Solo Chasing Arrows

[Zukwa]

9th Day of Fall in 514 A.V.


Light fell in bright beams through the gaps in the foliage of the jungle canopy. One such beam fell on the striking figure of Seku, Tokoh of Zukwa’s Fang. She had taken him out of the city and past the jungled areas inhabited by the clans to the true wilds. This week she had taken each member of the Fang aside to train them one on one. It was Zukwa’s turn.

Though he would not voice it, he was slightly disappointed at the whole endeavor. Seku gave little constructive advice, but instead kept insisting he did not understand what she was saying. Zukwa had to be careful with his temper. The jungle was hot and after the monsoons it was unnaturally humid. Both of them were becoming irritated. But Seku was Tokoh, and he was her Rekrut. He could not show her disrespect when she gave up her time to train him personally.

“Just watch!” Seku said irritably for the umpteenth time in the past hour. She took one of her three quivers filled with arrows and stuck four into the dirt beside her. “This is instinct archery, not think archery. You’ve got to weigh everything in your mind as you loose the arrow. We don’t always have time to go through every step of the process. Sometimes it is kill or be killed. Always it is kill or be killed.” Her words sunk into his mind. He understood the concept, understood it all too well. That was all the more reason he was frustrated at being unable to put it into practice.

Tokoh Seku loosed a series of four arrows, all at different targets. All hits within the span of a dozen ticks. Her shoulders bunched and loosened as she went through the motions seemingly effortlessly. Zukwa wanted that sort of skill. He wanted to be like her. Deep in his mind he entertained the selfish fantasy of having such skill with his bow that he caused trepidation amongst other Myrians, as Seku did, and amongst the Dhani. Outwardly he told all that any skill he had was in service to Myri, and it was. Of course it was. But he dreamt of a time when Myri’s military officials valued him specifically for his skills, and others feared and respected him. Seku had that to an extent, though she seemed to disregard it.

Zukwa did not say anything as she turned back to him. “Like that.”

He shrugged and pulled four of his arrows from the quiver and stuck them in the ground as she had done. He glanced over at the Tokoh. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, eyes appraising him closely. Her face was, as usual, painted in a crude, pale skull. She always said it intimidated people. It did.

Zukwa exhaled loudly and began. He yanked the arrow from the dirt and set it against his right fist, which clinched at the composite shortbow. He lifted, pulled, and aimed in one motion. His arm protested against the strain of the bow and he felt the familiar cutting kiss of the string on his thumb. He afforded himself a moment to aim, one moment too long. He loosed the arrow and did not bother to see where it went.

He frantically grabbed at the second arrow and set it against his fist. It bounced in the rush and he had to reset it before repeating the draw. Once again the strain on the arm and the biting caress of the bowstring on his thumb. He let his eyes drop to the first arrow for a fraction of a moment as he aimed in on the second tree. It had fallen slightly short.

Zukwa loosed the second arrow after a longer pause to aim. He would rather hit than attempt such smooth accuracy as Seku was able to achieve.

“Stop, stop, stop. You are doing it wrong.”

[Zukwa]

“Do not think so much about the setting of the arrow and the stance of the archer. Your mind should already be on the loosing of the arrow and the flight path.” Seku said, moving her hand forward, mimicking the flight of an arrow. “Live in the moment of release. Try again.”

Zukwa grabbed another two arrows and embedded them next to the ones still in the dirt. His heart was not in it, shame at failure overcoming any resolve to succeed. Before he started he stared out at the trees. He tried to imagine how he would release an arrow from here to hit each. This ‘instinct archery’ that Tokoh Seku spoke of must be reliant on the archer knowing intimately exactly how to set up distance shots without thought. He would have to know exactly how to shoot an arrow at any distance. In battle there was rarely enough time or calmness to think about your shots.

Seku punched him hard in the arm. The Rekrut turned an accusing glance at his Tokoh. “You can do this. I would not have you in my Fang otherwise.” Rare praise. It helped his resolve nonetheless.

Zukwa once again mimicked each shot. Then he glanced down to grab his first arrow. He felt the curved edge of her bow on his chin. She yanked him back violently. “You will not look down. Draw not from the ground, but from where your arrows will be in combat. Eyes on the enemy, Zukwa of the Poisoned Arrow.” Her words were gentle, a rare tone she took only when instructing her soldiers.

Zukwa transfixed his gaze on the first tree, picturing every part of the shot in his mind all as one fluid blur. He reached for an arrow in his quiver. He set the thin rod against his fist and let the soft goose feathers brush against callus fingertips. Both arms went up and his eye never left the spot on the tree that he wanted to hit, that he wanted to kill. The rest of his body simply aligned itself to the shot. The eye was the focus, the body moved in it’s wake. Mengintai.

He did not know why he thought of the group in that moment, but it seemed to fit.

He loosed but did not wait to watch the arrow hit. He shifted his gaze to the next target. The next enemy. His hands moved in a blur once again. He felt the strength in the bow as he forced it to bend to his will. His body fell into place behind the killer gaze, the hunter’s eye. He loosed again. The arrow made a sweet whirl of song as it left him behind. He felt the wind of it quake his shallow cheek for a moment before it settled. To him the bow was the finest of all man’s deathly instruments. It harnessed the wind to deliver death.

He finished the exercise, proud that he had not fumbled anything.

“Two misses.” Seku said. His heart fell.

“Not bad though. Much better than before. You will do it again.” She said cheerfully. Watching her soldiers become better at killing Myri’s enemies was almost the happiest she could be, besides killing them herself.

A jungle bird called out to its fellows in the distance and the hum of insects bleated on. Zukwa breathed in the jungle’s life. What more could a man ask for than this, the center of Caiyha’s wondrous creations?

[Zukwa]

His shoulders were warm now, the sun had moved and Syna’s touch fell lightly upon them. Zukwa had the light to his back and the jungle was still. It was an almost perfect scenario for shooting. The stillness of the jungle was betrayed by the chaos of its sounds however. Animals called to each other and insects were endlessly buzzing or chirping. The land was a live and vibrant. Tokoh Seku and Zukwa were only a pair of living things in a continent of thriving natural systems of life. Zukwa let that wash over him for a moment. He was a speck in both the kingdoms of Myri and Caiyha. It humbled and exhilarated him all at once.

He found the concept novel and oddly comforting when in stressful situations. He often let his mind drift there when he needed to calm himself. Having Tokoh Seku standing over him in judgement was indeed stressful. Her appraising look was critical and unforgiving. Her only concern was not his pride, but the effectiveness of the Fang. She was always the militant leader to him.

He made a mental note to remember that for when he had his own Fang to command, whenever that far away day would come.

Eager to redeem himself, the youthful archer let his hand fly in a practiced motion to his quiver yet again. The arrow slid from the boiled leather of the quiver with a dull rasping that it seamed only arrows made. It was like a subtle herald of death… if the archer could aim. As he set the shaft he raised his bow arm as well. The fluidity of the entire movement was on the verge of becoming second nature to him. He could feel the muscles in his body relaxing when he shot, becoming more used to the actions. It was a glacially moving process, but he was at least walking in the correct direction on the path to mastering the bow.

In the same movement he raised his fist a fraction and straightened the thumb of his draw hand. The arrow sped off through Caiyha’s jungle. Every time he let his thumb free the string of the bow he felt like the gatekeeper of come grand beast of destruction throwing wide the kennel hatches. The arrow was a finely crafted blade of fury, and he the open who willed it across the jungle’s depths. It whistled subtly as it sped away, but he was not paying it any more mind.

Zukwa had already set another shaft, this one’s white goose feathers resting softly against the knuckle of his thumb. He would send it into another tree like the one before. A pulled in the string, a bending of the bow, muscles strain momentarily, then release. Draw, aim, release. Again. Draw, aim, release. Again.

Four solid hits, though two only struck the trees at the very base, and he had moved a lot slower than his Tokoh had. She seemed pretty pleased with his work though.

“We may turn you into a combat archer after all, Zukwa.” Seku laughed. “Let’s try another exercise.”

The Tokoh took from her own quiver a few arrows painted black. She liked to do that for some reason. She had never elaborated on it to him, and he feared to press her. Walked behind the Rekrut, Seku dropped the arrows into his quiver. He felt them slide home.

“I’m going to shoot a target, then you shoot the same target. But try to shoot as soon as you know the tree my arrow is going to hit.” Seku explained the rules. Their arrows flew very fast. Zukwa would not be able to loose an arrow as hers hit home. But he would indulge her, as was his duty.

They began their exercise. Seku would whip her arm around behind her and in a blur an arrow would tear through the air in front of her. Zukwa would scramble to follow suit. His arrow would often miss or hit late and he would let the stress get to him. It clouded his vision and marred his ability.

“Stop your worry. Just follow as I shoot. Your worry is a product of your mind, and that means that you are the only reason you are missing.” From Seku without looking away from the arrows she fired.

It made sense.

Don’t worry about the misses, just shoot. Let the flow of the archery wash over you, Zukwa. He told himself that that would force him to disregard the pressure of keeping up with Seku.

Thud.

He had hit the same tree as his Tokoh. A smile cracked through under the face cover he wore.

[Zukwa]

Worry was the enemy. The mind and the eye must be clear to process every aspect of the shot well. Zukwa must stay calm as he fired. Such a task was easy when presented with little more than the familiar training yard and a straw adversary. In the Caiyha’s wild jungle things were more vicious. A Myrian with a bow was no longer the most dangerous thing there.

His mind flashed momentarily to that day so long ago. A Myrian boy fleeing through the jungle, dhani behind him. The next arrow he sent downrange missed by nearly two feet. The memory had rocked him, unsettled him to the core. Seku would not accept such an excuse. Dead friends were the mantle warrior wore. She must have her own to bear, and they did not trouble her enough to affect her job. She was still firing and he was still trying to ride her wake.

The bow’s polished horn gleamed in the sunlight as Zukwa bent the curved arches. The string gleamed red a bit from the blood from his thumb. He had broken the skin yet again. Someday it would be so callused there that it would not break open after hours of shooting, but not today. The arrow sat, potentially lethal, in waiting against his fist as he watched her arrow fly. It was ready to cause pain at the flicking of a thumb.

He loosed again, did not wait to watch it. Seku never waited, she knew it would strike. The sun beat against his shoulders, as if comforting him. The last arrow in his quiver was drawn with a smooth fluidity. He set it against the fist and brought it up to hone in on the tree, though Seku’s arrow was still in flight. Zukwa let the tip of his own follow it and he released almost before Seku’s arrow found her mark.

The arrow’s song was soft note of wind being cut. It was the twanging rasp of the bow bending back into it’s normal shape. It was the dull thud of the arrowhead embedding itself in the trunk of a tree deep in the jungles of Falyndar. Zukwa’s final arrow hit home in the same tree as Seku’s. He chose to ignore the fact that it was great distance higher and probably would not have hit the same target if they were aiming at anything smaller than great old jungle trees. Success, to an extent.

“Improvement. You have shown you can at least fire your weapon without having a panic attack.” Seku said, her jibe had an air of steal behind the humor. It was as though she would have unleashed a fury on him, but kept it hidden now. She was always ready to exact her due, and he must be aware of that. The moment of insight passed and Zukwa smiled.

“Thank you, Tokoh. I will continue to fire like this, as if I were in combat at all times.” He said to avoid the uncomfortable silence. To a youthful male Myrian, such things as battle tested female Tokoh were an unnerving sight. Seku especially made the archer feel as though he stood beside a real tigress, with not but his own thin skin for protection. But at other times she felt like a great blessing sent by Myri to protect him from the dangers of the jungle. He wasn’t sure what she was now, as he looked upon his commander.

Half shaded by the canopy and half bright and detailed from Syna’s touch, Seku stood as a harsh contrast to the jungle. She had white face and arm paint on and a bone helm. The longbow in her hand could easily kill a beast or a man at a hundred paces and further. She was a wasp, and the jungle beasts that meandered through the wilds around them had no idea.

Zukwa hoped she would take him hunting with her after their practice, but she did not. She told him to stay and continue practicing until it became too dark, then to return to the city. She gave no explanation of her own whereabouts, simply drifting off into the trees. Before she was out of eyesight Zukwa was already having trouble discerning her from the shaded trunks of trees. She moved without much sounds and he watched until he was sure she was gone. Then he went and gathered the arrows to start over.

[Traverse]

Grade Pending on Ledger Update