by Sam Ferguson
“You can’t stand there,” Fremon said as he regained his balance. “That’s my place.”
Jason held up the golden sword. “Nope, they said that the winner of the golden sword gets to pick his place in line. I’m bumping you back. Now if you will be so kind as to be silent, we don’t need you causing a scene and distracting the archers.” Jason raised a finger to his lips. Then he turned back and winked at Jonathan.
Jonathan smiled. “I don’t suppose you are going to let me win the golden bow are you?”
“What, and then tell Grandmother that I am responsible for your recruitment into the army? Not a chance.”
Jonathan huffed.
A stout man dressed in a brown tunic and black pants then moved out into the archery field and called for everyone’s attention. “Listen up,” he shouted. “This is not going to be a normal archery tournament. There won’t be the usual ends of six arrows. Instead, each shooter will be allowed three arrows per target. Each shooter will have three minutes to fire all arrows. When the time is up, the bell will sound.” The stout man directed everyone’s attention to a man sitting in a tall chair with a bell hanging from an iron contraption over the chair. The man rang the bell three times. “When the bell sounds, the shooter is done. All arrows that have not been fired must be left in the quiver. All fired arrows will be scored. All arrows in the outer white ring will be worth one point each. An arrow that strikes the black ring inside of that is worth three points. The blue ring is worth five points, and the red ring is worth seven points. The center circle is worth nine points. For our purposes today, an arrow that completely misses a target will result in negative three points. May the best man win.”
The adults gathered around the field, each clapping and encouraging their favorite. The bell sounded once and the first archer was off in a flash. Three arrows left the bow in less than thirty seconds. They each struck the closest target in the yellow circle, but the grouping was loose. The archer managed to strike the next target only once in the yellow, and twice in the blue. He then positioned to fire at the last target, taking a bit more time and concentrating for each shot this time. The first arrow hit the red ring. The second hit the blue. The third struck the yellow, but then fell out of the target and hit the ground.
The crowd audibly groaned as the last arrow fell to the ground. Everyone could feel Clavert’s disappointment, but there was no time to console him. The bell rang and the scores were tallied. The arrows were gathered and turned in. The next shooter moved up and received his nine arrows. The bell rang and the shooter began firing.
Jonathan watched each arrow fly as each of the boys before him took their turns. When it was his turn, he took in a deep breath and calmed his nerves. A man gave him the nine arrows and Jonathan placed them into his quiver. He turned and stepped up to the chalk line drawn in the grass.
The bell rang.
Jonathan burst into action. He had trained for this, he was ready. The first three arrows all struck yellow on the first target. Each arrow was grouped so closely to the other that all three touched each other and nearly made one big hole in the target rather than three separate holes. Jonathan moved to the next target and worked furiously. He drew back his string and let loose in a matter of seconds. The first arrow buried itself in the yellow of the second target. The second and third arrows did the same. Next he moved to the third target. He paused only for a moment to take in two calming breaths before he set an arrow to the string and drew it back. He tilted his bow just enough to account for the distance, and then he released. The arrow flew straight and true. It struck the center of the yellow. The other two did the same.
The crowd cheered and the stout man congratulated Jonathan on his skill.
The bell rang and his score was tallied. Eighty-one points were awarded to Jonathan.
He smiled wide and then turned to see his brother take his position on the line, then his heart sank. A few short minutes later, Jason was also awarded eighty-one points.
“Don’t look so surprised, little brother,” Jason said. “You knew I was going to be tied with you no matter what you did,” Jason said as he exited from the field. The two of them watched as all of the other boys took their turns. When all had finished, only Jonathan and Jason had tied. The closest archer to them was Felix Graver, who scored an impressive seventy-nine.
The stout man overseeing the tournament walked onto the field with the golden bow and held it up in the air. “We have a tie for first place,” he said. “Move the targets out to ninety yards.”
“You can give up now, if you like,” Jason said. “You know you can’t beat me.”
Jonathan elbowed his brother in the gut. “You should bow out before I embarrass you,” he replied. “Besides, you already have the golden sword, it’s only fair that I get the bow.”
Jason shrugged. “If you want it, then earn it.”
The stout man approached them. “Come here boys,” he said.
The two were pulled from their teasing and brought out to the cheers of the crowd. A table was placed in front of them. Each were given three arrows.
“The little one goes first,” the stout man said. “Fire one arrow. Whoever has the higher score after one shot wins. Then, we will reverse it. The bigger one will fire first with one arrow. The first to win two out of three rounds will win the golden bow. The scoring system is the same, except we will add one component. If you manage to knock your opponent’s arrow out of the target, you will be awarded the high score for the round.”
Jason leaned over and whispered, “Your arrow is about to get split.”
Jonathan pushed the words out of his mind. He took up the first arrow and set it to the string. He set his eyes on the target and drew in a deep breath as he pulled back the arrow until it touched the corner of his mouth. He let his fingers relax and the arrow soared magnificently toward the target, embedding itself in the exact center of the target.
The crowd cheered and Jonathan set his bow upon the table.
“You’re up, big brother,” he said confidently.
Jason wrinkled his nose and smiled as he looked to his brother and then to the target. “Great shot.” Then he whipped an arrow up and set it to his string. Without hesitation he fired the arrow. The crowd held its breath for the two seconds it took for the arrow to reach its destination. Everyone erupted into loud cheers as Jonathan’s arrow was split into three pieces and it fell from the target.
“Round to you,” the stout man said as he pointed to Jason. “Go on, fire the next one.”
Jonathan watched in dismay as Jason smugly turned his head toward the crowd and let the arrow fly. It was a trick that Jason often had done, centering his arrow on the target and then turning away while holding his arms perfectly still so as not to lose his aim. The arrow pierced the yellow circle and the crowd cheered again.
Jason set his bow down and gestured for Jonathan to take his turn.
Jonathan took up his next arrow and pulled back the string, focusing on the end of his brother’s arrow. He held the bow still, arguing with himself as to when the perfect time was to fire. He became hyper-sensitive to everything around him. The noise of the crowd, the minute shaking of his body, and even the thumping of his heartbeat. Everything converged on him, threatening his focus and concentration. Somehow he managed to regain his composure. He closed his eyes and then reopened them and pinned his gaze on the back of Jason’s arrow.
He fired.
The arrow sailed straight and true and the crowd gasped when Jonathan’s arrow connected with the back of Jason’s, but then they all let out a disappointed groan. Jonathan’s arrow managed to take off a small chunk of Jason’s arrow, and part of the fletching, but it was Jonathan’s arrow, not Jason’s, that fell to the ground.
“You are the winner,” the stout man said as he turned to Jason and motioned for the golden bow to be given to him.
Jonathan stood staring in disbelief at the target. He had come so close, but it didn’t matter now. His
chance at joining the army with his brother was gone. He knew the next challenge. It was a four mile obstacle course run. He had trained for it as well, but he knew he would never be able to get enough points to make the threshold for joining the army. He was through. The only thing to do now was wait until next year and win the golden bow.
As the crowd dispersed and moved to the next spectating location, Jonathan remained in place, staring at the now empty target.
Jason approached from behind and placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Do you want to know the secret?” he asked.
Jonathan shrugged, staring blankly at the target.
Jason leaned down and whispered, “You have to focus on the arrowhead, not the back. You have to envision your arrow piercing the same hole. You have to pretend that the other arrow isn’t even there.”
Jonathan sighed and shook his head. “Little good that advice will do me now.”
“Come on,” Jason said. “Let’s go home.”
Jonathan looked up confused. “But what about the race? Aren’t you going to do that as well?”
Jason shrugged. “Why should I?”
Jonathan pushed him away and shook his head. “Because you told everyone that you were going to win each category. You trained for this. It’s important.”
Jason shook his head and tussled Jonathan’s hair. “No, it isn’t. You are important. Right now, the only thing I want to do is get you back home and help you feel better. Besides, tonight will be our last night at home together. In the morning, I will leave with Lord Bingham. Let’s go.”
Despite Jonathan’s sour frown, he was quite happy that his brother would rather be with him than winning glory in front of the townsfolk. It confirmed to him that the bond between brothers was what mattered most in life. Then again, that thought itself only served to make Jonathan sad again as he now fully realized that he was losing his brother in less than a day.
“I’ll race you home,” Jason said as he nudged Jonathan in the arm. “Last one there is a rotten egg.”
Jonathan perked up at that. He knew he couldn’t win, but that never stopped him before. He took off straight away toward the house. Jason let him lead in the race until the last fifty yards or so, and then he ran at full speed, passing Jonathan by as easily as if the younger boy had been standing still.
It was no matter to Jonathan, though, for tonight they played and pretended as if all was the same. Jason grabbed a long stick and the two of them beat down the tall, dry thistle plants as if they were fighting trolls side by side.
It was the last game of pretend the two brothers would share.
When the night closed in and it was too dark for them to see, they went into the house and ate a fine meal with their grandparents. Memaw had stuffed a turkey and dressed it as finely as she could. Pa had made his fabled gravy for the potatoes, made with the gizzard, liver, and heart of the turkey. The four of them ate and made merry as though it were summer festival feast.
When the morning came, Jason left with twelve other young men. Jonathan stood on the porch and watched his brother leave. They waved to each other maybe a hundred times, as Jason would turn every few feet and wave.
Memaw was the first to return to the house, stifling her tears only long enough until she passed through the doorway. Pa stood with Jonathan for a long while, watching the empty road that Jason had disappeared down. After a while, Pa slapped a hand to Jonathan’s back and left as well, muttering that there were no chores needing done that day.
Jonathan stood there until his legs were too tired to hold his body, and then he sat on the porch, leaning his head against the nearest rail post. Memaw brought lunch out to him, but he didn’t eat it. When the sun finally dropped down below the horizon, Jonathan resigned himself to the fact that the separation was real. Jason was gone, and he didn’t know if he was ever going to see him again.
Chapter 5
It wasn’t easy for Jonathan to continue living at home while he knew his brother was off in faraway lands. Still, as the days slowly dragged into weeks and the weeks changed into months, the young man became used to the new dynamic. He helped Pa and Memaw as best he could, doing the majority of Jason’s chores in addition to his own. Sometimes there was a helper from Holstead, a young boy named Finn and his grandfather, but they weren’t of much use to Jonathan. They were millers, and not accustomed to the work in the field.
Then, every third day, a small letter would come by way of a postal rider. The rider would be dressed in brown leather trousers and a heavy leather overcoat, with two heaping saddlebags filled with letters and reports. He never had time to stop and talk with Jonathan, but he always had a letter for him. Jason made sure to write as his training allowed. Through his letters, Jonathan felt as if he were living the adventure with his brother, or at least as if their connection hadn’t been entirely severed by the distance.
Jonathan cheered his brother on during the initial training in Lehemat, where Jason was able to distinguish himself from the other recruits even from the larger settlements around the kingdom. He recounted every marching maneuver, every meal, every sword lesson, and every detail of the barracks in Lehemat. Once, Jason said that he caught sight of the king, though it was from a distance. Jonathan devoured every word on the page, rereading each letter several times and nearly wearing one out before the next would come.
Pa and Memaw seemed happy too. They listened at supper time when Jonathan recounted past letters or read the newest one aloud.
They went on like this for nearly a year. They all watched Jason progress in his training through the letters. Pa would often comment that Jason appeared to be more of a warrior than anyone else in the family had been. Memaw wouldn’t comment, but she smiled more often than not. If she held the same worries and fears that she expressed the night before Jason was recruited she didn’t show it, except on the few occasions when Jonathan let it slip out that he was excited to join his brother.
Jonathan spent hours training, often foregoing sleep in order to get his target practice in. He couldn’t let the chores go undone, but he figured losing a couple hours of sleep each night was well worth the sacrifice. He was going to make sure that when Lord Bingham came again, he would be chosen.
The year turned and faded away as years do whether you want them to or not. The recruiters came with Lord Bingham, ready to find the new crop of soldiers. Jonathan was certain he would win the golden bow, but this time there was no tournament.
Pa and Memaw followed Jonathan to the fields where the tournaments had been held in the past, but there were no tents set up. There was only a single, long table surrounded by ten soldiers. Lord Bingham sat in the center of the table, with another man to his left hurrying to scribble something down onto a roll of paper.
“What is this?” Jonathan asked.
Pa shook his head. “I am not sure. It doesn’t look like anything I have seen Lord Bingham do before.”
Memaw put a hand out on Pa’s arm and shot him a concerned look. Pa only nodded and shrugged. He then put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and the two of them walked toward the gathering crowd before the table. Whispers and rumors swirled around the townsfolk, but Jonathan wasn’t listening to them. He wanted to hear what Lord Bingham was going to say.
He would have to stand there waiting for nearly an hour before Lord Bingham rose up to address the crowd.
“Thank you for coming,” Lord Bingham said as the whispers died down. “I have been instructed by the king to change our recruiting methods.”
Pa’s fingers squeezed around Jonathan’s shoulder painfully. Jonathan winced and looked up, but Pa’s eyes were glued on Lord Bingham. The boy knew from the look in his grandfather’s eyes that he expected something terrible.
“I am instructed to bring every male aged seventeen and older, up to age fifty. If you fit the criteria, step forward and your name will be written on the rolls.”
A wave of hesitation rolled through the crowd as heads turned and pockets of whispers r
ose up.
The man beside Lord Bingham blew a horn to get everyone’s attention. “The king has decided that it is time to bolster our defenses. The men recruited today will all be assigned to Fort Sym. Rather than sending you off to the front lines, it is the king’s order to create a wall that will separate our kingdom from the burgeoning swamps. That is also why we have expanded the age categories. We need millers, masons, builders, cooks, hunters, and woodworkers. If you don’t have a skill, we will find work for you to do. Come on now, don’t be modest. Everyone must do their part.”
Pa’s fingers released their grip on Jonathan’s shoulder and Jonathan could hear his grandfather exhale a sigh of relief.
“Come on, Jonathan, there is work to be done at home.”
Jonathan pulled away and pointed at the table. “This isn’t fair,” he said. “I have been training diligently. I deserve to go.”
Pa looked down and frowned. “No one deserves to go to war,” he said. “Come, let’s return home now. You heard him yourself, they aren’t looking for someone your age.”
Jonathan pulled away. He couldn’t bear the thought of another year without his brother. The only thing that had sustained him through this first year were the letters and the knowledge that he would win the golden bow and be able to catch up with his brother. He moved straight toward the table, sliding between others and winding his way up to Lord Bingham.
“I want to go,” Jonathan said as Lord Bingham stopped in mid-sentence and turned from the man writing names on the roll.
Lord Bingham had a well-trimmed, neatly oiled mustache and beard. His brown eyes stared back at Jonathan’s and the faintest of smiles crossed his lips. “You are a bit small for a seventeen year old,” Lord Bingham countered. “But I admire your tenacity.”
Jonathan shook his head. “I am fifteen, but I am the best archer in Holstead.”
“The best?” Lord Bingham repeated as he looked to the others around Jonathan.
A couple people laughed behind Jonathan, but the boy didn’t dignify the laughter with so much as a glance over his shoulder. “If you doubt me, I will prove it. The only person who could beat me was taken last year.”
