Another man, more up in his spirits, sits at a table of three, including himself. Natan Croft. This one doesn’t feel the guilt of who he’s become. Not a slave trader, but a customer. He’s known to make special requests for youth and pays top-shelf prices. Top-shelf prices he cannot afford with his peasant wage. If I don’t empty his pockets and remove his temptations, another will. Unfortunately, there will be bystander casualties with this one. Or not unfortunate. They will likely partake in the game, proving their damnable desires. Every man is capable. Every human.
I pull out the wooden chair at their table and take a seat. Intentionally displaying a devious amount of upper thigh as I swing my leg over the chair. Thankfully the first was a clean kill, leaving my dress and powder unscathed and unstained. It gets tricky when they make it messy, which is also why I leave the cleanup for last.
My mark smiles. “And how can I help you?” he implies the worst.
Being a working man, he is more attractive than the last. He has a hard smile, strong hands, and a muscular build. And judging by his stature, he is a head taller than me. This one will be more pleasurable.
“I’m looking for a man,” I reply. This one, however, may take a bit more work to seduce. The lower the spirit, the easier the target, and his spirit isn’t low. His arrogance has subjected him to believing he has a choice in the women he peruses. He has no choice. He will follow what his cock desires.
“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type. Maybe one of these gentlemen can fulfill your desires?” He gestures to the men in his company. Both show interest with degrading grins.
I look them up and down and turn back to Natan, returning a degrading gesture to the men. “They can watch.” I casually caress his bicep. It’s solid. A genuine seductive smile forms on my lips. “I need a man’s touch.”
“Like I said, you’re not my type.”
“I’m not one of them.” I gesture toward the wenches in the dark corner. “I just need to feel like a woman right now.” His glare narrows. He’s intelligent but not disciplined. And he’s over-confident. He understands there’s a catch, but confident he’ll overcome it. Arrogant, gluttonous, disgusting man. It’s a shame for such a desirable physique.
“Very well. If you’re so eager to be—” I quickly cover his lips with my fingers to shush whatever arrogance was about to piss me off.
“Shh. I have a reputation to uphold.” I lean in and whisper. “Give me a moment. Meet me out back shortly. And bring your companions. I want spectators.” I grab his package with a firm grip and strut away. Yes, he’ll do.
I step into the alley. The drunken slob remains plastered on the ground. The newcomers will think him a slumbering inebriate. The cloaked figure also remains in the corner of the alley. I’m somewhat surprised she stayed put after being called out. It shows determination and strength to hold to her mission, whatever it is. But she is also stupid to take on such a task without directive. Her stealth is lacking and needs to improve. Had she managed to spy on me without notice, I would have discovered her secrets eventually and praised her for her improvement. Tonight, however, she will suffer the consequences.
I plant against the wall of the alley, not quite as far down as my previous kill, and along the opposite wall. I don’t want the men getting too close to him.
Natan struts from the back entrance soon enough. His two comrades in tow. He spots me much quicker than the last and strides down the alley in my direction. The path to death, the ever-shadow so many unknowingly meander toward.
He approaches without conversation. I’m even more impressed. Words are often just noise. He places a hand on my waist and another against the wall above my shoulder, ensnaring me in his arrogance. I enjoy it for the moment.
His men stand several paces off, casually leaning against the opposite wall. They don’t even take notice of Philemon lying dead in a pool of blood.
Natan grabs the back of my neck and aggressively forces himself on me. He lifts me and slams me against the wall. I enjoy every moment of it, stealing his pleasure for my own selfish desires.
When he loses stimulation, he calls on his next companion. Natan bends over to pull up his trousers, and I sweep my kukri from my boot and emancipate him from his manhood from behind. He falls to the ground, motionless, bleeding profusely. Not dead, just in shock.
“Why?” the approaching man exclaims.
He tries to disarm me, and I fend off his attack easily, piercing his gut with my small blade. A crashing noise sounds off in the dark alley. Jaymes is rushing out of the darkness in her hooded cloak. This startles the remaining onlooker. Two men against one murderous woman is a challenge he can handle. Two men against a murderous woman and an unknown dark figure lurking in the alley is something different. He runs for the back entrance, swings open the door, and calls for help. Jaymes slices his throat in the open entrance to The Jack Rose.
She has forced my hand and created a massacre. It is no sweat for me, but she will not swallow this one well. It’s too soon.
Jaymes staggers back from the door, still propped open from the lifeless body. Several men recklessly come sprawling out, each a hero in their own mind—a flesh-bag of waste in mine. I’m wishing I were equipped with my claymore, Bright Shadow, about now. But I will take care of it all the same. The mob sprints toward me in a rage. One by one, I slash throats, puncture ribs, and pierce skulls as they heedlessly bombard me. More than a half-dozen men lie on the ground when I’m finished, and I look up to see Jaymes wisp away into The Jack Rose. She’s attempting to redeem herself by removing the witnesses.
I chase after her and find she has already killed an entire table of onlookers. I whip out my fukiya from my boot and start firing tipped darts throughout the room. Bystanders drop rapidly, some so drunk they are clueless about what is happening around them. Together, we murder everyone in the bar within moments. Jaymes hurdles the bar and is about to take out Jack. I sling my kukri in her direction, and it pierces her shoulder. She halts in her tracks, grabbing her arm, and glares at me.
“Not him.”
Jack, whether out of fear or anger, disappears into the back room without a word. I presume both. He’s not going to agree to my return after this. He may never have another customer for me to return to.
“Your stealth must improve if you are to assassinate the Taoiseach!” I demand of Jaymes.
Jaymes’s lips move, and an ungodly sound comes from her mouth, but not words. Her two-tipped snake-like nub of a tongue won’t allow such.
“Enough! Why do you even try? When you prove yourself worthy, we’ll get that tongue to grow back. With your performance tonight, I don’t believe that time will ever come.” Her eyes hang low, but she stands attentively. Obediently waiting to be disciplined. “Why did you even come here? It’s not the spying that bothers me. It’s your reckless behavior. Unless the Taoiseach himself has directed this, you have no business here. You have made a disaster out of an evening of pleasure.” Jaymes winces at the last few words. She doesn’t understand my dark heart. There is only one who ever will. I attempt to dissolve her confusion, regardless.
“I’m not a murderer, you know. I’m a vigilante. These men are scum, and it is a means to subdue my lust for blood. I’ve told you before, my heart is beyond repair, and death is a part of me. It is my calling. Whether you make it your calling is up to you, but I don’t recommend it. Not this.” I raise a leg onto the nearest stool to sheath my kukri and slip my fukiya back into my boot. “You’ve done well tonight in terms of killing. It is coming easier to you. As a Shadow, you must be able to do it. But you need not lust for it as I do.” I pause, wondering whether I lecture further. I do. “And if the Taoiseach is your ultimate goal, you are failing. This is not good enough.” I wave an arm about the room. Blood has replaced lust throughout the lounge.
Her head tilts upward, and I see the white of her eyes from beneath her hooded cloak. They are fearful. Distressed. Ambitious.
“I presume you wonder why I tolerat
e the idea of assassinating the Taoiseach. I have no desire to share my motives with you, but to be blunt—because that is the best way to speak—I don’t think you can do it. You will never succeed. Anything short of decapitation in his sleep will not work. And even that may not kill him. You’ll have to figure it out on your own. But first, you must improve your skills. Your talent is unmistakably great, but it is nothing if your skills can’t take you the rest of the way. You’d be dead tonight if I were the Taoiseach. Dead!” I belittle her with my eyes, but she doesn’t dare make direct eye contact. “You will clean this mess up, since you were so eager to participate in this evening’s extracurricular activities. You will leave no evidence.”
This new leader cares nothing for knowledge. He is young. His instincts are lacking, and he doesn’t listen. He has torn us apart. And it is a blessing. Now, we start anew.
36 Goose
A score of sunrises passes, and each morning is not much different than the preceding one. I awake to a fresh tray of exotic fruits and nuts delivered on a wooden platter and an enthusiastic Graytu telling me, Use your Instincts. Listen. Your talents are limitless. Today is the day. Not one of those days had been the day of my success. Primarily due to my infirmities, but I doubt they would have been even if I were in good health.
I lie in bed all day from sunup to sundown, anxious to be free of the confines of my stagnant bed chamber. The broken leg and cracked ribs have kept me bedridden since the incident. The Redcliffe Village is lacking Healers, so I am forced to be patient while my body mends itself. Again, not a life I am accustomed to.
Chippie has become less of an annoyance to me. I no longer see him as a meal but a friend, as Chief Graytu does. He speaks to me. And I know it is a key to befriending the Redcliffe Guardian. Chippie greets me daily when Graytu arrives, and I attempt to greet him in return, but that is all I’ve done. I can listen, but I know not how to communicate. I will keep working at it.
Helios and Coloss are both alive and well after their battle. Helios added several more scars to what a lifetime has already given him, but nothing life-threatening. All his wounds have been tended to, and he’s been residing in the elevated stable on the far side of the village while he recovers his strength.
Graytu and Fairview have convinced me to suffer through some poignant and distasteful healing techniques, promising my recovery would be hasty if I allowed it. In addition to the unnatural healing tricks, they have also proceeded to teach me the histories of the culture, the talents, the wildlife, and much more, as if I were a greenhorn in the Academy. It has been an insufferable experience all around.
“Use your Instincts. Listen. Your talents are limitless. Today is the day.” An extremely redundant comment bellows from the doorway to my hollow, and Chippie comes prancing onto my chest. I stroke his soft fur.
“Today is not the day!” I snap back at Graytu. “Yesterday was not the day. And tomorrow will not be the day. I’ve failed, Graytu. I’m not worthy.”
“Ah. I see,” he replies in a flat tone.
It flares my anger when he does that. “You see what? That a flower blooms in the night and a gopher can fly like a bat? Your words create tangles and knots in my brain. They mean nothing to me.”
“A gopher, no, but his distant cousin, the squirrel, yes. Aha! Today is the day,” Graytu replies, infuriating me yet deflating me even more.
“I told you already, I’ve failed. I’ve failed you; I’ve failed Jaymes; I’ve failed Stone; I’ve failed my family; I’ve failed my father. I don’t know how to bridge the gap. It’s hopeless. I tried befriending Coloss because I thought he was the key, but I failed. He took my gift and tossed me to the side like an infidel. I’ve trekked up and down the ravine for leagues without finding a single place to cross. Only the men of the Old Races had the power to cross that ravine and scale that wall. I’m out of ideas, and patience has fled my will.”
“Do you recall what I told you on the morning you set your regal beast and the Redcliffe Guardian into a frenzy?” Graytu asks.
“You said the same thing you always do. ‘Use your Instincts. Listen. Your talents are limitless. Today is the day.’” I say it mockingly. “And then you proceeded with an abundance of random words I cannot comprehend.”
“You are not listening. You are correct, but to be more specific, humiliation. The nut was easily obtained, and you have lost it in your haste to bury it. You have gained nothing. You must learn from your past. Do not just toss it aside to become a mere memory full of anguish and pain. You must learn.”
“Once again, your words give me a headache,” I say to him as I rub my brow.
“Not true. That is likely the brandy we’ve been feeding you to numb your pains. It was once called a hangover. Today, I’m not sure what the youth are calling it. I know you’re young, and you’ve probably never experienced one, but—”
“I know what a hangover is,” I interject. “It’s been an everyday occurrence for me since I was first incarcerated by you. And, yes, it’s still referred to as a hangover.”
“Well, there you go then. Don’t blame my tongue. You said it.”
Graytu smiles facetiously then proceeds to lecture me about everything he’s been attempting to teach me over the duration of my recovery. “Time to put aside your hangover. Today is the day for growing. Have you ever heard of Instincts?” Graytu asks.
“Of course I have.” I throw my hands in the air, and a searing pain shoots through my body, down to my legs.
“No, not instincts. Instincts. You’re sixth sense, as some may call it.”
“Yes. That’s what I just said.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me correctly. I said—”
“Yes!” I interject yet again. He truly knows how to test my patience. “I know what instincts are. I learned of it while I was at the Academy. They lecture on the topic in the stealth and guile courses. I’m no master, and my understanding is it isn’t even something you can master. It’s more of an emotion, a feeling. Something that cannot be controlled. At least not on the inside where it is truly occurring. What of it?”
“Ah… Master, you’re not. That is for certain,” he replies. I roll my eyes at him, but he fails to react. “We have two different perspectives of the same word. Yours must be sacrificed and tossed to the wayside so the wolves can devour it. It is scrap. It is waste. It is useless if you ever intend to overcome your obstacles. If mastered—and yes, it can be mastered—it can give a man uninhibited control of the life he lives, and quite possibly a short glimpse into the future if you understand how to use it to its fullest. That is all I can say, but know if you secure it, it will enhance the judgment of all the decisions you make.”
“Where are you from? Were you raised in Farrow, by any chance? They spend their lives learning about hogwash like that.”
“You have potential, but your mind is filled only with what the Taoiseach has allowed. And patience evades you. Now, use your Instincts. Listen. Your talents are limitless. Today is the day. Seek your youthful knowledge, and you will succeed.” Graytu sets down his daily delivery at my bedside. A generous ration of fruit and nuts.
“Graytu…” I calm, leaving the anger behind. “…can you speak to me in the common tongue? No riddles, rhymes, or clues to follow. Simple questions and simple answers.”
“That is all I ever do, lad. Simple questions and simple answers. You’re looking too deep. Keep it simple.”
“Keep it simple,” I repeat while trying to understand what he means by simple.
Graytu then gives me something I’ve never experienced before. A smile. Not just any smile, but a smile that radiates pride. The pride of a father looking down upon his son when he is proud of his accomplishments. Something my own father has never shown me. But he was too tied up in his duties as a general. He is a great man with great achievements. I cannot blame him for not knowing how to raise a son. He is a worthy general. He’s not a worthy father.
I can’t explain why Graytu gives m
e that smile, but I see it. And it reignites my confidence to the level it needs to be. I am worthy.
Unfortunately, my body isn’t. “Graytu? How much longer before I can flee this bed and get back on my feet?”
“Goose of House Greyson…” he pauses dramatically, “… that is solely up to you. Like I said, today and all the previous mornings… Use your Instincts. Listen. Your talents are limitless. Today is the day. And be sure to try the kiwi! It will lift you up.” His eyes light up, then he turns and exits my hollow.
I brace myself for pain and sit up, escaping the comfort of my linens to tame the hunger rising in my stomach. To my surprise, Graytu has left me more than just fruits and nuts today. There is a large slab of seared red meat lying on the tray beside the other grub. My stomach grumbles, and my mouth waters. I devour a good majority of the fruits and nuts, leaving the meat untouched, soaking in its own deep-red juices. I save it for last so I can savor every bite. Then, I think about how my morning will go when the meat is gone. It will begin the same as yesterday and all the days prior since my incident with the Redcliffe Guardian. And all the confidence that came to me when Graytu shared that fatherly pride is gone. Instead of eating the meat, I lie back down and sulk in my misery, not wanting to touch it because then I would have devoured the only good thing I have left.
How can I simply toss away all the knowledge my father has given me? That is what Graytu is asking of me, isn’t it? To toss out what I know and start fresh. If only Stone were here by my side. He’d fix me up, and I could be on my way. Back the way I came. I cannot let go of what my father has given me. I just can’t. I need to get away from this place.
“How’d you like the special treat? What! I should have guessed a Sheela like you wouldn’t eat the red meat.” A much-needed visitor enters the room. “They’ve gotten into your head, Goose. It’s a shame.”
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 45