"Isn't it? And isn't the thought of being a Withling a fit in your real yearning? The curse confuses that. I'd guess that you think differently about all that's happened in your life. You can't let the negatives be your guide on this trail of decision." Apeth stepped ahead and peaked under the mule's head. "You can't hide from the truth, only deny it. Your enemies still want you whether you accept that fact or not. But Withlings aren't your real trouble."
Athson ran fingers through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe you're right." He needed time to think about this choice. But what did he really need to think about? He'd been doing some Withling things. But still he resisted. Withlings surrounded the troubles of his life. He slouched. Athson didn't know what to think. "I'll think about it."
Spark paused and watched behind them, hackles raised and ears standing at an alert angle.
"Uh, maybe we'll make better time riding." Maybe trolls weren't so far behind after all. He halted the mule and mounted, then pulled Apeth on behind him. Sensing trouble, either from Spark or listening when he didn't mean to, bothered him more than the thought of trolls tracking them. He nudged the mule into a trot with his heels.
Athson laid the Bow of Hart across his lap and rested one hand with the reins over it. His other hand rested on the pommel of his blessed sword. The doubt faded to willingness about being a Withling. He should be more disturbed at the thought of trolls, not being a Withling. He sighed and glanced over his shoulder. No trolls. He sighed again. The thought of being a Withling somehow felt both like a betrayal and a yearning. The latter notion he couldn't deny, not as long as he possessed his father's sword - and he wasn't about to give his father's sword up.
CHAPTER SIX
Hastra hugged her sister again once they entered one of Marston's private dining rooms, and Zelma wept with joy. Howart stood beside them, his arms spread and hands on each of the sisters. "It's been so long and I've missed you so much."
Zelma wiped her cheeks and sniffed. Her crooked grin beneath her unruly red hair bespoke the wildness of her existence upon Eagle's Aerie. She shuffled into a slow dance in circles as she spoke. "I gave it to him. He has the bow, and the prophecy progresses. And now..." She paused and glanced between Hastra and Howart.
"The arrow." Howart clapped and rubbed his hands together.
Hastra took each of them by the hand. At last, the long years bearing fruit. A smile bloomed on her face. "Have either of you seen it or found it? The sign has been in the sky for weeks now."
Howart shook his head and motioned with his other hand. "I thought perhaps one of you knew of it. I've held the bow this last decade."
Zelma answered with a brief cackle. "So short a time. I've lost count of the years I held the inheritance. But I know nothing of the arrow either."
Hastra pinched her lower lip. "We've each performed different tasks over the years, but the arrow we've left to Eloch to prepare." She spread her hands wide. "What are we to do? The sign is there."
Howart paced the room, his hands clasped behind him. "Yes, the sign for all to see. It's drawn us together for the first time in a very long time." He stopped and shook a finger toward the wall of the dining room. "There's never a lost reason, and this is no different." The gaunt Withling turned his deep-set eyes toward Hastra and Zelma. "We have come for Eloch's purpose at the time of his preparation of the arrow for the heir. We do what Withlings do best—watch and listen."
They each knelt on the floor and breathed to calm themselves. Then they began an old chant from their days in the order, one meant to still their thoughts to listen carefully. "Gracious and holy Eloch, we have come to serve you with our lives by listening and being with you, acting as your blessing. Grant that our thoughts, which stray in fear, worry, or other concerns, might dwell in your presence, that our words and hands might be your blessing."
At the end, Hastra waited in silence with the others as they listened for Eloch's guidance.
Zelma's voice sounded unsteady, as if she were unused to speaking much. "That our words and hands might be your blessing."
Hastra peeked at her sister, whose expression resounded with peace, her face aglow.
Howart peeked at Hastra, his words soft. "A word of guidance, those, I think."
Hastra's eyes widened. Yes, a blessing. Athson's sword was blessed, even the Bow of Hart bore a blessing. Why not an arrow?
Zelma spoke, her eyes still shut. "Go and find one, sister."
Hastra's eyes widened further. "Of course. They're more plentiful than coin with all these rangers nearby. I'll be back." She swept out the door, leaving it ajar, and went looking for...who? Gweld had arrows. She practically bounded up the stairs and knocked on the door of the room he shared with Ralda.
The giant opened the door and stooped to gaze at her. He opened his mouth in greeting.
Hastra pushed past him into the room but found no sign of Gweld, but his gear, even his quiver, was deposited on a bed. She motioned to Gweld's belongings. "Where has he gone?"
Ralda shrugged. "Gweld go scout." He shrugged again, and his fingers danced in the air with more words. "Something. Talk to ranger friends."
"What, scouting? But his bow and quiver are here." Odd that he'd leave them, and there were plenty of rangers for that task. But she needed an arrow without delay. She should just take one? Yes, take...that one. If the elf needed more, he'd easily obtain them, so one was of no matter. She held the arrow in her fist. "Tell him I needed an arrow. If he needs it replaced, I should think there are plenty to be had from the stock Marston keeps."
She brushed out the door before Ralda could offer a reply and clattered down the stairs. She whisked back into the dining room where Howart and Zelma waited, still kneeling. Hastra displayed the arrow. "I have one."
Howart stood and patted the table. "Good. Now let's see what happens with a blessing."
Hastra placed the arrow on the table and helped Zelma to her feet. Her sister swayed, still in her meditative state. Hastra bowed her head and waited for instruction.
Zelma began speaking in the Withling prayer tongue, her words rising and falling while she touched the arrow lying before them on the table. In moments, Howart joined Zelma as Hastra calmed her thoughts. So easy, so obvious, so simple. It was there the whole time. She joined her fellow Withlings, their voices rising and falling in unison, her eyes closed.
As they chanted, Hastra saw light flare in the room beyond her eyelids, the brightness growing in the space of minutes. Then they each spoke in turn. The arrow lifted into the air at their blessing, and Hastra extended her hand toward it. She blinked, then squinted against the brightest white light she could imagine. The arrow glowed as it slowly rotated among their outstretched hands. Their blessing continued, though Hastra no longer had a sense of the passage of time, until their words halted as one and the arrow descended to the table and lay glowing.
A hush filled the room, and Hastra didn't dare speak in the presence of the holy item. An amazing blessing from Eloch. The arrow prepared.
Howart touched her and Zelma and beckoned them from the room. He turned to them after they had walked along the hall so others in the main room might not hear their conversation. "What do we do with it now?"
Hastra groped for a solid thought and landed on one. "Hold onto it for Athson until he comes."
Zelma brushed her hair from her eyes. "Protect it. It is not for the dragon."
Howart spread his hands. "Hide it? Where?"
Hastra pinched her lower lip. "Perhaps we could wrap it in something and take turns carrying it every day so it's not known who has it. We can't let just anyone touch it. These items are meant for a purpose, and in the wrong hands oddities happen. At best a holy joy for some days to come."
Zelma cackled. "That's not such a bad thing."
Hastra touched her sister's arm. "Yes, my dear, but you've a gift for that sort of thing. Others might not know how to handle themselves and become a nuisance."
Howart rubbed his cheek a fe
w times. "Then it's settled. We'll hide it between us until such time as Athson needs—"
Wildly joyous laughter erupted from the vacant dining room. Hastra and her fellow Withlings stared at each other and then turned to the private dining room’s door, which now stood ajar. Someone laughed in the throes of holy joy, which meant someone else held the arrow.
Hastra groaned.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Limbreth sat at the table in Marston's Station with Tordug and Makwi and picked at her meal amid the noise of gathered rangers in the room, mostly officers. Hastra entered the dining room farther down the darkened hall. Limbreth cocked her head. The Withling meeting about the arrow occupied her thoughts. What were they doing? Did they know where it was? She stared across the bustling room but ignored the buzz of chatter.
Tordug nudged her shoulder. "Right, Limbreth?"
"Huh, what?" She felt her face heat with a blush. She wasn’t paying attention to her friends.
Tordug stroked his beard and drank his ale, then set his mug down. "I said, this is where it all began for us. And Makwi, here, hasn't finished that verse yet."
Makwi frowned and fiddled with his own mug. "She keeps adding to it with all her antics. How's a good dwarf supposed to compose while dodging trolls, magic, and dragons and add to a growing list like hers?" He belched.
"Uh, my list?" She hadn't thought about that. "Makwi, you don't have to make it an epic poem."
Tordug chuckled and slapped Makwi's shoulder. "She aims high. You'd better stay up later at night or take more watches on the trail to finish her epic."
Makwi crossed his arms. "Might be that long before all this is over." He scratched the back of his head. "Whenever this is over." He squinted one eye as he shifted his gaze between Tordug and Limbreth. "When will it be over?"
Tordug brushed his mustache. "Don't know. Prophecy and all that, you know. But I guess we're in it this far. Might as well see it through." He nudged Limbreth with his elbow. "You know, just in case you need an epic poem."
Makwi laughed.
Limbreth laughed and took a sip of wine, then winked at the dwarves. "Well, I am taller and prettier than you too, so I need a lot of lines to cover everything. I mean, I do everything for this group as it is." She leaned back and crossed her arms. "I expect my list will get long."
Makwi scratched his cheek. "Just like a woman to take all the credit and make it longer."
Limbreth glanced back at the door of the private room when Hastra bolted out of it. She arched an eyebrow as the Withling scurried up the stairs. "What's she up to now?" Always a mystery with Hastra. But then, they needed to find this prophesied arrow soon. "I hope Athson makes it soon, if he's coming this way."
"He must. He needs supplies." Tordug shrugged and sighed. "It's good to be out of the wild, at least for the night."
Limbreth stroked her braid and tossed it over her shoulder. "If he arrives soon, it will be just ahead of those trolls. Don't get used to a comfy bed. I doubt we stay in one place too long with that lot on our heels."
Makwi yawned. "I'd fight the whole army of them for a bed tonight. It's been since Ezhandun that we slept in bed."
Limbreth stretched her stiff left arm. "Or slept a whole night without standing watch."
Tordug raised his mug. "To a good bed and no watches in the night."
Limbreth and Makwi joined the toast.
Hastra slipped back down the stairwell, this time bearing an arrow in her hands. Her glance passed over Limbreth as she hustled into the secluded back room. What was that Withling doing with an arrow? "What's Hastra's sister's name? Can't remember." Wait, if she had an arrow...? Limbreth's eyes narrowed as she watched the doorway. Light shone with white intensity in the crack between the door and the floor. She gulped. Where they doing something...miraculous in there? Best not bring attention to it.
"What's that, gell?" Tordug set his mug down and tore a piece of bread to sop up the gravy on his plate. "I think it's Zelma. You remember, Makwi?"
Makwi sloshed ale in his mug. "Think that's right. Not much for names, you know."
Tordug chuckled. "Yeah, who's that other one we're looking for? You know, with the bow and all?"
Makwi snorted and scratched his head. "Can't recall."
Limbreth snorted. "Well, I wish Athson would find his way here." She had a view the dwarves didn't. Maybe no one else saw what was going on in that room. She swallowed. There were mainly elves here with the arrival of the fort garrisons, but a number of travelers stayed over at the station too. Any of them could be Rokan or serving Magdronu in some way. She resisted twisting in her chair to look over her shoulder and stroked her braid again. She ignored Tordug's chatter with Makwi, the latter answering with dour grunts or comments as he finished his meal.
Over the noise of the room, Limbreth heard wisps of voices from that room. It was undoubtedly Withling prayers. She stared at the door and waited as a few minutes passed. Perhaps a guard was needed at that door. She pushed her half-eaten bowl of stew away and scooted her chair from the table to stand. She could do the job.
The door opened to a soft glow as Hastra and the other two Withlings left the room. They shut the door and stepped farther along the hallway, out of Limbreth's line of vision.
Limbreth's gaze locked on the door. Whatever they’d done, something the Withlings had blessed was left in that unguarded room. That wasn't good. She stood abruptly.
"You gonna eat that?" Makwi pointed to Limbreth's ignored bowl.
"Uh, no." She spared a short glance at the table. "I'm not hungry just now."
Makwi shrugged. "More for me, I guess." He pulled the bowl of stew close and spooned the contents into his mouth.
"Uh, yeah, go ahead."
Limbreth walked toward the darkened hallway and the dining room door. At the door, she paused and listened to the Withlings just around the corner at the back door of the station. Their voices rose and fell in discussion, but she heard none of the details. Instead the room drew her attention. Whatever was inside shouldn't be left unguarded. No doubt about it.
She opened the door and peeked inside. Her breath left her, and she gaped at the sight. An arrow, lying on the table, glowed with white light.
She glanced each way, stepped into the room, and pushed the door almost closed. The glow and the silence of the room left her speechless and with the desire to tread softly. She tiptoed across the room and gazed in silent wonder at the arrow. It must be the prophesied arrow. Limbreth swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. They'd made it with a blessing from a common arrow. Where had Hastra gotten it? It didn't matter. What did matter was keeping this safe for Athson.
The arrow pulsed with light.
Limbreth reached for it. Was it hot? She felt no heat from it. She held her breath for some reason, touched the shaft, and took hold of it. She gasped, and her eyes widened as she held the arrow in both hands, afraid to drop it. Her emotions whirled before sound bubbled out of her.
She laughed. Joy filled her thoughts. It was so wonderful, this miracle, this blessing. She laughed louder.
"What have you done?"
Limbreth turned, her uncontrollable joy shaking her body. Hastra and her other companions stood in the doorway, their eyes wide and jaws slack. "It has come. It's so wonderful."
Hastra crossed the room to Limbreth and reached for the arrow. "Give it to me, Limbreth."
Limbreth snatched the arrow from Hastra's reach. "No, you must not touch it." Her sudden shift in seriousness surprised even Limbreth. What was going on? "I have to keep it safe."
The Withling's eyelids fluttered wider, and her nostrils flared. "You can't—"
"Shut the door." The gaunt man pushed the wild-eyed woman with unruly red hair into the room. "Hold on, Hastra." He moved and stood at the Withling's side. "What's done is done here. Nothing happens by chance with these items."
Hastra shook her head. "No, we have to protect it, Howart."
Limbreth pulled away. "No, you cannot touch it. Only Athson
can have it. It's the prophesied arrow, the white arrow. I'm to hold it for him until he comes for it. His enemies must not get it."
The door opened, and the other woman flinched, startled as Tordug and Makwi peered into the room. They too gaped, wide-eyed. The red-haired Withling sighed. "Uh-oh. This is getting out of hand, fast."
Hastra groaned, then hissed under her breath. "Don't just stand there, Zelma. Get them in here. They're with me. Quickly, now, before the whole station finds out. Magdronu would set the place afire tonight with this news."
Zelma whisked the dwarves into the room and shut the door. "You two, stand guard on the door. Make yourselves useful while we sort this out."
Tordug lined up at the door with Makwi but stroked his beard. "What's going on?"
Zelma cackled and then whispered, "Prophecy. The arrow prepared as we foretold, as the sign in the night sky portends."
Limbreth held it out for everyone to see as a grin of joy spread on her face. "Isn't it wonderful?"
Hastra cleared her throat. "And Limbreth's taken hold of a blessed item of prophecy. It can have odd effects, like unrestrained joy." She reached for the arrow again. "But she shouldn't have it."
"It can also cause a strong sense of protectiveness." Howart motioned to Limbreth and the arrow but faced Hastra. "You see? It's done. She's the protector."
Hastra's eyes narrowed, and she spoke in a whisper, "But we planned how to handle this. Magdronu will try to steal it from her."
Limbreth drew one of her swords in an instant. "Then let him come. He'll get a taste of an ax-maid's wrath."
Makwi chuckled. "Another item on the list for my composition."
"Hush, while we sort this out." Hastra turned back to Limbreth. "Listen to me. What you feel, it's just a side effect, like drinking too much ale with these two." She thumbed over her shoulder at the dwarves.
Tordug huffed. "We don't drink too much. We haven't had anything hard since Ezhandun." He belched and covered his mouth.
Limbreth backed away and lifted her sword. "You can't have it."
The White Arrow Page 8
