The Fiery Arrow

by Bo Burnette

  They had come to that part of the forest.

  The door to the sumptuous room creaked opened, dousing Arliss’s bed in flickering light. She squinted and sat up. What time of day was it? Perhaps she had slept through dinner—in which case he would be bringing her something to eat.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said as he turned and shut the door behind him.

  He came towards her, and the light from his candle cast curious shadows on his face.

  “Hello, Arliss.” Philip’s face seemed grimmer and more determined than ever. He lit the curved glass lamp which sat on bedside table.

  The light flickered upon a tall chest of drawers and reflected on a fiddle. The instrument’s glossy surface had clearly been collecting dust for some time.

  Philip knelt by the bed, taking one of her hands in his. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I begged to check on you all last night and all this morning. Finally Thane relented.”

  “Of course he would do that. He’s not quite as bad as I supposed.”

  Philip snorted. “Not as bad as you supposed? He’s a bloody villain, Arliss.”

  “You sound like me. I suppose I must sound like you now.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think he’s not as bad as he is?”

  She wriggled up higher on her pillows. “He offered me a deal—tell him what he wants to know, and he will free both of us.”

  “And you actually believe him?”

  “What other choice do I have? I sent Erik and Ilayda for help. No help has come, although we’ve been here for an age.”

  “It’s only been three days since we left the city. I have kept a very careful count.”

  “Only three days! It…it seems like a week, a month. I feel as if I have not seen Father—” She stopped herself. Did she really miss him that much? He was half the reason she’d left the city in the first place.

  Philip gave her a knowing look.

  She hesitated, choosing her words more carefully. “I miss my mother very much. And my Uncle Nathanael. And Ilayda. That’s why I have to tell Thane. I know it might be dangerous to tell him things about our city, about our army, but that may be our one hope for getting out of this accursed place.”

  “And when we are free?”

  “We will return to the city. If Thane comes, I will protect our people. My father will see how wrong he was about me, and in turn I will apologize for stirring up this great evil. I will not, however, apologize for saving Reinhold.”

  “Reinhold isn’t saved yet,” Philip murmured. “But I forgot why I came. Here, let me see that flask of wine. I hope you have not drunk it all.”

  “Actually not.” She smirked. “I tend not to drink while sleeping.”

  He poured a little of the dark wine into her cup. Then, seeing another cup on the richly carved dresser, he took that and poured wine into it as well. After that, he pulled a crust of bread from within his shirt and tore it in two.

  “What’s this?”

  “It is Diescrol,” he said, “the Sabbath. Surely you didn’t forget it was the first day of a new week?”

  “I told you, I have lost track of all the days in here.”

  “Well, we have neither minister nor chapel, but we do have this bread and this wine, the symbols of the Lord Jesus. And we have each other. I suppose that is what matters, isn’t it?”

  His words and act of making the sacrament pierced her heart. “Yes, that is what matters.”

  “It is said that two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil.”

  “I wonder why that is?”

  “The passage tells us—if they fall, one will lift up his fellow.”

  He had not quoted the end of the Scripture passage. She spoke it solemnly, her vision blurring as she stared into nothing. “But woe to him who is alone when he falls, and has not another to lift him up.”

  He took her hand. “Know this, Arliss, if you fall, I will lift you up again.”

  “I know.”

  They lifted the bread and the wine, and they ate and drank.

  She motioned with her cup towards the patch of freshly disturbed dirt in the corner of the room. “I planted some Lasairbláth over there. There were a few dried flowers left in my pockets. I don’t really know why I did it. Just don’t tell Thane.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Speaking of the devil, where do you think he gets it all from?”

  She looked around. “The fortress?”

  “No, the soldiers. The weapons. He’s even got a blacksmith’s shop and a small garden in here.”

  She set her cup on the side table. “He disappears from our clan for twelve years and shows back up rich and powerful. I suppose the only explanation is that he conjured it from thin air.”

  “He’s obviously dabbling in dark magic. I mean, just think about the snakes.” He shrugged. “But realistically, things don’t just come out of nothing.”

  The door slammed open, and Thane stamped in with his usual leather boots and silver-embroidered tunic. However, today he wore a long oilcloth coat which reached to his ankles and flapped as he walked.

  “You’ve been in here far long enough,” he barked, striding over to the bed. “Get out!”

  Arliss glared at him. “I would love to get out and have some fresh air. What a lovely idea, Thane!”

  “I shall talk with you in a moment, O witty princess.” Then he turned on Philip. “Get out, now. Cease your petty observances of ancient customs.”

  Philip stood. “Sometimes the ancient customs are the best.”

  “I hope you’re not hanging your hopes of getting out of here on some miracle from God,” Thane spat. “Such things do not happen, so I would suggest you squelch your hopes of them at once. Your escape from my prison depends solely on whether the princess here will tell me such things that are expedient for me to know. As such, I would appreciate for you to leave us in privacy as we talk.”

  Thane shoved Philip, who bristled but did not push back. He walked out of the room. No doubt half a dozen guards were waiting in the hallway.

  When Thane turned back around, Arliss glowered at him. “You will be used by God. Either as a son, or as a slave.”

  “Of course.” His voice was bitter. “I wonder, which will you be?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: CONCERNING THE KING

  King Kenton walked alongside the sandy shoreline which lay between the ocean and the natural wall formed by the massive Cliffs of Aíll. He sucked in his breath and took in the view—the eternally blue ocean cloaked in a thick morning mist, the gulls screaming merrily as they darted up and down, the monumentally tall cliffs standing like guards to the land of Reinhold.

  The first time he’d taken Arliss to see the seaside as a child, she’d been six, blue eyes even wider and more curious than they were now. The vast cliffs had struck her dumb as she had wandered the beaches in a state of wonder.

  Not he. He had a quest, a job, a duty. His task was not like that of the men who were even now constructing new buildings to attach to the lone square tower high upon the cliffs. All had been decided: the seaside outpost would be expanded. It would surely become bigger and greater than the city upon a hill which lay twenty miles inland. Perhaps ships could be built, the ancient lands across the sea explored…

  His task. He rushed his mind back to its base. Why was he this easily distracted so suddenly? Was he really so unfocused? Perhaps, perhaps not. He blamed the cliffs and the waves for his distracted mind, and he continued to set aright his thoughts.

  Somehow, he would have to convince Adam that he had chosen the best course. Brédan had been easy enough to convince, but he knew Adam would put up more of a fight, even after the council’s decision. How easy it had been to make a decision without Adam here! Already foundations were being laid for the newborn city. Leaving Adam at the city had been best, but the rash lord might stir up trouble in his absence. At least Elowyn was there. As long as she remained in the city, no harm would come to it.

/>   “My king, a few words with you, p’raps?” Brédan asked.

  Kenton nodded as Brédan changed his stride to match his. Waves crashed on the shore a few feet from their boots. A few handbreadths beyond the waves, a wall of cloudy mist encroached upon the coastline. The mist hid the endless ocean separating them from the Isle of Light.

  “These cliffs were of old regarded as a gateway to lands of faerie and mystery,” Brédan said. “Yet for us they are a gate from the inside out, a portal to the whole world.”

  “The whole world, indeed. It’s quite a mysterious place.”

  “Not half so mysterious as the mysteries which lay unexplored within our own borders, sire, if you ask me.”

  Kenton let a smile crease the edges of his mouth. “I did not ask you. Though you are no doubt right.” He frowned. “You sound like my daughter.”

  “A true forthright lass, she is.”

  “Perhaps too forthright for her own good.”

  “Yet none can be too true for their own good.”

  “Only those whose truth is a lie, my good lord.”

  Brédan slowed his pace. “You doubt her loyalty?”

  “No, I simply doubt her. It is not her loyalty alone that I impugn.”

  “She may be a fiery archeress, but whatever flaming spirit she has comes from her father.”

  “Do not compare me to her!” Kenton sucked in air as he wished to suck back in his words. Why did he with his every thought and word prove himself wrong?

  Brédan pursed his lips. “I shan’t say I told you so. Still, she’s a right fine maiden, and a right fine maiden will sooner or later attract suitors—some noble, and some not so much.”

  So that was where this conversation traveled. Kenton nodded. “I think your Brallaghan would make a good husband for Arliss. He is a skilled swordsman, an aspiring knight, and a learned student of many honorable arts.”

  “You pay me a great compliment by saying so, my king.” Brédan seemed a bit too enthusiastic. “You do know that Brallaghan has long been among Arliss’s good friends. I’m sure she is quite fond of him as well.”

  Kenton sighed. “Indeed. Though most all maidens take some persuading.”

  “Brallaghan can be quite persuasive. No girl in Reinhold would resist him long, once they saw him truly.”

  “Perhaps you do not know how stubborn Arliss can be.”

  The words hung in the air between them unanswered.

  Something emerged from the fog, many yards out upon the ocean. At first it looked like a massive wooden spear, until the spear dragged an entire ship out of the mist. Had he seen it in a book, Kenton would have deemed it a beautiful craft, with its ornately carved wooden prow and high, gilded stern. Yet seen in these circumstances, appearing so strangely from the mist so close to the shores of Reinhold, it made his blood boil.

  Heading north, the ship disappeared back into the fog almost as quickly as it had come.

  Kenton pressed against a heathery rock for support. The people of Reinhold had never made such a ship. Yet the vessel appeared young, as if on its maiden voyage. It had come from somewhere other than Reinhold, and that somewhere was alive and well enough to produce elegant oceancraft.

  “Sire, are you all right?” Brédan’s brow knitted with concern. “That ship, where—”

  “It’s going to try to land farther north. There are many places where they could disembark. If they found the river flowing from the mountains…” Kenton lost his voice for a moment. “They could be at the city within a day.”

  He headed toward the steep hill on top of the cliffs. Over his shoulder, he shouted at Brédan, “Stay here at the outpost, and make sure someone stays with you! I cannot leave this place unguarded.”

  “I shall do as you ask, my king.”

  Kenton reached the camp of a dozen other men. “We must leave at once! A foreign ship has been spotted sailing north. We have to return to the city.” To Elowyn.

  To Arliss.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE SON OF CARRAIG

  The ancient pages crackled as Arliss turned them, carefully revealing each one. Some of the brittle pages had not been turned in many years and remained obstinately stiff.

  She had skimmed the book many times before, so many that she could recite some of the stories from memory. Yet Thane’s words had somehow enlivened the leather volume and transformed it into something new. If many of the book’s collection of stories, poems, and notes were true, which ones?

  She had just come to the entry on Lasairbláth when the heavy door across the room creaked open. Cahal stepped in.

  “The Master requests your presence at luncheon upon the dais, please.” His voice sounded calm and courtly. He almost reminded her of Brallaghan, in a strange way. Yet Brallaghan’s kingly behavior was genuine. Cahal, on the other hand, had to have something up his sleeve.

  “You may tell Thane that I do not wish to come to luncheon upon the dais, please.” She glared at him, and he stiffened. Did he speak as civilly to Philip as he did to herself? Likely not.

  He waited as if to be dismissed. She arched her eyebrows and waved him off. “Go on, let me get back to my reading.”

  He smirked, stepping back into the hallway. “Of course. And do allow me to go back to my torture of the other prisoner.”

  She leapt to her feet, allowing the book to tumble to the floor, but she could not reach the door in time. It slammed in her face as she collapsed against the uneven wood, sobbing. The lock clicked, and Cahal’s footsteps receded.

  “Come back here, you snake!” she shouted through the cracks in the wood. She pounded on the door until her hands were raw and stuck with splinters. No one answered.

  She rubbed the back of her hand across her cheeks to ebb the tears. Oh, Philip! None of this had been his fault. How could he endure? How could he not hate her—with every horrid thing Thane’s men did to him, how could he not hate her? If she would just tell Thane the things he demanded of her, she could spare Philip this agony.

  Philip would tell her not to give in, not to tell Thane a single thing. Yet if she could save his life, what would it matter? Her father could deal with Thane’s army. She could deal with Thane’s army. She could be the prophesied heroine.

  Perhaps her father’s life and her own life would be endangered if she told Thane. What did it matter? Philip had to live, or she felt she would die of guilt and grief.

  Another blow bashed the side of Philip’s face. Pain shot through the side of his skull. He grunted, trying to stay upright and on his feet. Not that he had to try: the ropes tied to his wrists ensured that he would be held upright, no matter what.

  He clenched his fists and strained against the ropes until his wrists bled. If only he was freed from them! They were wrapped around the beams of the ceiling of the stone-backed room, giving him barely enough leeway for his feet to touch the ground.

  Damian prodded him in the stomach with the but of a spear, then jabbed harder. His empty stomach churned. He coughed, and Damian let loose a rasping laugh.

  Other warriors skirted about him, punching and kicking him, cracking him in the back of the head with spear shafts, as if they took pleasure in having a prisoner to pummel. But he could not give them the pleasure of seeing him lose his footing.

  Could he bring the beams down? No, he wasn’t near strong enough for that. However, if there was enough weight yanking the ropes downward—

  Damian approached again, brandishing his spear. Philip glared at him. Here came his chance.

  “Does our poor young knight tire of the torture?” Damian feinted a stab with the head end of the spear. He flipped the weapon back over, raising it over his shoulder. “Does he grow weary of the pain?”

  “Your sort of pain is hardly worth being called by that name.”

  Flaring his nostrils, Damian pulled the spear even farther back, ready to thrust its dull end into Philip’s unprotected stomach.

  Philip held his steely glare.

  The butt of the spear hurtled
towards his abdomen.

  Philip shifted to the side. The spear slammed into the stone wall behind him. The wood splintered against the mountainous wall.

  With a roar, Damian charged. Philip braced against the wall behind him and slammed both feet into Damian’s gut.

  The other guards rushed to the coughing commander’s rescue. But they came not soon enough.

  Sputtering from the kick, Damian grabbed Philip’s legs and pulled.

  With a yell, Philip thrust himself forward with as much force as he could muster. The ropes chewed into his wrists. Damian kept pulling. Philip slammed his forehead into his opponent’s face and hurled them both to the ground in a final effort. The ropes snapped free under the weight of their bodies and the force of his pull.

  The falling bodies knocked Cahal off his feet, and the three rolled about on the floor.

  Philip found his footing first, then Cahal. Philip’s fist smashed into Cahal’s chest, sending him sprawling. Philip raced to the door and came just short of slamming into Thane.

  He could not leave. Thane consumed the doorway with his presence. He wielded no weapon of iron or steel, yet his weapons seemed more deadly and terrifying than any other Philip could face. Philip grabbed the pointed end of the spear Damian had shattered on the stone wall and hid it behind his back.

  Coiled around either of Thane’s arms, writhing and contorting their bodies hideously, were two long, striped snakes. He readjusted his arms and stroked their slick bodies. At his touch, they relaxed, wrapping themselves further about his arms until little more than their horrible heads were free to move.

  With a smooth, hissing voice, he whispered strange words to the creatures: “Codladh anois, agus stailc nach bhfuil.”

  At his command in the peculiar language, they settled down, as if asleep.

  He smirked at Philip, letting his snake-cloaked arms fall to his sides. “So very clever are you, O son of Carraig, to find a way to destroy my implements.”

  “It wasn’t that difficult to do, no thanks to your idiotic torturers.” Philip jerked his head at Damian on the ground.