1 Don't Talk About Heroes

I was about to leave and the last conversation I was having with my father, Chaim, was a topic he was not comfortable with. It would be long before I would see him again and this was not how I wanted our final conversation to go.

"Heroes are awakened, Evna. Not made or born."

My father's tone was clipped as it usually was talking about wars, battles and stories of how we won against the invaders. These stories inspired our little village, but to him, it was like a curse. He didn't look agitated, but he stood straighter and he put more force into removing a goat's entrails than necessary. I heard the whole bar rattle from where the goats hung.

He was an animal farmer. The only one in the village. I had seen him slaughter and butcher so many since the day I was born, I no longer felt the disgust and apprehension I used to when I was younger. Growing up, it taught me that live must be taken in order to give life. It was the same lesson with crops, but it was just harder to learn when they moved and spurt blood when killed.

But no matter how used to killing animals I was, whenever I saw my father transform into this ruthless, mechanical butchering clockwork, I couldn't help but shiver.

Chaim was a calm man even when bush fires broke out around the farmlands. Nothing could shake him, but this topic let slip a little hint that my father was still human. Anger and frustration ripped across his calm demeanor. I knew I shouldn't have brought up the village elder telling us that courage bred heroes. That we could be heroes. Of course, heroes were always part of battles. I should have made the connection and kept my mouth shut.

This was the only topic I couldn't talk to him about. The only opinion that we were ever divided on. We were as different about it as him being a man and I, a girl. As different as his brilliant silver-gray eyes, and my extremely pitch-dark eyes. In all but our eyes, however, there was no mistaking that I was his daughter up to the tips of our dark wavy hair.

The last of the goats lay at my feet on its own blood, dead from the blood-soaked dagger in my hand.

'When you see your target, it should only take you one breath for it to breathe its last.' A breath for a breath. That was the rule my father taught me about slaughtering animals. They must be dead even if they didn't know it yet. It was less suffering for the animals, plus there was less chance of them running away or fighting back. Or worse, hitting them wrong where the meat would be ruined.

Unlike other men in the village, he didn't take apprentices, so I was the only one who could tend to the shop when he couldn't. I often complained to him that I couldn't get married if I followed his trade, but I never left his side even when he told me I could do as I pleased. He always told me that the men who were scared of me were the ones who didn't deserve me. Unfortunately, it seemed as if every single man around the age of sixteen in the village were all undeserving of me. It was a sad prospect I didn't dare think on for too long.

"What's the difference?" I didn't take my eyes off him as I hung the dagger on the wall. I know I shouldn't push the issue, but I was about to leave and I needed to know more about the outside world than he was willing to tell me. "Heroes awakened are heroes made, right?"

"Old Klatos said that anyone who's brave in the face of adversity is a hero, didn't he? Well, I only call them brave men. Not heroes." The entrails fell to the floor with a big plop, slipping from my father's hands. He muttered to himself. "Hang the last one, will you Evna?"

I nodded and grunted, lifting the weight of the dead carcass. Today, he let me do all the slaughtering. So I wouldn't forget that I'm the butcher's daughter even when I get to the capital, or so he said.

"What about Daevi? He saved the Gasset kid from drowning in the lake. He's a hero."

Father shook his head and turned to the last goat. "Perhaps, you could say he is. But not everyone who would jump in the lake to save him would be a hero. A hero needs these three things to be called a hero. Otherwise, he's only called a fool with courage. One, he has to live long enough to accomplish his goal. Two, he should have the necessary skills to accomplish the goal. Three, what he accomplished should alter history. And four, he must have the strength of character. Otherwise, he's just another brave young soul never to be remembered long after his deed. Of course, that goes without saying, all heroes must have thee strength of character or rewrite history to make them seem as if what they did was right. Or else, they're just villains."

I winced. "You're harsh."

"Ever heard of a common foot soldier named in history as a hero? No. He's no more than a pawn for the real heroes." The entrails wobbled in his hand as he put them on the bin nearby. "But even if you're named a hero by the stories and legends, you will always be nothing but the one who slaughtered someone else's father, brother, mother..." He shook his head. "What are we talking about this for? You're on your way to the capital in a bit and we're talking about something so bleak. Turn around."

I complied and felt him remove my apron.

"I'll miss you, Evna. Promise me you'll stay safe."

His voice changed. It was low and sad. He was displaying so much emotions, I could hardly believe this was the stone-still Chaim of the Farmlands. I turned around and hugged him. "It will only be twelve days, father. I'll be back. Besides, you have Belledine checking up on you every now and then, you sly old fox, you."

He laughed and ruffled my head, his face red as a newly butchered piece of meat. "You really want to have a mother, don't you?" He wrapped his arms around me. "You know, that is still twelve days too long."

"Nothing has ever happened to anyone who went to the capital for the Presentation. I'll be fine." I kissed his cheek. "And don't turn her down. I like her. I don't mind having a new mum."

"Anything can happen. You can't help a father feeling worried for her daughter."

I noted the fact that he deliberately ignored the other topic altogether. But what he said was true. Anything could happen, but I will return. Like everyone else who turned sixteen in the year and was presented to the capital. It was the capital's yearly invitation to see the next generation in each outlying land and make sure they had the skills to contribute to the growth of the empire. It was the only time any of us were ever allowed inside the place of dreams and futures.

"It's going to be fine," I looked up at him and smiled. "If anything happens, I'm the least you should be worried about. I'm the butcher's daughter. Bandits beware!"

"Cheeky," he finally said, grinning. "Now, go change. You're all bloody."