The Archress [HOLD]

I

A/N: The Huma coat of arms ⬆️

The man they called Arisol stood silently outside his home, drinking a cup of tea. He was seemingly unaware of the fighting that was happening or how close it was. The backyard garden he stood in matched the surprisingly simple and humble style of his remote hut. Occasionally, he would look upon the tall, thick trees that surrounded him, as if he knew of the deadly danger that was hiding in them.

Uneasiness settled in the pit of Armia's stomach as a knock came from Arisol's back door. The young man who was only a year or two older than Armia herself had barely nodded his head when a young woman--whom Armia knew was nearly thirty--entered the peaceful outside garden. Everybody called her Sasge. She put her arms around him and whispered something in Arisol's ear. In reply, his once gentle features hardened, and he shoved the girl off.

Even from Armia's height, she could see the anger on Arisol's face. The girl pretended to be upset and cry, but not before handing her fake husband of two months a deep, royal blue handkerchief. Despite not being able to see it, Armia knew that there was a coat of arms that depicted an open lock and shattered key. It was the symbol of the Huma; she had come to believe that it meant no stone was ever left unturned, that the truth would prevail. One way or another, the it will always unlock itself, crushing the key that bound it so tight.

It was also their signal to act.

In one swift move, Armia reached over her shoulder and selected two arrows from her quiver. She notched them both and aimed at Arisol, ignoring the small blue ribbons attached to their tails as they blew in the wind along with her silvery white hair. She held her breath for one heartbeat. Two. Three. Then she let the arrows fly.

It didn't matter how many times she did this, that guilty feeling of sending a man to his death still made her want to force up her last meal every time. But so was the thought of leaving her home of sixteen years.

As her pointed weapons cut through the air, exactly fourteen others flew from the trees around her, all hitting their target: Arisol.

All except one, which flew dangerously close to Sasge before tearing off a small corner of Arisol's handkerchief as it went down with him. Armia shrunk back. Whoever's arrow that was, the archer would be punished.

A beautiful, controlling anger shadowed Sasge's face. She picked up the torn fabric and replaced it with a new one, placing it over Arisol's chest. It was the Huma signature, their MO.

Then a rustle came from the stray arrow's tree. A dark body fell out of the coverage of the leaves, and Armia gasped before immediately covering her mouth. Sasge might have been beautiful, but she was harsh with her punishments even when it came to the smallest of mistakes. So she waited silently until a sharp whistle pierced the air and all of the archers climbed soundlessly down from their perches. As soon as her feet were on the ground, Armia ran to where the stray archer had fallen, cutting past thick branches and swatting the thick, wet jungle leaves that got in her way. Finally, a young man with deep black skin appeared, covered in scratches. His chest moved up and down quickly as she approached him and nudged his face with her foot.

"Boak?"

"That's me," he groaned in his ever-humorous voice.

Armia rolled her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Boak gritted his teeth in a painful smile. "Pretty good, actually. Who knew flailing out of a huge tree could be this heart-pounding? I suppose it's a good thing that I didn't scream falling down, isn't it, Mia?"

"It would have been even better if you hadn't fallen to begin with." Armia helped him up. Great Beasts, even his legs and feet had somehow became mauled by branches. It was going to be difficult to get Boak back to the Huma camp without making a scene. If only Ulysses was here instead of up front, sorting and properly binding the guards that had taken watch over the late Arisol's home.

"Armia?"

A boy with silver hair tied into a simple braid hangig to his knees crept out from the foliage. He, like Armia and Boak, was wearing a white tunic that still looked impossibly clean, despite having a mess of blood and dirt in it.

"Ulysses--" Armia started, but it was too late. Her brother had already disappeared back into the trees without a trace. She sighed and used the corner of her shirt to wipe off a bloody gash running from Boak's earlobe to halfway through his chin.

"I'm gonna get a pretty nasty scar from this one, eh?" he teased. "Imagine the awe future trainees will feel when the hear the brave story of how I aimed a killing shot while stranded in a tree, valiantly fighting for my life."

Armia allowed herself a quick smile and tucked his words into the back of her brain. "No, imagine the disappointment future trainees will feel when they learn that you earned it by falling from a tree."

"I get it, Armia." He sighed. "One can dream."

One can dream. Armia's quick hands froze, lost in the memory of a young her and Ulysses sleeping by each other while their mother went on about the bothersome nightmares she would get. Little did any of them know that those dreams had been the gift of second sight, one that would sometimes haunt Armia in the puny hours of the rising dawn.

"Hey," Boak said softly, sending away the memory like drops of water on a newly finished painting. "Are you alright?"

Always, her mom would say. Always and forever be who you are. Armia felt that was nearly never who she truly was, but didn't know why. It always felt like something was missing from her. Maybe it was her mother's death. She pulled away the cloth, satisfied that the bleeding had stopped. "I'm better than you at the moment," she replied, just as her brother came back. Behind him was Ciar and Lonco, both carrying throwing knives and breathing heavily from their short hike.

"It has come to my attention that there is a lovely damsel in need," Lonco boomed in his usual deep, arrogant voice. How he and Ulysses became close friends—almost brothers—without Armia killing him in his sleep was an amazing show of strength.

"My apologizes, Lonco, but it's Boak in need today. Maybe later," she replied. Then, quietly, she added, "Or never." Ciar made a throaty noise in the back of her mouth that everyone recognized as a laugh. The other girl her age had had her tongue cut out two years previous. Rumors surrounded why and how it happened: some say that she was kidnapped and tortured behind enemy lines, or that she was born without it, or even because a harsh relative cut it out for punishment. Armia and the people who knew the dark-haired beauty were just as clueless on why she couldn't speak as everyone else.

"Ah," Lonco continued while extravagantly waving his arms at Ciar. "Well then, by all means, let the medic do her job."

Catching her cue, Ciar quickly took out a folded pack and got to work. In record time, the girl was done and backed away from her patient.

"That's it?" Boak asked incredulously, and a little dramatically once she had finished. Only a long tear in his arm was covered by a simple bandage. "What about the rest of me?"

"You'll be fine, Boak," Armia snapped, at the same time Ulysses did. For a second, the twins were quiet. Then:

"I know," they said at the same time. "What. You're going. To say. Next."

"Honestly," Boak said, getting up and limping in between them, "you two have to stop that. Soon you'll have us forgetting who is who."

"You're right," Lonco added. "Ulysses would make a rather convincing girl, don't you agree?"

*****

A/N: Hello everyone!👋🏾

Thank you for giving The Archer a chance, and I hope you'll enjoy it! Please comment on things that need to be better, your opinion, and remember to vote (if you liked it)!

~Anna Joy