Aritemes ran his hands along the sides of his door. His fingers examined each notch, each bump, each bruise in the wood. When he concentrated, he could feel the magic that pulsated inside of it. For some strange reason, though, what magic it was alluded him. With a frustrated sigh, Aritemes banged his head against the door.
"It's no use, Master! The magic in here is too elusive," he complained. Each word was smooth, and said in a singing manner. "Thou must find someone else for this."
"Why?" the old woman asked, leaning on a cane made of the fairest oak. The wood ended before the tip, replaced by an iron cap perfect for bashing in skulls.
"The magic-"
She laughed harshly, her voice like hard bark. "The magic controls you?"
Aritemes scowled, "Naught, that cannot be. It is merely too elusive for one such as myself. My talents belong in far more useful tasks." The assassin ran a hand through his black hair, nails that were mostly bitten down scratching at the base of his tanned neck. A dagger with the Partrall crest lie at his hip, the blade thin and sharp. "What use is it for I to learn this magic, Master Arabelle?"
Arabelle swung the cane towards him, hitting him hard in the ribs. As he gasped and held his side painfully, she gave him a sharp look. "An assassin cannot be let off his guard. The magic here could make thou fall asleep, it could weaken you, or it could kill. What use would a weakened, unconscious, or dead assassin be to me? If thou wish to die go from my presence. There are always others who are just...dying to take your place." She laughed smugly, waving her hands to him. "Go, go."
"I am willing to learn, Master," he told her quietly. He dared not let any of his emotions fall into his words, lest she completely deem him worthless. "Teach me as you wish."
"No, no, thou wanted to complain."
"I will do whatever you want, Master Arabelle." He bent on his knees before her, head bowed and eyes on her sandal-clad feet. "Do what you must, I will be as obedient as a servant and as diligent as a soldier. Thou shall only hear me when I am to be heard, and only see me when you have commanded I be seen."
"Oh?"
"Yes, Master Arabelle. I am yours to train."
"Then get off your knees, Aritemes, and stand, you ungrateful rat. In three hours you are to return to me with eight bowls of sap and Went's Berry from Folly Wild. If you're late you will no longer be my apprentice."
He stood, gave her a nod, and quickly collected eight bowls from her desk before running out of the room. No sound came from either him or his feet other than the dullest of thuds against the ground as he ran. Outside, he weaved through the city, knowing that he'd have to go through almost half of Partrall before he could make it outside and on his way to Folly Wild. It was raining heavily still, and the occasional boom of thunder could be heard. His light came from the houses alongside the road, perfectly built to be in rows of one thousand houses each, and from the lightning that took over the sky. He groaned to himself as he realized that he didn't get to pull on his cloak. There he ran, in his breeches, boots, and over shirt, not even a hat upon his head, through the city. Children waved and laughed at him alike as he passed them playing in the rain. Aritemes paid them no mind, knowing that he's probably the most interesting thing they've seen in the past few days.
As he left the city, the world around him changed from gray and yellow to dark green. The grass was tall, and he followed the trails that animals had left to avoid scratching his clothes or having them covered with grasses. The bowls were awkward, and half were filled with water, but he continued to keep them in his arms until he passed under the first tree. Once in, hardly any rain fell on him other than a light shower. The dense body of trees, bushes, and flowers huddled around him as he poured out the water on the roots of a giant tree.
"Went's Berry, Went's Berry..." he muttered under his breath, looking around for the particular tree. It was a thin tree with branches that curved upwards, had small, light green leaves that were shaped like hands with six fingers all spread out, and berries that were a light blue. "Ya'd think it'd be easier to find, but no, got to go in the woods and find the stupid sap and berries so not to be a disappointment."
Something sharp bit into his hands and he cursed. As he pulled away his fingers and stuck the bleeding parts into his mouth to suck on them, he spotted a thin tree swaying in the breeze that was pushing through the woods. It's leaves were splayed out like fingers, he noticed with a grin. Quickly, he moved over to the Went's Berry tree and pulled off all the berries he could. They filled up each bowl halfway, just enough. Then, carefully balancing the bowls with the berries in them, he pulled out a knife and jammed it into a tree. Once he'd made a nice hole, he pulled out the knife and stuck in a spout. Placing a bowl under the spout, he made another hole with his knife and stuck another bowl under that. While he didn't have another spout, it'd be faster and work better than just one bowl collecting it at a time.
Once the first bowl had filled up the rest of the way with sap, he exchanged it for another, keeping them stacked under a large leaf to keep the rain from getting into them. Some berries were on the ground beside him and he popped them into his mouth, enjoying their sweet taste. It was almost like blueberries, but they had a sharp tang in the middle that was nice too. Several loud booms filled the world around him as he worked, the time slowly ticking down for him. When he only had two left he began really rushing them, hitting the spout hard. Already an hour must have passed, more than likely two or three. While it was true that Went's Berry sap poured quicker than any other sap, and was easier to get, it still took hours to get a bucketful. He began to wonder how much eight bowls could carry. An entire bucket? Perhaps, but perhaps not.
He cursed himself while the lightning flashed about, hitting a tree somewhere in the forest. Aritemes could smell it burning even through the onslaught of rain.
Finally, the last two bowls were filled-a little bit below what he would have liked on one, but he didn't have the time to fix it. Without a second though he picked up the bowls again, holding them one on top of the other so none of them spilled. A leaf dripped water onto his head and he snatched it down to keep the rain from getting into the sap and berry mix. His feet light and his body quiet, he made his way through the woods again, running fast. Though the bushes nearly tripped him twice, and the bowls kept threatening to fall, he made his way out of the woods and into the grasslands just outside of the city. Heart pounding, he ran even faster, feeling the strain on his legs.
It burned like acid, cutting through him, but he ignored it. A true assassin doesn't falter, he thought, a true assassin feels no pain. My hands do not bleed any, my legs do not hurt any. This is but an illusion cast upon me to keep me from my goal. The closer he got to the city the harder it got for him to keep up the thoughts.
Master Arabelle's words sounded in his mind, her voice cutting through his pain sharper than any blade he's ever wielded. "Do not speak, do not feel, do not think. Only do. Anything else is too much."
Just like that, he was running. Nothing special, nothing more, no thoughts or feelings. There was no pain-there never was. There was no struggle-there couldn't be. There were no thoughts, for he couldn't think. There were no cities or houses or people playing in the rain. There were no bowls in his hands, clutched tight against his chest. No rain fell from the sky, no thunder crashing through his bones, and no lightning brightening his world for seconds before it was gone. Nothing happened and nothing could happen. Only he was there, and yet, it wasn't even him. It was an action, a thought, nothing but something and yet still not.
Before he knew it he was back, slowing down as he passed the bakers place and walking the last street down to Master Arabelle's house. Her door was ajar, and he pushed it open with his back, walking into the room and gently placing each bowl at her feet. She sat on a straw mat on the floor, feet delicately curved under her.
"Oh? You returned?"
He only bowed his head before her, breathing heavily but quietly so she didn't know.
"Too bad, you're late."
He still didn't say anything.
"You shouldn't have came here. Any assassin could take your place. You've killed but a handful of people, one of which sloppily, might I add. You've also been rude, and have insulted me far too many times. Yet you still came back with the bowls, eh?" She chuckled, giving him a swat on the neck. It stung. "Look at me."
Aritemes raised his head, eyes gazing straight into hers. It was the surest sign of respect he knew.
"You are too stubborn to rid of. So, that being, I have a task for which you shall do," she said. The old lady stretched, raising her hands far above her head before she stood. "There is a child which is being brought fourth from Gardelle. She is young of age and will be crossing over the West Leaf Sea before the moon rises in full. You are to retrieve her and bring her back to me. She is to be my next pupil, and she is of great importance. Once she is safe in my care, you are to kill off any remaining ties to the girl in Gardelle. She has two who could cause worry of us-an old wizard who is slowly dying and is lame of skill, and an older wench who has the strength of a bruit, and is just as bright. You are to rid them be and return before the moon has gone away in full again."
He nodded, bowing his head again. His voice was low and strong as he responded, "It shall be done."
"Good. You are to leave at dawn tomorrow. Go now and rest."
***
An old farmhand was pushing his cart slowly down the road, chewing on lettuce as he went. His face was harsh and tanned by the sun, eyes shaped like an oval on its side, the classic trait all Partrall citizens had. Though his hair was graying, the way his jaw was set about his face showed that he was proud of his aging. He walked throughout the streets of Partrall with ease, pushing his cart as if all it contained was a child and not a large quantity of swords and magic equipment. His lips parted, and his tongue carefully wet them before he began to whistle. It was a sweet whistle, one that a love-bird would sing, and he carried the tune along with him as he went.
It was by that whistle that Aritemes was awoken, his eyelids snapping open as he breathed in deeply. The world was still dark outside, but the rain had stopped for the time being. The city was still asleep, and with that knowledge he quickly gathered himself for the day. With a rag and a small basin of freezing rain water he cleaned himself the best he could. Once the dirt left his body he dressed himself in a simple tunic, trousers, and well-fitting boots that came up to half his calf. The material was soft, as the furs of a kitear often were, and he buttoned each notch on the boots until they were done. They were good for running and hiding in the shadows, as they made hardly any sound unless he were to stomp or deliberately step on something.
He tied his hair back into a pony tail with a crudely made ribbon, making certain to keep the bow low on his neck. Though his hair only came to his shoulders, the longer he allowed it to grow the more regal it made him appear.
He opened the door to his house and stepped outside. Three houses down, he saw the carpenters. The Rapens, an old couple that owned the place, had recently hired two new workers. One of which was out now, walking through the rows of a thousand houses each with a ball of wood in his hands. He was whistling the same tune that had waken Aritemes-the anthem of Partrall.
"Good morrow," Aritemes called to him as he passed. The boy was hardly going into his teen years, and his face was riddled with cuts and bruises. It was clear that he'd been in a fight recently, though by the way he held himself it couldn't have been too bad of a loss. "Why might you be up at this hour?"
"Goin' to Folly Wild to chop wood for old man Rapens," he said, his voice rusty and urchin-like. "What 'bout ya? Why ya up and 'bout this early?"
"Master Arabelle needs some errands ran," he commented plainly. Then, he gave the boy a nod of the head and turned the corner of the street, passing by the Tavern. The boy went north from there, but Aritemese turned east and continued on that route until he reached the royal road. There, he broke into a jog. Gong to Gardelle was dangerous, but thankfully he wouldn't have to go there until later. First, he had to make his way down to the West-Leaf ocean, which was nicer on the Partrall front. He ran for forwigs at a time, only stopping every once in awhile to nod to the passing farmer who was awake and tending to their fields.
Though the insides of the city were all built to be perfect in every way-each row of houses containing exactly a thousand houses, and no house extending over twelve footsteps in length or over fourteen footsteps in width. Each street was cobbled, and the royal roads were smoothed down and had metal ground into the sides to mark it as so. The castle was at the center of the city, surrounded by the royal barracks, which were fixed to resemble the houses of the commoners, but larger and made with brick, not wood. Outside the city, though, the houses were different. Each house was placed upon quite a sum of land, and on the land was farms and animals that roamed. They were protected by fences that the King himself had granted them to have. In the case of war or a raid by Gardelle, each house had an underground shelter built so that way the food could be stored and the farmers kept safe.
The people outside the city were different as well. The men wore no tunics, or not even the shirts of the Gardelle trade. Instead they wore coats during the winter, but nothing during the summer or spring months. While they wore a garment that resembled trousers, they were made of poorer material, and made to be stronger and last longer than trousers from any tailor. Upon their heads they wore large straw-bound hats that protected them against the sun, though the sun had yet to shine. The storm was destroying the crops, and they were working hard to keep them from getting too much rain.
As he passed by, he noticed that they were digging great ditches alongside each patch of farm, and had several holes all running together throughout the fields.
"Any word of whether the storm will end soon?" he called out to them. The men working to dig shook their heads gravely. "For that I am sorry. May you have luck in your trials. This storm is working its way to killing our food supply before it may even grow."
"Aye," a farmer called back, "but the rice doing well. It be just the other crops that are dying now. So it may be, bring to ye luck upon ye journey as well. Kind sir, do not delay ye journey too long ta speak with us folk. A man of ye standing should never dally with farmers when chances of a storm be high and near. Go now, be on ye way."
He did as they said, bowing to them as he went. Though they laughed, Aritemes could not help himself. His parents had been farmers, and their parents before that. To farm was dangerous and not always well-fairing on those that poured their souls into the land. For that, they would always have high respect from him.
As he walked the last four fortwigs of land to the ocean he found himself slowing down more and more often. It wasn't that he was nervous-true assassins could never be so-but that he could feel that something was wrong. The clouds continued to loom above the sky, but no rain feel, no lightning flashed, and no thunder crackled. Small rodents and creatures that were seldom seen were roaming the royal road like it was their home. Not a single cart or carriage passed him either.
The closer he got the more unease he felt. The air soon tasted of salt and smelt of dead fish. The fishermen who spent their lives out on the ocean were passing him now, carrying their barrels on their backs and not giving him a single look as they passed. For some reason, they were all smaller men, though certainly older than he. Those who lived closer to the ocean were the tinier folk, closer to the size of a growing boy. He still gave them nods when he could, though the few that gave him notice only scowled and passed without word.
"Something is wrong," he whispered.
Normally, the sea-men were talkative, though still rude to strangers. But they made not a single word or sound as they walked. He moved quickly, running past them and into the ships main grounds. There, several ships lie bound to the port, but no one was on the ocean. The waters were fast, breaking against the shore, roaring back, and crashing again. The storm wasn't stopped because it was going away soon, it was gathering strength, he realized.
Still, he had a job to do, and he wouldn't let the waves or the threat of storm keep him from it. With his feet leading him, he made his way over to a shack. Inside were several girls, all whispering and giggling. When they noticed him they immediately stood, ran back into the shack, and came out again with an older woman. She wore none of the custom makeup that the girls wore, and her robe wasn't bright or red like theirs. Still, the woman nodded to him and he to her.
"I require a boat, madam. It is of importance that I get onto the waters within the hour," he told her.
She shook her head. "Nay, can you not see nor hear? It's a storm callin' back ev'yone here. Can't go out today."
"I have faced dangers untold, this is but an obstacle that I am to pass," he said. His voice felt like gravel in his throat, and he was certain he sounded like a fool to the woman. Still, he couldn't abandon his job.
"Master Arabelle hath sent me."
The old woman shook her head again, cursing loudly. "Great Gods before, what hath you done for that terrible punishment? Fine, fine, get the boat and leave. If ye die, find only yeself at fault. If ye live, bring back mine boat to me and I shall sing praise of the noble man who dared to enter the rage of mine sea."
"Thank you, madam."
"Leave now, 'fore it get too hard and ye lose hope."
Aritemes went around the side of the shack and took a boat off the rack she had. It was slender and made to fit two people, which was perfect for his mission. He grabbed three oars and soon found himself rowing away from shore, the spare set down at his feet in case something was to happen. The waves crashed over him several times, and before he was far away from the port he was already drenched and pouring water out of the boat before it could sink.
Though he felt his arms growing cold and stiff, he kept rowing. Somewhere, half way across the ocean, was the girl on another boat, facing perhaps the same trials as he. The day passed him as he went, but still he did not stop to eat or drink anything. His energy waned at times, and at other times failed completely, but he kept going. Night struck and it began to rain again. Luckily, he found a tarp under his feet and pulled it over most of the boat. He kept himself above it so he could see, pushing his arms harder through the water.
The rain was cold and fat, each drop hitting him hard and streaming down his face. His shoulders ached as the wind blew against him, biting into his skin with its chill and forcing him to row even harder lest he start going back to where he started.
It got darker and darker throughout the night until he couldn't see a thing other than the rain. Hours passed and nothing changed, but as he pushed on it grew less dark. His eyes adjusted better and he continued, going east towards Gardelle. Though he had no way of telling if he was going the correct way or not anymore he prayed feverishly that he wouldn't be led astray by the waves.
As day broke again he found himself nearing a large ship. They passed by one another, and as they did he stood, reached out towards them, and tied his boat to theirs by the ropes they had hanging off the sides. He climbed them steadily, until he reached the very edge of the ship, and jumped on.
"Who sent? Who sent?" a sailor asked, his accent thick and heavy. It was clear that Partrall wasn't his own language.
Still, Aritemes bowed low before him. "Master Arabelle," he told them clearly, "hath sent me."
"Here for girl? Here for girl?"
"Yes, great sir. If you could be so kind as to bring forth her, I shall leave ship immediately."
"Yes, yes. Of course," the sailor said. He scrambled away into a lower deck of the ship, leaving Aritemes alone with the rest of the men on board. They paid him little attention. All of them were disgusting, missing teeth and limbs, and several had sores on their body. Their hair was the worst, though. While some had their head shaved near bald, others just let it grow, not combed or clean, and all of it was a tangled mess. They were light in skin and looked to be from neither Partrall or Gardelle. Several of them were gambling with gold pieces over a tree stump, their cards made out of leaves and rocks.
Aritemes kept his gaze off them, instead looking about the ship. It was grand from afar, with huge masts and beautiful polished wood on the outside that was the color of the finest of cherry oaks. But, from on the ship, it was more harsh and weathered. The rain was pouring still, not having let up any yet, and it ran right over the edges of the ship and into the water. The men gambling and standing about didn't even seem to notice it. They were soaked and yet still walked about, ate, and drank without a care. Their clothes were drenched, and he couldn't help but keep glancing over at them.
Each men was dressed like he hadn't seen before. Some had royal-like ruffles along their shoulders, and others were a type of dress that turned into trousers at the very end. They had a variety of boots, all created from hides he'd never heard of. Their blouses were covered with various jewelry, and some of them even had the jewelry tied into their hair.
"Here she, here she," the man from before shouted. He flung open the door to the lower deck he'd went in before and walked out, dragging a girl behind him. Her skin was darker than bark, and her eyes were even more so. Hands and feet bound, she hobbled behind the sailor, scowling and spitting until she was handed off to him. "Get now, get. Lesser be I chop ye into food," he grumbled, waving Aritemes off.
He didn't even bother to nod or bow to the man, instead he threw the girl over his shoulder and jumped back down to his boat. They hit it hard, and his hands were burned by the rope he'd grabbed onto to lessen the fall. With the leftover rope from her hands and feet he tied her to the base of the boat, untied the boat from the ship, and started to row back.
The girl scowled at him the entire journey. She cursed him for hours, but he didn't respond. The longer he was quiet the more she cursed and struggled to get out of the boat. Finally, she spoke to him in broken Partrall. "Sister coming me. You die," she said. Then, she spoke in the common language of Gardelle. "I'll get outta here 'fore fancy man knows what 'it 'em. Feather-headed fool, he is. Shan't be long 'fore we get to shore."
"Don't count on it," he told her in the same language.
She looked shocked that he understood her, let alone could respond. The girl struggled again until she was almost sitting up. The storm was beginning to reach a slow again, rain reducing down to a slow trickle.
"You know Gardelle?"
"You know Partrall," he countered.
She shrugged. "I read."
"As do I."
"Who are you?"
"Aritemes," he answered. Then, Aritemes went back to rowing, hoping to reach land before night struck again. Half a day had passed with the girl in the boat, and he'd hardly gotten too far. Past the clouds the sun was shedding more and more light onto the day. His stomach growled and he ignored it. Despite the fact that he had a few pieces of dried jerky in one of his pockets sewn into his trousers, Aritemes refused to eat while his job was still going.
"I'm hungry," she told him. The young girl's voice was whiny and high pitched, and it grated his ears. "It's been two days and nights since I last ate."
He ignored her.
"Aren't ya going ta feed me? Or is the plan ta stave me?"
The assassin sighed, stopping his rowing for a moment. "What is your name, child?"
"Mirianette."
He pulled out a strip of jerky and stuffed it into her mouth before she closed it. With a smug look he added, "Enjoy the food, Mirianette. It'll be the last you get for a long time."
Chewing, she didn't say a word after that. The meat was hard and tough, and probably hurt her teeth, but he didn't care. Master Arabelle would be expecting him back with her soon, so he picked up his pace and rowed as hard as he could while the rain was light.