The Archer

Chapter One

The Archer

By Abigail Rowe

Twelve years ago, before I was born, my mother, father, and brother were sitting at the table. They had just finished eating dinner. My mother’s stomach was bulging, as I was due to be born any day now. My brother had just gotten up to get ready for bed, when there was a terrible shriek. It was ear splitting, and my family all covered the sides of their heads, trying to block out the noise. My father acted quickly, jumping from the table and snatching the shining silver sword from the corner. Goblins. Wicked, demented, goblins. My mother uncovered her ears long enough to pick up her bow from the hook and the quiver from the floor. She shouldered the sheath, and flexed her fingers. Karideena Zark instructed her son to hide in the fireplace. She saw the ashes pour down the chimney, and quickly changed her mind. “Get away from there” she screamed. Father had disappeared outside. Soon he came running inside, shouting, “follow me! We must get to safety.” A goblin slid in through the fire place, spreading ashes everywhere. Karideena pulled the bow string, sending an arrow through its eye.  It shrieked again, and then went still. Dozens of them slammed against the door. Grindoor Zark jerked the rug from the floor, revealing a trap door. Flinging it open, every one scrambled through, landing in the cellar.

He grabbed three satchels, handing two to his wife and son, and swinging the other one over his shoulder. My parents always kept these in here for emergency. They had food, calf skin canteens filled with water, daggers, ink and dip pens, parchment, cloaks and maps of the woods. All three of them ran outside, toward the stables. “I prepared two horses for us. We must hurry.” That’s when bad things started getting worse. Hair. Long strands of white horse hair scattered the ground, some pieces red and wet with blood. White and black skin scattered the ground, in dark crimson puddles, but they didn’t stop.

Once they got to the stables, Grindoor slammed the door shut, locking it with the wooden deadbolt. He looked behind him to see four goblins devouring Sun, his white and black spotted horse. He screamed with rage, letting his hands take over and slicing their heads cleanly off. Blue ooze seeped from where their ugly faces had once been. My ten year old brother, Marcus looked away from the gore, trying to calm himself and Luna, the brown horse. My father then helped my mother and brother onto her, stroking the soft neck sadly. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ll slow you down too much,” he spoke to my mother. “I must stay here and ward off the green scum. If I don’t you’ll surely be caught. You have to think of Marcus. And-“ he touched my mother’s belly. “You must hurry. He kissed her tenderly, and hugged my brother. “Now go!” He flung the stable doors open and slapped the rump of the horse, who galloped into the woods.

My mother screamed and cried. My brother looked back where he saw my father killing goblin after goblin. One of them jumped, clinging to his face, dragging him down. The sword clattered to the ground, as they hoarded around, a slow stream of blood making mud under his body. With one last cry of “I love you” he died. Only Marcus saw this. My mother was soaking our horse with salty tears. The scene blurred from view between my brothers tears and the trees. He turned back towards my mother, leaning hard against her back and wailing.

After two hours of riding, my mother slowed the horse at a stream. Her head bobbed down as she gratefully drank. Mother was moaning now, not crying. After a moment she told Marcus to get back on Luna. Karideena got on and then they rode a few more miles before stopping. On the way, she had poured out her canteen. She gave it to her son, telling him to go back and get her some more water. He started saying something, but our mother just put her finger to his lips and told him to hurry. She gave him the dagger that was in her satchel and told him she would be fine since she had her bow. He looked at her one last time before riding away, worried that he might lose both of his parents in one day. Karideena sat on a large rock, breathing heavily as she pulled out her cloak and set it on the ground.

Marcus rode Luna as fast as she could run, dodging trees and jumping over rabbit holes. It took him longer to get to the stream because he had gotten lost halfway there. He sighed as he knelt over it, letting crystal blue water flow into the narrow mouth of the canteen. All of the sudden, a rustle came from behind, and hiss came to his ears. He threw one of the daggers instinctively behind towards the sound, and then walked slowly to the brush.  Peeking over, Marcus saw a long brown body, covered with dark brown diamonds. A rattle snake had been coiled behind him the whole time, and he could have been killed. Slowly pulling the blade from the scaly body, a single tear rolled down his face. My brother went to the water and washed the knife, drying it on his clothes. He hopped back onto the horse, slapping the reins and heading back to his mother as fast as possible.

Once Marcus got back to mother, he jumped off of our horse and started telling her the story of the snake. But two words in, he stopped, for he saw that a cloak was bundled in her arms. What was stranger, was that it was crying softly. Not it… Me.

“Mother,” he said. “What did you name it?”

“She’s not an it. And her name is Owasinda. It means survivor. We have survived the goblins, and I will not forget that.”

He leaned over and looked at my red, bruised face. Now I was sleeping.

“Well. That’s awfully long. Could I call her… hmmm… Sinda? It’s a lot shorter.”

“Call her whatever you’d like. Now give me that canteen. I’m parched, and I need to clean her.”

Now, I don’t remember any of this, but my mother and brother told me the stories as I grew up. When my brother told me that our father had died, I didn’t cry. Because I had never met the man and had no emotional feelings towards him. I grew up in the woods. My mother taught me archery, and me brother taught me how to throw his knives. We hunted for food, only going into town twice a month to trade meat for necessities, such as new sewing needles and string and a satchel, canteen and cloak for me. We used the skin of the animals to make clothes. So this is my back story.

What you read next will be my future.