The figure in front of me was, well, a little bit older. Except using the term “old” would mean they’re alive. And the undead, as a rule, do not have life.

Varian Crosshater was over a thousand years .. old. She’d been around before the War of Blood. It’s possible that she is one of the Primes, but I doubt it. The Primes that I know don’t like me much.

Nineteen years old, and I hunt the strange monsters, the magical creatures, the myths and legends that you are afraid of.

Varian wasn’t on my list. Currently.

For a reason I have yet to discover, Varian does not see me as the enemy.

“You are late Youngling. Perhaps I should teach you the cost of tardiness.”

I wasn’t happy. This hunt was important. Three monsters. Three magics. Three myths.

“I’m in the middle of a hunt Varian. What is it?”

Her shadowed face broke into a smile, laughter bubbling around me. “Such haste Youngling. Your monsters will wait. This cannot.”

So I displayed great patience and stayed quiet.

“There is something amiss tonight. Darius has called his clan together. Bella is driving her tribe to the surface. And Rhemus has been woken.”

Three Primes. Vampire. Zombie. Were.

This could get interesting. Oh, and Three. Ground into me is the truth, that there are no coincidences.

“You spark the old to life Youngling, just by being. Your blood calls to all of us, regardless of age or power.”

I looked at her eyes. There was no laughter now.

Having no recourse, at least that I wanted to give, I waited some more.

Varian dropped her voice. “It has been a year since me met Youngling. I have watched, recorded the signs, listened to your heart. You are he. Bringer of the Sun. The Chaos Man. Promised and promised again, it is on you to save this city.”

Foolishness. I could do many things out of the normal. I can remember the day of my birth. I can tell you what you did yesterday. I know the Five Ways of Blood, and can track the Were without sight. Vampire magics have no hold on me, and my touch will turn a Zombie to ash. But.

“I am not the one you want. He will be born under Sun and Moon. He will be broken once, twice and three times. He will betray his own. This is not me.”

Varian smiled again. “We shall see. Regardless of what you think, you must help protect the City.”

That part was true. This City was mine to guard and watch over.

Three Primes.

Darius lived in the West of the City. He ruled with a pretty big fist, and none had risen to challenge that rule in the last hundred years, so Varian told me.

Bella had taken her tribe underground a couple of years back. They mined silver and other metals deep in the earth. Zombies made for excellent miners. Who would have thought it.

Rhemus.

Rhemus was, from what I could tell, more dangerous than any other Prime. According to Varian he was a powerful Were, bitten by a Vampire King, and then granted his life back by Erasthmus, who put him into an endless sleep. Pretty nasty stuff.

And now it seems the endless sleep wasn’t really all that.

“Youngling.” Varian put her hand up, touching my cheek. I didn’t flinch. “Be careful. I would miss you.”

And she was gone with the wind.

I looked up at the moon. It was growing full. A howl broke nearby. To the south, a few streets over.

Moving into a slow run, I checked my weapons. Left and right swords. Knives. Bow bounced lightly against my back. Salves and liquids in their containers rattled against my

Primes or no Primes I had three monsters of the Strange to find. And the first wasn’t far.

A scream nearby. I turned down an alley, moving faster. Blackness swirled around the end of alley. That meant a Vampire, or at least one of their Servants. Calling darkness wasn’t as cool as it sounds, but it did the job okay.

Nearing the end, I sniffed. A Were as well, maybe more. I wonder ..

The black pellet I threw burst into light, destroying the darkness. And then I was around the corner.

A woman lay on the ground, bleeding from the neck. A man had lost the use of his left arm but was still fighting off a Were. He must be strong.

Standing nearby was the first of my Hunt.

“Ashael!” He was already looking, but the call of his name had some power. “I name you Ashael. And call you to account.”

He didn’t seem phased. Sniffing, Ashael pulled a handkerchief from his waist pocket and rubbed his nose.

I almost didn’t hear. A Were sprang from the alley I’d just exited.

I’m fast. You have to be in this line of work. Some Were have been faster, but not many. This one, thankfully, wasn’t.

However, having Ashael at my back wasn’t a good idea. So I rolled to the right, sword swinging at the Were’s belly, keeping my senses on the Vampire. Then, quickly, two thrusts and the Were lay still.

I was near enough to the other Were, who had brought the man down, that I might have stopped it.

Ashael laughed. “Hunter. Why do you bother?”

Arguing with a Vampire wasn’t really my idea of fun. “I was born to Hunt the Strange.”

“Ahhh yes.” Ashael sighed. “Well, it was a good chase was it not?”

I made my move.

Moments later the second Were lay dead at my feet. I turned, but Ashael was gone. Not cool.

“Help.”

The woman tried to rise, but the Vampire’s poison was at work. Quickly I took out a flask at my belt, unstoppered this, then knelt by the woman.

“You must drink this, or it will be you I am hunting next.”

Her eyes grew wild. And not all of it was fear. The change was happening very fast. Ashael was more powerful than I had thought.

All it took was a sip of the flask. Steam vented through her throat, down into her belly. Then outward went the magic, purging all the vampiric poison to be found.

“Thankyou.” The woman closed her eyes, asleep straight away.

The man was dead. Torn apart by the Were.

Another lost in this madness.

He had to be dealt with before the change took him. Were poison worked a little differently to Vampire, but still resulted in a pretty big life change.

Ha ha. See, I can still joke.

The cross against my skin burned white and hot.

Oh no.

This time I wasn’t quick enough. The Vampire’s foot caught my hip as I lunged desperately sideways. Spinning, my arms flayed out, I managed to get upright.

But it wasn’t Ashael attacking.

It was the woman. Which meant Ashael’s poison was not affected by the antidote. That’s not good. A rustling behind me brought a groan to my lips.

The man was rising. He wasn’t a man any more. Were. This was turning into a troubling night.

I’m just a kid. Nineteen years old.

Hunter of the Strange.

But still, just a kid.

Casar’s father had taught her that. He had lived with a hate so bright it became his all, lifeblood to one wishing nothing but death.

To forgive the living means to betray the dead, the memory of the dead.

Casar’s mother had died in a fire that left their house in ruins. Casar’s father had run towards the front door, but was beaten back by the flames, face and limbs burnt and bloody. They could all see Casar’s mother upstairs, yelling through the window, holding their newborn child. The crowd watched as the two went up in flames, and watched as the house collapsed.

The culprits were found. Cris and Lauri, two young boys from poorer families in the village. They had crept into the house, thinking it was empty. Casar’s mother surprised them, and in fright, Cris had spun with his wooden sword, catching her across the forehead, knocking her down. They fled the house in horror, tripping over a lamp, which flooded the room with fire in minutes.

Something had snapped within Casar’s father. His eyes deadened, and he did not rest until he found them. Before any around could stop him, Casar’s father had torn out Lauri’s throat. Cris bolted, running through the crowd, never to be seen again in Lithan.

To forgive is to betray.

They had travelled many years, searching for Cris, for a sign that he was still alive. Casar’s father would not rest, so consuming was his hatred. Her father became a madman, beating her when she refused to listen to him, when she told him he was wrong.

‘Forgive,’ Casar had told him. ‘This is harder than not. Believe me, I have had to forgive you many years of wrong.’

He had turned then, looking deep into her eyes. Flickering faint, she thought that in their hardness a small fire could be seen. An ever-so tiny light, struggling in the darkness that pressed ever close. Without saying anything, Casar’s father had gone to his bedrolls, and lain down. Later, when the night had stilled, she could hear him weeping.

Casar longed to go to him, but could not. Could not bear to see her father as he was. She too cried, softly, so that none but the stars heard. Cried for the dead that could not be laid to rest, for the living that could not be forgiven.

In the morning, Casar’s father was gone. She checked all around camp, stretching her search wider each circuit. On returning, voices were heard.

‘He was drunk Matan, he was weaving around like a top.’

The other voice answered. ‘No boy, not drunk, but bearing the weight of much wrong on his shoulders. This is Bradley Gerod, the Bradley Gerod. The Hater, the Hunter.’

The first said slowly, with great sorrow. ‘I know.’

Casar could not go near the wagon. She watched from the trees as the two soldiers took away her father’s belongings, her belongings. She watched the two of them talk over her bedroll, the younger looking around, the older shaking his head, picking up the bedding, and walking back to their horses. She watched as they left. She followed them to the village. Watched as they came to the other side of town, where a small yard of graves was kept.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she watched the older soldier place her father’s sword at his side, a crown of bay leaves on his head. A raven squawked as Casar watched the hole fill with dirt, stamped down so no predators could get at it. Watched the stones being placed across the top, marking the head stone with a red slash, for those dead by another’s hand. Watched Maten, the older man, placing his hand on the other’s shoulder. A younger man, he leant down and stuck a wooden sword in between the rocks on the grave.

To forgive is to betray. Casar heard these words. Yet to hate is to die.

It is harder to forgive than to forget. To forgive is not to betray,

To forgive is to live.

To forgive is to love.