Resist

16

I hesitantly reached my hands out for the bow and quiver of arrows, glancing at James for an explanation and catching him give a clueless shrug. My fingers brushed the smooth wood of the weapon, just examining it for a moment, and Jack pushed the quiver into my hands, the arrows rattling in the long container from the abrupt movement.

“Please,” he asked, holding the bow out to me now.

Somehow, I felt like I was selling my soul to him as I took the weapon in my hands. This moment felt important, it carried a heady weight.

I moved to stand across from one of the targets along the wall, then looked down at the items in my hands. I carefully slung the quiver over my shoulders, the strap going from hip to shoulder. Then I look to the people around me.

“What exactly do I do?” I asked. I had seen a bow shot before but never handled one myself and since none of the boys used one, I didn’t know if we would even be able to figure this out.

Silence met my request, James and Jack standing in the same spots with thoughtful looks on their faces. On the far side of them, Bower was looking at the bow, trying to decipher exactly how it worked.

I brought the bow up, holding the back of the bow in my left hand and pulling slightly on the strong to mimic bringing it back towards my face. “This would be it, right?” I asked, glancing at my audience of more skilled weaponists.

“Think so,” James mumbled, looking to Bower for reassurance that he wasn’t guiding me awry.

“Pretty sure,” the ginger haired lad asserted, his barn owl wings spreading as he moved closer, analyzing the bow and my technique.  “I’ve only shot a crossbow before but I’ve seen a bow shot too and that looks right.”

I released the tension I had put on the string and reached over my shoulder to pull an arrow from my quiver. The end was fletched with just a normal goose feather, the shaft of the arrow a medium oak. I knocked the arrow best I could, fitting the small cutout on the arrow near the fletching onto the string. Jack moved around me as well to stand beside Bower and observe, his gaze highly interested and his dark wings raised in anticipation. I then raised the bow, drawing my right hand back to my cheek and using my left to aim at one of the targets along the wall. My knuckles rested lightly against my cheek, my bicep and shoulder taught with strain as I used my full force to draw the bow.

Just as I was about to release, Jack yelled “Wait!”

But it was too late, my hand was already releasing the arrow and his outburst startled me, making me release it faster and sooner if anything. I pulled my eyes from the bow to look at Jackson and as our eyes met, a sudden stinging appeared on my arm, a fire on my skin. My eyes snapped back down to my forearm, seeing a red welt forming, the skin rising in aggravation where the string of the bow had snapped against my skin.

“What the hell?” I questioned to no one particular as I grabbed my forearm, covering it with my other hand as though that would help the burning pain. It didn’t and I gritted my teeth.

“We forget a bracer!” Jack said angrily as he reached up and began ripping the sleeve of his shirt off. What was he doing? He jogged to Tom’s black smith area, dunking the piece of cloth he had removed into the bin of water for cooling the metal and then coming back.

“We’re idiots,” Bower commented hovering by me, not knowing what to do as I stood bent in pain with my arm in my hand.

Jack came back and stood before me, gently removing my hand from over the welt, and holding my wrist below the mark. With the other hand, he lightly pressed the rag to the flaming area. I hissed at the initial contact, the cold was a huge contrast to my flaming skin, but then sighed at the cooling effect, the burning receding slightly.