The White Arrow Page 3

  "I thought they were dead." Limbreth wiped a dry cheek as if it were a memory of tears.

  "Yes, well, it is portentous, but I cannot say why, nor can I yet speak to my own appearance." Hastra lifted a third finger. "You were saved from this fall, which is another event around the bow. That means something for you too. I'm thinking these three events should not have happened but did. They mean something. But it all revolves around the bow."

  Limbreth pursed her lips. "That makes since, then, the miraculous around an item meant to do the miraculous."

  "Spoken like a Withling, but yes. We find the bow—Athson, really—and things happened to us. That means events around the bow will be important in the future, but I cannot say how just yet. But there's more to it. There's the prophecy. It was miraculous when it was given at the time when Withling's Watch fell. We were..." Hastra touched her old wound through her clothing, and emptiness spread in her stomach at the memory. So many dead that day. And she should have been.

  "Tell me about it." Limbreth touched Hastra's hand that marked the book. A rare tender gesture from the Grendonese woman.

  Hastra opened the book and stared at the words that blurred in her sight at sudden tears. So many friends lost that day. "We were brought in to face Corgren and Paugren, the Beleesh sisters too, and told to join them or die. The prophecy then started with the elders. We would call it a concert of prophecy, where pieces are spoken in turn. With each piece, someone was slain, Howart, my sister, and myself included."

  Limbreth stirred at that information, her eyebrows raised, eyes wide, and her mouth open to speak.

  Hastra lifted a hand and forestalled Limbreth’s words. "I know, shocking to see a dead person alive, and that for centuries. But it happened. I saw myself lying at Corgren's feet beside the others. Five parts were given, and three remained. We three surviving Withlings were offered the chance to return by Eloch. At least I was. None of us have spoken of this since. Zelma rose, then Howart, then me to speak the last." She opened the book and read a line of the prophecy aloud: "The bow shall be hidden from heart." She smiled at her initial misunderstanding. Not heart, but the country, Hart. She cleared her throat and read the entire prophecy.

  The false one begets betrayers, but he shall not have his way.

  The Hidden Dragon may usurp kingdoms with deceits, but his ways shall not last, and he will not ascend.

  A bow shall be made in defense.

  To break the binding curses.

  His prey shall be snatched from his fangs.

  The bow shall be hidden from Hart.

  The eagle will guide the heir.

  The bow shall be found at need.

  And the arrow shall Eloch prepare.

  Silence lay between the two women as Hastra ended, broken only by the rustle of wind and the crackle of fire. Hastra let a sad smile display itself on her quivering lips. "The elders, Soren and Margen, died over those first lines." Pools of blood spread across the floor from their bodies that day. Hastra cleared her throat before she spoke again. "‘The bow shall be found at need,’ that was spoken by me, and I was part of it, guiding Athson. These words have been on my mind often during our travels, especially the last few days."

  Limbreth's mouth worked several times before she finally spoke. "So you were intended to be there regardless?"

  Hastra fed more wood to the fire, still marking the book with a finger from her other hand. "It would seem so."

  "And now comes the arrow. But how? We've seen nothing of it."

  "I do not know, other than it is planned. We all three spoke that line in unison, so it is..." Hastra's eyes narrowed. She re-opened the book and stared at the page. "Of course, we all spoke it, and we will all be present somehow."

  Limbreth lay down again and pulled her blanket over her body. "When?" She yawned. "Is it soon?"

  "Undoubtedly. This isn't over, and the bow must be used." Hastra tapped her fingertips along the last line of the prophecy. "The arrow will come to us like to a target. But for now, I will think about all this. You sleep until the others return."

  The young woman's face relaxed as her breath settled into the steady rhythm of sleep.

  Hastra stared at the prophecy. Soren. Margen. They were a long time ago. She missed them still, and many others. She looked over the last lines again and gasped. She started to speak, but Limbreth lay asleep. Of course, it was as Soren once said about prophecy: when three things are predicted in conjunction with one big prophecy, events often unfolded much the same way. There were three unusual events around finding the bow, all involving those associated with Athson. That definitely meant something further to come. And around this coming arrow.

  Soren's instruction on these matters further shook her memory. The dead elder had taught that wisdom, which he’d learned from another Withling. Who was that? She flipped farther back in the book and searched for similar prophecies or commentary about the subject. She supplemented her search with her fingers, running them along pages. Ah, there, from Apeth Stellin originally. Hastra tapped her lips. He was well-known. Went alone to the old tower and never returned, so long dead.

  Her head rose with a sudden thought. Hastra stared at the stone side of the ravine. Never returned. She, Howart, and Zelma had never returned from the old tower, but they were alive. Why not him? She muttered to the wind, "Yes, maybe that was who the unknown Withling was. Someone presumed long dead. Hastra watched the flames of the fire dance. It was consistent. The teacher of this principle still alive amid such very things. Apeth Stellin. She closed the book. There was much to consider.

  Voices drifted along the narrow ravine. Hastra watched Ralda, who spoke with Tordug and Danilla. Athson's mother was distraught, by the look of her face. Where were the others? Ralda led those two alone into the ravine. A lump formed in Hastra’s throat. Athson was not with them, nor the bow.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Athson's stomach roiled and his head ached, but he narrowed his gaze at Apeth Stellin. This man knew things about Athson he shouldn't. Athson didn't recognize him from anywhere before their first encounter in Afratta, after Zelma presented Athson with the inheritance. However, she'd achieved that in a dream. Athson's head spun more, and he settled back and spoke with a weak voice, "Thank you for pulling me out of this storm. But I don't understand. Have we met? I mean, before Afratta. That was you who spoke to me then?"

  That warning drifted across Athson's memory. "Careful of trolls on the trail." The old man smacked his lips and fidgeted.

  Athson whirled and glared at the old man. "We've done well." He turned away.

  A wheezy chuckle erupted behind him before Athson took two steps. "You should ignore neither warnings, dreams, nor visions—nor gifts."

  Athson froze mid-step. Moments passed like a day as he turned. Shock filled him anew when he saw no sign of the trapper on the porch.

  Apeth offered the same smile as back at Afratta. "Good of you to remember." His eyes twinkled from beneath his hat, and he wagged a finger at Athson. "You should have listened to me closer then—and at Marston's Station."

  "So it was you." Athson coughed and groaned before he continued. "Why have you been following me?" He frowned as he recalled their encounter at Marston's. After his disagreement with Limbreth.

  "You should trust her," a gravelly voice said.

  Athson recognized who it was even before he whirled. The trapper from Afratta sat at the far end of the porch, leaning in a chair against the log wall. Athson's belly fluttered at the sight of the wide-brimmed hat pulled low over the wrinkled face, cheeks still covered with an unruly salt-and-pepper beard.

  Athson took a tentative step. "You! Why are you here? How did you get there? The porch was empty."

  "Just getting some rest after all that excitement last night."

  "I don't remember you from last night. But I remember you from Afratta. Have you been following me?"

  The trader let his chair rest on four legs, pushed his hat back, and shrugged. "I get around, I suppose
."

  Athson strode toward the old man. "Who are you? How did you know about the—that gift?"

  The trapper spat over the rail. "You should worry less about your friends and more about your enemies."

  Athson stopped short. "Are you a Withling? How do you know about my enemies?"

  "Count me a friend."

  "Really? Been helping me, have you? Last night, you say."

  "Sure did. You wouldn't be here without my help."

  Athson sighed and steadied himself against a post. This old man should marry crazy Zelma. These were worse answers than a Withling's. A horse whinnied and Athson turned away, watching one of Marston's men calm the animal.

  "Here's more help. Remember, use one sword edge for justice, the other for mercy. You'll know which one to use when."

  Athson turned. "How did you know about my—"

  The trapper's chair stood empty. Athson gaped and his heart lurched. The same as at Afratta.

  The same as at Afratta. "How did you move so quickly?" Apeth was older and should not move so fast. Athson chewed the inside of his cheek. He had never answered that question. "You must be a Withling. Hastra thought you were Eloch but then thought better of it."

  Apeth tasted his broth and tested the progress of his cooking venison. "I get that a lot, the last part about Eloch." He chuckled. "I'm not sure why."

  Athson's face flushed more from irritation than fever. So he was a Withling. He didn't deny that. "It seems there are Withlings everywhere. I thought there were hardly any left."

  "You're right on that point, and a sad tale too." Apeth paused his cooking and cocked his head. "I guess Hastra hasn't spoken of it, then?"

  Athson pulled his blanket to his chin as he shivered. "No, she's been rather mysterious about that."

  "Well, as you should know, a Withling only speaks what is given."

  "I know that too well. It seems a little too convenient for me sometimes. An excuse to avoid sharing information."

  "Humph. So it may seem, but it saves a lot to speak appropriate to Eloch's will, as we all learn." Again, Apeth cocked his head as if both listening and considering Athson at the same time.

  "Why do Withlings do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "Act like you’re listening."

  Apeth shrugged. "Because we are. It's part of what we do, listen for Eloch's guidance."

  Athson coughed, cleared his throat, and spat off to the side. That explanation still felt too convenient. "Yeah, seems to give me all kinds of trouble."

  Apeth tipped his hat back and pointed at Athson. "You ready for some broth? Your stomach seems settled now, since you're talking so much."

  "Yeah, I guess I'll try some." He needed strength to travel as soon as possible. He doubted he could reach his mother in time, but he had to try.

  "Good." Apeth handed Athson a small bowl of broth that warmed Athson's hands well enough. "While this venison finishes and you eat your fill, I'll tell you what you want to know. If I can."

  Athson suppressed a sarcastic laugh. Best not offend this Withling or he might never get more answers. "Well, for starters, how old are you?"

  "Really, like that matters?" Apeth chuckled and shook his head. "I'm far older than Hastra and the other surviving Withlings."

  "How old?"

  "I started the order with some other like-minded people of that time, people who realized we were gifted by our devotion to Eloch."

  That old? Athson stared at Apeth. He doubted the old man's age. He didn't look past his late fifties or early sixties. But he'd let the tall tale slide for the moment. He sipped his broth. It was too hot, so he waited before trying again. "Why have you been following me?"

  Apeth shrugged. "Somebody has to keep an eye on a hardheaded youth that Magdronu tracks. The Bow of Hart has been a shadow across your path since before you were born."

  "Is that right?" Athson doubted that statement too.

  "It is."

  "So you've been following me, or watching me, for years. Why didn't you help my family, help Depenburgh?" The last question left Athson's lips with a choked sound as he held back sudden sorrow.

  Apeth shook his head. "I wasn't watching you then. Sad doings, that."

  "So Eloch didn't care to watch out for us? People died."

  "Not to belittle your sorrow, Athson, but people die. There are slaves in Rok and Hart who suffer all the time. Eloch cares for them and forbears with patience to let things work in his plans." Apeth checked his venison again. "Death is a part of this life, Athson. Everyone you knew from your village would have died sometime or other. It's what we do with the daily living that matters. How we live with others matters more than the dying."

  Athson looked away. "Yeah, whatever. Easy for you to say." He suddenly felt no need for the broth and almost poured it out.

  Apeth frowned at Athson, opened his mouth as if to shout, then shut it. After several moments of silence, he spoke. "You aren't the only one who suffers, Athson. You won't be the last. We're given choices. I watched a lot of good people die at Withling's Watch—murdered except for those three who survived. Them and me. Corgren and Paugren were sent to deceive the entire order. They even recruited some of the order to their cultic worship of Magdronu. They murdered everyone when they let trolls into the Watch that night while everyone slept. No, we're not told when we're to die—or live on, same as you and everyone else." He shrugged and drank from his canteen. "Like I said, living's what's important."

  Athson drank his cooling broth and let it sit on his stomach as he stared at the flames. The Withlings suffered at Magdronu's hands too? "So how did Hastra and the others escape?"

  Apeth stared into the flames. "They helped give the prophecy, even died for it, and were sent back to finish it and help other people." The Withling shot Athson a sidelong glance. "Yes, they suffered and still do now. Corgren stabbed all the speakers of the prophecy, one given in concert, and they died and came back to deliver the balance. When Corgren couldn't kill them, he imprisoned them. I was sent to get them out and help them escape. They had more service to perform, and they've done that faithfully for several centuries despite their losses."

  Athson sucked at his teeth as he stared at the dancing flames through blurred vision. "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."

  Apeth cut some venison and set it on his plate. He licked his fingers. "You've had a bit of tunnel vision, if I might say so. But then, it's part of what's going on with your family." The Withling set about eating.

  "So I've heard, but I never got the whole story about that either." Athson sipped more of the broth. It settled his stomach. "Thanks for the broth. It helps some."

  The Withling nodded and continued eating in silence for a while. He drank some water and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Your family got caught up in Magdronu's cult back in Hart after the Watch fell. But as I understand it—and mind you, I wasn't present—your ancestor Thayer broke from that after a few generations. At least the best he could. He made the bow and fled as a traitor to the agreements his family had made several generations earlier. He passed the bow to his son along with the package, and so it's been. Sometime along the way, Zelma got the inheritance and protected it, but your family members always did their best to hide the bow. But they always suffered the curse of their betrayal to Magdronu. It comes out in anger, vengefulness, all ways that the houses of Hart behave now even though your ancestors wanted to be different. They couldn't help it. Your father meant well, but he couldn't resist. Magdronu plays on this, doing things to you, killing your people, your family. He gets power for his magic from your actions."

  Athson swallowed a sudden lump. So that was the curse and the whole tale. "I didn't know that. What do I do about it?"

  "Do your best to live well with others. Anytime you let the emotions get the best of you, you're giving Magdronu more power, more magic." Apeth cut a second helping of venison.

  "So what about the rest of everything that happens to me? My fits, if you know about the
m."

  "More of Magdronu working to keep you confused." Apeth paused his eating. "Why, what all happens?"

  "Nothing more than you said." Athson paused. Should he tell Apeth more? Maybe not, he didn't trust him yet. Or was that his curse leading him? "Just fits sometimes. My blessed sword helps that, though."

  Apeth fixed his gaze on Athson for the passage of long moments. "Yeah, you keep that sword handy, then. If you need something more, let me know. Confused thinking works to keep you off-balance so don't just suffer through it. You can live differently if you choose to. You finished that broth yet?"

  Athson nodded and handed Apeth the bowl. "I think I'll sleep now. Thanks for all the answers." His eyes fluttered, but his head had stopped spinning. Now to find his mother. And Corgren.

  CHAPTER THREE

  No one knew the answer regarding the Bow of Hart. They confirmed Ath's hands were still bound by his restraints, but the chain was indeed cut. Magdronu-as-Gweld wanted to flay Corgren when he saw him. The fool had let himself be tricked by a half-blind prisoner. They reburied Ath at the end of Danilla's weeping. He eyed the woman. It was a pointless reaction to a traitor's death. "I suppose we need to inform Hastra and the others."

  "Yes, either they are on the way or not, but we need to share this news with them." Tordug scratched his beard and hefted his ax. "Best be on our way, then."

  "Not me. I'll scout and try to find Athson's track." He scanned the sky as storm clouds threatened from the northwest. "There may be snow soon. I need to find what I can before that. Maybe I'll see if trolls are in the area or bring in some game." Magdronu-as-Gweld tapped his bow. Good cover for him, as usual. He needed to shift forms and gather information near and far. He shrugged. "Maybe I can find Athson and bring him back. He can't have left that long ago."

  Danilla's face lifted, her cheeks still tear-stained. "I should go with you."

  Magdronu-as-Gweld feigned a consoling gesture by holding the woman's hand. "I don’t think you’re in any state to travel fast as I will. It's best you take word back to Hastra. If I can find Athson or sign of his trail in these heaths, I'll do what I can to bring him in." He motioned to the sky. "But you'd all better be ready for that storm. I'll be as fast as I can."