Chapter 5

Miro wasn’t hungry. He’d gone to his family’s small suite of rooms. His mom had heard about the creature in the stables, everyone had. She’d fussed over him even though he made sure he’d stopped bleeding before opening the door; he was, just tired from helping Mistress Mauser heal Somov. He’d chatted with his parents, reassured them that he was fine, his dad had been tending the gardens all day and was tired. He went to bed without making too much of a stir about Miro’s choice of profession. His mom tried not to show it, but she was afraid for him and of him. Maybe not a lot, but it was there.

Now it was well after midnight and he was sitting on the lip of an abandoned tower’s balcony, boots standing next to him. The railing was gone and he let his feet hang off over the edge, kicking into the night. It was only eighteen or twenty feet to the roof of the nearest building. If he fell he’d be fine. He’d fallen farther. Being Lustrated had its advantages. Miro remembered being Initiated, still had nightmares about it. You wouldn’t think having your body ripped up and put back together would hurt so much. The fever dreams were probably the worst of it. Somov hadn’t stopped screaming yet. He would.

Come on Somov, we have sword training tomorrow. Somov’s continued screams implied that he wouldn’t be feeling up for it. Miro hated when people were Lustrated. Besides his own, he’d only been around for two. Nina hadn’t made it, he remembered chasing squirrels with her in the woods. Petar had and was off with Sorina on a Hunt. A Stritch was their game if he remembered right. Somov would probably be another Nina.

A gentle breeze, unseasonably warm, blew up from the south. It carried the scent of the pine forest, it tousled his hair and wrapped between his toes. Life was good. Even when it was hard.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Mikolov’s deep voice called from the doorway.

“Of course, sir,” Miro replied, not turning. He knew it was impolite but he didn’t care right now. Mikolov didn’t show any sign of noticing. Instead, he approached noiselessly, sat down beside Miro and began pulling his boots off.

“Sorry, I just… need a few moments.” he sighed and fished around in his coat for something.

“How’s he doing?” Miro asked. It didn’t sound like he was doing well.

Mikolov began tapping out his pipe, “His thrashing has already broken three ribs, dislocated a shoulder and I think he’ll break his wrist by the end of it.” He began thumbing his pipe full, when it was ready, he stuck it between his teeth and pulled out an oiled leather wallet filled with tinder and a flint. “He also broke a nose, but that one wasn’t his own.” He smiled faintly as he struck the tinder. It took four tries before the pipe was lit. He puffed slowly.

“Whose nose did he break?”

“Ludomir,” Leski replied his smile brightening. He puffed for a few more moments, accompanied by Somov from below. “I think,” he paused again as Somov’s screams rose higher, “that boy has more spirit in him than any of us ever gave him credit for. Even Stoyan.”

Miro stayed quiet. Leski Mikolov was equally mute beside him. The warm scent of smoke and the sound of Somov’s Lustration filled the silence. Minutes passed. Miro silently anguished over Somov’s future, about Nina, about the dead eyes of innocent people killed by the monsters he’d hunted with Stoyan, about the hundreds of dead in the long history of Havenhill. Eventually, Mikolov’s pipe was spent and he tapped it out, embers falling to the tile roof below. He grunted as he tucked his pipe away in his coat and put his boots on. As he stood to leave, a spell was broken and Miro interrupted him.

“You’ll take care of him, right?”

“Of course. Everything that I can do, will be done.”

“Good.”

“I’ll make sure some blankets make their way up here. Can’t have you catch a cold.” the Abbot said as he opened the door of the tower.

A few minutes passed. Miro was exhausted. After traveling all day, fighting the tendril monster, helping Mistress Mauser and skipping dinner he should have been asleep. If life was fair, he’d be asleep for a week.

He woke up to Stoyan pulling him away from the edge, he tried to mumble that he was fine, but he couldn’t be sure he actually said anything. Stoyan didn’t reply in any case, just wrapped him up in some blankets. Miro was too tired to argue.

He slept fitfully, haunted by shadows of feverdreams, half-remembered moments with Nina. He woke to the brightening sky. Stoyan sat where Master Mikolov sat. He looked tired. His eyes had dark circles under them and he looked at the roof below without seeing. Somov had stopped crying out. Miro wrapped his blankets around himself and waddled over to Stoyan, his breath misted in front of him, the stone was crisp with frost. Stoyan’s beard was white with age and frost. Miro sat down beside him, leaning against the wall. He watched a man tend the tuber garden below, pulling dandelions out and putting them in buckets, the greens would go to the kitchen and be eaten, the rest would be mulched. He wondered if that was his father. It was too far and his back was turned.

“Somov stopped half an hour ago. I wonder if he’s alright,” he said, staring into the middle-distance.

“I hope so.”

“Nothing for it now.” The silence between them loomed.

“How was he, last you heard?”

“He broke Ludomir’s nose,” Stoyan smirked.

“So I heard.”

“Just punched him plumb in the face.” Stoyan’s smirk puffed itself up. “Beautiful sight.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever let Ludomir forget about this.”

“The only way I can see that happen is if something even better happens to him.” Miro wasn’t sure how, but Stoyan’s smile found a way to get even bigger. “The best part is that Iryna couldn’t help him, she was too spent trying to take care of Somov. He probably still has a pair of black eyes.”

“Probably can’t even see.”

“Nope.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. Somov might not be alive tomorrow, but Stoyan and Miro would be friends. And that was enough, it’d have to be. Life was hard, they’d lost people before, they’d lose them again, someday they’d lose each other, but for right now, there was nothing more that they could do. They watched the sunrise paint the sky from behind them. The shadow of the tower slowly shrinking back from the pine forest around them.

“Do you remember Nina?” Miro asked.

“Brown-haired girl, with a sharp nose? Quick on her feet?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” Miro remembered trying to catch her. It was much easier to chase a rabbit.

“Tough to forget someone who put squirrels in your pillow.”

“Did she really?” Miro hadn’t realized that she and Stoyan had been close.

“I never confronted her about it but I’m pretty sure.”

A minute of amiable quiet passed as Miro’s smile slowly faded. “I hate this place,” he vowed.

Stoyan looked at him for a few moments before whispering, “Me too, my boy. Me too.”

Life in the Abbey wasn’t easy. They lived a little over a day’s journey from the port city of Sheanor. Miro didn’t think he’d ever actually seen it. He’d traveled far, usually by horse. But always through back roads and far from the major cities. The cities didn’t need Hunters. The monsters were out in the rural places, where farmers would spit at the Hunter who saved his neighbor. There were only a handful of people outside the Abbey who knew Miro was affiliated with Havenhill and didn’t make a sign to ward away evil.

“Why do you stay?”

Stoyan sighed, “There’s nowhere else for me to be. I didn’t have a place before I came here. Besides, it isn’t always this horrible.”

“What did you do before?” Miro and Stoyan had been friends for years, but Stoyan never talked about who he was before he came to Havenhill. This was more information than he’d ever volunteered before.

“I was a butcher, in a small town. Kotnik’s Grove. Not a surnamed noble in two day’s hard travel.” he smiled.

“Sounds nice.”

He made a noncommittal sound and stood up. “I need to go cover for Ludomir’s lesson. If you go check on Somov, let me know how he’s doing.” He stretched and strolled to the door.

Miro did not sleep very well. He was still tired. But he was also hungry. He considered this for a minute. Hunger won. He left to go to his parent’s suite. They were small rooms. Just large enough for a bed and a small chest for clothes. One was converted into a kitchen, the other two were his parent’s room and his. They were connected through the corridor.

He wandered through the corridors, there were a few uninitiated and servants sweeping and scrubbing. It was a wonder that the place ever got dirty. There weren’t enough people living in the Abbey to sully the hallways enough to be cleaned twice a week, let alone twice a day. He remembered rather distinctly that Mistress Mauser didn’t care for that line of thought. There was a reason for it, or at least she’d told him so. Likely something about scrubbing floors building character, or humility. Mistress Mauser was a big fan of humility: in other people.

As Miro got close to his family’s apartments, he started to get nervous. He liked his family well enough, mostly, but they still argued almost every time he was home. He loved his parents, but he wasn’t sure if he liked them. He was pretty sure that the feeling was mutual. It made homecomings a strange mix of “I missed you” and “Why can’t I be somewhere else?” He meandered, took the scenic route, he was hungry, but upon further consideration, maybe not that hungry. After staring out of the window for half a minute he walked to the kitchen of his parent’s suite.

“Mirovich!” His mother quickly buried her face in his chest in what felt like was a hug. Miro patted her back awkwardly.

“Hello?” It was hard to tell without seeing her face if she was excited or anxious. He had been gone all night, but that wasn’t particularly unusual for him. Had something else happened? Was his father hurt?

Midolain, Miro’s father entered from behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t seem injured. “We’re so proud of you.”

What was going on? “Thanks?” he asked.

“Didn’t someone tell you, Stoyan or Headmaster Mikolov?” his mother asked, finally lifting her head up for air and beaming at him. She hadn’t smiled this big since he’d been Lustrated. Poor Somov.

“No… What’s going on?”

“Oh just come sit down!” his mother bubbled and grabbed his hand, leading him to the table. She didn’t let go of his hand but sat across from him. His dad stayed near the door.

“Abbot Mikolov stopped by early this morning and said that you get to be a Hunter! Imagine that Mido, our son a Hunter!” Miro suddenly became very uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why, he knew he would become a Hunter one day, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. He smiled anyway. Not that Denisa was paying him any mind. She was lost in her own thoughts and desires. As usual.

“Yes, dear. I’d better go and get started with chores. I’ll see you this evening.” With a small wave to his son, Midolain exited the room. Miro didn’t understand why his parents were still together. They were more apathetic toward each other than he was. Apparently, they’d been in love once. To him, it was a distant memory.

“Mirovich, I’m just so proud! Headmaster Mikolov said to go to his office at noon. I imagine that’ll be for your assignment. Oh, my son!”

Miro wasn’t hungry anymore.

Next Chapter: Chapter 6