He gripped the tankard with both hands and stared down at the warped table between them. Leaning forward with his arms on the rough wood, his piercing blue eyes grew distant, and after a moment’s hesitation, he began to speak.
“When I was a child I became lost in the woods,” he said slowly, in a shallow voice that could barely be heard above the chatter of the tavern around them. “My family was traveling over the Blue Horn Mountains, not the biggest or most formidable range to be sure, but old beyond knowledge and treacherous to those who take them lightly. My father was a blacksmith, and we were going to the coast so that he might find work at one of the great shipyards that crowd Queen’s Bay.” The Bowman paused and took a tentative swallow of his ale before continuing. “Our party was two days below Broken Hammer Pass when I wandered into the woods alone. To be honest, I no longer remember what lured me into the trees that day. One moment I was happily playing and exploring a strange new world, and the next I was struck by the crushing realization that I had no clue where our camp lay. I ran in one direction then another, desperately trying to find my family. Alas, each frantic step only took me further into those timeless hills.”
Canute sat across the table transfixed, eyes focused intently on the Bowman’s pale face, which was framed by long strands of gleaming black hair. So captivated was he by the man across the table that his idle habit of stroking his thick blonde beard went ignored and his ale grew warm in his hand. However, as the story progressed a sense of deep uneasiness settled in Canute’s mind as if a sinister stranger were looking over his shoulder. His heart quickened and his muscles tensed. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his mouth became so dry that he could hardly swallow. With the corners of his eyes, he noticed the fire dim and shadows grow long. Darkness crept in from the walls as all sound but the Bowman’s voice faded away.
“For days I stumbled through the woods, screaming for my mother and weeping as I shivered through the nights. I drank water from streams and the crooks of trees to stay alive, but no matter how hard I searched, I could not find any food. As the sun set on the fifth day, I came across the largest tree I had ever seen. Its pale, gray bark was as smooth as leather, and it did not race up toward the sky like all the other trees around it. Instead, this sentinel of the forest expanded in every direction. Limbs bigger around than my body shot out and dipped nearly to the ground before twisting their way upward again. So dominating was the tree’s presence, that nothing grew around it, and only a thin carpet of copper leaves covered the forest floor.
“At the base of the tree, I saw a hollow that offered some semblance of shelter and was spacious enough to allow me to huddle inside. Numbness spread from my fingers and toes, steadily making its way up my extremities to my core. All feeling left my body, and I knew that I would not live to see the morning. When the last light had vanished and total darkness lay around me, I rested my head on the ground and wished. I wished not to be rescued or to see my parents again, I wished only for death to come quickly and take me away.
“No sooner had the words passed through my mind than the moon somehow shown bright and full through the tangle of branches above me. A column of silver light filled the space before me, a gentle but unwavering radiance. Out of the ground, in the center of the light, a shadow grew. Small at first but then it rose and expanded, like a gathering storm, until it towered over me. It did not blot out the light but used it to stand out in the darkness, a void so absolutely black that nothing could escape it.
“I sat up, pressing my back against the tree’s frigid bark, pushing until my muscles ached as if I could somehow force my way inside. My mind was flooded with terror and my heart pounded against the wall of my chest, like a panicked animal trying to escape its cage. Despite the freezing temperature, sweat poured from my skin while my lungs burned in a futile attempt to keep up with my body’s demand for air. The shadow had no form but shifted and flowed, seeming to move at random.
“‘You are right to be afraid,’ a deep voice said from within the shadow, ‘for I am more than you can possibly imagine’.
“What… what are you?” I thought, trying to speak but could not make the words come out.
“‘I have no name among mortals,’” it continued, reading my mind, “‘For I, and my kind, are older than all others. I was ancient when the first beings awoke and the father of beast crawled from his cave. Eons I waited for civilization to rise, and I have watched as countless kingdoms came into being and then faded away. Now I come to prolong your life and give you purpose, if, you will but accept me.’
“I sat there on the very edge of panic, my child’s mind unable to comprehend what was happening. I desperately wanted to flee, to run blindly through the dark forest away from the menacing shadow before me. But, the numbness in my legs had deepened, holding me in place more securely than any rope or chain.
“‘Only hold out your hands and say yes to take my gift, and you will not die this night.’”
“My earlier quiet resignation to die was now forgotten, replaced by an all-consuming fear that a far worse fate might soon befall me. With shaking hesitation, I slowly eased my arms forward until they were fully extended, and opened my hands. Willing to do anything not to upset this terrible thing I whispered, “yes.”
There, in my hands, appeared a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. The bow was carved from a single piece of wood so dark that its grain could scarcely be distinguished. Its entire length was a simple and smooth curve, boasting no decorations or frills. A subtle yet elegant weapon.
The quiver was made of a stiff leather that matched the bow’s dark color, but where the bow’s styling was plain, the quiver was intricately tooled. Wrapping around its thin cylinder, a raised scene depicted a giant bear locked in battle with a fearsome dragon. Black fur ringed the quiver’s opening and held in place a tight bundle of black quilled arrows.
Shifting the bow so that my hand rested at its mid-point, my fingers curled and gripped my future for the first time. Warmth spread from my palm up my forearm, pushing out the freezing numbness, and with it, my fear. Using the other hand, I slung the quiver across my back. There too warmth spread until all feeling returned to my body. Excited and strangely confident, I stood placing three fingers on the string and drew. There was stiff resistance at first but my arms swelled with power and the bow relented, allowing me to pull back until my fingers rested on my cheek. My arm did not tire as I held the string back, taking several deep breaths before carefully letting off the tension. Tearing my focus away from the bow, I looked up at the shadow and it said,
‘I am with you now, and the world will be forever changed’.
“The moonlight vanished and the shadow with it, leaving me once again alone in the cold dark. When dawn came again, I clutched the bow and tightened the quiver, then set off with long strides into the forest. The world around me was exactly the same but my perception of it had altered greatly. A hundred subtle details caught my eye, and tiny sounds filled my ears. The slope of the land and the position of the sun, the twisting of trees in the wind and the cry of a distant bird all whispered to me. My instincts led as I walked, through valleys and across streams. In the early evening, I flushed a rabbit from a thicket. Before I fully realized it, I nocked an arrow and drew the bow. Between heartbeats, I loosed and the first arrow I ever fired flew true. The rabbit could not so much as hop before it was struck in the chest and pinned to the ground. I sprinted to the spot, my mouth already watering at the thought of meat. The rabbit was still alive. Suffering as its life drained away. Reaching out, I tenderly placed my hand on its neck. Jagged black lines wove across my hand and the light disappeared from the rabbit’s eyes, dead and in pain no longer. Using the deceptively sharp arrowhead, I skinned and cleaned my kill. That raw rabbit, eaten under the shelter of a leaning boulder, is, even now, the most wonderful thing I have ever tasted.
I walked through the night to stay warm, guided by the moon and stars. As the sun began to rise, I heard voices and ran towards them, weaving nimbly around the trees. It was a party of woodcutters. They fed me and got me back to my grateful parents, who cried tears of joy as they scooped me up in their arms.”
He paused and looked up for the first time, staring straight into Canute’s eyes.
“I never told anyone what happened or figured out who it was I spoke to that night. I have never heard the voice again, but to this day, when I hunt or fight and the tide turns against me when all hope seems lost, I feel a darkness spread through my body. My aim becomes true and my movements swift in a way that is not natural. I did something that night, the repercussions of which I do not know.”
He blinked and the spell was broken. The room lit up and warmth returned to the tavern. He took a deep draught from the tankard, and as he did, Canute looked in the corner at the dark bow and ornate quiver that rested there. He grasped the eagle’s head amulet around his neck and cautiously reached into the small of his back for the dagger attached to his belt. When he turned back, the Bowman was still drinking, tilting the tankard high in front of his face. Wrapping his calloused fingers around Last Hope’s familiar wood and bone handle, Canute wondered with mounting trepidation if this night his father’s dagger would live up to its name. The Bowman stopped and lowered his drink, setting it beside the untouched platter of meat and cheese on the table. A sickening cold crawled up Canute’s spine when he saw that the Bowman’s eyes had gone completely black. Not shiny or glossy, but a total lack of color. Like the depths of a cave that has never seen the sun.
“What do you plan on doing with that?” the Bowman asked in a grim voice that was not his own. He seemed to grow and balled his fist on the table as he stared down at Canute. Though shocking, the changes were slight and passed unnoticed by the tavern’s other patrons. Canute steeled his heart and met the Bowman’s gaze. Wearing a stony expression, he brought the dagger forward and held it low between them to avoid attracting attention. Firelight danced across the blade’s wavy patterned steel and Canute spoke,
“Rodrick, we have traveled a long and dangerous road together, one not many men would take. Hardship and pain, joy and victory, we stood side by side through them all. Ours is not an easy life, but I would wish for no other.” Then, with one fluid motion, he reached forward grabbed the chunk of meat and cut it cleanly in half. With a flick of the wrist, he upended the dagger and jammed it down into the table so that it stood on its own. Not breaking eye contact, he picked up the choicest piece of meat and held it out to the Bowman. “So eat well, my friend, for we have a steep climb and a hard fight ahead of us tomorrow.” Grease dripped down onto the table and a woman came in through the tavern’s front door, chased by the icy winds that raged outside. Canute didn’t move, not a twitch or a blink. In the corner, a traveling musician tuned his lute, and at the bar, the tavern owner’s daughter flirted easily with a young, naive looking farmhand. The Bowman squeezed his fist tighter, scowling down at Canute. Neither man backed down as long moments ticked steadily by.
“Thank you.” the Bowman whispered as the weight of years fell from his shoulders. His hands relaxed and the black in his eyes swirled away, like thick smoke dispersed by a strong wind, leaving behind the familiar bright blue. Smiling warmly, he took the meat, shoved it into his mouth and scooped up their tankards.
“The next round is on me,” he exclaimed, then stood and walked over to the bar. Canute leaned back in the chair and clenched his hands to stop them from trembling.
Just One Quick Story 