The Third Salvation

Arn’s legs began to buckle as he angled down the shallow embankment towards his newly desired prize. The river, flowing with purpose as it formed white peaks amongst the unending current, snaked across the belly of the valley, zagging past mighty maples that clung to natural dirt walls that guided crystal clear snow melt towards the distant sea.

He was thirsty, dreadfully so, his legs desperately trying to form some assemblance of grace as he skidded towards temporary salvation. As he neared the end of the decline, muscle memory took over as his head whipped up and arms shot forward to assume a gentle glide. Instead of the sweet relief of air and wind, his body derailed downward to meet a harsh welcome from the awaiting earth.

He landed face first into a patch of grassy mud speckled with pebbles smoothed by water and time. “Curse this useless form!” Arn cried to no one and everyone as he shook the pain out of his body.

He stood and carried himself to the water’s edge, pausing momentarily to wince and glance at his reflection in the waves. His plain features, dimly highlighted by cool brown eyes, the speckling of a two day old beard, and unremarkable brown hair, were caked in thick wet mud. He looked every bit the commoner he was aiming to play; farmer, carpenter, laborer, and beggar…all rolled into one. Wiping what he could from his eyes, he chuckled to himself at the gentle caress of his smooth fingers and dropped to his knees to drink.

The Watcher had approved of this form. Don’t be remembered. Be what will fade from minds as quickly as you will from their vision. His gruff instructions were by far the most he had spoken since Arn began the Feats. Now with one final task to go, this small feeble body was poised to ruin it all.

Since he was not a full fledged Pathfinder, not until he finished this Feat, he had only seen one human in person before. Last year, she appeared north of the Divide. The first one in centuries, the murmurs told. Since he was too unproven to be privy to her origins, he was commanded to simply let her be. Arn never saw her again.

Instead of actual sightings, his knowledge of the human world came from stories. Tales told by his den mother and the Gatherer. Detailed stories of their cruelty, weakness, and intense loving bonds that painted a picture so clear he could nearly taste them. Now, he was on their lands.

With his thirst quenched, his dull senses alerted him to his other mammalian needs. The heat was unbearable. Nothing in the pre-trials has come close to warning him what the high summer heat would feel like in this form; what it did to his skin, his eyes, his breath.

Careful to pay respect to the current, he waded into the river, dropping again to his knees. He reveled in instant relief as his small hands brought cool water to his dirty, sunburnt face.

In comparison to the other Feats, this one was beginning to feel unobtainable. Even with the unfaltering blaze of the mid-summer’s sun strengthening his magic, his mythical abilities did nothing to mask any sensations felt in human form…especially pain.

While he had only been in the woods for two days, the memory of The Gatherer’s words as he had outlined the final Feat now felt ancient. Through hazened thoughts, Arn remembered laughing slightly at how simple the task had initially seemed. Cross the Divide, retrieve a man made item, and return…simple until the final note dropped…while avoiding detection. And always remember The Code. The Watcher had taken him and the other four who had reached the final Feat and dropped them far from each other just above the Divide. Based on the directions from the Watcher, he still had another day to go until he would see human life.

Even with the cool water rushing past his tired form, Arn’s entire body ached for the memory of comfort. As he stood, water swirling past his knees, he heard a scream.

Arn looked up to see a splash on the other side of the wide river. Emerging from a brief churn in the water, a small blonde haired boy rose from the waves and sucked in a gasp of air. “Help!” He cried as he flowed quickly down the powerful river.

Shit. Arn quickly waded back out of the water and began fumbling down river over the rocky shore. The current was moving quickly, which in addition to his exhaustion and unhoned human senses, complicated matters considerably, especially since he couldn’t swim. Running had been enough of a challenge to master in the initial hours of human form, the welts on his face still singing with proof, but he had to try to get to the boy. The Code demanded it. The ground beneath him began to turn into a stone beach, allowing Arn to quicken his pace and gain on the boy as he bobbed through the rapids.

“I’m coming!” Arn shouted. His simple voice was immediately swallowed up by the sounds of the rapids.

The current brought the boy to the center of the river. Up ahead, Arn caught sight of a cluster of giant pine trees along the river’s edge. One pine, seemingly tired of its place amongst its colossal brethren, appeared to be growing near horizontally, shooting outward across the river in an attempt to escape the copse of trees. Legs burning in eagerness, Arn charged towards the tree. By now, he was a few yards ahead of the boy. Reaching the cluster of trees, Arn pushed through sharp branches and sap covered crevasses and began climbing across the nature made bridge. The boy was approaching quickly as Arn neared the tree’s end. Sudden disappointment filled Arn as he realized there was still no way he could reach him. Before a second plan could present itself, fate snapped the branches beneath Arn’s feet and he plunged into the river.

The rush of the current was by far more impressive that Arn had ever imagined. By the time he resurfaced from his surprise plunge, his tree bridge was far in the distant past and getting smaller by the second. Arn flailed around in a panic, water attempting to breach his mouth and nose. As his arms flopped backwards, he struck something hard. Reflex took over and he quickly grabbed onto the large tree branch that must have broken off as he fell.

His new source of salvation.

Managing to cling onto the branch, he looked to see that the boy was now a few feet behind him, barely keeping his head above the surf. Arn kicked his legs downwards and straightened his body to form a human anchor against the current, causing the boy to come crashing into him.

With whatever remaining strength he had, Arn kicked, pushed, and clawed the ragtag duo of sailors on their pisspoor galley towards the awaiting shore.

As if the river had tired of the game, a current gently took hold of them and pushed them lazily to the river’s edge. The boy flopped to his side amongst the tall reeds and heavy stones, gasping and coughing. Arn landed on his back, allowing the warming rays of afternoon sun to recharge his depleted cache of magic. Between maintaining human form, keeping the boy afloat, bending the tree, and coaxing the river to release them, his magic was nearly spent.

While human form offered little in comparison to his natural defenses, the race did have one edge on his own when it came to senses…hearing. The snap of pine needles and crunch of river gravel forced Arn to open his eyes and sit up. Even with superior ears, the alarm did not come soon enough.

Four men now circled him, bow strings drawn and taught with four dull gray arrow heads pointing at his heart. Iron, Arn mused. He had always been confused at the naivety of humans.

In his true form, the arrows would be useless, mere flies buzzing against his exterior. But now, as a human, regardless of the type of metal, the sharp arrows would easily pierce his thin skin and kill him.

“Don’t move Dragon,” said the nearest bowman. His voice was gruff. Silvery whiskers had begun to take over his once robust chestnut colored beard. The tense muscles of his taut forearm rippled with strength and experience.

The boy, now climbing to his feet, stared angrily at the lead bowman. “You pushed me!” His small soaked face filled with rage.

“Hush Tom,” the Bowman sneered, keeping his focus on Arn. “You arrogant lizards think you own us.” His pure rage seething as he spoke. “After what you took last year, I should kill you on the spot.”

Arn’s initial puzzlement was suddenly speared by clarity. Last year. Last year’s Feats. The previous year’s Proven Thunder had long left home to take up various stations around the world, which was right after Arn had seen the girl. Remembering more now, he could picture her sagging, malnourished face and bloated stomach. Her hair, riddled with lice and disrespect. The Code had guided one of his predecessors to select her as their man made item.

The archers closed in around Arn. “Niq, give me the rope.”

The archer closest to the river looked puzzled. “You want…to keep him alive?”

“Just bring it!” the leader spat, eyes never leaving Arn. “He’ll have answers. Hurry up!”

The puzzled archer hesitated for a second and then relaxed his bow string while reaching into a satchel hanging off his left hip. He returned with a loosely bound cord of an almost metallic brown rope, the bundle seemingly sucking hope from the air.

Arn’s stomach sank. While the human’s concept of iron hurting his kind was a comical farce in his homeland, all those north of the Divide knew the effect and use of farrowsbane. In his true form, touching farrowsbane would stifle his magic completely, but not his naturally given strength. In this form, he would be trapped…vulnerable to all human threats and weaknesses.

He needed a distraction. A few moments to regain his composure and unleash his true form. If he tried now, the taught arrows would shred through him in milliseconds, well before his arrow proof hide had returned.

The archer with the rope, eyes on Arn, walked carefully to the leader, farrowsbane rope extended.

For a second, Arn had almost forgotten about this boy, who unbeknownst to him at the time, was his final salvation.

“Leave him alone!” the boy shouted as he sprung forward and hurled a rock at the bowman holding the rope. While the velocity might have been slight, the boy's aim rang true as the rock connected with the man’s jaw. He screamed in pain as the farrowsbane dropped to the ground. The other three archers' eyes switched to panic and they shifted away from Arn to the weapon they desperately needed.

Arn reacted. With their eyes off him, he sprung to his feet and plunged back into the river.

“Shoot him!” The lead bowman cried.

Already gliding through rapids, Arn heard the whizzing of air followed by nearly imperceptible splashes as arrows pierced the water around him, barely missing their mark. Arn sucked in a gulp of air, and disappeared beneath the waves.

The four bowmen ran to the water’s edge, arrows drawn as they peered in. As their eyes scanned and their hopes waned, the river exploded before them.

Columns of water rained down in every direction and thick steam filled the sky as the bowman and boy were knocked backwards by the disruption. The steam stung their eyes, temporarily blinding the archers. The boy, however, could still see. As the water and steam dissipated from the sky, the boy caught a glimpse of the enormous dragon taking to the skies, streamers of river water marking his path across the blue sky.

Arn felt alive. The pain and weariness from the previous two days was gone. He spread his jet black wings as far as he could and ascended upwards above the clouds. The unshaded rays of sunlight struck his skin, refilling his magic and sense of hope at once. Thinking of the boy, his inhuman patience told him to wait. He would return. In the mighty clenched fist of his left front claw, he clutched a tiny ironhead arrow. He might just pass the Feats after all.