Bernard knelt before the skull in the center of the room, and patted the floor beside him. Where I knelt too.

“Now I don’t expect you to understand just yet.” He began, “but this is going to be your life one day, just as it is mine.” I nodded, pretending to know what he was saying. For such a young age, I suppose I understood more than most would’ve.

“That skull, right there was my predecessor,” Bernard paused. “Do you know what ‘predecessor’ means?”

“No.” My eyes wandered, and I shifted in place. Not really paying attention as I scratched an itch on my neck.

“A predecessor is someone who was before you. For example, I am your predecessor, and one day you’ll take my place.”

“What’s your place?” I wondered. He shifted, looking uncertain as to how he should tell a small child that one day they would have to kill for a living. And then wondering how he would explain death, and the price one’s soul would pay for each life they took.

“Well, we’ll get to that eventually,” he muttered. There was silence as he shifted into a more comfortable sitting position. I followed suit, crossing my legs beneath me. Bernard looked at the skull for a good long while before continuing.

“Do you see the marks under my eyes?” He turned his head back to me. I took note of the two thick black lines that curved down his cheeks, they ran through his short beard, and finally tapered off into points on his neck.

“I have them too!” I’d exclaimed, as if I had found some hidden secret, or solved a tricky puzzle. At the time, I’d thought it was normal, that everybody had them. After all, I was young, and Bernard was the only person I’d ever had contact with. I wasn’t allowed to go into town for supply runs with him till I was seven or eight.

He chuckled. “Yes, you do.” He took a deep breath and leaned back with his hands behind him for support. “Othala, I need you to know at least this for now. Are you listening?”

I looked at him, giving him the best serious expression I could muster. The itch on the back of my neck returned, so I scratched it again.

“Not everyone has these marks. And those born with them, are given a very specific job.”

“Why?” I was genuinely curious now. “I thought everybody had them.”

He shrugged. “The hell if- I mean- I don’t know.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You always said that was a bad word that I shouldn’t be using. How come you can use it?”

Bernard had looked at me for a solid three seconds in disbelief before bursting into laughter. “What?” I questioned, “what’s so funny?” But he only continued laughing.

A draft of cold air slithered down my spine, forcing my muscles to tense up and my back to straighten. The itching on my neck intensified, and the hairs of my arms stood up. Bernard looked my way, amusement turning quickly into concern.

“Are you alright, Othala?”

I squirmed.

“My neck itches,” I grumbled as I used both hands to scratch frantically at my entire back.

“Maybe you have lice?” He suggested, half joking.

“Ew,” was the only appropriate response I could muster up.