Chapter Twenty-Eight Amund
Idris paces in front of the classroom. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he trades his combat leathers for a button-down shirt, dark pants, and thick-rimmed glasses to teach us Philosophy and Ethics.
Of all my classes, this one always makes me most uncomfortable.
Idris challenges us in different ways than our other instructors. Not every hunter likes it, but I do.
“I’m sure you’ve all heard about the attack last week.
” He adjusts his glasses as he looks over the class.
“Today, I’d like to discuss how you think it should be dealt with.
It poses a moral dilemma, doesn’t it? Hunting and killing wild berserkir is one thing—based on our current understanding, they’ve lost their humanity, which means it’s not so different from hunting an animal.
Although, I’d like to remind you, there’s a case to be made against that, too. ”
“Yeah, right,” Dorian mutters across from me.
Idris clears his throat. “What about when the berserkr is a fellow student? Someone who is animal enough to attack—and possibly kill—their classmates, but still human enough to hide themselves? Following the hunter code, what would be the right action to take?”
The question might be theoretical for my classmates, but not for me.
I’m responsible for stopping these attacks.
Edith could have died. More still might.
If someone does, it will be my fault because I couldn’t stop the berserkr.
Even worse, I allowed it to escape. I was too distracted by needing to help Edith.
I look around the room, hoping someone has an answer to my dilemma.
“Hunt it down before it can do more harm,” Val calls out.
“Even though it’s one of your classmates,” Idris asks, “and not a wild animal?”
Val arches an eyebrow. “If they’re attacking people, does it really matter?”
“I see.” Idris rubs his chin. “Does anyone else agree with Valerie?”
Most of the class raise their hands in agreement.
So would Father.
I grip my pen tighter, unable—or unwilling—to raise my hand.
“Interesting,” Idris says, walking down the middle aisle. “Amund, I take it you disagree?”
“The berserkr is still human,” I say, giving voice to the internal debate that’s been plaguing me for days. “They should be treated as a criminal, not an animal. Once there’s enough evidence, they should be imprisoned in the holding cells.”
“What if evidence can’t be found in time?” Idris posits.
That’s the problem. I’ve been investigating Isaac the past week and haven’t gotten any closer to catching him. I still don’t have enough proof. It’s impossible to find out much because of the hostility the berserkir hold for hunters. They want nothing to do with me.
Except Edith.
“It has to be,” I say, steeling my voice.
“We can’t afford to take that risk,” Val says. “Someone could be killed before that happens. We’re supposed to protect them from the berserkir.”
“What if you hunted someone who turned out to be innocent?” I ask.
I almost did with Edith. Despite that, she’s willing to work with me to catch the killer. Even if I don’t want to involve her more than she already is. I can still see her, covered in blood. It’s my fault she was hurt. Because I mistakenly suspected her instead of looking for the actual killer.
I have to catch Isaac before he hurts anyone else. To do that, I’m going to need Edith’s help, as much as I hate to admit it. That’s the only reason I’m considering her offer. Not because I like being around her or because I’m looking for an excuse to get closer.
“Okay, so you want to let berserkir run around Skallagrim unchecked?” Val asks, rubbing her temples. “The longer we wait, the more likely it is someone winds up dead. As hunters, it’s our responsibility to dispose of berserkir who lose control.”
“Not without proper evidence,” I say. “Or we could take an innocent life ourselves. Then how are we any different from the berserkir?”
“Interesting point, Amund.” Idris taps his chin. “The answer to that depends on how we value lives—the lives of humans, of animals, and of berserkir—who are both or neither, depending on how you view them.”
“Once they lose their humanity, they have to be taken down,” Val insists. “Or else a lot more people will die. Innocent people.”
“But this berserkr hasn’t lost their humanity yet, have they?” Idris asks.
“I thought it was a wild berserkr,” Dorian calls out.
“That’s one theory, yes,” Idris admits, but it doesn’t sound like he believes it any more than I do. I know Father suspects a wild berserkr, but I can’t convince myself he’s right.
“For the sake of this discussion, let’s assume it was another student,” Idris continues. “Presumably, since they haven’t been caught, they transformed back into a human and are blending in among your berserkr classmates. Are they any different from you?”
Val sputters like she’s been caught off guard.
Tala said something similar to her in Heightened Senses last Monday.
It must still be bothering her.
“Of course,” Val says, trying to recover. “They attacked someone. We protect people.”
It’s the same thing she told Tala, but now she no longer sounds so sure. She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, too.
If this is how the hunters are acting when someone has been attacked, what would they do if they knew someone died? The thought makes me shudder. Maybe this was why Helga wanted to keep Emilía’s death quiet.
“Berserkir are people too, aren’t they?” Idris asks.
I can’t help but think of Edith. Of everything she’s been through.
She didn’t choose to be a berserkr, either.
“They are,” Val admits quietly. “But look, all I know is that if someone had done something about the berserkr who attacked my family sooner, they would still be alive.”
Maybe that’s true, but anyone is capable of violence.
“Yeah,” someone else calls out. “She’s right. A lot of our loved ones would still be here.”
“We’re too lenient on berserkir,” Dorian says. “Especially you, Idris. Hell, you even married one. Why should we listen to anything you say? You’re not even a real hunter anymore. We should just fucking get rid of them all.”
Quiet falls over the classroom.
In his dangerous words, I hear my father’s. Some hunters view Idris’s affection for the berserkir as weakness and his retirement as a personal failing. To them, the worst mistake a hunter can make is falling in love with your prey.
Idris turns to Dorian, his voice a touch harder. “Elaborate.”
“Society no longer needs the berserkir,” Dorian continues. “They just pose a threat now. It’s only a matter of time before they give in to their violent tendencies and kill someone.”
A lot of the hunters nod in agreement.
But Val doesn’t.
She looks conflicted.
I swallow the words I want to say, and they taste like my mother’s bitter medicine.
I remember the first time I met Val. She was brought to Skallagrim after her whole family was killed.
A berserkr attacked the annual Durand family cookout in France.
Val was ten years old. She found a knife and hid under a picnic table.
She survived. No one else did.
It’s one of the things we never discuss.
Unlike Val, I didn’t become a hunter because of personal tragedy.
Most hunters have been recruited by Skallagrim after their family or loved ones were killed by berserkir, because only those who felt that violence firsthand would dedicate their lives to hunting them.
I’m not motivated by vengeance like the rest.
I became a hunter because of my father.
Nothing else.
How can I argue with them when they have conviction I’ll never understand? The only reason I picked up my bow and arrow to begin with was to earn my father’s praise. Suddenly, it seems selfish. I hunt and kill not because I believe in it but because someone else told me to.
What does that make me?
Unless I can find proof Isaac is responsible, the situation is going to escalate.
And quickly. As I look around the room full of hunters, I realize it’s only a matter of time until they decide to take matters into their own hands.
They’ll start hunting any berserkr they have doubts about. Chaos will erupt.
Skallagrim—the only home I have—will tear itself apart.