by Kara Jaynes
Isabelle nodded, smiling up at him. “Good luck, Tymothias.”
She hurried from the makeshift archery range and made her way through the fishing village to her home.
Her parents’ home was a rather impressive structure of brick and stone, with ivy climbing up the walls. Isabelle loved it, but still couldn’t suppress her excitement over leaving for the academy. Only four more weeks and she’d be on her way.
Walking across the grassy lawn, Isabelle entered the front door.
“Isabelle!” Three children looked up from the dining table and scooted off the benches, running to her. Isabelle laughed at Lily, Byn and Ceth, her younger sister and two brothers.
“Where’d you go? Did you meet a monster? Can I use your bow?” were a few of the onslaught of questions the children asked as they capered around her.
Isabelle laughed, leaning her bow and quiver against the white plaster wall. “No you may not use my bow,” she said in response to Ceth’s question. “And as to where I went, I was in the forest. And as to monsters, yes, I did meet one, but I’m here, right? Safe and sound.”
“Isabelle?” Isabelle stiffened at the sound of her mother’s voice.
Eliza Aryn stood behind her children, arms crossed, a frown on her face. Her brown eyes were hard as she looked at her daughter. “Did you stick to the path?”
Isabelle shifted. “I went off. Just a little though.”
Mother shook her head, disapproval etched in her features. Her black hair was tied back in a bun, making her look even more severe. “I’ve told you more than once, child, stick to the path. Those woods are dangerous.”
Isabelle knew now wasn’t the time to talk about her run-in with the siren. “I need to practice my archery daily, Mother. Shooting targets with the boys will only get me so far.”
Eliza tsked, placing her hands on her hips. “Why couldn’t you pick a respectable trade like weaving or pottery? Mistress Lamwing is looking for an assistant. I could put in a good word for you. You can’t sew if your life depended on it, but if you practiced your stitches as much as you use that thing—” Her eyes narrowed as she eyed the bow distastefully, “—you’d be the best seamstress in Stormview, Seabound, even.”
Mistress Lamwing was a seamstress in their village. Isabelle tried not to shudder. “Archery is my calling. It’s what I do.”
“Well, what you do is a waste of time.” Her mother sniffed. “Not to mention archery is a man’s sport.” She turned back to the sink, washing the breakfast dishes.
Isabelle clenched her fists. She wouldn’t get angry. “I talked to Tymothias. He says he’s leaving town to become a Fabled Hunter. He invited me to join him.”
Her mother snorted as she continued scrubbing. “Tymothias is the poor son of a fisherman. You don’t want to marry someone who can’t support you when times get difficult.”
“Maybe I’m not interested in marrying for money.” Isabelle frowned back. “Maybe I want to become a Fabled Hunter, too.”
Her three younger siblings had gone back to a game of Kings and Knights, dark little heads close together as they studied the board. Byn looked up at her words.
“A Hunter?” Byn’s eyes were round with shock and he looked up at Isabelle, his hand frozen over a board piece. “Wow. Are you going to be one?”
“She could if she wanted to.”
Isabelle spun around at the familiar voice. Father.
Jeremy Aryn stood in the doorway, his dark face crinkled in a smile. He held his arms out and Isabelle rushed into them. “You’re home early!”
“Yes, well, trade was good in Seabound,” her father replied, speaking of their neighboring harbor city. “I brought you something.” He knelt on the wooden floor, rummaging through his rucksack for a moment before pulling out a tiny package. “It’s a bowstring, a special one.”
Isabelle eagerly opened the package, her heart quickening with anticipation. Inside the wrapping was a long, thick black hair.
“It’s unicorn hair,” her father said in answer to her silence. “It’s said to be more durable and stronger than a regular bowstring, resistant to normal wear and tear. You won’t need to replace it for a long time, or so I was told. I thought you might find a use for it.” His lips quirked up in amusement. Of course she’d use it.
“Thank you.” Isabelle hugged him. “It’s perfect.” Stepping back, she looked at it again. “I doubt that anyone else in the Archeress Academy will have a bowstring as fine.”
Her father smiled. “After the shipment that comes in next week, nothing will be able to stop you from going. That is, unless you decide to go with Tymothias.”
Isabelle shook her head. “Nope. School’s for me.”
A moment later, her siblings discovered candy in the rucksack. Squealing, they dug into their newfound loot as Father stepped over to his wife, wrapping her in an embrace. “Eliza.”
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. That night as Isabelle got her siblings ready for bed, she smiled to herself. Soon, she’d be off to the academy. She knew she was skilled with the bow, and with time she might be unrivaled in all the land. Her mother would approve of her then.
3
“Isabelle, we need some lamb for tonight’s dinner.” Isabelle’s mother handed her several coppers. “Please take these to the butcher.”
Isabelle heaved a loud sigh. “Can’t Lily go instead?” Her younger sister was thirteen, and quite capable of running errands. Isabelle had plans to practice archery with Raesco that afternoon. It’d been several days since Isabelle had gone shooting with him and the other boys, the same day she’d had her run-in with the siren.
“No, Lily cannot.” Eliza’s voice hardened. “I need her here.”
Lily looked up from reading a book, and Isabelle sighed inwardly. “Fine.” She stalked out the door, clenching the coppers so tightly in her hand it hurt.
She knew why her mother had sent her. George Hummel was Stormview’s only butcher, and his business was quite successful. While he couldn’t be called exactly rich, he was quite well to do. And single. His wife died several years ago and the man had never remarried.
She approached the shop with some apprehension. The butcher stood at the outside counter packaging up some meat for another villager. Isabelle peered at the villager’s back. It was Seera, one of Isabelle’s closest friends. The butcher and Seera were conversing, but broke it off when Isabelle approached. Isabelle and Seera smiled at one another in greeting.
The butcher beamed at Isabelle. “Good afternoon, Miss Aryn.” He wiped his hands on his bloodied apron. “How are you faring today? It’s been awhile since you’ve graced my humble shop.”
Isabelle held her breath, her stomach clenching at the smell of blood. “Quite well, thank you.” She held out the coppers. “My mother needs some lamb for tonight’s dinner.”
“It’s my pleasure.” The butcher beamed through his salt and pepper beard as he reached over the counter to accept the coins. A prickle of revulsion ran down Isabelle’s spine when George Hummel’s fat, gnarled fingers brushed hers.
He set to chopping and had the meat wrapped within a few minutes. Handing it to Isabelle, he winked at her. “Don’t stay away too long, Isabelle. Good day.”
Isabelle smiled—it felt like a grimace—and hurried away, Seera falling into step beside her.
“He likes you, you know,” Seera said in a quiet undertone.
Isabelle swallowed. “Of course he does. He likes most people, I suspect. He’s a nice, old gentleman.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Seera kept a straight face, but her black eyes twinkled as if laughing on the inside. “Come on, Isabelle, you’re eighteen. Gotta marry sometime.”
“Not him.” Isabelle shook her head. “Not anyone here. I’m not in love, Seera.” She chewed the inside of her cheek as they walked together. “If I marry, I want to marry an archer. Or a hero of some sort.”
Seera laughed. “You’re funny.”
She turned
a little and Isabelle saw a dark bruise on her friend’s jawline. “How is Beofure?” she asked.
The smiled faded from Seera’s face. “He’s fine. He’s been a little stressed since the fire.” Her husband ran a candlestick shop, and half of it had burnt down in an unfortunate fire. Seera rubbed at the bruise absently as if unaware of the gesture.
“Do you love him?” Isabelle blurted out, then winced. “Sorry, that’s not my business.”
Her friend shrugged. “I have a roof over my head, and food. He’s good to me most of the time. I can’t complain.”
Isabelle nodded, but inwardly cringed. Mother thought she’d read too many fairy tales, but Isabelle wanted to marry someone who loved her, and hang the money. “I’m happy for you, if you are.”
“You won’t be happy living with your parents forever.” Seera smiled to lessen the sting but continued. “I’ve seen the way George Hummel looks at you. So what if he’s a little…”
“Old? Gray?” Isabelle said, and Seera laughed.
“You’ll be well provided for. I’m sure he’d take good care of you.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of.” Isabelle clenched her fists. “I want…” She trailed off.
“If you don’t know what you want, your whole life will pass you by without having lived.” Seera patted her good-naturedly on the shoulder. “I gotta get back to Beofure. He doesn’t like to be left alone for too long. See you!” She turned and hurried down a side street, turning up the collar of her coat.
Isabelle watched her go for a moment before walking back home. She thought about her friend’s words. Was she right? Was Isabelle being irresponsible shunning the traditional life of settling down and taking up a proper line of work? She felt the comforting weight of her bow pressing against her back and smiled to herself. Archery was her passion. Could she follow anything less?
That night, Isabelle tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Her mind kept drifting back to that day’s events. Her mother had asked about the butcher. How was he doing? Wasn’t he nice? Is there a finer man in all of Stormview? Isabelle smirked in the darkness. Perhaps there wasn’t, but there had been. Tymothias was gone though. Isabelle shrugged in the darkness. He was handsome and strong. Certainly a better fit for her than Mr. Hummel. Perhaps she should have gone with him, but she didn’t love him either. And the academy was a once in a lifetime opportunity—she wasn’t going to miss it.
Her thoughts drifted to her father. A couple mornings ago he had ridden back into Seabound, expecting the biggest shipment of the year. The money they made from these items would be what fed them for the next year, and what would send her off to the Archeress Academy.
Usually Father was jubilant after a shipment came in. He’d joke and laugh, sometimes even take their family out to dinner. Today was different. He came home withdrawn and distant. Even little Ceth was unable to coax a smile from him. Isabelle knew something was wrong, but didn’t know what.
She sat up, pushing her blanket off, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Perhaps a walk down the beach would help her get sleepy. Still clad in her nightgown, she grabbed her red cloak and boots, and tiptoed down the staircase, pausing when she got to the landing halfway down the stairs. Voices.
She tilted her head, listening. It was her parents.
“What happened, Jeremy?” her mother asked. “Even the children couldn’t cheer you up. It’s about the shipment, isn’t it?”
Isabelle heard her father sigh heavily before speaking, his voice filled with resignation. “Yes. Our cargo was scheduled to arrive two days ago. But there was a storm at sea—” His voice cracked. “We lost everything, Eliza. Everything. We’ve lost our fortune.”
Silence. Isabelle knew her mother was as stunned as she. How could this happen? Why?
“I’m heartbroken for Isabelle,” her father continued. She couldn’t see him from her vantage point on the stairs, but his voice was thick with emotion. “I promised her she could go to archery school, and now I can’t even afford the entry fee. How am I going to tell her?”
“I’ll tell her.” Mother’s voice sounded brisk. She’d grown up in a town smaller than this one. She was used to hard labor. “It’s all right, Jeremy. We started poor. We can start again. We’ll come out of this as better people, you understand? We’re going to be fine.” Her mother’s voice sounded hard, determined. “We own this place, but we’ll rent it. I’m sure there’s a noble in Seabound who’ll want it during summer holiday. We can bring in some additional income if we move into something smaller.”
“And what about Isabelle?” her father asked.
“What about her?” Mother’s voice didn’t change. “She can get married. Or get a job.” When her husband didn’t respond, Eliza continued. “The butcher, George Hummel, is looking for a wife, and I’ve noticed the looks the baker has been giving her, too. Isabelle isn’t getting any younger.”
“Knaves, both of them,” Father muttered. “You know Isabelle. She’s strong willed, and won’t settle for less than what she wants.”
Mother’s voice turned icy. “Isabelle is spoiled. I’ve always said you’ve been overly indulgent by half. It’s time for her to grow up and face reality. You get out of life what you put in it. She can’t expect us to continue to care for her. She became an adult two years ago. Besides, you know we didn’t marry for love. It was a match of convenience.”
Isabelle’s heart clenched at the words, only loosening a little when her father spoke again. “Yes, but we made it work. We’ve been happy with each other.”
“And I’m sure Isabelle will make the best of her circumstance, too,” Mother said. “If she continues to be obstinate about men, Mistress Lamwing is looking for an assistant. Isabelle could work for her. Or she can try weaving. She’ll adjust like the rest of us. She’s eighteen, Jeremy. She needs to take responsibility. I never approved of her going to the academy anyway. Such a useless waste of time.”
No. Isabelle’s legs felt weak. She sat on the stairs, her mind reeling. No.
Just like that, her dreams of archery school vanished. She should have known it was too good to be true. She ran a hand through her dark hair, thinking. What could she do? She couldn’t live a life without her archery. It was everything to her. It was her calling. Mother didn’t understand. Marry the butcher?
I’m being selfish. Isabelle bit her lip. The honorable thing would be to listen to her mother’s advice. She knew she couldn’t marry someone she didn’t love, but she could still get a job as a seamstress and support herself.
There has to be another way.
Tymothias. He’d left to try his hand at becoming a Fabled Hunter. Could Isabelle become one? She didn’t know. She was skilled with the bow, but that was the extent of her talents. Tymothias was fast, strong, and clever. It’d take more than archery skills to get through the tournament, and Isabelle wasn’t sure she had the grit.
Her mother urged her father to get some sleep, and Isabelle quietly went back to bed, her mind racing. She could become a forest hunter. Traditionally, it was a man’s profession, but if she could gather enough fur pelts to sell to merchants and traders, then who cared if she was a woman?
She lay in bed for over an hour, waiting until she knew her parents were asleep. Carefully she rose and dressed, then gathered an extra set of clothing, stuffing it into her pack. She picked up her bow, extra string and quiver, and silently went downstairs. Taking some food from the kitchen, Isabelle considered leaving a note. Her father would be heartbroken.
Mother won’t, she thought sourly. I’ve never measured up to her expectations.
She wouldn’t write anything. She didn’t want to leave a trail. I’ll send some money when I’ve earned it. That would have to be good enough.
Donning her red cloak, she left the house, closing the door quietly behind her.
The moon shone down, swathing the land in a pale, silvery light. Perfect for traveling. Isabelle stole away from the house, head
ing for the forest. Her fate lay beyond its dark comforting boughs. She could feel it.
At the edge of the yard she paused and turned, looking at the ivy covered house that was her home for as long as she could remember. She hastily wiped the tears that sprang to her eyes. Had been her home. Not anymore. She would seek her fortune elsewhere.
She turned to face the forest and ran.
4
Most of the villagers found the forest dark and forbidding, a place where monsters and robbers lurked. They were right, but what they failed to see is that the forest also held a lot of good.
Isabelle breathed deeply as she walked. The air was thick with the smell of green growing things. Spring was almost here, and the forest seemed to revel in it. The trees were beginning to put out new growth, and birds filled the air with their songs of renewal. Squirrels and chipmunks scampered along boughs, chattering at Isabelle if she walked too close. The forest was alive and felt safe. At least in this part of the woods.
The ground was soft and damp from the past few days of rain. Isabelle drew her cloak closer. Fortunately for her, the forest canopy provided a fair amount of protection from the elements, but she was still cold. From the pale light filtering through the heavy boughs, night would approach in a couple of hours. She needed to find shelter soon.
Isabelle hastily made a fire, and triumphantly held out the rabbit she’d shot that day.
Once the fire began to crackle, Isabelle took out a long knife from her pack, preparing to skin it.
A faint rustle in the nearby foliage caused her to snap her head up in alarm. She laid the rabbit down and held her dagger up. Nothing.
She remained still for several more moments, but didn’t hear anything else. She turned back to the fire and froze, looking into the golden eyes of a wolf.
The beast crouched a few paces from the fire, watching her warily. Its fur was dark gray and matted. It turned its gaze to the rabbit, licking its lips. Isabelle frowned at the wolf. One of it’s paws looked hurt, dried blood covering it.