Days passed peacefully, and time was steadily approaching the sixth anniversary of my birth. I didn't expect anything special—no party, no gifts. I knew how hard it was for our family to make ends meet, so when my mother asked if I wanted anything, I told her it would be enough if she was just there with me. She already had plenty of worries on her mind. Still, I had a little plan for the day, even if I expected nothing.
I was born in spring, on the day of the solstice—easy to remember. Trees were budding with fresh green leaves, and the earth was shedding its winter coat. Animals were waking from their slumber, and the days were growing warmer.
I woke up on my birthday. For many, it's a special day; for me, it was like any other. Perhaps the only difference was that none of my cousins teased me, and I got a larger slice of bread for breakfast. I guessed Aunt Aniela must have given them a talk, telling them not to bother me today.
"Ball, want seconds?" Mark asked, his face neutral. That alone felt like a victory, as he usually looked at me like I was a bug.
"If there's enough for everyone else, I'd love some," I replied cautiously. I knew I was treading on thin ice and didn't want to push Mark's patience.
"Son, go outside and play with the other children," Izabela said, smiling. "Come back by evening, so I don't have to call you." She always tried to give me some semblance of a normal childhood, her care evident in every decision she made.
"All right," I said, slipping on my shoes. "I'm going out." I shut the door behind me.
Now what? Most of the village kids were halfwits who spent their time waving sticks around and chattering about sowing grain or harvesting potatoes.
I decided a walk along the village outskirts would be best, hoping to run into Mrs. Aldona. Though I had to admit, she rarely left her house. Probably due to her age—every move seemed to exhaust her.
For three years, I hadn't learned anything new about magic. It was maddening—I yearned to study it, though I wasn't even sure if I had any talent for it. At home, magic was never discussed. We were just ordinary people—what could we possibly know about spells? Maybe I could find some books on the subject. But there was one small problem: I couldn't read. A problem I might solve tonight.
Perhaps I should ask Mrs. Aldona about magic? But if it turned out to be a taboo topic, and she told Uncle Mark, I'd earn myself a perfect excuse for him to beat me...
A short sound broke my train of thought.
I stopped and looked toward the tree line of the Eastern Forest. Nothing.
"Stay still. Don't move," a whisper came from above me. Looking up, I saw an old man sitting in a tree. He had silver hair and a matching goatee, his face etched with deep wrinkles and his eyes brimming with experience and stories. Dressed in a black cloak, he held a curved bow aimed in my direction.
An arrow zipped past me, hitting a bush nearby.
I heard the sharp cry of some animal.
A moment later, I spotted the arrow's target—a bird, slightly larger than a hen, resembling a pheasant. Its feathers were black-brown, with wings shimmering in blue. Despite the wound, it leaped into flight.
A second arrow missed it by a hair's breadth.
Without thinking, I ran toward the bird, diving at it and grabbing hold. We tumbled to the ground, struggling. I grabbed a stone and... Blood splattered on my face, and the pheasant's life came to an abrupt end.
I stood there, stunned, yet oddly satisfied. Killing an animal with a stone—something a modern person wouldn't dream of doing. But in that moment, I felt the raw pull of primal instincts.
"If you hadn't startled it, I'd have killed it with the first arrow," the old man said, climbing down from the tree.
"I didn't realize you were hunting here," I replied calmly.
"Next time, watch where you're going, boy," he said, his tone devoid of emotion as he walked toward the pheasant.
"Are you the one they call Old Jan?" I asked curiously.
"Mhm," he muttered without looking up.
"People say you're a hunter," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"Mhm."
Great, I thought, a professor of monosyllables. A master of word economy.
"Could you teach me to hunt? We don't have much meat at home, and..." I began quickly.
"Stop," he cut me off with a single word. "Every kid has the same story... 'Not enough to eat, so little and so little,' and what am I supposed to do—teach pups for free?" he added, more to himself than to me.
It wasn't the first time someone had made such a request of him.
"Please, I'll do anything!" I nearly shouted.
"Will you?" He looked at me with a smirk. "You know nothing's free, right?"
"Yes."
"You live with Mark and Aniela?" he asked.
"Yes," I admitted.
"I've heard Mark has a fine knife with a deer engraved on it. You know the one I'm talking about?" His voice turned sly.
"Mhm." I swallowed hard.
"I want it."
"I... I'll try..."
Oh, sure. Steal the knife, learn to hunt. What could possibly go wrong?
"But that's not all, boy," he added with a wide grin. "Bring me another pheasant like this one. Then I'll know you're worth something."
A pheasant? Seriously? Where the hell am I supposed to find a pheasant?
Summing it up, I'd stumbled upon a chance to learn hunting from the only person in the village who knew how. Something that might never happen again. A chance to secure meat for my family—or even earn some money. Not much, but people bought meat from Old Jan. Maybe I could sell something too. Yet, I feared he'd take all my spoils as payment for the knowledge.
Of course, I'd never considered hunting alone in the forest before. Aniela had made it clear—it was dangerous out there, and only Old Jan knew how to navigate it safely. What kind of dangers? For a six-year-old, anything could be a threat.
Then again, if Mark caught me stealing his knife, I wouldn't be able to sit for a week—and might not get food for days...
Lost in thought, I hadn't noticed the sky growing darker. Slowly, I made my way home, pondering all that had transpired.
"I'm back!" I called out, ensuring everyone in the house could hear me. I didn't want to ruin a surprise I wasn't supposed to know about.
"Take off your shoes and come in," Izabela's calm voice came from the kitchen.
Crossing the threshold, I saw everyone gathered at the table. The room was neat, and on the table, besides a cloth and a polished surface, stood a cake. A rare sight in peasant homes. Where had they gotten the sugar to bake it? Clearly, they'd gone to lengths to make my birthday special.
Following tradition, there were no birthday wishes, so we simply sat and began eating. Despite the custom, I received a gift—a knife with a wooden handle, from everyone. Something I couldn't have expected.
The knife was simple, and that's what I liked about it. It was made to cut and not break easily. I was pleased with the present.
"Thank you, everyone, for the gift," I said, smiling.
"Take good care of it. A knife is a man's best friend," Mark said in a fatherly tone. "You can tell a lot about a man by the state of his blade," he added, as if imparting some profound wisdom.
For once, it seemed like Mark was trying to act like a real father on my birthday.
"Eat up, Ball," Aniela said with a kind smile.
"Thank you. It's delicious," I replied, though I couldn't help but remember cakes from my past life that were far superior. "But everyone should have some. I can't be the only one celebrating today," I added, noticing how Antek's mouth was watering.
"Mama?" I asked when a moment of silence fell.
"Yes, my son?" Izabela answered, looking at me with a smile.
"You've already given me so much today..." I began hesitantly.
"Have we?" she asked, intrigued.
"I'd like to ask for one more thing," I added, my heart beating faster.
"What is it?" she asked, still smiling.
"I'd like to learn to read and write," I said quietly, uncertain of how they'd react.
"Oh, Ball, you're talking as if it's something grand, haha," Izabela laughed.
"Isn't it?" I asked, surprised by her reaction.
"Of course not," Aniela chimed in with a smile. "Your mother used to travel a bit and knows how to read."