Awakened

his bow again.
    “Hey, I am hopeless at accents, but there is something you could teach me.”
    “Aye, wumman, there’s lots I could be teachin’ yu the now,” he leered, sounding totally like Seoras.
    I smacked him. “Be good. I’m talking about this.” I raised the bow. “I’ve always thought archery was cool, but I really don’t know much about it. Could you teach me? Please?”
    Stark took a step away from me, giving the bow a wary glance. “Zoey, you know I shouldn’t shoot that.”
    “No. What you shouldn’t do is aim for something that’s alive. Well, that is unless the alive thing needs to be un-alive. But I’m not asking you to shoot it. I’m asking you to teach me how to shoot it.”
    “Why do you all of a sudden want to learn?”
    “Well, it makes sense. We’re going to be staying here, right?”
    “Right.”
    “And Warriors have been trained here for, like, zillions of years. Right?”
    “Right again.”
    I grinned at him, trying to lighten things up. “I really like it when you admit that I’m right. Again. Anyway, you’re a Warrior. We’re here. I’d like to learn some kind of Warrior skill. That’s too darn heavy for me.” I pointed at the claymore. “Plus, this is pretty.” I lifted the elegant-looking bow.
    “No matter how pretty it is, you need to remember it’s a weapon. It can kill, especially if I fire it.”
    “If you fire it and aim to kill,” I said.
    “Sometimes mistakes happen,” he said, looking haunted by memories from his past.
    I rested my hand on his arm. “You’re older now. Smarter. You won’t make the same mistakes again.” He just stared at me without speaking, so I lifted the bow again and went on. “Okay, show me how this works.”
    “We don’t have a target.”
    “Sure we do.” I thumped the worn leather shield he’d laid on the ground when I’d joined him. “Prop this between a couple rocks down the beach a little way. I’ll try to shoot it— after you prop it up and get back here out of my line of fire, of course.”
    “Oh, of course,” he said.
    Looking resigned and miserable, he walked a few paces away from us, hefted some rocks around until he had the shield held semi-steady between two of them, then came back to me. Reluctantly, he took the bow and set the quiver of arrows at our feet.
    “This is how you hold it.” He demonstrated gripping the grip-thingie while I watched. “And the arrow goes here.” He rested it across the side of the bow, point down and away from us. “You nock it like this. These arrows make it easy to know which way to do it because the black ones should be turned like this, with the one red one up this way.” As he talked Stark began to relax. His hands knew the bow, and knew the arrow. It was obvious that he could do what he was showing me with his eyes shut—do it quickly and well. “Plant your legs firmly, about hip-width apart, like this.” He demonstrated and I checked out his excellent legs, which was one of the many reasons I liked the fact that he’d started wearing the kilt all the time.
    “And then you lift the bow and, holding the arrow between your first two fingers, pull the string back, taut.” He explained what I was supposed to do, but he’d stopped demonstrating. “Sight down the arrow, but aim a little low. That will help adjust for distance and the breeze. When you’re ready, let loose. Be careful to bow your left arm or you’ll smack it and give yourself a nasty bruise.” He held the bow out to me. “Go ahead. Try it.”
    “Show me,” I said simply.
    “Zoey, I don’t think I should.”
    “Stark, the target is a leather shield. It’s not alive. There’s nothing alive even vaguely attached to it. Just aim for the center of the shield and show me how it’s done.” He hesitated. I rested my hand on his chest and leaned forward. He met me halfway. Our kiss was sweet, but I could feel the tension in his body. “Hey,” I said softly, still touching his chest. “Try to trust yourself as much as I trust you. You’re my Warrior, my Guardian. You need to use the bow because it’s your Goddess-given gift. I know you’ll use it wisely. I know it because I know you. You’re good. You’ve fought to be good, and you’ve won.”
    “But I’m not all good, Z,” he said, looking totally frustrated. “I’ve seen the bad part of me. It was there—real—in the Otherworld.”
    “And you defeated it,” I said.
    “Forever? I don’t think so. I don’t think