Keya had never been in Master’s workshop before. She sat on a workbench swinging her legs idly while listening to the music artef—, ‘meadia player’ in the corner.

Music from his world or worlds had initially sounded clamorous and all too quick for her ear: sounds layered upon sounds. Sometimes the goal was harmony others, discord, but they all did fill one’s being in one way or another, making one feel something and want to move.

Master flatly denied he was a dancer, but she watched him as he absently switched fluidly from one style to another while he worked.

In her world there was but one music, all else was noise, a few instruments, all else were toys, and a smattering of songs, all else were but limerick dalliances.

Compared to the liberated infinitude of his culture, she felt poverty-stricken. So she soaked up every second of it as if it were the last droplets of water in a desert.

Keya was out of sorts of late. It was partly… no, entirely Rilian’s fault. The goddess had disturbed her mind something fierce. That had now been tempered—marginally—with the revelation of her selfish deed.

Perhaps ‘selfish’ was not the right word. Ril’s act cost nothing on Keya’s part, and the details of what precisely had transpired remained rather abstract to her. She trusted Master’s moral compass though. Perhaps bent and distorted on the outside, it managed to point true in the maelstrom of happenings around her.

He had again taken the time to frame deeds beyond her ken in metaphors she could grasp. She loved him for that. Wait, ‘Love?’ That was a very strong word. She had… affection.

The very bodily attraction she experienced with Ster-sun, she could now distinguish from the deeper undercurrents of meaning she felt for Kel. Rilian’s was a hacked short-cut, a flamboyant beguilement of the senses.

Master’s had weight and significance, like a ballast of a ship stabilising her. He… cared. The advice to 'lean in' held true; up close the facade faltered and what truly mattered became apparent. That said—just as a precaution—she would gird herself around Ril; that woman could play her like a lute, and she was nowhere near the dancer Kel was.

The menace in question had been sent to petrify Shalen-sun. She was their ‘Sawbones’, or healer, after all. And the name’s rationale was demystified with the task assigned. She was to ‘awe-top-see’ the late Finger-sun. It involved ‘bone saws’, and that was as much information as she wanted to hear on the topic.

Just then, Ril pushed through the door. She saw Keya unoccupied on the bench but eschewed engagement for a guilt-ridden nod as she passed. Not even a wink? Contrition looked foreign on her exquisite features.

Jon showed no signs of acrimony; in fact, he had perceptibly lightened in mood since deducing her perfidy.

Upon Ril’s entry, he jumped, hiding that gods awful helm at his back.

“Doc, I don’t see you up to your shoulders in viscera what’s the hold-up!” said Master.

“Kel, I was kinda anticipating healing more than cutting up dead things.”

“It’s much easier with the engine off I assure you.”

“Yeah… you mentioned filling him with cotton and some preservation methods for slowing cell death and decay, plus loosening the joints. It kinda seems counterproductive. Do you wanna mummify him or not?” Jon had the blatant look of someone hiding something.

“Neither. Hop to, Bones. Blood for the blood god, skulls for my skull throne. Get it done!”

“Whatever,” dismissed Ster-sun. She placed a roll of parchment on Keya’s bench before turning back to the door, speaking as she left. “I think Seph likes the new earphones. When she wasn’t gawking, she managed to stutter a few words. Said ‘thanks’ for the underwear too.”

Jon sent a meaningful stare Keya’s way, and she arrantly stared back.

It might take philosophers and soothsayers a millennium to make rhyme or reason of a tenth of his lair. But clothes, even the blithest of peasants could understand.

He could thank her later, Shalen-sun would be more than satisfied. Hopefully, the sizes were right; she had bought a measure and researched the methods for measuring. It was a measly bit of know-how, but it was hers alone, curated and self-taught.

“What does the note say?” Jon called from where he was making chalk marks on the helm.

Keya broke the Elgelican seal. “‘Tis a land deed titled to ‘Kay Luren’. Some fallow farm area and old mill house a ways north of the river and Elgelica proper.”

“Fuck yes, thank you, Seph!” he raised a fist in the air.

“She mentions in postscript that humans cannot own land in Elgelica, as of yet. A sad state of affairs she will try remedy, but elves are nothing if not conservative.”

“Meh, it doesn’t matter. It’s not your real name anyway. Possession is always nine-tenths of the law. Once we’re on the land, they won’t want to, or be able to, get us off.”

“If you claim so, Master.” She put down the scroll. “That helm is for Ril is it not? Why not just give it to her?”

“Hmm? Oh, the helm? Coz, I’m not done with it yet. And her new magic juju has given me another bad idea.” It was vexing to sort Master’s definitions of good and bad. She wondered if he even knew.

“You said you needed my help, not that I mind sitting here. Your shop is quite interesting. Might I use it of my own accord for my bows and the like?”

“Yeah sure, just be careful. Safety first n’ all. Don’t use any machines I haven’t shown you yet. Speaking of bows, open those two boxes over there. Jon pointed to two slim brown crates housed in the flimsy wood they called ‘card-board.’ Kel asserted it was but paper, although that was impossible. For one, who would use so expensive a thing as paper so frivolously. For another, paper was supple like parchment, not rigid as this was. Her qualms with cardboard aside, the thought of new archery tools, rapidly raised her spirits.

Retrieving her stainless steel knife from her belt, she quickly sliced the containers open on their seals. She admired the blades’ completely uncorroded lustre before sheathing it once more. She could hardly wait to skin her first kill with it. It had been so long since she had hunted; a previously necessary vocation for sustenance but no longer.

She peeled the brown panels back to be confronted with yet another pair of bows: one recurve and one compound!

“Master! Why do you spoil me so? I truly have no need for another two artefact bows!” She ran up and hugged him regardless, before becoming abashed and pulling away.

“Good, then you owe me one, and I’ll hold you to that.” There was a mischievous smile displayed that briefly worried her, but the joy of the new masterpieces soon eclipsed it.

“You actually do need new bows, or more precisely you need magic spec bows. Keep the old ones on rift access anyway coz these ones are way above your draw strength without magic. I dunno if magic nullification is a thing world-side, but divers only exploit gimmicks, they don’t rely on them. Got it?”

They approached the bows. Keya barely listened as she lifted and appraised the art pieces, a dumb smile writ plain upon her cheeks.

“Master, what is this silver metal? The previous bows were black, but I sensed metal in them too. It is not steel or gods forbid silver, too light.”

“Had to get these babies custom made. Most of the aluminium is freshly machined, so it’s not anodised or painted like the other bows. Cool story, aluminium is one of the most common metals in nature, but you never get it pure. At one point it was more expensive than gold.”

“More expensive than GOLD! And you make whole bows out of it!”

“Technical advancement is a bitch like that. Aluminium is cheap these days, for us anyway. For your world, it’s practically impossible; the knowledge and tools required are simply beyond anyone’s capability.”

It was always like this! Why was it still like this? Just when she thought she had a grasp on the gorge between them, the gap widened.

Just how much did he know, how much did they know? How was such depth and breadth of knowledge possible? He was but a mere thirty and some years of age, not much older than her. Where did he have the time? How was such rapid learning possible?

“You’re doing that thing where I see the gears turning behind your eyes.”

“Forgive me, master; I believe my threshold of revelation is reaching its limit this day.”

“Oh, we ain’t done, but I’m mostly covering terms and conditions now, so you’ll manage.” He turned sombre to get her full attention. “Up until now, we were mainly faffing about, but the power in your blood is no joke. As you know, you’re able to use just under one horsepower in magic alone, and you can concentrate that: in a fist, a hand, or a finger. The magic doesn’t care what direction you face or whether you have leverage. No leverage…”

Master trailed off mid-lecture, gazing up and to the side. She knew that face; something had come to him.

“…Anyway, when you want to understand the power you wield imagine you have that whole magic horse able to do your every bidding.”

“That is quite a way to think of it. A phantasmal horse, you say?”

“At the moment, yeah. It might climb with training; I don’t know what the upper limits are. In any event, those Earthbowmen haven’t got fuck-all on you. They pull 190-pound bows, which is already insane. But you? With your magic alone, you pull 410 pounds. I’m converting it for you; the standardised Metric units classify these as 185kg bows.”

Such power was beyond the pale! Keya had no idea when her mouth fell open, but she left it there.

“F-f-four hundred!” Until now, she managed forty well enough, yet never conceived of using her power with a bow. Why had that not occurred to her? My view remains obstinately narrow: a mule with blinders. I will change.

“Yeah, that should be with magic alone. I used the weight-training as a benchmark. Do it right, and you’ll hardly tire. And you better fucken do it right, coz this ain’t no pissy weight no more. You see this string; it’s friggin stainless steel cable.”

“Metal string?” It was nowhere the craziest thing she had heard recently.

“Not an uncommon as you think. Crossbows of this weight or higher often use steel cable. But being a bow, it has the advantage of speed, versatility, and relative power—lots of power.”

Taut silver gut shimmered in the light, the same metal as her knife. Rustless, steel string was doubtless superior. Far less pesky oiling and waxing, if any.

Next, he handed her a plastic bag. “Gloves, chest guard, and arm guard. “Wear them or buy ones that suit you better,” he commanded, and she obeyed. “Here’s a website.” He handed her note with a series of symbols and letters that would open a shop on the black seer glass in her room. These codes were quite valuable, like passphrases without which you could not enter an abode.

Keya had a list of them pinned to her wall, they were a hassle to speak into the long boxes each time, but the destinations were well worth the trouble.

“Its an archery supply store,” said Master, “get whatever you need. If you don’t understand what a thing is, study up on it, or ask Evy or Lee. I want you well acquainted with your tools. Do you understand?” She had rarely seen Master this serious.

“I completely understand, Master.” If only he could be this normal all the time.

“Good, because if you slip up, that string will cut you like cheese.” What a dreadful thought! “Head out to the HAS, and I’d like to see you do fifty draws and steady releases with no arrow on each bow before the day is done. Remember, no strength, 99% per cent magic. Then come back, and I’ll show you tools and parts for mounting other accessories on these beasts.

“It’s go-time for our squad. There’s a world of hurt out there, and it’s time you brought your own pain.”

“I will gladly do as you ask!” As if she needed encouragement when it came to this! She closed and scooped up both boxes, openly displaying her enthusiasm.

“Oh, one more thing.” He caught her just before she left. “Congratulations.”

“For what?” She turned back.

“You’re probably the strongest bowmen in both my and your history. Just a thought.” He resumed his work as if merely mentioning the time of day.

Keya stood in rigid, eyes wide, for long moments, until she finally willed herself leave.