by Wil Ogden
CHAPTER SEVEN: ULTIMATE CLOSURE
Almost two decades had passed since Sheillene found her way to enjoy both of her professions. She played her lute on a large stage in an auditorium in Fork. Everyone in the audience had paid to see her.
Usually her stage was in the corner of a taproom where people went primarily to drink. That night, the beer was sparse, and all the glazed eyes in the audience were in response to her ballads instead of whiskey. One pair of glazed eyes stood out from the rest. A pair she recognized and had hoped to never see again.
Taren Mason swayed, caught in the same rapture as the rest of the audience. Sheillene struggled to maintain the calm of the soothing ballad, though the rapid beating of her heart threatened to drown out the rhythm of her chords. She stopped singing and just played, knowing her voice would betray her.
It had been Taren who had blackened her impression of her guild when he killed her friend’s parents and her unborn sibling. He’d tried to hide his involvement, but Sheillene knew who had collected the bounty. Seeing Taren alive cast a shadow on her soul. The darkness that his ilk brought to her other profession as a Hunter made her nauseous.
She reminded herself that she’d invited him. Not directly, of course. She created a single posting offering a bounty on her own head and she’d posted it at a hall that she’d heard he’d been seen frequenting. Her revulsion was slowly replaced by relief as she realized that she wouldn’t have to deal with any other Hunter’s taking bait that wasn’t meant for them. Taren, as all Hunters do, would have torn the posting from the wall, both to serve as a reminder and to prevent other Hunters from trying to jump his claim.
With a flourish that brought a collective sigh from the audience, Sheillene finished her show. She took a few slow bows then departed the stage. She didn’t want to rush, but Taren would be after her and she didn’t want him to catch up to her, yet.
She packed her lute carefully into its hardened leather case, grabbed her sword, and slipped out the back door. She didn’t pause to strap the sword to her belt, but she did make sure it was loose in the scabbard as she ran down the alley. She heard footsteps behind her. After so many years, Taren still had a faster left gait than right. She didn’t have to look back.
“Sheillene,” Taren called to her. “I’m not here to hunt you.”
She didn’t believe him. She wanted to. Part of her yearned for the simple life of hunting with her partner and mentor, but the man she had known as her mentor had been an illusion—perhaps a delusion. He’d taught her to kill for money. He’d given her the justification to make it seem acceptable. But it had been a lie. Sometimes innocent people did cross paths with the kind of people who would kill on a whim.
Dodging down a side alley, she sprinted just a little faster. She didn’t look back, but Taren usually had a crossbow with him. She didn’t want to give him an easy shot. Images of her as a child flashed into her mind. Taren stood at her side, like a father, teaching her how to hold her bow. The man in her memories was a good man, a friend and teacher. The man behind her was a cold-blooded killer. She couldn’t reconcile that they were the same man.
If he wasn’t there to collect the bounty, how did he know about it? Taren wouldn’t pass up the chance; Sheillene had put the price too high to pass over. For half that amount, Taren had killed a pregnant woman. It was more than enough to convince him to kill a friend – if he knew what a friend was.
Fifty more paces and Sheillene jogged to the right. The alley came to a dead end just four paces deep. Sheillene noticed her bow still hidden in the shadows, already strung. Three arrows leaned against the wall beside it. She hadn’t heard Taren's bowstring. She hadn’t given him any good shots, but he would have taken a bad shot from behind if he thought he’d get another chance. Sheillene guessed he didn’t have his crossbow with him, so she left her bow where it lay. She set her lute on the ground beside it.
Pulling a knife from her boot, she tucked it into her belt behind her back. Taren’s footsteps grew closer. She stepped away from the corner and held her sheathed sword, ready to draw, but she didn’t draw it.
Taren popped around the corner, his crossbow leading. Sheillene grabbed by the end of the bow and yanked. The bolt flew wide of her as the crossbow came free of Taren’s grip. She tossed it onto a pile of refuse by a nearby door.
“Nice move,” Taren said as he stepped back out of Sheillene’s sword’s reach. “You know I only came to warn you that there was a bounty out for you.” He slowly reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a rolled piece if parchment. “Look at this if you don’t believe me.” He tossed the parchment on the ground near Sheillene’s feet.
Expecting the attempt at distraction, Sheillene didn’t follow the posting as it bounced across her boots. “Do you always come with a fully loaded crossbow to chat with old friends?”
With a shrug and a glance to the sky, Taren said, “I guess you know me better than I’d hoped. This isn’t going to be an easy job.” He reached for his sword.
Sheillene stepped back and drew her own. “With either a bow or blade, I’m better than you.”
“True, if you had the heart for this kind of work,” Taren stepped forward. “I figure you’ll remember who gave you that blade and lose the will to kill your old partner.” He swung playfully at Sheillene. He was still too far to reach her.
She let the tip of his sword pass by in front of her. “I’ll be happy to give this back to you.” She lunged, though she knew her sword would not bite deep enough to kill unless he stepped forward.
He stepped back and batted her blade to the side. “It seems we are both being sloppy. Perhaps we should chat less. I have a bounty to collect. It’s really nothing personal.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” Sheillene said. “I, too, am collecting a bounty. But this is definitely personal.” She closed with him and their blades both rang in a frenzy of slashes and parries. She’d been wrong in her assessment of Taren. He was better than her. She realized it would be just a matter of time before he’d take full control of the fight. Then he’d drag it out to humiliate her. She’d seen him do it before to people he was about to kill.
Rather than let it go on until she was too exhausted, she let her sword fly from her hand on a parry. She leapt back.
As she expected, he didn’t jump after her. He walked over to stand between her and her sword then slowly walked closer. “You and I both know that neither of us are innocents,” he said. “We’ve both taken our share of gold for the lives of people that may or may not have deserved it.”
Sheillene nodded, stepping back to a wall. She knew the wall would hinder her defense, but she needed him to feel more confident, more foolish. “I’ve killed for gold since our paths have parted,” She said. It was actually a lie. She hadn’t collected a single kill bounty in two decades, but she didn’t want to appear as an adversary any longer. She wanted him to see her as a helpless victim. She slowly reached down towards her boot.
“Don’t think about that knife in your boot, girl.” Taren smacked his sword against the alley wall. “I’ll make this painless once you tell me something.”
Sheillene hadn’t expected him to want anything from her beyond some begging and possibly a scream of pain or two. “What do you need to know?” she asked.
“In your whole life, was any man more of a father to you than I?”
“No,” She answered. She’d had another mentor, in another profession. But despite everything Thomas taught her about entertaining crowds and playing her lute, he’d never been a father figure. Taren had been there when she was a child and taught her to be strong and how to take care of herself. If he’d just step closer, she could pull the knife from behind her back and show him what he’d taught her.
Taren nodded, “I loved you like I’d love a daughter if I had one. I love you still.” He lowered his sword and stepped over to Sheillene’s bow. He set his sword down and picked up the bow and a single arrow. “If you think like I do, you have a knife
tucked behind your belt or up a sleeve. You won’t need it. I do have a daughter, you know: Your sister.”
“You know about her?” Sheillene said before she could think to deny the claim.
“I’ve watched her grow up,” he said. “I’ve seen her work her magic with the land and the plants and the beasts. She gets that from my mother, you know. Earth magic runs in my family.”
“Are you going to shoot me with my own bow?” Sheillene asked.
Taren laughed and stepped back closer to her, just far enough away that she couldn’t draw the knife and plunge it into his heart. “No, you’re going to shoot me. You’re good with a sword, but so much better with this.” He held out the bow and arrow toward her.
She reached out and took them, surprised he let go as she did so.
He said, “I trust you to make it quicker with that.” He stepped to the end of the alley and turned to the side. He held up a finger to just below his ear. “Just like I taught you: right here. Sever my spine.”
Carefully nocking the arrow, Sheillene asked him, “Why?”
“I’m done,” he said. “I’m not the man I want to be anymore. I had three chances to put a crossbow bolt in your back as I chased you and I couldn’t do it. Tell your sister the truth about me, if she asks. I have a house in the city of Fork. It’s on the north corner of Brewery Road and Estelle Street. The key is in the rain barrel, under a false bottom.”
Sheillene pulled back her bow and aimed behind the artery for the spine. “Are you sure?”
Taren nodded.
Sheillene dropped her aim and shot the arrow into the ground behind Taren’s feet. “There,” she said. “Taren Mason is dead. You were right. I don’t know who you are, but Taren would have killed me.” She walked over and picked up her weapons.
“Thank you, stranger,” Taren said. He walked out of the alley, leaving Taren Mason dead in the dirt.
In later years the man did not remain a stranger to Sheillene, but Taren Mason was never seen or heard from again.
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