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A musky scent filling the room was the second thing he was aware of. The first was everything hurt. He tried to sit up but failed, a moan dribbling from his lips. His stomach knotted and his mouth filled with water. He fought to not throw up but the thrum in his head spurred his nausea on.
Where was he? He flicked his gaze around the room. Nothing looked the least bit familiar. Relatively small, the room boasted of tan stone bricks, unadorned except for two shelves near a window. Two candle sconces framed the window. It was such an empty room he was sure no one used it. Why was he here?
He shifted his sore body. It filtered into his befuddled brain that he was lying on a bed. There was a bed stand next to the mattress he was stretched out on but nothing else gave the room a sense of life. He rolled up onto his hip which protested the action. He came face to face with a big-eyed, vaguely amphibian stuffed toy jammed up under the pillows. Dragging it out, he wondered, Is this mine? Aren’t I too old for stuffed animals? How old am I?
Frowning, he sat up, holding the toy. He was wrong about having nothing but two shelves and a bed stand; he had a mirror in his room too. Odd colored eyes stared back at him. Tousled blond hair fell in an uncontrolled mess. Dirt matted his hair and smeared his face. Why would he have gotten into bed so filthy? His body was going to soil the bedding.
He held the toy to his hooked nose. He didn’t know who the boy in the mirror was. He certainly looked too old for stuffed toys but nothing at all was familiar in that reflection. He could be looking at a portrait of someone else if he didn’t know that was a mirror. All he knew was the musky smell wasn’t the room. It was him, like he hadn’t bathed in a while. He blinked. I can’t remember ever taking a bath. Who am I?
He opened the bed stand drawers. They were empty as if this whole room was like a prop on a stage. How would he know about that? What were these vague memories of attending the theater? He didn’t know that answer any more than he knew he own name. He shivered as a wave of fear over what might have caused this washed over him. He probed into his pants pockets for answers but slowly realized he was in a robe without pockets. He wasn’t going to find convenient identification that way. Why was he otherwise naked in a robe too big for him and left unconscious in a strange room? Because certainly he hadn’t been asleep. No one went to sleep and woke up without memories. He must have taken a serious blow to the head and had been knocked out.
The door across the room slowly opened. His heart sped up as he took in the appearance of a tall person in a terrifying horned mask and a long white and gold cloak. Dark eye slits seemed to suck him in. He dropped his gaze to the intricate symbol on the man’s cloak brooch. Behind him were two uniformed people in bird masks and also sporting white cloaks only not as long or as elegant as the man in the horned mask. Why do they all have masks on? What is this? Who are they? What do they? Will they hurt me more?
“Ah, you’re awake already. I didn’t expect that,” the man in the horned mask said.
He tried to get away from them, squirming on the bed and nearly toppling over the other side. His robe twisted around his legs, making it hard to move.
The man in the horned mask held up his hands and said in a soft, gentle voice, “Don’t be afraid, Hunter.”
He blinked. Something sparked in his mind with that name but the brightness flickered out fast, leaving no illumination. “Is that my name?”
The antlers of the mask slashed the air as the man shook his head, tutting. He turned and shooed the other men out of the room, closing the door behind them. He slipped the mask off to reveal the lined face of an older man with a strange greenish slash traveling over his features. Long grey-blond hair cascaded down past his shoulders. It was a kindly face and the tight grip of fear let loose around Hunter’s heart.
“Yes, you’re Hunter. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” The man reached for him but restrained himself before touching him. “Wild magic can do that.”
Hunter mulled that over. “Wild magic…”
“Wild magic is the sort of magic practiced by coven-less witches. It has taken our whole family, I’m afraid. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Is that why everything hurts?” Hunter flexed his arms. Witches? Was he a witch too? Had he been in a duel? His heart clenched. His family was gone? “We’re family? Where are my parents?”
The man shot him a pitying look. “I’m your uncle and unfortunately your parents didn’t make it. I’ll be taking care of you now and yes, you were attacked. The rest of your family…” He shook his head.
Hunter gulped air. His family was gone? Why didn’t he remember? What would he do now? Was this man really his uncle? “I…I can stay here?”
“Yes, of course. I’m the only family you have left. You are more than welcome.”
“Why the mask?” He jutted his chin at it.
“You don’t remember this mask?” He shook it as Hunter ground out a no. “This is part of my station. I’m Emperor Belos.”
Hunter startled, balling up the bedding under his hands. How could that be? How could he be that important? “I’m related to the emperor?”
Belos laughed and crossed the room and put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “Yes, you are. You don’t remember any of this, do you?”
“No.” He canted his face up to meet his uncle’s gaze. “Is that the magic?”
“Yes, that is very likely to have taken much from you,” Belos said after a moment’s thought as if somehow disappointed that Hunter couldn’t remember.
“But why…did someone do this to me? Was I attacked? I feel like I was in a fight. Everything hurts,” Hunter moaned again.
“That is a lot of questions and yes, as I said our family has not fared well thanks to wild magic. It took almost everything from you. We’ll work through it. You may have to relearn a lot of things. I’ve seen that before.”
Hunter wrapped his arms around himself, bending over his thighs. His life had been ripped away from him. He remembered nothing. Claws of fear crushed his chest. He swore he could feel them digging between his ribs. Belos’s large hand cupped his shoulder.
“Take a deep breath, try to relax. You’re safe here. I found you before the wild witches could harm you further but it may be hard for you for the foreseeable future, until you start picking up the pieces you’ve lost.”
Hunter stared into those soft blue eyes, feeling a sense of calm washing up over him. He relaxed.
“There you go, Hunter. It will be all right now.”
“How? How did you find me? How did you know they were attacking my parents?”
“The Titan told me. He said I had to find you. He has big plans for you.”
Titan? Hunter rolled the word around in his head. It was vaguely familiar. He knew what that was, didn’t he? All he could manage to say was ‘big plans?’
His uncle nodded. “We’ll worry about that soon enough. You rest now and tomorrow we can start training you for the Emperor’s coven.” He held up a hand as Hunter opened his mouth to ask what that was. “You’ll see what it is soon enough. I’ll send someone to get you tomorrow morning and we can see what kind of magic you can do…if you can. Unfortunately, many in our family are powerless witches, which makes things…difficult on occasion.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He couldn’t be a powerless witch, could he? That sounded so bad. “How will I know?”
“It will be easily apparent. But that can wait until morning. Get some rest, Hunter. It was a traumatic day for you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
With that he swept out of the room but not before putting his mask back on. Hunter wondered about it. Had it been traumatic? Yes, whatever happened must have been terribly traumatic. He couldn’t remember any part of the attack but it obviously had happened. His parents were gone. He should feel a horrible ache inside him but there was nothing. He couldn’t remember them. There was nothing but a hole inside him. Those witches had blasted every part of him out of his own head. Would he ever get that back? What would happen to him if he didn’t?
Forcing himself up onto sore feet, he staggered around the confines of his room, finding a small closet and an almost as small bathroom that he made use of. Hunter looked out his window, startled to find out how high up he was in the castle. Nothing looked familiar. That was the story of his life right now. Should he be hungry? Maybe but he wasn’t. He was, however, exhausted. Maybe he should go back to bed. Instead, he turned his gaze back out the window again, listening to bird song, somehow relaxed by it.
Glancing at his fingers, Hunter frowned. Black rimed each finger, every short nail crusted with dirt. How had he gotten so filthy? His mind’s eye flashed to him digging, panicked, toward the light. Had his home fallen down around him thanks to the wild witches? How could they be so cruel? Yes, he had dug out of somewhere but what happened before? The evidence might be on his body. He planted his hands on the window sill, leaning out to get a better view. Fresh stink rose up from his body. You were attacked. It’s no surprise you’re dirty.
Hunter learned a few things about himself in that moment: he disliked dirt and bad smells. He explored the closet finding only a few clean shirts and pants in a generic brown hue and some towels. He took down a towel and rooted in the small set of drawers inside the closet to come up with underpants. Hunter stripped off his robe inside his little bathroom. Where should he put it? Did he have to do his own laundry? He stared down at his chest, seeing a pink line over his heart. He probed it with a finger, finding the scar a little sore. Where had he gotten it? I need to remember?
Hunter peered into the shower, relieved to see some soap. The water poured over him, hot as he could bear it, his skin prickling and reddening. He held his hands under first. Can’t get clean with dirty hands. He ran them through his hair finding more grit and grime. The water around his toes turned murky too. Again he wondered, had he been buried in rubble in the attack? Certainly possible, not that your brain is going to remember apparently.
The water felt good on his sore muscles. He leaned his shoulders into the spray letting it relax him. Hunter showered until all the water ran clean and his skin was blotchy red and white all over. The towel was rough and thin, surprising him. If he was the Emperor’s nephew, shouldn’t he have the finer things in life? No one expected you to be living here. These probably aren’t your own underpants you’re pulling on. Hunter scowled at the thought but it was true. If he’d been found after an attack almost nothing in that room was his. Surely he had more than few ugly brown items of clothing in the closet. But who did the stuffed toy belong to if not him? He couldn’t have been running around carrying that thing. Nothing made sense.
Padding back to the bedroom, leaving the dirty clothes on the bathroom floor – at least until he found a hamper for them and figured out the laundry situation – Hunter shut the bedroom window. I could really use a curtain. The light coming in will keep me awake. Then again as tired as he was, that might not be an issue. Pulling back the bedding, Hunter slipped between the covers. He rested his wet head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
Questions he should have asked Belos bubbled up in his mind. Did he have siblings? Had they died too? Could he see his parents’ bodies to say goodbye? What about his friends? Did he even have any friends? He couldn’t remember having them. His parents’ faces were blank. He could only assume one of them was blond like him. Which of them had his wine-hued eyes? What kind of magic rips away memories? Why would wild witches want to hurt me? Why take my memories?
Finding no answers, he pulled up the covers and tugged the stuff toy next to him. He might be too old for them but somehow the froggy thing gave him comfort. He nestled his cheek against it. Tomorrow frightened him. It would be a big, daunting day. He only hoped he was ready.
# # #
Belos restrained himself until he was in his chambers but there he let go, his form bubbling until he could contain it once more. He sagged down into a chair, tilting his head back. He’d had hopes for this Grimwalker, especially when he had taken him from the ground as early as he dared. He couldn’t keep bringing in lookalikes of the exact same age without having someone question it. Bram, his last Golden Guard, had gotten unfortunately close to a couple coven heads and had been swayed against him. It had been such a pity to have to destroy him. Head Witch Darius had been oddly distraught. Belos would need to keep an eye on the abomination coven head.
Belos had taken Hunter from the earthen crypt he grew in early, hoping any resemblance to Bram wouldn’t be too obvious. If he pulled them out too early in their development, they fell apart so at least this time he had a young one that held together. Besides, if he ended up with an actual child, they wouldn’t be worth much to him for years and he’d have to put someone he couldn’t be guaranteed absolute control over into the position of Golden Guard. That would never do.
He looks so much like Caleb, it hurts. His hope was in harvesting Hunter young he’d have a Grimwalker who wouldn’t betray him like Caleb had. All he had of his brother had been his blood on the knife. That witch made sure he hadn’t gotten more of him. He had to sneak into the graveyard to dig up his bones for the bone of ortet required.
Even then he’d known of Grimwalkers but it had taken years before he’d gotten good enough to make one. He used a little of the last in each of them and shockingly they all turned out slightly different, like brothers. The one true commonalty was how quick they’d betray him. With a true youngster, maybe he could train him better, hold him close and under his thumb. The boy already believed him as to why he had so few memories – they almost always held very little of their past. Memories weren’t replicated. The magic sometimes gave them odd ones. They had language and life skills when they came out of the dirt but almost nothing of Caleb seemed to remain in them, in spite of the bones of ortet. It might be a good thing they had no memories of the Grimwalkers who came before them. He’d have to push to see what Hunter thought he remembered.
He’d planned to call him Nathanial until he saw the boy’s face. After seeing the resemblance Nathanial seemed deficient as a name. He couldn’t bear to call him Caleb so he gave him the most fitting name he could: Hunter. That’s what Caleb had been until he’d been seduced and corrupted. Hunter would do just fine. This would be the one who’d be the brother he needed him to be. This one wouldn’t betray him.