Without an Oath

True loyalty needs no oath; it speaks through deeds alone.

Without an Oath

I swung it open before us, whereupon the hunters' eyes flashed upon us as one — and almost immediately they were at arms ready for battle. Although the hunters no longer kill indiscriminately, they still don't like monsters — and in addition to being a mixed-blood, I brought two shifters into their circles. They didn't like it.

The last time I saw the whole family gathered together was when the Crosspherat decided that Des was unfit to be a hunter. My brother's fighting style was based on twin swords, and because he had lost an arm, the judges decided he was worthless. On hearing this, all the family members went before the Crosspherat and the judges changed their decision almost immediately. This shows most clearly the power of the people gathered here from all over the world.

The first person I noticed was Mica — he smiled and waved at me. Beside him, Des encouraged me. He was leaning against the wall, looking tense, but his eyes told me that whatever happened, he was there for me. It gave me the strength to speak up.

"Good evening," I looked around, "First of all, I want to thank you for coming."

Some of them looked up, others nodded, but most didn't react. The only people who knew that I had survived that fateful night were the family — although there were some who were not too happy about it.

I was grateful that I was never ratted out to the Crosspherat, although it was only because "blood is blood" and that was the Rosenstein family motto. An unspoken oath to protect the family no matter what disaster threatened — even if one was just one screwed-up mixed-blood.

"I have a huge plea to make to the family," I said, taking a barely perceptible gulp before continuing, "The balance of power in this country has been broken, a fifth powerhouse emerged. If we remain inactive, he will take first South, then the whole country, and I fear he will claim the world if we don't stop him in time. I will go to battle in three days' time."

I paused for breath.

"I can't expect you to risk your lives for my campaign, but I believe our interests are common. If the Fifth King comes to power, the peace we've defended will be shattered..."

"George, report!" a familiar voice, which meant no good, and belonged to Gábor Roubál, my grandfather.

The insufferable old fellow had been sitting in an armchair until now, and when I entered, people almost jumped out of his way to see me.

"The mixed blood spoke the truth," said the man who hated me more than all the other hunters, "The Fifth King's impression is growing, and yet no king has taken any steps against him. Perhaps his army is beyond theirs."

The old man looked around meaningfully. At seventy years of age, as a retired hunter, he was the eldest, and therefore the most senior in the family. It is very rare among hunters to live beyond forty years — for that reason, everyone respected his strength.

His face was sunken, too thin, yet he radiated power — perhaps because of the piercing, icy blue eyes with which he measured me. He stroked his beard.

"We have a grave matter to decide today," he declared, "The family must not be endangered by the wars of the monsters."

That is what I feared. The old man didn't like it. I was also aware that he didn't like my very existence. The old man always knew what no one ever said: that the only reason his daughter had to die was because of me.

"In any case," he continued, "if the kings really do not take action, and an army of monsters is left to run amok, it will be a threat to humanity and to the family."

I nodded. With a glance, I signaled my wish to speak again, and he gave me permission.

"The Crosspherat refused to help because they too are afraid. To my knowledge they are preparing to make a truce," I said.

"Do you think this will solve the problem?" he asked.

I shook my head. "The Fifth certainly won't compromise. The Crosspherat building will be the next one he seizes."

"Hm," the old man ruffled his beard, "I see."

He thought for a moment, and during that time he didn't forget to survey my companions.

"Who are your... guests?" he asked.

My grandfather was the first to protest when the Crosspherat legislated the rights of monsters and decreed that only those 'dangerous to society' could be hunted. The old hunter believed that all monsters were the same and that the world should be cleansed of them — a fact he made no secret of with the look he fixed on the shape-shifters.

"These are my friends here," I replied, then motioned to the kid, "Roland Hollósi and," here I gestured to the wolf, "Alex Szalai. They can give us information about the Fifth King."

A tense, stunned silence. I have committed impertinence.

"Friends, huh," my grandfather corrected himself with ill-concealed disgust in his voice, then looked around again.

"In my opinion, it is time to practice tradition," he declared, "As in the old days, I say, let us decide the young people's request by vote!"

As no one objected, the old man continued.

"Raise your hand if you oppose this action!" he said, and immediately made his position known.

Besides him, eight others raised their hands. George Willingham, his right-hand man, was of course one of them.

I was not surprised, most of the hunters never liked me, but the fact that the result was not an outright rejection left some hope. The old hunter's hand trembled, then dropped to his side.

"Who is in favour?"

Eight hands immediately went up, including Mica and her brother, Auntie Ade, my aunt and Des, who supported me without a second thought. The others were probably only on my side because of the threat of the Fifth King, but that didn't really matter.

I knew what this draw meant: defeat. If there's a disagreement, the head of the family decides, that's the rule.

Then one last hand went up.

"According to tradition, the decision was made: the family will help Shaytan," my grandfather announced the result.

I let out a huge sigh — in fact, it was only then that I realized I had been holding my breath.

After that, my grandfather told everyone to get ready for the fight and we would discuss the plan over dinner, and then — offended? — he retired.

Mica came up to me with a happy smile and with that same impulse hugged me tightly. My friends were surprised, of course, but the other hunters ignored the humming boy. We saw a lot of each other as children, and I was probably the closest of all my distant relatives to him. He let go and shook hands with the kitten.

"Michael Blitz, I'm Shay's cousin. Nice to meet you."

He then extended his hand to Alex with a kind smile, "Michael Blitz. You can call me Mica."

The wolf took his hand and was careful not to flinch at the boy's scent, surely not wanting to offend him. In any case, Mica wasn't stupid, even if he didn't show it, he noticed the momentary hesitation. He was well aware of the fact that wolves don't like the smell of vampires, so he understood and didn't take offense.

Then Joz appeared, repeating the same procedure — without shaking hands, of course, the boy was not the kind to greet anyone like that. Joseph had also visited us many times as a child, but he rarely honoured us by playing with us when he could, preferring instead to sleep through the day. And there hasn't been an occasion in a long time when I haven't seen him without his earpiece, which he used to block his ear canals so that he wouldn't overhear anyone asking him for anything. Now, too, he looked up at us with half-closed eyes and music pounding in one ear.

It was sad to see how much older Joz looked than his brother. Even though Mica was born seven years before me, he looked younger than me or his brother. Since that day, he has hardly aged at all.

"Joseph Blitz," Joz introduced himself bored, "Also Shay's cousin, and the idiot's brother."

"Nice to meet you," he waved and was off.

Aunt Ade — formerly Adrienn Roubál, later Adrienn Wick — was my mother's sister. She was between a fourth and a fifth x. Although she didn't wear tops with cleavage, preferring instead baggy shirts, and I haven't even seen her wearing make-up, she is a delightful creature. She has wavy, dark brown hair and the same blue eyes as my mother had. She's a sweet, flirtatious woman, and even now, as soon as she noticed me watching her, she smiled and winked at me.

She is the second most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The first was my mother.

So it's a mystery to me why she couldn't find a better husband than this Gillian Wick. The bloke is my uncle, but I can tell you that we don't have a very rosy relationship, despite the open secret that Auntie Ade adored me as a child. He has short, blonde hair like a military man, a stern face, and a sharp chin.

"You have quite a large family," Alex remarked quietly.

"Yeah," I nodded.

Des arrived and congratulated me on my first battle won.

"That's my brother," my brother smiled, "Even I couldn't have done better!"

"One half of the Absolute Duo," said Mica, "Where did you leave your partner?"

Des froze. We all froze for a moment.

"He's your friend who's been wounded..." said Mica, and although it didn't sound like a question, I nodded.

The room slowly emptied, and everyone started to send messages to their troops about the preparations with their news bird — or their smartphones. Although it was a tradition among the hunters to send their messages by bird, fewer and fewer practiced it. Texting is faster, just a moment, whereas a bird can take days to get there — although my favourite cousin always swears that bird mail is safer than technology.

"What do you say we show our two new companions around?" suggested Mica.

"Sorry, I'll pass on that one," said Des, "I've got to send out the news to my team."

Although we all suspected that the messages had already been delivered, we didn't question it. I thought Des was doing the favour I'd asked him to do. In the morning, before we left, I suggested to him that we should get some cover for the two shifters and he said he would do what he could.

We started down the stairs, while Mica talked about his weirdest and weirdest missions. Alex and Rolo, perhaps instinctively, stepped closer to me than before — clearly unnerved by the presence of so many hunters.

The whole of the seventh floor was hidden by a single huge double oak door. On the gold plate above the door were engraved two words: BibliothecaRosenteiniana. Mica took hold of the silky copper handle and opened the door for us. We entered and I thought Rolo was going to faint.

The kid's eyes lit up as he spun around, almost absorbing the sight to etch it into his skull. He didn't even notice when he was greeted by Eve — our librarian — sitting behind the old, perfectly varnished desk.

She didn't look offended, used to the way people react when they first enter the Rosensteins' famous library. There was an old, musty, yet exciting smell to the volumes on display. In front of the walls of the vast circular room ran a series of carved oak racks, sometimes with hidden doors between them, leading up winding staircases to the second, third and fourth floors. You only noticed these doors when you knew their purpose, or when they were open, for they were a meter high, and were cut at an angle, and decorated with beautiful care.

Even the first floor was so high that most of the books could only be reached from the wooden ladders. The middle space was left free, with only tables and chairs for those who found something interesting to read. The old parquet flooring creaked under the carpet with every step we took.

I reached the middle of the room and looked up at the ceiling, where an old fresco of the Rosenstein family was painted. Among the many ancient figures, the first I recognized was Ágota Rosenstein, her slender hands raised to cast magic, her husband standing beside her, her sons sitting not far away on their horses. Mária Rosenstein, Ágota's sister and her family, her husband and daughters and sons were standing beside her.

"Who are they?" asked Alex.

"The Rosentein family," I announced. "They founded the first hunting organization in Hungary. They are my ancestors."

"But isn't that woman a mage?" he frowned, "I thought the hunters hunted them too..."

"Indeed, but not all of them, and not without thinking first," I replied, "They distinguish between two kinds of mages: black and white. The latter are not harmed."

"Oh."

"And what kind of books are kept here?" Rolo asked.

"The hunting records of our ancestors about the various monsters," I replied, "If we're dealing with something rare that we haven't come across before, we're sure to find something about it in this place. The earliest records preserved here are medieval, but there are also older translations, translated from, say, Japanese or English into German by the ancients — and yes, all the documents are in German."

The boy scowled a little at my last sentence.

Then came the guest rooms, several floors up. The Babel also had a huge bathroom, as well as a kitchen and a dining room large enough to seat an army comfortably.

When we got downstairs, we rounded the stairs, where another, less conspicuous door and another set of stairs awaited us.

Under the Babel, a huge, almost empty room welcomed us. One wall of the room was lined with targets, but it was primarily designed for hunters to fight each other. Perhaps it is a tradition of the founding twins, but when there is disagreement over a decision and no compromise can be reached, the parties settle the issue by fighting. It's very simple: the winner decides.

Some were already gathered inside.

"What do you say we have a demonstration?" elbowed me Mica playfully.

Well, I hesitated. Vampires are strong, and Mica is a vampire. So the conclusion is, he'll definitely break a few of my ribs.

He didn't even wait for me to say yes, he just grabbed my shirt and threw me away. I was stopped by a solid concrete wall, four meters thick and reinforced with steel bars. I groaned, every drop of air was forced out of my lungs, and for a minute I seriously thought I was going to die of pain. Then, as I began to recover, this agony turned to anger in my body. What were some ribs to him? I bet he was planning to break them all at once with this move!

"Mica..." I thundered ominously as I stood up, "That hurt!"

The next moment I was in front of him, and I was so mad at him that I punched him to the floor.

"That was good," he groaned. "You've got faster and stronger in the last few years."

He couldn't have made it up to me even if he was to praise me to the skies.

We were at each other's neck again. With half an ear, I could hear Alex worrying that we were going to kill each other, and the kid was in shock.

In less than ten minutes, the vampire and I were both lying on the ground. After the last blow, I didn't want to fight so much.

Neither of us was taking the fight so seriously, for we had a whole war ahead of us. I was pleasantly tired, no longer feeling the tense throbbing in my muscles that had plagued me since the girls had disappeared. Mica probably knew exactly what I needed right now. I just needed to blow off some steam before I exploded.

He then pulled me up off the floor with a kind smile.

"Who is that man?" asked Rolo quietly, "During the fight, he was watching you and taking notes."

"George Willingham," I stated, "He must have been assessing my abilities, he's the one who draws up the battle plans. You might say he's the best strategist in the family."

(After me, of course.)

George Willingham was famous for two things: his love of tea and his eyes, which could not only tell instantly a man's abilities but also the rate of his progress and future strength. He was also related to the English royal family and was good friends with Samuel Guintolini, a descendant of an Italian prince. Because of his sophisticated connections, Willingham was considered one of the most influential hunters in the world. Even with his glasses, his sharp gaze pierced me — as if he'd guessed I was thinking of him.

"Watch out for him," whispered the vampire beside me, "He's very prestigious, and it looks like he'll be the next head of the family after the old man."

With that, the man stood up, folded up his notebook, and simply walked away without saying anything. Eventually, Mica left too, claiming that he had to get something for dinner — no one questioned the matter.

As we still had some time before dinner, we planned to walk to the lounge, where I would tell my friends a few things about the hunters resting there — all this, of course, until Des pulled me into a room that was not yet in use.

"What are you doing?", I growled.

"The masks are ready," he announced.

"Oh," I was surprised. Des got the job done very quickly.

There were two wooden boxes on the table. I knew it would be my job from now on to fill my friends in. I popped open the boxes, which contained bone masks covering half the face from forehead to nose, and the family mark with the moon crescent engraved in the middle of the forehead.

I closed the boxes again and took them in my hand. I turned towards them and carefully assessed my companions. Alex, though he looked a little nervous, and perhaps embarrassed by my searching gaze, bravely bore my gaze.

Now, Rolo, well, he was expressionless as usual. Only the tiny sparks in his emeralds told me that he was anxious to know what was next. He was staring at the box closer to him, as if he wanted to burn a hole in the wood with his eyes, to look inside and finally find out what it was hiding.

"If you accept these, our destinies will become irrevocably one," I declared. "From then on, you will truly be part of my family. Do you accept?"

Without thinking, Alex took the box from my hand, and Rolo, after a moment's hesitation, was next. Both of them looked at the masks, which held a thousand promises, in awe.

"Okay, I guess we're done," I said, but almost immediately I felt the weight of Des' hand on my shoulder.

"Why don't you make them swear the oaths?" he questioned me. "That is the rule."

 "I'm not a hunter, I'm not subject to the rules," I shrugged. "Isn't it enough to simply trust that they will follow me?"

Des shook his head in disapproval but said nothing. Before we left, I leaned over to Rolo.

"I'm sure they'll ask you about the Fifth's hideout," I whispered, "Just share the minimum and keep it secret how you got in."

The boy nodded. Although he seemed to want to question me, he swallowed his questions and stepped out the door.