That’s what the townsfolk refer to the bird as. It has a name; Driun told me it once. But I promptly forgot it. The name was as uncomfortable as the bird’s gaze. A fitting name that sounds like shrill cries and sharp nails on stone.

The old stories say that not one master hunter, dating as far back as the fortress itself, thousands of years, has been without a raven. When one master hunter dies, the raven takes to the skies. Then, when it is time for a new master hunter to be masked, a raven returns to perch on their shoulder. Some claim it has been the same raven for every master hunter since the first stones of the forge were laid. Driun says the raven is so revered in the fortress that it is usually the one to choose the next master hunter from worthy candidates. Others in the hamlet go so far as to think that the creature is an ancient god in the shape of a beast, defending Hunter’s Hamlet against the vampire scourge.

If that is true, the old god does a poor job of it. Because even though the vampire lord himself can’t come through the Fade, he still sends monsters every full moon to attack, to remind us that he is there, waiting. And the rumored divine could clearly do nothing to prevent the impending Blood Moon.

“Hail, Hunter’s Hamlet,” Davros says in that weary way of his.

“Guide and guard us,” the room intones in response.

“Tonight’s revelries seem to have been a delight.” Davros smiles. I think the expression is intended to be fatherly, but to me it always looks wicked. There’s a gleam to his eyes that deeply unnerves me. Driun has never found my unease surprising.

Davros is baptized in the blood of our enemies, he says. The man has seen more vampires, more of his kin live and die, than any of us.

And none of us are strangers to bloodshed in Hunter’s Hamlet. Death keeps a summer home in this forsaken place.

“But the night is growing thin,” Davros continues. “And I must recall my hunters to me.”

Men and women slowly step away from the crowd, as if in a trance. They are the hunters and have the scars, both visible and not, as a testament to their bloody work. I want to grab Driun’s hand. To ask if he’s sure he’ll be able to come later. I can’t stomach the thought of him marching out tomorrow evening without a chance to speak to him alone just one more time. Even though I don’t know what I want to say yet.

What do you say to someone before they march off to certain death? What could I tell him that he doesn’t already know? What words would be enough to encapsulate everything? He was always the clever one with finesse. I’m useless if I can’t hit my problem with a hammer.

But I let him go.

I have no other choice.

He has his role and I have mine. They were given to us before we were born, determined solely by our family name and sex. No matter how much we might hope, or dream, or begrudge, neither of us can escape the path laid before us.

“Is there anything more you need from the forge?” Mother asks Davros.

“No, you have already done more than enough to protect Hunter’s Hamlet. Without your weaponry, wall fortifications, and assistance with our leather armor, the hunters would be going out underneath the Blood Moon in a sad state,” Davros says as the hunters gather round.

“It is our family’s honor to see the hunters and the hamlet prepared for every hunt, this one especially.” Mother lets her eyes drift to Driun with a sad smile; it’s an expression I’ve seen her give him often, one of both pride and worry, fear and joy. Even though we knew becoming a hunter was his destiny, as much as mine is the forge, neither of us looked forward to him embarking on that path. It is not a life with longevity. But we knew why he had to leave the house and join the fortress. We understood.

That is the way of things in the Runeit family: the eldest daughter is the forge maiden and the eldest son heads to the fortress. Every family has their traditions and their role to play in Hunter’s Hamlet. There is security when we are all in our place. It is the promise and sacrifice we’ve all made. So after Father died it was merely a matter of time until Driun assumed his position in society.

From that moment on, Mother and I have been waiting each month for Davros to arrive and tell us that the vampires have claimed another member of our family. But, miraculously, month after month, Driun has returned. Maybe this month, even with the Blood Moon, will be no different. It’s a fool’s hope and I know it. But all hope is foolish in Hunter’s Hamlet.

“Speaking of your family’s honor…” Davros’s eyes drift to me as he trails off. His eyes shine and the taste of bile rises in the back of my throat. “Following tomorrow night’s hunt, there will be even more cause for celebration. It is time to cement our forge maiden’s future, so that the smithy continues to run hot for generations to come.”

“I will do as the master hunter bids.” I dip my chin and keep my face as blank as the masks the hunters wear when they go out to the Fade Marshes.

“May the bell toll for a wedding in the coming week.” Davros taps his walking stick for emphasis. Driun is fighting a scowl. I think he hates this topic even more than I do.

I can imagine what he’ll say later. How dare Davros speak about you like you’re not there, in front of everyone. How dare he speak of marrying you off like you’re some prized mare. But my fate is no secret. The forge maiden is always married before twenty. That’s just the way of it, the tradition, the necessity since any of our lives might end come the next full moon. I’ll likely be with child before the end of the year and the idea has me cold, even standing next to the forge.

There’s excited murmuring among the eligible male hunters. They leer at me. I grab one of the hammers by the forge on instinct, keeping it at my side.

I might be the forge maiden, but I am no delicate flower. I am as cold as silver. As strong as iron. I will bend for destiny, but not for any man.

No one notices my white knuckles; they’re too busy cheering. The wedding of the forge maiden is a huge affair in Hunter’s Hamlet. We have precious little to celebrate, so when there is an excuse, the hamlet indulges deeply.

I keep my panic, my worry, within. I won’t be the one to squelch their joy. Not due to childish notions of getting to choose my husband for love, or desire, or attraction, or any of the other reasons someone is drawn to a partner. I have my duty. I have an obligation, and all of it is far more important than anything I would want.

“Into the night,” Davros says, turning.

“Good hunting,” the rest of us respond as the master hunter leaves with his loyal soldiers.

“The bellows, Flora,” Mother says, gentle but firm. “And since you have a hammer in hand, help me with a few sickles; the fortress can never have enough.” Her eyes dart from the tool to my face. Her expression softens into a sad smile. She knows what my future holds all too well. It had been hers too.

And she had fallen in love with Father, in time.

I can see them together in the forge. Sweat shines on their cheeks. They share a smile reserved only for the two of them. Father is nimble and light. Mother is strong and sturdy. He was her shield, her his sword. They were two parts to one being, one entity.

The image is briefly replaced by the shell of my father stumbling unnaturally toward the smithy without his sickle—that was how we knew he was dead.

I shake my head, scattering the thoughts, and set to work.

Before I know it, the last reveler has wandered away. It’s just Mother and me left, as it always is at the end of a long day. The coals are turning orange-red and the shadows are lengthening.

“That’s enough for tonight.” Mother pats the horn of the anvil, returns her hammer to its peg, rolls her shoulders, and then stretches her wrists. No matter how long we do this job, there are still aches and pains that come with it. Every strike reverberates up through the elbow and into the shoulders. The core is worn ragged. Knees ache. The smithy demands every part of the body.

“I’ll clean up.”

“Thank you.” Mother rests a hand on my shoulder. “What Davros said earlier about your marriage…”

“I thought nothing of it.”

She smiles. She knows I’m lying. “I wanted you to know that I had no prior knowledge he would bring it up. If I had, I would’ve told you.”

“I know,” I say softly. For years it’s felt like it’s just her and me—ever since Father died and Driun left for the fortress. We work together every day. Share dinner every night. She’s the only one who really understands my circumstances.

“After we survive tomorrow, if the vampire lord is not slain, then we’ll talk more about your nuptials. I won’t send you in blind. And I’ll do what I can to find you a smart match.”

“Thank you,” I say earnestly.

“Of course.” She leans forward and kisses me on my forehead, even though I know it’s coated in metal dust and soot. “Now, take your time. We’ll be cooped up tomorrow night and have preparations come dawn, so enjoy this time for yourself.”

Mother knows me too well.

I run my hand along the smooth top of the anvil after she leaves. My nails stick on the grooves of the softer metal of the horn. It’s still warm from her work.

Home.

Every month the vampires come to try and take it all from us. But, according to the old stories, the infiltrations month after month are just glancing blows. The real fight is tomorrow. Driun has been telling me not to dwell on my possible demise for the past few months, but how could I not? Just like the old stories warn, the moon grows ever more ominous, a faint pink darkening with each night. It can’t be ignored.

I set to cleaning. First, I sweep up the scale, then rake the coals, piling them toward the back. It’s odd to think we won’t be stoking them in a few hours come dawn. Then I head to the back.

In the back of the forge is a vault built into the thick walls. I check and count the silver within, making sure all the bars are stacked in the particular way that Mother likes them. Then, I lock the door with the spinning dials smelted onto its front. The numerical lock is a strange contraption designed by my great-great-grandmother. She kept its workings a secret to the grave. Every forge maiden has left their mark—a great work left behind. Mine still remains a mystery.

Perhaps I’ll figure out how to make my own unique lock and replace this one. No one alive knows how to fix the one smelted into the door. But the benefit is that no one but our family has any idea how it works and how to open it. Fear marries desperation to breed poor decisions, Mother always says. We must protect the silver, for it is our only defense against the vampires. A defense that grows more finite by the day.

Those who enter Hunter’s Hamlet by way of the fortress gate and join our community are never allowed to leave thereafter. That is part of our sacrifice to keep the world safe from the vampires. No one goes in or out, vampires included. Space for humans to slip through means spaces for vampires to pass. The single path through the fortress is the only, tightly guarded, connection to the outside world.

The only exception to sequestering is for the master hunter. He is permitted to leave through the outer gate to engage with the traders the other hunters call from the walls. There are some things we cannot produce on our own, namely iron and silver.

According to Driun, the Apelius Trading Company that transports rare, raw silver from the distant north has not come to the port town near us for almost a year now. Mother and I have begun to worry that they might not ever return. There have been many dinners spent discussing what we will do if the veins of silver in those faraway mines have run out. She has already begun consulting the old family records for ideas on how to more efficiently smelt down the existing, but broken, weapons and recast them into the crescent moon sickles that the hunters wield without losing the silver’s potency.

The door of the forge opens. Moonlight dances with lamplight as a cloaked figure slips in. I do not sound an alarm because I know the man at a glance.

“Everything looks good,” Driun appraises.

“I’m glad to have your approval.” I hop up onto one of the tables. “I really didn’t think you’d be able to come tonight.”

“I had to.” He sits next to me and we linger in comfortable silence for a few minutes. “Listen, we don’t have much time, so tomorrow—”

“Don’t. I don’t like that tone.”

He continues anyway. “Tomorrow, it’ll be up to you to protect Mother.”

“I know.”

“Do you still have them?” He sticks to the point. Relentless, my brother.

“Of course I do. One here—” I nod toward the forge tools “—and one in the house, just like you told me.” I shift uncomfortably. “But wouldn’t it be better to give them to the fortress? Couldn’t the hunters use all the weapons you can get?”

“Thanks to you and Mother, we have more than enough.” He pushes off the table and crosses toward the racks of tools. The wood on the side of the rack is loose where it meets the wall. Wedged behind it is a sickle. Driun had told me to make it in secret.

Then he insisted I learn how to use it.

He holds out the hilt to me. “Keep it on you in the coming hours.”

“Mother will see.”

“It’ll be too late for her to do anything.”

“She’s just going to love us breaking the law.” I roll my eyes, fingers closing around the cool metal. Driun releases the familiar weight of the sickle into my palm. I wonder if any other forge maiden has been so comfortable with a weapon in her hands. I doubt it. We’re to be protected and kept off the battlefield at all costs. Resources are too precious for everyone to have weapons. Everyone has a role and is given enough for them to fulfill the duties of that role. No more or less.

“She’ll be grateful if the need arises.”

“She will be cross with both of us the second she sees it.” The hunters have claimed both my children, I can hear her saying. Lamplight glistens off the wicked-sharp blade. I’ve been honing it for weeks leading up to tomorrow. As if I could make it so sharp that I could cut away my worries.

“I have something else for you.” Driun hovers, looking both uncomfortable and intense at the same time.

“What?”

He fishes into his pocket and produces a small, obsidian vial. “Here.”

“What’s this?” I turn the strange vessel over in my hands, placing the sickle on the table next to me.

“The reason I was late to sneak out and the reason I had to come.” Driun inhales slowly, as he always does when he’s working up the courage to say something he knows I won’t like. “If the vampires reach the town, things have gone awry. The remaining hunters here will need all the help they can get. And…and I can’t go out into the marshes tomorrow without knowing you and Mother will be safe.”

“No one is safe in Hunter’s Hamlet.” I huff bitterly. Our lives are spent locked in combat, trying to fight away vampires and our own fear.

“This is why you have been training.”

“And I’m still not good enough to face a vampire.”

“You’re better than you think. And with this, you’ll be unstoppable.” He nods to the vial.

It dawns on me what his gift actually is. Chills run up my body, starting from the hand holding the vial. My skin puckers to gooseflesh.

“No.” I thrust it toward him. He takes a step away. “No, no.” I jump off the table; he steps back. “You cannot—”

“I have.”

“If you—if anyone—if it’s discovered that you took this from the fortress and gave it to me you will be hanged.”

“If you and Mother aren’t here for me to return to then I’ll wish I was dead anyway,” Driun says severely.

I stare at the vial in my palm and whisper, “Hunter’s Elixir.” It feels forbidden for me to even say. It is very illegal for me to be holding.

“A powerful brew at that.” He shifts his weight, looking briefly uncertain. But it passes before I can try and capitalize on it enough to give back the vial. “Davros said this particular elixir was rare, stronger, something he was saving only for tomorrow. It came from a special font deep below the fortress. So I know it will make you strong enough to defend Mother and the forge.”

“And if I’m discovered with this, or having drunk it, I’ll be hanged, too.” I shake my head and give him a glare. He’s gambling with our lives.

“No one would ever hang the forge maiden. Plus, how would they know? Only drink it if you’re staring down the dead eyes of a vampire. Otherwise, keep it secret and give it back to me the morning after the Blood Moon.” He says it like it’s so simple.

“What about the hunter’s madness?” I ask.

“One drink of the elixir will not cause madness. It’s built up over time.” Driun’s eyes become distant. He has seen his brothers- and sisters-in-arms succumb to the madness of the Hunter’s Elixir, a bloodlust and thirst for battle unlike any other.

Over the years, he’s hardened before my eyes, hammered into a man I hardly recognize sometimes. It makes me all the more desperate to be close to him. It’s part of why I agreed to let him train me at all. I didn’t share in his notions that we might be able to escape, or even bend, our fate if we became strong enough, as tempting as they might be. No, these nightly trainings have happened because I missed my brother.