Black Hats

They were heroes.

They were always heroes.

So we hunted him in the forest.

I trailed behind my master with trepidation as my small shoes stepped into her footprints. I mirrored her deliberate movements as she stalked through the brush. The soles of our boots were soft and quiet. Each step a whisper drowned out by the beating in my chest that only grew louder as we went deeper into the forest. Blood. The metal smell entered my nostrils and I could taste it in the air. The powerful stench only grew stronger with every step as we traveled into the growth. My master slowed to inspect something in our path. Her head perked up and then turned slowly as she scanned our environment. Her violet eyes glimmered slightly in the low light as she took in the surroundings, before stepping aside. I felt a chill in my chest when I saw the predator’s head on the ground before us. Its teeth bared in a miserable snarl, still stuck in its final moments before it was struck down. I looked to my right and saw the creature’s mangled corpse just a few paces away. Powerful muscles and tough bone were torn and broken, leaving it almost unrecognizable. My eyes were locked on the gruesome display when I felt another pair on me. I instinctively turned towards it, only to see my master’s violet eyes upon me from underneath her dark hat.

She motioned to her mouth, then her chest, inhaled deeply, and then with her palms facing down, she lowered a hand down. It was only then I heard my chest heaving and exhaling in rapid succession. I was panicking. I could not panic. I wasn’t allowed to. I forced my chest to slow and controlled my breathing. The thunder in my chest was all that remained. I looked up to my master and hoped she could not hear this coward’s war drum. She turned and stalked through the forest once more.

As we continued, the carnage only grew worse. Small creatures. Large beasts. Prey or predator. It did not change their fates as stains and corpses strewn on the forest floor. Nature made note of the savage interloper and held its voice. The sounds of life were absent, leaving us with only the gentle breeze in the air and that too felt stifled. As horrible as it was, it made tracking our quarry simple. It left a simple crimson trail of death and we followed it faithfully. This man made no effort to hide his tracks. Perhaps he no longer had the capacity to think. He was nothing more but instinct and wrath. I stayed behind my master as she marched forward despite my legs pleading for me to turn and run. Despite this coward’s grip on my weapon weakening. Despite the unsteady beating in my chest feeling like the final ticks of a clock. I must face this trial or how can I call myself an apprentice to Laura Avil? How will I become a black hat like her?

These thoughts swam in my head like a storm, competing with the beating in my chest for dominance. A distraction that nearly cost me my life as I almost failed to notice my master stopped in front of me. I instinctively stopped myself and my foot scrapped the ground. In the unnatural silence of the forest, it might as well have been explosion. I foolishly opened my mouth to apologize, a stupid reflex I still haven’t mastered, but no sound escaped as my master’s hand clasped around my lips. Startled, I looked up and despite the firm grip, she did not have her eyes on me, instead those violet gems were locked onto something else. They narrowed into a deadly glare that froze me in place. I did not need to follow her eyes to know where we were. This was the hunting ground. Still, I followed and turn my eyes in their sockets praying I was wrong. Slowly, my eyes fell upon the clearing beyond us. It was him.

It. That is what I should have called him. The moment I finally laid eyes on our target, the coward’s heart in my chest was beating its war drum at full force. The thoughts of the apprentice or black hats were nothing more than a whisper, beaten back by the basic instinct of survival. It was terrible. Beyond man or beast. The manifestation of evil. I shouldn’t be here. Turn and run. If I just run right now, I would be safe. I would live. My soul will be spared. I have to-

The firm grip on my head shook me out of those pathetic thoughts and brought me back. My eyes tore away from the demon in the clearing and locked onto the violet eyes glimmering underneath the shadow of the wide brimmed black hat. Those piercing eyes filled me with courage. Just enough to keep my shaking legs from collapsing underneath me. Avil removed her hand from my mouth and I did my best not to breathe too loud. She cautiously tapped the weapon still held in my hands. By some miracle I had not dropped it, instead I was gripping it hard enough to turn my knuckles white. I willed my fingers to relax enough for the blood to flow back into the numbed tips. She tapped the crossbow again, then the directive found its place in my head. I nodded and with shaking hands, I lowered the end of the crossbow and placed my foot into the stirrup. My fingers wrapped around the string and pulled it back. I did my best to keep myself from grunting from the effort to bring the string to the latch. With the step done, my trembling fingers retrieved a bolt from my quiver and placed it into the groove. It was ready. My eyes went up to my master who nodded in approval. My chest felt warm at the moment and then with one finger from her, she froze it as she pointed at the demon.

I shook my head and her face soured. I’ve never refused an order before. Up until now, I was the perfect apprentice. Up until now, I was dutiful and reliable. Up until now, I had never been on a real hunt. Now, that I was in the presence of this demon, it was different. She had warned me before she took me on. I heard the stories. I knew what to expect. I thought I knew what to expect, but now that I was here, none of it prepared me for the real thing. I couldn’t move. I dared to look at my master again, expecting reprimand, and what I saw was not anger, but relief. She didn’t think I could do it. This was it, I lost my chance. I was no longer her apprentice. I was to be spared of this life. She would send me back home and be done with me. Home. I thought of my brother, the reason I was here. The reason I was a coward. No, I refuse to be a coward again.

I willed my hands to stop shaking. I raised the weapon and aimed. I felt my vision darken as my eyes found my target. Even this far, I could feel the miasma of evil spew from the demon and it clouded my vision. I dared not look at my master, I knew she was disappointed, but I made my choice when I lost my brother. I had to follow through or return home a failure. Better to never return at all. Nothing was waiting for me there. I took in a deep breath and lined up the shot. Only then did I get a good look at it. The demon was hunched over yet another fresh corpse, digging its hands into the flesh and pulling out the creature’s entrails by the fistful. The hot steaming organs flowed out slowly only to be interrupted by another fist entering into the corpse, tearing deeper into it. The demon howled and grunted with every motion. Its appetite for brutality and savagery would not be satiated by this creature and it would soon look for another victim. It had to die here. I pulled the trigger.

Marcus Tiel was born in a hamlet near the Graton River in the year 502. He was raised by Farmers Tren and Olive Tiel. Growing up, young Marcus was like any other dutiful child and helped his family raise their crop. And like any other child, he too heard the tales of valiant knights and heroes. Inspired by these myths and legends, he and the children of the village would pick up their stick swords and play in the fields. He was always the hero. He would strike down the bandits and beasts that stalked the cursed forest that threatened his home and by dinner time, he would recount his fanciful adventures to his parents before he went to bed to rejoin those adventures in his dreams.

At the age of 15, those childhood dreams turned to reality as the King raised an army in defense of the homeland. It was not long as his humble home would be visited by men bearing the King’s crest. The sinking feeling in his stomach as they called his name was only second to the tearing in his chest as his mother stifled her sobbing as she buried her face in his father’s chest. He was only given minutes to take what he could carry for the march to the capital. With a meager bag filled with the bare essentials, he would leave his home for war.

There, he would learn that his youthful fantasies, when turned reality, were grim visions of death. Armed with only a spear and a thick coat, he met the enemy army out in the battlefield. The battles were gruesome and deadly, far from valiant and dignified battles portrayed in the tales he grew up with. In each clash, he lost the innocence of his childhood. In each clash, he became more stained by hot blood and cold mud. In each clash he would lose more and more of the village boys that were conscripted just like him. Friends that grew with him cut apart and slain in some muddy battleground so far from home. He cried for them when he could, but there was little rest as the war continued. He was certain he would die, but when the fighting began all he could think of defending his right to take his next breath. So he fought.

Then, the war ended. He looked at his miserable formation, beaten and battered by the enemy and malnutrition, only to realize those familiar faces that joined him at the start were now absent. There was no drinks of victory they promised each other at the outset, instead the final night in the camp was quiet as tired bodies prepared themselves for the journey they each prayed they would be able to take. Not a march to the next battlefield, but a journey that ended under a warm roof and soft bed.

Marcus would travel alone. It was quiet and unnerving. When he would march, hundreds of footsteps would assure him that he was protected by his fellow soldiers. Now he knew how alone he truly was. Absent of company and the threat of enemies, he finally had time to weep for the lives of his friends he had left behind. All he could carry back with him was his meager bag and the memories he had with them in their final moments. It was all he could carry with his broken body.

After days of traveling, the sight of the familiar fields and filled him with relief, but with just as much grief. He wished he could return to his home unnoticed and unbothered. As if the events of the last few years had been nothing more than a waking dream and he had never left, but the pain in heart was too real. It was not long before the first people saw him. A child at the edge of the village saw him crest the first hill and scampered away, no doubt to tell his family of the strange man carrying a spear. Familiar faces returned with the child and at first they did not recognize him, but when they heard his name, the years of conflict was stripped away from his face and they clearly saw the boy they once knew.

News spread fast and soon the entire village had came out of their dwellings to greet the returning heroes. This he dreaded. When he saw those hopeful eyes of waiting parents, eager to see their sons, he struggled to find the words. For hundred miles he carried these words like a stone in his throat that burdened him every day, but how could he unload this onto the ears of those who were desperate to hear them the most? What could he say to ease the pain? Those few words he whispered were boulders that crushed the hearts of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and friends. He bore no good news and he felt as if he were the reaper himself as announced the deaths of all his kindred. He had returned alone and no one would follow. Grief washed over the village and air felt no different than the morning of a burial. Parents thanked them between heaving sobs and hugged their reaper. Though it pained them, knowing the fate of their children was the only mercy he could grant them.

They let him depart, some pushing loaves into his weary hands as they knew his journey was not complete. He bit into the bread and felt alive for the first time in years. A simple thing he had ate years ago, he had missed all this time. It filled him the last strength he would need to walk to the other end of the village. He staggered forward swallowing the warm memory by the mouthful. There, he could see the cottage that he had called home in his childhood. Though his legs were sore and weak, he ran. He ran down the familiar worn road, remembering each and every bump and twist. Ran, remembering the lost souls that had joined him in his youth as they went off to play. Ran as if he had promised to return before sunset and the sky was dim.

He reached the door to the cottage and it felt unreal. He had prayed for years to see this door again. Now that it was in front of him once more, he hesitated to touch it as if it were to turn to smoke upon his touch as it did in his nightmares. He reached out and his fingertips touched the hard wood. It felt like a warm fire in the snow. He curled his gnarled fingers into a fist and tapped his knuckles upon the surface. The knock echoed in his head as he waited for years in the silence. Then he heard a muffled voice and approaching footsteps. It was coming too quickly and though he had weeks of the journey to prepare himself, he had not thought of what to say when the door would open. The locks were unlatched and there he was in front of his father, now older, but looking exactly as he had remembered last seen him. He was sure his father had said something as he opened the door, but he couldn’t remember what it was. It was an uneasy moment as his lipped quivered, not sure of what to say. Then his mother appeared from behind the door as well. She was as beautiful as ever. A terrible thought crossed his mind as he saw their faces try to make out his. What if they did not recognize him? What if the scars and years had warped him into a stranger? Tears formed in his parents eyes as the light finally reached his face and they called out his name. Then he was a child again. His mother and father caught him as he fell to his knees and he finally could weep for himself.

Now a war hero, he would see the children of the village look at him in awe and they scamper away talking about the war stories they’ve heard. He told only the truth of what he saw, but glory colored the horrors into honor and duty. Would those children playing with their stick swords dream of adventure when they go to sleep as he did? He no longer did. The sounds of clashing metal and wailing festered in his mind when he closed his eyes. Only when he found the love of his life did those nightmares subside. A beautiful young woman who came into his life when he needed a shoulder to lean on. They married quickly and moved into a nearby town to begin a new life to run a store. For a while, he was happy. They were making good money, living comfortably, with new friends and family. Then in a series of events, it was taken from him.

A particularly harsh winter had come and though his family had managed, he would hear news that his parents’ fire was snuffed out in the cold. He returned to the village to bury them underneath the still frozen ground. He had no respite, in mourning and while away, bandits had taken the opportunity to ransack his building, taking everything of value and ruining him. Distraught, he leaned on his wife again for support. She was his pillar and so long as he had her, he would be strong. It was this strength that he used to find work in the fields to earn a meager living. His hands were blistered and bleeding, but he ignored the pain. It was for his family. He thought of her and nothing else, but in a cruel act of betrayal, his pillar had come crumbling down. There, wrapped in the arms of another man, he found them in bed.

Grief and injustice had quietly filled his heart. He had done his best to keep himself from breaking, but now the dam had burst with the torrent of betrayal breaking down the walls. Everything that he kept to himself had flooded out all at once in a dark sea saturated in anger and rage.

In the ensuing chaos, he stabbed his wife in their bed and followed her illicit lover out into the streets where he tore out his throat in broad daylight. Guards were called immediately, but what could they do to the enraged war hero, a survivor of a terrible war? He carved a bloody path through the town, cutting down any man foolish enough to stop him. He was operating from pure instinct, the very same that had kept him alive during the war. His feet bare, stained in the blood of his lover, he ran through the streets in a rage, until he found himself at the outskirts of town. Still in state of pure rage, he wandered further out and into the forest beyond. Warped by the betrayal and grief that carried in his heart, he was transformed into a demon that stalked the forest. No one dared enter for fear they would become one of his other victims or worse, take on his malicious soul if they slew him. The town, still reeling from the tragedy, called in the black hats and they answered. We hunted him in the forest.

The bolt sailed through the air in a perfect arc. In those brief moments, I knew I had aimed true, however in the very instant the bolt would have ended the demon, to my horror, he moved. Only by a hair’s breadth did the fated bolt miss. His terrible eyes locked onto mine and the scene of carnage flashed into my head. Of the predator that we saw. How he tore it apart so easily. I thought of myself and what would happen to me when he reached me. Would he have the mercy to kill me quickly or would he savage me and I would die painfully? I had little time to think upon it as in the next breath he was at full sprint towards me. My legs seized up and I fell back. My useless legs did not do as I commanded, even though only seconds ago they were more than willing to carry me away at full speed. Now, I was certain of my death as the demon closed the distance. He was fast. Faster than any man I’ve ever seen. Faster than any beast on four legs. Whatever warped him into this demon, had made him more than a man. It would be upon me in seconds.

Avil stepped in. I had forgotten of her in my panic. She appeared at the edge of my vision as she intercepted the threat. Her sword swung in an arc that would be sure to decapitate the demon, but like the bolt, his instincts took over and he twisted his body back to avoid the blade. Before her blade finished the arc, the demon was upon her at an unnatural speed, reaching towards her neck with his bloodied hands. Any normal person would have been caught off guard, but Avil was a black hat. He did not find her neck, but instead a dagger plunged into his palm. He howled in pain or perhaps anger and before he could react, she twisted the dagger to the side and forced him off balance, causing him to stumble and expose his neck. Still holding her sword up and finishing the first arc, she brought it back down on him. The demon reacted in the same instant and pulled away, tearing the dagger out from his hand and his dark tainted blood spilled onto the forest ground.

Avil and the demon faced each other. Perhaps it realized the foe before him was no simple guard or helpless woman, but an equal. Even more so, a threat. He hunched over in a posture that made it seem he was ready to pounce on her at a moment’s notice. Avil held her sword above her head, ready to bring it down on any reckless movement. They stood still for several moments. The tension in the air was palpable. At any second, I felt the world would crash down if I dared breathe. All I could do was watch.

“Ready another bolt Hawlin” Avil commanded, her eyes still locked onto the demon.

I snapped out of my stupor and forced my legs to bend to my will. I was afraid. More than afraid. Terrified. Of the demon. Of Avil. Of failing here. I stood up and the demon barked at me freezing me in place. That minor transgression was punished by a swift strike from my master. A thin cut appeared on its shoulder as the demon managed to move away at the last moment. Had it failed to perceive the threat, Avil would have surely severed an arm. The wound encouraged me. She was besting the demon. Of course she was. She was the best black hat alive.

Just then, faster than I could perceive, faster than even Avil could react, he crashed into her at full speed. Her sword and dagger failed to make contact as it slipped beyond their bite and she was thrown back as if she were nothing more than a doll. She rolled on her back and managed to get her feet underneath her. She was still off balance when the demon struck her side, sending her back once more. Her painful cries echoed in the forest as the beast continued its barrage of violence on my master. She deflected and parried what she could, but he ravaged her in new fresh wounds and bruises with every frenzied strike. My heart sank. Would my master die here? Another selfish thought crept in my mind. Would I die here if I stayed? I squashed it as soon as it appeared in my head. No, I had to stay. I would believe in her.

Just then, a new horrible scream echoed in forest. Not of my master, but of the demon. A finger sailed through the air and landed in front of me. The evil thing framed in the black pool of liquid that pooled underneath it. Even in its pain, it continued its barrage. With each strike, the demon would howl as another piece of it would be cut. Now Avil was on the offensive. The mindless creature was predictable and its wide swings were easily intercepted by her dagger and sword. Their polished and sharp edges now were stained dark by the monster’s blood. Still, it did not relent and threw itself onto her blades, hoping to rip into her flesh. The sword went deeper into demon as she bypassed the flailing limbs and hacked off each arm at the shoulder. Still enraged, it attempted to bite her, despite the mortal wounds. Avil stepped to the side and slashed its legs out from under it. It sprawled out onto the floor in a pathetic display of anger as it floundered and splashed on the ground in a pool of its own blood. It roared and screeched as it tried to pick itself off the ground. Avil walked to it and kicked it onto its back. It squirmed and wriggled underneath her foot, still fighting her. Even now, it attempted to kill her. She placed her blade over its chest and I gasped. An unpleasant memory flashed in my head. One of my brother and his final moments before he made the same mistake.

“Master, no!” I cried out. “My bolt is ready. We can do this from a distance.”

“Ready your bolt then.” she said plunging the sword into the demon.

The howling and screeching ended abruptly as the demon died. The snarling bloodied face of the terror of the forest disappeared and was replaced by the resting face of Marcus Tiel, now having found peace. As if confirming his passing, the sounds of nature returned. However, I brought my weapon up as I knew what was to come next. Perhaps his spirit had passed, but not the malevolence that had bound itself to his body. The miasma spewed out from the corpse and enveloped my master. She did not run nor throw her hands up to protect herself. She resigned herself to the moment and I watched as the evil enter her body. I felt the hair on my neck stand up. The same evil I had felt when I saw Marcus first had a new vessel. I had steeled my resolved when it came to Marcus, but not my master. The crossbow shook in my nervous hands. This is was the worse possible outcome. Dying to a demon would be a mercy, but to be become possessed was a fate the black hats faced with each encounter. Upon being slain, the demon would abandon its failing vessel and seek a new body, usually the one that had bested it. That is why few dared confront demons. That is why they were feared even more than death. That is why they call on the black hats. Only the black hats would put their very souls on the line.

I watched with bated breath as my master did not stir. She remained on her feet, as if she were statue. At this distance I could not even tell if she was still breathing. I held my weapon tight. The bolt rattling slightly in my shaking hands. I took in my first breath in ages after I felt my lungs begin to burn and just then, her head turned to face me. Would this be my final breath? Her violet eyes were missing. I couldn’t see anything underneath her hat, but I could feel it. An infinite malice that had no end nor beginning. If she moved, I would be torn apart in an instant. If I allowed her to move first.

“I’m s-sorry” I whispered as my finger cowardly pulled on the trigger.

The bolt shot through the air.

I would never become a black hat.

I would have to return home in shame.

I would remain a coward.

The bolt stopped as it was snatched from the air. The demon held it in its hand and snapped it in two. The useless twigs fell to its feet.

No, I would die here instead.

“Next time do not hesitate.” Avil said.

I slumped down as my legs gave out. She did not turn into a demon. Tears ran down my face. Of course she wouldn’t. She was the best black hat alive. The tears would not stop despite my efforts to wipe them away with my dirtied sleeves. I cried. I am not ashamed to say it, but I cried. Perhaps I would not be black hat today, but I was alive and I did not run. For that, I would be proud. I stood my ground this time.

The townsmen arrived later in the day. They followed the trail of carnage we described and found Marcus in the clearing. Despite his death, their superstitions prevented them from handling him directly. They made an effort to load him into an iron cask and then onto a wagon pulled by beasts of burden. The iron would not let any more of the miasma escape and no longer taint the land. Or so their ways informed them. Every town had their own superstitions, but we did not interfere. What allowed them to carry out their final duties did not matter. Some would pray. Others would light incense. Build totems. Sing songs. Everyone had their own ways to mourn, but everyone would finish the ritual the same.

We followed the wagon to the town, where they intended to put Marcus to rest. There was a shame in the faces of the people as they put his corpse onto the pyre. Perhaps they felt blame for not preventing this or shame for being associated with this tragedy. Either way, none dared look us in the eyes for fear of a black hat’s gaze. Perhaps they felt we would see the same taint in them as there was in Marcus, as if were spread through contact like a disease. Such a thing was not true. No one knew exactly the circumstance that could cause a man to turn into a demon. The same trials that ruined one man, could fail to turn another. Even the white cloaks, in their years of studying the affliction did not have a clear understanding of the cause. Still, the superstitions remained and so did our reputation. Not a single person dared to speak to us.

The fire was lit and in seconds Marcus was engulfed in the purifying flames. His sins burned away with his corpse and he become nothing more than ash and memory. When the last embers finally burnt out and the last townsman left, Avil and I remained. I knew she would stay here. She would always be the last to leave. She turned to me and she must have known something weighed on me still.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking about the last pyre I saw burned. How long it burned. It was hot just like this. No one talked to me the entire time. They just watched until it burned away and then left.” I said.

“But you didn’t leave.”

“He was my brother. I couldn’t leave. Where could I go?”

“I’m certain there is someone who could take you in.”

In the back of my head, I knew she could be right. I was still young and I had a lot of friends back home. Someone could taken me in. Instead, I ran after Avil. I could not bare to stay in my town after everything that had happened. To be there, to know where the stain would be, to pass it every day, would tear me apart.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Do you think I should have stayed?”

“I do.”

“Could you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

A small hint at her past. She rarely shared it.

“So you know what I’m feeling.”

“All too familiar. I even know that after you pulled that trigger, that you were locked into this same fate as mine.”

“But I’m a coward. I could barely do it.” I sniffed.

She frowned and then smiled slightly.

“No. I know you are scared, but you have a courage about you that I rarely see. It’s not a matter of being scared, but what you do in face of that fear. That is being brave. That is what you must be if you are to survive.”

“Another question.”

“Ask.”

“When you came for my brother, what did you think of him? He killed the first demon, but became one himself. What did that make him?”

“He was brave.”

“Was he a hero?”

“Of course. They were always heroes.”