Symphony

“And again.” 

    Mother stands over my shoulder as I nock another arrow, my arms burning from the strain. “Watch your form, Elias.”

I clench my jaw and let the arrow fly. It whistles in the wind, a sharp note that compliments the swaying of the trees.

Another perfect bullseye.

“I don’t have the energy for this anymore, Mother,” I say, letting my bow drop to the grass. “I’m going inside.” 

In truth, I just want to get back to my orchestrations. My piano’s ivory keys are surely dusty by now, and I’m itching to forget archery altogether. 

Mother snaps me with the bow. Hard. An angry red line spreads across my shoulder, and I hiss back a breath of pain. “What-"

“You go when I say you can go.” Her eyes are cold and her voice low. “The general will be here any moment. You will look him in the eye, use your manners, and remember your form.” 

The general. The general is coming today. In all my daydreaming I’d almost forgotten. Ah, and now I’m brought back to reality. With my mother’s charm and my years of work with the bow, he’ll surely recruit me to the army. And every note of music I have singing in my mind will go silent at the sound of the arrow hitting its target. 

“Mistress Thomason! What a pleasure to see you this fine morning.” 

A horse trots over the hill, and I find the general atop his steed. Something in me tightens. I’m not ready for this. I’ll never be ready for this. 

My mother greets him warmly, brushes a hand down his arm. His eyes melt right there. 

Now there’s no way he won’t accept me. Not with my mother like that. So close.        

“Young Elias!” he says. “I hear you’re interested in joining the King’s army!” 

My mother shoots me a dark look from the general’s side, and I have to steel myself to keep from returning it. “Yes, sir.”

“And where did you get this mark, my boy?” He holds my arm out, the red welt more irritated than before. 

“A fight with a bear in the woods,” my mother answers quickly. “He won, of course.”

I suck in a quivering breath, fighting to keep my anger under control. Years upon years of bloodied fingers, sharp blisters, and broken arrows, and it all came to this. The one thing I never wanted. 

“Well, my boy, I’d like to see you show your skills. Why don’t you shoot a few arrows for me?”

I pick my bow from the grass, my hands shaking. All of my music. All of my dreams. As soon as I shoot this arrow, they’ll disappear just like that. My piano will be left to rot in the basement with the roaches, my sheet music fed to the pigs. 

I notch my arrow, every sound a sharp crescendo that grates in my ears. I find the target. 

Remember your form, Elias.

I close my eyes, turn from the target, and let the string loose. 

Someone screams, a dark symphony in the wind. But I am free.