Kilig the Sword

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Kilig the Sword Page 27

by Barbara G. Tarn


  Hakeem walked there feeling lighter at every step. He'd see Kilig one last time and then it would be over.

  ***

  Kilig was startled by Hakeem's visit. He wasn't expecting the young man to knock on Gauri's door with his most innocent smile.

  "How did you find me?" he asked bluntly, jarred.

  "I asked Rahul," Hakeem answered. "Will you let me in, or do you want all the neighbors to see me hug you and kiss you?"

  "I don't want you to hug me and kiss me," he muttered, but backed away and let Hakeem in since he didn't want to display his own business in the street. Gauri was in a back room and she wouldn't even notice the visitor.

  They both stood in her entrance, Kilig embarrassed by Hakeem's adoring stare and unable to look at him.

  "What do you want, Hakeem?"

  "I've come to ask you something," Hakeem said, keeping his hands behind his back.

  "Shoot."

  "Will you give me a merciful death?"

  "What?" Kilig stared incredulous at Hakeem. "Are you out of your mind?"

  "No, I'm aware I've wronged you and deserve punishment and my last wish is that you do it instead of asking somebody else. I know you don't love me anymore, what I did is unforgivable..."

  "I do forgive you," Kilig snapped, jarred.

  "You don't know what I've done after you left. And you don't love me anymore." Hakeem smiled. "Therefore I'm asking you to kill me with a quick noose job."

  "No!" Kilig exploded, outraged. He'd had enough of killing and he didn't hate Hakeem enough to want him dead. He actually felt sorry for Saif's son and didn't understand what he was ashamed of. "Hakeem, it's time you grow up and take responsibility for your mistakes! You can't take the easy way out!"

  Hakeem rolled his eyes and then put his arms around Kilig's neck.

  "Kilig, I love you, and if I can't have you, I'd rather be dead." His lips sought Kilig's, but the kiss tasted sour. Hakeem's smile as he pulled back was rueful. "You can't bear my touch anymore," he continued, letting go. "I don't blame you. I was stupid, and did even worse things than those threesomes... did Guisarme tell you how I spent my time in Darantasia?"

  "No, you're not a topic of discussion with Guisarme," Kilig replied. "Hakeem, you have one child, probably a second on the way..."

  "Ah, yes, it's a boy, Corabella delivered two days ago." Hakeem shrugged, lowering his eyes.

  "Well don't you think it's time you start being a father to those children?" Kilig chided.

  "Why? They have fathers." Hakeem retorted. "And I don't know how to be a father. I never had one!"

  "Of course you did." Kilig glared at him.

  "Oh, just because Saif dumped you for me and my mother you think he was a good father? He was a shitty father, Kilig, your beloved acharya was just a sick old man who liked boys and never taught me anything about life and family and..."

  Kilig saw red. How dare Hakeem say those awful things about Saif. The little bastard knew nothing! His hands wrapped around Hakeem's neck and he squeezed, clenching his teeth.

  He'd never strangled anyone with his bare hands – preferring the noose for a quicker job – but Hakeem didn't offer any resistance.

  Saif's son didn't struggle and just shut up. Hakeem's willingness to die was obvious since he didn't react when Kilig's fingers compressed the airways and interfered with the flow of blood in his neck. Kilig's chokehold became deadly and Hakeem slowly smiled. "Thank you," were his last mouthed words.

  Kilig let go and the rage subsided. He finally realized that Hakeem had said those things on purpose. He had to drive him mad to have his merciful death.

  As the young man's body collapsed, Kilig closed his eyes, trying to regain control. He had killed in anger. All those years of training and Hakeem had tricked him into killing again, completely losing control of his emotions.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the limp body, the green eyes now fixed and the slight smile on those lips that had driven him crazy for so long. He knelt by Hakeem's side, closed his eyes and sighed. He took him in his arms, carrying him like a bride, and slowly went back to the Assassins' Guild building, where he knocked with his foot since his hands were busy.

  Sabre opened and gasped at the sight of Hakeem who looked asleep except for the finger marks on his neck and the paleness of his skin.

  "Kilig, what..."

  "Help me prepare his funeral pyre," he said, stepping in.

  The actual funeral was held in the courtyard of the school, with Guisarme standing next to Kilig, and Sabre, Anelace and the children on the other side.

  "Are you all right?" Guisarme asked as they gathered Hakeem's ashes to take them to the temple.

  "Yeah. He joined his parents, I guess."

  "What happened? You fought six months ago, couldn't you forgive him?"

  "I had forgiven him, but I don't love him anymore. The passion was gone on my side – not on his. I feel like I failed him. Maybe if I hadn't left when I did, he wouldn't have fallen."

  "He was never a strong person in the first place." Guisarme shrugged. "Unlike you, he always depended on others. Probably because he found you to cling to when his father died, and never had to fend for himself. How did he die, though? I had managed to stop him from killing himself – and trust me, he was close to self-destructing completely!"

  "He came to me and requested merciful death. I refused to give it to him, so he said things he didn't mean to drive me over the edge."

  "So you killed him."

  "Yes. He still loved me – too much."

  Guisarme shook her head with a sigh.

  "He was weak," she said. "You were the strong one."

  "So why do I feel like crying?" Kilig asked with a lump in his throat.

  "Because you loved him, and you still cared for him even if the passion was gone. You think you failed him, but he was an adult and can only blame himself for his fall. You can cry, Kilig, nobody will blame you. But then you must move on."

  "I know." Kilig put the lid on the urn of Hakeem's ashes. "Come with me to the temple?"

  "Sure." Guisarme smiled, shooing away Anelace and Sabre.

  Kilig left the building without looking back.

  BONUS STORY

  Fighting Monks School

  1.

  "Get off of him, boy!"

  Shamsher grabbed Sunil's collar and dragged him away from his half-brother, who lay panting on the sandy ground.

  "You're wicked, Sunil," Shamsher scolded, putting him on his feet and pushing him away from the sandy arena that was their training ground.

  Sunil glared at Shamsher who had once more taken Nikhil's side even if his half-brother was older and supposedly more skilled than him. Then he stomped to the tent to find respite from the scorching sun, muttering to himself.

  Just because I'm thirteen and the youngest of the camp doesn't mean I'm harmless. He grabbed a flask of water and half drank, half showered his head with it.

  "Sunil," his father called.

  Sunil put down the flask and went to sit next to the elder on the rugged carpet.

  "Why are you pouting?" his father asked, amused.

  "I beat Nikhil again, but Shamsher spoiled the fun," Sunil grumbled. "What's the point of wrestling if I can't enjoy my successes?"

  His father chuckled.

  "I think it's time I send you back to town," he said, thoughtful. "You're definitely ready."

  Sunil stared at him in shock. "You're sending me away? What am I being punished for?"

  "It's not a punishment, Sunil," his father assured him. "It's actually your very first, very secret assignment."

  "Oh? But I haven't finished my training yet," he objected, puzzled.

  "I want you to finish it in Agharek."

  Sunil sighed and averted his eyes. He didn't want to go back to his father's official assassins' school. He liked Shamsher's version a lot more, even if it was a camp in the ruins of a forgotten city – and Nikhil was there too.

  "And no, not at our school," h
is father continued, amused. "Can you keep a secret?"

  "Of course," Sunil answered, staring at him again, curious now.

  His father fumbled with his tunic, taking off the sash and pulling it up to show his belly. A strange scar that looked like a symbol – the letter Z – stood out quite red against the pale skin.

  "Do you know what this is?"

  Sunil shook his head, puzzled.

  "It's the seal of the Goddess Zindagi."

  "When did you get that?" Sunil asked, incredulous.

  "When I was in my twenties." His father covered the strange scar again. "Looks brand new, doesn't it?"

  Sunil nodded, impressed. His father, who was now almost sixty, leaned forward.

  "I want you to go to the monastery of Zindagi and complete your training with the fighting monks," he said in a low voice. "I want you to learn the secret of the spell imbued in the Goddess's seal."

  "But... why me?" Sunil asked, panicking. "Why not Nikhil?"

  "He's already sixteen, the courses start at thirteen. And since you have training, you might be able to skip a year or two, and spend six or seven years there instead of eight."

  "And why didn't you send him when he was the right age?"

  "Because Nikhil was already too close to Shamsher, and I don't want any of them to know about this." His father straightened, staring at him, determined. "You see, Shamsher's father gave this to me."

  "I thought Shamsher's parents were assassins born in Agharek, like us!"

  "Yes, but Talwar's parents thought he should learn different techniques to enrich our school. He introduced the pole-arm into our guild. That's a commoner's weapon, not an assassin's."

  "So why didn't you tell Shamsher?"

  "His father hurt me, and then he sent him to Agharek without telling him what the monks could teach him. So I admitted him to our school. I'm grooming him to avenge me, but I want to be able to control him. And since he seduced Nikhil, you're my only hope. Will you do it, Sunil?"

  "Yes, Father," Sunil answered, lowering his eyes with a sigh.

  ***

  A senior member of the Assassins' Guild took Sunil back to Agharek and left him at the door of the monastery, with a letter from his father to the abbot. Sunil knocked and was admitted to a waiting room with wooden benches. The place looked spartan – much like the camp, except for the stone walls instead of tents – but noisy and bustling with life. On his way in he'd seen dozens of boys practicing weapons in the courtyard under the supervision of monks.

  Soon he sat in front of the abbot, Bhai Sundar, a tall man with short black hair who stared intently at him, probably assessing him.

  "Welcome to the fighting monks school, Sunil," the abbot said. "I'm surprised your father decided to send you here to complete your training, but it's not unheard of."

  "How many assassins attended this school?" Sunil asked, genuinely curious.

  "A few." Bhai Sundar smiled. "But only one graduated and went on as layman. I sure hope he gave up his assassin's name and lived a peaceful life as a father."

  "If it's the one my father met, he left the guild, moved to Godwalkar and had just one son, because his wife died and he never remarried," Sunil said with a shrug.

  "Oh. What a pity." The man sighed.

  "Have you met him?" Sunil asked.

  "For one year we trained together. I had just joined and he completed the training and left. But let's get back to you, shall we? I assume you already have some prowess with weapons."

  "I'm good with arrows, brass wheels and the noose. And I can beat my brother who is three years older than me in wrestling matches," Sunil answered proudly.

  The abbot smiled. "You can forget the noose, here. And poisons. We will teach you the use of swords and the pole-arm. And then there's the religious part, since this is a religious school..."

  "I'm ready." Sunil grinned. "I like Zindagi, goddess of life."

  "Interesting choice for an assassin's son. Let's hope you'll join us instead of following in your father's footsteps!"

  "We'll see. When is my admission test?"

  Bhai Sundar glanced out of the window at the solar clock on the bell tower.

  "Since it's time to go back to the classrooms for everybody else, let's do it now," he decided, rising from his stool.

  Sunil followed him back to the courtyard where the physical training had stopped and a bell was calling everybody inside. Students were gathering their things, putting on their colored vestments and heading up different staircases, chattering under the monks' supervision.

  "Bhai Muskurana!" the abbot called.

  One of the monks turned around and walked towards them. Sunil was impressed by how well built the man was. He must be in his thirties, like Shamsher, but much better off. Sunil wondered why such a handsome man had chosen to be a fighting monk and taken the chastity vow.

  "Sunil is a new student," the abbot told Bhai Muskurana. "His father sent him here to complete his training. Can you please test his abilities, so we can decide which class he should be in?"

  Sunil blushed under the monk's curious stare.

  "How old are you and what training did you have so far?" Bhai Muskurana asked.

  "I'm thirteen, but I started training at six," Sunil answered.

  "Assassins' school," the abbot added. "His father is also known as Khopesh."

  They exchanged a knowing glance. Fighting monks were not the only ones who lost their birth name when they took the vow. It was like joining the Assassins' Guild. And the monks obviously knew the name of the Head of the Guild – past or present – even if they worked on opposite fronts.

  Zindagi's monks fought to protect life, assassins usually killed in cold blood for money. Sunil hadn't killed anyone yet, but he knew what awaited him in his family's trade. If he could become like Bhai Muskurana, maybe the abbot's wish might come true – he'd leave the Guild and become a fighting monk.

  Bhai Muskurana's lips twitched in a repressed smile as he looked at Sunil again.

  "Very well," he said, taking off his hooded brown vestment for freedom of movement. Underneath he had a sleeveless short tunic that showed off his muscles. "Let's see how good you are."

  Sunil dropped his backpack and followed him to the middle of the courtyard for a wrestling match. Bhai Muskurana was better built than Shamsher and Sunil didn't know him, so he remained cautious and defensive until he could figure out how to pin a bigger man to the ground.

  They circled each other, then the monk attacked, throwing him to the ground. But Sunil was nimble enough to squeeze out of the submissive position and attack, reversing the roles for a moment. He couldn't keep the adversary still, not even jumping on his back, so they rolled on the cobbled courtyard, trying to pin each other down. The struggle didn't last long, and the teacher blocked his breathless student down.

  The abbot clapped his hands, coming forward.

  "Well done, Sunil."

  Bhai Muskurana helped him to his feet with a smile.

  "You're good," he said. "I think we can put you with the fifteen-year-olds."

  Sunil was still catching his breath and decided not to mention again that he could beat a sixteen-year-old. He was used to Nikhil's fighting skills, but it was obviously different with someone you didn't know. He'd still be fighting boys two years older than him and that was enough of a challenge for now.

  "Show him his dormitory, Bhai," the abbot said with a smile. "He can start his classes tomorrow. Third year, yellow vestment."

  ***

  "Who told you to take that bed?"

  The dormitory filled after a crowded dinner in the canteen, during which Sunil had observed the other boys without talking to anyone. It was his first meeting with his dorm mates. And the boy standing next to him with his fists on his hips didn't look accommodating.

  Sunil quickly glanced around the rectangular room with twenty beds, but only sixteen occupants.

  "Bhai Muskurana told me to sleep here," he answered the bully, undaunted. Being the
last of his father's sons, he was used to domineering elder brothers. He wouldn't let a complete stranger dictate his life.

  "Well, I don't want you there, pretty boy. Get your stuff and move to the last bed in this row, near the shithouse," the other retorted.

  "I'm not going anywhere," he replied. "If you think I'm too close to you, you move down the row and next to the shithouse."

  The other boys chuckled while the leader glared at him.

  "Careful how you speak, asshole! I'm Tushar, and I'm in command here!"

  "I'm Sunil and I obey nobody except my teachers." He shrugged, averting his eyes. He hated those boys who loved to be at the center of the attention – much like Nikhil.

  Tushar grabbed his cheek and squeezed.

  "Listen to him! Do you even shave? Who do you think you are, pretty boy?"

  Sunil slapped his hand away, glaring at him.

  "I'm Khopesh's son, you little bastard, and if you don't keep your hands off of me, you'll end up on the Assassins' Guild's kill list!"

  All gasped and Tushar stiffened, stepping back.

  "What is an assassin's son doing in the monastery of Zindagi?" another boy asked from the other row of beds. He looked amused by the bickering.

  "Learning new skills." Sunil shrugged. "You have a problem with that?"

  "I wish I could have a weapon's name too when I'm done training," the other replied with a sigh. "But I'll probably stick to my birth name anyway." He put a hand on his chest. "Bishma."

  Sunil nodded, still frowning. Tushar had backed away and the others came forward to introduce themselves.

  ***

  Sunil wasn't happy to use his father's name to gain some respect, but at least they left him alone. He soon realized Tushar had his gang of friends and the others, including Bishma, were left out. Which was fine with him, since he didn't feel ready to start a friendship that probably wouldn't last anyway. Having landed in a class of older boys meant he'd spend only six years at the monks' school.

 

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