Lingering Shadows-Chapter 23

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Chapter 23- Liar

He wants you to meet him here after dark. Tomorrow night. And he says you’d better have something worth his while. Aro shivered, remembering the message. He hoped the papers he had stuffed his satchel with would be considered good enough. He didn’t want to know what would happen if they weren’t. But if they were, maybe Ryith would approve of him again. He would be trusted and accepted again. They could all go home as soon as the job was finished.

But for once, Aro was glad he wouldn’t actually be doing the important part of this mission. The conflict inside him told him he would never be able to be the one who actually did it. Another part of him hated himself for his weakness.

None of this was supposed to have happened.

He kicked at the dirt of the road miserably, ducking out of somebody’s way. The night before he had hidden the papers he found in his room and spent the rest of the dusky evening wandering the grounds of Oak Hill like a lonely ghost. He had barely slept that night, and left early in the morning to walk in Ban Rona, where he could hopefully avoid running into Artham. He knew he was going to have to make sure he was okay with him, but he wanted to put it off for as long as possible. Looking up at the morning sun that had already risen over the far off mountain tops, he realized Artham would start wondering where he was. It would also be great if he could get some information or plans for the next few days from him to take to Ryith. He wanted that information. He needed to get back to his mission. But something in him tried to hold him back.

He didn’t want to step back into the warm, protective circle that anyone Artham cared about was surrounded by. It was confusing and it made everything so, so much harder, and Aro was never supposed to have been accepted into it. When he looked back, he couldn’t remember when it had actually happened. When he had first met Artham, it was all an act. Every bit of it. He had hated the Throne Warden and his King with a vengeance, and intended to prove himself so well no one, not even Ryith would doubt him again.

But he realized that Artham had accepted him from the beginning.

He shouted and kicked at a fence post in frustration, hating himself for letting everything get so confused, hating Artham for caring because he wasn’t supposed to be his friend, hating Ryith for making him do this, and just hating himself, himself, himself for all his confusion and weakness and frustration. He felt like he belonged here like he had nowhere else, but Artham didn’t even know who he really was. Everything was wrong.

I belong with them. My place is with them, he reminded himself, remembering the approval Ryith had addressed him with before he slipped up on this mission.

He looked out over the road and realized he was close to the Guildling Hall. After that would be a little bit more of Ban Rona and he’d be back at Oak Hill. He struggled to push down the thoughts he couldn’t control, preparing himself to put on his mask again. He told himself over and over that he was making the right choice. It was his mission. They were his people. He would never belong here. And it was too late. Too late to change his choice even if he wanted to because he had already gone too far.

Telling himself those things on top of all his frustration and anger, he made himself believe it. He called himself traitor for getting pulled away, and he told himself he wouldn’t let it happen again. Now he had to go and make Artham believe everything was alright. He would go and Artham would be trusting him again and he would make everything come down for him and his brother and Anniera. Then he would have accomplished his mission.

He turned in surprise when he heard laughter coming from the Guildling Hall he had just passed. He walked back to the gate and looked to see Artham and Esben, along with the other four, standing close around a door in the side of one of the buildings. He realized that now would be as good a time as any to make up with Artham, so he went through the huge iron gate that thankfully stood partially open, walking down the path quietly, eavesdropping carefully.

“Thanks for getting us into the watch, Artham,” Dru was saying. “I don’t think Guildmaster Clout likes me very much,” Aspen snickered behind Dru, upon which Io turned around and said,

“You were definitely not helping back there, Aspen!” Aspen shook his head.

“Yeah, as if I’m any more to blame for any of that than you were,”

Esben stood on one side of Artham, who was trying to jam a rusty key into an equally rusty lock, and Josif stood on his other side. Aro stopped in the road just far enough away that he wouldn’t disturb them until they went in.

“I can’t wait to get in there again!” Esben said, excitement plain on his face. “How long has it been, Artham? Two years?”

“Pretty close,” Artham answered, giving the door a satisfied thump when he succeeded in pulling off the padlock. “The Guildmaster says we can only go in for a few minutes. The Guildling Hall is opening soon. It’s a good thing we already made up to him for the climbing wall we broke that one time, or he wouldn’t let us near this stuff.” Esben crossed his arms.

“Hey. That was you and Dru. I had no part in it,” he said with a smirk. Dru snorted.

“Yeah, you had no part in that, and yet you enjoyed to the fullest watching the two of us do more laps and push ups than a human being should capable of because of something you dared us to do! Artham, why did we ever listen to this kid?” Artham laughed ruefully.

“I have no idea. The door’s open now. We just have a few minutes, so let's enjoy it, but remember we can come back another day.” Artham pulled the door open wide with a grin. His friends and Esben tumbled in, and Artham followed close after into the dark room. In a few seconds Aro could see torchlight flickering inside. Full of curiosity, he crept to the door, looking through. His eyes got wide and he walked involuntarily all the way in.

“Wow…” he whispered in awe when he got in. It was a huge room, with climbing walls on the back, ropes hanging from the ceiling, and several guard towers standing in the middle for some reason. Every way he turned he saw something to climb or fight with or attack. He stood a little inside the doorway for a few minutes until a voice pulled him out of his trance.

“Aro! What are you doing here?” He jumped at the sound of the voice and turned quickly around, some of the fear left over from the day before flooding his eyes, but relaxed when he saw it was Artham behind him. He was kneeling over a huge black chest, again fiddling with a lock, but had paused when he saw Aro. He stood up and wiped his grimy hands on his pants, stepping over the chest and standing next to Aro.

“I… I was walking in Ban Rona and on the way home. I saw you here and wondered what this place was.” Artham stood up and stepped over the chest once he had unlocked it.

“This is the Durgan Guildling’s winter training hall,” he said with a grin, gesturing around him. “Pretty amazing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Aro answered. He looked down, steeling himself against whatever Artham was going to say.

“Artham…I-I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said quietly. Artham was silent for a second, and Aro looked up.

“No. No, Aro, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m the one who should be apologizing because I told you to go. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.” Aro looked at him in surprise for a second, then looked down again.

“It's fine,” he said, trying to forget Artham’s words as quickly as he could.

“Did you get hurt other than your face?” Artham asked with concern. Aro put a hand up to his jaw, wincing when he touched the bruise he had forgotten about.

“No sir,” he whispered, looking down, refusing to hear the care and friendship in Artham’s words.

“Listen, Aro,” Artham said, stepping over to the chest again. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m pretty sure something’s wrong.” Aro felt a burst of panic, and his eyes widened as his heart started beating faster.

He knows! He thought in terror, his eyes darting to the open door behind him.

“Just know that if you need something, I’m here to help you. Whatever it is, you don’t need to deal with it by yourself. I don’t want you to get hurt,” Artham finished seriously, looking Aro in the eyes. Aro sighed shakily.

He doesn’t know. It’s just about the messenger from Ryith. The fear faded from him, leaving room for other thoughts.

He wished he hadn’t heard Artham say all of that. Artham didn’t understand. Everything that was wrong was going to end up hurting him and his brother most. He almost turned to leave, but Artham spoke again.

“Aro, come over here for a second. I want to show you what’s inside this chest.” Aro stepped to Artham’s side cautiously, glancing up when Artham turned and called,

“Aspen! Please do not jump off the guard tower! The rope is too far for you to grab before you fall, trust me!” Aspen groaned but went down by the rope ladder. “I know from personal experience,” Artham muttered to himself with a wry smile. He knelt over the chest and after standing for a moment, Aro knelt down next to him. Artham lifted the lid with a smile. Aro’s eyes widened.

Inside was every variety of Annieran and Hollish weapons that he had seen, including some that he hadn’t.

“I want to see how good you are with a couple of these. Have you ever trained with weapons?” Artham asked, grinning at the excitement on Aro’s face. Aro’s fingers were practically tingling with the desire to touch some of the weapons in the chest, and Artham’s question recalled hundreds upon hundreds of hours spent practicing combat and aim.

“No,” he lied easily. Artham reached into the chest and pulled out an unstrung bow. He unwrapped it and bent it, quickly restringing it. He pulled a sheath of arrows from the chest.

“Here,” he said, “Try aiming at those targets over there. I think you’ll be able to pull this one,” he put the bow and arrows in Aro’s hands, turning around to point at the targets hung against one wall. Aro was looking down at the bow in his hands. One second, his spirits soared to the familiar feel of the wood under his hands. The next second, he glanced up at Artham, remembering. Suddenly, Artham heard the clatter of wood on stone behind him. Aro had dropped the bow and sheath like they were red hot, and stepped away.

“Sorry Artham. I-I’d rather not try the bow now, if you don’t mind,” he said, laughing nervously. Artham shrugged.

“Okay, but I want you to try someday. Here, take the sword instead.” Artham moved to stand behind Aro, handing him a long, double edged sword with a thick leather wrapping stitched together over the blade for practice. Aro grabbed the hilt with both hands, fumbling awkwardly at the odd weight and balance of the sword, being used to the curved, one sided sword he usually used. Then he felt Artham’s hands on top of his. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again he wasn’t listening to Artham’s kind voice telling him how to hold it, or looking at his face. All he looked at was the way Artham was placing his hands on the sword hilt. Artham stepped away, and Aro looked up.

“Take a swing,” Artham said, stepping back. Aro placed his feet wide apart and took a swing with the strange sword, looking up at Artham questioningly. Artham was about to answer, and Aro could see approval in his eyes, but then a shadow blocked the sunlight coming in the doorway.

“I thought you would have gone already, Throne Warden,” A voice said. Artham looked up.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Guildmaster Clout,” he said. “We lost track of time,”

“I should say so,” The Guildmaster said flatly. “Can I have my training hall back now? I need to make sure everything is in order.”

“Yes sir. Sorry about that. We’ll put these things away and then leave,” Artham said.

The Guildmaster nodded gruffly. “Be sure you’re out before lunch,” he said with humorless sarcasm. Then he turned and left. When he was gone, Artham turned to see his brother and his friends making their ways slowly toward the door, putting things away and climbing down from their perches. Artham stepped toward them, but then looked back at the chest with the few weapons scattered on the floor.

“It’s okay, Artham. I can put this away. I don’t want you to be late for the council meeting. I’ll come right after,” Aro said as the other five walked toward them.

“Thanks, Aro,” Artham said, pulling two keys off his ring. “Um…this is the key for the chest, it goes there, and that’s for the door. I’ll meet you at the Keep in a little while.”

“Yes sir,” Aro said, standing straight and trying to hide his smile, looking pleased that Artham trusted him with his keys. Esben looked out the door.

“Artham, it’s been longer than we thought. If we don’t go soon, we’ll be late. Imagine what Bunge will say to the council if he gets there first,” He said grimly.

“Okay, let’s go. See you in a bit, Aro,” Artham said as he followed his friends out the door, ducking the satchels that Esben and Aspen were swinging at each other.

Aro waited for a few minutes while he heard them walk away. Then he walked over to the chest, his footsteps echoing in the now silent, cold hall. He bent over, only giving the small bow Artham had handed him a quick glance. He dug deeper into the chest, pulling out a bow nearly as long as he was tall, and much thicker than the other one, along with its long, sharp arrows.

He grinned, fingering the smooth wood and leather. His own bow was currently laying in splinters somewhere at the bottom of the ocean by the Annieran docks, thanks to Ryith and his own mistake that day.

He closed his eyes tightly. He didn’t want to remember that now. He tugged the string gently a few times after he restrung it, testing its strength. Then he gently pulled out one of the long arrows and fitted it to the bow, closing one eye. He lifted his head and looked around. No, those targets were too close. He looked across the dim hall and saw a crack in between some of the wood panels that were above the stone part of the wall.

He brought the bow up, drawing swiftly and smoothly, the fierce joy that he felt with his bow filling him up and pushing his anger further down in him. His skinny, awkward frame looked strong and wiry now with the muscles in his arms and chest straining at the huge bow. With a shout, he let the arrow fly, watching with satisfaction as it thunked deeply into the crack.