An Archer's Reckoning

The sun still rested at the base of the mountains, casting a glow across the blue of the endless sea. I sat on the front steps of Larinda’s house, leaned comfortably against the railing, watched as villagers began their day. Passing locals greeted me with broad smiles and vigorous waves. A few offered respectful bows. I stood and breathed deeply, closing my eyes to fully enjoy the clean, salty breeze that never stopped rolling in from the ocean.
The whooshing sound of flapping wings startled me out of my reverie.
When I opened my eyes, Órla stared up at me from the ground a few paces away. I marveled at how quickly she’d grown from an awkward, fuzzy baby owl into a majestic, fully grown adult. The dusty brown that had dominated her feathers now shimmered snow-white. Her only remaining color was the breathtaking gold of the feathers on her chest that glimmered in the sunlight. In all my time in the mountains, I’d never seen a creature with feathers, skin, or fur to rival her golden plumes.
“Are you ready to resume our journey, Bond-Mate?” Órla asked formally.
I quirked a grin. “I can’t recall the last time you used that title with me, little one. Feeling nostalgic?”
“Hardly. I found you lost, stumbling through the woods, not even recognizing your magic within. It is better if we keep our eyes on the future, not the past.” She turned away and began picking her feathers with her beak.
I shook my head and watched her preening ritual.
Órla’s feathers weren’t the only things that changed. Her voice, once childlike and playful, now carried the husky tones of a woman in her middle years. Her rich timbre warmed me as she spoke, comforted me even, though her pensiveness was unsettling. That was new as well.
“Are you all right? You seem more, I don’t know, serious than normal.” I crouched down, then reached out and stroked her neck.
“The currents are stirring. I fear we have little time.” Despite the obvious pleasure of my scratching, her deep rumble and strangely formal words were more of a warning than the flames of a signal pyre atop a mountain peak.
Before I could reply, the door behind me flew open and Larinda barged out, the gold-turbaned Keeper in tow. Larinda smiled at me, warm and toothy.
I climbed to my feet and offered a hasty bow.
“Ah, m’ boy. ’Tis a sad day seein’ ya leave us.” She wrapped me in a tight, bony embrace. I eyed the Keeper. He chuckled at my discomfort but held his tongue.
Larinda stepped back as Órla flapped to rest on the railing. The old woman turned to the owl, and the skin around her eyes crinkled as her smile broadened. She placed a palm on Órla’s back and held it there for a long moment. I couldn’t hear what passed between them but was certain they had spoken volumes.
“Come inside. I have a few t’ings for ya,” Larinda said, turning abruptly toward the door.
“I love presents, and she’s ancient. This should be really good!” Órla whispered in my mind as she flapped to my shoulder, the tiny girl resurfacing with a giggle. I couldn’t suppress a grin at her sudden change in tone. That was the Orla I knew and loved.
We walked through the building to the lush atrium in its center, Larinda’s walled-in paradise of trees, flowers, and pond containing brightly colored fish. Órla hopped from my shoulder and dove into the pond, where she began bathing and ignoring the humans who obviously didn’t know a good opportunity when they saw one.
Larinda settled onto her oversized wicker throne and motioned for the Keeper and me to sit in a pair of smaller chairs facing her.
“Declan, why ya never wear a collar like everybody on t’ mainland?” Larinda asked.
I furrowed my brow. “Uh, well, I never knew I had magic before. Until I came here. I didn’t deserve the gold.”
“Pshaw! Dumbest t’ing I ever heard!” She waved a hand in the air, eyed me a moment, then shook her head. “Guess I can’t blame ya for not knowin’.”
“Sure you can. He really was a blind little baby until I took him under my wing!” Órla squawked from the pond, unable to miss a free shot.
“Thanks a lot, partner.” I turned and winked at Órla. “Nice to know you’ve got my back.”
When I turned back toward Larinda, a small bundle wrapped in burlap tied with rough twine rested in her gnarled hands. As she stretched it toward me, her lips curled and her eyes sparkled.
I stood and took the bundle with both hands.
“Spirits, no!” I cried as the garden suddenly began to blur and spin.
Nausea welled in my gut as something inside Larinda’s gift flashed through the burlap with the brightness of a noonday sun.
Faces flashed before me. Towers and fields. Armies and banners. Ancient, forgotten places.
Atikus fled, his robes flowing behind. Blood dripped with each stride.
The mountains? A peak? Arrows whizzed by and thudded into nearby trees.
Keelan staggered, his mouth agape. Three arrows jutted from his chest, two from his back.
Saltstone burned. The billowing of smoke crowned the licking of flames above rooftops.
Ayden lay unmoving on the cobbles. His auburn hair floated in a pool of his own blood.
Somewhere different. Somewhere distant.
Snow shrouded bodies.
So many bodies.
Another place. Too quick to see.
A woman in red with flowing black hair.
The world shook.
Mountains wailed.
The Phoenix . . .
Ash blanketed all.
Then Larinda was before me again, and I swayed.
I tried to brace myself on the arm of her chair, but the floor rose to meet my head.
Everything turned black.
My eyes fluttered open to find Larinda and the Keeper kneeling over me, concern creasing their foreheads. Órla stared unblinking from atop my chest. I wondered how much time had passed with me sprawled on the garden’s path. The morning sky had grown bright above the open canopy of the courtyard’s trees.
I fought through pain to lift my head and meet Órla’s gaze. “Did you see any of that?”
“I felt your dizziness but saw nothing. You had visions?” Órla asked.
I laid my head back and rubbed my eyes as I spoke. Everything hurt.
“Yeah. Bits and pieces. Nothing I could see long enough to understand. They came so fast I barely saw one before the next one hit.”
The Keeper placed a hand on my head, and a warm glow emerged from his palm. The throbbing pain and dizziness ebbed.
“You hit your head pretty hard, but it should be all right now. Tell us what you saw,” the Keeper said.
“Atikus was running. I couldn’t tell if someone was chasing him or if he was running toward something. He looked terrified. The forest flashed. I was looking at one of the peaks, near a signal pyre. Everything seemed quiet. The wood of the pyre was dry.”
I paused, trying to remember details.
“I don’t know where, but wooden houses and shops burned. Smoke billowed high above the trees. There wasn’t much left, but ashes and charred shells of buildings wouldn’t stop burning, as if the fire was somehow alive.” I squeezed my eyes shut. It reminded me of something.
The visions from my test, maybe?
“Ayden . . .” My voice caught. “Oh, Spirits—”
Sobs racked my chest for long moments before I gathered myself and whispered again.
“Then there was a woman in a long red gown. I know this sounds crazy, but she was on top of a building, standing by a massive statue. A dark-red mist swirled around her. The whole sky turned crimson. She felt wrong somehow.
“I saw Atikus.” I sucked in air. “He was lying face up on snowy ground. His eyes were wide but saw nothing. Blood was everywhere.”
“Sweet Spirits.” Larinda leaned back against her throne. Her hand covered her mouth.
Tears streaked down my face.
Órla spoke, her voice deep and grave. “What else did you see? We need to hear all of it. We need to know.”
I wiped my eyes and propped myself up on my elbows sending Órla tottering a few paces away. “There was a man with silver hair. He wore regal clothing and . . . He was walking through a town square, then he was lying on a bed with his eyes closed.
“Then a teenage girl in a golden gown. It wasn’t just trimmed in gold. It was golden. I saw her over and over, but in every image, she was running. She looked terrified . . . but strong.
“Then there were soldiers, more soldiers and archers and pikemen than I could count. There were so many . . .”
I reached a hand to my face and covered my eyes. My breathing heaved.
“Saltstone . . . Saltstone burned. The gates were ruined. Wide cracks sprouted across the Mages’ tower. It shattered, and the top third fell. The whole thing crumbled.”
The Keeper rocked backward as if punched. “That is not possible!”
“What was all that?” I asked.
Larinda leaned forward and helped me stand. “More of yer magic is awakening. Ya have th’ Sight.”
I stared blankly, so she continued. “I only knew one other t’ have th’ Sight. She tried t’ explain it t’ me once: ‘Sight shows what has been, what is, and what may be.’ I never really understood. She said ’tis confusin’ and ya never know what’s now or t’en or still t’ come or may never come. She said one t’ing was always true: Visions came wit’ great emotion—mostly pain or sadness—and most of t’em were true, at least in one way or anot’er.”
The Keeper picked up as Larinda’s voice fell. “The Sight is magic’s warning beacon. It is the Phoenix or the Well—we are not sure which—raising an alarm for things that may happen if the path is not altered. Given everything else you have learned about your magic, I am not surprised the currents have spoken through you.”
A memory tried to surface.
I grasped for it, but comprehension was just out of reach.
Something about a shimmering mist curling around me, following me. I can almost see it swirling up from the floor. Spirits, I’m going mad.
Larinda took my hand in hers. “Declan, ya are t’ key. Ya are th’ one who must learn th’ truth and alter th’ path.”
“Me?” I shook my head. “I came here looking for help, but I don’t know how to stop a war or change history. That’s crazy.”
“T’is what ya’ve been preparin’ for, Declan. Ya came in search of help for yer people, and magic has given yer people ya.” Larinda smiled, and I caught a touch of sadness in her eyes. She couldn’t know everything I would face, but she seemed to understand the weight of the burden now resting on my shoulders.
“I’m just one man against a whole nation and who knows what else. What if I’m not enough?” I ran a hand through my hair, my eyes pleading as they found Larinda’s.
She squeezed my hand. “Ya are so much more than just one man, and yer not alone. The Daughter will be wit’ ya. Always.”
I was startled when the serene voice of a wise queen drifted from Órla’s beak. “Alone, you are powerful. Together, we are the shield that guards the world of magic. Bond-Mate, do not question whether you, alone, are enough. We must be enough.”
There was a gentle reprimand in her words, threaded with a depth of love and compassion that flowed through our bond. I took the hand Larinda was holding and cupped the owl affectionately. Warmth poured into me.
“You have grown into quite the little owl, my friend. I could hope for none better,” I said, gathering myself again.
“You are growing wise. Finally.” She strutted about, her husky voice contrasting with her comical dance. Despite everything, I found myself smiling.
The Keeper inclined his head. “You will need to think through those images, remember them. Their warnings may become clearer over time. Now, Larinda, I believe you were about to give the boy a gift.”