A Single Arrow

Ravaged homes lay behind Zaas. Smoke rising from the ashes, a stench rising from the bodies, and wisps of leftover hope from the dead that the living would soon find safety.

 Part of him thought he was surely dead. 

After all, not even the black hairs on his arms seemed to be twitching as he lay beneath the jutting stone.  Hours and hours he had lain there as the fighting had ensued outside the safety of the stone. Hours and hours had he clutched the new, shiny, and smooth quiver with its untouched arrows- of which only one had not fallen out in his rush for cover under the stone. Hours and hours had he focused on just breathing. 

Zaas wasn’t sure when the fighting had stopped. Just as he wasn’t sure how many had both survived and escaped. If any at all. From where he lay– beneath the jutting stone at the edge of the cliff- he could see some captive survivors.

Across from him was another cliff. Between the two cliffs was a deathly fall that went on for miles.  Huddled at the edge, heads down were the captives from the battle. Zaas was trying not to look at them because the sight filled him with shame. 

The battle had barely started when he had slipped under the rock and had stayed there the whole time. 

“A witless soldier am I. I don’t even deserve to be called a soldier” he thought miserably. If anyone deserved to die first, he thought, it was his frightened, useless self. 

But it was easy to keep his eyes on something else other than captives. 

On the rock wall of the opposing cliff was an extremely deep carved out area.  When Zaas looked down from his little perch he could see, in the opening, was a creature. A massive thing that had led the battle, the one that he fled. Ugly mud-green scales covered it and it sat on six legs and a stubby tail portroded. Extending from its scaly neck was a spotty mane, full of knots. But it was none of these that Zaas found most off turning about the creature’s appearance. Its face had no eyes. There was not even an impression of where the eyes should be, the approximate area was simply covered in scales like the rest of his face. 

Zaas was terrified. 

Terrified by its appearance and the great growling and howling sounds it made during the fight. It had done the most damage during the fight. Everyone knew that there was a patch of pink skin at the center of its chest, it was the only weak spot, but no one had been able to strike it. If none of them could, Zaas was nearly certain he could not either, especially with just one shot. In general, it was a nearly impossible shot and the very thought of attempting it sent shivers down from his spine to his toes. 

The creature shrieked suddenly and Zaas flinched but froze again quickly as if the creature could smell him from this distance. A soldier came to the edge of the cliff and grabbed one of the captives, binding him quickly with a long length of rope. He attached the other side of the rope to a stake driven in the ground. The soldier continued shoving the prisoner towards the cliff edge. Zaas’s eyes widened. Surely he knew that man despite his bloodied face and pronounced limp. His mind flashed to the last thing his teacher had said to him.

*****

“Zaas Hyerim, your word is courage. Lian Marr,  your word is benefactor, Miles James, your word is audience…” 

Zaas’s attention slipped away from the instructor as he dwelt on the word ‘courage’, annoyed with the assignment. Of all the things, why would they write more words about a single word? The assignment only required a short paragraph but the boy felt exasperated anyway. 

At home, Zaas told his mother about the word and his assignment. 

His mother smiled and stared slightly off into the distance after she heard his word.

“Courage. It is a beautiful word is not? Did you know its root comes from ‘heart’? To do something with courage is to do it with your heart.”

Zaas rolled eyes, remarking about his mother being a hopeless romantic.

*****

The soldier pushed the man off the cliff and Zaas was yanked from the seemingly distant memory. The soldier finished lowering his teacher.

He dangled there, helpless. 

The monster violently stuck its head out and slammed its mouth over his teacher and in a span of a few seconds, he was gone. 

As shallow as his breathing had been, it  became more so. 

The boy had not felt so incapacitated in his life. He hadn't done anything during the battle and he still had yet to do anything even as his numb mind yelled at him to do something. 

The creature shrieked again. 

A soldier started making his way to the captives. 

Zaas felt the urge to vomit. 

Carefully, he turned the other way. He could not watch that happen again. 

“If only I was brave enough,” he thought. 

“If only I could make the shot.”

Theoretically, he thought it could happen. It would have to be done at an atrocious angle, one of which he wasn’t sure he was capable of.  Behind the shelter of the rock, soldiers were patrolling, so he would have to let the arrow go quickly. He wasn’t sure he could do it before an enemy struck him from behind. 

“MY PEOPLE HAVE COURAGE!”

Zaas startled and his blood froze.

He recognized that voice. Unwillingly he turned back, praying, praying that it came from the top of the cliff. 

“HAVE COURAGE, ALL OF YOU.” 

Zaas’s heart sank as his eyes did. 

His mother was tied, being lowered to the mouth of the creature. 

She was flailing left and right, making it difficult for the soldier above to lower her, so he was doing so slowly. 

“HAVE COURAGE, FATHERS AND MOTHERS! HAVE COURAGE SONS AND DAUGHTERS.”

She was dangerously close to its mouth. 

Zaas wished himself dead.

“HAVE COURAGE MY SON. ZAAS, HAVE COURAGE!”

Something shattered in him as his mother yelled the words and the demon beast enveloped her whole. 

“Have courage, have courage. With heart.” Zaas thought, adrenaline moving at an unreal pace through him. 

He wasn’t sure whether the feelings growing inside him were anger, sadness, rage, grief or combination of them all. But he knew he would follow his mother’s words. 

“Have courage, have courage, have courage,” he whispered.

He laid the quiver down and took the single, precious arrow from it. He sat up, crouching so as not to be visible over the stone. Arrow strung, he took a deep breath, knowing he would have a split second to see the pink spot and strike it. 

“Have courage, have courage, have courage.” 

Zaas stood up, hanging the quiver on his arm. He was vaguely aware of the buzzing noise of soldiers behind him, moving toward him, but they would not reach him in time. He moved the edge of the cliff, arrow ready, and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. 

He jumped. 

His hair flew up and the cold air bit his cheeks. 

The spot. 

He released the arrow exactly as he became in-line with it. 

He kept falling, moving faster and faster. 

Above him blood spurted suddenly, bursting nearly ten feet forward. 

He kept falling. 

Zaas’s senses were overcome, emotions flooding. “I made the shot.” An urge to weep overcame him but he could not because his speed would not allow it. 

“I made an impossible shot.” 

More than anything, relief was what he felt. Even though he had not been able to see the spot from his first vantage point he had still struck true. 

He kept falling. 

Silently he thanked his mother for her words. Silently, he hoped his people would escape. Silently, he rejoiced because he had helped them. 

He kept falling. 

He brought his quiver to his chest and crossed his arms, as a soldier ought to.

He kept falling. 

He was moving faster than he had ever, faster than his arrow, and faster than he’d even dreamed of moving. 

He kept falling. 

With each ‘whoosh’ of the air, he was sure he surely hit the ground next. 

He kept falling. 

As he fell the last several feet, he only had one thought. 

“With Courage.” 

He stopped falling.