Nessa Rootmark's Arc

Chapter 3 of 9

Nessa held the arrow steady at her practice target, watching the stranger and her rival from the corner of her eye. The first shot rang true—the bell sang out clear across the grounds. The second shot followed, just as clean. Then came the third. The bell frame shattered. Wood exploded across the clearing, sending splinters into the dirt. The golden bell tumbled through the air and landed silent in the grass. The crowd went still. Her rival lowered his bow and stepped back from the vine-wrapped platform, his expression unchanged. The stranger stared at the wreckage, then at the archer who'd destroyed his test, and walked away without a word. All those tally marks, all those defeated archers—none of it mattered now. The contest was over. The crowd turned toward Nessa. She felt their eyes before she heard the first voice. "Finish it," someone called. "Show us what you've got." More voices joined in. They wanted a show. They wanted her to step up to the platform and prove she belonged beside her rival. Her hands tightened on her bow. This was the moment she'd been chasing—the clan watching, waiting to see what she could do. All she had to do was take one shot. Nessa looked at the shattered frame, then at the small sanctuary building at the edge of the grounds where the crowd had gathered. She could see them clearly now—not as witnesses to her victory, but as pressure she didn't need. She turned back to her practice target and drew the arrow she'd been holding. The crowd's voices grew louder, confused. Someone laughed. Nessa ignored them and focused on the target ten paces away. She held the draw longer than felt natural, longer than her hands wanted, and released only when the shot was ready. The arrow struck center. She reached for another. The crowd noise faded behind her as she drew again, held, and let the second arrow fly true. By the third shot, most of them had left. Nessa kept shooting.