The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2)

by K. J. Hargan

  “So it seems,” the Archer said with unveiled disgust.

  The three urged their horses on and rode hotly to the west.

  After crossing the Bairn River where it was shallow enough and riding as far south as the edge of the mist, the Archer, the elf, and Stavolebe made a camp for the night.

  “What is our plan?” Stavolebe nervously asked.

  “We can not find our way in by ourselves,” the Archer said. “So we must capture someone going in or out, who can lead us.”

  “Preferably not a monster,” the elf added.

  “So we catch someone coming out...” Stavolebe said with a twitch.

  “Or going in,” the Archer flatly said.

  “We mustn’t sleep here,” Stavolebe said wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “True,” the elf said. “We haven’t slept in two days,” she said to the Archer. “You get some sleep and I will stay awake.”

  “Perhaps Stavolebe can tell us a story of his adventures to keep us all awake,” the Archer said with a condescending smile.

  “Story? I have no stories,” Stavolebe stammered. “I’ve lived a very ordinary life.”

  “That’s not what I have heard,” the elf knowingly said. Then the elf shifted uncomfortably holding her arm.

  “What is it?” The Archer asked, kneeling close to her.

  The elf pulled up her sleeve to reveal the wound she had received when she had fought Deifol Hroth in the Weald.

  “This should have healed by now,” the elf said.

  “Elves heal faster than humans?” The Archer asked.

  “And we don’t get infections,” Iounelle said poking at the red, angry place where several large wooden splinters had pierced her arm. Pus dribbled from several lacerations.

  The Archer plunged his hunting knife into their small campfire. “Hold still,” the Archer said. With his heated hunting knife, he carefully dug out three massive splinters. “Did I get them all?” He asked.

  “I- I think so,” the elf said feeling her arm with obvious pain. The elf seemed about to faint, but then roused herself. “Someone was going to tell a story,” she said, trying to ignore the discomfort as the Archer rebandaged her arm.

  “You wanted to know how I learned to shoot from Sehen?” The Archer invited.

  “You knew Sehen, the blind sage?” Stavolebe ignorantly gushed.

  “Quiet,” the elf admonished Stavolebe. She gave the Archer her full attention.

  “It was after I had discovered that it was the garonds who had committed the slaughter in Kipleth. I was lost and suicidal, wandering the black mountains of Kipleth.”

  The Archer looked down into the black chasms of the mountains of Kipleth. It would be so easy to simply step out into the air, and let his body fall and break on the jagged rocks below.

  He had come home from a year long military campaign supporting the Kingdom of Man against Reia, to find every women and child of Kipleth slaughtered.

  The Nation of Kipleth was shattered. Many soldiers quickly killed themselves. Others, like the Archer, wandered the black mountains, lost in their grief.

  Derragen, the Archer from Kipleth, once the commander of the formidable Kipleth forces, only found out the day before that the Kipleth massacre was perpetuated by the garonds, who up until that point were not known as an invading military force.

  He had found three garond soldiers around a camp fire in the mountains of Kipleth. One of the garonds wore his wife’s blood spattered cloak. He tore the garond to pieces with his bare hands.

  But still, his grief continued. He had lost his wife, his five year old daughter and his four year old son. No elderly of Kipleth was spared either. He had also lost his father and mother. All he loved was gone.

  The precipice only took one step.

  “A long way down,” a spry, old voice said behind Derragen.

  The Archer turned to see an old blind man.

  “How would you know that, my friend?” Derragen asked through his tears.

  “The length of the drop is determined by the time it takes the despairing to jump,” the blind one softly said.

  “Who are you?” Derragen demanded.

  “I would be your friend,” the old man said.

  “No matter, it won’t be a very long friendship,” Derragen quietly, grimly said.

  “Pity,” the blind man said and turned to stumble down the mountain path. “I thought you would have had the courtesy, at least, of helping me find my way down this treacherous mountain.” The old, blind man stumbled and fell flat on his face.

  Instinctively Derragen quickly stepped to the old man and helped him up.

  “Why thank you,” the blind man said. “Now off you go. Over the edge.” And then he began stumbling on his way.

  “I will see you to a safer portion of the trail,” Derragen sighed. “But that is all.”

  “Oh, lucky me,” the old, blind one mocked.

  After climbing down half the trail, Derragen began to suspect the old, blind man knew the trail better than he, as the old man caught the Archer every third step when he himself faltered. But, the old man never again stumbled.

  “I’m afraid we will have to camp for the night,” the old blind man said. “The rest of the trail is too long and night has fallen. Do you have any food?”

  “No,” Derragen answered.

  “Give me your bow,” the blind man said.

  “How do you know I have a bow?” Derragen asked.

  “Have I not brushed up against it often enough when I have had to catch you from falling?” The blind man said with half a smile. “The bow.” The blind man clapped his hands.

  Derragen was so distraught with his life, he didn’t care if an old, blind man wasted every single one of his arrows. Derragen handed his bow and quiver full of bronze tipped arrows to the old man.

  In a blur, the blind man gripped the bow, nocked an arrow and fired up into the darkened mountainside. It all happened so quickly, Derragen was about to laugh, but he stopped short when a mountain goat rolled dead to his feet, with an arrow sticking out of its throat.

  “Roast mountain goat for dinner,” the old man said handing the bow and quiver back. “I haven’t had roast mountain goat in several weeks. Hard to get a fire started. Set myself on fire too often,” the old man said, rubbing his hands with hunger.

  Derragen started a fire and roasted the goat. After several mouthfuls, Derragen eyed the old, blind man.

  “You heard it,” Derragen said, “up on the rocks.”

  The old man smiled and wiped grease from his chin.

  “Now its time to sleep,” the old man said.

  “Tell me your name,” Derragen respectfully asked, “please.”

  “I am Sehen,” the blind sage said with a laugh, “and you’d best get some sleep yourself. We start the lessons very early in the morning.”

  Derragen barely slept that night. He could have stole away in the night. He could have leapt off the rocky edge of the steep mountain trail, no more than three paces away.

  But, this was Sehen.

  Sehen was a legend. Some believed he never existed. Some thought he was only a character in a popular song. Some said they had met the blind sage in the mountains of Kipleth, but no one ever believed such tales. Why did the blind sage want to teach him? The questions kept Derragen awake, and curious enough to see what the old man had in store for him in the morning. Eventually, Derragen drifted off to a fitful sleep.

  In the gray morning, Derragen awoke to find Sehen greedily chewing a piece of the remains of the goat they had left to smoke over the campfire for the night.

  “Ready?” Sehen cheerfully said.

  “How did you...?” Derragen started to ask, but then caught himself. I must remember to never ask that again, Derragen said to himself.

  The blind sage led Derragen back up the trail. The old man never tripped or stumbled, and Derragen found it difficult to keep up with him.

  After a good hike back up the trail, Sehen st
opped. He seemed to be smelling the air. Derragen looked around. What did the old man smell?

  “Shoot an arrow,” Sehen directed.

  “At what?” Derragen asked, still looking around.

  “Shoot an arrow!” Sehen insisted.

  Derragen nocked an arrow and shot it into the gorge below. The faint sound of the arrow clattering below could be heard.

  “Good,” Sehen said. “That was your first lesson. What did you learn?”

  Derragen was dumbfounded. That was the first lesson? What did he learn?

  “I shot an arrow,” Derragen shrugged.

  “And what did you hit?” Sehen asked.

  “...nothing,” Derragen said.

  “What were you aiming at?” Sehen asked.

  “Nothing,” Derragen said, with a dawning understanding.

  “So if you aim at nothing,” Sehen said with a crinkled smile, “you hit nothing.”

  “Is your name really Sehen?” Derragen asked, thinking himself suddenly very clever.

  In response, the old, blind man tore the bow from Derragen’s hands. Sehen snapped his fingers until Derragen handed him an arrow. Once he had the arrow, Sehen quickly nocked the arrow, turned and fired.

  The arrow whipped along the mountain and thocked against a dead tree, narrowly missing a crow that Derragen had missed seeing earlier.

  “You missed the crow,” Derragen said.

  “No,” Sehen said. “You missed the crow. You could have shot at the crow, but instead you chose to shoot at nothing. I didn’t hit the crow because I saw no reason to kill an animal that meant me no harm, and I couldn’t eat. That was lesson number two,” Sehen haughtily said as he threw the bow on the ground for Derragen to pick up.

  The rest of the day was spent using up Derragen’s sizable reserve of arrows, shooting at trees, rocks and animals, of which, Sehen had an uncanny awareness for a blind man.

  As the night approached, Derragen felt he was becoming a better shot, opening up his hearing and smelling to be better aware of what Sehen always seemed to sense long before he did.

  “That’s the last one,” Derragen said as he embedded an arrow in a twisted stump high up the steep mountain side.

  “Go get all the arrows back, and I’ll meet you back at the camp for dinner,” Sehen said as he quickly trotted down the trail.

  Much later, in the middle of the night, Derragen made his way back to his little camp to find Sehen happily asleep. Most of the roasted smoked goat was gone. Derragen dropped the quiver full of arrows next to Sehen in hopes of waking him.

  The blind sage turned with a sleepy smile.

  “Get them all?” He asked.

  “Some were lost for good,” Derragen said with a frown as he chewed the meager portion left of the goat.

  “Nothing is ever lost for good,” Sehen said. “You can find the rest tomorrow,” he then turned on his side to snore the night away.

  Derragen angrily stared at the sleeping old man, but then he smiled to himself. A peace settled over his heart. He felt something surprisingly like relief, although he didn’t understand why. Yes, he thought, I’ll get the missing arrows tomorrow. Nothing is lost for good.

  The third day Sehen led Derragen out to a wide, flat place on the trail where a rare tall oak leaned.

  “Nock an arrow,” Sehen said. Derragen did as he was directed.

  “Draw,” Sehen said, and Derragen pulled the arrow taut.

  “Now hold it as long as you can,” Sehen said with a sniff. “When you get tired, come back to camp.”

  Derragen was left holding the drawn arrow, staring into the vast expanse of the mountains of Kipleth.

  His muscles ached and began to tighten up.

  No, Derragen thought to himself. Use the effort in balance. Derragen let the tension even itself out. He regulated his breathing and let his field of vision expand.

  About mid day Derragen began to notice smells, sounds and his own sense of touch with amazing intensity. He found himself focusing on the acute perception flooding over him. Sights, odors, sounds that his mind initially passed over without pause became immense concepts to digest and comprehend. The sensations were at first overwhelming, and he thought he might let go of the drawn arrow shaking in his hand. But, then he let the act of holding the arrow become a center of the meditation he now felt flooding his mind. Whenever he felt lost, he could come back to the simple, yet difficult task before him of holding the arrow taught against his bowstring. He centered his thoughts and tried to think of nothing, allowing his mind to be calm and uncluttered. Thinking of nothing became a task in itself. He found his mind instantly wandering, and the discipline needed to focus and empty his thoughts soon added to the expansion of his whole awareness. The dark thoughts and troubles of his heart began to recede with the realization of the beauty of all things around him on the earth. Eventually Derragen felt a flowing part of all creation rather than a separate consciousness, alone, disconnected, fighting to understand itself.

  The sun began to set when the arrow twanged off the bow string with Derragen’s exhaustion. He stumbled wearily back to camp.

  “Where have you been?” Sehen demanded.

  “I was holding the arrow,” Derragen said. “I learned so many amazing things. I saw the world in a whole new way, discovered strengths I never knew I had.”

  “Really?” Sehen said. “I just did that because I was tired of you and wanted a break. You really held the arrow for all day?”

  “Yes,” Derragen said with a smile, knowing the old man always meant more than he ever let on.

  Sehen merely huffed to himself in mild, annoyed astonishment.

  The next few days, Sehen improved Derragen’s stance and position while holding the bow. Derragen was already very accomplished with weapons of all kinds. He was a general and a soldier by profession.

  After several days, Sehen brought Derragen to a flat plateau in the mountains.

  “I want you to hit the dead tree in the middle of the field,” Sehen said. “The dead tree is still there?”

  “Yes it is,” Derragen smiled.

  “Give me your bow and an arrow, and face the tree,” Sehen said.

  Derragen gave Sehen his bow and an arrow. The sage nocked the arrow to the bow. Then, he gave Derragen the bow and arrow pointing the opposite direction of the tree.

  “Shoot!” Sehen commanded. “Now!”

  Derragen was holding the bow and arrow backwards, in the wrong hands, pointing in the wrong direction.

  He quickly turned at the waist and shot over his hip. The arrow thudded into the tree.

  “Wait,” Sehen said. “Was the tree over there?”

  “You know where the tree is,” Derragen said.

  “And you managed to hit it,” Sehen said with a wry smile.

  “Because I hit what I shoot at,” Derragen said with an affectionate smile.

  “Yes,” Sehen said. “How many days have I trained you?”

  “It’s been seven days,” Derragen said.

  “Have you learned anything?”

  “I have learned the world, friend.”

  “I wish you’d shoot another goat for us,” Sehen said as he wandered back to the camp. “That roasted goat was delicious.”

  Derragen spent the rest of the night searching for a mountain goat he could bring his teacher, Sehen. But, eventually he gave up and returned to camp empty handed.

  “No goat,” Sehen sniffed. “Ah, well, it will make the next one I eat that much more delicious. Get plenty of sleep. Tomorrow is the last day we will ever spend together.”

  “Sehen, do you believe in god?” Derragen asked.

  The old, blind man shifted in his bed roll.

  “I know why you ask,” Sehen smiled to himself. “How could god, if he exists, allow the murder of your wife and children?” Sehen wiped his nose. “I often wondered why I was born blind. I think some things just happen. I don’t believe there is a being so powerful he could create and control us all, who would want to
control us all. You were a parent once. You know commanding a child in all things makes a child insolent and rebellious. A truly loving creator allows you to find the divine presence in your own self. And what of evil men? Well, how can evil men be condemned in the next life if they are not allowed to do evil?” Sehen scratched his wispy beard. “But an innocent’s life may be taken unjustly. Really? Did we not come from nothing? What were you before your parents made you? Nothing. What are you after you die? Nothing. No one can bring you back, see you, or hear you. You might as well be the person you were before you were born.” Sehen settled onto his back. “I am grateful for every moment I have of life. It is wondrous and filled with amazing experiences, interesting people, and new things to discover everyday. Even a little of life is a lot of life. No one should be ungrateful for that. Even with blind eyes, I can see that. Now go to sleep and do not ask me anymore questions. I want to sleep.” The old man rolled over and immediately began snoring.

  Derragen stared up at the stars. He missed his wife and children. But he had found some comfort in learning from this strange, old man. He had discovered many things. He had discovered himself.

  The next day Sehen, the blind sage talked a long time with Derragen. He told him many things. He told him how he is connected to everything he encounters. And when he connects with an arrow to a target, he is already connected even before the arrow leaves the bow string. Sehen told Derragen many, many more secrets. And then finally he brought a bundle before the Archer from Kipleth.

  “Your anger and sorrow still burn within you,” Sehen said. “But I had a dream last night and these are for you.”

  Sehen unwrapped the bundle and presented to Derragen the seven large, black Arrows of Yenolah. Sehen told Derragen where they came from and how they were fashioned in Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam by Weylunne, the Prince of the elvish capital.

  “You will stop a great evil with one of these arrows,” Sehen said. “But only when the storm inside your soul is completely stilled. I fear you will never know that peace, and so the world and all who live in it are already lost. But I have hope.” Sehen rose. “I have hope because I like you.”