The Fiery Arrow Read online

  She took in her breath. A dark mass rose from the ocean, barely lit by the rising of the sun. This was to be her new home, Arliss’s new home. She gently shook her daughter’s shoulders. Arliss stirred and sat up. Her young blue eyes searched the land revealed by the new day’s crimson sun.

  Elowyn drew in a deep breath.

  “This is your land.”

  CHAPTER TWO: ARLISS

  The breeze that rustled the pages of Arliss’s book smelled like adventure. The wind’s invisible arms wrapped themselves around her, ruffling her clothes and tossing her hair.

  She drank in a breath of forest air for what seemed like the hundredth time, letting the wildness of it fill her lungs. That special pureness of undefiled nature, of tall trees and strong limbs, of colorful leaves and slippery moss, had reached its yearly pinnacle. It was autumn, and autumn in the land of Reinhold was the time when creation’s seasonal changes revealed themselves most majestically. She sighed. Sometimes she had debated with herself which season was the best. Yet now that autumn was here, the choice became plain.

  She let her bare feet dangle from the enormous limb, and the breeze tickled her toes. How could she concentrate on such a day as this? Even the book’s illustrations of a brave queen and her life-saving flaming arrows couldn’t compare with the urge in Arliss’s heart to jump from the tree and shoot her own arrows. She’d never had such an adventure as the legend’s queen, of course. Yet whenever she shot her own bow, she was most like that heroic queen in the story.

  She shook her head and tried to refocus on the story. But the fiery arrow on the page reminded her of the great fire from twelve years ago—the burning volcano that had driven her people to this land. But more, it reminded her again of her own bow and arrows which lay in a wooden box at the base of the tree.

  The book could wait. She slapped it shut and slid nimbly down the aged trunk. At the bottom she exchanged book for bow. Her fingers tingled as she strung the weapon and strapped the leather quiver around her chest.

  Thick, ancient trees, with gnarled branches and nearly impenetrable bark, surrounded a wide clearing in the woods. The trees made for fine archery targets. They had always willingly accepted her arrows in their wooden pillars as she released whatever tension was pounding in her head at the time. Here, in the forest, she could get away from every anxiety, and trouble became but a vague shadow in her mind.

  She always shot alone. Always. If only she’d had a brother, perhaps they could have shot together. Even a sister would have been better than nothing. As it was, she had to make do with nothing.

  Arliss worked her fingers around the groove of the smooth bow, her hand finding the familiar worn place in the wood. She nocked the first arrow and let the wealth of memory flood her muscles. Life seemed to flow into the wooden shaft itself as it streamed towards a crude target drawn on the tree trunk.

  THUNK! It pierced the bark near the darkened circle at the target’s center.

  Not close enough—she could do much better. She had shot far too hastily. Readying a second arrow, she raised the bow and bent it, judging the wind as it cast her hair. The arrow seemed to release itself and hurry to the target.

  She followed with several more shots, until all the trees but one held arrows. She smiled. This was the last shot. It had to be perfect.

  The years of training with her father flowed through her body and fueled her every move. She held the bow level, tilted just slightly; placed the arrow on the right, threading three fingers around the nock; drew the shaft back, pushing the bow away. Then she released her fingers. Time itself seemed to slow as the arrow sailed—rushing—into the perfect bull’s eye.

  Time…time. Arliss gasped as the arrow hit its mark. The ceremony! How could she have forgotten? She’d promised herself only a few moments in the woods. Now she’d be late—and everyone would know it.

  She threw her bow back into its box and snapped the lid shut. “How could I have forgotten?”

  The trees made no answer.

  She panted like an animal as she rushed out of the forest, the wide plain opening around her.

  Arliss hurried through the vast field of amber grasses dotted with haphazard outcroppings of rock. These stones were merely roots of the mountains—magnificent structures that grew out of the forest and spread their foothills out into the flat plains. Those mountains seemed to form an impenetrable wall which hid the heart of the realm from the rest of land.

  On any other day, she would have made her way slowly, savoring each sight and scent. But this was not just any old day.

  She could have slapped herself for her forgetfulness. How had she managed to forget? Of all the days to lose track of time in the forest, why did it have to be the day of the knighting ceremony?

  Her feet pounded on a slab of stone which interrupted the grass. She would be within sight of the castle just over the subtle hill that rose under her feet.

  She wanted to stop for rest, but there was no time. Her lungs heaved as she darted on. Her bright red dress flapped about her heels like a flame streaking across the fields.

  Her father would be furious. Positively fuming. And didn’t he have every right to be? She was the princess of Reinhold. That made every offense—every slip-up, every late arrival—a hundred times more dreadful.

  When she reached the top of the hill, the silver stone of the castle tower became visible, jutting out of the horizon. Beneath it lay the village, its homes and buildings wreathing the lower tiers of the hill. The castle seemed to be a crown to the town that lay on the mountain which was its foundation.

  Today marked a great day in Reinholdian history. Today, her uncle Nathanael would become the first officially dubbed knight of her father’s court, and the new Sir Nathanael would also become Lord Nathanael, as he would take over the governance of the city guard.

  Her role in the ceremony was rather small. Still, her father’s inevitable anger hurried her on. She almost stumbled on the uneven ground. In truth, all she had to do was kiss her uncle. A little kiss. Apparently, tradition in the clan of Reinhold dictated that the ladies of the immediate royal court would kiss the new officer on the head—a formal gesture for which she saw no purpose.

  Now she was here! The hill sloped above her as she entered the iron gates of the city.

  Arliss drew out the lone arrow that remained in her quiver and flung it aside into the dust beside the gates. It certainly would not do to show up to the ceremony wearing that. She unfastened the strap of her quiver as she maintained her pace up the hill.

  The road wound its way through the three-tiered city: the first level contained most of the common houses; the second sported inns, shops, and wealthier homes; and the crowning tier held the castle itself. An eerie quiet reigned in the typically bustling marketplace. The entire village must have crowded into the great hall for the ceremony.

  Arliss dared not enter by the main door and announce her lack of punctuality to the entire kingdom. Instead, she crept around the vast, lone tower and entered the lush castle gardens—her mother’s personal project—where there was another entrance.

  When she reached the back door, her best friend Ilayda’s high, mellow voice rang out from inside the overhanging stone doorway that shadowed the wooden door.

  “You’re very late,” Ilayda said. “Your father’s delaying with one of his grand speeches. But I can tell you, he’s not going to be happy if you show up looking like that. Look at your hair! It’s all—”

  “Hush, Ilayda.” Arliss stepped closer to the door and set her quiver down in the grass. “You’re loud enough to alert the entire city guard.”

  Ilayda lowered her voice to a whispering hiss. “Where have you been? The knighting ceremony began thirty minutes ago!”

  “I was out…just doing things.” She still hadn’t told Ilayda about her sanctuary yet. Not just yet.

  “Well, if you have secrets, keep them to yourself. Hurry up! Get inside!” Ilayda commanded. “Here’s your cape. I figured you’d forget
.”

  Arliss donned the cape and touched Ilayda’s shoulder. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you to pester me, scold me, and get me out of all my scrapes.”

  Ilayda grinned, and Arliss nudged open the door with her bare foot, wincing at the soft squeak.

  Wide windows, their curtains removed as during all daylight hours, caught the sunlight and threw it across the many people standing in the room. Arliss seated herself in the wooden throne beside her mother, trying to act as if nothing was ado. She put on a blank face, tilted up her chin, and fixed her gaze on a spot in the ceiling.

  The king, pausing his speech, turned and met her eye. His brow found its habitual furrow.

  “Well,” he continued, turning to the mass of citizens gathered in the hall, “it seems the time has finally come for the knighting itself!” The subtle rebuke stung Arliss. “Nathanael, come forward!”

  Nathanael bowed his acknowledgement to Arliss and her mother, then knelt before her father.

  Kenton’s ceremonious voice boomed throughout the hall. “In these twelve years since we settled this land, we have seen peace and plenty. Despite hardship, we have persevered, endured, and prospered. Today we come to see a great man of this city rise to command the army of Reinhold. From this day, Nathanael will be a wise and forthright lord of Reinhold.”

  Kenton turned to look at his wife and Arliss. This was her cue. She rose, following her mother, and came to stand in front of Nathanael.

  Elowyn bent and brushed a kiss against her brother’s forehead. Her own forehead knotted with emotion before she relented to a tenuous smile.

  Arliss’s own turn now came. She paused. If there had been a prince of Reinhold—if she hadn’t grown up the only child—how would it have felt to do this honor for him?

  She bent awkwardly toward her uncle’s head and gave him a quick peck, but he grabbed her face and smooched her cheek. The entire hall erupted in laughter.

  Nathanael grinned. Arliss’s lips pursed playfully.

  Kenton cleared his throat, and Arliss found her seat again, careful to move slowly so as to not reveal her bare feet. Even her mother would be aghast at that.

  Kenton drew his sword and tapped both Nathanael’s shoulders. “I knight you, Sir Nathanael the first-sword; and I also dub you Lord Nathanael, head of the guard of Reinhold. All hail Lord Nathanael!”

  The crowd shouted in unison, “All hail Lord Nathanael!”

  Arliss observed the subtle boundary which cut through the crowd. The first few rows of people were the other lords and their families, as well as the more well-to-do craftsman types, all of whom lived in the upper tier of the village. Behind these stood the rest of the populace: the farmers and the craftsmen of meaner work, all of whom lived on the lowest tier of the village. How curious—how uncomfortable—that the people had been thus partitioned.

  The distraction lasted but for a moment. She smiled and joined in the applause for her uncle.

  Then Kenton turned, sheathing his sword. His eyes pierced hers.

  She braced herself for the talk that was coming.

  “You’re a bit rash sometimes, you know,” Kenton remarked.

  Arliss almost stopped walking. She was not shocked at his words, but at the sudden breaking of the silence that had reigned for what seemed an age. She said nothing in reply, hoping her father would take the initiative in continuing this reproachful conversation.

  They were walking along the edge of the forest. The trees waved their limbs gently in a breeze that spread down from a sky which had sprouted clouds sometime in the last few minutes.

  Kenton’s chest heaved. “Responsibility, Arliss—that is what you must learn. As princess, you have to demonstrate a sense of true responsibility. Your levity about court matters affects more than just me. Everyone in the village sees it—and it reflects poorly on me.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.” Her words rushed out like a river. “I didn’t mean to be late. I just lose time in the forest. I always do. Forgive me.”

  His brow relaxed, and he shifted his head to look her in the eye. “I forgive you. But you cannot keep making these mistakes. You know, the young knight Brallaghan was supposed to escort you in the ceremony. You let him down.”

  He sighed, paused, and sighed again, as if preparing to impart an important piece of information.

  Arliss slowed her pace on the wide, grassy plain between the castle and the woods. Green in summer, the plain’s grasses had now turned to a dusty yellow.

  At last her father spoke. “You are almost sixteen years old, Arliss. That means it is time for you to take part in matters of the court—time to show the people your purpose and power.” He slyly tilted his head toward her. “Time to begin thinking about a young man to carry on my line.”

  Her breath snapped. She stood still, and Kenton also ceased his steps.

  “You are opposed to the idea of marriage?” he prodded.

  “No!” She said, more forcefully than she intended. “No, I—I simply hadn’t thought of it.”

  “Then you would, indeed, desire a young man to love?”

  She closed her eyes. “Not like that.”

  He turned to stand opposite her. “My darling, you know your mother and I wanted more children as well. All these years since… All these years have been more than hard. But it was not God’s will to give us any more gifts than just you.”

  The years of built-up emotion flooded out of Arliss in a moment. “But you don’t understand! I don’t want a young man to kiss and hold and be held by. I want a brother—a true friend. But I’ve never had that—and I shall never have it. I will never be able to hold his hand to help him walk, never be able to teach him to read, never be able to show him how to shoot a bow, or to go on adventures with him. I can never have that!”

  He placed a strong hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry for your grief. I understand your pain, truly.”

  She kept her eyes closed as they filled with fresh tears.

  He hesitated. “I take my leave. Please, do think about what I have said.”

  She looked up and watched her father walk toward the castle. Then, when he was nearly out of sight, she ran, ran as fast as she could, towards the foothills of the mountains which crept into the northern plains.

  She stood upon one of the rocky hills, her hair flying, the sleeves of the red dress streaming out in the wind. There she wept, the bottled-up tears coming freely as a stream. How could he possibly understand her? She didn’t want romance. She wanted friendship, wanted it so badly her chest throbbed.

  Something cracked in the woods behind her. She turned to gaze into the near-distant forest. The sound repeated itself twice—a sound like something or someone treading on a limb or twig.

  Then the noise vanished, and left her alone with only the sound of the wind in her ears.

  CHAPTER THREE: ROOTS AND SEEDS

  As the sun sank in the afternoon sky, the castle tower cast a long shadow across the east side of the village. Arliss hesitated at the open gates. She could not return home just yet. Something held her back. A deep uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach.

  She would pass every building in the village—the market, the church, the inn, the homes—and would see the divisions that hid there. She would see the strife, the boundaries, the separation between the three tiers. After having the division of lords and peasants so blatantly displayed to her at the ceremony that morning, she couldn’t bear to glance upon those invisible lines once again.

  Her legs started to move, carrying her almost involuntarily around the west side of the city. She strode alongside the moat, whose waters were fed by a river flowing down from the mountains. She was nearing the fields outside the city, where many citizens still had well nigh an hour of work to go.

  She entered a field of bean plants, their green streamers at the waning of the harvest. A dozen or so poorer folk were working the field, some yanking out the thorny tares, but most gathering handfuls of emerald bean pods.


  She hesitated. The flaming red dress would identify her immediately. But did it matter? She picked up a stray basket that lay upturned at her feet and walked into the field. Her face flushed as she began harvesting, and she tried not to look up at the eyes she knew were staring back at her.

  It felt so strange, working the field. When the people of Reinhold had first settled here and begun to build the village, everyone had to take a turn in the farming. Everyone had to provide food for his own family. But as the twelve years had worn on, the king and his men finished work on the city, and many men were no longer farmers, but lords, bakers, and smiths. Arliss had not worked for five harvests.

  Hunger began to encircle her stomach like a slithering serpent, but she ignored it and continued working: plant after plant, bean after bean. The vines’ spiky velvet scratched her wrists into an uncontrollable itch.

  She soon lost count of how many beans she had yanked and dropped into the basket. The monotony of the job surprised her, but it had always been so. Pluck a handful of bean pods, cast them into the basket, pluck another handful, and so on until it seemed that one had never been doing anything but harvesting beans.

  Her father had once partitioned these fields by families. Now, with many of the villagers no longer farming, the merchants and craftsmen rented their fields to the peasants—in return for a share of the crops. Kenton had praised this development, saying it was good for all.

  Arliss wrinkled her brow. No matter what her father said, the renting benefited the higher classes more. After all, the peasants had no way to buy the fields outright. Land was money, and they couldn’t buy land with land.

  She stepped backward to reach a new plant. Someone bumped her from behind.

  She snapped her thoughts shut and swiveled around. A young girl, no more than eight, clutched a basket of beans that dragged her arms nearly to the ground. She beamed up at Arliss, her eyes shining.

  Then Arliss noticed the dropped doll lying on her feet. She bent to pick it up.