Suri found the elderly Keiron man sitting on the porch of his dwelling, basking in the last rays of daylight as the suns set over the edge of the cliff. Beside him, a pile of coals lay smouldering in a rusty iron brazier. The old man must have looked impressive in his days; broad of shoulder and strong of limb. However, most of his splendour had faded with the years, Suri observed as he stepped closer. Carefully, so as to not startle the senior, he eased onto the porch and cleared his throat.

“Skoro?” he tried. “Skoro of the Valènorian Freedom Force? My name is Suri and I have some questions for you. Is that alright?”

The elder, who had not seen the young Keiron approach, slowly turned up his head in surprise. By the dying daylight, Suri could see a milky haze over the eyes that lay buried in the ridge and furrow field that was his face. The countless creases gave the Keiron’s skin a carved appearance. From the folds around his lips now emerged a thin smile. “That name,” he muttered. “I remember that name. It is of long ago.”

Thank gods, I catch you at one of your bright moments, Suri thought. He settled down on his haunches opposite of the old man.

“Yes sir, it has been a long time since you and your fellows founded the Freedom Force. Can you still recall them, too?” Skoro closed his eyes and seemed to ponder this question for a while. Just when Suri began to suspect the old man had fallen asleep, he looked up again. His smile had gone.

“Yes, I recall my friends. They are long gone but I remember Balbor. Do you know him? He was studious, and ever so clever. He would travel far and wide in pursuit of knowledge, he did. I did not always understand him, but I trusted his judgement and never questioned him. I wonder if I ever told him that…” Skoro’s voice trailed off. Suri, who felt him drifting away, quickly steered the elder back and asked: “And your other friend, Taen? Taen Sure-shot?”

Now, Skoro crumpled his wrinkled face into a bitter frown and leaned his head heavily into his hands. Had he seemed to recall Balbor with a certain sense of melancholy loss, he simply emanated remorse at the mention of his other friend’s name. Please stay with me, Suri silently pleaded. Just keep talking. I need to know.

“Taen was like wildfire,” Skoro began. He spoke in a soft hushed voice and Suri leaned in so as to catch every word. “His spirit was a passionate one. Ideas would pour from him like fuel and his ambition would light them. Never ceased to amaze me, he did. Once he had set his mind to something, nothing would stop him.”

I’ve heard words like stubborn and infuriating used when describing this man, but passionate and ambitious have a more positive ring to them, to be sure. Suri nodded politely.

“Was the Freedom Force one such ideas of him?”

Skoro smiled sadly. “Yes, it was, young one. We were not yet of age when Taen declared us three the Generals of the Valènorian Freedom Force. It was all foolish child’s play, but we felt our business was of great importance then, you know. We felt like we could make a difference. With Taen’s ardent and inspiring speeches alone we could raise entire armies. We believed that, we really did…”

A shroud of gloom seemed to descend onto the old Keiron as he recalled the early years of the Age of War, which had come to an end only some ten years earlier. Valènor, with its central position in Ceon, had been the scene of many a clash where warring armies met in the middle. With no organised defence forces of its own, the country had suffered blows from all sides and its people frequently found themselves trapped and trampled. Historic accounts tell of numerous local groups of resistance fighters rising and falling throughout the decades of wars and suffering, some to more effect than others.

I suppose the Freedom Force falls in the ‘less effective’ category. “But your little army did make a name for itself,” ventured Suri. “Taen Sure-shot became somewhat of a legend, didn’t he?”

Skoro, who still cradled his head in his withering hands, seemed to have great difficulty to pull himself out of the maelstrom of memory. Suri placed an encouraging hand on the man’s shoulder. Just a little longer, old man. Just a little longer.

Skoro sighed laboriously. “A legendary army required legendary weapons, as Taen said. We spent hours scavenging the woods in search for the best branches and the sharpest shards of flint. Taen always had a thing for bows, you know…” Skoro mimed the pulling of a bow string and released it while making a soft whistling sound. “He loved the sound of arrows speeding free from the bow, flying off into the distance… I sometimes thought I could see a sort of longing in his eyes when he watched after the arrow. As if he had wished to fly as freely as it did…”

“You mentioned legendary weapons,” Suri pressed as Skoro’s voice began wandering again. “You believed the weapons that you made yourselves would be legendary?” To this Skoro grinned.

"Oh yes, young one. We sure did. Balbor had studied old writings on the making of bows and spears, you know. We sought out the finest woods for the shafts. We even managed to knap decent arrow and spearheads from the flint after a while. Leaving the completed weapons out in moonlight while chanting ancient spells to imbue them with magic, made them invincible.

That’s what we thought. We were young," Skoro added, as if to make an excuse.

“But they were not truly legendary, were they?” asked Suri, a hint of doubt in his voice. Could it be? Did the stories all tell of some child’s toy, transformed into a legendary weapon as the tale spread and got blown out of proportion over time?

“They were not.” Old Skoro’s face grew stolid. “Our spears snapped on Ceratan shields. Our arrows bounced off of Irin armour. Our first, and only, confrontation with the enemy showed us the extend of our foolishness. We were lucky to escape with our lives. We each went our own way afterwards and that was the end of the Freedom Force.”

With this, the Keiron leaned heavy on his cane to heave himself up and began to shuffle towards the door of his hut. The suns had set and the stars were well on their ways across the night sky. In these parts of the country, the days were hot, to which the nights stood in sharp, frigid contrast. Every other citizen of Iura, the southern city where old and aching Keiron who could no longer travel retired to, had gone to find the warmth of their beds. Suri had felt the cold creep up as well, but he had not investigated this matter so thoroughly, travelled here so painstakingly, to be held off of his answers by mere chill. His contact, however, seemed perfectly motivated by the plummeting temperature to cut this conversation short. Suri’s brain raced as he sought to buy time.

“Skoro, sir! Wait!” Suri scrambled for the iron brazier. “I’ll get a nice warm fire going for us to talk by!” He snatched the cane from the man’s hand and splintered it with one well-aimed blow to the stone surface of the porch. Skoro, who stood forlorn in the doorway, seemed utterly perplexed.

“Who are you? What are you doing with my cane?” he stammered while Suri rekindled the fire in the brazier. I’ve got to be quick and clear now, thought Suri.

“The Freedom Force was only temporarily disbanded, wasn’t it, sir?” he said slowly and in a clear voice. “Taen re-established it after he had made a discovery, isn’t that so?” That worked. Skoro’s bewildered expression turned into one of fondness.

“Ah, the discovery,” he mused. “Taen had a knack for turning tides to his advantage. I had not seen him for several years, you know. He came from nowhere when he sought us out again, Balbor and me, telling us he had discovered information about a legendary quiver. I had never seen him so purposeful.” Suri gently took Skoro by the arm and led him back to the now cosily crackling fire. He sat down, wrapping his scruffy tail around his feet. It did little to ward off the cold of the stones.

“This legendary quiver. Tell me about it, sir,” Suri nudged, but Skoro shook his head. A mop of thin, grey manes danced around his drooping face. “That’s what we said, Balbor and me, but Taen had very little to go on,” he explained. “All he could tell was that it was known as Kuran’s Quiver and that he had heard a hermit in the mountains talk about it to himself. A quiver that provides invincible arrows and never runs out. Taen’s sweetest dream, that was. Surely it had been just a madman’s mutterings, but Taen would have none of it.” Here, Skoro threw his hands a little way up to the sky. “No use arguing with Taen. He pronounced us Scouts in his newly reinstated army, he did, and led us on a wild goose chase for the elusive quiver.”

“But it turned out he was right, wasn’t he? There truly was a quiver.” Don’t tell me you can’t remember, or I’ll rattle your bones until you do, senile old man.

“We sought far and wide, we did. Whole seasons passed and still we waded through old manuscripts, cut through dense forests and questioned anyone we ran into.”

Yes. Great. Get to the point!

“Until we heard of a hidden cave,” Skoro recalled. “A cave behind the Twinbrook Rush. You know, the waterfall that comes flowing down from the Wall up-”

“Yes, I know of it. Please continue,” Suri cut him off. He had been inching closer all the while. Suri’s nose now practically touched the old man’s chest. He smelled of dust and parchment.

“We made a raft to cross the lake. Taen’s idea, of course. He was always the one with the ideas, you know. It was Balbor who would work out the details. I was the drudge who would then execute the plan,” Skoro smiled fondly here, oblivious of Suri’s growing impatience. “So I built the raft and we crossed to the other shore. I had been sceptical, and so had Balbor, don’t you doubt it, but what do you know! There it was! Behind the waterfall there was a cave.”

“And in the cave there was the Quiver?” Suri asked breathlessly.

“Yes, it was.” Relief broke the tension in Suri’s face. His muscles relaxed a bit and he sat back up straight. “Tell me about the Quiver, sir. What was it like?”

Skoro’s brows folded into a deep frown again. “It was beautiful, it was. The black leather was pristine, set with golden rivets. The belt was a braid of gold and silver bands. And the arrows, for there were ten exquisite arrows in it, were best of all.” Suri vaguely detected some kind of envy in Skoro’s voice as he recounted their find. He made no comment on it and listened intently as the old man continued.

“Works of art, they were,” Skoro said. “The shafts of the arrows were about two feet long from tip to end and made of otherworldly wood, so smooth and red of tinge. It was not until later, much later, that Balbor found them to have been made of the branches of dragon-blood wood. Only a few of those trees in Ceon, you know, and only in Kurandar at that. They simply emanated magic. Just the sort of legendary weapons Taen had always wanted.”

And you, by the sound of it. “Was the Quiver really magical then?” Suri queried carefully. Such a rare find could hardly be anything else, but the ancient Keiron’s memory seemed as reliable as the Virenyan Ferry Service’s timetable. He had to make sure.

“We did not know, Balbor and me,” Skoro shrugged. “Taen had always been a natural with the bow. He had a beautiful bow, you know. Made it himself of yew wood, he said. His skill with it was unrivalled. He had won many an archery tournament before he found the quiver, but he won all of them after that.”

It’s true then, it was Kuran’s Quiver he had found. “He won every tournament he participated in? That was not just an exaggeration, a tall tale people will tell you nowadays?”

“No, no, not at all,” Skoro assured his visitor. “He won every duel and every competition out there. He shot the most game and the biggest prey. Keiron came travelling from each of the four corners of the country to be taught by him, you know. Taen soon had very little time for anything else, especially for us, his friends.” That last was said in a tone of undisguised displeasure. Suri could feel a tirade coming on, but he had no time for that, nor interest, for that matter. He quickly got to the point before the elder could dig up any more of his past frustrations.

“Taen Sure-shot is a legend to this day, yes. But it seems that, at some point, he just vanished all together. There are no accounts of the last part of his life that I know of, and I spent quite some evenings investigating him and the Quiver. Where did he go? What happened to him?” And more importantly, what happened to the Quiver?

“Young one,” Skoro sighed, “what I would not give to know just that. What in the world happened to Taen? At first he enjoyed the attention, he did. He would demonstrate his skill from dawn until it was too dark to see. That was because the arrows never ran out, you see. They returned. Returned right to the quiver they came from. Ten arrows shot, ten arrows returned. A miracle, that quiver. I suspect Taen shot anyone who tried to steal it. Why else was it never stolen, such a marvellous object?”

I believe I have a hunch. “Indeed, sir. The Quiver made Taen Sure-shot a famous man. So why do you think he disappeared all of a sudden? He seemed to enjoy the admiration,” Suri pointed out. To his astonishment, tears began to roll down the old man’s ribbed cheeks.

“Taen did not disappear, young one,” he sobbed. “Taen died.”

Predictable. “That’s awful. What happened?”

“We should’ve seen it coming, Balbor and me. All the signs were there and still we did not know, we did not act.” Skoro’s voice was thick with grief and guilt. Suri strained to hear him through his sobs and sniffing. “Taen became silent, growing more and more distant. Of course, we simply thought he had no interest in his old friends anymore now that he had become a celebrity of sorts. He had waved us away, Balbor and me, every time we interrupted his acts. We did not suspect anything. Even when he began wearing a full body outfit, we had no idea. He said it was to impress the crowd, and we believed it, you know.”

“An outfit? He began wearing unusual clothes, you mean?”

Skoro nodded. “Black ones, covering him from head to tail. Only his face still showed and each time we caught him out and about, that face looked more grim and gaunt. I seriously suspected him of being much too committed to archery practise, forgetting to eat in the process, you know.” The old Keiron, whose sightless eyes had been staring off into the distance, now buried his face in his hands. His voice was hoarse with emotion. “How I wish it had been just something innocent like that.”

Suri started to feel decidedly uncomfortable now. The old man’s memories suddenly seemed to return to him in colours too vivid to Suri’s taste. He played with the thought to just leave it at this and go home, when he remembered his purpose and gritted his teeth. Carefully, he pressed on.

“It had been more serious, then? What was wrong with him, sir? Did you know?”

“Not until it was too late, young one,” Skoro lamented. “The day I found him, deep in the forest covered in dirt and dry leaves, I will never forget. How I wished I would, but the gods would not let me forget. Why will they not let me forget and free me from the agony of the memory of my friend, dead on the forest floor, naked, with not an inch of his body unmarred? Why?” Skoro was wholeheartedly crying now. Suri sat clumsily patting the old man on his back, muttering soothingly. I thank the gods you didn’t forget.

“He was naked? Why was that, do you think?” Suri did his best to sound matter-of-fact to take the edge off this horrible recollection. It seemed to have some effect, for Skoro’s voice sounded marginally steadier when he replied.

“I did not know, I didn’t,” he sniffed, “but Balbor would. I ran to get him as fast as I could. The first thing he saw when we got back to Taen’s body, was the quiver. It was right there, in front of him. The arrows had spilled out, you know. One had still been in Taen’s hand when he’d died. He had been murdered, he must have. I always suspected someone to become jealous of his enchanted equipment, but Balbor said he had not.”

“Taen had not been murdered? What about his body then? Didn’t you say it was mutilated?”

“Beyond belief,” Skoro nodded, “but Balbor had been learning about that quiver, he had. He had spent all that time Taen had been busy being famous, researching the story of that so-called Kuran’s Quiver. There had been a part that Taen had not told us when he first sought us out, Balbor and me. Only the night before had Balbor found an old scripture, the only source, that tells of the cursed quiver. For cursed it was, not magical.” At this, Skoro clenched his bony fists. An old anger seemed to surface, drowning the sorrow in a flood of wrath. Again, Suri would have to pick the right words if he was to get what had come for.

“Cursed, you say? Do you mean that the quiver had killed Taen?”

“Not the quiver, the arrows.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

Skoro kept quiet. Suri let the silence endure. Forcing it would do more harm than good, all with the memory being so emotionally charged. He had come so far, he was not ruining it for himself now by pushing it. To his relief, Skoro found his voice after a few minutes of internal strife.

“The arrows, young one,” he repeated. “The arrows were cursed. We never knew that, Balbor and me. We always thought they just returned to the quiver because that was how the quiver worked. As for their unparalleled effectiveness, that must be the result of Taen’s extraordinary archery skills, we used to think. They always hit target and killed in a single shot because that’s what it’s a legendary weapon for, you know, but Balbor had found out the truth. Too late, though.”

Spill it, old fart! “What truth, sir? What had Balbor discovered about the Quiver?”

“It’s price, young one, it’s price.”

A tear trailed down Skoro’s cheek. The flickering flames threw shimmering shadows across his ancient face. “The arrows were made of branches of dragon-blood wood, a very old species, you know. The trees bleed red as blood when cut and contain a magic as old as the world. Arrows made of its wood will bind to their owner, Balbor said. How does an arrow know its archer? By having the tip dipped in his blood. That is what happened. Taen had been cutting himself with the arrow’s tips, coating them in his blood to bring out their magical properties. Their cursed properties.” Another wave of grief engulfed the man. “That was why he had begun wearing full body clothes, he did. To cover up his wounds and scars,” Skoro wept. “That was why he had seemed so gaunt and worn. The arrows had been draining him of his very life force all that time, it had. We took that damned quiver, Balbor and me, and threw it into the depths of the Clearwater Lake so it would never kill anyone ever again.”

Suri stared down at his paws. Skoro’s soft sobs mingled with the crackling of the cane in the brazier. So that was it. That was the end of the legend. Only one question remains. He looked up and drew a deep breath.

“Skoro, sir. Do you think there would have been a remedy at all? Would there have been a way to save him from the curse of Kuran’s Quiver?” Skoro shook his head.

“The only remedy, Balbor said, would’ve been to never have found the quiver in the first place. That is all I can leave you with, young one. Take this advice and never, ever, go look for the quiver. It will bring you nothing but doom in the end. Promise me you will learn from my story, from Taen’s story, and never go look for the damned thing!”

Suri looked into the old man’s eyes. Although they were blind, he was sure they stared him straight into his soul. The young Keiron got up.

“Thank you for your time, sir. You’ve helped me a great deal.” Suri turned around and started back down the street.

“Promise me!”

Suri looked back over his shoulder. Skoro stood in the middle of the deserted cobblestone street. The young Keiron pulled a corner of his mouth into a wry grin.

“I promise, sir,” he answered and watched the old man nod solemnly and walk back into his hut.

I did not lie, thought Suri as he walked off into the night. He traced his fingers across the patchwork of scar tissue on his right arm. I will not go and find the quiver.

It already found me.