Impossible

I remember every lesson with my father. He was an ambitious man, always pursuing the favor of the nobles, lords and ladies. He spent most of his days giving lessons to their children, and hand crafting the most reliable bows they’ve ever held. My father was never at the head of the table, but he always found a spot nearby.

When I was young, I thought of myself as a tool of his. Another creation of his to show off. I would put on shows for the nobles. Puncture the center of a target from farther than any grown man, or split my own arrows showcasing pinpoint accuracy. Aside from my calming breathes before each shot, the most important thing was that I was silent. Seen and not heard. They would revel and cheer, I would wave, then stand behind my father until it was time to go.

My thirteenth summer, I began to question my role as my father’s tool. I began to rebel, to push back. I was not brave enough to tell my father how I felt. What I couldn’t say in words, I began to put into action. My chores became sloppy, my training purposeless. It clearly bothered him. Though he would scold me at times, he never questioned why I began to act out. Perhaps, he was also afraid of that conversation.

We were attending a celebration at Balvir Castle, home of Lord Savir. We were there to show our support to a new union. Two of the noble families becoming one, as their children were set to wed.

I took my usual place at a long table to eat and sit silently. Out of boredom I would watch the people, listen to their conversations. The children of the nobles would go with their caretakers. As the only child in the room, I didn't have much else to do. Watching the gluttonous men did accomplish one thing, it showed me exactly what I never wanted to become.

Why my father wanted to associate with these people was lost on me. He already had a reputation for his crafting skills. He could sell to them without attending every frivolous event they decided to host. I watched from a distance as he spoke to a table of drunken lords and ladies. When my father spoke to me every word had a purpose, a point. How does he laugh and smile with these people.

“Yes, come, I will show you.” I heard my father's voice cut through the blend of all the others.

“Boy.” Some long-bearded man yelled in my direction. “You’re father brags of your bow skills.”

“Yes.” I stared at the swine of a man. “He does.”

“Let’s have a wager.” The man said. “Ten bits of silver if you can shoot the guards bell from the rampart.”

“Father?” I looked to him as I always did.

“Go on son.” He encouraged me. “Show him what can be accomplished if one truly knows the way of the bow.”

Another advertisement. Another display.

“Sure. Let’s go.” I spoke.

I followed the bearded man and my father up some stairs and onto the rampart. A group of men followed behind us, placing their own bets. There wasn’t much wind. The stone beneath my feet was relatively level and sturdy. The wooden railing on the walkway was short enough for me to clearly see my target. It was one of the easier shots I was challenged to make on behalf of my father.

“That bell?” I asked the man. Pointing across the courtyard at a guard tower.

“Worried?” He laughs. “Your father seemed convinced you would hit it easily.”

I pulled the bow and a single arrow from my leather case. I listened as the men made bets. I heard my father telling them it would be foolish to bet against me. The best training. The best bow. The most reliable arrows. He boasted, spoke of my greatness. All I could think of was being my father's tool. The perfect tool, formed over years, but a tool. Always obedient, always reliable. Until that evening.

I brought the arrow to my bow and pulled. I focused my eyes on the bell, then to the Balvir crest on the wall of the tower. A bear standing over a field of red, with a single star at the top. I locked in just above the crest, and slightly to the left, to match the wind and distance of the shot. I released. The arrow flew across the courtyard. Straight and steady. The arrow landed in the chest of the bear on the crest.

The men yelled in excitement and groaned in disbelief. Some of the men who’ve seen me shoot before must have placed a wager on my side. The bearded man laughed and mocked my father.

“Ten bits.” He said with his hand extended.

My father handed over the silver without fuss. He looked not only defeated, but betrayed. I saw a sadness on his face that I had not seen in years. He knew it was an easy shot for me. My defiant joy quickly turned to guilt. I wanted to show my father I wasn’t a tool. I was becoming a man. But is this how a man should behave. Make my father look like a fool in front of drunken nobles with more wealth than brains.

“Sir.” I called to the bearded man. “Another bet? If I hit the bell, you give my father back his silver, if I miss, we will pay you another ten bits.”

“No.” My father yelled. “You had your chance and you missed.”

“Boy.” the bearded man called out. “You can shoot every arrow in your bag, and you wouldn’t hit the bell. Wait. Yes! Shoot will shoot every arrow. Ten bits per arrow.”

“No.” My father shouted again. “That is too much.”

“No longer so confident.” The bearded man said.

My father walked to my side to speak quietly. He warned me that the man would be angry if I hit the bell. I would make him look like a fool, and he would turn to violence. Yet, he also warned that he did not have the silver to pay the man if I were to miss again.

“You’ve put us in this situation son. You’ve put us in a place where it’s impossible to win. That man will spill my blood before the night is through.”

I wanted to show my father I was a man but made the mistakes of a foolish boy. I wanted to make it right, but my father fear was contagious. Heat rushed to my face and my heart pounded like drum.

I approached my bag and laid out the seven remaining arrows. I fire the first arrow. The bell rings.

“Luck.” The bearded man said.

I fired the second. It punctured the crest.

“What is this?” he questioned.

The bell. The crest. The bell. The crest. I go back and forth until I run out of arrows.

“It seems you owe my father his ten silver bits back.” I said to the man as I put my bow away.

“What kind of game is this?” The bearded man grunted.

“My son is unreliable this evening. That is all.”

“I should take your hand for swindling me.”

“No one has been swindled.” I said confidently. “Nobody has won; nobody has lost. It seems we are all even.”

The man stared me down as he handed the ten bits back to my father. The disappointed crowd dispersed, and everyone made their way back to the party. As soon as the rampart was clear my father commanded we leave right away.

We traveled out of the village in silence. More silence. As we turned onto the trail that leads to our home I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You treat me like a tool, father. A show. All you care about is showing off for the nobles. I wanted to show you that I’m more than another thing for you to craft. I’m more than a way for you to sell your bows. I’m becoming my own man now, and I could care less about what those people think of me. Even if that makes you disappointed in me.”

“I’m not disappointed.” He said calmly. “Is that why you think I bring you along to these events? No. One day I will be gone. With the skill you possess, fate will bring you many blessings and a sizable reputation. I bring you so you can understand that world. Understand those people. You have unmatched skills. Powerful men will want to expose you, use you. I wanted you to see their way of living, how they are, so you wouldn’t be fooled by them once I’m gone.”

“Why have you never said this?” I questioned. “You never say anything unless it’s about the way of the bow. Yet, at their parties you tell stories and laugh among them.”

“Yes.” He admitted. “I do pursue their favor. They are not great men, but they are powerful men. I wanted a good reputation I admit. I never meant to hurt you by doing so.”

He stopped walking and turned to face me.

“Son.” He said softly. “When your mother died, I had no clue what to do. She was everything to you. She fed you, cared for you when you were sick. Taught you to walk and talk, and how to tend to the garden and goats. All I knew was the way of the bow.”

“Father?” I looked him over.

“I was lost without your mother.” He continued. “I had a young boy to take care of. I could never do the job your mother would have. So, I taught you the one thing I knew I could teach you. The way of the bow. I wish I had more to offer you, the love and tenderness of your mother was irreplaceable. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of the man you have become.”

“Father, you don’t need to...” He shushed me immediately. For the first time in my life, I noticed a small puddle of tears forming in his eyes. He quickly clears them away before gesturing once again for me to remain silent.

“Just as I did my best to fulfill my obligation to you, you will do your best to fulfill your own. It won’t always be perfect. Even the best intentions don’t yield the best results right away. Stay true to yourself, do what you know is right. At the end, you will be happy, just as I am happy with the man you have become, in spite of the mistakes I've made.”