#chpt1

Ayla looked at the stone in her hand for a long moment, contemplating what she was about to do. Then, shaking her head, she gave the stone back to her friend.

“This is wrong, Marion. It’s one thing to get back at Ceril Carnillean, but that guy hasn’t done anything to us.”

“Of course he has. He’s denying us destiny!” Marion hissed. “We’re destined to enter the Guild and he’s in our way. Or is Ceril right, and you really are a coward too afraid to take what’s yours?”

Ayla felt angry at the old taunt, almost rising to the bait, and she nearly took the stone back. But at that moment, the man across the road coughed loudly, drawing her attention for a moment. She stared at him, all the while thinking.

She knew what they were planning was wrong. The man was only doing his job, and shouldn’t be punished for it by them. It wasn’t what she had been brought up to do, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to look her parents in the eye after today, not if she followed Marion’s plan.

“I’m not doing it,” she stated.

“Fine,” Marion snapped at her. “But that means I’m the only one who deserves to get in.”

Without a second thought, or a moment’s hesitation, Marion stood up, alerting the man to her presence, and flung the stones at him.

He flinched, raising his arm to protect his face as the projectiles hit him, one on the shoulder and the other went to his stomach. As he lowered his defensive stance, he saw Marion blowing raspberries at him. With an outraged shout he charged at her, who squealed in fright and bolted.

Ayla went unnoticed by the man and made a mad dash around him and for the door. She threw herself against it and it opened just enough for her to squeeze inside. She didn’t look behind her to see if Marion had managed to outrun the man and enter in after her, instead choosing to throw herself to the ground and roll under the wall of the nearest tent.

Finally safe, she scrambled behind a pile of boxes and sat there shaking, gasping for breath. As she calmed down, she could hear shouting from outside the Guild. Marion had obviously been caught, and was clearly getting scolded for her behaviour. A sudden fear caught the breath in Ayla’s throat.

Would Marion tell on her? Would she be blamed for the stunt? Would they come in and start looking for her?

She got to her feet. If she was going to get caught, she was not going let her last moments of freedom end with her cowering behind some boxes. She had done all of this to enter the Ranging Guild, and by Armadyl’s feathers, she was going to see what was in here.

Peering out of cover, she saw two men talking to each other, exchanging tickets for some arrows. Feeling safe and undetected, she fled the tent.

She stopped within moments and stared in wonder at the Guild. Tall towers rose up, with archers firing at those in the centre like a weird form of king of the hill. Whenever someone was hit, they’d retreat in the tower for a while before returning to the game.

There were a dozen vendors all selling their wares. One man was offering a tanning service, while another was showing off various armours. Bows and arrows were being sold by another vendor, while a scantily clad man with weird makeup was holding up various axes and long pointy sticks.

At the very back of the Guild were four men. Three were aiming bows at targets whilst the last man was standing behind them, watching and calling out their hits. The archers looked so graceful, pulling back the bowstring and holding still, before releasing the arrow. The projectiles flew straight and true before burying themselves into the targets standing several feet away.

“Hey kid!”

A shout from behind made Ayla flinch and turn around. It was a different guard from the one Marion had attacked, but he was advancing on her quickly all the same. Frightened, she fled towards the back to the Guild, feeling everyone’s eyes on her as she ran. She had hoped to dart to a side and sprint back to entrance in an escape, but she quickly found herself surrounded by various members of the Guild staff.

To her surprise, the people were not shouting at her. Instead, they were speaking calmly, even if they couldn’t keep the worry out of their voices. They were asking her if she was okay, where her parents were, and if she’d been left behind.

Without thinking, she assured them all that she was fine, and that she lived with her parents in Ardougne East, which was just a couple of miles down the road. The gathered staff quickly relaxed and all breathed a sigh of relief. The guard that had spotted her, however, then spoke up again.

“This isn’t a place for kids. It’s dangerous in here. How did you get in?”

Ayla stared at him, acutely aware that everyone had suddenly fallen silent. She knew straight away that she should admit to her limited part in stoning the entrance guard, but that would get her in trouble and she would never be able to come into the Guild ever again. And as much as she wanted to lie and say someone had let her in, she knew she couldn’t let someone else get in trouble. She felt panic rise up in her chest as she saw the man getting impatient.

“I’m a ranger!” she blurted out, unthinkingly.

A stunned silence fell upon the entire Guild, everyone in disbelief that this little girl before them had enough Skill to be allowed entry. Slowly, chuckles and sniggers began to fill the air, people turning to each other in mirth at the thought.

“How old are you, kid? Six?” a voice in the crowd asked.

“I’m nine!” Ayla snapped hotly.

“You’re the shortest nine-year-old I’ve ever seen,” another voice called out, adding to her building rage.

Her height, or lack thereof, had been fuel for Ceril Carnillean’s teasing and she felt anger flush through her as these strangers mocked her for it also. She could feel herself beginning to shake in indignation, and tears were threatening to spill from her eyes. She was going to be laughed at by everyone, adult and kid alike.

“Hey kid,” a gruff man’s voice called to her from the target range, startling her out of her rage with his sharp tone.

People moved aside so the man could have a clear view of her, and she of him. He was standing by the hay bales, bow in hand, and was the epitome of a ranger. He was dress in leathers with belts strapped across every part of him, all of which held knives and other throwing weapons.

He gestured to her, beckoning her towards him. Feeling slightly afraid of his appearance, but more so of disobeying him, she did as she was told. She walked slowly up to him and realised how much he towered over her when she stood next to him.

“So, you’re a ranger, eh?” he asked her, a slight smirk on his face. He held out his bow and ten arrows to her, which she took warily. “You’ve got ten shots to prove it. Hit within the red, and I’ll believe you.”

Ayla looked down at the targets. They were a series of ever shrinking circles, the outermost being black, then blue, then red, before finally finishing with a solid yellow centre. The red circle was very small, and the target was further away than she had originally thought.

The bow in her hand was too big, almost dwarfing her in height, and she could barely pull the string back. The arrows were longer than her arm and blunt. It felt almost impossible for her to use.

She looked back to the man, wondering if he was mocking her, but he stood there staring at her. He was waiting expectantly for her to take up a position and fire her ten shots, her ten chances of living up to what she had so drastically promised.

She gulped in dread and rested nine of her arrows on the nearest hay bale. Holding the bow in her right hand felt awkward, so she switched it to her left. She carefully notched an arrow on the little indent and pulled back as hard as she could on the string, which hardly moved. She tried again and pulled back harder and lifted the bow straight up, before watching the arrow fall out of the indent. She tried to flick it back into place, failing several times before succeeding. She then raised the bow again, at a slight angle this time, aimed and fired.

The flight hit the bow and the arrow careened into the hay bale.

“Oh come on!” a fellow archer laughed, doubling over. “Who doesn’t know to have the flights pointing away from the bow? I thought you said you were good at this.”

Ayla quickly grabbed her next arrow, trying to ignore her trembling fingers. She knew how to properly face an arrow; she should have noticed it was wrong. She notched the second arrow, taking care that it was correct this time, drew back, aimed, and fired.

The arrow fell short of the target by a couple of feet, as did the next one.

For the fourth arrow, Ayla pointed the bow upwards, aiming high above the target.  She watched as it sailed upwards before diving to the ground and passing over the target and landing several feet behind it. Aiming just above the target saw her fifth arrow graze over it, bouncing on the top and spinning away.

Her hand was visibly shaking as she reached for the next arrow. The jeers of the other archer were bringing tears to her eyes, misting and blurring her vision. It was then that she noticed the other man, the one who had given her the bow, hold his hand out flat, palm facing the floor. When he saw that he had her attention, he brought his hand up his chest in a sweeping gesture before lowering it again.

Take a breath.

She then realised how jumpy her breathing had been, how it had hitched almost into hiccups. She paused in reaching for her sixth arrow and took a deep breath in. The cold air was sharp as it rushed in, jagged and uneven. When she breathed out she felt slightly calmer, as if the air was taking away her fears and tension. She took another deep breath and then reached for the arrow.

This time, she aimed for the very top of the target, drew the string back, and fired. It flew leftwards and struck the black outer circle.

“Black: ten points,” the judge behind Ayla called out.

The suddenness of the judge’s loud voice startled her and she flinched, much to the mirth of her audience. She could feel her face burn in embarrassment at the sniggers that erupted from the crowd. The only one who remained unmoved by her was the guff ranger who’d given her his bow, and she took strength from him. Following his previous advice again, she took another deep breath and launched her seventh arrow.

It was black again and again left of the centre: another ten points, but another failure. Only three arrows were left for her to prove herself. She aimed slightly right and fired.

“Miss,” the judge called out.

It wasn’t good enough; she wasn’t good enough. Everyone around her was agreeing with her thoughts, echoing such in their whispers to each other. Seven arrows and she had only just managed to hit the outermost ring twice. Her arms were tired and her left elbow stung from the bowstring smacking it when she released each arrow.

She was tired, in pain, and she wanted to give up and go home. She didn’t want people laughing at her anymore.

But, there were three arrows left.

She huffed out a sigh and grabbed the next arrow, glaring at it all the while. She’d had enough. She was just going to shoot the last three arrows, hand the man his bow back and storm out of the Guild, never to come back. She notched the bow, drew back, and aimed.

Did she really want to throw away this opportunity? Was this really so hard that she was going to just give up? Is that what kind of person she was?

She stood, frozen in her drawn pose for a moment as those thoughts came to her. She could feel her mind rear up in disgust at the thought of quitting, of giving up before she’d given her all. It made her want to prove herself, to herself, that she could do whatever she set her mind to.

And, at that moment, something clicked into place for her. A coat of armour surrounded her heart, shielding her from the taunts and jibes of her peers. All her discomfort, her fear and tension, vanished like a teleporting imp.

She altered her aim and fired.

“Oh, that’s a close one,” the gruff ranger beside her commented, for the first time since she’d taken his bow. He turned to the judge expectantly. “It actually looks more north than south to me, what do you think?”

At that very moment, the judge had pulled out a funny pair of tiny binoculars on a stick and held it to his face. He was staring down at the range through them, his lips pursed tight in contemplation. As he made his decision, Ayla and her audience held their breath.

“Red: thirty points!”

“Lucky shot,” the archer in the crowd snorted derisively. He pushed his way into the competition range and stood towering before the little girl. He snatched the bow out of her hands and held it high out of her reach. “I suppose you’ve earned the privilege of walking out of here on your own, rather than getting thrown out by the guard. Now get lost, kid.”

“She’s still got two arrows,” the gruff ranger announced, taking his bow and handing back to Ayla. “Like you said; she’s earned the right to walk out, so she’s got the time to finish her last two shots.”

“Come on, you’ve had your fun, old man,” the archer scoffed. “But letting her stay any longer is an affront to the Guild.”

“Really?” the ranger asked in surprise. He looked over the archer’s shoulder and smirked. “It seems to me the only one who’s affronted is you.”

As the archer turned to look around him, Ayla peeked round to see the crowd dispersing and continuing with their own business. She had given them enough of a distraction and entertainment that they were happy to leave her be now that she had lived up to her hasty words earlier. Indeed, some of them were still talking to each other about her, some expressing their delight in her tenacity and their hopes that she would be returning to amuse them again.

In eight shots, she’d become something of the Guild’s mascot.

The archer glowered at the ranger before storming off, muttering something under his breath that Ayla couldn’t catch. She heard the ranger chuckled at his victory before turning back to her and kneeling down beside her.

“How about I help you with your last two shots, hmm?” he offered with an indulgent smile.

Ayla didn’t have a chance to respond before he took her second to last arrow and notched it for her. He held the bow with her and helped her aim, even pulling the string back with her, easing up when he was at her limit. When he was satisfied with her position, he let go and allowed her to fire the bow on her own. The arrow struck the red circle firmly, rather than on the edge as her previous shot had been. The ranger took her hand again for the last shot, guiding her aim one last time before leaving her to fire the last shot.

“Yellow: fifty points,” the judge behind the pair announced, lowering his binoculars. He smiled at Ayla, nodding his head to her as he walked away. “Well done, young lady.”

“But I didn’t hit the centre,” she argued, uncertain why she was being praised.

“That’s right, you didn’t,” the ranger agreed. He pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote something down with a stick of charcoal before handing it over to her. “If you can bring this to me with both of your parent’s marks, then I’ll teach you how to never miss again.”

Ayla held the parchment reverently in her hands, staring at the sincerity in the man’s eyes. She then turned and ran out of the Guild, not looking back as she raced home.