He adapted to the north by becoming a woodcutter. Mirabella told everybody they were married, and he never contradicted her. The three of them slept in the same bed in the one-room cabin, which was good especially when winter came.
When the first snow covered the ground, Saif wished Kilig was still with him. He missed the young man very much and hoped he was doing fine. His only source of joy in the gray northern winter was Hakeem, who loved him as unconditionally as Kilig.
Hakeem was a bright, cheerful child, and Mirabella a wise young woman. Saif settled in his new life as husband and father – although he never actually married Mirabella and couldn't remember making love to her – trying to forget his one and only love, Kilig the Sword.
Part Two – Kilig & Hakeem
1. Saif's legacy
Kilig found the cabin in the woods at sunset. It wasn't hidden, but it wasn't close to the villages either. An isolated little house where Saif could do what he wanted. Smart move. Passing himself off as a woodcutter when he was in fact an assassin.
A dying assassin, Kilig thought, knocking on the door. A retired dying assassin. Maybe around here they knew him as a woodcutter anyway.
Kilig shivered as the temperature went down. Why a southern man like Saif had chosen to live in the northern Blackmore Kingdom – albeit close to the southern coast – was beyond him. Saif must have missed the sun and warmth of the south. Still, he hadn't come back.
They'd parted fifteen years earlier and had lost track of each other. All he had now was a message from a merchant telling him Saif was dying. So he had hastily come north, following the main routes on wagons, until he'd hopped off the last cart to reach the lone cabin.
Nobody answered the door, so he went in. The single room was falling into darkness and the fireplace had only embers in it.
Saif lay on a pallet and seemed asleep. His son wasn't around – probably outside gathering wood. It was ironic that a so-called woodcutter had run out of wood.
Kilig grabbed a stool and sat by the bed, taking the man's hand. Saif had aged – gray streaks lightened his black hair and wrinkles covered his weathered face. The powerful muscles were limp and the ugly gash on the naked torso showed Saif didn't have much left to live.
"Acharya Saif, I'm here," Kilig called softly.
The never forgotten green eyes slowly opened and focused on him.
"Kilig." The man sighed. "Glad you made it. That poisoned blade..."
"Hush," Kilig chided. "Tell me who did it, and I'll avenge you."
"No, Kilig, that's not why I sent for you," Saif replied.
"Why then?" Kilig asked, puzzled, squeezing Saif's fingers.
"My son." Saif gasped for breath. "Take care of him." He winced in pain. "Gods, it burns! Kilig, train my son like I trained you."
"But Acharya Saif!" Kilig protested.
Saif was panting now, the poison was hastening his demise.
"Kilig... you're acharya too now. Promise... you'll take care... of my son!"
A dying man's last wish.
Kilig closed his eyes and hung his head.
"I will," he promised, squeezing Saif's hand with both his.
The door opened and the shadow of a young man came in with a bundle of wood. He gasped at the sight of Kilig, dropped the wood on the embers of the fireplace and rushed by the pallet.
"Father!"
"He's here, Hakeem." Saif was breathless, but smiled. "He'll take care of you."
"Father, no!" The young man dropped to his knees and grabbed Saif's other hand since Kilig wouldn't let go.
Clenching his teeth, Kilig stared at Saif's sweaty face. "Are you hurting much? Do you want me to ease your pain?" he asked with a lump in his throat.
"Not... in front of... my son." Saif focused on the young man Kilig could feel by his side but refused to look at. "Hakeem, I love you. Wait outside."
"No, Father. You want me to follow in your footsteps, I will have to get used to this." Hakeem sounded determined.
Kilig smiled ruefully.
Saif gathered his last strength to sit and glare at both. "Out. Both of you. Let a man die in peace."
He freed his hands and put Hakeem's fingers in Kilig's palm. "Out," he repeated after entrusting his son to his former apprentice.
Kilig slowly rose, still holding Hakeem's hand.
Why is he doing this? He must know how much I hate... He hated Hakeem's mother, actually. And she was dead.
Saif lay back, panting, and closed his eyes. Kilig felt Hakeem shiver and gently led him out of the cabin.
They sat on a log in the clearing and Kilig looked at the stars. So many stars – so many nights counting them with Saif... and now Saif was almost gone. Although their relationship had ended when Saif had chosen Hakeem's mother. How old was the boy now? Not a boy anymore, he was tall and must be twenty already. Where had time gone?
Hakeem sniffled. "Will you finish my training so that I can avenge my father?" he asked.
Kilig scoffed. "Your father is not dead yet. We'll see."
"I thought he had sent for a Genn healer," Hakeem, complained. "But then he told me he was waiting for his former apprentice. Do you think he was sick of living?"
"I don't know, you spent the last fifteen years with him, not me," Kilig retorted. I was forgotten. I don't know if and how he changed, how he raised his son... and why, oh why did he bestow this burden on me?
He glanced at the young man's profile, but it was too dark now to discern his features.
Kilig sighed. "I'm going to lie down for an hour or two. It's a long way from Godwalkar."
"I'll keep watch," Hakeem replied, his voice steadier now. "Can't sleep anyway. Not when my father is dying."
"I think it's over." Kilig rose. "I can't hear his ragged breath anymore. So if you want to go back inside... I'll sleep out here anyway."
He wrapped his travel cloak around his body and went to lie down next to the cabin on the side of the fireplace, hoping some warmth would filter through the stone wall. The cabin was all timber except for the fireplace and chimney. Kilig hoped the night wouldn't be too cold, or he'd have to disturb Saif's son.
Hakeem hesitated, then went back inside. Kilig heard him sob, but kept his eyes closed. It felt so unreal... he had mourned the loss of Saif for so long, tears wouldn't come now. He dozed off, but not for long. He woke up shivering, and quietly went inside the cabin, where he could hear only Hakeem's regular breathing. He lay on the wooden floor and went back to sleep for a few more hours.
The first light of dawn awoke him. He stretched his limbs and sat, yawning. The fire had died off and Hakeem had fallen asleep next to his father's corpse. Saif looked peaceful now.
Why only one pallet? Was Saif really training his son? The teacher – or acharya – usually slept in a bed, while the apprentice slept on the floor. That was how it had been for him so long ago. Until he'd become an assassin himself and started sharing the bed with Saif.
A ray of sun came in from the narrow window and touched Saif's bearded cheek, slowly moving towards Hakeem's clean-shaven face. A handsome young man, Saif's son.
Then Hakeem's eyes slowly opened and Kilig's heart missed a beat. Genn-green eyes, just like Saif. Hakeem was definitely his son.
Gods, he bestowed on me a son who looks just like him! Why, Saif, why? How can I train someone who looks so much like you?
He averted his eyes as Hakeem sat and stretched, making the pallet creak dangerously.
"We need to gather wood for the funeral pyre," Kilig said grumpily.
"There's plenty."
Hakeem rose and showed him a shed with stacks of wood at the back of the cabin. He was well built and helped to carry the logs and prepare the pyre with no apparent effort.
They took Saif's body outside with the whole pallet and watched it burn, standing side by side. Kilig almost felt his heart break again. But Saif had ended their relationship so long ago, he didn't have tears left.
Neither had Hakeem, apparently. He had shed all
he could the previous night. His green eyes stared gloomily at the flames, but they were dry.
When the body was turned to ashes, they extinguished the fire. They ate some stew left from the day before – neither was hungry anyway – then Kilig broke the silence.
"Who killed your father?"
"I'm not telling you," Hakeem replied, keeping his eyes low.
Kilig scoffed. "Why, you want to avenge him yourself?"
"That's why you're here." Hakeem looked him in the eyes. "To finish my training so I can avenge him."
"And what did he teach you so far?"
"He started my training three years ago, after my mother's death. That's when I learned I'm not really a woodcutter's son."
"Definitely not," Kilig grumbled. "So this is your third year of training." He'd been through the training himself, so he knew what was left to teach, although he'll have to test Saif's son's skills.
Hakeem nodded. "I know what you are. I know who trained you, like he was doing with me."
"How did he get wounded by a poisoned blade in such a godforsaken place?" Kilig asked, still incredulous.
"It happened in town," Hakeem replied. "Hurlevent has waterfront inns with a bad reputation. There was a brawl..."
"A brawl with poisoned weapons?"
"That's what it looked like. But my father realized it must have been a diversion to kill him. He thought he saw an old enemy in the crowd. That's why when we met that merchant headed for Godwalkar, he asked him to look for you."
Kilig sighed. "Assassins have plenty of enemies, especially if they're as good as he was."
"He was the best – until he retired to marry my mother and raise me. He really lived as a woodcutter, until my mother died. Then he told me who he really was. He kept saying we should go back south, but that I wasn't ready for the Assassins' Guild yet. You can complete my training here or in Godwalkar, I don't care." He sounded determined.
Kilig scoffed and lay back. "I haven't decided yet."
"You promised my father on his deathbed."
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into."
"It's what he wanted for me. And I want it too."
"And then you'll meet a beautiful girl somewhere, fall in love, and retire early when she presents you with a baby," Kilig said sourly. "Just like your father."
Hakeem stared at him before speaking. "I think I know what was between you and my father."
"No you don't," he grumbled, jarred.
"I do. You are still handsome, you must have been gorgeous fifteen years ago."
Kilig glared at him. "I was just a stupid teenager who was seduced by the adventurous life of an assassin." And fell in love with his mentor. Who didn't have other children after you. Must mean something... He abandoned me out of duty... for you, his son?
He barely remembered the five-year-old who had stolen his lover. His hatred had concentrated on the mother. He had wondered at the time why Saif had accepted the paternity. The child's peculiar eye color probably convinced him it was true. And I didn't look at the child once. And now here he is, fifteen years later, staring at me with Saif's eyes.
"I will follow you from now on, whether you train me or not," Hakeem said. "But I sure hope you'll help me avenge my father's death."
Kilig slammed his fist on the wooden floor, startling the young man sitting in front of him.
"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "The first rule is, I order, you obey, so now shut up!"
Hakeem nodded, but he didn't look scared.
You will be. I will scare you away, son of Saif with the same green eyes...
***
He's grumpy, but he's so... handsome! Hakeem thought. His father had sounded very fond of Kilig, the man who had never touched a woman. Saif had never forced his son to look for a bride – unlike his mother, who had probably died of heartbreak when she had noticed Hakeem's lack of interest in the other sex.
From what he had gathered, Hakeem had been conceived before Saif met Kilig. His original profession – assassin – made him move around a lot, so five years passed before he came back to the town where Hakeem's mother lived.
She had immediately recognized Saif and introduced him to his son. Hakeem vaguely remembered someone standing by his father's side with a horrified expression.
He must hate me as much as he hates my mother, he thought as they went out of the cabin so Kilig could test his skills. What if he kills me?
But no, Kilig wanted to know who killed Saif, and Hakeem wasn't going to tell him until his training was complete.
Kilig tested his sword skills and then his archery skills. By then the sun was high and both were sweaty and half-naked, muscles glistening.
"You're good in combat, but to be an assassin you'll need another set of skills," Kilig said, dropping the bow and picking up the knives and daggers. "Show me how you throw this."
He offered a throwing knife, then a small brass wheel that Hakeem spun around his finger before throwing it, and then a bigger brass wheel that he hurled at the tree where his arrows were still stuck with the same precision.
The brass wheels had been part of his father's legacy. The brass had been beaten into a circular form the size of a small plate, two fingers broad, sharp outside and without edge inside, so it could be worn around the wrists or – the bigger ones – around the neck or over the turban. When thrown, they cut through everything – in the present case they stuck to the tree trunk.
"Good." Kilig smiled briefly. "I see you're proficient with the most famous throwing weapons. But what do you know of our secret weapons?"
"The dagger." Hakeem showed his.
"I have a better version." Kilig showed off his own dagger. By squeezing the handles, the blade split in three, forming a trident.
"I guess it's a new version, my father never saw it," Hakeem said, impressed.
"I guess not." Kilig closed the triple blades and threw the dagger at the tree, then he took off his bracelet that turned out to be a silken noose wrapped around his wrist, with two round weights at both ends which looked like big gray pearls.
Hakeem's eyes widened in wonder. "You're a noose-operator!"
"Of course. So was your father." Kilig grabbed his travel bag and took out a high leather collar that protected the whole neck. He put it around Hakeem's neck and the young man stiffened, unsure.
"Training collar." Kilig smiled briefly. "I guess your father lost his. It allows me to show you how the noose works without actually killing you."
He stepped away and threw the silken noose. Hakeem felt the collar tighten around his neck, but it held. He gasped for breath as he untangled the noose from around his neck.
Kilig scoffed, took off the collar and put it around his own neck.
"Now, before I teach you how to throw it, show me how you would attack me with it." He turned his back on Hakeem and waited.
Hakeem hesitated, then tried to wrap it around Kilig's neck, but Kilig's body was slippery and he found himself on the ground, dazed by how fast Kilig had reacted.
Kilig offered his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Again."
But the end of the day, Hakeem had grasped some moves, but felt bruised all over. His admiration for Kilig was growing – the new acharya was even better than his father!
"You are very nimble," Kilig complimented him as they roasted a hare they'd caught in the morning during the archery test. "You'll make a good assassin."
"Thank you." Hakeem wasn't expecting a compliment from his fiery teacher. "If you don't break my bones before that, of course."
"You're tough enough," Kilig replied. "You will make it. Unless you fall for a woman, that is."
Hakeem pursed his lower lip. "Do you hate women?"
Kilig frowned. "You could say that."
"Why?"
Kilig started cutting pieces of meat and offered them to Hakeem before answering.
"One of them ruined a perfect relationship."
"And what kind of relationship was it
exactly?" Hakeem asked between bites.
"You think you know, so why do you ask?" Kilig retorted.
"I think you and my father were lovers. Is that correct?"
Kilig averted his eyes but nodded. "Correct."
They ate in silence for a moment, then Hakeem couldn't keep his curiosity at bay anymore.
"Did love grow out of the teacher-student relationship?"
Kilig sighed. "I adored him. He took me out of a slum and made me feel safe for the first time in my life. Safe and loved. And he taught me to stand on my own two feet. I almost collapsed when he left me to honor his fatherly duty."
"You are both men of honor," Hakeem said reverently.
"There are rules in this line of work," Kilig snapped.
"I know. No women, no children. Kill only men."
Kilig glared, but Hakeem smiled.
"First rule! That's what my father told me. Second rule – no women, no children. And third... I don't know." His hand, that was counting one finger at the time, slumped back in his lap and he finished his meat.
"We are men of honor. We have only one word," Kilig grumbled. "That's the third rule."
"Good! Noted. Man of honor. Only one word. Stick to it."
They finished eating, then Kilig said, "Get some rest now. Tomorrow we have another session. And it's going to be worse than today."
Hakeem groaned. "Yes, Acharya Kilig."
He looked forward to lying on the ground next to his new mentor, though. He could probably nestle against his acharya and dream of his father...
***
Kilig thought Hakeem was a skilled apprentice. As days went by, he also realized Hakeem wasn't exactly like Saif. While Saif had been the acharya, therefore Kilig had learned to follow and mimic his every move, now he was the acharya, and Hakeem was adept at copying his every move.
They shaved together, bathed together in the stream near the cabin, trained together, and Kilig started noticing the differences between father and son. Hakeem definitely had his own personality and it was hard to be stern with him when he flashed his impish smile at Kilig.
Kilig taught him the use of the silken noose and the triple-blade dagger, and his admiration for the young man grew. When they slept side by side on the floor of the cabin, Hakeem's body was a warmth he had long forgotten in the loneliness of the past fifteen years. Yes, he'd had occasional partners, but hadn't realized he'd missed waking up next to the same person for days on end.
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