by Jacky Gray
The crowd showed their appreciation of such an intense contest and Archer bent down to offer his friend a helping hand.
‘Nice one mate, you were really in the zone.’ Finn knew he’d been bested by a master.
‘Yeah, but you’re still one point ahead.’ Archer glanced over at the centre dais where Edlyn pointed towards them. He said something to Niall.
‘What’s wrong?’ Finn picked up on Archer’s concern.
‘Edlyn is claiming a foul.’
5 Misfit
Archer had studied the history of the scoring rules in medieval times. He knew back then, if someone was hit on the head so hard it made them bleed, their opponent would have won. Now considered barbaric, this had been replaced by a more humane scoring system. Removal of the small helmet plume showed greater skill than a mere hit to the helmet or shoulders, so Finn would get four points for the plume. Archer should gain five points; however, Edlyn was trying hard to persuade Niall that Archer had disarmed Finn after he had fallen – a foul. Niall dismissed the claim, but Archer knew Edlyn wouldn’t let it rest.
Beorn had scored more on the rings than Archer had on the joust, so if this score was disallowed it left a slim chance Archer could lose. His best chance would be to disarm Beorn, despite him being fresher after a fifteen minute rest. The rules gave Archer merely five minutes to recover, and he used every one of them to restore his physical and mental state with a combination of breathing and meditation.
Once more, Archer made sure he was dominant within the first couple of assaults. This time, however, he had a head start. Beorn would be expecting no mercy after the way he had seen Archer turn into a cold-blooded instrument of war against Finn. The first two assaults were fast and furious; Beorn’s only saving grace was the fact Archer had less energy than in the first bout. The third assault started as an exact copy of the one with Finn. Archer craftily changed the sequence, using his buckler to knock the sword out of his opponent’s hand a few moves sooner. Beorn did not stumble or become wrong-footed, giving no opportunity for Edlyn to dispute the score. After two rounds, Finn led with twelve points, Archer had eleven and Beorn had ten.
The boys had time to recover while the girls did their second round – a four stage obstacle race. Three lanes were set up and the Warrior girls were first to run. Archer knew them well enough to predict the outcome. Kayleigh would easily finish first unless she stumbled or got stuck in the netting. He decided to stay on the competitor’s dais; he would be able to see the last three stages fairly well from there.
While everyone else moved to get a good position lining the route, Archer thought about Edlyn’s attempt to disallow his score. This was simply the latest in a long line of incidents; the feud between them went back a long way. With a wry grin, Archer acknowledged he probably owed him a debt of gratitude. If not for Edlyn’s grudge against him, Archer wouldn’t have the firm friendships he now enjoyed. However, the hurt sat too deeply, and the scars gained at fourteen were still raw. Despite Ganieda’s best efforts, Archer could not quite tap into the generosity of spirit which would allow him to forgive his enemies for their wrongdoings. A flurry of bad memories vied for his attention.
Archer had always known he was different. From an early age, he recognised he wasn’t the same as the other boys. He didn’t fit in anywhere. Many Warrior boys had spent their pre-lehren years in mock battles with brothers, fathers or other relatives, so even before their first pell training session, they knew how to handle a sword. Archer had no brothers, and his foster parents were ancient.
“As old as Methuselah” was how one of the arrogant Magi boys had described the woman Archer called mother. She visited the lehren on the first family day, but thankfully didn’t hear the remark. After that, he never mentioned family days, but not from any sense of shame about his foster parents. He simply didn’t want to live his life staggering from fight to fight and having to explain the cuts, bruises and black eyes he earned whilst defending their good name. Being a healer, Ganieda tended his wounds without comment. Instead, she taught him useful things about his body and, more importantly, about his mind.
His thirst for knowledge and deep love of learning led him to try and make friends with some of the Magi. This caused uproar with the more arrogant boys who went out of their way to taunt him. Only one person showed him any kindness, although not before some valuable lessons had been learnt.
He remembered his humiliation at the quintain vividly.
*
By their third lesson using the training device, Archer was the only warrior not unhorsed so far. Although Finn stood out as the best Warrior horseman, he was unprepared for the speed of the weight and succumbed on his first pass. All the other boys had taken many tumbles, and they cast dark looks, heckling to try and disrupt Archer’s fifth pass at the quintain.
As usual, his concentration was absolute, but as the lance connected with the shield, his attention was distracted by a female voice calling his name. The split second’s diversion proved long enough for the weight on the opposite end of the bar to unseat him.
With the scorn of the Warrior boys ringing in his ears, Archer focussed as the Magi girl, Patricia, passed on her message.
‘The head wants to see you now.’ She offered a helping hand.
A fresh round of catcalls from the delighted boys forced his pride to ignore her and rise unaided, despite being hampered by the bulky layers of padding.
‘Sorry, I did not mean to make you lose your concentration.’
‘Not your fault. I must learn to focus amid distraction.’ He barely glanced at her as he shrugged off the quilted tabard.
Finn retrieved the reins and offered them to Archer’s biggest critic. ‘Come on then, hero. Let’s see you do better.’
Beorn scowled. ‘Don’t be dull. You know I’m no match for the great Archer. It’s nice to see him take a tumble for once. Maybe he’ll understand how the rest of us lesser mortals feel.’
‘I doubt it. He’ll have learnt how to block out the disturbance by next lesson. He is that good.’
‘Little wonder he has no friends.’
The truth of the words cut deeply. Archer strode off and Patricia had to run, reaching him as he exited the courtyard. She placed her hand on his arm. ‘Are you hurt? Please do not be angry with me.’
Out of sight of the others, he tried to explain. ‘I’m not angry. If I had taken your hand, the teasing would have been worse.’
‘They are so mean. You must not take any notice of them; they are merely jealous. Edlyn says ...’
He pulled away, his voice cold. ‘Edlyn? Did he put you up to this? It feels like one of his tricks.’ He turned to leave.
‘No, really. The head asked me to fetch you. It must be important; Malduc is there.’
Archer stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Malduc? As in Council Leader Malduc?’
A hint of a smile turned up her mouth. ‘Is there another? Do not worry, you cannot possibly be in any trouble.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you are Archer. The Junior of the week. Again. Everyone knows how hard you work.’
Archer’s face softened. ‘Coming from you, Patricia, that is a great compliment. I know my way from here.’
In the corridor, Archer’s attention was drawn to a collage of three white horses. Above this was the school motto: “Honour and Integrity in All Adversity.” Next to a plaque proclaiming “Juniors of the Week,” a chalkboard listed Archer and Patricia.
Under his name, some wit had written, “Arrogance and Piety in Total Solitary.” He stared at it for a moment, then blurred the words with the sleeve of his tunic.
The head professor, Sophia, introduced him to Malduc who presented him with the badge, congratulating him.
‘Thank you, Sir. There are many as able as I.’
Malduc raised his eyebrows. ‘Modest, too. Ganieda and Sedge have raised you well.’
‘Is that why you sent for me? Has something happened?’
‘No
t at all.’ Sophia held out a knife. ‘Does this belong to you?’
Archer took it with some relief. ‘My whittling knife. I thought I would never see it again.’
‘Why would you think that? Did someone take it off you?’
‘No. It was simply – I mean, I thought I’d lost it for good.’
Malduc frowned. ‘You lost it. Is that the truth?’
As Archer looked at the floor, Malduc glanced at Sophia, who shook her head.
‘I understand your reluctance to tell tales Archer, but if you do not tell us, we cannot deal effectively with the offenders. It is your duty to let us know if you are being bullied so we can teach the bullies about taking responsibility and showing respect.’
Malduc backed up her words. ‘I know you warrior boys have a strict code of honour, but you have to think about the younger, weaker boys who are not as able to withstand the torment.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir. Professor. I truly did not see who took my knife.’
Sophia had no choice but to dismiss him, although he sensed her desire to probe further. When Archer reached the lunch queue, Patricia was last in line with an Outil girl, whom she introduced.
‘Good afternoon Archer. Do you know Chrisya?
He nodded to Chrisya. ‘I don’t share any classes with the Outils, but I know who you are. Good afternoon.’
Chrisya smiled at him under lowered lashes, but he missed the flirtatious glance, intent on Patricia’s next words.
‘Why did Malduc want to see you? The whole school is talking about it.’
He had no chance to reply as Edlyn and Beorn forced their way into the queue. ‘Oi you. Misfit. What do think you’re doing?’
Archer was surprised by the rough behaviour he associated with Warrior boys. Especially in front of the gentle girls who seemed upset by this behaviour. He answered in innocence. ‘Waiting in the broth queue. Is that a crime?’
‘Don’t you get cheeky with me. You know what I mean. Who do you think you are, talking to a Magi girl?’ His disapproving look extended to include Patricia. ‘You need to keep to your own clan.’
Archer knew the history of the Hengist people, how they had split into three clans according to their skills to build a society from the wilderness they arrived in. Ganieda explained the divisions between the clans over the centuries. Many Magi were descended from nobility, so they believed themselves superior to the other clans.
Aiming a pointed look at Beorn, a Warrior, Archer challenged him. ‘Because that’s exactly what you do?’
Beorn mimed falling off a horse. ‘How’s your rump off for bruises?’
‘I heard all about that.’ Edlyn’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘Scrabbling around in the dirt where he belongs.’
Archer refused to be intimidated, turning his back on the pair who taunted him with increasingly outrageous insults. When they mentioned his mother, Archer’s jaw and fist clenched.
‘That old trout?’ Edlyn sniggered. ‘She taught Methuselah.’
Patricia had heard enough. ‘If you two do not go away right now, I shall tell a professor you have jumped the queue.’
As they jeered, Archer faced them with a fierce expression.
Edlyn stepped back, obviously alarmed. ‘It’s no wonder a coward like that has no friends. Come on Beorn, I’m not staying round here with these unworthies. It might be catching.’
As the boys exited, Patricia smiled, her tone calm. ‘Well done. I’m really impressed with the way you ignored them.’
Chrisya was anything but impressed. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t defend your mother. Don’t you care about her good name?’
Archer glared at Chrisya, shaking his head. ‘The woman who gave birth to me is dead so anything they said about my mother cannot harm her. Ganieda would rather I ignored the prattlings of dullards than come home bruised and battered from fighting to defend her name. She had enough of that last year.’
Patricia glared at Chrisya, then touched his arm. ‘Take no notice, they are the unworthy ones. You have done nothing except show exactly how worthy you are.’
He lifted his head with a tentative smile.
Rather than start more fights, Archer chose to ignore the taunts of Edlyn and his band of followers, staying away from Patricia in public. His love of books meant he would see her often in the librarie and if they were alone, she was friendly. Patricia had a passionate interest in the healing power of plants and Chrisya had a love of animals. They also met in the woods on several Saturndays when the girls helped him to collect plants and herbs for Ganieda.
His father, Sedge, was a craftsman who encouraged a deep love of woodworking, teaching Archer about the different types of woods and their diverse properties. The smell of fresh wood shavings brought back fond memories of working well into the evenings on intricate carvings which shone in the candle-light.
Archer had tried befriending some of the Outil boys, bringing in a carving he was particularly proud of. This met with a cold hostility. It seemed none were prepared to include him in their group, so he learnt to build a protective barrier around himself, allowing him to sustain their rejection and taunts.
Somehow, the fact he was so self-contained, not seeming to need anyone, made it worse. It sent out a challenge to a certain sort of junior, generally the type who hunted in packs. They would try to break down his barrier and get some kind of response from him, but this simply made him stronger in his resolve. With no friends to distract him with games in the evenings, or drag him down to the junior guild to socialise, he spent his free hours studying anything and everything he could get his hands on. Which of course meant he did well at lehren, coming top in all his subjects and constantly being praised by the professors as a good example for the rest to follow, making him even more unpopular. It was nearly his undoing.
*
Looking down at his forearm, Archer frowned at the faint scar Finn had given him, a permanent reminder of that fateful night almost two years earlier. It had all started out so innocently.
6 Moonflower
‘Archer, listen to this.’
He smiled as Patricia read from an old parchment. ‘The lunaris vulgaris or moonflower only flowers for three nights when the moon is full. If it is picked on one of these nights, the nectar has special powers.’ Her eyes shone with hope as she read on. ‘It is known to be beneficial in the treatment of a number of disorders, particularly with fever and sleeping sickness. One drop of nectar in a tincture of ginger and honey will combat many digestive ailments.’
‘Where did you get this?’ He examined it suspiciously as she explained she had discovered it in the back of a book about ancient cures someone had left on the table where they normally studied.
His natural scepticism was overridden by her enthusiasm as she continued. ‘The moonflower is extremely rare and can only be found growing in chalky soils, most commonly in the vicinity of yew trees.’ She put down the parchment in her excitement and grabbed his arm. ‘Archer, I’m sure there will be some in the yew forest on the west of town.’
‘St Michael’s wood? But that’s out of bounds for juniors.’
‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘It’s because the yew trees are so important, all the best bows are made from yew. Sedge told me it’s used in furniture, because it’s so attractive …’ She released his arm, no longer listening to him as she stared miserably at the picture of a purple flower.
Patricia was one of the few people who had ever shown him kindness and he couldn’t bear the disappointment on her face. He knew her quest for cures was a desperate attempt to find something which would ease the pain of her younger sister Alessi, who had suffered with a crippling illness as a baby leaving her susceptible to any number of complaints.
He made his mind up and reached for the leaflet. ‘So when’s the next full moon?’
Archer spent the next week trying to persuade Patricia not to come with him because of the dangers.
‘You might as
well give up now. Nothing you say is going to stop me from coming.’
‘Not even the threat of Renegates? You know they will chop off your arms then roast and eat them while you watch.’
‘Old wives tales, made up to frighten girls.’
‘What about the wild boars? They can leave a nasty hole in your leg if they catch you with their tusks.’
‘You’ll simply kill them. I know how good you are, I’ve watched you on the range.’
A blush of pleasure rippled through him; no one apart from teachers and his parents had ever paid him a compliment like that before. ‘You must cover yourself up and wear gloves. The yew tree is poisonous, not just the berries, but the leaves and bark …’
‘Will you stop worrying? We are simply going to go there, pick a flower and come back. You are not going to put me off, no matter what you say. This is the biggest adventure of my life.’
Smiling at her excitement, he hoped it would all go exactly as she planned. He would not have gone at all if he had known how interested Adelisa had become in the moonflower. How she encouraged Patricia in her obsession and carefully found out everything she could about the planned quest.
Finally, the big night came. Patricia had no problem getting out; her parents had stayed out late at the previous night’s harvest moon celebration, so they were fast asleep when Archer threw a pebble up at her window. She had dressed in dark breeches and tunic, with a dark shawl covering her hair. She giggled as the door creaked loudly and he shushed her, his eyes glancing nervously up the stairs. ‘Do not worry; they would not rouse even if a thunderstorm broke out in their chamber. They sleep the sleep of the dead.’
Archer was not convinced and urged her into silence as they made their way round to the edge of the village. He had a small lantern, however they didn’t need it as the stars twinkled brightly and the huge harvest moon lit their way. Archer made her show him the gloves before they got too far and she raised her eyes heavenwards.