Underside, Page 3

  “Thank you,” I say, genuinely surprised he decided to give me one.

  Taking the dart between my index finger and thumb I deftly pull out the bottom seam of the shirt and wrap it around the thin metal frame of the unfletched dart. Sewing quickly and neatly, the job is done in a few minutes. I have partially mended the shirt so that it won’t flap around and expose my tattoo again. It’s time for new clothes, anyways.

  Now that I’ve had more time to think about it, I’m not sure if I should go up and enter the building. I have secrets to find, but what’s the use of secrets if I’m dead?

  “Don’t go, Aelise. You’ll regret it. The Enforcers will be more stirred up than ever with you gone, they’ll be predicting your every move, and I guarantee they know you’ll come back. They aren’t that stupid.”

  “How do you know?” I say stubbornly.

  Kivren sighs and his whole body seems to slump down, following the exhalation of air. “They caught me, and I’m back with them. I can’t leave the premises, I’ll automatically be killed. They would kill me anyways if they knew what I was telling you. So go on, be free, do what they’ll suspect least, good luck.”  he pauses, “Time for garbage duty. I don’t expect to see you again, so just . . . goodbye.”

  The sly and teasing mood he’d been in disappears like it was never even there, and has been replaced by despair. He walks around the building, disappearing from sight, tears of agony and defeat glistening unshed in his crystal eyes. Watching him go is painful, and I know he’s right, we won’t ever see each other again. I barely knew Kivren, but he’s helped me, and that makes him a friend. If it does anything for the messed up actions and consciences in my life, I’ll find a way to free him. To destroy the Enforcers and their cruel decisions.

  The Wolf has a new mission.

  PART 3 - Silent Deceit

  Dark skies fogging the insane

  Eagles screech to cover up the pain

  Rain falls to hide my dripping tears

  The Earth quakes and frees my inner fears

  A flowing river telling us goodbye

  A howling wind disguising all the lies

  Silent shivers racing up my spine

  Silent whispers, mute as butterflies

  Night falls and memory starts to fade

  Rise up, new sun, there's a future to be made

  Chapter 9 - Condescending

  For once I don’t have specific instructions on how and what to do for my new ‘mission’, and I’m lost on where to start. This deflates my determination severely, so I am left delaying any action.

  The wind is blowing from the north, and buffets against the cold buildings. Those repetitive jolts of chilliness shoot miniscule amounts of adrenaline through my veins, and I finally come up with a transitory, if short, plan.

  Step one: Get off of this stupid building and deep into the city to plan inconspicuously.

  Step two: Decide later.

  My plan is pathetic as far as plans go, but it really isn’t befitting to sit on the side of the building which houses the people you plot against. Knowing time is precious, I jump down. Only to land very ungracefully and almost twist my ankle. Does assassin strength and agility wear off if I’m not controlled by the Enforcers for a long time? I hope not, I’m going to need the extra for what’s ahead. If I can even plan that far.

  Sighing heavily, I mull over today in my head. It has been a mass of confusing mazes to navigate, and I am also tired of running, because of those seventy some miles earlier. Thus forth, I will walk.

  Buildings surround me as I move forward, fading out of my vision as fast as they appear. These hulking, concrete structures would be indistinguishable to a foreign eye, but I know them easily. To my left is the Kandan Forced Trade Center, where most governmental economics and trade happens. And yes, I said forced . . . don’t be surprised. Let’s just say that Kandu isn’t nice or flexible about its trading. To my right, a famous restaurant where all of the rich people coalesce stands tall, with shiny copper gutters where there is usually a bland alloy of dull iron and carbon. Such familiar buildings reduced to ashes in my mind.

  Although I am hurrying, my productivity in even finding a suitable place to 'plan' is failing miserably. Perhaps I should let myself retire for the night instead of racking my brain over and over for strategies. Yes, I should.

  I decide to run one last time today, and use the last of the energy I have to collapse in my little cove behind a marketplace. I've collected a fishnet, two winter jackets, and an assortment of food. The space is just enough for me to sleep and store my stolen items. Curling up into a loose fetal position, I blow my hair out of my face and turn my eyes up, just enough to see the concrete above me. Concrete like in my bedspace. It was only two days ago, but I have lived a hundred years since.

  The light is starting to fade from outside of my cave, and I can’t help but realize how unsure of everything I am. I lived in a concrete, stable world with only one purpose; to kill. Now I am surrounded by fragile wax paper that easily rips, opening wide and taking me with it. If only I could find a way to strengthen my walls. An unstable mind does this to you, but I am like that. I am so imperfect . . . regardless of what others think.

  Sleeping is easier than last night; I have gotten more used to unforced slumber. As I close my eyes, everything inside me dies a quiet death. I am still numb like before, but now I can feel the pain of what's happened so far, and what will happen. When I want to restart my life, the Kivrens and Enforcers of the world stop me, and make me keep going. Hate and justice fuel me, but doubt and sorrow hold me back with tight strings. I need some scissors, to set me free from my bonds. Tomorrow guards a promise, but even if she can keep it, I'm not sure I can hold my side of the bargain.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Cold warmth carefully spills under and over my closed but open eyes.

  I must look like death itself.

  Outside, perched beside the opening in the wall, is the raven. "Hello, raven. Today we start." The raven caws roughly in agreement, gazing at me with gleaming eyes. Twisting her neck around the raven preens it's wing feathers. I didn't know ravens did that . . . maybe only this one does.

  I step out of the secret space, stretching my long legs out and breathing in the morning air, already filled with traces of pollution. Kandu is such a great place to live.

  Heading out from behind the wall and into the bustling marketplace, I parade around the stalls as if I have the money to buy the fancy goods they lavishly lay out for display. I am actually looking for something I can steal. Assassins, when threatened or in desperate need of such, do not hesitate to take personal belongings or property from its owners. Nor do they wait to inflict harm upon resisters.

  Not like anyone does resist.

  I have finally found an appropriate vendor. His stall focuses on one product. It has jeweled inlays lining a blade of ground obsidian and platinum mixed to reveal an appealing yet deadly edge. It is almost too fancy for me, but that doesn't matter.

  An advanced student in robbing and pick-pocketing, it costs me nothing to retrieve the knife. Such a perfect weapon to have for backup. I test the sharpness of the hard metal on my finger, and immediate a drop of crimson blood runs to the ground. As I walk away with the knife hidden securely, my mind can't help but flit back to that small circle of red staining the ground behind me. Perhaps that was too careless. I will probably pay for it later.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Just a mile past the city limits is an old oak tree, one of the last. The roots stick up out of the ground and are gnarled, ugly things . . . the thick snapping branches twist around each other high above the ground . . . it looks like it should have died a long time ago.

  Now I sit on one of the knobby roots, chin in hand, thinking. More like waiting for a stroke of inspirational genius to help me, but still, thinking.

  To set things right I'm going to have to take some chances. Basically I hope to find the loved ones of t
hose I killed to say sorry. After I have less guilty conscience, I can either enter and destroy the building (along with its inhabitants), or collect a group of fighters to infiltrate the Concrete Chambers and kill all of the Enforcers.

  I can't decide which to do first, and what strategy to use. If I visit the mourning first they will be in danger, but I will be able to hide and be safe. If I visit them after, but fail on the first task, they are still in danger of total annihilation from the fury of the Enforcers. Me or them?

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I once thought the head cook for the assassins was selfish. She received the best of food to feed us, but smuggled the good stuff away and replaced it with crappy junk. We wasted away, refusing to eat until she was fired, and soon the Enforcers found their best assassins unable to walk down the stairs. We called that the Great Famine. But it wasn't that important, we recovered within two days after good food and rest.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Back then if you had asked me about the most selfish person I knew, I would say "The second cook for the assassins." Now, if you ask me, I'd say

  Myself.

  Chapter 10 - Floating Down

  To me, I am worth more than the people I owe the most to. This isn’t something I’m proud of, but assassins will be assassins, so I am more important.

  What did I tell you? Selfish.

  Since I'm going to be so selfish, I will visit those people who's lives I ruined first. Just to say I'm sorry, and that it's scarred me so much I have to make amends. They might not forgive me though, and I might not get to all of them. Who knows how many people I killed . . .

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  VISIT 1: Shiverpool, Disdern

  I crunch over the falling snow, slightly shivering from the blizzard-like conditions, the tip of my nose turning red. Door after door of red painted wood passes by me, but I look for the one with the chipped purple paint and the chimney that belches no smoke. That's where I mindlessly killed the young boy whose mother waited for him inside with a bowl of soup, and who had a younger sister that adored him.

  The doors and huts stretch on forever into the icy tundra, seeming to have no end. Just then I see the tinge of purple paint covering a door not more than ten yards away from me. There is a frozen door knocker, and I am about to use it when I realize I look like a hermit, searching to find shelter. That's not who I want to come across as, though. They owe nothing to me.

  Smoothing my hair and pinching some color into my cheeks, I knock belatedly on the door. Somebody inside drops a dish, which clatters noisily on the floor. Then footsteps rush towards the door, whispering excitedly.

  A small, round face peeks out from behind the door, smiling hopefully up at me. But the moment she catches sight of my face her smile drops indifferently. "Mama, just a visitor."

  Heavier footsteps come through the small house and approach me. A woman faces me, wrinkles beginning to line her eyes and her back starting to bend. Plain brown eyes widen in fear of me, and she stutters. "You . . . your government killed my little boy . . .”

  Her words send fresh pain through me. But it was I who killed her son, not the government. They simply gave me instructions that I alone carried out. And somehow, she doesn't hold me responsible.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am. We're sorry." I whisper, tears starting to prick my eyes when I remember a happy, boyish smile enjoying the solitary day of warmth.

  At first she doesn't know what to say; this wasn't what she expected. Then she suddenly turns alert and starts firing questions at me. "Wait, are you saying the Kandan government has changed? Has a new Head Enforcer been elected?"

  She knows nothing about Kandu. People do not get elected, and the government has not changed. To respond to her I search my brain for her name, just a whisper of a name haunting me. Carrie Voeller.

  "Carrie Voeller, Kandu is as much the same as it was for the past decade. I'm Aelise, and I am here to tell you how bad I feel for what happened last year." I say to her, trying to regain the confidence I had rehearsed on my way here.

  "I have tried to forget what happened. Her face has made it impossible." Carrie murmurs softly, pointing almost accusingly at her daughter. "Just before you . . . killed him he told me that when he grew up he wanted to be a champion sled dog racer. The dogs are still out back, it's time to feed them."

  Carrie gets up slowly and heads to the back of the house, leaving me in the doorway looking after her. I take off my stolen coat and hold it in one hand. The girl looks out at me, innocent eyes a little begrudged, a little wary. "She's happy," the girl says, her high voice echoing in my head. "You needn't make up for it, we have forgiven, and accepted the tragedy. I knew you when I first saw you standing there, but I didn't say anything, because I knew you thought I still cared too much."

  The girl's intelligence puts a sad smile on my face. "Thank you, I came here to make sure you were alright, and if there was anything I could do to make things better for you after what I've done . . . but you seem to be fine. I will let you go back to your life, please forget me, or think of me as a friend. I am no longer controlled by the Kandan Enforcers, so you can trust me."

  She nods seriously, and waves a small hand as I depart.

  To think that I killed such a sweet girl’s brother.

  VISIT 2: Lelipt, Tiveron

  Dust and gritty sand flies into my eyes. The sharp, stinging grains waft up from the desert ground and pummel themselves against me. Hidden beneath the dunes are secret underground shelters that are used for hiding artillery, refugees, important political figures, and an assortment of forbidden religious texts.

  A dangerous Tiveron mafia leader often assembled his group in Storage Room 254 to talk about how they would respond to the happenings of the outside world, and what they would do next.

  They disliked the way Kandu traded with the other major cities, so they planned to bomb our weapon factories. It would have been a huge task, had they been able to carry it out. The Enforcers heard of their plan soon after they made it, and sent all of their assassins after them. None of them lived to see another day.

  To the mafia leader's followers in Tiveron, he was a hero for standing up to the concrete Kandu and attempting to bomb their main trade; to the Kandans, he was just one less potentially dangerous threat to our fake utopia.

  But me, I barely cared. Still I know his orphaned son did, so I'm here to make up it to him.

  With me in a small bundle is a dull black object. Just a little something I took from the leader as he lay dead on the ground. A bit of scribe's paper carries a note; a message for his son that explains what I am giving him.

  At the wrought iron gate to Lelipt is a guard whom I promptly give the package to, issuing instructions on who should receive it. His light eyes search the package and then me, reminding me of Kivren. At last he gives a slight nod, and I head back the way I came.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see a boy of about ten years old sneak over to the guard and take the package. First looking inside then reading the note, he gazes after me in surprise. As I get farther away he turns and goes back into the city, clutching his father’s gun tightly to his chest.

  VISIT 3: Sterling, Artignon

  Two times. Two times I was asked to kill Artignon’s High Council. Once I obeyed, the second I ran. Everyone must be tired of me wiping Artignon’s political power off the face of the map by destroying their ‘king, queen, and consultants’. Fortunately I feel bad for Artignon, and I hate Kandu.

  Disguising myself as a helpless old woman and donning a ratty barley sack cloak, I set out for the Council Headquarters. Grab some dirt and rub it into my sleek black hair, over my face and hands, stuff clothes under the cloak to make myself seem bulkier.

  Sterling has changed so much over the past few years, I almost get lost. Where are the cheery medieval-style shops that lined the street? Where are the strolling ladies out at the park with their husbands?

  The stone castl
e that houses the Council Headquarters towers into the sky more in a menacing way now than the welcoming feeling it used to bring. I locate the back emergency exit door and scale the steps leading to the landing. From there I can hear courtiers talking quietly in the Great Hall; every now and then snatches of conversation float my way.

  . . . Wolf Assassin . . . massacre newest High Council . . . escaped . . . rumors . . . Tiger Assassin, too . . . Aelise? . . . didn’t kill . . .

  I cautiously watch them from behind the carved frame of the door. They are talking about me. Some in admiration, some in fear, and some in utmost disgust.

  To get to where I need to it would be best if I run for cover and gradually make my way towards the Magisterial Throne Room. If I do that though, my steps would echo throughout the hallway, alerting the guards that I know are stationed just outside the throne room. Plus, old women don’t run . . .

  One of the courtiers-a beautiful woman-opens her purse and withdraws a photograph. “This here, it’s a picture of Aelise Teronne  when she was just a young girl.” she says to the grabbing hands reaching for a look at the famous assassin in her earlier years. Curious of the photograph, I too lean forward a bit from my place behind the door to catch a glimpse of myself.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  It definitely is me, with that slender face and startlingly deep eyes. I must be about nine in the picture, and what’s more, a lavishly ringed, feminine hand rests lovingly on the shoulder of my frilly dress. A mother? A caretaker? My sister? How did this Artignon woman get hold of such a picture?

  I’ve forgotten to hide and have stepped out in full view. Dark eyes alight on me, elaborate midnight hair twisted up in a curling updo. The woman holding the photograph for her peers holds it farther away from her body, pulling the other courtiers with it. Then she turns her face completely to me, examining my own face. A smile breaks out on her smooth features while a rare light and fervor shines in her eyes. And despite my disguise; “Daughter,” she mouths. Soon, the group of preened men and women around her titter her name; ‘Arabelle’, then sweep her down the hall and around a corner, out of my sight.