Ordan led Sethlzaar through the keep, and Sethlzaar, knowing the path, understood exactly where they were headed.
Priestess Emeril was present in The Monsignor's chamber when they entered, and Sethlzaar had no preconceived notion of what was to transpire.
Shrowl sat at his seat with the same blank expression and piercing eyes Sethlzaar knew him for, saying nothing as he leafed through the book before him. The books had grown in numbers since the last time Sethlzaar was here, and the three swords stared at him from their place behind the Monsignor.
"VI Sorlan," Shrowl finally addressed him after a period that seemed to go on for too long. "Priestess Emeril believes you have a talent with the bow. And she should know; she has a talent with it herself."
Sethlzaar offered no response.
As if disappointed at his absence of response, Genebac Shrowl sighed, rubbing aging fingers against a wrinkled forehead. "Go and pack your things," he said. "You will be going on a trip with Priestess Emeril for a while."
It was an old trip, it turned out. A long trip. An unmemorable trip.
The rest of the day was spent on horseback alone with Emeril, riding through forests and the occasional busy streets of the realm. They stopped only once for a meal before continuing on their journey in silence. Emeril made no attempt to initiate a conversation, and at some point Sethlzaar found himself missing the walls of the seminary. The outside air was not entirely special as Sethlzaar and his mates had received the grace of leaving the keep on the first Elsahel of the second month at their choosing since the test of self. An offer they took engaging in simple sight-seeing around the city.
Their journey came to an end in a village hidden in the Sarkish forest of the realm. As they dismounted the adults came to welcome them, and Sethlzaar could not help but notice how familiar they were with Emeril. She seemed genuinely pleased to see them and yet uneasy at the same time.
Emeril took him to a tent smelling of a strange mix of lavender and jasmine in the middle of the village not long after they were free of their horse. Inside was an elderly woman waiting for them. She was shorter than Sethlzaar, and Emeril greeted her with a familiarity found between mother and daughter. But Sethlzaar could note no discernable resemblance.
Beside the woman stood an elderly man, evidently younger than her. He stood tall with his hands folded across his chest, his black eyes scrutinizing Sethlzaar with every move he made.
"This is lady Piniis leader of the village," Emeril told him, her first words to him since the beginning of their journey. "You will give her the same level of respect here as you would Monsignor Shrowl."
With a jovial smile, Lady Piniis added, pointing at the elderly man, "And the grouchy old man over there is my brother, Filiis. He will be teaching you more on the way of the bow, and it would be advisable to be a good pupil... not that you people never are."
After, they were shown to a tent where they would both spend the night for the duration of their stay.
As they settled in for the night after a hearty dinner, Sethlzaar couldn't help but notice Emeril seemed to feel at home in the room.
What am I going to be taught here that the fathers of the seminary cannot teach me? he wondered as the night grew cold and old. He afforded Emeril a discreet attention. What am I to be taught that you cannot teach me?
The morning saw Sethlzaar alone with Filiis in a segmented part of the forest. They had walked over a mile to get there before Filiis bestowed him with his first words of the day.
"Here," Filiis looked around, inhaling the fresh forest air, "you will learn what it means to be a true archer. Here, I am your master, your father, your king, and your priest. We are not here to play games. I have no doubt Em must have taught you well at the seminary, but here I will teach you greater things. Here, you will learn more uses for the bow, as well as forge your very own. One that like a warrior's blade will follow you to the end, but unlike a warrior's blade it will follow you beyond. A bow can be gotten anywhere, but a bow forged right by an archer is better than any bow they can ever be given. Forge it well and it will serve you well. Forge it poorly, and your skill with it will never grow beyond mediocrity..."
What's mediocrity? Sethlzaar could hear Cenam's voice in his head, and he held back his laughter, keeping his face expressionless.
"The seminary teaches you to fight for the realm and the faith," Filiis continued, "here I will teach you to fight for your brothers and sisters, as well as yourself. It is known that archers fight from behind the battlefield, but you will learn to fight on the frontlines—"
The seminary already teaches me that.
"—With a bow," Filiis finished. "Because that is what it means to be the first bow."
It was the first time Sethlzaar was hearing the term outside of Father Antuas' stories of the seminary's history. From the stories he had deduced the title of first bow was rare, and only very few answered to it. Being the best archer in a group did not make one the first bow, and he was beginning to understand why.
He had heard of almost everything from the older children, or at least gotten an idea of everything. But this was entirely new to him, and he found himself wondering if maybe there was something he could learn from them that the seminary could not teach him.
The rest of the day was spent learning the art of aerial movements. Surprisingly, Sethlzaar found he took to it with relative ease, like a fish to water, or a bird to the sky, or a thief to the night. All he needed was to see the nimble old man perform the act and he found himself sailing through the air as best a child his age could.
Before high noon, he was running through the forest, performing aerial maneuvers at command. At times he would trip when Filiis would give the order for a flip while his legs were placed at odd angles, finding himself running into branches at times and vaulting into trees at others.
The nights saw him exhausted and alone in the tent. His every muscles ached from the bruises of the days, but with his legs and waist ached the most. He ate his night meals and turned in for the nights, always noting Emeril's absence as he slept, regaining consciousness only when the mornings came.
The days turned into a week and Sethlzaar found himself making flips, turns, and vaults at command with ease. Waking at the crack of dawn, taking only breaks for meals, and retiring at night. Alone.
"Good," Filiis complimented as he walked up to him, carrying belts. "You learn fast, maybe you do have a talent for it after all. You have learned it, but now you must perfect it. So even in your sleep you can execute it."
The belts proved of significant weight and Sethlzaar wore them as he ran and executed the same routines he had the previous week, until he perfected the same thing with the weights. But rather than command it, Filiis randomly tossed objects at him or attack him, and he was always expected to evade in any way possible while in constant motion.
After a series of evasions, he was then taught to catch arrows shot at him from various distances, the tips blunted and wrapped in paddings of cloth, making it unable to pierce but painful on impact, nonetheless. Then he was required to catch them while in motion.
"Do you still do this?" Sethlzaar asked. Spending time with Filiis, he found he had the urge to talk to him and, despite the man's petulance, he was rather approachable.
"No, but at your age I was better."
For some reason Sethlzaar believed him. "How often do you get children from the seminary?"
"Before you, there was Em. But she was from the convent." Filiis paused, as if he'd said something he shouldn't have. "I've only met two in my life time," he continued. "You and her. But my sister has seen three. She says the one before Em was also from the seminary."
"Why?" Sethlzaar blurted.
"Why we help the church?" Filiis asked, to which Sethlzaar nodded. "We do not help the church. The use of the bow is a noble art consumed by war. We are not helping the church, neither are we helping the realm. We are helping you: those with a gift for it. Amongst us everyone knows how to use the bow, but not everyone has the gift."
Sethlzaar frowned, puzzled. "How do you know those with the gift, then?"
"It is in the way they wield the bow," Filiis replied, unconvincing.
"You've never seen me with a bow," Sethlzaar informed the man.
In response, Filiis simply smiled before returning him to his training.
At the end of the second week, Sethlzaar found himself spending an hour or two of his afternoons with Emeril. It was the only time of the day he spent with her, and it was spent in training, as if they were still at the seminary, using each weapon as was required of the days, save the bow.
She proved not as Adept as the various Fathers of the seminary but, at the least, she was considerably better than him, and it seemed to suffice.
In time, Filiis provided Sethlzaar with a bow and he found he had missed the touch of one. He took to it with a longing, as a child returned to his favorite toy.
"Releasing arrows while moving has always proved to be challenging for archers," Filiis told him. "Releasing from horseback will be taught to you by your priests, for they will suffice in it. Here, however, I will teach you differently."
What followed was a series of demanding lessons where he was expected to hit stationary targets as well as moving target while running, flipping, and vaulting amidst the tree tops. In time they were replaced by moving target, and Sethlzaar found himself understanding how useful what he had experienced with the deer during the winter test would have been in such a situation. Sadly, the experienced had proved itself absent in the time since the test.
"As an archer, the moment your enemy gets within striking distance, you have failed, but..." Filiis plucked a stray piece of falling leaf from the air. "As a first bow, you are an exception to this rule, for you are more than just an archer."
What followed was a number of sparring sessions, where Filiis used every weapon at his disposal while Sethlzaar was only permitted the use of the bow, perfecting how best to spin it to achieve the best defense or parry an attack, as well as strike a blow.
Eventually, he found himself fighting with the bow against multiple opponents, and soon found it kept him the most at ease when compared to the weapons of the seminary.
By the end of his first month Sethlzaar was taken deep into the forest by Filiis to a cavernous chamber smelling of smoke and soot. The smell reminding him of Father Sigael.
"Here you will forge your bow," Filiis told him with an air of ceremony.
"But bows are made of wood," Sethlzaar objected, a picture of the metal bow in Groc's study dominating his mind.
"Yes," Filiis agreed, but said nothing else.
Alone with the blacksmith Sethlzaar stood in silence as he carefully worked out what seemed to be a tiny metal string. The blacksmith was the same size as Father Sigael with molten scars of his own but did not exude the same strength.
"Here." The man offered him a large piece of wood and a sharp knife. "Carve out your bow."
Without thought, Sethlzaar went to the task of carving out what he hoped would turn into a pleasing bow with as much hope as there are stars in the sky, each scrape revealing the inner parts of the wood. But for some reason, he gained no satisfaction as the wood, rather than taking shape, seemed to take up a worse form than when it had been handed to him, while the blacksmith pounded away in a light rhythm.
"Leave everything and return tomorrow before first light," the man instructed him as night fell.
In the morbid darkness of the forest night, deep within the clutches of sleep, Sethlzaar experienced his first nightmare in a month.