Jonathan Haymaker

by Sam Ferguson

  The young boy retrieved another arrow from the quiver and set it to the string. He breathed out before drawing a deep breath in as he pulled the bowstring back. He concentrated on the back of his first arrow. If not for the goose feathers, he may not have been able to focus in on the arrow. It was an impossibly small target, but that was the point. He let the second arrow fly. For half a second he smiled wide, fully expecting his first arrow to be split in twain by his second shot. He held his arms frozen in position, with his right fingers extended and the bow held directly out in front in the palm of his left hand. His breath stopped, as if any movement he might make now would set the arrow off from its intended course.

  The arrow struck just to the right of the first.

  Jonathan sighed and his smile disappeared. Another boy might be overjoyed with such a close grouping, but all he could think about was splitting the first arrow. He readied a third shot. It went just to the left of the first arrow. The next shot struck the side of the first arrow, and then glanced upward. Two more did the same thing. With each arrow Jonathan felt his frustration grow.

  He set his bow down on the boulder next to him and stared at the hay bale, as if he could find the solution with his mind only. As he watched, he imagined an arrow flying straight into the first and splitting the arrow in two.

  The village archery tournament was only a few days away.

  Sir Bingham would be there, scouting for new recruits to fight in the war against the trolls.

  If Jonathan could prove his talent, then he would surely be offered the chance to go with Sir Bingham. The only problem was that Jonathan knew he stood no chance of winning the tournament unless he could split an arrow, even then it wasn’t a guarantee.

  He sighed and folded his arms as he stared at the bale of hay. Just then, a gray streak flew just over his head and exploded into his first arrow. The gray arrow hardly quivered as bits of wood and feather fell to the ground from the hay.

  Jonathan grunted and kicked the dirt. He didn’t have to turn around to know who had accomplished the feat so easily.

  “Hello Jason,” Jonathan called out without turning around.

  “Turn around and look at me,” Jason called back. His voice sounded farther away than Jonathan had expected.

  Hesitantly, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t see anyone. His sour grimace turned into an open mouth and his arms fell to his sides as he turned completely around to see his brother standing more than twenty yards away from him.

  Jason slung his bow over his shoulder and started walking toward Jonathan. “How do you like that?” he asked. “Popped it from a hundred yards on the first shot.” Jason smiled wide, his immaculate teeth shined in the late afternoon sun.

  Great. Jonathan shook his head and turned around to stare at the hay bale again. Not only did he manage to split my arrow, but he did it from farther away. There was no way the tournament could be won by anyone else now, Jonathan knew.

  “Don’t give up,” Jason said as he closed the distance between them and clapped Jonathan on the right shoulder. “It takes practice. After all, I am five years older than you.” Jason looked down with his happy, deep blue eyes and reached up to smooth his black, windblown hair. “Give it time, you’ll get it.”

  Jonathan feigned anger, drawing his brow together and pointing a finger at Jason’s chest. “You shot from behind me, you could have killed me,” he accused.

  Jason’s eyes went wide and he took a step back as he raised his arms. He recovered quickly though, seeing the real reason for Jonathan’s frustration. “You and I both know I never miss. I’d only hit you if I wanted to, and believe me, if I wanted to, there wouldn’t be anything you could do about it.”

  “I wonder what Pa would think about talk like that?” Jonathan pressed.

  Jason shrugged. “Grandfather would probably understand that you were being an annoying, jealous badger and that you deserved it,” Jason replied smugly. “Just because someone is better at something doesn’t mean they are better than you as a person. Remember what Father always said; there is always someone bigger and better than you at everything you do. Humility and wisdom is better than natural talent.”

  Jonathan sighed and shook his head. “But why does that person always have to be you?” he asked. “I run fast, but you always beat me in races. I am second to almost no one in archery, but you can always outshoot me no matter how hard I train. I’m not even going to talk about swords.”

  Jason nodded. “Yeah, even Gertrude Vonderden can beat you with a sword,” Jason said.

  “You aren’t helping,” Jonathan replied.

  Jason slugged Jonathan in the shoulder playfully and gestured out with both of his arms. “There is something you can always claim that I will never have,” Jason said.

  Jonathan screwed up his face, wondering what Jason could possibly be referring to. Jason was taller, stronger, and better at anything Jonathan ever tried. Even the girls in the village that were Jonathan’s age preferred Jason. Jonathan was a blonde haired kid, while Jason had unusually black hair. The girls all fell for that, not to mention Jason’s skin was darker and tanned evenly whereas Jonathan was as pasty as any farmer could be, with a mass of freckles dotting his shoulders.

  Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t need your patronizing compliments,” he said. “You’ve got everything.”

  Jason shook his head and grabbed Jonathan by the shoulders and looked into his eyes very sternly. “You, are the best little brother in the entire world,” Jason said. “I can never be a little brother, and even if I was, I am certain that I wouldn’t be as good as you are.”

  Jonathan grunted in disgust and pushed Jason away. “Thanks a lot, I am sure there are many people who will value that virtue. Why, Sir Bingham himself is probably looking for a little brother right now. Maybe that is how I will get my chance to fight the trolls.”

  “Well, Sir Bingham can’t have you, you’re my little brother and that’s that. Nobody can interfere with that.”

  Jonathan turned and picked up his bow and quiver. “We should get moving back. Pa will want us home before sundown.”

  Jason waved it off. “Bah, Grandfather can wait a bit.” He slipped his bow off his shoulder and took a firing stance. “Let’s practice a bit more. After all, once I leave the village, you will be the best archer we have. I can’t very well leave without knowing you can hunt efficiently.”

  “I can hunt enough for everyone,” Jonathan said quickly. “But, I want to go with you. I want to be at your side when you fight the trolls. Remember how we used to play?”

  Jason nodded. “We used sticks to cut down the tall, dry thistle stocks.”

  “They weren’t thistles,” Jonathan corrected. “They were trolls!”

  “And giants!” Jason added. Jason reached over then and put his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I meant what I said, about being the best little brother in the world. I know if anything ever happened to me, you would be there with a stick and a bow, ready to fight off the trolls and anything else.”

  Jonathan nodded and ceded the point. “Can you show me how to hit the arrow?”

  Jason shrugged. “Well, I can try, but you still won’t be as good as me. Let’s play centers.”

  “Centers?” Jonathan replied, the obvious dissention pulling his face into a frown as his shoulders slumped. “Every time we do that, I lose all of my arrows,” Jonathan said.

  Jason shrugged. “How else to learn if not under pressure?”

  Jonathan agreed finally and the two took turns firing at the hay bale. Jonathan fired three arrows into three different points on the hay bale. Two times out of three, Jason split Jonathan’s arrows. They then cleared the hay bale and started over. This time, Jason fired three arrows first. One to the top center of the hay bale, one to the bottom right, and another dead center. Three times out of three, Jonathan grazed Jason’s arrows.

  Jason smiled. “That’s thirteen points for me and nine for you,” he said.

&nb
sp; “Round two?” Jonathan asked.

  “Aren’t you afraid of losing your arrows?” Jason replied with a mocking frown and fake sniffling.

  Jonathan shrugged it off and pointed to the hay bale. “You go first this time.”

  The two continued until Jonathan had only two arrows left that had not been split. A few of Jason’s arrows needed new fletching, but none of them had been destroyed. Jonathan dug into the hay bale to retrieve the iron arrowheads he could find. He couldn’t recover all of them, but some was better than none.

  “Pa is going to be upset,” Jonathan said as he looked to his nearly empty quiver.

  Jason smirked. “You should have stopped,” he said. “I didn’t force you to play the other rounds. I would have stopped after losing the first round.”

  Jonathan smiled wryly. “Ah, so there is one more thing I am better at than you,” he said.

  “Oh yeah, what’s that, losing?” Jason teased.

  “No, persistence,” Jonathan said with a self-satisfied smile on his face. “I don’t give up.” Jason snatched out and pulled Jonathan into a headlock. Next thing Jonathan knew there were sharp knuckles raking over the top of his head.

  “Want to give up now?” Jason shouted.

  Jonathan dropped his things and wrapped his arms around Jason’s waist. Jonathan was young, but he was strong. He drove into the ground with his feet and hoisted Jason up over his shoulder. The problem was, Jason was strong too, and agile. Jason flipped his feet into the air and before Jonathan could understand what had happened, the young boy was on his back on the ground, with Jason smothering him from above. Somehow, Jonathan’s nose and face was buried deep into Jason’s left armpit.

  “Give up!” Jason shouted.

  “Nfr!” Jonathan mumbled into Jason’s armpit.

  “Give up or smell the sweet aroma of a day’s work!” Jason yelled. The larger brother pressed Jonathan’s face tighter into the sweaty armpit. The stink had been offensive before, but now Jonathan could hardly breathe. His nose was pressed flat and his mouth was stuck right up against Jason’s body. He tapped on Jason’s back with his left hand.

  Jason let him go and Jonathan gasped for breath.

  “I think you are back down to one talent,” Jason teased. “I am more persistent than you.”

  Jonathan shook his head and rolled over onto all fours and then pressed up. “One day I will be as big as you,” Jonathan said. “Then we shall see who the better man is.”

  Jason laughed and then moved to help Jonathan pick up his things. Afterward, the two set off through the field toward the village.

  Holstead was fairly large, for a farming village anyway. The hay fields consisted of several thousand square acres on the west side of Holstead, with Tanglewood Forest to the north. The forest consisted mainly of tall pine trees, but there were the occasional maple, oak, and madrona trees as well. A tangled screen of bushes and vines stretched up from the forest floor to latch onto many of the trees, climbing as far as half-way up the trunks in many places. The mess of thick brush and foliage made traversing the forest nearly impossible, and was the cause for its name as well.

  Still, there were some who called the forest home. A nation of elves lived within the emerald forest, and scarcely ventured outside of its borders. Jonathan knew of three major elf cities within the forest. There was Teo in the southwestern border of the forest, sitting upon high cliffs that overlooked the Chamdrian Sea. There was a well-known, and highly prized trading market in the ports below that great city. Jonathan had often dreamed of traveling there one day, as he was fond of the idea of sailing and becoming a merchant upon the high seas, though he knew it was not a likely outcome given his farming background. He knew little of matters of trade, and less of sailing.

  In the eastern parts of Tanglewood forest, many hundred miles northeast of Holstead was another coastal elven city called Telward. Jonathan knew little about that place, except it was the seat of some sort of order of wizards, grand elven sorcerers who prized their privacy as much as the arts they researched and practiced. Then there was Tirnog, the closest city which rested in the southeast corner of the forest roughly one hundred miles north, northeast of Holstead. Given Tirnog’s proximity to Holstead, one might have thought there would be some amount of trade facilitated between the two settlements. This was not the case.

  Tirnog was close in distance, but there were no roads leading through the forest between the two cities. Even if there were, Jonathan knew that the elves would have little need for anything Holstead could produce. In terms of agriculture, the elves were well-renowned for their abilities and never wanted for grains, fruits, or vegetables. They also saw little value in money, and therefore had no need to sell their surplus. Whatever other crafts Holstead had to offer with their blacksmiths, leather workers, or craftsmen, the elves far surpassed Holstead in terms of skill and experience. Occasionally an elf would wander out from the forest and pass through Holstead, but it was usually only a scholar or messenger on their way to the city of Lehemat, the seat of the human kingdom that lie sandwiched between Tanglewood Forest to the north and the Murkle Quags to the south.

  Jonathan wondered then, if the elves had better craftsmen and farmers, then they likely had better warriors as well. Why the elves wouldn’t lend their skill to King Roan, Jonathan didn’t know. Certainly their blades and bows would be a great asset in the ongoing war against the trolls, and that was to say nothing of the elves and their magic.

  He continued to ponder the possibilities of an elf army marching south as he and Jason followed the dirt road away from the forest and back to their village. Jonathan imagined rows and columns of finely dressed warriors marching rhythmically, in perfect lock-step, with their spears held upright and chanting in unison. Or maybe they would ride upon the elk that lived in the forest. Surely if the humans had tamed the horses, then perhaps the elves had managed to tame the great elk. Jonathan’s imaginary army shifted from marching on foot to loping along on the backs of great elk, holding long scimitars in their hands, and exquisite bows slung over their backs. Such a sight would be certain to turn even the fiercest of trolls in fear, Jonathan thought.

  So why hadn’t they come? Surely King Roan had asked for help. It was well known that King Roan’s father had even sent dispatches to Graebner, the mighty Imperial capitol thousands of miles to the west beyond the desert canyon, mountains, and forested plains that separated them.

  No response had ever been received.

  King Roan and his people were left to their own devices in fighting the ever relentless war with the trolls. Now with the monsoons growing in intensity, the trolls were gaining power. The lines of battle were pressing deeper into King Roan’s territory, and even the people in the northernmost reaches of the kingdom walked as if a weight sat upon their necks. The men of Holstead often cast nervous glances to the south, as if they expected the heavy rains to invade even this far inland and turn their beloved home into the domain of the swamp trolls.

  Jonathan shuddered as he thought about it. He wondered whether Holstead would one day lose its king, and its protection. Would he live to see the trolls come this far north? Maybe the elves would help them then, if their own forest and homes were threatened also.

  Something hard bounced off of Jonathan’s left shoulder. He reached up to rub his arm and shot Jason an accusing glare. It was then that he noticed Jason was at least twenty feet away, standing on the road and gesturing to Jonathan as if to ask where he was going. Jonathan looked down and realized he had left the road. He hadn’t even noticed before that he was tramping through grass and freshly churned dirt.

  “Lost in your daydreams again?” Jason asked.

  Jonathan shrugged and hurried to catch up with his brother on the road. The two were quiet as they made their way past old Nebok’s farm, with its pig sties and many chicken coops. A few minutes later they saw the Hargrove’s cabin and shortly after that they were turning from the main road off toward the south. Holstead proper was
still another hour away by foot toward the east, but their home was already within sight.

  It was a modest house made of wood planks that had long ago turned gray and rough with age. The windows were two of the only glass windows in all of Holstead, a sign that once there had been plenty of money to support a few of the finer things life had to offer the residents of Holstead. Pa was always proud of his glass windows, quick to tell any visitor exactly when he had purchased them for his loving wife so she could watch the sun outside without letting in the bugs. Everyone in Holstead had been regaled with the tale so often that each person could recite Pa’s story at the drop of a hat. Memaw was no less proud of them. On the days Jonathan didn’t have to go into the fields, he had seen her wash the windows several times each day so that they always sparkled and were as clear as possible. He smiled then, as he recalled a faint memory of touching the glass when he was a little child. He could still feel the reproving slap of the wooden spoon on the back of his hand. He had only made that mistake once.

  Over the windows sat the pitched roof made of wood slats and buffered with thick thatch and mud patches to fend off the rain. A front porch completed the house, extending out several feet from the front door and boasting a two-railed fence which was topped with long flower planters that Memaw tended to each day.

  Jonathan peeked through the glass to see the warm light inside and see if he could spy what was on the table for supper. All he could see was a covered pot with steam leaking out from one side of the lid.

  “Looks like stew,” Jason said. “You know what that means!” he added with a quick slap to Jonathan’s back.

  Jonathan nodded and his mouth watered. “Memaw’s rolls and apple butter!” he said.

  “Race you!” Jason challenged.

  Jonathan didn’t wait for Jason to start running. He sprinted for everything he was worth, hoping to be the first to get inside and smell Memaw’s rolls. For the first couple of seconds, he managed to outpace his older brother. Then, as if Jonathan had stopped to take a break, Jason zipped by him. Jonathan felt a slight wave of cool, evening air and grimaced as his brother laughed and pulled away. By the time Jonathan made it to the house, Jason was already inside and seated at the table, stuffing a warm roll into his gaping mouth.