Ardalia: The Breath of Aoles

Chapter Five - THE SANCTUARY OF THE TEN

There was a cloying smell of oil, sweat and perfume on the recreation platform as wrestlers, archers and idlers of both sexes strolled casually around between the arenas that morning. As he headed for the archery range, Pelmen found himself staring at Arlece's flamboyant hair. Arlece had just handed a quiver, bow and thorns to a companion and was approaching one of the many stages.

Pelmen decided to study him. Arlece easily floored two adversaries, using skill, as well as his strength, and Pelmen desperately tried to memorize his techniques. Although he was painfully aware that it was practice which would give him the best chance of victory, he nevertheless figured it would do no harm to watch and learn. After quickly disposing of the second wrestler, Arlece strutted to the edge of the stage, challenging Pelmen with a menacing stare.

Pelmen did not want to let go of his bow, even for a few minutes and so turned away and continued on his way, stopping a hundred paces from one of the targets, a wooden manikin. Slowly, he took out several bundles of thorns, tied up with a cord, with which he was equipped. Then, fighting back a sigh, he lifted Master Galn's bow—his bow. Guided by memories of his first experiment with the weapon, he had decided not to fire at the target to begin with, in order to concentrate on firing distances.

The string was still as difficult to draw. The first attempt was too short, the second, badly managed, went askew. When, after a while, Pelmen went to pick up the thorns, and then shot again, mechanically, the absurdity of the exercise drew grimaces of annoyance from him. Why continue when the person who had taken him to one of the corridors of the Canyons, and who had shown him what a marvelous thing it was to draw a bow, no longer existed? Why upset himself? What was the point?

To match his skill... The Pelmen who might have tried to do that was a different person. Someone who wouldn't have this gaping hole in his life.

Feeling hungry, Pelmen went to sit down in a deserted corner of the esplanade. He rummaged in his satchel and ate without tasting his food, then went back to take up his position again and resume his session, without any more conviction. He continued until his fingers were burning, and he felt as if he was making progress, even if that progress resulted in a painful shoulder. Determined to prove himself, Pelmen focused on the pain, telling himself that at least it proved that he was still alive.

"Pel? My son?"

Pelmen turned round. For a second, he stood there stupidly, wondering who the stout hevelen was whose crudely shorn head gleamed under Astar's rays and who had stolen the sweet odor of his mother.

"Mama?" he finally said. "What have you done?"

He interrupted himself, his breath cut short. Dryna had just thrown herself into his arms and was hugging him so tight that he thought he would break in two. He did his best to return the embrace while she babbled in his ear. The warmth of his mother's skin shooed away the shadows which had, up until a moment ago, been gripping his heart, making his pain more bearable.

"Astar be praised, you look well," she said, pulling away and stepping back in order to look at him more closely, her nostrils quivering.

Pelmen forced a little smile. How emotional must his oh-so-discreet mother be to make such a display of her feelings in public?

Her face filled with compassion. "Your odor is that of grief, as Xuven told me. Yes, your uncle told me about Master Galn. And your gaze... it's changed. Oh, my son, why did you have to come here?"

"It would have happened anyway," replied Pelmen, hoarsely. "Master Galn didn't have much longer. And I think... no, I'm sure, it would have been even harder in Durepeaux. I would have felt that not only was I losing him, but also all of my hopes and dreams."