Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  “That is a very complicated question, Drin,” he said. “It depends in large part to the amount of their mind that is yet remaining.”

  “Amount of their mind?” I asked for further clarification.

  “Yes. The breaking process, as with all things, is just that. A process. That is because there are many ‘parts’ of the mind that must be broken through before one’s identity can be altered completely. Think of like this: you are familiar with onions, are you not?” he asked and waited for my answer.

  “Of course,” I said, almost offended at the insinuation that any farmer would not be so. Apparently, he found my abrupt response humorous because it drew a smile from his normally grave features.

  “Then you are also familiar that before you get to the heart of the onion, you must first peel away many layers?” he asked.

  “Yes. Are you telling me that the mind is like an onion? That it has many layers to it that are separate from the others?”

  “In a way, it is. But it also functions together, as a unit.”

  “Can my sisters’ layers be restored?”

  “All things can be restored, Drin, until the moment when the heart has been changed. If the heart is gone, so too is the mind.”

  “Do you think their hearts have been changed?”

  “No, I do not think so. They were not in their training long enough for that,” he said, but I could tell he was not completely convinced.

  Interrupting him from continuing and me from asking further questions, we heard a sharply loud, high-pitched shriek from above. As our eyes were instinctively drawn to the sky, we saw a small speck impossibly high. It seemed to be hovering in the air, but after a short moment, we could see that it was descending. Another loud shriek. The bird was diving toward us at an incredible rate. At first, it seemed as though it was going to attack us, as if we had threatened its youth concealed in its nest, but then it slowed by quickly spreading its wings. When it did, I breathed a sigh of relief and noticed that my hand had instinctively clenched my dagger. As it drew nearer, I could see that it was carrying something in its talon. As I watched the bird glide toward us, I was surprised to see Kinarin stretch his arm out and even more surprised to see the bird, now identifiable as a type of falcon, land effortlessly on his forearm. Kinarin took a few moments to affectionately pet the bird along its back and head, and then plucked a small scroll from its closed talon. As if knowing he was about to read it, the falcon hopped to his shoulder. Kinarin, unrolled the scroll and silently read its contents.

  When he finished, he had a momentary lapse from his normally stoic demeanor and tilted his head backward, closing his eyes. He then let it drop and subtly shook it from side to side. After a few seconds, he looked up to me, inhaled, exhaled and then said, “It appears we must go to Pretago Cor. We have just been summoned by the Guild Master.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked him.

  “Usually when she imposes a personal meeting, it is because she is impressed with the body of work and wants to meet in person before assigning a more important mark. But seeing as how we were unsuccessful in our last endeavor, it is more likely that she will reprimand us for our failure,” he said as he positioned himself behind the cart.

  “What does that mean?” I asked again.

  “It could mean several things, Drin. I am not privy to her thoughts or intentions. None are. But I can tell you this: depending on the repercussions of our failure, it is possible our very lives could be threatened,” he said before he put his shoulder into my sisters’ temporary wooden bed.

  “Our lives could be threatened!” I repeated his statement in disbelief. “But even you said I should have never been given that assignment!”

  “Yes. That is what I said. But that is not what happened. And what happened is you missed and our mark lived,” he said as he rested his hands on the wooden ledge. I was frozen by disbelief. How could our lives be at risk for failing in what Kinarin described as an almost impossible mission without adequate time for preparation? He saw my anger growing, but stopped it before it grew out of proportion, “Now, are you going to help push this cart, or am I going to have push it to Haberdale all by myself?” Having been disarmed by his question, I joined him by putting my shoulder against the back and began to push.

  “How far is Haberdale?” I asked not long into our journey.

  “Less than three days to the south, normally. But with this cart, it is closer to a week,” he said.

  Thankfully, his estimation was longer than the time our journey actually required. In a little less than five days, we arrived on the outskirts of the city. And it was a good thing because we were out of the serum used to subdue my sisters. Aside from a couple of their attempts to escape, one of which involved trying to kill me, we met with little incidence. After the second attempt, Kinarin thought it better to keep them subdued the entire time without a reprieve. I would normally have agreed reluctantly; however, because Hithelyn had managed to steal my dagger and nearly slit my throat, any reluctance I might have had was replaced with eagerness. She might have been successful had the falcon not dived out of the sky at just the right moment disrupting her success.

  “Drin, we will need supplies for the next part of our journey. I have compiled a list of them including those we will need to make more of the potion. A city like this is likely to ask questions if they see someone who is not known to them in their market. Purchase what we need quickly and do not delay in your return,” he said as he finished writing the list on a small piece of parchment. “Please, do not tarry and do your best to remain unseen. These little cities can be more treacherous than they appear.”

  As he handed me the list, I asked, “Would it not be better if you went instead of me?”

  “No. I will remain here with your sisters in case there are any developments with them,” he answered.

  “I will return as soon as I can,” I said as I turned to make my way down to the market.

  I did not like these times, when I was alone and my attention was not consumed by a meaningful, life-threatening task. It was in these times that my attention, either purposefully or without a purposeful direction, focused on what I had become. What was I? If defined by deeds, I was a killer, both with intention and without. First my father had died because of my very existence. Then there was the mistaken assassination of an unintended target. Lord Myosk was supposed to die by my arrow, instead, another man had perished because my shot was errant. Thirdly, the only one where my deed reflected the intent of my will, was my mother. Even the necessary death of a relatively unknown young man weighed upon me.

  The weather reflected my current identity driven mood perfectly. The sky was grey without any delineation between the clouds. There seemed to be a slowness to the air that caused its effect to be more droning than normal. The day was dismal. And so was I. Had it not been for the list in my hand, a list I realized I was clinging to more tightly than normal, I might have walked all the way to the horizon. But as the contents on this list were needed to help my sisters, I was able to cling to my current purpose much like I was clinging to the piece of parchment.

  I entered the city from the eastern path. As it was not fortified with an outer wall and the only signs of defense were twin guards posted under the archway indicating its formal boundary, I had no difficulty with my infiltration. It was not very large when compared to the larger cities of the provinces, but it was not small either. It did have established residential, commercial, and mercantile districts, along with a separate market. But unlike the Stone Keep, the districts themselves were relatively small. As with most villages and cities of the area, the market was located centrally with all roads leading to and from it. The layout reminded me largely of my home city of Twin Oaks.

  Even the people were similar. I saw many families in the market area browsing the various stations. There were mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, and brothers and sisters. My attention was particularly drawn to a father and son duo whose
ages were almost the identical reflection of myself and my father. Had they not been standing behind one of the pelt trader’s booths, I would still have been able to tell they were not farmers. Their hands showed signs of callouses similar to the traditional finger patterns of repeated bow and arrow usage. Had I not seen in the youth the same innocence I saw in myself before I left for the selection, I might have mistaken him for a selectee who had been assigned to the trader. But as it was, he lacked the forlorn melancholy present in those who have had to leave family and friends behind.

  For a moment, I began to fixate upon the condition of my current family and my eyes began to tear up; however, I was drawn out of that viscous circle of devolvement by a particularly odd family; however, their oddity was not centered around their appearance. There was a woman of middle years who was toting around her three daughters as they progressed through their daily list of purchases. I wagered the ages of the girls to be about twelve, nine, and five respectively and the mother to be roughly in her late thirties, though I had never been adept at judging ages, least of all in women. Their clothes were normal and blended into the normality of Haberdale as if they had been their all their lives. Indeed, there was nothing outstanding regarding their physicality that identified them as out of place.

  It was the woman’s behavior, however, that betrayed her as not quite normal on this most normal of mornings in the city. Whereas every and all other of the market’s inhabitants, both vendors and patrons, glazed over my presence with nothing more than a momentary glance with barely an acknowledgment, her eyes dwelt upon my face with a stunned understanding as if a ghost had just been made to wake and walk mortal again. Because I was very aware of our group’s precarious situation, I did not want to do anything beyond what a normal citizen would. So, I did not return her stare. But that did not mean I was not focused on her within the periphery of my vision.

  I saw a man approach her and give her a kiss on her cheek providing me with the opportunity to step into the shadows and disappear from her notice. I smoothly ducked behind a group of three hooded priests. I pulled my hood up to further blend in. In the briefest of moments, I had changed from a local resident just out on a morning task at the market to a priest of the Righteous Order deep in the meditation of divine thoughts. It was fortunate that the group of monks I chose to become was walking toward the woman and her family because it offered me a closer, and most importantly, unseen opportunity to observer her. But when I passed them by, the slight tilt of my head must have been enough to draw her attention because we locked eyes. And while it drew nothing of connection or even the slightest recognition from me, it pulled from her a stare that betrayed a deep pain. The kind of pain that is created in the most intimate of knowings when those knowings were betrayed in the most devastatingly intimate manner possible.

  I saw the man who had previously approach her whisper something in her ear and the youngest of her daughters pull on her sleeve. He whispered something again and the daughter pulled with enough force to cause the mother to lose her balance, thus breaking our gaze. Our group of four rounded the corner and, just before all four of us entered into the temple through the opened door, I ducked behind one of the tall and broad posts supporting a large overhang out of everyone’s notice, or so I thought. “Hey, you there!” said a raised voice, “What are you doing?”

  I turned to face him, but my eyes were doubled back to focus on a picture hanging on the post I was hiding behind. It was a wanted poster with a reward of one thousand gold pieces to whoever captured the likeness of the face drawn below. The paper was ages old and very warn around the edges suggesting that either the perpetrator had been arrested and this poster was forgotten about, or more likely, that they criminal was never apprehended. At first notice, I thought the picture was of me and not just because my name was on it either. The picture of the criminal resembled me to an uncanny degree. In fact, the only reason I did not believe the picture was of me was because I had never been to Haberdale before and could not have committed any crime inside of its borders. Therefore, there was no logical reason my face and name would be on a wanted poster.

  “You there!” said the voice again. “What are you doing there?”

  Instinctively I covered the face on the poster and turned to answer him, “I am just passing through and needed to resupply in your market.”

  “What is your name?” asked the guard. I could see that he was young, but not as young as me. He probably did not see the likeness of my face to the poster’s, but that did not mean he would not know the name.

  “Kinarin,” I lied, “Kinarin Rhorkall.”

  Instantly the guard drew his sword, “Raise your hands!” he said with an extreme amount of alarm in his voice.

  I was about to respond when he interrupted me, “Raise your hands! Now!” he said loudly, beginning to draw attention from others. I raised my hands slowly so I did not draw any unwanted reaction from him and increase the already elevated level of attention he had drawn.

  He turned his head to look for any other guards, giving me the opportunity I needed. One of the skills Kinarin had taught me was how to ready oneself for action without appearing to do so. So, while I was slowly raising my hands, the other aspects of my body were drawing upon my muscular skill set to advance. My legs dropped into a coiled and readied position as I slightly turned, setting my stronger side closer to him. When he turned his head, my hesitation was absent and my action was definite. I slide stepped, closing the gap more quickly than he was trained to defend even if his attention had been focused fully on me. I used my left arm to strike at his forward wrist, the one gripping his sword, knocking it upward and out of position to do harm. While I maintained contact with his wrist, I jutted the fingers of my right hand to the soft and exposed part of his armor under his armpit. My fingers sank deep into the squishy substance of muscle, artery, and nerve. A follow through step with my front leg allowed me to collapse my striking arm at the elbow using it to deliver a devastating blow to the side of his face. I stepped through and gripped his wrist pulling down as hard as I could. The momentum generated from my step through allowed me to flip him onto his back. As he landed, I saw blood on his face from his split lip and broken nose. He was breathing, but not conscious. I grabbed the wanted poster and blended back into the normality of Haberdale’s morning routine with none the wiser.

  I kept my hood up as I walked through the streets; the sun now much higher than it was when I began my chore. I was fairly confident Kinarin would understand why I returned without any of the supplies we needed to purchase. But in all honestly, that was the furthest thing from my mind. What demanded its attention equally were two new things. Firstly, how could anyone have recognized me in Haberdale? I had never been there before. Furthermore, and most disturbing, is what connection could possibly exist to evoke that deep of an emotional response from someone who was a total stranger to me? Not to mention, how in the world could my name have ended up on a wanted poster? And apparently, Kinarin was just as infamous as I was in Haberdale. It was his name, after all, that produced the reaction from the unfortunate guard that ended in his unconsciousness.

  As I walked to our location, I saw Kinarin administering the last of our serum for my sisters, “I thought we did not have any more?” I asked.

  “I split the dosage to buy us slightly more time. But it will not last long. They will wake soon. Their strength is growing,” he said. “Did you find everything we needed?” he asked.

  “We have a problem,” I said as I showed him the wanted poster.

  He took the poster, looking it over for a few moments, and then turned his attention back to me, “What happened? I thought I told you to do everything you could to stay away from notice.”

  “I did everything. I took all precautions to blend in, but there was a woman,” I said and let the simple comment linger. Kinarin did not say anything for a brief second closing his eyes as if he had resigned to something.

  “Tell me what happe
ned,” he instructed.

  After I retold him the story, being very careful not to leave anything out, he turned and walked over to the cart where he had just finished placing my sisters for their potion induced slumber. He put his hands on its sides and I saw him grow distant. Though he seemed to be focusing on the wagon, he was anywhere but. “Kinarin, what do we do?” I asked.

  He slowly raised his head and looked at me over his turned shoulder, “We do nothing. You stay here. I will purchase what we need.”

  “Are you sure that is wise? They know your name,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, they do, but it has been many years since they knew me,” he said.

  “What do you mean? And how did my name and face get on that wanted poster?” I asked.

  “It is not your name and face,” he said gravely.

  “Yes, it is,” I protested. “I saw them both and it is clearly my face with the name ‘Drin Martos’ written under it.”

  “No. It is not your face nor your name that has caused our dilemma,” he said as he walked over to me. Looking me squarely in my eyes with the compassion of a thousand forgiven lies, he said, “They are mine.”

  Stunned. That was my response. I was stunned. I had formed some of my own theories while returning from the city, but none of them remotely entertained his answer as even a possibility. They were his name and his face? My mind was completely unequipped to handle his admission because with it, came a whole cascade of information I was currently rejecting. Its ramifications were beyond any reality I was able to allow. As I stood, with nothing coming from my mouth, he said, “Drin, stay here with your sisters. I will return with what we need. Under no circumstance are you to follow me. Do you understand?” he asked. But when I returned only stunned silence again, he gently placed his had on my shoulder repeating his question, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said weakly.

  “Good,” he said as he turned to walk to town. But before he left, he looked back over his shoulder, showing an empathetic component to his persona I previously thought he lacked, “I understand you have questions. I would have them as well. I will answer them all. But first, we must obtain what supplies we need and be away from this town.” I nodded in understanding because I was still stunned into a vocally catatonic state. “Good,” he said. “I will be back soon.”