In 1961, my family moved from Mexico City to Sherwood, Oregon. We didn’t fit in, none of us, but we stuck to ourselves and stumbled our way through the gaps between cultures. Mi abuelo took me hunting, The Phantom Tollbooth introduced me to science fiction and fantasy, and I vowed never to speak Spanish after being teased at school. So it goes.

A year later, Michelle Dickinson from the sixth grade disappeared. Search parties combed the woods with dogs. News reporters came to town with their vans. Even me, in my own world, noticed the uproar.

And then, Collin Bradford disappeared. And Holly Tims. And Sandy Wilkers.

The parents--all the parents--freaked out and locked up their kids until the serial killer--they called him the Midnight Man--was caught. They called him the Midnight Man, because all the kids disappeared out of their beds. For a month, both mi abuelo and my mother slept in the same room with my brother Miguel and me. For a while, I pretended it was a sleepover, but the room was too small for it to be fun for long.

I wasn’t scared for myself or my brother Miguel, although I sometimes wished he would get taken next. Not really, but kind of. Anyway, I wasn’t scared, because mi abuela covered our walls in magic symbols, and gave us kids necklaces with a pouch attached that we were never to open.

Miguel, of course, opened his, but I knew better. Besides, I could just look in his pouch. Inside was a stone, a twig, some powder, and a dried lizard’s head. Yeah, mi abuela was creepier than any Midnight Man, and it was comforting knowing the bigger monster was watching out for me.

Anyway, my dad still hadn’t found work by then, and he was spending a lot of time at the Black Cat, one of the bars that served Sherwood’s main street. It just happened to be near the police station, which is how my dad found his first friend in our new country--Officer Adam Bradford. He was Collin Bradford’s dad.

One night, near the end of that crazy summer, I woke up in the middle of the night. I’d dreamed I was in the desert, and the sky was on fire. A cactus shaped like a robot was trying to tell me something, but I was distracted by the sound of someone chanting in the distance. The sound of the chanting was what woke me up.

My brother Miguel was asleep. Mi abuelo and my mother were gone though. I followed the sound of the chanting to the living room and found mi abuelo, my dad, and my uncle Miguel in the living room on their knees in front of mi abuela. She waved a sprig of something green over them in a blessing, which I recognized as the Blessing of the Hunt. The men all had their rifles with them.

My mother, framed by the kitchen door, was at a counter making and wrapping sandwiches. Collin Bradford’s dad stood in front of the front door, waiting for them to finish. He had his rifle too, as well as his pistol. I saw it poking out of his jacket.

I ran for the closet to get my .22. I’d been pestering my dad to be allowed to go hunting with him. Squirrels and other small game weren’t a challenge for me anymore, and I wanted to know what it was like hunting bigger game. He’d probably say no, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. Well, it could, but the bruises faded quickly enough. And he stopped hitting us kids after mi abuelos moved in with us. He was afraid of them, but that was only sensible, even to my young eyes.

The adults all reacted at once, each in their own way, when I ran into the room with my rifle to join in the Blessing of the Hunt. My father and mother frowned. Collin Bradford’s dad looked away. Mi abuela’s eyes narrowed, like a cat smiling secretly. And mi abuelo? He sighed and waited for mi abuela to finish chanting before taking me aside.

“Mi corazoncito, you cannot join us this evening,” he said.

“But I passed all the tests you gave me: I can hit a squirrel at twenty yards, I can wait quietly for an hour, and I can trail blood. I can’t feel the land yet, but I’m sure I’ll get it soon. Maybe tonight or this weekend. I could almost feel it last time. I’m sure.”

“This is not that kind of hunt. It is a special hunt, for adults only.”

“There’s no such thing,” I said. “I’d know if there was. I started reading some books for grownups.”

“Then let me ask you a question,” mi abuelo said. “Can you recognize justice? Because that is what we are hunting tonight.”

“Sure,” I said. “Like in the comic books.”

“But can you see it? Taste it? Feel it in your lungs and heart, like the air and your blood?”

My stomach sank, as I realized what he was saying. “So it’s like the land?”

“Yes, that’s right, mi corazoncito. Justice is like the land. It is a thing you live in, and when it is broken, then living becomes hard. Until you can feel justice, then you cannot join a hunt such as this.”

“All right. I understand,” I said, trying not to whine.

“You have a strong heart, Olliver. One day, you will feel the land. One day, you feel justice. One day, you will know what it is to have family and desire to protect it. And then you will know what it means to be a man.”

“Okay, abuelito. I’ll practice hard to feel the land. I promise. And justice too. A family--” I scrunched up my face, thinking about my marriage prospects in third grade. “A family will have to wait. Maybe when I’m in middle school.”

Mi abuelo laughed quietly, a sound I loved. “It can wait even longer than that, mi corazoncito. You have time. Unlike others, you have time. Now, I must go.” He patted me on the shoulder, picked up his rifle, and joined the other men at the back door.

My mother told me that the hunt was a secret, and I shouldn’t tell my friends at school about it. I just shook my head. I didn’t have any friends to tell. There was only my family.

Mi abuela noticed the disregard of my mother’s instructions, and said, “It’s a Secret of the House.”

“Oh, okay. Then I won’t say anything.” My mother should’ve just told me that from the beginning.

There weren’t any kids who disappeared after that night. The only disappearance was the Midnight Man. He vanished into the lore of my small town, occasionally trotted out to scare children into behaving.

I was a smart kid, but dense. I didn’t connect the events of that night to the Midnight Man until much later. The memory lay buried and unexamined for years. It wasn’t until I was doing the research on serial killers for He’s in the House that I realized what really happened that night. I stared blankly at the library’s microfiche reader, as the memory washed over me.

I never told a soul about the hunt for justice; not Helen and definitely not my kids. It was a Secret of the House, after all.

###

The memory fluttered through me, like a bird landing on a branch only to be startled away. I wasn’t that dense kid anymore. Helen and I spent a long time and a lot of energy unpacking the weird baggage of my childhood. A few things stuck though--from mi abuelos, my parents, and mi tio--the roots of which ran deep. One was the land. The importance of family was another. The bitter and sweet taste of justice was a third.

I’d only recently recommitted to living fully in this new world, but the experiences and memories of the old one didn’t easily let me go. Some of them lingered, but then, that was life too. I’d just have to do my best to keep moving forward and not get weighed down by what came before.

The argument between Boscun and Kaad heated up. With a grimace, the giant stood to snatch the bag, but Kaad skipped back out of reach. He was only ten feet away from me, and I found that I’d drawn my stilettos.

It was a strange experience to realize there were unintended knives in my hands, and that I was prepared to use them for justice’s sake. Because there was a fourth lesson of my childhood: you don’t mess with kids.

Seeing the children struggling against their chains disturbed me, but I didn’t want to make an irrevocable decision without knowing more about the situation. Neither of the men looked like the children’s guardians, and my suspicion of slavery only grew stronger as the argument continued.

Kaad danced around the campsite; teasing Boscun with the bag’s contents. He poured some into his hand and pretended to offer some of the--I enchanted my eyes with nature mana for a closer look--glossy black flakes to the giant.

Back on my old world, I would’ve guessed they were obsidian, but here I recognized the material as darklight. They were the remnants of broken cores, but somehow treated so that the darklight didn’t dissipate.

Boscun wanted to use the darklight on the children. Kaad disagreed, thinking him a fool. They were at an impasse. No, Kaad held the advantage. The longer Boscun chased after Kaad, the more blood seeped into his bandages. Eventually, he grew tired and had to sit.

Kaad squatted just out of the giant’s reach. His voice took on a more conciliatory tone, a matter of fact tone. He reached into one of their packs and pulled out a small pouch, which he threw to the Boscun.

The giant caught it and listened, a mulish expression on his face. He wasn’t happy and wasn’t afraid to let Kaad know it. Eventually though, he began to nod along, and the two men came to an agreement. The giant poured a white powder from the pouch into his hand and swallowed it. A few minutes later, he was sound asleep.

Kaad shook his head, a man working with imperfect tools. He climbed up into the walnut tree to keep watch. Once he was out of view though, Boscun “woke up” to glare at where he sat in the tree. The giant threw the white powder he’d palmed aside, along with the pouch, before going back to “sleep,” his eyes half-lidded. He slept on his side, his back to the fire, to keep an eye on his partner. The children were safe for now.

The uekisheile asked, Curiosity-hunger-satiation?

Uncertainty-uncertainty-uncertainty, I replied.

I gripped my stilettos, thinking fast. The craziest scenario came up with was that the children were, in reality, criminals of a race that only looked only like children, and that they were being brought to justice by Boscun and Kaad. Except, the children still had Meliune’s Blessing, which meant that they weren’t even Level 1 yet. They’d stopped struggling now that the argument between Boscun and Kaad was done, and sat on the ground, dispirited. No, the simplest and most reasonable explanation was slavery.

I’d wondered about it during the quiet nights by the fire in Ikfael Glen; about the unknown realities of this world. How would I respond if there was slavery? Human sacrifice? If I saw a parent beating their children, and it was perfectly within their rights to do so, what would I do?

I didn’t arrive at any answers then, but I had one now. The sight of the children in chains made it real, and I realize that I wouldn’t allow a child to be hurt, not if I could help it. If there was an opportunity to intercede, I would. If not… well, I didn’t have an answer for that yet. In this case though, I had an opportunity.

The uekisheile asked again, Curiosity-hunger-satiation?

There was a way to save the children, but the plan required caution-quiet-sneak.

The uekisheile sprouted tufts on my hands and face to see what was happening, but I gently asked them to hide-hide-hide when anyone else was around. I wasn’t sure how I’d even begin to explain the colony of intelligent lichen living inside my dantian.

I eased back and circled around the campsite. Fortunately, Boscun had thrown the pouch of sleeping powder into the bushes behind him, away from where Kaad sat in the tree. I found it under a fern, the drawstrings still tight. The powder inside was grainy and smelled of ammonia. It wasn’t a strong scent, and I hoped it’d be overpowered by the corn, sage, onion, and game meat in the stew cooking over their campfire.

The campfire was to the left of Boscun and a little behind. He’d have to crank his head back to see anything in that direction, but any sound would instantly give me away. I scanned the ground in between to plan the quietest route. I checked the breeze to make sure he wouldn’t smell me coming. Only once I was ready did I gently push into the open.

Step-by-slow-step, I crept towards the fire. It was impossible to completely muffle the sound of dried walnut leaves underfoot, but the crackle of the fire covered for me. The children were chained to the walnut tree, and they had an unobstructed view of the camp. Their eyes went wide when they saw me approach.

I gestured for them to keep quiet, but something about the way they startled caught Boscun’s attention. He glanced their way. The children quickly looked down and huddled together for comfort. Boscun snorted at their antics, and resumed surreptitiously watching his partner.

My heart beat a thousand times a minute, but I had a firm grip on at one with the land. I must’ve been getting better at sneaking too, because it only seemed like ten years instead of a hundred.

I dumped the sleeping powder into the stew and carefully gave the pot a stir. Mischief managed, I edged back toward the bushes. The children didn’t say a word. They only snuck peeks in my direction.

Now, I only had to wait till the two men ate their meal. Once the sleeping powder took effect, I planned to find the key to the chains and escape with the children. I circled back around the campsite for a vantage on both Boscun and Kaad.

I’ve sat in a blind all day for a deer to come into view, but this was nothing like that. For one thing, I didn’t have to worry about a deer chaining me to a tree if it caught me. I had to stay alert but not so taut that I exhausted myself with the waiting. After a while, I was able to enter a light meditative trance, and that helped occupy the time. The uekisheile enjoyed it too.

The sun was almost directly above when Kaad finally clambered down from the tree. He checked the children’s chains to make sure they were all right before squatting down by the fire to pour himself a bowl of stew. I thought he might wake Boscun to eat, but he didn’t. Kaad let the snoring giant “sleep.” That is, until he went to take a bite of the stew.

Kaad sniffed at the stew, and looked to Boscun in surprise. The expression passed in an instant, replaced by hardened eyes. For ten seconds, he glared at Boscun’s back. Then Kaad nodded to himself and muttered something light, the tone at odds with his body language. He made blowing noises, as if to cool the stew. Meanwhile, he carefully set the bowl down and drew his knife.

Horrified, I almost stood up. I almost yelled out, “Stop, he didn’t do it.” My clever solution turned out to be not so clever, and the only way to stop it from devolving into murder was to expose myself. But I didn’t. I didn’t have time to think about my reasons why. I just didn’t, and the events played out uninterrupted.

Boscun must’ve sensed something was wrong, because he flipped around, his own knife in hand. Suddenly, they were on each other like dogs rolling on the ground. Their knives flashed without hesitation. Their unfettered will to kill left me stunned.

The fight only lasted a vicious twenty seconds, but in the end, Kaad’s armor made the difference; turning the point of Boscun’s knife away from vital organs. Boscun had no such good luck, and was already injured besides.

When Kaad stood up, Boscun stayed down, his torso covered in new stab wounds. Not that Kaad got away scott free. His left arm hung limp--the brigandine had short sleeves--and blood ran down his neck from a cut above his left eye.

Kaad wiped his eye clear and kicked Boscun’s body. Once. Twice. He spoke angrily to the dead man, and kicked a third time. Then, still furious, he knelt to cut into what was left of the big man’s chest. He slid his hand in between the ribs to pull out the core. It was the size of a large marble, glistening red and black.

He stomped back to the campfire, set the core aside, and rummaged in his pack for first aid supplies. They had a kit that unrolled to reveal bone needles, pouches of medicine, and a glass bottle. Kaad poured the contents of the bottle onto his shoulder.

If there was a time for me to attack, this was it; when Kaad was injured and distracted. I was--

Hit Points 10/10

considering the decision when--

Mana 18/18

between one moment and the next--

Qi 14/26

Kaad was in front of me. His knife lunged towards me. I didn’t have time to react; not say anything or do anything. The knife slid between the links of my armor, through the jacket under it, and into my chest. My breath caught--he’d pierced my left lung.

Kaad grabbed me by the neck to lift me up. His face distorted--at first in anger, but then in surprise when he saw me bleed red. I kicked and struggled, but he was too strong. I couldn’t breathe. His grip only tightened as he thought through my presence, as he realized that I might’ve been one the one responsible for the sleeping powder in his stew. His face twisted in rage. I saw that he’d been crying. There were tears mixed in with the blood around his eyes.

He was going to stab me again. I was dead if I didn’t do something. Inside me, the uekesheile’s qi rang in alarm. Their tufts sprouted all my face and arms to defend me from the threat. They surprised Kaad a second time, and gave me a moment--an empty breath--to recollect the land and bring focus to my thoughts. The mana rushed through me like a bitter wind, and I Cold Snapped his eyes.

He screamed and let me go. Clawing at his eyes, he didn’t see me draw my knife. His brigandine didn’t cover his lower body, so I stabbed him in the scrotum. Like a door slammed shut, he bent over. His neck came within reach and was unprotected. I slit the side, cutting into the carotid artery. Hot, iron blood sprayed my face.

Kaad grabbed at me, but I slid away. Having missed me, he clamped the wound in his neck with his hands to stop the bleeding. I wanted to stab him again, but the world spun around me. Before I lost consciousness--

Hit Points 1/10 Conditions Bleeding II, Lethal Wound (*)

I cast Healing Water and doused it inside my shirt, before and after I pulled the dagger free from my chest.

Hit Points 5/10 Conditions Bleeding I, Lethal Wound (*)

I took a breath, but it caught partway and I coughed up blood. It took another cast of Healing Water to breathe again and for the Lethal Wound entry to disappear from my Status. Kaad, in the meantime, stumbled back toward the first aid kit. I didn’t think it’d help him, but I wasn’t prepared to take the chance. I picked up my spear and went after him.

Even as injured as he was, Kaad was fast. He spun around to knock the spearhead aside. It meant letting go of his neck though, and blood sprayed, staining the ground under the walnut tree red. He tried to grab the spear, but the blood made his hands slick. I harassed him with feints and kept his hands too busy to stop his bleeding.

It took more than a minute for him to fall unconscious. And another ten for him to die.