The Arrow of Ronan: Chapter Three

Caleb had barely lowered himself to the ground, when a stable

boy whisked his steed away. Looking around, he began to acquaint himself with what would serve as his home for the next several months. Chroi Village seemed to be a decent size, with everything that could make a man far from home quite comfortable.

“Watch your step!” The shrill voice of an old woman pierced his senses. He had unintentionally bumped into a beggar.

“Forgive me, madame. I do not seem to have my wits about me this morning.”

With a disgusted humph, she hobbled off, using a crooked stick, to aid her labored gait.

Feeling a hand clap his shoulder, Caleb knew turned to his comrade from the first day of training, Arden. Arden was also taking in the sights and smells of their surroundings.

“This shall do quite nicely.”

Just then, a gaggle of ladies of the evening wandered by.

“Yes, quite nicely indeed.”

Caleb's stomach churned in disgust. “Arden, we are here to train and fight for King Diermund, not to indulge our desires.”

Arden punched Caleb in the arm. “Preacher, it would do you some good to give into your desires. That is if you have any.”

Caleb had grown accustomed to such comments as he was not shy about his faith and the God in whom he believed.

Calmly countering his friend, “The only desire I wish to give into

at the moment is filling my belly; I am famished.”

Heavenly aromas of various foods wafted in the air from a

plethora of vendors.

Caleb approached a stand where turkey legs were sold. Before retrieving some currency from his leather pouch.

“How much, my good fellow?”

The man running the stand, rotund both in size and exuding surliness, turned at Caleb's greeting.

The vendor seemed to size him up before stating a price that Caleb thought was reasonable enough.

After divvying up the correct amount, he shoved the coins toward the man who reached for them greedily. Suddenly, the thump of wood on wood resounded, startling both men. Glancing down, he spotted a crooked old stick positioned between his payment and the hand of the vendor.

“You overcharged him.” It was the old beggar woman from earlier.

Caleb stood in stunned silence as he glanced at the man who shook his head in denial.

The man scoffed. “Why don't you do what's best for you and

hobble off and die, eh?"

Caleb could not believe that anyone would address this poor old soul in such an unkind manner.

Before he had a chance to come to her defense, the woman spoke once more. “Why don’t you do what is best for you and charge the newcomer the correct price?”

The man chuckled evilly; all denial erased from his tone. “Who

is going to make me?”

The old woman placed her hand onto the wooden platform before tapping her fingers on the wood. At the peculiar sound, all color drained from the man's plump face.

Caleb spied what had so obviously frightened the man. In truth, it surprised him as well. The hand he had believed to belong to an old woman was, in fact, the smooth, milky-white hand of a young woman. The source of the strange noise was the rather large emerald stone sitting upon her right ring finger.

The crooked old woman straightened, and the hood of the cloak fell, revealing the vision of a comely young woman, glorious waves of midnight hair cascaded about her ivory face. Her striking eyes were the exact color of the ring she wore.

“Y-your H-hi-highne-” the vendor stammered.

With more authority than most men, the beauty raised her hand to silence him.

“For the last time, sir, charge the newcomer the fair price or I shall personally see to it that all you have ever worked for will be for naught.”

Caleb was mesmerized. Was she an angel, sent to keep him safe from crooks like this man? Surely, she was not real. Mayhap this was all a vision brought on by little food and no sleep.

She did not look at Caleb; her intense gaze aimed daggers at the

vendor.

When the crook stated the actual price, Caleb peeled his gaze from the woman, surprised. The cost indeed was significantly less.

After recounting his currency and exchanging it for the prized turkey leg, Caleb turned to thank the angel only to discover she had vanished. Spotting her walking stick still lying on the platform, he snatched it and the turkey leg, and raced after her.

Once back on the main thoroughfare, he jerked his head to the

left and to the right and back again until he saw her cloaked form receding in the distance. She was under the facade of the old woman, but Caleb knew it was her.

He desperately ran toward her. To his dismay, the other villagers

milling about and her surprisingly fast gait for such a small creature,

prevented him from reaching her. He made it to the edge of the village just in time to see her galloping off on a majestic white stallion.

Defeated, Caleb swung and caught the walking stick mid-air. He

supposed she would not need this any longer. Taking a bite of turkey

leg, he decided to head back.

Only then was he aware that Arden had missed it all. Where was the scoundrel? Not seeing him anywhere, he walked in the direction of their training camp.

“Caleb, where have you been?” Arden's voice sounded from behind him.

Holding up his meal, he said, “Satisfying my hunger. You?”

Caleb’s belly churned with repulsion as he saw Arden tuck in his

shirt before securing his trousers about his waist.

“You could say I've been doing the same,” Arden quipped, “What is with the walking stick? Are you much more advanced in years than I had originally thought?”

Caleb sent up a quick prayer for his wayward friend. “It's not mine.”

“Whose is it then?”

Glancing to where the raven-haired angel had disappeared, “I do not know.”

Something told him he would soon find out.