The Totem-Maker (part one hundred twelve)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Ten

Crafter Becomes Maker

(part one hundred twelve)

“Pravor Castor.” I bowed to my new acquaintance.

“Totem-Maker. To the archery field!”

An animal larger than Cuerpha was brought, and I was made to mount without saddle. My stunt, which I learned of only now, was to drive my horse at a trot around the moving targets…

And I missed them all. I had never hunted this way. I had not ridden this way, either, but the horse was used to being ridden so. Pravor Castor among the watchers, his rueful face a poor disguise, was paying out sums of money. I saw Tnoch, who knew his brother, shake his head and refuse to bet.

“Again!”

The call came from several of my partisans, delighted with this comedy. I stilled my horse at the starting line, worried I’d neglected my Totem, that it might jog out of its pouch. I felt fresh arrows fill the quiver at my back, a slap on my horse’s flank…which he wisely ignored. With the barest pressure from my knees, he hit his pace, and I patted the Totem to assure myself.

A bit of luck? I asked it.

I fitted an arrow, gave my horse a trifle more kick. I leant to the target, and the motions of animal, arm, hand, flight…their coming together, were suddenly to my higher mind the workings of a machine, every shift sequencing to its apex. I woke from this vision at the spouting of a third wine-sack. I let the arrow fly wide at the last, halted, and the crowd came running with their cups to catch the bounty.

This success was too much, I dared not do more.

Castor took his money back. He stepped up quickly to stop my efforts, in the act of springing to earth. Tnoch, limping to his side, handed me a triumphal cup, as I guessed…and guessed again I was meant to toast the gods, lifting it above my head. I did. I downed it.

“Yes, alight,” Castor said now. But when I was landed at his feet, he said, “Toish seems well fresh, do you think, brother?”

“No grass for the lad. See the groom keeps his head up. But have him watered.”

Slip away, I counselled myself. I was not, by the hand of Castor, permitted to do so. “Come, the races begin at the gate.”

“No one will like my attempting it.”

“Why say a foolish thing? The gods favor the Looked-For… You, we are told. If devils do not come at your summoning and lie to us.”

I said, low, “I will surely not win. But I must beg my Totem’s help, not to be trampled, as I am not that sort of rider.”

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Crafter Becomes Maker

The Totem-Maker (part one)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)