The Last Archer: A Green Ember Story

by S D Smith

  “Right on time, again,” Lund said, handing Jo his quiver and bow. “Remember, Shanks, this is an opportunity to impress. If you can place in the top five, you show you’re among the elite. Even top ten is good.”

  Jo nodded. “Thanks, Lund.”

  “Like I said, Shanks, I’m behind you all the way.” Lund jogged back toward the spectator area, indicating the widening distance with hand gestures as he went. “Way behind you!” he shouted.

  Jo smiled, then turned back to the course. Distant targets were set up, and twenty archers stood within the competitor’s circle.

  Master Fletcher raised his hands for silence. “Welcome to the finals of the Archer’s Cup!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Master Clay Fletcher called out over the crowd. “The Archer’s Cup finals are about to begin!” Flanked by two silent officers, he continued as the crowd fell silent. “By Lord Ramnor’s leave, we begin these finals with the most elite archers in our citadel. The Archer’s Cup is an old competition, passed down to us from better days, when Lord Ramnor’s grandfather held the first event at First Warren. It has been held every year since, even in our present days of distress. I saw King Jupiter himself hand the cup to my oldest brother, may the Leapers keep him.” He smiled at the archers. “I saw the king hand the cup to Rand Bowyer, legend of the Harbone archers. Now you have a chance to win the cup and claim the honor!”

  The crowd cheered, and Jo felt his heart warm to the moment. Maybe this competition isn’t as pointless as Nate thought. Maybe it does matter. It was, he knew, his one chance to advance. The image of his father appeared in his mind. His father’s words echoed in his ears: The only way for the lowborn to rise is through great glory. Ambition is the food of glory.

  The archers spread out along the lines, and Jo saw to his weapons. He carefully laid aside his sheathed sword—still not clean, he remembered, and he looked up and around to see if Lieutenant Drand was nearby. He couldn’t find Drand, and as he studied the gathered rabbits more closely, he saw that none of the senior officers were present. Nor was Lord Ramnor. They were, no doubt, conferring over the citadel congress invitation issued by Lord Rake of Cloud Mountain. It was just his luck to have his moment finally come and no senior officers there to see it.

  “Archers, your first volley in one minute,” Master Fletcher called.

  Jo saw that Nate Flynn was on the far side of the columns, and ten archers stood between them, including Junder and Dwane Balder. Still, Jo caught sight of Nate’s thorough preparations. The champion archer bent his eye along the shaft of his arrow and paid careful attention to the fletching. Jo followed his own routine. First, he felt along the shaft with his eyes closed, searching by touch for imperfections that might mean a small deviation in flight. He then examined it by eye, gently flicking the fletching to check its resilience.

  This done, he tested his bowstring and stepped to the line. He caught Nate’s eye as the chief raised his hand and the crowd held its breath. Nate’s face was totally relaxed, and nothing could be read in his expression. Jo tensed in concentration, eyeing now the target, some great distance away. He would have to aim a little high, add some extra strength. It wasn’t close enough for a comfortable straight shot.

  He tried to relax, but his body felt as taut as his string. The arrow nocked, he took a deep breath. “Archers ready!” Master Fletcher cried. Jo let his breath out slowly as he closed one eye and aimed along the arrow at the target. He drew back his bow.

  “Fire!”

  Jo hesitated a moment, then released his string. He could hear nothing but the thwick and swoosh as the arrow sped toward the target. He held his steady gaze along the shaft of the speeding dart and watched as it found the center circle.

  Jo inhaled as the sound around him returned, and he heard the gallery cheering loudly. His expression never changed. This was what he had prepared for, and it was no surprise. He checked his bow over, then went to his quiver to find his next best arrow while the judges called out the names of archers who were eliminated. He knew that any who had not hit the center circle would be dismissed.

  When he turned back to the targets, he saw that half the archers were gone, sullenly marching off toward the crowd, some receiving consoling pats on the back. None were smiling.

  The targets were being moved farther away still, and the remaining archers squinted at the distance. Jo glimpsed Nate’s expressionless gaze and then closed his eyes.

  Inside his mind’s eye he saw the target, its center lit up like an ember. He focused on it, saw above the target the glowing words Ambition. Glory. Rise. He opened his eyes just as Master Fletcher called out, “Archers ready!” Nothing else existed—only the steady beat of his heart, the calm rhythm of his breathing, and the target. “Fire!”

  Jo let go and sent his shaft slicing through the air to the distant mark. He didn’t even watch it go home, so sure he was that it was headed precisely where he intended. He moved back toward his quiver as the thud of impact resounded and the crowd cheered, exclamations of amazement surrounding the gallery. He looked up and saw that Lord Ramnor, Captain Frye, Lieutenant Kout, and Lieutenant Drand had all just arrived. They watched with grave attention as the marshals examined the shots. Captain Frye wore a scowl above crossed arms as Lieutenant Drand spoke in his ear and nodded toward Jo.

  “We have three archers remaining,” Master Fletcher called as the spectators quieted. “Kent Halmon, Nate Flynn, and…” Jo was choosing his next arrow, his eyes closed as he ran his hand along its length. “Jo Shanks! These are the last three. Archers, take your places for the final round.”

  Jo selected his arrow, turned, and walked back to the line. The final three moved to the inside six columns, leaving a space between each. Jo was in the center, with Nate on his left and Kent on his right. So I’ve beaten the rest of his crack archers. That’s surely something. Only two more to surpass and I’m made. I’m somebody. Then he refocused, closed his eyes, and visualized the target. He heard his father’s words. He focused on the glory he would receive, the certainty that he would achieve something.

  He heard a murmur of voices and opened one eye. Captain Frye was talking in low tones to Master Fletcher. Clay Fletcher frowned, looked down, and then nodded.

  “For the final round,” Master Fletcher said, holding up his hands for attention, “we will have some innovations.”

  Innovations. Jo’s steady breathing changed, and his focus wavered. His mind filled with questions.

  Soldiers were hauling buckets toward the field, and Captain Frye was giving more orders besides. “Archers, please turn and kneel by your packs,” Master Fletcher said. They obeyed, and Jo realized that this was to conceal the field from their view. Innovations? What can this mean? Before, it had been simple. One rabbit. One target. That’s all. Hit the center, and you advance. That’s how the cup had always been, as far as he knew. Now what?

  Jo listened and tried to perceive, through the noise of the murmuring crowd, what was happening behind him. He heard carts moving, liquid splashing, and feet pounding. It sounded like the rush before an all-citadel muster, mixed with a repair day. After what felt like half an hour, with hunger and worry gnawing at Jo, the master called them back to their lines.

  Everything was different. The field was obscured by bales and carts, barriers of all kinds, sprawling all over. The grass was spoiled by black splashes, and Jo couldn’t even tell what the objective had become. Where were the targets?

  “Bucks!” Captain Frye called, stepping in front of Clay Fletcher. “The war is upon us. We have traitors to deal with, but with that done we may see action with the enemy very soon.” A cheer broke out from the crowd. Most wore tunics bearing the symbol of the blood moon and crossed spears over their chests. “We are soldiers, and we’re eager to fight—eager to get at the enemy. And our preparations must suit our purposes. Instead of just standing there, securely protected, while they aim at an unmoving object, these final three archers will be tested in an environment more lik
e battle. This will be a true test of battle archery. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Captain!” Nate Flynn shouted. Kent and Jo nodded.

  “Here are the rules,” Captain Frye said. “You must hit the two targets corresponding to your color in turn. Kent Halmon will be blue, Nate Flynn, white, and Jo Shanks, red. The targets with your color will be visible only as you advance. There will be a final target—the upshot—that bears all three colors. Its center can only be struck once, as it will give way with a perfect shot. The first archer to hit his first two targets dead center, then knock out the center of the final target, will receive the cup and, what’s more, the honor due a battle archer.”

  Jo’s mind reeled as he tried to orient himself to the new rules. He was frustrated, but he tried to lay that aside and prepare for the trial. Just as he closed his eyes and began to focus, Captain Frye called, “Begin!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jo’s eyes flashed open, and he saw Nate dash ahead. Jo ran forward, darting between bales and slipping on the strewn hay. Balancing as he came to a stop, he looked up and saw his first target. It was far ahead, a little red flag on it. He drew back his bow and nocked his arrow. Jo exhaled slowly and fired, and the shaft sailed true, striking the scarlet center. He reached for a second arrow, gazing around as he did for the second and third targets. His hand closed on nothing.

  Jo wasn’t carrying his quiver. Shooting a panicked glance over at Nate, he saw that his rival was nocking his second arrow. Nate had, of course, remembered to grab his quiver. As Jo sped back to retrieve his, he noticed Captain Frye and Lieutenant Drand smiling wryly, shaking their heads at him. He hurried back to the course. Dodging past some upturned carts and through a maze of bales, Jo rounded a turn to see his second target in the distance. As he readied his bow and slowly exhaled, setting his feet and closing one eye, the field between him and his target burst into flames.

  Captain Frye must have ordered pitch to be spread on the field and set ablaze just as Jo arrived. He dashed ahead, leaping through the flames, and landed on the far side. He steadied himself and shot, sending home the second shaft to the target’s center circle. I won’t be stopped so easily, Captain.

  Jo felt a growing confidence as he hurried ahead. He darted past the target and scanned the field, now aflame and spewing smoke from many spots, for the last target. The upshot.

  Nate was ten steps away, gazing all around in a concentrated frenzy. Both bucks were trying to locate the final target. Jo saw with a quick sideways glance that medics were helping an injured Kent off the course.

  It was down to Jo and Nate Flynn now. Just what he had wanted for so long.

  Jo sprinted ahead, and Nate ran alongside him. They dodged through a final course of burning carts and bales, ducking under a crumbling arch as they advanced. When the two archers cleared the obstacles, they saw that soldiers with long shields were lined up on either side of them. There must have been twenty on each side.

  Jo looked from one side to the other, then dead ahead. He saw the target, set back at an incredible distance. Nate saw it too, and both bucks reached for arrows. Before either had an arrow nocked, rocks began raining down on them. Nate stood firm, nocking his arrow. He had nearly gotten his shot off when a rock struck his arm, sending his wayward arrow sailing into the sky. Jo fared no better, and his shot was wrecked when a rock snapped his shaft in half. Both archers regrouped quickly, Jo nocking another arrow as he danced sideways to try to get another shot off. He realized then that the target was so far away that it was unlikely he could hit its center, even if the rock barrage weren’t happening.

  Now the flaming arrows came, darting back and forth across his field of vision, blurring the target and setting the field between them and it aflame. Smoke rose. It was nearly impossible to see the target. Nate rushed ahead and Jo followed, the hail of rocks continuing.

  Finally, Nate spun and shot a quick succession of shots at the shields of the rock-hurling rabbits. Jo followed his example, and the two bucks advanced through the gauntlet, firing as they rushed onward. Jo aimed carefully at the shields, eager to stop the rocks without hurting the bucks behind them, though it didn’t seem like they cared much whether he and Nate were hurt. Why were they being so careless with two valuable archers, especially the legendary Nate Flynn? This wasn’t the war.

  But it soon will be. That’s what Captain Frye knows.

  They sped on, dodging rocks as they continued to fire at the hurlers. Jo focused ahead, trying to peer through the smoke and flame to see the final target. I only want a moment. One look at the target and one moment to fire. Just one second.

  The rocks stopped striking as Jo and Nate leapt through a series of blazing patches of grass. The target was in sight again! Each archer reached for fresh arrows, but they were rushed by ten shield-bearing rabbits, who were on them in a moment. Jo tried to nock an arrow, but he was forced to sidestep the first opponent, then was clattered down by the second. He sprang up quickly, dodged ahead, and made it clear of the tackling band. A quick glance back showed that Nate was still trapped by the horde. Jo’s eyes widened, and he turned his gaze on the target as fresh fire sprang to life between him and it. Another hail of stones flew his way, along with the soldiers who hurled them. They would be on him in another instant.

  But he had found his moment.

  Jo quickly nocked his arrow and aimed, exhaling as he felt the pressure build around him. The shield-wielding bucks were nearly on him, and rocks rained all around. He saw the target and fixed on its center. He let go the arrow just before being smashed by a shield. He fell to the earth, never taking his eyes off the target as his arrow sailed on its way. He saw his arrow miss the center circle and stick just outside it just before he crunched to the ground in the mud.

  Before he could find his feet again, Nate danced past him. On the run, while attackers struggled to send him down again and rocks rained all around, Nate loosed an arrow, which sailed sweetly toward the target. Jo was on his knees, caked in mud, as Nate’s speeding shaft broke through the target’s center. A rock struck Jo’s jaw, and he fell hard, his face making a furrow through the mud.

  When he looked up again, pain pulsing in his jaw, the crowd had rushed onto the course and were lifting Nate to their shoulders. Master Fletcher handed up the cup, and Nate thrust it into the air to exultant cheers.

  Jo sat on the ground as the crowd gathered around Nate, shouting his name.

  “Shanks,” a gruff voice said from behind. He turned to see Captain Frye glaring down at him, Lieutenant Drand beside him. “When it really counts and there’s something on the line, you choke. If you can’t make the shot in battle conditions, then you’re no soldier.”

  They stomped off, leaving Jo alone in the mud.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lund led Jo back to his bunk, helped him get cleaned up, then left him to rest in silence. But Jo couldn’t relax. He lay on his bunk and replayed the competition again and again, Captain Frye’s word echoing in his ears. You’re no soldier.

  In a little while, Lund came back. “They chose the units for the trip to the citadel congress at Cloud Mountain,” he said. Jo sat up, a last little spark of hope in his heart. This might be an opportunity for distinction. But Lund held up a hand. “I’m afraid we weren’t chosen. Several other units and bands are going, but not ours. We’re on duty guarding Halfwind while the best are away with Lord Ramnor, Captain Frye, and the rest.”

  Jo sagged. “I can’t believe I missed.”

  “Anyone would have missed that shot.”

  “Not him.”

  “No,” Lund said, nodding, “but anyone else. Anyway, get a little rest. You’ve had a tough day. And you’re on sentry duty with me tonight at midnight.”

  “Isn’t anyone else available?” Jo asked, smirking.

  “I tried to get someone else,” Lund said, returning the smirk, “but no one wanted to do it with you.”

  Jo tried to smile. “I’ll see you then.”

  Lund nodded a
nd headed for the door. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, spinning back. “That votary, Sister Lala Loony, was looking for you.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Jo answered. “She’s wonderful.”

  “If you say so,” Lund said, palms up and shrugging. “Hey, maybe she’d go to the summer mingle with you.”

  “Get out of here!” Jo said, hurling a pillow at Lund, who ducked it and disappeared through the door.

  Lund was great at cheering him up, but the disappointment Jo felt at the failures of the day, as well as being left out of the adventure to Cloud Mountain—possibly the start of the war—was crushing.

  He realized that he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and it was nearly sunset. He was weak, and, even as sad as he felt, he still needed food. He stood up, walked to the door, and almost ran into a rabbit who was walking in.

  Nate Flynn.

  What’s he doing here? Come to rub it in?

  “Jo Shanks,” Nate said.

  “That’s right, Nate,” Jo answered, a little more curtly than he intended. “What can I do for you?”

  Nate seemed taken aback. “Well, I tried to find you on the field after the cup today. I wanted to congratulate you on your finish. You were incredible throughout the competition. I was really impressed.” He extended a hand toward Jo. Jo took it, mouth open but unable to say anything.

  “Anyway,” Nate continued, “I have a proposition for you. That is, if you can stop sulking around like a baby.”

  Jo’s eyes shot open, and he found his voice. “I’m not…” he began, but he stopped. He was sulking. It was true. “What do you propose,” he asked sourly, “that we go to the summer mingle?”

  “I thought of somewhere better,” Nate said. “Cloud Mountain.”

  Jo’s eyes widened, and he looked up. “What do you mean?” he asked.