A Mid-Sommer's Feast

The mid-sommer fair was a favourite of the elves. It was held every year on mid-sommer's eve in a clearing in the heart of the forest. Each year had something special to offer, always new things to see and to do, but most famous was the Archery Competition that was held every year beginning at sundown and always ending on the exact moment of mid-sommer as the stars lighted overhead. Every year there had been a new group of archers, each better than the next, yet every year the same elven family had won.

The festivities were superb this year, the bands were flawless and the food and games were unsurpassed. Elves of all sizes were dancing around the clearing marveling at the sights and sounds; colour and noise were everywhere. The sun had begun to set and the excitement was growing, for the great Archery Competition would start soon.

A great, lordly elf stood upon the stand next to the archery field and called out to everyone. "Horte, Homa, Foola." he spoke in the ancient language which to us would be a call for 'men, women, children'. Everyone turned and looked and the bands stopped mid-song, they knew what was coming. "The moment you have awaited is upon us. Are there any entries for the Archery Competition?"

A group of men streamed forth to the stand. It was tradition to wait until only moments before the competition would begin to accept entries. There were at least twenty elves clustered around the stand with bows in hand shouting their names to an old elf taking registration.

It was then that Erich, the winner of the past three years and a member of the unbeatable Green family, made his entrance. He was tall and strongly built and had magnificent flaxen hair that fell to just below his shoulders. He was an elf who seemed constantly surrounded by beautiful maidens all wanting to hear of his great adventures. Erich pushed his way through the crowd and to the group of men trying to enter the competition. He shook off his maidens and pushed the men out of his way.

"Get out of my way." he called above the shouting as he pushed his way through. He spoke in the common dialect which was gruff and degrading for the event. One small, dark-haired elf, who looked barely strong enough to hold a bow, fell down.

"Hey, watch where you're going." called the small elf in the same commoners language although without the same vindictiveness.

"Or what, you'll come and get me." laughed Erich as he walked away.

The little elf was the last to sign up.

"My name is Luc Lapete and I want to enter." The kindly lady looked at him with questioning eyes but then gave him a friendly smile and gave him a nod toward the arching field. He took that as his signal to go and ran off to join the group on the field.

The great, lordly elf stood up once again on the stand, this time facing the other way, toward the arching field. Everyone watched as the sun slowly set behind the horizon. As the last sliver of the sun disappeared, the crowd went up in a roaring cheer, the archers stepped forward and the great elf called out for the games to begin, "Oni forni-caya!"

Cloaked stewards ran out onto the field carrying large, beautifully painted targets and placed them all at thirty elven paces. The archers, in pairs, all took a position in front of a target and took out their bows. The great elf yelled out for the first round to be shot off and twelve arrows shot in perfect unison toward each target. The first row of elves fell back to let the second row shoot. Once again the great elf shouted and twelve magnificently straight arrows hit the targets. Only one so far had been eliminated, a tall dark-haired elf who had a bad day.

The stewards moved to take the targets back another ten paces. The first row of archers readied themselves and shot their arrows on the call of the great elf. Two sorrowful elves walked off the archery field as they were eliminated. Again the second row stepped forward and took aim. The great elf called and arrows went flying at the targets. Another elf missed the target and walked off the field to join the cheering fans. Four now were eliminated from the competition leaving only twenty to shoot the next distance of fifty paces. All those who shot succeeded in hitting the targets and the stewards moved the targets back further still.

The archers readied themselves to shoot again. A confident Erich was in the first line while a nervous Luc was directly behind him waiting and watching. Ten elves shot and only six arrows made the targets. Luc gulped as he moved up. Erich watched the small elf as he readied his old bow. It looked as if it would fall apart soon.

"Hey, Lapete, nice bow." Erich jeered, "Did you make it yourself? " Luc shuddered as he tried to push Erich's voice out of his head, they were at the Academy together and he had a lot of practise doing this. The call came from the great elf and he shot. His arrow made the target, but just; it was still enough to move onto the next round.

Seven archers had been eliminated at sixty paces leaving only thirteen to shoot for seventy. As the stewards moved off the field, the first row readied their arrows. Luc had moved away from Erich and on the call to shoot, shot a perfect shot to the centre. Smiling, he moved back to let the man behind him shoot. The man, now in front of Luc, did not hit the target on this shot, nor did three others. Another four archers were eliminated and the stewards moved the targets back another ten paces.

It was getting darker and harder to see the targets now that they were so far away, and yet five men hit the target at eighty paces, including both Erich and Luc. Now each archer would shoot at the same target one at a time. Luc was second in line, Erich was last. Luc watched nervously as the first archer missed the target and was eliminated. He shot hopefully at the target and was lucky to hit the outermost ring. With a relieved sigh he stepped back and watched as the next archer was eliminated. The fourth archer, a beautiful flaxen haired elf took aim and shot, hitting the target dead centre. The crowd cheered loudly and the archer bowed to the crowd and stepped back. All were silent as Erich took aim and released, The crowd screamed in cheer as his arrow also hit the bull's-eye.

It was difficult to see now, and the stewards moved the target farther back. This time Erich went first, the crowd cheered as he shot a little off to the side but still made a good shot. Next came the other archer who aimed slowly and carefully taking his time to make sure this shot was a good one. Luc heard him inhale deeply before letting his arrow go. The crowd gasped as the arrow went whizzing by. It fell short; he had just narrowly missed. He walked over to join the crowd who greeted him with loud cheering. It was Luc's turn to shoot, he pulled back on the string as far as he could. The crowd watched, silently whispering to one another. Luc aimed his arrow and released. He waited for what seemed like an age until he heard the hollow sound of an arrow hitting the target. The crowd cheered, he peered in the distance to see that his arrow was nearly to the centre.

Next would be the final round, the great elf stood up to announce the rules. "Fellow elves," he cried, "it seems we have some very talented archers in our midst. Only two elves have made the target at ninety paces so it is time to move to the final round. Each will have one shot at the target from no less than one-hundred paces off." With this, the crowd went up in a loud cheer. The great elf waited for the crowd to settle down before continuing, "The arrow closest to the centre of the target will be proclaimed the winner." Again the crowd went up in a loud cheer as the steward moved the target back to the one hundred pace mark. Erich went first.

Calmly, slowly, he drew an arrow from his quiver and brought up his bow. All was quiet as he aimed and shot. The crowd roared as the steward shouted 'bull's-eye'. Luc gulped, Erich turned around and laughed at him, "Beat that, will you. You'd need a real bow to do that though, wouldn't you." Erich turned to face the crowd and raised his arms in a triumphant gesture and again the crowd roared.

Luc stepped up to the shooting line. He knew that the only way he could out shoot Erich was with an elmcari, a very fortunate stroke of luck, but still he drew his bow and arrow. He pulled back the string feeling its power in his hand. He aimed at what he thought was the target, it was now too dark to see as far as he needed to. He took a deep breath and feeling the power in his bowstring, shut his eyes and released. He exhaled and dropped his arm. He heard an odd sound, one he had never really heard before as he opened his eyes.

"He's split it, he's split it! " shouted the stewards rushing up with the target. "He's split the arrow! " The crowd gasped, how was it possible that Erich, whose family hadn't lost in three decades, had lost to such a small, dark-haired elf? Luc stood, dumbfounded, at the spot where he had shot, bow by his side.

Behind Luc, Erich was crying out, "How could this have happened? I demand a reshoot! This is an outrage! " The crowd, slowly, one by one, began to cheer, merely clapping at first but then growing to a roaring, mirthful group. Luc fell to his knees in disbelief as the great elf rushed up to him.

"I declare Luc Lapete this year's winner of the Mid-Sommer Archery Competition and therefore this years Mid-Sommer Lerru." he shouted over the noise of the crowd as he placed a king like crown on top of Luc's head. Luc stood up and raised his arms in triumph to the excitement of the crowd who rushed over and picked him up.

The crowd had carried Luc to the large dinning hall where candles were lit and food was already prepared and set out. They set him in a large chair at the head of the hall. Elves began to take plates and helpings of food; there was a huge selection of traditional elvish foods set out: leaf rolls and roasted garln, two favourites of the elves, and much more. Luc, in time, managed to make his way to the buffet table. He took a plate and a large helping of leaf rolls, as they were his favourite. He also took back to his seat a piece of roasted garln and some things he had never seen before.

As he finished trying a piece of domir-mead, an interesting combination of kwanis leaves and poll slugs, his father came up to talk to him. His father was rather elderly looking, for a younger elf (he was only 403), but stood tall and erect. His flaxen hair reached past his shoulders and seemed to dance in the candlelight. "Well, boy, I see you did fairly well today." His father smiled awkwardly. "I guess the Greens were having a bit of an off day today, wouldn't you say? " His father squeezed his shoulder, "It's nice to see you finally amount to something, boy, but it's time to get home now, isn't it? "

"Yes, father, thank you." replied Luc. He knew his father's words could be harsh, even downright nasty, but he knew he really did think he was being kind when he spoke the way he had. It had been that way since Luc's mother had died, she had always been the nice, nurturing one. Luc's father had thought she babied Luc too much and when she died, he had decided Luc needed a much more strict upbringing. Luc sighed and took one last leaf roll before setting down his plate and walking out of the dining hall.

Luc had left the dining hall and was just finishing off the last piece of his leaf roll. The leaf roll had been delicious, an excellent honey mixture with nuts. He turned to the archery field to get his bow and quiver in hopes that they had not been destroyed when the crowd had rushed over. He smiled to himself, a split arrow at a hundred paces, that was quite a feat. He looked to find his bow, spotting it some few feet in front of him. As he moved toward it, he saw his quiver to his right. He turned to pick it up, the quiver was cracked and split, someone had stepped on it, but the arrows inside were still in good shape. Taking them in his hand, he stepped to his bow and found it one piece. As he stood to walk away, something caught his eye. Walking toward it, he found it to be the target he had shot at earlier. It was easier to see now as mid-sommer had passed and the stars were now ablaze. He could now see the magnificent colour closely; he knew that the targets were painted red, blue and gold but had seen them no closer than twenty paces off. He ran his hand over the red first and then, moving inwards, the blue, he noticed the fine silver specks in the colour that seemed to make it shine. Then he moved his hand still inwards toward the centre and across the gold. His hand hit the arrow in the middle. He gasped. There was an arrow, perfectly centred and yet split in half by one of Luc's rough, handmade arrows. Luc starred at it, unable to move, it was something so impossible, until he lost all track of time.

"Cumbes nacmed ombla, A'ai comei cumba, " which translated very loosely from the old language to 'That was quite impressive, I will admit you that'. Luc looked around for the owner of the strange voice, it was feminine yet thicker and richer than one would expect.

"Where are you? " called out Luc.

"although I have seen it done from a more impressive distance."

"Who are you? " he called out again, looking for the unseen voice "Why can I not see you? " he heard a rustle in the trees and turned to see a figure disappear into the forest. "Hey, come back! " he yelled running into the woods. She was gone.

Luc returned home to find his father sitting, sipping from a glass. When he shut the door, his father looked up.

"Where have you been Luc? I've been waiting here for you." His father spoke in a slurred thieves language which sounded like no more than a series of well-timed grunts.

Luc replied in the common language, "I'm sorry, father, I was ..."

His father cut him off, "How long does it take you to get home? Certainly you couldn't have gotten lost, you managed to get there by yourself." He took another swig of his drink and stood up. As he came closer to Luc, Luc could smell the wine on his father's breath. It was uncommon for elves to drink, but his father seemed to enjoy it more than most. Luc cringed, remembering how he had snuck out of the house to go to the archery competition that day. "I think it's time we re-evaluated how you spend your time Luc. It seems you have too much time on your hands to practice such trivial things as archery. Am I right in assuming that you have put your studies aside? "

"No, father, I..."

His father turned back to his chair, "I think it would be best if you went and did your studies now, Luc"

"But, father, I..." Luc had pushed it too far, his father spun back around to face him, smashing his glass as he went.

"Luc, I swear, if you... Go to your studies, Luc." His father stood, shaking with outrage

Luc had a sudden burst of courage, "No. I won't. I'm old enough now to say when I need to do my studies, father" His father lunged at him, yielding the broken glass. Luc jumped out of the way, he had never seen his father like this. "Father. Stop. You don't know what you're doing."

"No, Luc. I know exactly what I'm doing now." He lunged again, this time pinning Luc to the ground. "I should think you could be a little more grateful for all I have done for you." He drove the glass into Luc's stomach and yelled, "You ungrateful child! " Luc cried out in pain as blood rushed from the wound. Then, as if from a dream, his father woke up. "Luc, what happened? " He reached to the wound to look at it, "Here, let me help, I can heal it for you."

"No! I'm going to my studies, father. Stay away from me! " Luc ran to his room and shut the door.

Luc sat down on his bed. The pain from the cut was incredible and the blood had soaked his shirt. He needed to heal his wound but he had no idea how. Looking over on his desk, he saw a thick textbook he had been working from, a book on healing plants. He reached over and pulled it toward him. It was heavy and he flinched as he dropped it on the floor. He let himself be pulled with it and landed on the floor with a thud. He began leafing through it, looking for something that may cure his wound. He found nothing but an odd looking picture of a tightly bandaged arm with leaves protruding from it; they looked like the leaves he had often helped his father search for in the forest. It was fortunate because there was always an abundant supply in the house and it could be found everywhere, Luc even had a small collection of the leaves in his room. His father would have been most upset to realize that Luc had kept some of the special leaves instead of giving them all to him.

The box of leaves was kept high on a shelf in Luc's room next to the door. Luc took them down and opened the box. Several were old looking but he chose the freshest and dressed his cut using a torn strip from his bed sheet. It was an odd sensation, the leaves felt cool on his skin yet he could feel warmth rushing through his veins. He felt almost pleased that he had healed himself without the aid of his father but he was slowly becoming aware of how tired he had become. He began to stumble sleepily to his bed. Each step had now become a challenge as he staggered half asleep. His head hit the wall behind the bed with an audible thump and he lay half on his bed submersed in a deep slumber.