Chapter 42 - Bow

Northern Facility, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein, Year 986

Edith sighed, and this one, like the ones before it, was just a little louder than the last. Amara glanced back at the other girl who was sitting against the cell walls, her arms crossed and her finger tapping along her arm. It often struck Amara how normal it had become to see those bandages covering Edith’s skin. Not even a year ago they’d seemed so unnatural and grotesque, impossible to reconcile with her image of the girl. Now they were simply another piece of it.

Amara glanced around, but aside from a few curious glances, no one else approached Edith. Amara scooted closer as the other girl sighed again, this time so loud that it could only be purposeful.

“Yes?”

The girl immediately snapped her head around to face her, her eyes lighting up in the way they always did when she successfully managed to gain someone’s attention. Perhaps realizing this, Edith coughed and quickly schooled her features into a more serious expression. She leaned closer, whispering so that only Amara could hear.

“I keep hearing someone crying at night,” she said. “But I can’t tell who.”

Amara blinked owlishly.

“At night?”

Edith nodded vigorously. “Yeah, uh, it’s been harder to sleep lately. I think it might be one of the new things they’re testing.” She shuddered, and Amara frowned. She’d heard that the magicians had been trying different experiments lately. She hadn’t experienced them herself, not yet at least, but she’d noticed enough differences in her cellmates’ behavior and the wounds they came back with to confirm that it was probably true.

“Anyway,” Edith continued with a frown, “I keep hearing someone at night, but I can’t tell who it is.” Her eyes darted over to the other kids, then back. “I’m kind of worried,” she confessed.

“Why don’t you ask everyone?”

“I’m not gonna embarrass them.” Edith huffed, puffing her chest out a little. Amara didn’t think there was anything embarrassing about it, but she knew Edith was a lot more careful about these sorts of things. She was always hyper conscious of how she presented herself, after all. I can’t make the babies worry, she would say. I’m the oldest!

Amara nodded slowly. “It’s probably Ben,” she said simply. When she didn’t hear a response, she looked up and saw Edith giving her a strange look.

“What?”

Edith frowned. “How’d you know that?”

Amara stared at her. “Ben used to cry at night when he first got here. He stopped, but if they’re doing different experiments, maybe that’s why he started again.” He would probably stop on his own in a week or so, she thought, based on the pattern last time.

Edith still had that look on her face, and Amara shifted, uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?”

Edith blinked. “Huh? Oh.” She coughed, clearing her throat. “I, uh, just didn’t think you noticed that much. About the others, I mean. I never see you talking to anyone else.”

“I don’t have to talk to people to notice things about them,” Amara argued. If anything, staying quiet made it easier for her to see things.

“I mean, I guess.” Edith hummed, and she looked thoughtful. “You know, if you talked more, I bet the other kids would like you.”

Amara frowned. “You think?”

The other girl nodded vigorously. “Yeah! We could all chat at once,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “It’d be like a cell huddle!”

Amara considered it, but she found the thought didn’t spark nearly the degree of excitement in her that it seemed to in Edith. She liked it when just the two of them spoke to each other. Talking to Edith was easy, and she was perfectly fine sitting back when Edith went to tell stories to the other kids.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I think it’s okay like this.”

Edith was quiet, and Amara could tell that she didn’t understand. The other girl opened her mouth, maybe to question her again, but she seemed to decide against it at the last minute. Her jaw clicked shut, and she stared at Amara again, squinting her eyes a little like she was trying to piece together a puzzle.

“Okay,” she said. Amara was surprised she was dropping the subject so easily, but before she could say anything, Edith continued. “But, just so you know, you can tell me stuff whenever you want.”

Amara frowned. “Like what?”

The other girl rolled her eyes, and her short dark hair swayed. “Whatever you want! You know, like I’m always telling you about stuff. I’m saying you can do that too, and I’ll listen.”

“I don’t really have anything to talk about.” She wasn’t like Edith, who had a family and a full life before the facility. Amara could barely remember anything other than grey walls and wrapped bandages. Every new story Edith told only cemented that fact, and even though she’d never wish for the girl to stop telling them—those stories were some of the few bright points in the day—the longer she spoke with her, the more Amara began to realize just how different they were. Most days that distance made her even more drawn to Edith, but on some days, it only felt hollow and cold.

“I’m trying to be a good friend here,” Edith said with a huff. She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was a little quieter. “Just, uh, wanted to let you know. In case you do think of something.”

Amara stared at her for a little longer, and she felt the corners of her mouth curl up.

“Thank you,” she said.

—

Forest Outside Magrath, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995

The first training session after the dinner felt different. No one had said anything when Levent and Amara returned to the restaurant, and they’d simply finished the rest of the meal in silence.

The next day, however, Amara could tell that something had changed. Isolde and Glenn conversed a little longer than their usual cordial greetings, continuing a conversation they’d begun the previous night. Levent nodded at her without her having to talk to him first, and throughout practice, everyone seemed a little more at ease. Levent even spoke up a few times as opposed to simply sitting silently in the back, and Glenn looked happier now that his friend was participating more actively. The four of them continued meeting in the clearing, and Amara increasingly found herself looking forward to those nightly training sessions.

One thing that hadn’t changed, though, was Amara’s struggles with reduction. She squinted down at the thin wisp of smoke rising from the small depression in the tree trunk. Amara glanced down at her arms and lifted her glove up, just enough for her to peer down at her glowing markings.

External Range: 20% → 21%

“Well at least something’s improving,” she muttered. She released the fabric, letting the glove snap back into place, snug against her scarred skin. The small dip in the bark was a significant improvement over the barely visible dent she’d been making before with external range, even if it was still a far ways off from her normal, basic use output. But it wasn’t reduction.

Her eyes shifted over to Isolde’s bag resting atop one of the stones at the edge of the clearing. It looked significantly more limp now, much of its contents used and shattered. They would probably have to get more ore soon, at this rate.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Anything different?” Glenn’s voice asked. Amara turned around and shook her head. The man frowned, his own eyes tracing the dissipating wisp of smoke streaming away from the faint indent.

“I’m not sure why it’s not working,” he muttered, brows furrowed in concentration. “Usually the skill would have activated at least once by now.”

“Maybe I’m just unlucky,” Amara joked. Silently, she wondered if the experiments had also affected her ability to use skills. Based on Isolde’s sharp gaze, she got the feeling that the other woman was suspecting the same thing. She shook her head and turned to Glenn again.

“Is there anything else I could try? Some other exercise or something?”

Glenn looked thoughtful. “Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose we could try using reduction directly in combat. I’ve heard some say that they find it easier to activate when there’s a more clear use for it, and it is important to practice while in motion. It can be quite different.”

Amara nodded. “So a spar?”

“Something like that.” Glenn looked around. “Did you bring your weapon with you?”

“Ah, nope.” Seeing as she hadn’t had a chance to use the axe during the last few sessions, she’d stopped bringing it altogether.

The guard nodded. “That’s alright.” He gestured at the weapons rack, sitting untouched since the first day Glenn had brought it over. Maybe it was Amara’s imagination, but the man looked somewhat excited to finally be able to put it to use. “What kind of weapon do you usually use?”

“Axe.” Amara strode forward, squinting at the weapons. She could tell they were fairly old, which was probably why the guards had stopped using them. They all looked completely intact, though, and perfectly usable. By Winrow standards, they would be considered to be in comparatively good condition to some of the other weapons the watchmen there trained with. She supposed being directly funded by a noble family meant that the guards could afford better equipment than the watchmen.

“An axe?” Glenn’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise.

Amara’s eyes landed on the singular axe that had been brought to the clearing. It wasn’t wooden, like some of the other practice weapons, and the blade looked a fair bit heavier than the one she’d bought for herself. She reached over and carefully removed it from the rack, testing her grip on the handle. It was heavier, but it also felt more sturdy. Grounding, in a way.

“That seems to be rather high quality,” Isolde remarked. Amara turned to see the woman had approached, her own spear resting lightly in her hand. Her eyes scanned the weapon methodically, scrutinizing it in a practiced manner. Amara heard a rustle and saw Levent approach as well, the man coming to a stop near Glenn. Another thing that hadn’t changed was the odd tension between Levent and Isolde. They never spoke directly to each other, and Amara often got the impression that they were constantly trying to piece the other together, when not ignoring each other entirely.

Glenn nodded. “Yes, it hasn’t been used much. No one in the current guard uses axes, I’m afraid.”

That made Levent raise an eyebrow, and Glenn coughed. “No one uses it as their primary weapon,” he corrected. Amara chuckled.

“I’m guessing you know how, then.”

“The Academy trains its students in the most common forms of weaponry,” the man said lightly. “It’s standard for its graduates to be familiar with different weapon types.”

Amara turned to Levent, voice blunt. “So how good is he?”

“Basically mastered all of them,” Levent said, ignoring Glenn’s betrayed look. “He’s probably the best at every weapon in Magrath. If you, say, compared him to the best spear user in town, he’d be better.”

Isolde’s eyes shifted to the servant, her own spear gleaming in the shifting moonlight. Amara glanced between her and Levent, and that constant thread of tension between the two of them seemed even more prominent than usual.

“That’s not true,” Glenn insisted. Levent gave him a look that said he clearly didn’t believe him. The guard frowned. “Well for one,” he said, “you’re a better shot than I am.”

That got her attention. Amara raised an eyebrow. “You know archery?” Her eyes instinctively landed on the one bow on the weapon rack, a quiver holding a few arrows resting beside it. She hadn’t thought Levent knew how to use any weapons at all. Considering he was a servant and a source, she didn’t imagine the job required any combat skills.

Standing beside her, Amara noted how Isolde’s gaze sharpened as well. Levent watched her warily, pursing his lips slightly. Glenn, meanwhile, smiled.

“Personally, I think Levent’s marksmanship would be impressive even among the top students at the Academy.” He looked pleased, both to have the attention off of himself for a change and to have the chance to brag about his friend. Levent shifted his weight, his arms crossed.

“That’s quite unexpected,” Isolde said, her voice light. “Admittedly I’m rather curious now. Would you perhaps be willing to give a demonstration?” She gestured at the bow sitting innocuously on the weapon’s rack. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to pressure you,” she added, and even though her tone remained calm and serene, it sounded like a challenge to Amara.

It must have to Levent too, because the man bristled. His grey eyes darted to the bow in question, narrowing slightly, then over to Isolde, then back at the bow.

Amara watched closely as Levent took a slow step forward, his shoulders drawn in a tense line. First he reached into the quiver, carefully pulling out a single arrow. The tip gleamed in the moonlight, and Amara was surprised at how sharp it looked. Levent inspected it for a moment, turning it every which way, before he turned to the bow itself.

Almost immediately, Amara realized something was wrong. The earlier tension had somehow increased even further, the servant’s movements so stiff that they looked forced. As he slowly reached for the bow itself, she could make out a faint, barely perceptible tremble in his hand. Her gaze landed on his face, and his grey eyes looked clouded. Distant.

An image of limp dark hair flashed in her mind.

Sometimes she found Edith curled up against a wall, away from everyone else where none of the other kids could see her. In those moments, her breathing would get unsteady. Sometimes it was only by a little, but other times her breaths would become so ragged that it sounded painful, and those warm brown eyes would stare unseeingly ahead.

It’s fine, she would say. Don’t worry about it. And Amara would watch the little spells appear and pass, never quite knowing what to do, hands outstretched and useless even as Edith herself unflinchingly helped the other kids when the same thing happened to them.

A loud crash broke Amara out of her thoughts.

She blinked, and as her vision cleared, she saw that the bow now lay several feet away from the weapon rack at the foot of a tree trunk, thrown roughly against its hard surface.

Standing where he’d been before, one of Levent’s hands was still extended mid hurl, and his other hand gripped the arrow shaft so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He released a long breath, his grey eyes a stormy mix of emotions that Amara couldn’t discern. Without a word, he turned around and strode straight into the forest.

Isolde stared silently in the direction the man disappeared, expression unmoving as his silhouette vanished between the trees. Beside her, one of Glenn’s legs was placed forward like he wanted to follow, but he didn’t move, seemingly frozen in place.

A brief silence fell across the clearing, the fallen bow shining whenever the moonlight touched it.

“...That was my fault,” Glenn finally said, his voice so quiet that Amara barely heard him. “I should’ve known that would happen. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” The more he spoke, the deeper the creases between his forehead grew. Amara studied him closely, his remorse practically tangible even as he remained still. Like in the restaurant, she remembered.

“Why don’t you go after him?”

Glenn hesitated, his eyes darting towards the forest, then back. “I think,” he finally said, voice slow and careful, “I would only make it worse.”

Amara stared at him a little longer.

“Okay,” she said. She raised her own arm, and it moved easily. “I’ll go.”

And with a determination that surprised even her, she turned and strode into the forest, ignoring the calls behind her.

—

The waving moonlight vanished, blocked out by the dense canopy and only occasionally managing to slip through the barest gaps between the leaves. The grasses grew taller, brushing against her ankles, and she heard leaves rustling and branches snapping the deeper into the forest she walked.

Amara heard the distant calls of wild animals, then the closer, responding calls. She kept walking, single mindedly searching for any flash of silver hair amidst the inky shadows, forcibly blocking everything else out. She could still feel the wind whispering across her skin, and the fresh air filling her lungs helped her distinguish her current surroundings from memories of darkness and cold grey walls. She tightened her grip on the axe she’d brought with her. Its weight was a welcome presence.

He couldn’t have gotten far, Amara thought as she slowly turned her head, searching every which way. The thin bits of moonlight passing onto the forest floor looked almost like silvery strings, rising up beyond the canopy. She turned and took another step forward.

There.

In the corner of her eye, something pale flashed by. Amara spun around, but it was already gone. Frowning, she stepped closer.

A particularly thick trunk lay ahead, the roots of the great tree fanning out in tangled patterns across the earth. She slowed her pace, careful not to trip on the roots, and stepped around the tree to where the flash of white had disappeared to.

As she finally reached the other side, she found a hunched, shadowy figure facing away from her, leaning towards the tree trunk.

Amara stopped.

Slowly, the figure turned around in stiff, jerking movements. The head rotated like a screw, spinning fully to look her dead in the eye.

The stark, pale white face of the Aberration smiled at her.