Atissa
Atissa fought the urge to sprint ahead.
She was running at a pace she knew she could maintain for a long time, but she was also aware she would leave Mark behind if she increased the pace.
Uncle Tatros had always told her to pace herself. If you reach the battlefield tired, you will die. If you catch up to your quarry exhausted, your arrow will miss. It had been good advice but now hearing his words in her mind only increased her fear.
Focusing on her breathing, she tried to push the thoughts to the side. Just as her uncle had taught her. Horto’s beard, she thought.
Mark was still behind her. He had to push himself to keep up with Atissa’s pace, but he managed somehow. His stamina was good.
The route Atissa had selected was not the most direct. Had she been alone, she would have shadowed the troop.
Uncle Tatros had always said that good leaders send out scouts to assess the area when on the march. Atissa was sure that she could easily slip by anybody in these woods. Her instinct would let her feel anybody before they had a chance to see or hear her.
Not even her uncle knew how she did it. He had once said the gods gave out Gifts to humans to make the world more interesting for themselves. Licen had laughed at that while his wife had only shaken her head, calling it blasphemy.
If she had been alone, she would have tried it. But if I were alone, would I have chosen to go to the village, she thought? It still made her feel guilty. There was a chance that the warriors would miss or ignore the trail to their house. Logger’s Home would have no warning. No chance for the villagers to organize a defense or flee.
But if something happened to uncle Tatros… . She pushed the thought aside. Her uncle was the only family she had.
She sensed Mark stumble before she heard it. Not good. Losing your rhythm when you were already tiring was bad.
Slowing down enough to glance over her shoulder, she saw that he was already speeding up again. His face was a stoic mask. She could see that he was pushing himself.
Atissa turned her attention back to the front. There was too much fear to feel grateful right now.
She estimated how long it would take to reach home. The answer made her jaw tighten in frustration and fear. I should have taken a faster route, she thought. Could she have snuck past scouts with Mark?
She contemplated running ahead. But what if there were enemies? They would need Mark’s magi powers.
Mark was closing the distance between them again. Increasing her own speed, Atissa brought them back to their old pace.
Was Mark truly a magi? She was almost sure. True, he hadn’t shown any wonderous abilities yet. Hadn’t he said the staff wasn’t even his? But in the stories and legends, magi often only revealed their abilities when they were needed. And then they would summon storms or see into the future.
Would someone with the greatness and power of a magi stumble when running? She remembered once asking Tatros if the magi ever made mistakes. He had said they would if the gods thought it funny.
They had to slow down again to cross a dry riverbed. Atissa cursed the time it took them to climb over the rocks and reach the other side.
Watching Mark clumsily climb the bank increased Atissa’s fear and frustration. Should she ask him if he could somehow make them travel faster?
She had asked him if he could stop the warriors and save Logger’s Home. Had that been presumptuous of her?
Atissa wasn’t sure. She just didn’t want to see anybody she knew to get hurt.
Uncle Tatros had told her to carefully listen to Mark. Magi were mysterious men and women of great wisdom. Everybody knew this.
When he had explained how he, the physically weaker man, had beaten uncle Tatros, it had sparked something in her. There had to be a greater wisdom in it. She would have to think about it more. Later.
Mark finally climbed out of the riverbed on the other side and they took up running again.
Maybe she should ask him directly? It might be easier than sitting down and thinking about it.
Atissa was not good at sitting still.
But when the winters set in and she could see her breath in front of her face, Uncle Tatros would make her work inside. He had tried to teach her things like counting, sewing, and woodwork during those cold months. Atissa hated the freezing weather too, but even then she preferred being outside, hunting and inspecting traps. She hated being cooped up.
But she was grateful to her uncle for teaching her all he knew. She was proud of her ability to count beyond her ten fingers. Not everybody knew how. She had shown it to Licen’s wife once, who had looked quite shocked and told her it was a pretty unusual skill to possess.
Then she had witnessed Mark looking out over the line of warriors, counting them in just a couple of heartbeats, where she had struggled. He had to be a man of great knowledge.
They descended a hill, half sliding, half stumbling. A small creak flowed at the bottom.
She had arrived. Her home lay beyond the next hill.
Danger.
Atissa froze in place. Her heart quickened and she felt her hands shaking slightly. Panic threatened to overcome her.
The loud snap of a twig right behind her brought her out of her temporary paralysis. She raised her hand, signaling Mark to stop.
Atissa tried to make sense of what her instinct, her Gift, told her. She knew that the animals had retreated from the surrounding area. Violence was in the air. Don’t panic. You freeze, you don’t eat. She bit her teeth together.
Turning her head, she spoke quietly over her shoulder. “There is danger at the house…violence.”
Without waiting for a reply, she snuck forward, forcing herself to advance slowly.
She really wanted to run, to make sure that Tatros was alright. Falling into her hunting routine helped her to stay calm.
Atissa did not have to tell Mark to be quiet. Moving behind her, he carefully tried to imitate her movements. He didn’t have her stealth but he tried his best.
Reassured, Atissa concentrated on what was in front of her. The undergrowth was not as thick here. Ancient trees towered over them, refusing to let much sun through.
She chose to approach from a side where the trees stood overlapping each other. It would make it harder for anybody at the house to notice them by chance. She knew every root, every bush, every tree. The vantage point she chose allowed her to watch the area behind the house, where Mark and Tatros had wrestled only this morning.
Fear and relief flooded into her body all at once.
Uncle Tatros was still alive!
He was kneeling on the ground, his hands bound behind his back, his head downcast. Was there blood in his hair? The slight heaving of his shoulders told her he was breathing heavily. Otherwise, he was completely still. It was unnerving.
There were three men with him. Their foreign cloth marked them as part of the troop.
Two were standing over her uncle, silently talking to each other while the third slowly circled the house, peering into the surrounding trees. Only the last one seemed to be on guard, alert to possible dangers.
Atissa slipped back behind the tree and started to unpack her equipment. While she spun her bow, Mark crept past her. He only risked a quick peek before coming back to her side.
“May I ask what you are doing?” he asked in a low and urgent voice.
“I need to save my uncle!” She did not look at him but continued to check her arrows.
“You are going to fight them? Three men? Three armed men!”
Atissa stopped for a moment, focusing. “I think there are more. In the house.”
She continued her preparation without looking at Mark. She could not stop or her fear would overcome her. If he was a magi, why would he not use his power to help her? She could feel her desperation turning into anger. No, I cannot go there, she thought. If I want to save uncle, I need to stay in control. She concentrated on her breathing and it made her feel calmer. A little.
Mark grabbed her arm. “Stop for a second, would you!” he whispered.
She ripped her arm free, glaring at him.
He held his open hand up.
“Look, take a moment to think this through,” he said quietly. “How many arrows do you have?”
Atissa looked down. She carried exactly four arrows.
Seeing the answer in front of him, Mark continued. “You need to hit every time. And be deadly.”
Staring down at the arrows, Atissa could feel tremors in her hands. Her arrow tips were carved from bone and sharp. But what if the men wore armor?
“These men look like real fighters. Have you ever fought people? Killed somebody?” He pointed at the arrow. “As soon as your first arrow hits, the rest will react. What then?”
Atissa could feel desperation overwhelming her. She knew Mark was right. She had never shot at a human. She was a hunter, not a warrior.
Tatros had told her about being in battle, releasing arrows as quickly as he could into an enemy storming at him. She did not know if she could make a shot with a screaming warrior coming at her. And some of these men carried shields.
She looked up into Mark’s face, her eyes pleading.
There was no pity in his expression. He seemed to just observe her, his brow slightly furrowed. Absurdly, given her panic about her uncle, she wondered for a moment about his perfect unblemished skin and the preciseness of his haircut, even at this moment with his face covered with a two-day stubble. There was so much strangeness to him.
“Think this through,” he said again, insistently.
There was something about the way he was looking at her. As if he was waiting for something.
Then it hit her. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “I understand!” she whispered.
Mark’s eyebrows rose. Yes, I really do understand now, Atissa thought. She couldn’t have explained how she had pieced it together but as she looked into Mark’s eyes everything he had said before, his previous lessons, it all fell into place. Had he foreseen this moment? It did not matter. He had already given her the answer.
She snapped her eyes shut. It wasn’t necessary to use her Gift, but it helped her to envision her surroundings. How would she go about it? It was still dangerous. But it was possible. She could save uncle Tatros.
“What are you thinking?” Mark asked. Was there doubt in his voice?
“I really understand,” she said, trying to reassure him that she had understood his lesson. She quickly formed a plan.
Opening her eyes, she looked up at Mark once more. This time she was filled with confidence.
Mark looked impatient, waiting for her to explain herself.
Atissa showed a determined smile. “I understand, I cannot fight them. I am not a warrior. So, we will hunt them!”
“Huh?”
Atissa
Atissa fought the urge to sprint ahead.
She was running at a pace she knew she could maintain for a long time, but she was also aware she would leave Mark behind if she increased the pace.
Uncle Tatros had always told her to pace herself. If you reach the battlefield tired, you will die. If you catch up to your quarry exhausted, your arrow will miss. It had been good advice but now hearing his words in her mind only increased her fear.
Focusing on her breathing, she tried to push the thoughts to the side. Just as her uncle had taught her. Horto’s beard, she thought.
Mark was still behind her. He had to push himself to keep up with Atissa’s pace, but he managed somehow. His stamina was good.
The route Atissa had selected was not the most direct. Had she been alone, she would have shadowed the troop.
Uncle Tatros had always said that good leaders send out scouts to assess the area when on the march. Atissa was sure that she could easily slip by anybody in these woods. Her instinct would let her feel anybody before they had a chance to see or hear her.
Not even her uncle knew how she did it. He had once said the gods gave out Gifts to humans to make the world more interesting for themselves. Licen had laughed at that while his wife had only shaken her head, calling it blasphemy.
If she had been alone, she would have tried it. But if I were alone, would I have chosen to go to the village, she thought? It still made her feel guilty. There was a chance that the warriors would miss or ignore the trail to their house. Logger’s Home would have no warning. No chance for the villagers to organize a defense or flee.
But if something happened to uncle Tatros… . She pushed the thought aside. Her uncle was the only family she had.
She sensed Mark stumble before she heard it. Not good. Losing your rhythm when you were already tiring was bad.
Slowing down enough to glance over her shoulder, she saw that he was already speeding up again. His face was a stoic mask. She could see that he was pushing himself.
Atissa turned her attention back to the front. There was too much fear to feel grateful right now.
She estimated how long it would take to reach home. The answer made her jaw tighten in frustration and fear. I should have taken a faster route, she thought. Could she have snuck past scouts with Mark?
She contemplated running ahead. But what if there were enemies? They would need Mark’s magi powers.
Mark was closing the distance between them again. Increasing her own speed, Atissa brought them back to their old pace.
Was Mark truly a magi? She was almost sure. True, he hadn’t shown any wonderous abilities yet. Hadn’t he said the staff wasn’t even his? But in the stories and legends, magi often only revealed their abilities when they were needed. And then they would summon storms or see into the future.
Would someone with the greatness and power of a magi stumble when running? She remembered once asking Tatros if the magi ever made mistakes. He had said they would if the gods thought it funny.
They had to slow down again to cross a dry riverbed. Atissa cursed the time it took them to climb over the rocks and reach the other side.
Watching Mark clumsily climb the bank increased Atissa’s fear and frustration. Should she ask him if he could somehow make them travel faster?
She had asked him if he could stop the warriors and save Logger’s Home. Had that been presumptuous of her?
Atissa wasn’t sure. She just didn’t want to see anybody she knew to get hurt.
Uncle Tatros had told her to carefully listen to Mark. Magi were mysterious men and women of great wisdom. Everybody knew this.
When he had explained how he, the physically weaker man, had beaten uncle Tatros, it had sparked something in her. There had to be a greater wisdom in it. She would have to think about it more. Later.
Mark finally climbed out of the riverbed on the other side and they took up running again.
Maybe she should ask him directly? It might be easier than sitting down and thinking about it.
Atissa was not good at sitting still.
But when the winters set in and she could see her breath in front of her face, Uncle Tatros would make her work inside. He had tried to teach her things like counting, sewing, and woodwork during those cold months. Atissa hated the freezing weather too, but even then she preferred being outside, hunting and inspecting traps. She hated being cooped up.
But she was grateful to her uncle for teaching her all he knew. She was proud of her ability to count beyond her ten fingers. Not everybody knew how. She had shown it to Licen’s wife once, who had looked quite shocked and told her it was a pretty unusual skill to possess.
Then she had witnessed Mark looking out over the line of warriors, counting them in just a couple of heartbeats, where she had struggled. He had to be a man of great knowledge.
They descended a hill, half sliding, half stumbling. A small creak flowed at the bottom.
She had arrived. Her home lay beyond the next hill.
Danger.
Atissa froze in place. Her heart quickened and she felt her hands shaking slightly. Panic threatened to overcome her.
The loud snap of a twig right behind her brought her out of her temporary paralysis. She raised her hand, signaling Mark to stop.
Atissa tried to make sense of what her instinct, her Gift, told her. She knew that the animals had retreated from the surrounding area. Violence was in the air. Don’t panic. You freeze, you don’t eat. She bit her teeth together.
Turning her head, she spoke quietly over her shoulder. “There is danger at the house…violence.”
Without waiting for a reply, she snuck forward, forcing herself to advance slowly.
She really wanted to run, to make sure that Tatros was alright. Falling into her hunting routine helped her to stay calm.
Atissa did not have to tell Mark to be quiet. Moving behind her, he carefully tried to imitate her movements. He didn’t have her stealth but he tried his best.
Reassured, Atissa concentrated on what was in front of her. The undergrowth was not as thick here. Ancient trees towered over them, refusing to let much sun through.
She chose to approach from a side where the trees stood overlapping each other. It would make it harder for anybody at the house to notice them by chance. She knew every root, every bush, every tree. The vantage point she chose allowed her to watch the area behind the house, where Mark and Tatros had wrestled only this morning.
Fear and relief flooded into her body all at once.
Uncle Tatros was still alive!
He was kneeling on the ground, his hands bound behind his back, his head downcast. Was there blood in his hair? The slight heaving of his shoulders told her he was breathing heavily. Otherwise, he was completely still. It was unnerving.
There were three men with him. Their foreign cloth marked them as part of the troop.
Two were standing over her uncle, silently talking to each other while the third slowly circled the house, peering into the surrounding trees. Only the last one seemed to be on guard, alert to possible dangers.
Atissa slipped back behind the tree and started to unpack her equipment. While she spun her bow, Mark crept past her. He only risked a quick peek before coming back to her side.
“May I ask what you are doing?” he asked in a low and urgent voice.
“I need to save my uncle!” She did not look at him but continued to check her arrows.
“You are going to fight them? Three men? Three armed men!”
Atissa stopped for a moment, focusing. “I think there are more. In the house.”
She continued her preparation without looking at Mark. She could not stop or her fear would overcome her. If he was a magi, why would he not use his power to help her? She could feel her desperation turning into anger. No, I cannot go there, she thought. If I want to save uncle, I need to stay in control. She concentrated on her breathing and it made her feel calmer. A little.
Mark grabbed her arm. “Stop for a second, would you!” he whispered.
She ripped her arm free, glaring at him.
He held his open hand up.
“Look, take a moment to think this through,” he said quietly. “How many arrows do you have?”
Atissa looked down. She carried exactly four arrows.
Seeing the answer in front of him, Mark continued. “You need to hit every time. And be deadly.”
Staring down at the arrows, Atissa could feel tremors in her hands. Her arrow tips were carved from bone and sharp. But what if the men wore armor?
“These men look like real fighters. Have you ever fought people? Killed somebody?” He pointed at the arrow. “As soon as your first arrow hits, the rest will react. What then?”
Atissa could feel desperation overwhelming her. She knew Mark was right. She had never shot at a human. She was a hunter, not a warrior.
Tatros had told her about being in battle, releasing arrows as quickly as he could into an enemy storming at him. She did not know if she could make a shot with a screaming warrior coming at her. And some of these men carried shields.
She looked up into Mark’s face, her eyes pleading.
There was no pity in his expression. He seemed to just observe her, his brow slightly furrowed. Absurdly, given her panic about her uncle, she wondered for a moment about his perfect unblemished skin and the preciseness of his haircut, even at this moment with his face covered with a two-day stubble. There was so much strangeness to him.
“Think this through,” he said again, insistently.
There was something about the way he was looking at her. As if he was waiting for something.
Then it hit her. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “I understand!” she whispered.
Mark’s eyebrows rose. Yes, I really do understand now, Atissa thought. She couldn’t have explained how she had pieced it together but as she looked into Mark’s eyes everything he had said before, his previous lessons, it all fell into place. Had he foreseen this moment? It did not matter. He had already given her the answer.
She snapped her eyes shut. It wasn’t necessary to use her Gift, but it helped her to envision her surroundings. How would she go about it? It was still dangerous. But it was possible. She could save uncle Tatros.
“What are you thinking?” Mark asked. Was there doubt in his voice?
“I really understand,” she said, trying to reassure him that she had understood his lesson. She quickly formed a plan.
Opening her eyes, she looked up at Mark once more. This time she was filled with confidence.
Mark looked impatient, waiting for her to explain herself.
Atissa showed a determined smile. “I understand, I cannot fight them. I am not a warrior. So, we will hunt them!”
“Huh?”
