“Is there a problem here?” #2
I shake my head and sigh, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. “It’s true.”
“But it might not have to be for long.”
My heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“But—”
“Normal time.”
“Nothing about tonight is normal,” I whisper. I can’t believe he’s talking about our midnight training within earshot of so many. “Look at all the people here; we’re not going to have time to—”
I don’t get to finish because I learn what makes Drew so confident we’ll be able to sneak a moment alone.
The smithy falls to a hush. Even Mother’s hammer is silent; she rests it on the anvil and plunges the iron she was working into the almost white-hot coals I stoked in the forge. All eyes have turned to the silhouette in the doorway, outlined by a pinkish, festering moon.
This gnarled and fearsome man is Davos, the master hunter, the man whom our world would be lost without.
His clothes are finely made of velvet, a rare material reserved for the master hunter himself, as it can only be procured outside the hamlet.
His hands are folded atop a walking stick adorned with the silver head of a raven that’s identical to the large bird perched on his shoulder.
I fight a chill that runs down my spine at the sight of the raven.
The black eyes of the master hunter.
That’s how the townsfolk refer to the bird. It has a name; Drew told me it once. But I promptly forgot it. The name was as uncomfortable as the bird’s gaze. A fitting name that sounded like shrill cries and sharp nails on stone.
The old stories say that not one master hunter, dating as far back as the fortress itself, thousands of years, has been without a raven.
When one master hunter dies, the raven takes to the skies.
Then, when it is time for a new master hunter to be masked, a raven arrives to perch on their shoulder.
Some claim it has been the same raven for every master hunter since the first stones of the forge were laid.
Drew says the raven is so revered in the fortress that it is the one to choose the next master hunter from worthy candidates.
Others in the hamlet go so far as to say that the creature is an ancient god in the shape of a beast, defending Hunter’s Hamlet from the vampire scourge.
If that is true, the old god does a poor job of it.
Because even though the vampire lord himself can’t come through the Fade, he still sends monsters every full moon to attack, to remind us that he is there, waiting.
And the rumored divine could clearly do nothing to prevent the impending Blood Moon.
“Hail, Hunter’s Hamlet,” Davos says in that weary way of his.
“Guide and guard us,” the room intones in response.
“Tonight’s revelries seem to have been a delight.” Davos smiles. I think the expression is intended to be fatherly, but to me it always looks wicked. There’s a gleam to his eyes that deeply unnerves me. Drew does not find my unease surprising.
“Davos is baptized in the blood of our enemies,” he’s said. “The man has seen more vampires, more of his kin die, than any of us.”
And none of us are strangers to bloodshed in Hunter’s Hamlet. Death keeps a summer home in this forsaken place.
“But the night is growing thin,” Davos continues. “And I must recall my hunters to me.”
Men and women slowly step away from the crowd as if in a trance.
They are the hunters and have the scars, both visible and not, as a testament to their bloody work.
I want to grab Drew’s hand. To ask if he’s sure he’ll be able to come later.
I can’t stomach the thought of him marching out tomorrow evening without me getting a chance to speak to him alone just one more time.
Even though I don’t know what I want to say yet.
What do you say to someone before they march off to almost certain death? What can I tell him that he doesn’t already know? What words would be enough to encapsulate everything? He has always been the clever one with finesse. I’m useless if I can’t hit my problem with a hammer.
But I let him go.
I have no other choice.
He has his role and I have mine. They were given to us before we were born, determined solely by our family name and sex. No matter how much we might hope or dream or resent our fate, neither of us can escape the path laid before us.
“Is there anything more you need from the forge?” Mother asks Davos.
“No, you have already done more than enough to protect Hunter’s Hamlet. Without your weaponry, wall fortifications, and assistance with our armor, the hunters would be going out underneath the Blood Moon in a sad state,” Davos says as the hunters gather around.
“It is our family’s honor to see the hunters and the hamlet prepared for every hunt, this one especially.
” Mother lets her eyes drift to Drew with a sad smile; it’s an expression I’ve seen on her face often when she looks at him, one of both pride and worry, fear and joy.
Even though we knew becoming a hunter was Drew’s destiny, as much as mine is to work the forge, neither of us looked forward to him embarking on that path. It is not a life with longevity.
But, that is the way of things in the Runil family: The eldest daughter is the forge maiden and the eldest son heads to the fortress.
Every family has its traditions and its role to play in Hunter’s Hamlet.
There is security when we are all in our place.
It is the promise and sacrifice we’ve all made.
So after Father died, it was merely a matter of time until Drew assumed his position in society.
From that moment on, every month, Mother and I wait for Davos to arrive and tell us that the vampires have claimed another member of our family.
But miraculously, month after month, Drew has returned.
Maybe this month, even with the Blood Moon, it will be no different.
It’s a fool’s hope and I know it. But all hope is foolish in Hunter’s Hamlet.
“Speaking of your family’s honor…” Davos’s eyes drift to me as his voice trails off.
His eyes shine, and the taste of bile rises in the back of my throat.
“Following tomorrow night’s hunt, there will be even more cause for celebration.
It is time to ensure our forge maiden’s future so that the smithy continues to run hot for generations to come. ”
“I will do as the master hunter bids.” I dip my chin and keep my face as blank as the masks the hunters wear when they go out to the Fade Marshes.
“May the bell toll for a wedding in the coming week.” Davos taps his walking stick for emphasis. Drew is fighting a scowl. I think he hates this topic even more than I do.
I can imagine what he’ll say later. How dare Davos speak about you like you’re not there, and in front of everyone.
How dare he speak of marrying you off like you’re some prized mare.
But my fate is no secret. The forge maiden is always married before twenty.
That’s just the way of it, the tradition, the necessity, since any of our lives might end come the next full moon.
I’ll likely be with child before the year is over, and the idea makes me cold, even standing next to the forge.
There’s excited murmuring among the eligible male hunters. They leer at me. I grab one of the hammers by the forge instinctively and keep it at my side.
I might be the forge maiden, but I am no delicate flower. I am as cold as silver. As strong as iron. I will bend for destiny, but not for any man.