The sunlight filters into my eyes through the leaves. I let my breath out slowly and try to find the monster in the deep summer green of the forest.
Lille puts a hand on my shoulder. “Locke, to the right.”
I keep still, fixing my eyes on the wall of trees. A breeze blows through the forest and moves the branches, blinding me momentarily. I blink and squint against the light. At least my hair isn’t in my eyes anymore, since Gran cut it short just yesterday. I finally see the monster, surprisingly close, blending into the colors of the forest. I flex and relax my arm in preparation and reach back to slide an arrow out of the quiver as quietly as I can.
The teratome stands still. The only movement is its flesh quivering and undulating as it breathes. The wheezing reminds me of old bellows, creased leather sticky with age. At least I think it’s breathing.
You can never be certain with teratomes. It stands as tall as me on five fleshy stalks sprouting from a central mass that resembles a giant earthworm. At its front, it has a canine muzzle that splits halfway up its length. It has killed a deer, probably caught it by bursting out of the ground. The carcass lies mangled under it.
I hesitate, trying to decide where to shoot. Larger animals I take down with an arrow through the heart or lungs just in front of the shoulder. Rabbits and other small game directly in the head. Birds below the wing. Quick, efficient, just like Lille has taught me.
With teratomes, everything is more difficult. The monster digs into the carcass. A muzzle on a worm would be disturbing enough, but teeth like giant human molars make it even worse. As it chews, stringy muscles flex rhythmically up and down its length, stretched and threaded on top of the ringed body. There is no telling where its vital organs are or if it even has any.
I ready the arrow, nonetheless.
Lille’s hand squeezes my shoulder. ”Wait.”
I freeze, years of training making me stop at her lightest signal. I wanted to call the shot, kick things off myself this time, but there’s no arguing with her. Her mouth is a thin line, but the tension doesn’t reach her eyes. She could be from a story. Not any taller than me, but strong and quick. Her hair the colour of dirt and bark, her skin tanned and windblown. She’s around fifteen years older than me—a hunter in her prime. In anyone’s prime. There are few who are as good as her.
I hear a rustle from somewhere to the right of the monster. It’s Bann, obviously. He has circled around, keeping his distance and being ready to pin the monster between us. He’s always stepping on or stumbling into something, but this time it doesn’t matter—we’re ready. Lille winces all the same. The teratome raises its muzzle. It has no visible eyes or ears, but it twists its upper part around like it’s trying to see what caused the noise.
”Now!” Lille says and flicks her fingers at the monster.
I shoot. The arrow strikes one of the monster’s hind legs. It punches straight through, making a weird squelching noise. The leg gives way and the back half of the worm crashes to the ground. The beast shrieks. Out of anger or pain or just air squeezing out of its body, hard to say with teratomes.
Bann rushes out of the bushes, snapping twigs and kicking clots of earth into the air. He’s taller than me by a full head and at least as much wider, a mountain of a hunter. His jaw is clenched and his arms squeeze his spear. He stabs at the beast repeatedly, every pull of the spear releasing a spurt of dirty, off-red blood. Bann dodges and weaves to stay as far away from the splatters as possible. Teratome blood is not always toxic, but you never know.
Teratomes are the worst.
Lille kicks at the ground and propels herself through the space separating me and the beast. It feels like everything moves in slow-motion compared to her. On the way, she throws a hatchet that passes Bann and lands on the, for lack of a better word, neck of the worm. Bann yelps, his eyes moving from the hatchet to her.
I know there was no chance that Bann could have stumbled into the way of the axe. I saw him leaning back from the monster, balanced on his heels when Lille threw, and I know she saw it too. I wouldn’t try something like that, but maybe I will once I have as much experience as her.
Bann keeps backing away and Lille stops her charge and steps to the side. I hesitate, then snatch a new arrow. I put it through a front leg this time, on the same side as the injured back leg. The monster bellows and topples over to one side. The sound is like a giant blowing into a massive bottle. It makes my insides thrum.
I bound toward the toppled monster, readying the next arrow. Bann charges in, too. We’re rushing to impress her, while Lille holds back, watching. Even with the monster down, it takes time to finish it off, sweat soaking through our clothes as we take it apart. Teratomes are the worst.
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Bann is gathering kindling for burning the carcass. There’s nothing you can use teratomes for. They can’t be eaten or fed to any animals, they can’t be used as fertilizer, and you especially can’t just leave the corpses lying around. Burning is the surest option. No chance of something wriggling away and growing up into something even more annoying. In principle, teratome blood could be used for its healing properties, but in practice, you’d need to be both desperate and stupid to resort to that.
I feel like saying something, so I clear my throat. “Thanks for giving me the shot.”
”You took a moment to catch on,” Lille says. She’s squatting next to the corpse, cutting samples to sell to the city wizards later.
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”Sorry, I was still thinking how you timed the throw so as not to hit Bann.
”Saw it, eh? Good.”
Bann steps into the clearing with branches and twigs stacked before his chest. He looks at us, squatting next to the monster’s corpse, and beams. ”We got it good!” he yells.
Lille stops for a moment. Only her eyes move slowly to meet mine. She’s physically looking up at me, but I can see how she doesn’t think highly of either of us at the moment. ”We got it,” she says finally.
Bann dumps the wood from his arms into the pile next to the teratome. He then hisses and jumps sideways for a step, before stomping on what looks like an eyeball made of meat rolling on the ground.
Lille turns her back to me and gazes at the nearby trees. ”Get it burning,” she says, eyes sweeping the clearing. She takes a couple of long strides to brush past me and jumps. She catches onto a branch and pulls herself up, disappearing into the canopy. The rustle is surprisingly quiet. Her smell—warm leaves in the sun—lingers for a moment.
Bann whistles and raises his eyebrows. He turns his massive head back toward the carcass and strikes the flint. Sparks fly and dance in the dry grass.
I’m still flushed after the hunt. My heart thrums and my mouth feels dry. I fold my arms tightly to hide their shaking. Hunting teratomes isn’t glorious, I tell myself. It’s a chore that has to be handled. A dangerous one, even if I want to laugh and pump my fist in the air at the moment. This is the second time I got pulled in to participate, but I’ve listened to enough stories to know that even experienced hunters get surprised fighting them every once in a while.
We’re not experienced hunters. We’ve been trained well, but we’re still raw, green. Around here, there’s more to hunting than just shooting rabbits or checking traps. Every hunter is responsible for keeping the wilds safe, and often that is the more dangerous and weird part of the profession.
Bann backs away from the fire as it gets going. I follow and watch him grab his spear from the ground. He pokes the air a couple of times, then huffs and jumps back like dodging an attack. “This was even easier than the last one! We’re getting good!”
I chuckle and keep chuckling as the tension leaves me. Two successful teratome hunts in under three months is nothing to sneeze at. We did do good. Even if hunting them is dirty and dangerous, it feels good to do something useful, necessary.
There’s movement from above. Lille lands silently, almost brushing Bann as she does. Bann twitches and my laugh turns into a cough. She was on the other end of the clearing and I thought she couldn’t hear us.
Still, even she smirks now. “Come on, you two. Let’s get upwind. You don’t want to be breathing in that smoke.”
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The carcass blubs and sputters. We’re steadily backing away from the fire as the smell gets worse and worse. The fire has reached some new organ or something inside the thing and the smoke has turned thick and black. The smell is like rank oil on my tongue.
Lille runs a blade over a whetstone. She’s been doing it for a while. The hatchet should be sharp enough already, but she keeps going. Bann has been watching the fire, and now chucks the final branch on top of the pyre. He stands up, dusts the bottom of his pants and nods at the place where the pile of firewood was. Lille waves a hand toward the forest. Bann nods again and disappears behind the trees.
The scrape of steel on stone stops. “Locke.”
I’m lost watching the corpse burn, but something in her voice makes me look up.
“The Janitors are going to contact you soon.”
“Janitors? I didn’t know there were any in the village.”
“Not the village. From the city.”
Ah. My eyebrows knit together. It makes even less sense. Why would the janitors from the city to be interested in me?
Lille glances at me from below her brow. “They tell me that I have consistently recommended you out of all the young hunters.”
“They… tell you?”
Lille sighs. “They didn’t explain it to me properly, so I can’t explain it to you, either. Just ask him yourself.” She points a finger at me.
I smell ozone, like the air after a lightning strike. I open my mouth to ask Lille what she means, but notice she’s pointing the finger past me.
A hand settles on my shoulder and someone clears their throat lightly. I consider rolling forward, sweeping a leg behind me, or maybe going for my throwing knife just out of surprise. The hand pushes me down exactly as I start to raise.
“Relax,” a man’s voice says.
The voice is unfamiliar, the word spoken with such ease and confidence that I reflexively follow the order and lower my shoulders.
“I’m sorry. The reaction is worth it every time,” he continues. The hand squeezes my shoulder and lets go.
Lille frowns and the corners of her mouth edge down.
Before she can say anything, the man continues. “Please, I will talk to Locke alone for a moment.”
It’s not a question. Lille’s nostrils flare, but she nods and stands up. She slides the hatchet into its loop on her belt and turns to go. “I’ll find Bann. We’ll be back once you’re done.”
“We’ll be done before you’re back,” the man says. His tone sounds like he’s correcting what Lille said.
Lille glances back and the corner of her eye twitches.
I finally crane my head to look at the man. He’s about my height, so not very tall. I’m surprised that he’s not even looking at Lille. His gaze floats somewhere above the canopy, on the clouds. He’s wearing an outfit that looks like a combination of working overalls and a parade uniform. Coarse, sturdy cloth covered in golden runes on nearly every surface. The outfit includes a cowl and a cloak, even more heavily inlaid with complex runework. The smell of ozone lingers around him, like he’s wearing it as a cologne. I know just enough about magic to realize that creating the outfit must have cost more than what our whole village is worth. The exception to the extravagance of the outfit is the amulet pinned to his chest. Made of dark, simple cast-iron, it’s shaped like a compass, its needle pointing east.
“I’m from Tenorsbridge, as you’ve already realized. You’re needed, Locke. We need you. All of Velonea needs you.”
Things are moving too fast to comprehend. I turn to face the man so we can speak face to face, but realize that he’s still looking at the clouds, not at me. His hand is in his pocket, his fingers fiddling with something in there.
“There is great tragedy and war happening that you haven’t heard of yet. Even the rumors haven’t reached your village. Hundreds are dying. Thousands will die. Tens of thousands, unless we stop it.”
I watch him with mouth agape. This is the thickest load of scat I’ve heard. Who is this guy and does he really expect me to—
He snaps his gaze to me and his face suddenly turns alive, grimacing so I see his teeth. “I’m a Janitor. The caretaker of this world. I don’t have time for pleasantries. Not here, not now.” His eyes are hard as he spits out the words.
I flinch back. I forget saying something flippant, defiant or incredulous like I was going to. Now that he’s looking directly at me, the intensity of the man washes over me. His eyes are like two dark beads, under a tightly knit brow. They look frozen in time, absolutely unmoving.
Suddenly, his face softens and his shoulders relax. “Locke, I will explain everything to you once we’re in Tenorsbridge. This is the adventure you are secretly yearning for.”
A cold flush goes through my body. My heart pounds a single heavy strike in my chest before the man continues.
“I’m called Lictor, War Janitor of Tenorsbridge. You have until sundown to say your goodbyes. Make them count.”