The Archer

THE ARCHER

Leif walked down the main street of his hometown, Alorn, heading toward the small bakery shop. The few coins he had jingled in his pocket as he turned into the shop. As he entered he pulled out a small gold crescent and set it on the counter. “Sir?” he asked.

The large man behind the counter turned to face Leif. “What do you want?” the baker asked in a rather gruff voice, snatching up the the coin on the counter.

“One loaf of bread please.” Leif replied. The man stared at the boy but then reluctantly, grunted and reached under the counter for a loaf and handed it to him.

“Thank you!” Leif called. The man just grunted again and turned around. Leif was just rounding a corner that led to the house he shared with his baby sister and mother when he saw something that made him stop and take a step back. Then he gasped as he read the poster that hung on the wall of a tailors shop.

ARCHERY TOURNAMENT

MEN OF ALL AGES ARE CALLED TO JOIN THIS ARCHERY CONTEST. THE PRIZE FOR THE WINNING ARCHER IS THREE HUNDRED CRESCENTS, MEET AT THE FEILD BY BRADONS MILL IN ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE SECOND MONTH THIS YEAR.



Leif couldn't believe his eyes, it was almost to good to be true. For besides his trips to town the only other thing he did was archery, now that he had been practicing for some time he had gotten rather good. A smile spread across his face as he raced home to tell his mother. Once Leif got to the little wooden house he lived in he burst through the door shouting, “Mother, Mother, I have to tell you something!”

“What is it Leif? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

“There is an archery tournament happening next week and the prize is three hundred crescents and I just have to enter!”

“Leif, Leif, what are you talking about?” she asked.

So he told her about the poster and the prize money.

“Well this is a shock to say the least, are you sure that you want to do this, because I was talking to our landlord, Malachi, and he kept talking about an archery contest he was entering and I believe it is the same one you are going to enter.”

“Yes, of course I want to enter, if I win we will be able to pay to get our own house and can get out of this old hut that Malachi rents to us. I should probably start practicing.”

The twang of the bow string echoed in Leif’s ears. The shot was perfect, it rammed into the targets middle. Leif lowered his bow and walked to the target to retrieve his arrow. He yanked it out of the target and walked back even farther and shot again. The arrow quivered as it hit the bullseye.

“Right let’s do this again.” he said. Leif knew that the tournament was still a week away but he had to practice as much as he could. The prize was enough to keep his family going for years to come. He was sure he was good, but not good enough.

“Leif come in for supper!” his mother called.

“Coming!” He ran and grabbed his arrows then ran into the little hovel that he, his mother and sister lived in.

“What’s for dinner tonight.?” Leif asked.

“The usual,” answered his mother, “baked potatoes and cabbage.”

“Right,” said Leif but secretly he groaned. They had been having baked potatoes and cabbage for the past week and now to be honest he was getting rather sick of it. His mother placed empty bowls on the table and filled them with their dinner, then gave them each a bowl. It looked repulsive but Leif finished his share as not to upset his mother. “Mother?”

“Yes Leif.”

“I was just wondering, about the tournament, do you think I could win?

“Weef, you win, you beat that meanie, Malachi,” commented his little sister Gloria.

“Now sweetie stop that nonsense at once, Malachi is a gracious landlord and has offered us this house for a reasonable price, do not say such things about him.” his mother scolded.

“Nevertheless I will have to outshoot him to win. May I please be excused?”

“Yes Leif.”

He tossed and turned almost the entire night his thoughts always on the tournament and trying to beat Malachi. And when he did sleep his mind was flooded with dreams about him winning and his family surviving. Right in the middle of a glorious dream he was awoken by a sudden jolt snapping him awake.

“Time to practice Weef!” It was his sister that had wakened him.

He practiced almost the entire day shooting from even farther distances, training as hard as he could for the tournament. The days flew by and finally the day of the tournament arrived. When Leif awoke that morning he sat bolt upright when he remembered it was the day. He quickly got dressed and went into the yard to squeeze in a little extra practice. When he had finished he walked into the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast. But was surprised to see his mother and sister bustling about in the kitchen.

“Mother what are you doing?” asked Leif.

“Oh just making you a small special breakfast to keep you in top shape for the tournament.”

“Weef you win, you win dis much,” Gloria spread her arms out for emphasis.

“This is too much I can’t eat all this,” said Leif. His mother put his food on the table.

“Well like it or not, you will eat it, because I'm your mother and I tell you so,” she joked.

Leif sat down and reluctantly started eating the bread, jelly his mother had prepared for him.

“This is delicious,” Leif remarked, “thank you.” His mother just nodded and returned to sweeping the floors. “Right, well I got to run, contestants have to get there early.” Leif stood up walked to the door.

“Leif, we will be in the stands cheering for you the whole time,” his mother called behind him.

“Bye!” Leif shouted.

“Bye,” said his mother and sister together.

With his bow in his hand and a spring in his step he ran down the path that led to the main road of the town Alorn. He passed several people on the road but not many for everyone was at the archery field to see who would win. He kept running until he saw a sign that said “TOURNAMENT”.

He followed the signs until he ended up in a small field outside of town. Leif saw that there were stands filled with people lining the sides of the field and there were targets in the middle. Also there was a small group of people meeting at the front of the field. By the time he reached it he was out of breath. They were the archers, most of them were about twenty years old, and all of them carrying large and powerful longbows. He felt very small, he and his small elm bow, standing beside the muscular archers. In the center of the group there was a man stating the rules.

“Right, now let’s get started,” the man called. “You will start shooting from the marks on this side of the field and your arrows have to at least hit the second to center ring to make it into the next round. The target will move back twenty paces every round so shoot your best. Dismissed.”

The group separated and Leif ran to the nearest mark and took his stance, knotting an arrow as he did so. Immediately the same man that had told them the rules walked into the middle of the field and yelled, “Let the tournament begin!”

A loud cheer arose from the audience. But it died down as the man walked back to the edge of the field and yelled, “Take aim. Fire!”

Leif loosed his arrow with a twang and saw it fly straight and true toward the target, where it brought itself to a stop in the second to middle ring. Leif let out a sigh of relief. He was into the next round. The crowd cheered and booed as the man announced the people that made it to the next round. Unfortunately he heard Malachi’s name called in the jumble of names who were moving ahead. About four people made it into the second round of the tournament. Two people from the crowd ran to the targets and moved four of them back twenty paces, then they returned to the stands. The man shouted again, “Take aim. Fire!”

Leif notched another arrow in his bow and let it fly. The arrow landed in the bullseye but not in the center. He looked over at Malachi’s target and saw he had hit dead center. A thought that he did not much like, but knew that it was true, passed through his mind. “There is no way I can beat Malachi, he is much better then me. He’s going to beat me.” A shout interrupted his thoughts. The man was yelling again.

“There are two archers remaining. Sir Malachi and Leif Thatcher.” A roar of applause erupted from the audience. Through the shouting the man finished. “Let the final round begin!” The cheering roared louder then before but silenced all at once as two figures from the crowd moved two targets back twenty more paces and returned to the stands.

“Take aim!” The man shouted. A thousand thoughts raced through Leif’s mind, thoughts about his family and how they would survive if he lost. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow. He notched an arrow in his bow and pulled it back as hard as he could and angled it slightly upward.

“Fire!” The word exploded in Leif’s mind, the shaft of his arrow flew from the prison of his bow and soared into the air as he released his arrow. It flew straight and true at the target and gave forth a thump as the arrow hit the bulls-eye dead center. Malachi also released his arrow at the same time, but his shot flew over the target, past the archery field and embedded itself in a pasture behind the field. He yelled something that would have gotten him in trouble had he not been a noble, threw down his bow and stamped off. Leif, however, had a different fate. He lowered his bow unable to believe his eyes. The audience was dumbfounded. How did a common peasant boy win the tournament? But all of a sudden the biggest roar yet erupted from the crowd. Some even jumped out of the stands and lifted Leif off his feet and over their heads shouting, “Leif, Leif, Leif, Leif!”

And his mother was in the middle of it all shaking her head and saying, “I knew he would do it.”