Chapter 27: What’s In A Name
The Pursuit (Lawlessness)
They did not travel by foot for long. They knew their adversaries destination so detoured to acquire what would speed their journey. They came across a promising town. It was vibrant, busy and filled with others. What brought the others is what held their interest. They waited until nightfall before entering. Darkness was their element. They would use its cloak to further their gains.
The town was not one they would’ve picked if a choice were given. It contained an element they found most displeasing; criminality.
“Stay hidden. Do not reveal oneself. Locate what we desire and return.”
The one without a name nodded her head in reply. She left and her sight was lost before ten steps were taken. She was a rarity in the Elvin world; an assassin of female form. Some had taken her presence lightly, some felt she was unworthy of their mantle, some turned to none as she removed their viewpoints from consideration.
The town was built to suit horseback needs. It contained a main thoroughfare made of dirt and was lined on both sides with business. Saloons, taverns and places of ill-repute were the mainstay and their presence was everywhere. Side by side they stood testament to man’s desire for change; a change of sobriety, a change of companionship, the change of coin. All were available and business boomed.
She crept to the edge of town and waited. She always scouted ahead, never entered blind and always prepared an exit. It was sometimes time-consuming but important and became second nature. It was necessary. She wouldn’t have survived without it.
She’d been purchased at an age she didn’t know, so young she held no memory of anything before forced servitude. She grew into a child with the knowledge she was less than all, below even domesticated beasts, a slave without power; an Elvin without clan.
She saw the path, climbed the exterior and reached the roof. She waited. No alarm was sounded so she lowered her silhouette and glided over the establishment. She could hear the voices inside. Loud, raucous, vulgar.
“Bring me wine!”
“Bring me ale!”
“Bring me a wench!”
They were thugs, ruffians, outlaws. Undisciplined and untamed. She was anything but.
“Fetch my robe!”
“Yes, Master.”
“Clean the floor!”
“Yes, Master.”
“You have displeased me. Turn around!”
Lash!
She was beaten every day because his anger was all consuming. He was alone, a male without mate, an Elvin without family, a lord over none save his servants. They paid dearly for his solitude and learned the ways of pain. He bought only females, the ones who’d rejected him, the ones who’d chosen him naught.
“What is this?”
“Soup, Master.”
“It’s slop! Turn around!”
Lash!
The pain she learned to tolerate, the beatings became mundane, everyday rituals without meaning, without mercy, without temperance. She became another in those times, a creature both of the world and outside its grip. Her mind broke. Her will subsided. Then one day everything changed.
“Move your belongings to the other side of the room. Another slave will reside with you.”
The child was led in, tears flowing freely. The other was only four but knew her life had changed. He whipped her the first day to prove her thoughts correct. They became roommates in name only for she had learned to trust only in herself, the other had not.
“He is a cruel master” the other whimpered.
She replied not for what was there to say? The answer was ever present and always painful.
She scanned the street for signs of life, some were entering, some leaving, none were sufficient for their needs. She moved further and reached the edge. The chasm between the structures was ten feet wide and twenty feet deep. She scaled to the ground because she was not to be seen. She could’ve made the distance but would need a running start. It was too risky. Some might see movement and she would be forced to kill. It was best if stealth replaced speed for the moment. They had the time. Their prey’s destination known.
They grew to know each other as only slaves could. Fearful of reprisals for deeds either undone or done erringly. They were forbidden names for they were below their need, below their purpose, unnecessary to those who held no rights.
“Is the bedchamber clean?”
“I am on the way to clean it now, Master.”
“It should have been done already! Turn around!”
Lash!
She reached the top and again scanned her surroundings. She was above a saloon, the sounds of inebriation clear in the nighttime air. She watched as one arrived. He was met by another, a boy with pail. She watched as money changed hands and the horse led away. She kept the boy in view for he was the key. When he turned and led the animal away she moved for a better view. The boy entered a stable and she waited for him to leave.
“What is your name?”
She didn’t answer for the first year. She couldn’t allow herself to trust another. The other might be a spy sent to find those who retained individuality.
“What is your name?”
The other was insistent, intent and completely terrified. If she were acting then it was a performance of amazing magnitude. She relented when she could no longer believe the other was anything but a slave.
“I have no name. I was taken too young to remember” she whispered and the other shed a tear on her behalf. They were the best of friends from that moment on.
The boy left the stable and she moved with purpose. She would not have much time, she needed it not. One quick view was all it took as she again scaled the walls to return and report her findings.
The days were torture, filled with malicious design by one who despised those representative of the ones who spurned him. He was arrogant and rude, brutal and vicious, a tormentor for the pleasure of witnessing pain. The nights were theirs for he drank to oblivion, railing against the world, outraged with indignation. They would speak of better places, better lives, different worlds. They were dreamers themselves because they knew the truth; Elvin slaves were never set free unless purchased by another. He would never accept an exchange for they were not slaves in his mind; they were payments for slights perceived. They knew death would come in his service, only unsure of the date. It came for the other first, it shouldn’t have. The other was innocent. She was anything but.
She glided through the night, aware of everything, nothing aware of her. They were waiting in the dark when she arrived. She signaled and they prepared accordingly. They were ever ready, ever vigilant, always on guard. She’d been once. It was lost for a while when the other entered her consciousness.
“My name is Aurora. I was taken when my clan was defeated.”
The name was all it took. An insignificant detail which should’ve done nothing to change her perceptions. She was wrong. It changed everything.
They moved as one, following as she retraced her steps, unseen in the blackness of the starlit sky. She halted and pointed, they acknowledged and slipped over the edge to take what they desired. She was with them, a part of them, a member of the Guild which held the power of death. She’d held it before. She’d wielded it before. She’d wept with grief and vowed to undo the wrong.
“Shine the silverware!”
“Yes, Master.”
The idea had come suddenly, inspiration from above. They could not be bought by another for he wouldn’t sell. They would need another way. She realized it as she saw her reflection in the spoon. If he would not allow another’s coin to gain their freedom, she would use his own and earn it for them. He was wealthy, amazingly so, he was also a drunk. She began with little things, nothing large but everything of value.
“Shine the candlesticks!’
“Yes, Master.”
He was always wary in the morning, less so in the afternoon, completely unconscious in the evening.
His belief was such he couldn’t conceive they would take from him, couldn’t comprehend they held their own thoughts. He was proven wrong. It cost the other her life.
She opened the door and found the other standing there, holding the silver knives and candlesticks, trembling with fear. She should’ve guessed but was taken aback by the other’s reaction. She thought the other knew. She thought to reassure her. She spoke.
“Aurora, put those away before he finds…”
She realized her mistake. She hadn’t seen him because the door opened inward. He stood behind.
“You would dare take a name!”
The fear she felt was paralyzing. She watched with horror as the innocent paid for the guilty, as good felt the wraith of bad, as wrong visited right. He strangled the other where she stood. It was her fault. She’d been complicit in the other’s death by uttering her name. She’d killed the one person who’d shown compassion. She shed her last tear as Aurora’s life faded from view.
They sped away with the horses, seven who were invisible, seven who were deadly, seven who knew where those who spilled assassin blood were going. She rode with a memory, a vision, a need. She no longer doubted her purpose, her meaning. The Guild was her family, her home, her life. They took her in because they saw the potential, the lack of fear, the embrace of Death.
“Clean up this trash!”
She looked on with detachment, unaware an impulse was severed, an emotion lost, a survival instinct rerouted, redesigned, redefined.
“I said clean up this trash, slave!”
The image was abstract, blurry, grotesque. The other’s face a mask of pain, of fright, of realization. The memory would never change for the other was posed indefinitely. Death took a picture, a lasting impression which would forever prevail.
“You dare ignore me!”
He moved with the assuredness of one who ruled, one without question, one in control. He saw what he wished; a girl, a servant, a slave. He raised the whip to begin the process anew, to show her she was worthless, meaningless, defenseless. She was anything but.
They learned of her existence from a guard they employed. One went in search and found her locked in a cell as reported. She was near death, bloody, unconscious. They paid the price for her freedom with gold and threats. If any were to challenge they would meet the Guild. She was malnourished and dirty, a mangled mess of face. The other life she took was worse by far.
“I will teach you to obey!”
He lifted his arm, she reacted in kind. The lash struck out but she was past its purpose, beyond its use, below its barbs. She attacked without warning, brutal and quick. He was larger by far but slower in speed. She split him open and watched his torment, his agony, his pain.
The patrol found her in the room, laying prone, unmoving. They were experts in the field and surmised what transpired. She held the markings of the whip but none from the encounter. He never struck his mark, she struck hers every time. The scene was reconstructed, analyzed, deduced. She’d cut him up slowly, he was alive the whole time. She then performed the deed, a gruesome process filled with pain. She removed her own tongue. Payment for speaking a name.
The moon was full, the sky brilliantly black. They were revenge in motion, filled with outrage over the loss of another. The Guild was death, torture and misery. It was meant for others, not for them. They were the instruments of her design, the outcome of her plan. When one of theirs was taken the reaction could only be one and the punishment outweigh the crime.