POV William
Hell started Monday morning.
Mathias had pulled William out of bed at the crack of dawn, minutes after the first curfew bell of the day out of some misguided sense of ironic justice. “Get dressed. Be downstairs in five,” was all his dad said to him. William rolled over and fell back asleep.
Mathias was suddenly wise to William’s tricks. Five minutes later, his dad had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him downstairs, and shoved him outside, barefoot and in his pajama shorts, all while William shouted and complained.
His dad locked the door, making sure that William couldn’t save his dignity. “We’re heading into town,” his dad said.
This morning, his dad was a dishevelled mess. He had dark rings under eyes and was coated in a thick layer of mud up to his knees. His dad’s eyes were empty of the infinite patience and compassion William was all too happy to take advantage of. In his dad’s place was the Master Hunter, who was too tired to give two shits about how unfair he was being to William. That man could be cruel.
William followed the Master Hunter down the narrow roads into a nearby residential area somewhere between the isolated outskirts, and the much more densely populated town center. In this residential block, the rows of townhouses were decaying through years of neglect. Few people lived in these abandoned areas out of choice.
The Master Hunter ordered his son to stay where he was, in plain view of the neighbors. He climbed the steps of a faded green townhouse with peeling white trim, and then knocked at the door. William tried to distract himself from his humiliation.
A shadow peered out from behind the door, before swinging it wide and revealing an aged, clean shaven, bald man in a crimson dressing gown, who was furiously brushing his teeth. The new priest, William recognized as Father Tremblay, gestured for them to enter, and vanished into the darkness of his home.
With the door closed behind them, William struggled to get a sense of the place in the dim light. The preacher’s home was bare, save for the inches of dust that coated everything. Wallpaper peeled from the walls, in some sections were torn off entirely. Graffiti stained the holy man’s home with mementos of initials and slurs. This was not a home fit for a ranking member of the Red Order.
The Master Hunter explained, “Father Tremblay is an advocate for community initiative. He’s a fan of home renovations. When he’s done here, he’ll request a new home to restore. Not all members have a choice in where they live. The Order provides housing as it is available. Our home, William, is not provided by the Order. We live where we do, by the grace of the Daamon’s. Should our relationship sour, we will be made to live in a home like this. Probably not in such a desperate state.”
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William rolled his eyes and glared at the dim shape of his dad. “What? Because they have money?”
The Master Hunter let out a heavy breath, not impressed by William’s juvenile question.
“The Daamon’s are a political ally,” Father Tremblay answered in Mathias’ place. He returned to his guest, properly dressed in his priestly attire, save for the robe which was worn only when he left his home. “The Council has largely been opposed to, I dare say, most of the Order’s initiatives in the political sphere. Having allies with such strong political influence means we can help more people. Damaging that relationship means many top-worlders will suffer without our guidance.” William bristled at the term top-worlder. At the Academy, the kids from the capital would use the word like a slur, as though anyone living in a city above ground was somehow lesser.
The Master Hunter cut in, “So we’re clear, your bullying of Lady Daamon is not why you’re here. As discussed last night, you’ve demonstrated poor judgement with self-actualization. You’ve also demonstrated that you require constant supervision and mentorship. Something I’m ashamed to admit, that I can only offer intermittently between my duties, as required by the Red Order.”
Father Tremblay nodded eagerly and guided them through the house to the backdoor, leading them into his trash heap of a back garden. “This is where you will work,” the priest said with a note of pleasant pride that rubbed William the wrong way. He hated the way the old man beamed at his overgrown wasteland.
“This is going to take all summer!” William shouted. “I’m not dressed for this sort of thing!”
The Master Hunter stared down his son in silent disapproval. “There are always consequences, William. It’s time you learn accountability.”
“This isn’t fair!” William raged.
The Master Hunter ignored his son. “I’ll retrieve him post curfew and escort him home.”
The priest nodded, and lowered his head in a respectful bow, acknowledging Mathias’ rank over his. “I’ll await your return, Master Mathers.”
“What! NO!” William cried. He’d have no time to get to the library to schedule his exam, let alone take the exam. “You can’t do that!” His cries fell on deaf ears. The Master Hunter vanished into the shadows of the house, followed by the priest.
He sagged onto the broken moss-covered stone slabs and had himself a good cry. He hadn’t heard the old priest come back. He didn’t know how long the old man had been standing at the backdoor, waiting for William to come to his senses.
“For today,” the priest said when William had calmed down enough, after wiping his runny nose on the back of his arm, “You’ll help me inside. You can start by washing the windows. Let God’s light and love reach us.” He paused, expecting William to echo the sentiment of his impromptu sermon. The priest’s lips curled into a thin displeased line while the corners of his mouth maintained the smile. “My boy,” he said gently, “Perhaps as penance, you would do well to state something that you are grateful for as you clean each pane. There are a great many bounties our Lord grants us every day.”
What a stupid punishment!
William thundered into the house.