out where he was, and maybe a trail.

  The place was still unusually quiet, missing the normal sounds of creatures roaming about. Placing the branch to the ground, Iseac sat down, crossing his legs. Concentrating, he spread his mind across the area and felt nothing. “Where I’m I?” he said, becoming a little more anxious. Not wanting to think of how he got here in the first place, he tried again.

  With an intense concentration, he reached out his mind as far as he could; like a sling pulled to its breaking point, he held it for as long as he could. And then he suddenly felt something; as he focused on it, the earth in the area rose, and a creature stuck its head out from the ground. When it was completely out of its hole, it spread its wings. A few seconds later, another popped its head out, and soon more started breaking out from the ground.

  The area was covered with Rhanago, or winged serpents, as they were more commonly known, and Iseac panicked. These creatures were black as hatchlings, with coarse fur that changed to red and brown once they reached full maturity, growing up to four feet in length, with their tails extending about five feet. They had beady red eyes, with ears tucked above their head and six bird-like legs with sharp claws, three on each side of its upper body. A family of Rhanago was known to skin a deer to the bone in minutes, and they were always hunting if they weren’t hibernating.

  That was why there was nothing here, Iseac realized. Rushing to his feet, he cast another spell, swiping the ground behind him with a blast of air powerful enough to cut off any Rhanago that had its head out of the ground. Those that survived took to the air, following his scent.

  ****************

  Back in the woods, Mosley rode stooped on his horse. His vision was fading in and out from the loss of blood, but he hung on. Suddenly, a gust of air blew around Iseac’s flopping body. This startled Durack, and the horse ran ahead of Mosley’s mare, jerking him on his saddle. Mosley held on, but just long enough for Durack, whose rein was tied to his saddle, to calm down. Then he blacked out.

  ****************

  Lord Almaric, who had been watching the battle against the Ackalans, could see them tactfully retreating.

  Not pleased with the failure of the ladies of the deep, he sent for one of his trackers. He wasn’t going to remain on the sideline.

  “I want half of the men to remain here in support of Ranulf and Asa,” Almaric commanded. This was to support the men coming from the east and west. “And I’ll need a full report when I return,” he said to one of the high-ranking officers who was to remain with a portion of the army.

  He, on the other hand, was going to take a smaller group of men to catch up with the Messenger and retrieve the amulet.

  They took off on their horses in the same direction as Juab and Mosley, led by Lord Almaric, his tracker riding ahead of him with his men following behind in a single file down the slope.

  Once they were at the location where Juab and Mosley were last seen, the tracker got off his horse and, while holding unto his horse’s rein, walked over to a spot on the ground. He examined the area for a second and then turned to Almaric.

  “One or two of the three have been injured badly, based on the blood in this spot and also on that branch,” he said, pointing to a broken branch. “The rider will not make it very far if they don’t stop to attend to his injury.”

  He walked over to another spot, following something on the ground and stopped, bending down to pick up a twig. He discarded it after a quick sniff and turned to face Lord Almaric for a decision.

  “Knowing that one of the two people they were after was badly injured did not make any difference to him. An Ackalan was just as deadly in his dying bed as one badly injured; and seeing them with the Anamerian, he knew that only death would break them from their preposterous oath to protect him. What to do?” Almaric thought as he sat on his horse weighing his options. After a second, he looked straight at his men; he’d made his decision.

  Chapter 10

  A Messenger's Vision

  Elena ran through the back gate, sending it swinging behind her as she made her way into the building. The rainy season seemed to have lasted longer than most years she could remember. Taking off her wet shoes and cloak, as was custom, she hurried up the stairs, lifting her dress over her ankles to give herself some room to run.

  She ignored the turned heads and eyes that followed her briefly at her entry. People with family members under care gathered in the foyer talking as she made her way up several flights of stairs. Along the balcony, she walked past two closed doors to her right and stopped three feet from the open door in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, parting the curtain that draped the doorway.

  The room was quiet, with Berta the earth healer sitting on the right side of the bed where Iseac lay while his parents, Rita and Lenard, sat on the opposite side; both parties looked up to see her walk in.

  A sense of anguish suddenly overcame Elena, breaking her composure as she stared at Iseac, overcome with dread. So it was true that he was dying.

  Rita walked over to Elena as she stood by the door, staring at Iseac. She placed her arm over Elena’s shoulder and escorted her out of the room.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Elena asked, finally finding her voice.

  “Yes, child,” Rita replied. “He’s going to be fine now. All he needs is rest.”

  “I want to see him; I want to be with him when he awakens.”

  “You can,” Rita, cutting in before Elena could say another word, “as long as you promise to make sure he doesn’t move much when he awakes.”

  Lenard stepped out of the room and bowed his head slightly in greeting.

  “Kru haya no-nah, Elena,” Rita said in their native tongue, which means “peace and prosperity.”

  Elena’s fear of the worst was still abating as she responded in like manner.

  “We should leave now,” Lenard said to his wife as she gave Elena a hug.

  “I know he will be pleased to see you,” Rita said, letting go.

  Lenard was waiting as Rita came to join him, and they made their way downstairs. Elena, now feeling more reassured, made her way back into the room.

  She sat by Iseac’s bedside, whose arms, shoulders, and just above his chest was naked. The rest of his body was covered by a blanket.

  There was a piece of cloth wrapped around his head, his eyes closed. His face was solemn and peaceful, and this was the man she was supposed to be betrothed to.

  “He is a strong man.” The familiar voice of Berta came from the opposite side of the bed, breaking Elena’s chain of thoughts.

  “I was able to set his broken bones and applied an ointment that will heal his wound. I also gave him something to help ease his pain and bring down his fever; the rest is up to him now.”

  “Ma-u arura,” Elena said, which means “I'm grateful.”

  “How long have you had him in your care?”

  “Since last night,” Berta replied. “He was found by what used to be Ahyoo farm past Lake Manori.”

  The farmland was no longer well maintained by its new owner and was covered in weeds.

  “He was lying on a black horse.”

  “Durack,” Elena muttered as Berta continued to speak.

  “He had cuts on both sides of his body by something that left a strange residue on his flesh that I had to clean out.” She turned to look at Iseac and, as if talking to herself, said, “Whatever Iseac has gotten himself into, let us hope he can get himself out, as it appears he did something worth taking his life.” She did not mention the arrows she removed from him were Golans’.

  A Golan’s arrow was designed to break inside its target; it had four claws like tentacles behind the arrow head, which broke easily if one was not careful. It was tricky, but Berta had done it.

  “The good news is he’s gone through the worst part and will recover with time.”

  Though the words were com
forting to hear, Elena could not help wondering how Iseac ended up in this state.

  Berta continued to speak. “His horse was tied to an Ackalan named Mosley, who is next door. He too was lying on his horse with two arrows sticking out of him, one in his chest and the other in his leg. He was unconscious as well when he was found.”

  “An Ackalan,” she said, somewhat surprised, but doubtful.

  “Yes,” Berta replied. “He sounds like one of the men from the east.”

  Berta was above her middle years based on the season’s cycle, around fifty-six years. She had her hair tied in a knot and her sleeves rolled up just below her elbows.

  “I will be back before midday to check on him,” she said as she rose from her chair. “The maids will bring some soup for him in the morning, if he has the strength to eat, and also something for you, my child, if you are staying through the night.”

  Something about Berta's tone was reassuring; Elena knew it was going to be all right because she said so. Berta placed one hand on the side of the bed, eyes staring at Iseac.

  “I still remember him as a boy. Now he carries the weight only his kind can, which cannot be shared,” Berta commented as if speaking about some stranger.

  Her words made no sense to Elena, but she did not care; the only thing that mattered was that he was going to be okay.

  She watched Berta walk out of the room, closing the curtain behind her.

  It had been almost four years since she last saw him. Iseac never sent any message or tried to contact her. All of a sudden here he was, back from who knows where, half dead. She stared at his face; it was not the face of the young man she could remember from a few years ago. His face was harder and more intent.

  “Where have you been, and why are men after you?” she wondered. As she took Iseac’s hand and squeezed it gently, his eyes shifted then behind his closed eyelids.

  ******************

  Iseac was running as fast as his legs would take him, trying to put some distance between him and the squalling sound of the Rhanagos that drew closer and closer. While he was running, he spotted a speck of light through the trees, so he changed direction and started running toward the light, which slowly grew the closer he got. Rhanagos avoided the sun, so he knew that once in the light, he would be safe. As the relief of finding an exit was kindled, something snagged his feet, sending Iseac to the ground. He was able to cushion his fall by placing his hands in front of him, which saved him from more than the little cuts he received on his cheek and palm. Those didn’t matter. He could see the sky and the field of grass between the trees a few feet away. He continued on all fours and was jerked back.