The Archer and the Learner

Warning: mention of child death, stillborns, and miscarriages

Rowan pulled the arrow on his bowstring, keeping one eye shut and the other fixed on the deer that was drinking from the stream. He tried not to put too much pressure on the bowstring. If he did, there was barely a doubt that it would snap. He mumbled, very quietly, so quietly that he couldn’t notice he was mumbling.

“Rowan!”

Out of surprise, the arrow loaded into the bowstring flew out of Rowan’s grasp and sped past the deer. Startled, the deer rushed out of the clearing and ran deeper into the forest.

Rowan grumbled, stood, dusted himself off, then rushed towards the stream. He waded through the knee-deep water and searched the surface for a flash of red: the color of the fletching. He grabbed it and shook it violently, water droplets flying off and landing on his clothes, face, and back in the water. 

“Rowan!” The voice that called Rowan sounded more like Rowan’s older sister, Eva. But he dismissed that thought, since she had moved out of their small village and to a larger, bustling city: something Rowan didn’t particularly like. He hated the heat, the noises, and so many people. How many people were there?

“Coming! I’m coming!” Rowan shouted and climbed up the small dirt cliff that led to their small cottage. Around its stone walls, unkempt wildflowers raged in a flourish of colors yet steered clear of the gravel path that wound and turned until you would reach the wooden door with its creaky hinges. Rowan rushed to the door, yanked it open, and froze.

“Rowan!” Eva, with her green eyes and black braid, rushed to Rowan and hugged him, Rowan surprised yet frozen.

“Hi,” he said through her crushing bear hug. “Why are you here?”

“That’s rude,” Rowan’s mother warned as she stirred the soup cooking over the hearth with a wooden spoon.

As Eva let go, Rowan answered, “Well, you know I wasn’t trying. But seriously, Eva wouldn’t just be here for supper. Did something bad happen?”

“No,” Eva’s husband, Evan, answered. He walked into the room, and by tradition kissed Rowan’s mom’s cheek, his wife’s cheek, and then a little girl’s cheek at the back of the room. “Your sister and I decided that Polly needed archery lessons.”

Rowan’s breath hitched. He realized that last time he had seen Polly, she had been a nearly-bald toddler, but now she was a one-digited kid with waist-length dark brown braids. She looked nothing like the blonde, short, weak toddler she was years ago. Now, she wore a white blouse and brown breeches instead of the nightgowns that went past her knees. She didn’t particularly dress like the other girls of Regsawlar, instead she dressed like a boy with a blouse and a girl’s head. With her high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and pointed nose, she looked like her mother. The only similarity to her father was the color of hair she had.

“She wants to learn archery? Just years ago she was playing dolls.”

“I’m nine, not three,” Polly answered, crossing her arms. Rowan looked at Eva, who smiled.

“Well, Rowan, you’re good at archery. It helps to be able to hunt, right? As the eldest, Polly should be able to provide for the family.”

I’m teaching her? Rowan thought. He didn’t really like when people watched him shoot. He’d rather be alone in case he made any mistakes. Which was three out of twenty, but still a solid reason.

“Isn’t it usually the oldest male who provides?” Rowan asked. “Not saying Polly shouldn’t be able to provide, but—”

“No, you’re correct,” Evan answered. “But we’re not sure if we can have another kid. Among seven kids, Polly’s the third.” Evan, Eva, and Polly’s glances hit the floor, and Rowan’s mother looked both sympathetic and surprised.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rowan answered. He had had no clue, but he had always wondered why Polly had no younger siblings, despite Evan and Eva’s excitement to have ten children. Rowan was suddenly grateful he had one niece and not zero. “But, sure. I’ll teach Polly archery.”

“Great!” Evan answered with a jovial grin. “You’ll start tomorrow.”

Day One

Rowan waited awkwardly outside the door as Polly pulled her boots on, hopping on one foot. Once she was done and had finished tying them, she shut the door behind her and stood beside Rowan.

Rowan’s bow was a stronger wood, and slightly larger than Polly’s lighter, weaker bow. Her hand grip was made of purple cloth, and Rowan’s was red. The feathers—also known as the fletching—were also purple on Polly’s and red on Rowan’s. Rowan had planned last night to teach Polly how to hold the bow properly, and load the arrows in. Then they’d go in for lunch, and for three hours they would practice hunting.

“Ready?” Polly asked, smiling as she looked at Rowan.

“I thought I was the one who should be asking that question.”

Laughing, the pair raced along the path and down the dirt hill that led into the forest. Once they got to the stream, Rowan started to teach Polly how to hold the grip with your non-dominant hand and to pull back the bowstring with your dominant hand. He taught her which eye was dominant (right, like usual), and then taught her how to position the nock of her arrow into the bow, pull back, aim, and let go. After two hours, they took a one-hour break until the lunch bell rang. They raced all the way back.

After lunch, Rowan and Polly set out. They went so far into the forest they saw a lone duck near a marsh surrounded by willow trees.

“Okay, so, load, aim, shoot,” Rowan whispered. “Aim for the neck.”

Polly fumbled and dropped her arrow, but then Rowan helped her load it. Her shaky hands didn’t help her aiming, and once she shot the arrow, it didn’t go far.

After much practicing around the marsh and after Rowan had shot a duck, they returned home.

Day Two

This time, Polly was ready and waiting at the front door once Rowan was awake. After he got ready, they set off for the day, racing to the stream. For thirty minutes, Rowan reviewed what Polly had learned the day before, and for another thirty minutes she practiced what she had learnt yesterday. Then, as Polly finally succeeded to hit one of the targets Rowan had set up (at the bottom of it, anyway, but still decent), Rowan thought about what he would teach her today: since she had learned how to load and shoot well enough, he decided aim was something she needed to learn: and how to keep her hands from shaking.

“You need to be okay within these trees,” he reminded her as he stood behind her, watching as she positioned herself to shoot the target. She took a few deep breaths, then shot. She landed on the second ring (20 points), and cheered. Rowan cheered with her.

For another two hours, the pair shot targets together, Polly getting better and better as she went. The farthest she got was the fifth ring (50 points), which was halfway towards the bullseye. That was good for a beginner.

They went in for lunch, then returned to the marsh, where Rowan caught a wild pig and Polly constantly failed to catch a duck. With Polly sad and Rowan tired, the two returned home.

Day Three

Polly and Rowan were groggy but both ready at the same time the next morning. They set out to the stream, where Polly again reviewed all she had learned: how to hold, shoot, and aim, and then she shot targets for thirty minutes until Rowan decided to teach her how physics worked.

After much arguing about “well if it’s fast enough it’ll go straight” and “you have to arc it” Rowan gave up and let Polly figure out how to aim her own way. After a lengthy game of hide-and-seek and a late lunch, the two returned to the marsh.

“You think you can catch a duck this time?”

“I don’t think, I know,” Polly answered confidently and got into position. She loaded. She aimed. She shot.

And hit a duck in the stomach.

Rowan was the one to wash off her arrow in the marsh, then carry the duck home, Polly behind with a triumphant grin.

That night they ate duck stew and congratulated Polly.

Day Four

Rowan and Polly stumbled out of bed the next morning. They ate breakfast slowly and walked sleepily to the stream, half-awake, if at all.

“Review?” Polly asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Review.” Rowan realized he didn’t have much more to teach Polly—for the next three days, the best Polly could do was practice. Of course, he would shoot targets with her, help her hunt, and correct her—but practice was what would teach Polly, better than Rowan.

Polly shot targets with Rowan for about an hour before they both sat under a tree and fell asleep.

The rustling of grass woke the duo up.

Rowan barely registered what he was seeing before Polly yanked him behind the tree and poked her head out. There, not too far away, was a doe with white spots. Rowan stared in awe with Polly before Polly looked at Rowan.

Do I shoot it? Polly mouthed. Rowan nodded.

Polly loaded her arrow’s nock into the bowstring, pulled it back, and took a few deep breaths as she aimed. She shot.

And it flew over the doe’s back.

“Shoot!” Polly yelled, frustrated, as the doe ran away. Rowan watched as it disappeared into the trees and the undergrowth.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Rowan assured. Before he could say anything more, his mother clanged the lunch bell and they returned home.

After lunch, they went to the marsh and practiced aiming and had a contest, then Rowan taught Polly how to load her bow quickly. After that, Rowan tried and failed to catch an animal and instead returned home empty-handed.

Day Five

Rowan and Polly raced out of the house for their fifth day. After this, Rowan thought, we have two days. He hoped by then Polly would be really good at archery. He could tell they both didn’t want to disappoint Evan and Eva.

They reviewed the basics and then had a target challenge, which of course Rowan won. So far, Polly knew the basics, aiming, and how to load arrows fast. After reviewing and lunch, they set out to the marsh.

“Hey, Polly, want a deal?”

Polly yawned. “What deal?”

“If you shoot a duck or a pig, you get the rest of the afternoon off.”

“Deal.”

Polly set out, and after five failed attempts, she finally shot a duck in the neck. She excitedly ran back to Rowan and told him, and after they cleaned the arrow and made the duck into meat, they played in the forest for the remainder of the day, until the fireflies and stars ignited the sky.

Day Six

“We have to leave.”

Eva sat at the breakfast table, sitting beside Evan and opposite Polly and Rowan, her and Rowan’s mother on the end, overlooking her family. Polly, Rowan, and his mother looked surprised.

“Why?” her mother asked before her little brother could. “Did something happen?”

“I’m pregnant.”

The air turned so thick you could cut it with a knife, and Polly didn’t look surprised.

“But what if it happens again?” Polly asked, scared. She ignored the concerned stares from her father, uncle, and grandmother, and kept her gaze in her mother’s matching eyes.

“I don’t know, sweetie. I tried to keep it a secret for longer in case it would, but it’s been three months and its heart is still beating and it's kicking hard.” She laughed alone, and her daughter smiled nervously.

“What if it’s a stillborn? Like Onyx or Raya?” Polly searched her mother’s eyes and saw worry, and in that moment both of their eyes were identical. A mother and her only—yet third—child.

“Well, the children in yours and I’s cardinal bells better be praying that it will live past three years old, like you.”

Later, Rowan gave Polly his red-tipped arrow in exchange for her purple-tipped arrow. He and his mother waved to Polly, Eva, and Evan as they rode away at the back of a flatbed wagon.