| |
Saedra- age 13
“You’re nothing! Do you hear me?! Nothing!”
Saedra huddled in the corner of the kitchen by the freezer unit and nodded frantically at her father’s explosive declaration. Agreement was the only response. She was well familiar with how he got during one of his rages. Throughout the day she’d heard his voice lashing out at everyone in their household.
She’d done well, for the most part, staying in her room, keeping her bedroom door closed. As the hours rolled by with no lessening in the volume of his ranting, she’d watched the imitation sunlight through her window fade and give way to the purple-blue glaze of night. Her thoughts had strayed to her mother and Saedra contemplated if death had given poor Lady Florene the peace she’d never had under this roof.
Saedra would have stayed in her room forever to avoid the nightmare taking place beyond her door except hunger had forced her from her self-protective isolation. It was pure misfortune that Maurin came into the kitchen just as she finished stuffing the last bite of a quick sandwich in her mouth.
His yellow eyes glazed with madness and clashed with the dull hue of his Dragonian golden scales. Her father was descended of hybrid Dragons. Unlike their dragon ancestors, though, Dragonians couldn’t shift into menacing creatures of rage and destruction. They did have twice the strength of their humanoid counterparts and scales covering the majority of their body, which made harming them harder.
Saedra hadn’t gotten any of that. Not one noticeable sliver of her Dragonian heritage. Thus she was average in looks and abilities, making her father deem her useless. She took after her mother as far as her delicate constitution...and in terms of physical stamina. Something she felt fueled a lot of her father’s anger toward her.
Her mother had been a gifted Meeta, her people born with various psychic abilities from healing to telepathic thoughts and everything in between. Florene’s gift had been a magical voice capable of pulling others under her spell. On top of that, she’d been quite pretty to look at with her ice-blue eyes and fall of pure white hair.
Florene caught the eyes of men when she traveled with a music troupe and performed. So it was no surprise when Maurin fell for her but it was a surprise when she fell for him in return. Of course, she’d harbored the hope that he was wealthy enough to take care of her, so she didn’t have to perform anymore.
Instead, he was cruel and abusive, leaving her trapped with a monster. He’d slashed her throat the first night after their marriage to damage her voice so she couldn’t mesmerize him. It had been the beginning of her festering hate for her husband.
“Say something!” Maurin roared into Saedra’s face.
“I’ll go now,” she mumbled with her gaze aimed to the side as she hesitantly rose to her feet and slid her back along the wall in hopes of escaping back to her bedroom.
His eyes darkened from its gold hue to a deep shade of blue and the shoulder length brown hair she’d inherited from him in the genetic lottery stood on end. When his thin lips curled in that familiar way, Saedra knew it was going to be bad. Very bad.
His voice lowered but was no less frightening in its intensity. “You think to get away with no consequences?!”
She didn’t ask what she supposedly was getting away with. It didn’t matter when her father deemed her guilty of some transgression. It never did. That’s why she’d learned to be good at hiding in her room.
The door to the kitchen swung open and one of his men entered. Parson glanced around to identify the commotion, spotted her, and smirked. He’d quickly surmised the situation if his expression was anything to go by. His grin was as evil as his past actions. He did her father’s bidding without compunction.
“Do you need my help with anything, Lord Maurin?”
Parson’s voice was sickly sweet as he used the false title. There was no royalty in their bloodlines. Lord and Lady were just fancy titles her father claimed and demanded everyone use for them here on Quantoon.
Her father released her from his penetrating glare to face Parson. Something passed between them as they exchanged knowing glances that left Saedra shivering. Running would be pointless. She remained pressed against the wall, the food in her stomach curdling.
Would this be the time her father released his men from the unspoken order that no one touch her? She was thirteen and her woman’s time came every three months without fail, similar to a Dragonian female. Usually, her father confined her to her rooms during her heat cycles, so she didn’t ‘tempt’ his men. Her mother before she died had warned Saedra that no matter what happened, Saedra needed to be out of her father’s house and far from his reach when she reached legal age and gave her father the ability to sell her anyway he saw fit.
“No help needed, Parson,” Maurin drawled, eyeing Saedra once more. “I just need to teach my daughter a lesson. Send the other guards in.”
Irritation lit Parson’s gaze and the look he cast Saedra’s way contained barely masked violence. “Of course, my Lord.”
Parson bowed as he rushed out and another blast of terror filled Saedra. Excuses flowed through her mind. Something, anything to distract her father from whatever lesson he thought she needed to learn. “I was hungry. I’ll go to my room. I won’t come out. You won’t see me. Promise. I promise.”
Even to her own ears, she sounded like she was babbling but her gut burned and fear was a living beast inside her body as her heart slammed against her chest in a frantic pace that turned her breathing choppy.
“Shut up!”
Saedra shut up.
“Come here.”
Hesitating was never a good idea. Against her instinct to run and hide, Saedra approached. Her arm pits grew dampened. She was breathing so fast red spots floated in front of her eyes and she worried she’d pass out. When Saedra was within inches of his scuffed, large booted feet, Maurin arched his arm back and swung at her.
The open palm slap sent her to her knees on a sharp cry. She clasped her aching cheek and looked up in shock. Not because it was the first time he’d hit her. That had started mere months after her mother died, making Saedra the replacement receptacle for his rage. No, she was shocked because they weren’t in his room or a private corridor. He usually contained his violence toward her away from prying eyes.
Although no one here would race to her defense. Not if they valued their life and that of every member in their family. Maurin’s punishments were never simple and always trickled down.
He crouched on one knee before her and clasped the front of her neck in his thick fingers.
Please no, please no, she prayed to herself as her hands and feet scrabbled for balance on the floor beneath her.
“Do you know why I must teach you a lesson?” he asked quietly.
The door opened to the right of them and the creak and shuffle of multiple feet entering the kitchen area ratcheted up Saedra’s bone-chilling dread. Swallowing but unable to speak beyond the lump in her throat, she shook her head. There was barely enough air getting through to breathe.
Her father’s mouth tipped up on the edges. His expression was filled with malevolence and a promise. His fingers squeezed steadily until the floating lights across her vision became warning flares to her brain.
Maurin stood and lifted Saedra until her toes barely scraped the floor. Then he flung her as hard as he could. Saedra didn’t have time to gasp. Her back met the wall with a loud crack and an arc of pain shot up her spine. She slid awkwardly down, her legs sprawled before her.
Her father approached in a slow stride, building the trepidation that now had her stomach clenched tight enough to match the hurt vibrating up her back. “Because you have nothing of a Dragonian in you and the arrival of your thirteenth year without developing psychic powers proves you have nothing of the Meeta in you either.
You are worthless to me and have failed to show sufficient gratitude that I allow you to live unmolested under my roof.” He paused and glanced over to the discarded plate her sandwich had rested on then faced her again and spat, “eating my food.”
This time, he picked her up by her hair and twisted the long length in coils about his wrist before he dragged her to her feet and flung her again. The force propelled Saedra across the room and into the hard edges of the cold kitchen counter. She bounced into the corner of the adjacent wall then fell to the floor on all fours.
Cheers rang out from his men and an undercurrent of laughter filled the kitchen. Panicking, Saedra pushed up despite the pain echoing through her body only to have her hands slip. She looked down. Red smeared across the white diamond patterned floor. More red trails ran from a jagged wound across her palm. Beside her trembling fingers was the knife she’d used to prepare her food. It must have sliced her hand when she tried to brace on the counter.
Laughter built around her. Bets rang out and jeering calls urging Maurin to punish her more. In a daze, Saedra pressed her face to the floor, her body one ball of hurt and vowed she’d escape this mad man one day. Just as her mother had wanted her to.
“Get up!” Without giving her a chance to respond or comply, Maurin jerked her from the floor by her shoulders and shook her hard enough Saedra saw stars. Hard enough she feared he’d truly end her life as her head bobbled on her neck.
With a roar that singed her ears, he tossed her again. Saedra flew across the room and slammed into the wall. The back of her head cracked as it made contact and she vaguely felt the snap of the bone in her right leg as it crumpled beneath her weight. Maybe she was wrong and he did plan to kill her after all.
Pain exploded moments later. Then everything went dark and she didn’t hear any more.
***
Garik- age 18
“Do you take this oath to hold above all others, Garik Denikon?”
The Master of the Guild waited patiently for his response. The oath was a contract and vow one couldn’t give up on a whim. Three solid years of mental and physical training culminated to this moment he’d longed for. It was worth the pain and hurt he’d gone through to get to this point. Garik inhaled calmly and let the breath out on a balanced sigh as he agreed. “Yes.”
Jodhan didn’t quite smile but he clasped both of Garik’s arms below his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Then you are ready.”
Another squeeze before he released Garik to step back and wave his arm at the silver jewel-covered chalice. It rested on a pedestal beneath the gleaming overhead light of the vestibule where the ceremony was taking place. The holy area had been prepped specifically for this moment and the flickering flames from the candles surrounding the space added to the serious nature of the commitment he was about to take.
Garik reached for the chalice and stared into the gleaming contents. Bluish liquid swirled inside. One of the earlier lessons drilled into him was caution about accepting drinks. Poison was a simple but effective means of killing.
A week of being in screaming pain curled on the floor of his room and evacuating the contents of his stomach had cured him of accepting any food or drink he hadn’t prepared himself or watched being prepared.
This was different, though. He was finished his training protocol. Drinking from the chalice was a symbolic act of trust. Nothing more or less. He tossed back the contents and swallowed in one large gulp. Overly sweet, but the liquid went down without resistance and none of the familiar pangs that often accompanied consuming poison.
Garik set the chalice back in its prominent place and turned to face the audience of over a dozen dark-clad men standing around them in a circle. Assassins who had also completed training this cycle. Like him.
There was no applause, no warm cheers but there was pride and respect in the stoic gazes that had witnessed the proceedings. It soothed a place inside of Garik, which had ached long before he joined the Guild as a confused teen of fifteen. Orphaned by the death of his parents in a mining accident and abandoned by what remaining family he had left, Garik had hooked up with a band of miscreants thieving and looting.
It was an unreliable lifestyle and one that would have seen him dead sooner than later if not for the night he’d tried to fleece a man clad all in black as he’d left a drinking establishment.
As soon as Garik and the others had closed in on the stranger, their target had spun on his heels, kicked Phinneas hard in the chest and delivered two rapid-fire punches to Ward’s face. Garik hesitated, the long blade he held in his hand feeling inadequate in the face of the clear experience of their mark.
“Do you really want to do this?” the stranger asked, his face partially shielded by the hood of the shirt he wore beneath his ankle-length duster.
Garik’s two partners leaped to their feet and darted off into the dark of night, abandoning Garik and leaving him to face the consequences of their joint actions—alone.
He lowered the blade and shook his head. He wasn’t a fool. He knew he stood no chance.
“Does your family know you do this to get by, or is it a lark with you and your friends?”
The question was tossed his way as Garik backed up one slow step at a time in hopes of fleeing as well. Garik stopped his retreat and bit off a bitter laugh. “I don’t have a family any more. And those weren’t my friends.”
Just a crew he’d hooked up with to survive.
“Then I suppose you do this because you need credits?”
Garik didn’t answer as he calculated his odds and which direction to run.
The stranger blew out a rough breath. “Either I’m feeling really generous, a rarity I assure you, or I didn’t drink nearly enough.”
The man’s clothing rustled as he shifted about and Garik’s fingers tightened on the weapon he still held. Through sheer luck and skill, he’d managed to eat at least once a day and avoid this particular option. Today wasn’t the day he planned on succumbing either. He wasn’t desperate enough to sell himself. Yet.
“No, thank you,” manners compelled him to say as he glanced around the empty alley and wondered at his chances of escape. Obviously, he planned to fight but after seeing how this guy handled Phinneas and Ward, Garik’s chances of getting away were probably slim.
Silence filled the short space between them. Then the man shoved back his hood and met Garik’s gaze with an incredulous one. “Not that, little one. Never that.”
Garik was young but not little. He was fifteen if his recollection of dates and times weren’t too far off. From what he could make out, he and the stranger were probably the same height except Garik had none of the bulk and muscle. In a fight, he’d lose. Garik firmed his lips and took another determined step backward.
“Fuck my life.” The stranger let out a rough chuckle and grasped the back of his neck. He came forward and a sliver of light from the drinking establishment displayed the angles of his face. Dirty blond hair and eyes of an indeterminate color. “I’m offering you a chance for something worthwhile. A purpose if you’re interested.”
The sleeve of his duster shifted, offering a glimpse of a wrist gauntlet on his forearm bracer style when he moved his arm in a swinging motion. Garik flinched then caught the object flying in his direction. He fingered the square chip in confusion.
“The Assassins Guild. If you have what it takes, I think you’ll find it will change your life.” With a casual twist to his lips, he added, “It changed mine.”
Garik’s gaze narrowed. Assassins Guild. He’d heard of them. Everyone in the quadrant had. Men and women who killed for a living but didn’t have to fear the law. “Who are you?”
Pulling his hood back up, he concealed his appearance once more and countered, “Does it matter?”
Garik barked an unexpected laugh. “I don’t guess so.”
Was he really considering this? Garik fingered the info chip he’d been given and decided he might actually like the idea of being an assassin.
“If you make it, look me up. The name’s Nevo Xyman.”
Then Xyman aimed his hand at the railing of a balcony above them. A cable launched from the gauntlet on his wrist and hooked on a bottom rung. With a leap and twist, he landed in a crouch on the balcony. He sent a two-fingered salute Garik’s way then vanished with a running jump to the next balcony and the next until he soared up onto a low cropped roof and faded from view.
“Welcome to the Assassin’s Guild, Garik Denikon.”
The pronouncement yanked Garik from the past and he remembered to bow to the Master. Today was the official beginning of his future.