White Ghost and the Poison Arrow (4 page)

The old man proceeds to teach each of the young men how to
knock an arrow, then how to aim, then finally how to release the
arrow. They seem to be getting the hang of it, although their aim
is a little off. Arella has to stifle a laugh when Mato misfires an
arrow and nearly pierces his own foot.
"I
can throw a dagger and hit anything in my sight."
Arella thinks.
"I wonder
if I would be able to use a bow and arrow? Where would I get one
from though. I don't think anyone in my tribe uses one. Hmm...
Maybe I could make one."

Arella spends the next hour of the men’s training studying the
bows, how they move, how the pieces fit together and what they are
made of.
"They don't seem too hard to make.
Just a simple balance and having the right materials. I think I
should be able to make on. The arrows however might be a little
harder. I would be able to make them, but setting the feathers
right for balance might be harder."

Arella watches
the muscles on the men’s shoulders tense as they draw back and
release the bows, each of them shooting bare chested in the heat of
the night. Each arrow is fired with power, and each shot getting
closer and closer to the makeshift targets, not all that different
from the ones Arella was practising her throwing skills with. The
moonlight glints off the sharp stones on the ends of long sticks,
and feathers on the end bristle slightly in the breeze, helping the
arrow to hold its balance as it is fired across the grove towards
the targets on the other side.

From what
Arella can see, Nashoba seems to have the best aim, although Mato
has the most power behind his draws. Ujarak works hard to help the
young men to focus their bows and aim as close as they can get.
Demonstrating every now and again to show them how to do it, moving
their elbows into the right position and correcting them when they
make mistakes. He seems like a good teacher. Strict but fair.
Arella would like to learn from him, or someone like him at the
very least.

All of these
men seems strong, over the smallest one. Much stronger then then
men in her own tribe. Arella begins to wonder if what the men had
said about her tribe the day before was true. Were they really all
that weaker than others, and if so why were they like that? Before
Arella could think on this anymore, the men began packing up their
bows, arrows and picking up the rest of their belongings. “Before
you leave, I want to give you some homework.” Ujarak says to them.
“I want you to study your bow. Really look at it, and think about
how it works. Then I want you to make your own.” This is met my
moans and groans from all of the young men. “I will hear no more of
that negativeness. The mark of a true warrior is how well they can
make their own weapons. No point being able to hit a squirrels eye
from 100 feet if you don’t know how your weapon is made, and
therefore its strengths and weaknesses.” This makes sense to
Arella. You can’t expect to be able to do anything without first
learning something’s strengths, weaknesses and characteristics. It
would be like trying to light a fire without knowing that fire
needs fuel to burn, water will put it out and that the flames are
hot.

Arella waits for them to have left the clearing, then slowly
climbs down out of her tree. She sees that one of the men has left
an arrow behind and picks it up.
"This will
help me make my own, if I have an example of what they are meant to
look like."
She then looks around her,
listening out for any signs of the men returning. Once she is sure
she can no longer hear them, she begins to follow the trail they
leave, leading them back towards to village they came from. Arella
is curious to know what the other tribes village looks like, and
how many people there are. She has only ever seen members of her
own village, and has nothing to compare them with.

Arella walked
for what seemed like another hour, which would make her about two
hours away from her village. The trees suddenly come to a stop and
lush green grassland takes over where it finishes. Just beyond the
treeline, only a few feet away, a few tents can be seen. These
tents sit on the edge of a village, bigger than Arella’s but not
all that different. The tents are all brown and black, made from
the skin of hunted animals, but bigger than the ones Arella has
seen. A big fire pit can be seen at the centre of the village, but
smaller ones sit outside some of the tents, with food cooking on
them. Small black tailed rabbits roast on the open flames of some,
while others look to have some kind of vegetables or roots boiling
in large pots.

Arella scouts
out the treeline to find the best place to hide herself away where
she can see what is going on. She climbs into a tree nearby, with
low branches and lots of leaves. Its bow is strong, and supports
her weight well. The thick branches make it comfortable to sit on,
and Arella nestles herself in the crook where the branch meets the
trunk. From up here she can see the vastness of this other village,
surrounded by woodland, with a stream running down the top right
hand side, plants and bushes grow around it, and some kind of
domesticated cattle are kept in a large pen to the left of her,
settling down for the night with their young.

A group of
children, there must be about twenty of them, gather around one of
the smaller fires. An older looking woman looks to be telling them
a story. The animated looks on their faces tell Arella that it is a
good one. She always loved being told stories when she was a child.
The scary ones were always the best. These children look so happy
and carefree, like nothing can harm them. A group of young men,
including the ones she had been watching in the clearing, are
gathered around another fire, laughing and telling stories also.
Although from the way they look at each other, these stories would
not be suitable for the children to hear.

Arella is drawn in by the sounds and smells of this village.
Everything is so nice, and everyone seems to get along. There is no
bullying, or name calling or any nastiness at all. The women seem
more relaxed than in her village, and some of them even join in
with the men’s stories. Arella can clearly see the chief, sitting
with his wife and who he assumes to be his two children, but he is
also sitting with the other men and women, all swapping stories and
laughing as they eat their meals of black tailed rabbit and roots.
Everyone in this tribe seem more equal, if that were even possible.
The moon grown higher in the sky, and soon everyone in the tribe
seem to be drifting off into their own tents to bed down for the
night. “
I will stay here the night.”
Arella thinks to herself as she nestles down into
the bow of the tree, bringing her cloak round to use as a makeshift
blanket, while still being careful to keep her hair and face
covered. “
Then head back home tomorrow
during the day when the tribe are too busy to notice me
moving.”
With that, Arella closes her eyes
and drifts off to sleep. The sounds and smells of this pleasant
tribe her lullaby for the night. Somewhere in the village, a mother
sings her children to sleep, sending Arella deep into
unconsciousness.

Chapter 3

The sky was
still dark when Arella woke up. She groaned slightly and shifted
her position. “Turns out a tree is not exactly the most comfortable
place to sleep.” She thought, with a numb bum and sharp pins and
needles in her feet, she promises herself not to sleep in such an
uncomfortable place in a long time. She sits there for a couple of
minutes, letting the feeling come back to her lower half. The air
around her was still, and the sky clear and bright. The moon was
waning, but the light still shone bright, illuminating the village
below her. Everyone in this village were sleeping, even the cattle
in the pen were quiet. There is a sense of calm here, safety too.
While the village sleeps, they do not worry about the terrors of
the night. Arella feels at ease with them. Relaxed and happy.

Climbing down
from her hiding place in the tree, Arella notices one of the young
men sitting by the dying embers of the fire. It is Nashoba, the
green eyed boy. He just stares into the embers, his shoulders
moving up and down smoothly as he breaths, silent as the night its
self. He moves slightly to the side and Arella notices an object in
his hand. It’s his bow he is studying. He stares at it with real
intent and focus. “What is it he wants me to look at?” Nashoba asks
himself. “I know that the wood is strong and bendy, and I know that
the  string is also strong. I know where the arrows need to
go, and how to fire an arrow.” He looks puzzled. A big man with big
shoulders and dark skin steps out of a large tent close to the fire
and walks over to the boy. “A bow should be an extension of your
arm my boy. Not just a weapon. You need to feel the life that was
once inside the wood, feel what the arrow must feel when she flies
through the air. That is what Ujarak wants you to know.” He pauses.
“What’s bothering you Nashoba?”

“I just can’t
sleep Dad.” He says back to the big man.

“Have you slept
at all my son?”

“A couple of
hours or so yes. I just can’t seem to stay asleep, and I’m not even
tired.”

“The sun will
be coming up soon. A walk might do you some good. It will be your
sisters birthday when she wakes, go find her some flowers from the
meadow. You know how much she loves meadow flowers.”

“Okay Dad, thanks.” Nashoba says with a smile. Arella knows
she cannot follow the green eyed boy into the meadow, it is far too
open and with the sun coming up soon, she needs to keep herself
hidden. She knows what happens when one tribe meets another, and it
isn’t always pretty. If they spotted her in their village, they
would most likely kill her. “I’d better head back through the woods
and leave this village behind for now. I need to make myself a bow
and some arrows.”  Arella thought to herself. She had spent a
long time analysing how a bow looks, and how the wood bends. She
now feels confident that she will be able to make one that will
work well. She watches as the Nashoba walks on into the meadow, and
the big man goes back into the large tent he came from.
“
He must be the chief.”
Arella thinks. The size and positioning of the tent give it
away. It is the biggest one there, and right in the centre of the
camp. Arella watches the green eyed boy walk into the meadow. She
watches until the brightly coloured flowers and long meadow grass
have consumed him.

Arella stands
up from her crouched position in the bushes below the tree that was
her bed that night and moves into the woodland. It is dark in the
shade of the trees still, but the sun is just beginning to rise on
the horizon. Arella is stiff from sleeping in the tree, but the
more she walks the looser her body becomes. She is following the
same track she used to get to the village, and soon finds herself
back at the clearing she saw the young men practising in the day
before. They seemed so much older than her when they were fighting.
Arella being fourteen, was only maybe two or three years younger
than them, but so much smaller and weaker. She has a lot to learn
before she can go anywhere on her own she realises.

“Now to find
the perfect branch for making my bow.” Arella thinks. The forest is
full of wood, but none of it looks like it will work. The wood for
this bow needs to be bendy, but strong. The wood of the Looba tree
is perfect, but there aren’t many of them around. Walking around
with her eyes focused on the branches above her, Arella doesn’t see
the tangle of roots at her feet and trips. She falls to the ground
with a thump, knocking her head on the stump of an oak tree. “Gods
damn that hurts!” She says as she touches the spot where the pain
is coming from. She feels heat on her hands and instantly knows it
is blood. “Oh great!” Arella sighs. “Just what I need. A head
injury.” She brings herself to her feet, and instantly feels dizzy.
“Maybe sitting down for a couple of minutes might be a good
idea.”

As Arella sits
on the mossy ground massaging her head and looking at the roots the
tripped her, she notices something. The wood of the root that
tripped her is a dark colour, almost black. She moves forwards to
investigate it further. “This root is bendy, but strong enough to
not break when I fell over it.” She wonders. She takes out her
dagger and begins cutting at the root as close to the base of the
tree as she can get. As she hacks at the root, she notices that the
flesh within is a deep purple colour. “An anamoa tree!” She
exclaims aloud. Anamoa trees are extremely rare, but the wood is
the best for making weapons. The Looma tree is good, and the wood
is strong and bendy, but nothing beats an anamoa tree for
strength.

After what
seemed like hours, Arella finally freed the root from the base of
the tree, she begins pulling it from the ground. It lies over a
meter long above ground, and is thicker than any root she has seen
on a normal tree. As she pulls, the root seems to just come away
from the ground and soon she is holding a two meter long piece of
root thicker than her arm at its thickest. The root has a slight
natural curve which will make it easier to carve into the right
shape, and it is strong enough not to bend under pressure. “This is
perfect!” Arella looks down at herself, covered in mud with dried
blood on her arms and in her hair from her fall. “I must look a
right mess.” She laughs to herself.

Arella
continues to walk out of the forest, careful where to put her feet
and towards the lake near her village. It is now nearly lunch time
and everyone in her village will be wide awake. Arella knows she
must go back to the village to get fresh clothes, but she cannot
take her anamoa root with her. She stashes it in a bush with white
flowers and makes a mental note of where she left it.