Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  “You! Stop there!” shouted a voice from the doorway. Jaro turned and saw two guards come rushing into the room. Without hesitation or heed for concern, he climbed onto the window sill in front of him and leapt to the ledge of the building next door. Because of his injured leg, he misjudged how far he could jump and ended up short. Reaching out with both of his hands, he was able to grasp the ledge he had been aiming for, but not without consequences. A tremendous pain lanced through his entire rib cage causing him to wince and loose his grasp. He fell the rest of the distance landing awkwardly on his already injured leg. Pain shot from his ankle to his knee and he thought he heard a loud pop. Though he did not feel like it, he was alive. He looked up from his back, but did not see the guards following him out of the window.

  One of the advantages for living in large cities is that they were serviced with the basic amenities that smaller cities and villages could not afford. In Tatherton, there were already partially plumbed houses, at least they were plumbed for usage of indoor privies. They had not yet created a system for providing interior running water, though plans had been completed. Tatherton did have a sewer system large enough to provide for the entire residential districts of the more affluent areas. While most people avoided the access points to the complex sewer system because of its profoundly unpleasant odor, Jaro found solace within it. He found solace and he found silence, the silence he would need to escape. As he pulled off the heavy lid, almost crushing his fingers as he dropped it back in place, he climbed down into a foulness no one should have to voluntarily enter. However, as foul as this experience would be, the alternative was worse. When his feet met the ground splashing in the rank sewage, he was presented with three small tunnels within which he would have to crawl. He judged which direction would lead him out of the city toward their camp and began the horrible crawl through an unimaginable sludge, a crawl he hoped would eventually wash off. He could not imagine entertaining the company of his various indulgences if he smelled like the underside of a detestable beast’s excrement.

  Sensertio

  (Infiltration)

  I had been pushed beyond my ability to control my response to having suffered so much loss over such a short amount of time. I did not remember the progression of being taken to the dungeons, but I did remember the tears, screaming, and kicking. The wounds I suffered at the hands of the woman, Vismorda, a black silhouette of lethality I considered greater than Kinarin, were minor when compared to the gashes suffered to my heart. My father's death was something I had learned to cope with largely because of my occupation of becoming an assassin; however, the addition of my sisters resembling nothing of what I remember, instead reflecting the horrible evil responsible for taking the Stone Keep, threw me into an utter hopelessness. To make matters even worse, I was without the welcomed, emotional distraction of a torturously difficult training regimen drawing my mind away from everything that had been taken from me.

  When the bars clanged shut, and I heard the tumblers secured in place, I felt a detachment settle into my heart. I become numb. The summative total of my recent emotional stressors had caused me to shut down and assume a lethargic affect even slower than the great red sloths of the southern desserts. I was sure my body could still provide action upon my discretion should I find the need to call upon it; however, I could no longer see the need for effort of any kind nor in any situation. As it was, I sat, with my back propped up by the cold, stone wall, my arms hanging at my sides allowing my fingers to touch the ground. My posture slumped in an effort to avoid any exertion whatsoever. At this point in my life, exertion indicated purpose, and purpose indicated fate, and I did not believe in fate any longer. In fact, I believed in nothing.

  So, when I saw Vennesulte sitting with perfect posture in a trancelike, meditative state, I grew angry. Somehow, I believed his continuance of purpose was mocking what I had been through over the last several months. How could he, after seeing the lancing pain I had endured, not offer solace? It was not only incomprehensible to me, but an outright insult. And I was tired of being insulted by life itself. I looked at my friend, feeling none of the affinity I had before, and bore my anger into him. I spoke through gritted teeth, "What are you doing?" When he did not answer, I spoke more loudly, "What are you doing?"

  Again, he did not answer and I assumed it was because of his infernal mediation. So, I stood up with more speed that I thought I was capable of given my lack of desire, and strode over to him. I had called out to whatever powers or gods or beings there were in the heavens only to have them ignore my pleas. I would not allow it any longer. I would not be ignored again. I strode over to him with a hell-bent purpose to be heard. I squatted down placing my head only inches away from his. I inhaled deeply and prepared to let loose everything I had inside in one powerful statement, but a moment before I let the inhalation explode from my lungs, like a serpent, he swept my legs out from under me. I landed hard on my back and immediately began gasping for air.

  "What has Vennesulte done to engage you thus?" he asked, though I was still unable to answer him. Instead of repeating his question as I expected, while I struggled to gain sufficient breath, he calmly sat, still with perfect posture, waiting for my lungs to fill. As my reflexive and involuntary gasping subsided allowing me to move, I stood up a second time and trying to look as ominously as I could.

  "How can you just sit there?" I asked instead of answering his question.

  "How else should Vennesulte rest? Vennesulte does not think resting while standing would be as beneficial as resting while sitting," he said, finally opening his eyes to look at me. But instead of the customary challenge offered in response to an attack, he genuinely seemed perplexed by my question.

  Growing in frustration, I asked him, "What are you talking about?"

  "Resting. Was that not the direction of your question?" he asked with no trace of sarcastic malice.

  "No! That is not the 'direction of my question'," I yelled in mock imitation.

  "What is the intent behind your question so Vennesulte can answer it and displace your aggression?" he asked without any trace of mockery.

  Even after my training with Kinarin, when I had learned the skills necessary for battle, whether it be against a single opponent or multiple opponents, I had never developed the desire to fight. Not even when I attempted to assassinate Lord Myosk did I ever have a desire to engage my lethal abilities for their sake alone. Rather, it was because of a desire to become more within myself, to make purpose my sole intent thereby granting me such. But now, in this moment, when everything in my life had crashed on the waves of an evil that had consumed the hope of seeing my sisters again, and when the one person I thought would be there as my guide and mentor chose to walk away when I needed him most, there was nothing more I wanted to do than to fight. Something, anything. It did not matter, I just wanted to fight, but even that was being taken away from me by the disarming innocence of this young monk.

  However, I still needed an outlet for my growing hostilities. Seeing him, still waiting for my answer, innocently sitting cross-legged, his hands on his knees with his perfectly straight back and his perfectly innocent inquiry into my current vexation, I could do nothing but clench my fists, throw my head back, and bellow a horrible cry of every unjust frustration I had felt since I first embarked on the damnable journey for the good of the empire, and the good of us all.

  "I have not heard that sound since I first heard it from your sisters while I was training them," said a smooth voice laced with mockery. "Except their cries were begging the pain to stop while yours just might be asking the pain to start," it continued.

  At first, I did not comprehend what the woman had said, not that I did not hear her, but rather, I was too involved within my own verbal request to the heavens to allow her my focus. But as my primal, pain driven bellow ended as quickly as it began, I heard her say, "My, my, my, that was indeed a powerful display of desperation. Tell me, to whom do you cry out?"

  "What?" I
asked.

  "I asked you to whom were you crying out. Was that not what you were doing; crying out in complaint of your current situation?" she asked.

  "I was not crying out to anyone," I said under my breath.

  "Come now. Of course, you were. I am familiar with that scream. The scream for hope, relief, comprehension. The scream for a savior. In fact, I daresay we are all familiar with that scream," she said approaching the bars to our cell.

  "Vennesulte has no familiarity with emotions of loss and sorrow. As such, Vennesulte has none of the emotions responsible for the demise of humanity," interrupted my young monk friend as he sat, unmoving, in his identifiable cross-legged posture and closed his eyes again.

  "Well now, it appears your little Ithshin has a voice after all. Tell me, have you trained it to sing and dance too?" she responded, no doubt in an attempt to test the emotionless apathy Vennesulte had just claimed to own.

  "I claim no ownership over him," I answered as I slumped down against the back wall.

  "But you did claim ownership over my little Ravens, did you not? They were your sisters, were they not?" she asked. The implication that they could no longer be defined by any attachment to me was not lost upon the waves of my hopelessness. Rather, her insult and challenge had been amplified because of it. You see, while Jinola and Hithelyn may hold no connection to me, I still held one to them. And no physical distance, nor emotional readjustment on their part could ever create a divide large enough for me to absolve the fact that they were still my sisters. I may not be brother to them, but they were and would always be, sisters to me. And right now, my bond to them was the only thing I could cling to that could give me even an infinitesimal degree of hope. After all, even the infinitesimal is greater than none.

  "One can never claim ownership over another," said Vennesulte, quite possibly in an attempt to divert her attention from me to himself.

  "The young monk speaks again," she said while still looking at me. "I would like to hear you sing that same futile song, little monk, after a few of my training sessions. Vile was particularly fun to break, but even so, I feel you might be even more enjoyable to own."

  Opening his eyes to look directly at hers, he spoke with the assumption of an authority based on certainty, "One can never own that which is greater than oneself. As such, Vennesulte is not worried about your training methods."

  "I have heard larger and greater men say that too, little monk. Be careful, for they may begin sooner than you think," she said, her voice thick with threats.

  "Even so, should they begin now, you have not proven yourself greater, and as such, Vennesulte does not recognize you with the esteem you believe you have," he said as he closed his eyes again.

  "We will see, little monk, we will see," she said and was about to turn her attention back to me when I heard Vennesulte interrupt her.

  "Yes, I do see, but you do not," again he challenged her, but for what purpose, I was unclear. Though two years younger than myself (I am assuming he was two years younger, but could have been more or less) he had the unusual ability to speak as though he was much older with a wisdom steeped in personal experience rather than youthful vigor. And when he adopted this authoritative voice, it was exceptionally difficult to avoid his line of questioning. And she was being drawn into his realm of obscure logic.

  "This said from a boy of barely enough years to possess the strength to carry the stick he does. Tell me, boy monk, what can you possibly see that I do not?" And there it was, the hook he had cast had caught its quarry. She bit the bait and was trapped.

  "You could see as I do, but your eyes have been closed much too long for them to be opened to the freedoms of detachment. And because Vennesulte remains detached, he can see your pain," he said without a doubt to the truth he had just spoken.

  For a moment, I thought I saw her face express a combination of surprise and disbelief, as if what she had just heard was the truth, but she quickly covered it up with a resolute determination, "Pain, I have no pain, only freedom?"

  "How can you be free if you are still attached?" he pressured.

  "I am not attached. There is nothing I cannot walk away from."

  "But that is not what Vennesulte sees. No, you are bound more tightly than we here in this cage. And because you are trapped more tightly than we, you cannot be greater. Thus, you cannot claim ownership over anything," he said as he returned his gaze to peer behind his closed eyes once again.

  I could see the smoldering intent in her steel cold gaze as she continued to look quietly at the young monk who had just, apparently, hit a truth she was not aware of herself. How he was able to do this, I would never understand, but once he knew, he knew. And when he knew, he acted and things changed, even if those changes remained undetectable. I was sure this woman was going to continue her discourse with him, but instead she turned to look at me, "How is it you infiltrated our castle?"

  "What does it matter?" I answered.

  "The manner in which you gained entrance is of no real concern. We have taken the castle and are fortifying it. It is securely under our control," she said as she crossed her arms in a show of disinterest.

  "If it is of no concern, then why did you ask?" I was still feeling the urge to fight, and if I could not engage physically, then I would engage verbally. After all, I had just witnessed Vennesulte claim victory in a verbal exchange and decided it would feel good to do the same.

  "It was merely a lead for a greater question, who else is with you?"

  How could she have known there was someone else with us? Kinarin had kept hidden and slithered away in the shadows when we had been captured. He left no trace of himself. As angry as I was at him, something inside of me prevented me from betraying his presence. Granted, there was a part of me that definitely wanted to see him reap the benefits of betraying me, but there was still a greater part of me that was appreciative of everything he had done for me; and in spite of my current anger toward all facets of my life, including him, I could not muster the fortitude to assert my base desire to see him punished. So, I lied, "No, there was no-one else."

  "Are you expecting me to believe you two just happened to infiltrate the Stone Keep all by yourselves?" she said staring directly at me.

  I had not formulated a secondary lie to adequately explain my first, so instead of trying to without the necessary preparation, I stalled for time, "I am not expecting you to believe anything I say. But that does not mean it is not the truth."

  She paused for a moment as she considered my last statement, "Very well, let us assume you are telling me the truth, and there was no one else with you. Let us assume you were able to gain entrance to the most formidably guarded fortress in the Silver Empire. Let us assume all that to be true. Then, for what purpose are you here?"

  I was hoping she would not ask us that, but because she did, and I did not have an adequate answer, I thought my best course of action was to pretend I did not understand what she was asking, "What do you mean?"

  "I find it hard to believe that both of you, so clearly out of your element, would be here, inside the very fortress our army was attacking, on a random whim of fate. That is what I mean. And if you wish your lessons to be at the very best, minimally bearable, you will end your charade of ignorance and speak truly," she said, the implicit threat woven throughout her verbiage.

  But I was beyond threats and their effects. I had almost nothing remaining to generate any amount of internal hope after finding my sisters under the control of this woman and her lord. Indeed, if I reasoned it out further, I would have been able to say that I had nothing at all to hope for, "Bearable? You assume that your planned tortures in an attempt to convert us would pose as less bearable than my father dying?" I said as my anger grew. "You mean to tell me that seeing my two sisters under your control and transformed into the very likeness of evil will be less bearable than whatever you have planned for me?" I said as stood and walked across our cell to stand as close to her as the bars would allow.r />
  "You do not know the extent of our resolve," she said with a slight grin, "though I do admit, you possess a certain youthful vigor I find pleasing. Perhaps I will take more time with you than your young monk friend here," she said with a provocative hint of seduction. “You are so young, so wounded, and left so alone to wonder why you have been doomed to feel all this pain.” She saw into me, a part of me I had been denying her access to, a part I denied myself access to. But in reality, I longed for someone to see it. My mentor, Kinarin, though adept at instruction in all things assassin, lacked the warm comfort of understanding, an understanding that I needed no matter how much I tried to deny it. “You possess so much power, much more than you are even aware of; but you are held back and confused.” Yes, I was confused. “I could end that confusion for you. I could give you the answers you seek,” she said as she reached through the bars. When her fingers touched my cheek, my eyes closed. It had been so long since I had felt the loving embrace of my mother that I found myself instinctively pressing into her palm. In the tips of her fingers, I found a comfort born from understanding and acceptance. In her palm, I found warmth and surety. And as she caressed down the length of my cheek to my neck, I found solace. Solace and comfort, no matter how twisted, was still a welcomed reprieve from the torturous emotional upheaval my heart was currently enduring. When I should have instinctively pulled away, I did not. "Yes, your breaking will be fun. I may even keep you for myself instead of letting Mordin take you. Your young monk friend, however, will not be so lucky," she said as she withdrew her hand.

  It is almost with a regretful shame I admitted my forlorn longing to have her hand touch my face again. For the first time in many months, she had offered me the comfort of human touch, a comfort I had not felt since my evening with the immortal perfection of the mortal elven woman, Mylanas Ishanduil. But I did not remember Lady Ishanduil's touch with enough clarity, or any for that matter, to assign it even the smallest amount of effect upon my mentality. As it was, this woman's twisted touch was all the compassion I had felt since leaving for the Silver Selection. Had she continued to press her advantage and stepped inside our cell, I am certain there was the chance I would have kneeled in her presence right then and there. But for whatever reason, she turned and walked away, leaving me longing for her fingers again. I was quite certain her reason for leaving was just a method to more quickly gain her complete dominance over me, but regardless of my awareness, it had been effective. At least, until, Vennesulte broke his silence.