Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  He paused for a long moment and just stared into the night sky. When I was about to ask him again, he spoke a single word, “No.”

  Perhaps it was the years of experience he possessed beyond mine, or perhaps he truly did enjoy the life of a Guild Assassin, but regardless of his primary reasons, I could sense they were very complex and laced with painful memories. I wanted him to feel hope again, and if I could understand him more, then maybe I could help him see hope. In all honesty, I needed him to see hope. I needed him to see it for me, because I was slowly and steadily losing mine that life could hold any amount of genuine joy again. If I could help him see it, then maybe I could see it again. Maybe there could be hope. But I was too weary to concern myself with its fleeting fantasy this night. Apparently, my bone deep weariness was echoed by Kinarin as well, because he fell quickly asleep. As he had taught me through many of our lessons, I steeled myself against the growing drowsiness seeking to consume my eyes and took the first watch.

  “Mylanas,” I heard a voice say, “your musical talents surpass anything we have heard from the elves since the beginning of time. You truly are descendant directly from the stars themselves.”

  “Thank you, Lord Henchat,” she said smoothly. Even her normal speech provoked a desire to hear more. “I was all too happy to sing at your festival when I received your request.”

  Between forkfuls of my salad, I glanced to her and saw her imperceptibly wink.

  “Tell me, young Martos, how is your salad tasting?” Lord Henchat asked me with a broad smile.

  After struggling to completely chew the last remnant of the most delicious salad I had ever eaten, I answered honestly, “It is indeed the best I have ever eaten, my Lord.”

  “How do you compare it to your beautiful companion’s voice?” asked Lord Henchat with an amused grin.

  I nearly spit out the mouthful of ale I had just drank. After a short bought of coughing, I was finally able to answer him, “Companion? She is not my companion.”

  “Oh, come now, young Martos. We can all see that her attentions, while divided out of courtesy, are completely focused on you this night,” he said with another broad smile.

  I looked to Mylanas, who staggered me with a brilliant smile, and took another long gulp of ale provoking a deep laughter from Lord Henchat.

  But then, all time around me seemed to stop. I saw Lord Henchat paused in mid laughter, his head tilted back, his mouth still opened wide from amusement. I looked around the table and saw everyone similarly held suspended by some sort of magical spell. Even the ale being poured into the goblet of Amoos Trask had paused in mid-stream. Finally, my eyes rested on Mylanas who was staring back at me with a gaze of deep intention inside of her amazing blue orbs.

  “What is it you wish to know?” she said melodically.

  “What happened?” I asked her in return as I was still having difficulty understanding what was happening. “Did you do this?”

  “No. You did,” she said easily.

  “I did? What do you mean I did?” I asked.

  “You are the only one who could do it,” she said with a laugh.

  “I cannot do this? I have no magical talent,” I said, refuting her.

  “You do not need magic. Inside your dream, all things are possible,” she said as she gently caressed my cheek.

  “I am dreaming?” I asked her, beginning to become aware that I was, in fact, still asleep to all of mortality.

  “Indeed, you are,” she said again, continuing to comfort my rising anxiety. “But do not worry. This is your dream and under your control.”

  “Are you hear with me?” I asked the elven beauty.

  “Of course, I am not here. This is a dream, my dear, no one is hear. Now, ask what you would like to ask?”

  “What did you mean when you called me The Blade? Did you know I would become an assassin?”

  “My dear Drin Martos,” she said as she reached her other hand up to cradle my face in both of her palms, “it has nothing to do with any daggers or swords. But do not worry, you will know when the time has come,” she said.

  “How will I know?” I asked her, drawing warmth from her skin. Though I knew this was a dream, it was more real than the life I was living when I was awake.

  “I cannot answer that for you. But like any blade, you will need to be heated in a forge before your steel can be tempered and strengthened. Only then will you become sharper than any other weapon.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked her as my face sank more deeply into her healing warmth.

  “I cannot answer that for you,” she said with a compassionate smile. She held my face and allowed me to sink fully into her strength. My eyes closed and I drank fully from her spring of healing grace.

  “Drin,” I heard her say, but I was submerged too deeply into her presence to answer. “Drin,” she said again, but it seemed as her voice and touch was drifting further away. “Drin,” she said a third time.

  I opened my eyes and saw Kinarin standing up, his two, razor sharp, thin blades held loosely in his hands. He was partially coiled, but lacked the confidence of knowing his target’s location. Instinctively, I sprang up, grasping my blades in the process. I mimicked him and scanned the edge of my ability to see, which was not far because of the darkness of night.

  “Drin,” I heard him say quietly, “protect your sisters.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “She is here,” he said stoically.

  I gripped my blades a little more tightly and sank into my readied stance a little more deeply. When he realized that I was not going to do as he said, he told me, again to protect my sisters. But I did not move. I was done doing what I was told regardless of the wisdom he might possess.

  “Drin,” he said again emphasizing each word, “go protect your sisters.”

  I responded with more resolution that I thought I had, because the single word that escaped my mouth must have carried a much deeper message than its single syllable suggested, because instead of answering with another reiteration of his initial command, Kinarin simply said, “So be it.”

  Though we could not hear her approaching, we could sense it within whatever substance, if any, refuted the concept that we were nothing but blood and dust. The closer she drew, the more solid our understanding of immortality became, for nothing mortal could have given birth to the density her spirit carried. And as she slowly dissolved into our vision, lit by the pale glow of the moon, our mortality shrank in direct proportion to her immortality.

  “So, it comes to this,” she said slowly, as if her drawn out words would call into existence the very substance of her will.

  “It does not have to,” I heard Kinarin say. Was he trying to offer a respite to the battle? Clearly, she was resolved to kill.

  “Of course, it does,” she said with her dark, silky voice. “My burden demands it.”

  I moved to flank her, positioning her between both Kinarin and myself. He glanced to me and then focused back to her.

  “But mine does not,” he said and faded from my sight.

  Stunned, I looked back to Vismorda who, to my surprise, showed only amusement on her face. “Do not think your trick will work on me again. I have prepared for it this time.”

  The air grew quiet, if air can become quiet and stilled simply by the increased gravity of the moment in preparation for the dynamic fluidity that was sure to follow. Instinctively, I gripped my blades more tightly, tight enough that I was sure the skin around my grip points had become pale. I saw Vismorda look around confidently but cautiously. She knew Kinarin planned for attack, but seemed unphased by his ability. I saw the clouds part behind her allowing the moon, in all of its full, pale splendor to shine down on what seemed to be this moment, and this moment alone. Whether she smiled because of it, or some unseen estimation of victory, her lips curled at their edges as her eyes fixed on me.

  They were horribly deep. Telling a story of what results from intense pain when left to its own illusi
ons of cause, they were filled with a vile intent like nothing I had ever seen before, at least, not when it was directed toward me. Even the stares of my sisters, while hateful, were not reflective of the depth of Vismorda’s profound evil. Had I possessed even a shred of the innocence I had while I was still on the farm, I would probably have been stricken into immobility the way some of the animals were when the light of a candle pierces the shroud of darkness. But that would have been before. This was now. So, instead of wilting under the presence of her hate-filled will, I stood my ground, coiled and said under my breath, “Remember the moment.” And remember it I would, because this moment was mine.

  I danced. With the instructive and lethal lessons fueling all of my vengeance, I launched at Vismorda. Jumping high into the air, higher than I thought I could, I sought to end the confrontation with one laser aimed stab to the right side of her neck. She saw my charged and backed onto her heals. Off balanced by my speed and direct attack, I knew I had gained the upper-hand. I drove my blade down into her neck. At least, that was my plan, but when her sidestep, at the last second, left my dagger finding only air, I knew I had to recover quickly lest I leave myself open for a counter attack. I felt more than saw her short, devilish sword stab at my exposed thigh. Twisting fiercely, I swept my attacking dagger through and parried her stab, but before I could strike with my second dagger, another stab was already speeding toward my exposed wrist.

  I prepared for the pain of a cut as I twisted my wrist hoping to avoid her stab. I was successful, but my momentary celebration was halted when I felt her fingers close upon the same wrist she sought to wound. In one fluid motion, her foot swung its momentum between mine and I found myself flying through the air. But I was nothing if not nimble. I twisted and landed on the padded soles of my boots absorbing what was meant to be an impact to my back with the strength of my legs. This left me in a coiled position and ready to counter attack.

  I did not wait for her next movement. Instead, I sought to dictate the terms of the battle. Terms that were written with revenge and signed in the blood of my enemy. I feigned right, dodged left and struck with a multitude of stabs and slashes, each meant to draw blood. But regardless of their intent, I could not break through her defense, a defense that seemed to know exactly what I was going to do as I was doing it, or even before. As my last slash was intercepted by her wicked sword, we momentarily locked positions. She winked, swept my right arm around as she drew her legs back and pulled me forward. I resisted, which was my mistake. Without a hint of warning, she reversed her motion, spinning me completely around the other way and threw me nearly ten feet away from her, my attacking blade being twisted from my grip and landing in the opposite direction.

  After landing, I spun over preparing for another attack, but found her standing right where she had been. Why had she not advanced when she had the advantage? I was clearly in a position of defense and she would have been wise to press my poor position. And where was Kinarin?

  “Very well done,” I heard her say, but not to me. “You have taught him well in the martial ways. But tell me, were you intending to teach him more?” Kinarin remained as silent as he was unseen. “Very well, maybe I will complete his training for you.” She began stepping slowly toward me drawing a second small, wicked blade from her other thigh.

  “That will not be necessary,” said Kinarin’s voice a moment before he faded into sight again. “You can finish your instruction on me.”

  “Gladly,” she said, flashing into an inhuman dash toward him. But he was ready. He met the dashing woman blade for blade and step for step. They entangled into a flailing, yet controlled mix of twists and slashes too quick and complex for my perception to fully comprehend. I would have dived in to assist my instructor, but I simply could not follow their movements. At one point, I saw Vismorda backhand Kinarin across his face, but at the same moment, he landed a well-placed kick to her thigh. They separated, but only briefly. As I blinked, they engaged again.

  Rigorous yet fluid, they each began to almost flicker, as if their existences were beginning to fade under the will of the others. But there was no denying, the battle was raging on as they continued their strobe like dance against the moonlit stillness of a black battle against and even blacker night. Neither gained the upper hand, at least not that my finite senses could perceive, for a time longer than I could have continued to battle. They would combine in a flurry of attacks, parries, counter attacks, steps, lunges, and flashing blades and then separate as if measuring when to unleash their final plunge.

  It was only by chance I survived to witness the end of their confrontation. Had I not been so engrossed into their battle trying to figure out a way to assist Kinarin, I would have easily noticed both my sisters had freed themselves from their binds and silently moved to attack me. But, because the fluidly beautiful dance between two lethal combatants had enthralled the greater portion of my attention, I failed to see them, and it almost cost me my life. Had it not been for a shooting star that had caused me to instinctively glance in its direction, I would never have seen the silhouette of Jinola as she raised her blade high against the moonlight seeking to delve its bright steel into my spine. I was glad I had engaged Vismorda first because my blades were already held in my fingers and ready to act. I blocked her stab, but was not quick enough to avoid Hithelyn’s. I felt a sharp sting as her blade cut across my cheek.

  There is something cleansing about pain; at least that is what Kinarin had always said to me. While he had meant it more in regards to emotional pain, as I turned my head, my cheek still stinging from Hithelyn’s attack, I became aware that its ability to bring clarity was not limited to non-physical effects. As I saw both my sisters grin in response to the dripping of my blood from the open wound, and as the stinging increased as a result from my dripping sweat, I saw clearly the choice facing me. I could live, or I could die.

  For some reason, and perhaps it was because I was finally able to see the entire absurdity of my situation over the whole of these last long months, as I stood facing the weapons my sisters had become, I laughed. Not the slight chuckle in response to a minor amusement, nor was it a hearty belly driven laugh. No, I laughed like I was never going to laugh again. Like this was the last time I was ever going to find anything even remotely amusing let alone joyful enough to elicit more than just a passing and polite smile.

  “Why are you laughing?” asked Hithelyn.

  I did not respond.

  “What is funny?” she asked again.

  I continued to laugh, now tilting my head back in raptured hilarity.

  “Stop that!” commanded my sister.

  But even if I was under her reign, I could not have completed her command. I had completely forgotten what I found so hilarious, if I had ever known what it had been in the first place. And then it occurred to me, I was laughing just to laugh. I could not remember the last time I had laughed, but I was sure it was while I was still an innocent youth unburdened by such heavy thoughts of life verses death.

  “Stop that!” Hithelyn yelled even more loudly.

  But I continued to laugh as if the only thing that would allow laughter throughout the world to live beyond this day was if I could laugh long enough and deeply enough to forget everything set against my ability to feel joy.

  “If he will not stop, then let us stop him, sister,” I heard Jinola say.

  They advanced.

  This was not the first time I had faced my sisters, but it was going to be the last. Much like my laughter was generated by a scope of finality surpassing my singular existence, my resolution to protect them extended far beyond any of my desires. And in order to protect them, I had to beat them. So thoroughly had this dedication resolved within me that I doubted even the great legends of ages past could have prevented me from it. If I was to die today, either by their hands, or at the edge of Vismorda’s blades, their fates would be sealed into a darkness they would never recover from. They would be lost, and I could not lose them. So,
when they advanced, I prepared to do whatever I must.

  Though they were much smaller than me physically and lacked the outright speed and quickness I possessed because of my superiorly developed musculature, they matched me blade to blade, and step for step. Their coordination as the two of them blended into a singular force surpassed even my ability to attack in coordination with Kinarin, though we had trained together extensively. I was able to keep them at bay, but I was beginning to be pressed. I knew all of their actions were an attempt to achieve a singular goal. They sought to flank me. When properly executed, obtaining a flanking position would almost seal the outcome of the battle. And there was nothing to indicated my sisters would not be able to utilize a flanking position properly. As a result, I found myself retreating more than advancing.

  If Jinola and Hithelyn had not been able to pressure me as effectively as they had, my thoughts would have wandered to the outcome of the other battle raging on the same field. But as it was, I had been able to catch only slight glimpses of Kinarin and Vismorda. Though I lacked sufficient information to determine who had the upper hand, I feared Kinarin was faring no better than I. I felt the toll of my continued exertion begin to extract its demand on my lungs and its effect upon my muscles’ ability to respond to the dictates of their imposition. Though I could continue to battle for some time to come, I would be unable to launch and effective counterattack thereby allowing my sisters to eventually gain the advantage.

  But, just as the pain of the gash on my cheek enlightened me to a resolve I possessed within greater than any I had previously acknowledge, the pain of my eventual failure to protect them allowed a clarity of focus in regards to causes and effects I had never been able to see before. As such, I saw their pattern. My sisters were beautifully methodical in their approach to armed combat; and although they appeared to sync their offensive and defensive strategies into a unified fluidity of motion, in this moment I saw them as two distinctly separate entities. If I could affect one, I could cause the other to change. So, I did what neither of them expected. I allowed Jinola to slice deeply into my thigh, a potentially battle ending wound, and summoned all of my strength to smash Hithelyn in the face with the palm of my hand.