A fanfic situated in Mountain Eyrie, about the Starpool Holt character Arrowspeed. Arrowspeed is 12 in this story and uses her child name, Arrow.
The silver-haired child leaned heavily on her spear. Heavy – that was the word for this night. The clouds in the sky were heavy, hiding the moons and stars from her view. The snow was heavy, slowing her steps. Her catch, two ravvits, was becoming heavier on every step. And she herself was heavy, unable to glide through the air like most of her tribemates, forced to crawl along on foot like some clumsy troll. Forced to make a long detour just because a mountain pass on her usual path had been filled by an avalanche while she was hunting.
Her parents would soon be worried – she was still outside sending range. Had she lost the path? She didn't remember it to be this long and hard. Worse yet, when she finally got home, the other children would taunt her: where have you been, heavy-bones? Why are you late, clumsy-feet? Hard to hunt when your head's so blunt? Aim as ill as always? Arrow, Arrow, ill-aimed! Arrow, Arrow, ravvit-brained! They would pelt her with snowballs and fly beyond her reach, and they would laugh. Darah the oh-so-noble pureblood, who charmed the adults with her radiant smile, adults and the three other children, the bird-blooded, Kestrel, Bluestone and Dawn.
Arrow was Kestrel's age, eight-and-four, but she had never played with him and his friends. They could fly, she couldn't. They had been born floaters, their games were different. Her jealousy had started their enmity – she had refused their pity. She had never sought their company, it being too painful a reminder of what she lacked. Instead she spent her time among adults, learning to hunt. She wished to become a great hunter one day, like her father, Bowstring. Deep in her heart, she also sheltered the hope that someday, like her parents, like most of her tribe, she would become a glider. Suanshen the healer said there was still reason hope – after all, her own healing magic had taken a hundred years to bloom. It terrified Arrow to think she might have to wait as long. Meanwhile, she intended to become a hunter worthy of a bond-bird of her own. She had already formed a bond, with a hawk called Goldeneyes, but he was still too young to ride. They hunted together often, but today he had gone to heights she could not follow him on foot. Goldeneyes did not understand why she never glided – the great birds thought all elves were essentially similar. Arrow's father had taught her with both bow and spear, and as little Arrow had inherited Bowstring's sturdy build, he was hoping to teach her swordmanship too when she grew older. The lessons had not been wasted – she was already allowed to hunt alone, as long as she remained within sending range.
And she would have, tonight, had there been no avalanche. She had sent to her mother, asking permission to take the longer path, and had been granted that permission. That much they trusted her.
Kestrel, had he been out here tonight, would have been told to glide over the blocked passage even though the weather made it dangerous – but of course Kestrel would never have been allowed to hunt alone in the first place, only with the eight-and-six-year-old Darah or an adult. Bluestone, who was eight-and-two, was still learning the basics of hunting, and little Dawn, at the age of seven, showed no interest in weapons whatever.
Slowly, Arrow plodded on in the snow. She did not look behind, and so did not notice the drops of blood falling from her catch, from the freshly-killed carcass of a ravvit that still contained some of the warmth of life. The wind howled in her ears, so that she did not hear the other howls mixed in it. Her mind was elsewhere, and that was a terrible mistake to make alone outside sending range. Had she but used her wind-sense, she certainly would have heard there was more to it than what sky made joining earth.
The wolf pack was hunting. They had found a promising trail.
Suddenly they were upon her. They circled her, they surrounded her. A glider would have escaped easily. Once again Arrow tried to use her magic, and indeed felt her body lighten, but not enough, it was never enough. She gave up and grabbed a good hold of her spear. They would not get her hard-earned ravvits, they would not send her home empty-handed. Arrow was too angry to be afraid. She jumped, and once in the air, used what little gliding ability she had to control and stretch her fall. She turned her spear and pierced a wolf's skull with her full weight behind the weapon. She tumbled down beside her victim. The rest of the pack had taken some distance, but were now closing in on her again. They would revenge their slain brother, Arrow thought. And she knew she could never kill them all. She clambered up, bruised, and tired from the use of magic she was far from mastering. Now she was afraid indeed.
Which wolf was the leader of the pack? Perhaps killing that one would be enough. It was worth a try. Arrow stared at each one in turn, looking for the sleekest fur, the largest body, and the sharpest teeth. After many agonising moments fending off the bloodthirsty beasts with her spear she thought she had found the chief wolf, a dark grey male. 'Now we will do battle, you and I. You win, you can eat me. I win, I will wear your pelt.' The wolf was a cunning one. Again and again it dodged her spear. The rest of the pack, strangely enough, did not meddle with the fight. Suddenly the beast bit her hand, making her drop the spear. She did not try to pick it up, reaching for her knife instead. The wolf jumped, huge claws tore Arrow's shoulder and she lost her balance. She knew that if she did not cushion her fall with her hand, she was likely to hit her head on the rocks. But her right hand was torn and bleeding, useless, and her left held the knife. The knife had to remain between her and the wolf, or she would die. So, just as the wolf lunged for her throat, Arrow stabbed it in the chest. It died on top of her, and it was heavy. How could anything be so heavy?
Arrow realized something strange. She had not hit her head when she fell – because she had not touched the ground at all! She wriggled her hand free and felt under her and discovered her body was hovering just inches above the rocks. Slowly she let go and settled on the uneven ground. She was exhausted. This was the first time she had used her magic out of instinct rather than conscious effort. It could hardly be called gliding – she knew a body was much easier to float when it was already in the air, jumping or falling. She still had a long way to go, but step-by-step, she would walk it, until she learned to glide so well she never needed to walk another step in her life!
Arrow heaved the carcass of the wolf from on top of her and got up. The rest of the pack had left, and taken her ravvits with them. Maybe the fall of their leader had humbled them, or perhaps they had just decided she was not worth the effort. Her hand was in a bad shape, she couldn't even feel her fingers, let alone move them, but otherwise she had survived with only small cuts and some bruises. She pushed the injured hand into the snow and kept it there to ease the pain. She would have liked to skin the two slain wolves, but that was a job that required two hands.
Arrow picked up her spear and continued on the path. She was still far from home when she received her father's sending:
Arrow! Where are you?
On my way, father! Get Suanshen!
Are you hurt?
Not badly. My hand is useless. I need help with my kill!
Foolish child! I'm coming for you.
Arrow walked on. It was better than standing in one place and freezing. Before long, she heard the wing-beats of her father's giant hawk, Windsoul.
'Father! Down here!'
Bowstring steered his bond-bird down and glided to his daughter.
'My precious hatchling! My little chick!' The hunter embraced his only living child clumsily.
Then he took hold of her shoulders and looked her up and down:
'By the Eggborn! What has happened to you?'
'Wolves. A whole pack. I killed two.'
'They attacked you, just like that, for no reason?'
'Um. I attacked first. I think it was my ravvits they were after.'
'So why didn't you throw them the ravvits?'
'I spent all day trying to catch them! They were mine! Stupid wolves, they had no right to take what is mine, just because they were so many and I was alone.'
'Wolves don't understand right and wrong. Hunger they understand.'
'And pain.'
'And pain. Foolish child! Sometimes I wonder if you understand pain at all. Never do anything like this again! You could have died.'
'Didn't.'
Windsoul called out to another giant hawk. Soon its rider, Snowflake, floated down with her passenger, the healer Suanshen. The healer spoke a quick greeting and went to her young patient.
'What happened?' Snowflake asked Bowstring.
'Arrow got in a fight with a wolf pack. Over some ravvits.'
'Takes after you, she does. Who won?'
'Snowflake!' Bowstring chided his once-lovemate sternly.
'Just asking.'
Arrow, whose hand Suanshen was in the process of healing, answered:
'Not sure. They got the ravvits, but I killed two of them.'
'Well done! Since they had the advantage of numbers, I'd say you won.'
'Snowflake! How dare you encourage her! She could have been killed, for the sake of nothing worth fighting for!'
'Bowstring, you've raised a good hunter. You should be proud of her!'
High Ones forgive me, old friend, I am. But she is too young to risk her life.
I risked mine at her age.
That you did. Without your parents' approval.
Aloud, Bowstring said:
'While our little hunter has herself patched up, would you mind going to her kill and skinning those wolves?'
'Of course.' As she floated astride her bird, Snowflake continued the sending conversation:
Remember when I killed my first wolf? Remember how we celebrated? Remember that coarse fur, and the use we put it to?
Aye. Poor Arrow, she's too young, and she'll never know what she has missed.
Too young? I wonder…
Keep your hands off her!
You are the only one I want, Bowstring.
You'll not have me until you stop leading my daughter astray!
Snowflake chose not to answer.
Selaree was so relieved at having her daughter safe in her arms that she said nothing for a long while. She just held Arrow as if she intended never to let go. The tribe, the hawkriders of Mountain Eyrie, gathered reverently around the black-haired female. She was the eldest of their elders, over a thousand turns of the seasons old, which was rare among a tribe constantly at war with the mountain trolls.
Finally Arrow spoke:
'Mother, let me breathe! I have a story to tell.'
She stood up and recounted her adventure matter-of-factly, adding nothing, leaving out only how she had used her weak almost-floating. While she spoke of the fight she sent her mother her new experience:
And I floated, without meaning to, and the wolf felt heavier than anything I've ever carried in my life!
Most of the purebloods reacted to her story with horror, the bird-bloods with excitement although not always approval. When Arrow was finished, Snowflake stood up. 'And here are her trophies!' She spread out the two wolf skins. Everyone marvelled at the size of the larger one and especially at its teeth. Kestrel was obviously aflame with jealousy, more so when he saw his brother Bluestone touch the head of the slain chief-wolf reverently. Darah muttered all the curses she could think of for foolish blood-thirsty hawk-bloods and their barbarian vanity. Finally the chief called for silence.
She was Whiteraven, chief of warriors, wearing a magnificent headdress of eagle feathers. She was also Snowflake's mother.
'Arrow, you have proven yourself as a hunter today. As wolf-killer, you have earned the right to a hunter's name. Do you wish to take an adult's tribe-name?'
Arrow bowed her head, closed her eyes, and thought. She had always known she would not be Arrow forever – she was not even very good with a bow. It was a child-name that meant only that she was her father's daughter. Yet, in the events of the night there was nothing in which she could find a name, a cause for pride, a foothold in the world of adults. She raised her head and met Whiteraven's eyes. The chief noticed with surprise that Arrow looked at her from almost equal height – she would grow tall, like her mother. Selaree's height and Bowstring's strength – a fearsome combination. Whiteraven felt a secret relief that Arrow was flightless – else she might someday be a serious threat, a challenger.
'No, my chief. I will take a new name when I learn to glide.'
'Very well. Still, tonight is a night for celebration. A child left us, a hunter came! Sing and dance! Eat and drink!' Though the words were merry, Arrow noticed something strange in her chief's eyes. Why did her idol not approve of her dream? Did she, too, think it was unlikely ever to come true? Well, there were things even the chief did not know, secrets shared only with her mother.
'Oh, my little one!' Selaree reached out to her daughter, but Arrow did not come into her arms.
'I'm not little, mother. Not anymore.'
'You made a good choice. There is no sense in hurrying headfirst into adulthood. And you will learn to glide, trust me.'
Was there ever any doubt?
No, and certainly not after what happened today. The development of instinct is a good sign.
Now Arrow did hug her mother.
Note: Among the hawkriders, purebloods have sound-names and bird-bloods have meaning-names. So that's an easy way to figure out who has what in their veins.
Hawkrider glossary:
ravvit-brained, ravvit-brains: well, obviously they wouldn't say bird-brains as an insult!
wind-sense: a bird-blood skill inherited from the hawks – the ability to concentrate on the wind and predict weather, flying conditions, sense scents, hear sound carried in the wind… to understand wind
hatchling, chick: endearments used of a child. Equivalent of cub, cubling. The word 'child' is more common, though.
the Eggborn: the three ancestors of all the hawk-bloods in the tribe, who had a shapechanged father and a hawk mother. They hatched out of eggs.
flightless: any elf who is not a glider. A minority group in the tribe, somewhat unfairly treated. A flightless cannot challenge the chief, for example. Arrowspeed, later, changed this rule…
Challenges: also called Duels. Fought with troll-swords in the air. A Duel for chieftainship is always to the death – and in other duels the death rate is high, too. Just imagine a swordfight in mid-air. A "Low Duel" is one with rules that state a low maximum distance from the ground, and it is fought until surrender.
"A child left us, a hunter came.": The formal words with which the chief grants a teenager the status of hunter after his/her first big kill. The average age for this is fifteen. The rules regarding what counts as big kill are very complex.