by Tom Birdseye
Although not used to bowing, Jackson quickly followed suit. There was something about Radnor that demanded it. Jackson’s eyes came down to the level of Radnor’s sword hilt. From that close he could see that the top knob had been carved into the shape of a clenched fist much like Radnor’s own thick fingers and broad knuckles. Everything about Radnor, Chieftain of All Timmra and Commander of the Steadfast Order, exuded power.
Jackson bowed even farther. The stone pendant that hung from his neck swung out of the top of his shirt. He reached up and gripped it for a moment.
From above came a voice like gravel. “Rise.”
Jackson stood upright to find Radnor’s blue eyes boring into his. He almost looked away, but the warmth from the stone lingered, as did the sudden, mysterious sense of calm. He straightened his shoulders and held Radnor’s gaze.
Radnor nodded. “Enter.”
“We enter,” Yed said, leading Jackson past the big man into a dim foyer. A lone torch flickered in its mount on the wall. The tart smell of burning pine pitch filled the smoky air. Beyond the foyer Jackson could barely make out the opening of a hallway. He peered down it but couldn’t see what lay beyond. No light came from within.
“This is Jackson Cooper,” Yed said to his father.
Jackson turned to see Yed motioning toward him. The formalness, he noticed, was gone from Yed’s body and voice now that they were inside and the door to the alleyway was closed. Yed leaned close to his father. “I know it’s not my position to decide,” he said. “You alone can hear the voice. But I think he might be the One. He has magic.”
Radnor’s eyes fixed on Jackson’s again. “Magic? What kind of magic?”
Yed smiled. “Show him the watch, Jackson Cooper. Look there, Radnor, on his wrist.”
Radnor bent down to examine Jackson’s wrist. “But I don’t see any—”
“The other wrist,” Yed said with a gentleness that startled Jackson. In Timber Grove no teenage boy would be caught dead talking that way to his father—not in front of anyone, anyway. It was the tone of voice used by little boys.
Yed put his hand affectionately on his father’s shoulder and pointed to Jackson’s watch. “There, on that strap.”
For a second Jackson thought he saw a hint of a wry smile beneath Radnor’s thick beard. “Of course.” The big man leaned close as Jackson offered his left wrist.
Yed prodded Jackson. “Now show him. Show him the fire.”
Jackson looked at Yed, then at Radnor. What harm could it do? Yed had gotten such a big kick out of it. “Okay,” he said, and pushed the button that illuminated the watch dial.
Radnor’s eyebrows went up in surprise at the green glow. “Ehhhhh?”
Yed smiled. “But that is nothing. Wait until you hear about …” And with that he went on to detail every single thing Jackson had told him of the magical wonders of Oregon.
Several times during Yed’s grand recital, Jackson found himself thinking that he should interrupt and try to set things straight, explain what Oregon really was, and where. And that all the things Yed spoke of were just inventions, technology, ordinary stuff in Timber Grove. And that he was just Jackson Cooper with a new watch, not the something special they seemed to want him to be.
But the simple truth was that Jackson was enjoying listening to Yed go on and on about him too much to cut the telling short. It felt incredibly good to hear himself praised. By the time Yed finished—“And with this thing called a gun, you can shoot from a great distance!”—Radnor, Chieftain of All Timmra and Commander of the Steadfast Order, was looking at Jackson with great appreciation. That felt even better.
“Just as it was spoken to me!” Radnor said with a huge smile. “Welcome to Timmra, Jackson Cooper! Welcome, indeed!”
Jackson grinned. No way was he going to admit that he’d never even pulled the trigger of his father’s pistol—he’d been too afraid—much less hit something, especially at a great distance. “Thank you,” he said, and bowed to Radnor.
“He’s come just in time, don’t you think?” Yed said.
“Yes,” Radnor replied, “but I’ve been given no instructions.…” His expression grew serious. He stroked his beard for a moment, then closed his eyes and gently placed his powerful hand over them. “Let me understand,” he said. He slowly drew his hand away to reveal his eyes open again, locked in a fixed stare off into the darkness of the hallway.
Jackson looked at Yed for an explanation of what Radnor was doing. But Yed put his finger to his lips, signaling Jackson not to interrupt. Yed closed his eyes and waited in silence. Not wanting to offend, Jackson did the same. The foyer of the Hall of the Steadfast Order grew quiet, save the sizzle of the pine-pitch torch mounted on the wall.
After a long moment, Radnor finally stirred, and Jackson opened his eyes to see the chieftain shaking his head as if coming out of a trance.
“To the armory,” Radnor said. “First, we must get Jackson Cooper a bow.”
Yed’s eyes popped open. “A bow? But I thought—”
“So it has been spoken to me,” Radnor said.
Without a blink, Yed nodded. “Then so it must be.”
9. Among Friends
Radnor grabbed the torch from its holder on the foyer wall and led Jackson and Yed into the dark hallway beyond. No one spoke; the only sound was the scuff of their feet on the stone floor. They rounded a corner and the walls seemed to close in on either side, the air to grow musty. A large wooden door with heavy wrought-iron hinges and bolts loomed ahead.
“Open it,” Radnor told Yed.
Yed unbolted the door at the top and the bottom, then grabbed the thick iron handle with both hands and looked over his shoulder at Jackson. “Feast your eyes on the work of Radnor!” he called out as if hundreds had gathered. With a great heave he swung the door open to reveal in the torchlight a long narrow room, lined on both sides with an arsenal of weapons: swords, spears, shields, and enough bows and quivers of arrows to supply a small army.
Jackson gawked. He loved bows, always had. One hung above the couch at home in Timber Grove, next to the mounted head of a six-point buck. His father had made the bow out of ash wood long before Jackson was born. For reasons that were never made clear, at no time had Jackson been allowed to touch it. That had somehow made the bow seem even nicer, like a museum piece, hanging there out of reach, looking perfect.
Here, though, there were dozens of them, each one far nicer than his father’s, truly perfect in every detail—recurved on the ends, intricately carved designs above the carefully wrapped leather handgrips, sanded and polished to a bright sheen.
“You made them all?” Jackson asked Radnor, noticing one bow in particular with a carving of a great stag on it.
A flush of embarrassment crossed Radnor’s face. “Yed likes to exaggerate,” he said. “The truth is—”
“That he is a very good bow maker,” Yed finished for his father.
“Praise no bow before it’s tested,” Radnor said trying to sound stern. He faked a scowl but couldn’t hide his pride, so waved Yed off with his hand. “Talk, talk, talk. It seems my son was born to pester me like a talking fly.”
Yed reached over and plucked a piece of lint from his father’s beard. “It’s my duty,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He let the lint float to the floor. “I may not be able to split a melon at fifty paces or shoot an arrow through a bird’s eye, but I’m quick with my tongue.”
Radnor laughed openly. “Unfortunately, this is all too true.”
“Just as it’s true that you are a very good bow maker,” Yed insisted. He whispered loudly to Jackson, “Not only did he make most of them, he also straightened and hardened the arrows, too, forged the points, and mounted the feathers.”
Radnor ignored his son’s boasting. “Which bow do you like, Jackson Cooper?”
Jackson stared. “Do you mean I can use one of these?”
Radnor shook his head. “No.”
Jackson’s shoulders slumped.
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br /> “I mean you may have whichever one you choose. So it is spoken.”
“Easy now,” Radnor whispered into Jackson’s ear some time later. “Calm yourself before letting the arrow go.” His rumbling voice was as steady as he was asking Jackson to be.
Jackson strained to hold the bow with the stag carving still. He squinted down the arrow shaft at his target—a black circle of dirt rubbed into the center of a piece of stiff leather. It leaned against a large mound of hay piled in the high stone-walled enclosure behind the armory. Six shots had already flown high and wide to the left, burying themselves in the hay.
Yed’s voice came at Jackson from the other side. “Think the arrow to its mark, Jackson Cooper.”
Jackson’s arms began to quiver. The strain of holding the bowstring back was quickly taking its toll. Sweat trickled over his temples and down the sides of his face.
“Relax,” Radnor said. “Breathe in, then halfway out, then release. It’s the Way.”
Jackson forced all of his concentration into what he was doing. It had become very important to him to do well, to look good in both Radnor’s and Yed’s eyes. Not in the same way he had always wanted Chris’s and Seth’s approval. That was out of fear of their teasing, their ridicule. This was different. Radnor and Yed were … well, really nice and patient with him. It seemed as if they wanted him to succeed, where Chris and Seth had always seemed glad when he failed. Jackson breathed in as instructed, emptied his lungs halfway, then held steady.
“That’s it,” Radnor said softly. “Thaaaaaat’s it.”
Jackson released. “Ow!” He bent over, hugging his left forearm. The bowstring had slapped against it when he shot, stinging him like a wasp.
“Much better!” Yed said.
Jackson looked up. The arrow was lodged in the hay, still high and wide to the left of the target. He let out a long sigh of frustration. “But I missed again.”
“Not by as much, though,” Radnor insisted. “You’re close. You’re almost part of the bow now, part of the arrow as it flies. Once you get that, it will never leave you. There will be no pain. And you will reach that point, Jackson Cooper.”
Jackson looked into Radnor’s eyes. “Really? You think so?”
Radnor leaned close, bringing with him the smell of leather and something Jackson could only think of as completely male. “I know so,” he said with such confidence that Jackson, despite his stinging arm, couldn’t help believing him.
And so it was, as if Radnor were some kind of a fortune-teller, that four shots later Jackson felt that now-familiar warmth in his chest from the stone, a sudden sense of calm, then a shift within himself. Not in how he planted his feet or notched the arrow or held the bow. Not in how he drew the bowstring back or sighted the target or released. The change was in none of the steps, but in how he went through the entire process. He came to see it not as a series of motions but as a complete thing, mind and body together. The arrow drew closer and closer and closer still to its mark. Until finally it hit dead center, and Yed let out a loud whoop, clapping Jackson on the back so hard it almost knocked him down.
“He did it!” Yed crowed.
Radnor nodded. “I told you so. Just as it was spoken to me.” He thrust his right hand up in front of his eyes, then drew it slowly away. He held the same hand out toward Jackson, palm down.
Yed did the same. He gripped Radnor’s wrist at a right angle, their arms forming a T. “Hold my wrist in the same way I am holding Radnor’s,” Yed instructed Jackson, “and let Radnor hold yours.”
“Yes,” Radnor said. “This is how we begin the Ceremony of Unity, stronger together than alone, bound in the Steadfast Order.” Radnor looked long into Jackson’s eyes. “Join us in our quest for what is right, my friend.”
“Yes,” Yed said. “Join us, friend.”
Friend? The word startled Jackson. Radnor and Yed wanted him to belong? Really? He looked from Radnor to Yed, then back again—father to son to father. And he could see that, yes, they really did mean it. It was as clear as the blue of their eyes.
Jackson smiled. The Steadfast Order. It sounded so mysterious, so magical. He shouldered his bow like Radnor and Yed had done, then reached out and gripped Yed’s thick wrist as instructed. Radnor gripped Jackson’s, completing the triangle.
“Friends,” Jackson said, the word as sweet as honey on his lips.
“Yes,” Radnor said. “Now on to the Chamber of Initiation. So it is spoken.”
“Then so it must be,” Yed said.
“So it must be,” Jackson chorused.
Still clasped together, Radnor and Yed led Jackson back into the torchlit Hall of the Steadfast Order.
10. Pendant Power
Later, walking back in the bright afternoon light with Radnor and Yed toward the village square, Jackson couldn’t stop grinning. He’d done it! He’d faced his fear and let Yed rub the ground herb leaves on the palm of his hand, then let Radnor burn the sign of the Steadfast Order into his skin with a hot brand.
Jackson looked down at the circle with a triangle inside it. Radnor had called it “the symbol of unity and all-encompassing strength for what is right before Zallis.” Jackson wasn’t sure what all that meant, especially Zallis. They said the word with such reverence. Was it what they called God? Seemed like he’d heard something to that effect. Or had he? Memory could be such a fuzzy thing sometimes. Oh, well, it didn’t matter. Whatever Zallis was, Jackson knew there was magic in it.
Like in the stone he wore as a pendant around his neck. Yes, he was sure now. The black polished oval with the etching on it had magic in it. It had brought him to Timmra. It was what continued to give him that warm sensation in his neck and chest and the sudden sense of calm when he really needed it. And then it had protected him from pain. He’d found himself clutching it in one hand as Radnor brought the brand down onto the open palm of the other. To his continuing amazement, he had felt nothing other than pressure. Getting branded hadn’t hurt. Not even a little. The magical power of the stone had apparently shielded him. He hadn’t even flinched.
Radnor and Yed had both nodded. Then, to Jackson’s surprise, they had bowed to him as if he were royalty. And Jackson had known that he had proved himself, just as he had with the bow and arrow. He’d passed their tests, and now he was really one of them. To show for it he had a bow and arrows of his own and a brand cooler than any tattoo he’d ever seen, even cooler than the one Seth had snuck off and gotten on his bicep last summer. That was just an eagle. It meant nothing. But his was the mark of the elite. He was the youngest member ever of the Steadfast Order, ever.
Jackson shook his head in wonder. Only in Timmra. Despite the bizarre and confusing chain of events that had brought him here, now all he could think was, What a place! So incredible, so full of possibilities. Here, time seemed to warp and twist into compacted coils that gave him ten years—no, a hundred years—more life for each minute. Time to become what he’d always wanted to be. In Timmra, he felt strong; he felt powerful.
Jackson smiled. He could almost feel himself getting bigger in the glow of his triumph, like a plant moved from the shadows into full sun. If only Chris and Seth—and his dad!—could see him now, walking with the Chieftain of All Timmra and Commander of the Steadfast Order, and the heir to the Chieftain’s Chair. Would they ever be impressed. Tessa, too. He couldn’t wait to show her how he and her father and brother had become friends.
Jackson gave Radnor a high five, then Yed, just like he’d taught them, each using the hand branded with the sign of the Steadfast Order. Jackson’s grin grew even bigger. He rounded a narrow corner, head held high, only to run smack into Tessa racing in the other direction. The impact knocked Jackson back. His heel caught on a stone, and he sat down with a thump.
“Ow!”
Tessa’s hands went to her mouth “Oh, Jackson Cooper! I’m sorry! I didn’t see you. I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?” She offered Jackson a hand to help him up.
Ra
dnor stepped in front of her, a stern look on his face. “That is none of your business, Tessa.” He leaned down and lifted Jackson out of the dirt with one strong pull.
“Thanks,” Jackson mumbled, embarrassed that a girl had sent him flying.
But no one seemed to notice. Tessa was scowling at her father. “Jackson Cooper is everyone’s business.”
Radnor scowled right back, a threatening growl creeping into his voice. “Watch your tongue, daughter. Remember to whom you are talking.”
“To whom am I talking?” Tessa demanded defiantly, hands on her hips. “Since you heard this voice and took the Chieftain’s Chair, I don’t understand you anymore. What has happened to the man I called Father?”
Yed leaned over and whispered in Jackson’s ear, “Only Tessa could get away with this. This morning Radnor knocked out two of Latsi the Tailor’s teeth for less.” He shook his head. “Sisters!”
Jackson looked from Tessa to Radnor, Radnor to Tessa. He could understand how hard it must be for Tessa to have to call her father Radnor and share him with so many other people. But couldn’t she see the importance of his position? Radnor had tremendous responsibility. He was in charge of everything. The future of all Timmra rested in his hands. Jackson wished Tessa would just accept the facts and stop arguing. He’d experienced enough family battles to last a lifetime.
Radnor glared at Tessa. “I am Radnor now, so I have to take care of all my people.”
A pained look came over Tessa’s face. “Take care of all your people? You call forbidding contact with the Yakonan—”
“Stop!” Radnor roared.
A deep fierceness rose up in Tessa’s eyes. “No, you stop!”
Radnor’s face went red, his fists clenched, and for a frightening instant Jackson was sure he was going to hit her. But instead the big man struggled to calm himself, then reached out gently for his daughter. “Not now,” he pleaded. “Not in our time of greatest strength. We’ve just initiated Jackson Cooper into the Steadfast Order.”
Tessa stepped back, a look of surprise on her face. She stared at Radnor, her mouth hanging open. Only after a moment did she blink and look to Jackson. “Really?”
