Arrows

from the world of the remnant

by Ayden Kowalski

The moon had turned its face from the world that night; only a shadow illuminated the sickly white plain of concrete, which stretched almost to the horizon.  The stars were few and far between, as was expected of a year such as this:  the winter passed into spring much too quickly, and as such, the great harvest of Nacris had fallen back into the month of Yuvami, when the constant rains and floods stifled the abundance.  Despite the celestial cycles reaching their darkest point, the government had pressed on in assigning every Equaron of military age to the Runway, where almost every slab used for its construction was now engraved with the name of a fallen monster.

All who stood upon that field gazed westward, upon the wall.  It was, by all mathematical angles, absolutely perfect:  it was just tall enough to prevent the humans on its western side from crossing over; yet, it was just short enough for the Equarons on its eastern side to leap over.  One or two humans did climb it every once in a while, but the Guardians, whose bejeweled armor was the pride of the nation, gave them no passage.  That is what every monster who walked the Runway wanted to become one day, and included among those was Arin Maxus, father of Arrow Maxus.

Arrow knew because it was said at the funeral.

Arin died heroically, according to the eulogy.  He faced off against a great swordsman and only let down his guard to shield another monster by his side from an oncoming arrow.  At that moment, the man, his eyes almost red with the fire of his hatred, drew his sword, and plunged it into a crack in Arin’s armor.  It pierced his side, and struck his heart.  The humans threw him into the river before the monsters could send representatives to recover his body.  In ancient times, it had been said that all monsters whose bodies the humans destroyed were locked beneath the horizon with the setting sun until their killer was himself slayed, at which point the monster would enter Paradise.  But ever since the gods were disproven at the great trial, none of that mattered at all, so, according to the new ritual, Arin’s name was solemnly engraved into the concrete as an everlasting memorial, and all his comrades joined in his funeral hymn, his wife and son with them.

Since that day, Arrow had known he either wanted to murder every single man in the city until he slew whomever took his father (Arin had always told his son to believe in the spirits of the world; the family was one of the few faithful left, and even though Arrow doubted, the river spirits always stuck with him since then), or die in the river as well, so he might find his father under the horizon.  His mother, however, disagreed with him on this, and as such banned him from any type of military training for as long as she could before the government stepped in and threw him into military school, where he became one of the greatest warriors in his unit.  His teachers always used to comment that he lacked the calmness of a proper soldier, but he was simply so talented in the art of destruction that nothing was done.  So, he had gotten his Black Silver armor, which was not in fact silver but rather some alloy of silver and something else he slept through learning in school, and been assigned to the Runway.  His mother tried everything to get him to delay his departure—fake sick, purposefully break his arm, even desert—but he rebuked her every call, telling her that he was born from his father and as such would walk in his footsteps.  She cried at this, telling him that he was not simply to be his father, but he had none of it, and left her there weeping, almost ripping her throat apart crying for him to come back, come back.  Despite a gnawing pain her tears left in him, he felt like a true Equaron when he left her.  Equarons always died for what they believed in, and he too would die if he must for his country.

“Ready!” barked the Aratmas, a great plum-looking fellow overlooking the rows from behind.  The Equarons of the first twenty or so rows then all stepped forward, drawing their swords from a sheath on the back of their breastplates in unison.  Arrow, too, unsheathed his blade; as he held it straight in front of him, he saw his reflection one final time.  His skin was as blue as a river, or so his mother said; he had never seen a river.  They were supposed to be pretty trenches of water running for miles and miles, which primeval culture saw as divine.  There was supposed to be one on the other side of the wall, but nobody ever saw the other side of the wall besides his father, who was forbidden to tell his family of it for military reasons nobody truly understood.  All he could tell them is that the humans were indeed the monstrous creatures of legend, with strange skin that could be both rough and soft, strange oval heads with tiny jaws and small eyes, and strange growths on the tops of their heads which they seemed to enjoy (Arrow liked to theorize that these were parasites that ate the humans eventually).  Either way, he was prepared to slaughter all he saw, and could not wait to avenge his father whom they took from him.

“Allegiance!”  Every Equaron then suddenly dropped on both knees, their heads lowered.  Their swords touched the ground, each perfectly resting on its point.  They then rose again, sheathing their swords.  A third cry of the Aratmas then sent them almost to the ground, with one knee bent and one leg stretching back as far as possible.  Arrow sighed, his heart rate almost accelerating.  This was the beginning of the end, and whatever way it went, he was ready.

“Charge!” cried the Aratmas, and with no sound, the Equarons surged forward, moving their arms from hip to ear, ear to hip as fast as they could.  They slowly rose, growing faster and faster as they went farther and father, the wall growing larger and larger as the western horizon approached. Every Equaron was running as fast as he or she could, all in unison, as the Guardians on the wall above turned towards them.  Their ethereal gaze did not miss Arrow, who felt them piercing through him, almost stripping his emotions naked for inspection as he sprinted closer and closer to the wall.

Before him now was a great white line, which had been named the Twilight Mark, where all the Equarons would take their final leap.  Arrow, as he approached it, felt a strange sense of excitement build up in him.  But at the same time…

Time seemed to stop as Arrow’s left foot came right before the line.  As he swung down his right foot, he suddenly felt his mother’s glance, as if she was right there beside him.  He couldn’t turn away to look; he had to face the wall and go now.  As he slammed down his right foot and lifted off the ground, he felt her fall, and as he accelerated towards the stars faster and faster, he felt her tumble deeper and deeper, as if every move towards the wall for him was a move away from him for her.  He felt her tears pouring upon the ground as he hurtled over the wall, his gaze now passing the Guardians, their breastplates white and covered in diamonds, their faces obscured in masks something like the moon, except behind the glow was smooth, emotionless crystal.  They, Arrow realized, were less monsters and more wall, an extension of what they stood upon.  He catapulted over the wall, and as he surpassed even them, the human city came into view, and Arrow was at once rendered breathless by what laid in front of him, far beneath his place in the sky.

There was a massive, snake-line trench of water before the city, the river.  Arrow turned his eyes down to see it, and even in the blackening night, which was partially illuminated by torches set on the opposite bank right before the wall, he could see how his mother saw him in it.  It was a sweet thing, harmless in its curves and bends, almost alive in its absolute peace.  He at once understood why all who saw it believed it to be not from this world, as nothing else was so seemingly erratic yet absolutely exact, so placid yet impressive, so calming yet invigorating.  What a life it must be, thought Arrow, to walk out with one’s beloved and simply stare into the river.  Of course, the wall ruined that view now, as did the Runway, but if they weren’t there and the forest still remained, then it would be…

Arrow now turned his attention to the city itself, and as he hurtled to it, he couldn’t help but forget about the war for a moment.  For this was not the dwelling of murderers; nobody could truly murder in such roads as these, free of men and swarmed with buzzing orange lights from the torches lining them.  The houses were tiny and quaint, with plumes of sad smoke coming out their chimneys, birds set loose in the great blue canvas of the sky.  Fountains lined almost every city square, wooden human stalls surrounding them.  How could this little town be as evil as the government said, as heartless as the wall?

Arrow was speeding quickly now to the riverbank of the city, body in perfect landing position, trying to picture the despicable little men swarming the city’s stone walls.  The city was a gorgeous daughter of the river, yes, but her children were beings of bloodlust, and deserved death, right?  Surely that could not be wrong, they had taken Arin.  Yet we always strike first…

Arrow heard a scream.  He looked straight in front of him, the wall of the city barely seconds away. He prepared to turn his body to land when he suddenly got a glimpse of the one screaming.  Holding some strange object in her hands was a short figure, barely visible in the distance.  Arrow squinted and, desperate to identify this creature, activated his powers of sight, magnifying the little creature to where he could finally see it.

On the other side of the wall, clutching a sown doll of some woodland creature in hand, was an adorable, raggedy being.  Strange strands of something almost silky ran down from its head, which contained rather small yet intricate eyes—a deeper blue than the sky contained a ring of yellow, which finally led to a pitch-black pupil.  Her lips were quivering as she shivered in what appeared to be a nightgown of some sort, which was brown and wrapped tight around her.  Her legs were a good half of her body, and they too were concealed by this long gown.  Was this, wondered Arrow, a prisoner of the humans, a monster taken from beyond the wall on some mission unbeknownst to the government?  Or was this actually…?

“Arrow!” barked an Equaron beside him, and as Arrow turned his head down to the river bank, deactivating his vision, he saw one final thing as he zoomed out.  On the walls of the city, wrapped in a brown robe the same color as the infant creature’s gown, with the same eyes as the other, was a tall, strong-looking creature, evidently of the same species, with a recently sprung bow in hand.  He caught tears streaming down the strangely oval face of the beast as he zoomed out, and as he felt an arrow penetrate his armor, he suddenly realized.

These are the humans.

And they are just like me.

His limp body hit the water.