The Assassin's Twisted Path

by Elizabeth Guizzetti

  The farmhusband glanced at the kitchen door. “The boy’s too dreamy and listless for good sense. His carelessness while bailing hay caused injury to another of our children. He doesn’t eat nor sleep, due to guilt, rather than illness. I think he’s needing a job away from the farm, more than your remedies.”

  “Is your other child alive?” Roark asked.

  “A visible scar and a limp, but what’s that? She’s a thrifty, common-sense girl. She’ll make a great farmer.”

  Roark opened his mind to the family. The father’s emotions and words did not match on the matter. The scar and limp were a reminder to them all. This man loved his son, but he had not forgiven him for the accident. Though she wanted to protect her son from pain, she had not forgiven him either. And Thomas hated himself.

  Edar’s eyes danced. “Perhaps, my good farmer, I could give the boy a job in my garden? My apprentice and I are often too busy to keep things in good repair. I’ve plenty of room to keep him. What arrangements would ease your goodwife’s heart?”

  •

  Roark gasped as he opened the window. Thomas raked the garden without his tunic covering his chest. His chiseled muscles were refined from his life on the farm. As with most healthy human males, his shoulders were broader than Roark’s, and they would grow to be broader still. At least in terms of aesthetics, he approved of Edar’s choice. But there must be a better way.

  Edar knocked on the door. “I heard from Lady Byronia. She returns tonight, and I brought you fresh linens, my friend; the laundress comes today.” He set a basket of herbs on the floor, then moved to strip the bed, but Roark hurried to do it.

  “Thank you. I’m forgiven then?” Roark asked gathering the old sheets.

  “Yes.” Edar replaced the old wolfsbane and lavender with new herbs.

  “How is the rash?”

  “No change.” Gazing upon Thomas in the garden, Edar whispered, “Were you enjoying the view?”

  Roark felt heat rise to face. “Yes.”

  “Good. And do you think the beautiful Lady B. might enjoy Thomas’s form?”

  The warmth was sucked from Roark’s chest. The idea an old man might be interested in Byronia disgusted him. Still, careful his tone remained smooth, he said, “She has a consort.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I’ve ever seen him once. All I know is Corwin ensured she wouldn’t bear his children. Corwin called him a common layabout.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He has the pale skin common to my people and dark hair, but I wouldn’t know the man if I saw him.”

  “Well then, Thomas has dark hair, and once he is away from the sun, his skin will pale,” Edar said. “Unless you believe she doesn’t enjoy humans.”

  Hearing the hollow ring in Edar’s tone, Roark said, “I’ve no idea. I could ask my sister, she’d know.”

  “It doesn’t matter. There are many beautiful women in the Seven Realms.”

  “Are you sure this is how you want to do it? I could do more research. We could find a different way.”

  “The spell says the body must be unloved, does it not?”

  “Yes.” Roark knew he had lost by the sour taste in his mouth.

  “We have everything we need. I have waited for this moment for over fifty years.”

  “But I fear for you.”

  “I know, my friend. I fear too, but I believe it will work. Lady Byronia will arrive this evening, and we can begin. Once you are finished in here, prepare the lab.”

  •

  Chapter 14

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  Roark stood at the top of the cellar stairs. He did not want to go through the violent madness of the transmutation ritual. Yet, this is what Edar wanted and what Corwin ordered him to do. Roark took a step at a time until he reached the stone floor of the cellar. Even with the four lanterns pointed on the central table, it was still too shadowy.

  As Edar instructed, Byronia put sage and rosemary in four small copper pots and lit them until they smoked. The smoke from sage and rosemary filled the laboratory. Edar placed a mirrored amulet around Roark’s neck; Byronia wore a matching one.

  Edar let his robe drop to the floor. He stood naked in front of Thomas Farmer who lay strapped to the central gurney.

  “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Let me go,” Thomas whimpered.

  Compassion burned in Roark for the young man. In his head, he repeated, Thomas injured his sister. He brought this on himself.

  Edar carefully connected the motor’s copper rods to the metal table and to the water wheel on the other side.

  Shuffling across the stone floor, Roark lay a line of salt around the gurneys and cast a circle of protection.

  “Well then, Roark, Byronia, tonight we dance!”

  Edar raised his hands and with a loud, clear voice called, “The Seraphim of the Resurrection will no longer look upon me. I take Thomas Farmer’s body as my own. I will purify and perfect this body by giving it a good man’s soul. He has been forsaken by his parents and put into my upkeep. His body is my own, and I claim it.”

  Thomas screamed, “No! Let me go!” The smell of urine filled the cellar.

  On Edar’s signal, Byronia poured a bucket of icy salt water over Thomas’s body. Kicking against the leather straps and shifting his torso on the metal table, the young man struggled against his bonds. On Edar’s signal, she moved to the stairs in case it all went wrong.

  Roark turned the crank which rotated the motor. A high-pitched tone engulfed the room, which settled into a low hum. The rise of electricity tickled Roark’s corpuscles. Sparks danced across the copper rods to the metal table. Thomas whimpered as electrical shocks and tiny lightning bursts frolicked over him. Roark turned the crank faster; the hum grew louder. Thomas fell back; his heart stopped beating.

  “His body looks good.” Edar touched the carotid artery and checked for a pulse. He did not hide the delight and excitement in his voice. He poured icy water over his own head and lay naked shoulder to shoulder with the dead lad. Electricity danced over both of them. Edar’s body trembled and reacted to each shock, but his maniacal laughter echoed off the stone walls.

  “Let me hear through Thomas Farmer’s ears.” Edar cried out as he sliced off his left ear which flopped onto the floor in a bloody mess. His whole body convulsed, he vomited into a bucket onto the floor.

  Roark wanted to puke in reaction to Edar’s vomit, but he did not. He was an assassin. Instead, he hurried to bring him a flagon of fresh water.

  “No, finish it! I will embrace the pain! Let me walk with Thomas Farmer’s feet.” Edar stabbed himself in the feet and screamed again, He dropped the knife which clattered against the wet stone floor “Finish it, Roark, finish it!”

  Roark picked up the knife.

  “Edar … ”

  “Let me taste through Thomas Farmer’s tongue.” Edar sliced through the flesh of the tongue, and a bubble of blood and spit came from Edar’s open mouth. “I can’t go on, finish … Let me see through Thomas Farmer’s eyes! Roark, do it! Help me!”

  Roark didn’t move.

  Through blood and spittle, Edar shouted, “Don’t leave me in torment, let me see through Thomas Farmer’s eyes!”

  Roark clenched his dagger and took Edar’s eyes. The empty stare out of the bloody orbs was the worst thing the young lord ever saw. His knees weakened.

  “I embrace the pain!” Edar screamed.

  Roark lost track of time as the bloody ritual went on. Edar whispered what he would do with the farm boy’s stomach, hands, arms, legs. Roark stabbed him in those places. The ritual ended with the phrase, “Let me love with Thomas Farmer’s heart.” Roark stabbed the appropriate place on Edar’s chest. The knife entered cleanly.

  As Roark withdrew the blade, blood spurted out and flowed over each corpse. Roark opened Thomas’s mouth, so Edar’s spirit had an easy entry.

  Roark turned the crank and electricity danced over the blood and water.


  Nothing happened.

  “Edar!” Roark rotated the crank harder, more electricity danced over the two bodies. “Come back, brother, come back!” The motor’s humming pinched Roark’s brain. Edar was an old man, and his body had been weak with undeath.

  Edar’s spirit rose from his body but discovered it was covered in blood.

  “Spirit of Edar Candlewick, live again in the body of Thomas Farmer!” Roark ordered.

  “I am an old soul and must be cleaned for resurrection,” the spirit said.

  “Edar Candlewick, remember we bring forth this vessel for you.”

  Roark poured a pitcher over water over the young man.

  “Unclean!” It howled, but the spirit of Edar slid into the young man’s open mouth.

  Roark’s shoulders ached, he turned the crank faster until sparks leapt off the bodies and danced across the bloody floor.

  On the table, the body started to moan. The moaning became screaming. But it wasn’t just the farm boy and the necromancer. It seemed as all their past lives wept in a bleating egophony of sorrow and rebirth.

  Roark smashed his hands to his ears trying to quiet the unending sound. He fell to the floor and clenched his eyes shut. Byronia came and wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him close to her.

  The arcane book said nothing of this sound! He wanted to run, but he owed it to Edar to stay. Not knowing what else to do, Roark began counting. There were sixty seconds in a minute. Three hundred seconds in five minutes. In five minutes, he would take Byronia by the hand and run upstairs. They would wash off the blood, pack and get the lowest Realm out of Edar’s cottage.

  “Roark, Byronia!” Edar groaned in Thomas’s voice. “Are you there?”

  Roark opened his eyes and saw Edar straining Thomas’s head toward the ceiling.

  “Release me.”

  Roark stood and approached the gurneys. “It worked! Dear Gods and Goddess, you are here!” Hands trembling, Roark hurried to unlatch the leather straps. Edar rose from the table in Thomas’s perfect young body. “It worked. I feel more alive than ever before!” Edar said, moving up the stairs. “Feed me, I’m starving, then let us dance!”

  The idea of eating or dancing repulsed Roark. He caught Byronia’s eye. “I think we need a bath first,” she said. “And it is nearly dawn, perhaps it would be better if we went tomorrow?”

  Edar looked down at his naked, bloodstained flesh and laughed. “Right as usual, my friends.”

  •

  Chapter 15

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  “I can’t believe the change in you, Edar,” Mayor Kleidmacher said, the envy apparent in his wheezing voice, his tanned face no longer grandfatherly as he tapped Edar’s leg with his cane.

  “Find me another body, David, and you will be next,” Edar said and leaned over to his oldest friend and squeezed his hand.

  The mayor smiled. “Oh, I’ve already chosen the body.”

  Roark noticed a change in the tapestry, a different number of figures were in the Waters of Resurrection. He knew he could protect himself from the mayor; he believed he and Byronia could fight their way out if need be.

  However, there was no violence forthcoming. The footman entered the room and said, “Lunch is served, Mister Mayor.”

  “Excellent, excellent.” He rose and tapped the wall with his cane. Leaning close, to Edar, he wheezed, “My grandson might be a good mayor someday. He’s still a youth of one and twenty.”

  “The demons that you know.” Edar winked.

  Lowest Realm, Roark thought. He smiled and nodded and pretended that he was on board. Byronia also seemed to be on board, but then, Byronia could be hiding her true feelings on the matter. Dear Goddess, I hope Byronia is on the same side as me.

  •

  With a light squeeze on Byronia’s silk covered forearm, Edar said, “It’s a magical night. I could dance forever.”

  Roark agreed. It was a lovely evening. The falling sun reflected off the water, casting the whole world in pink and the palest blue. In the distance, they could hear the songs of gulls as they nested for the evening.

  The three-story brick and beam Black Lion looked well-kept from the outside, and laughter could be heard from within as they approached. Edar stepped in front of them to hold the heavy-looking wooden door for Byronia and Roark as they entered the tavern.

  A minstrel in a scarlet doublet played a light melody as human men and women danced in the middle of the room. At the bar, several men drank ale and, in the corner, an elderly woman clapped her hands to the song. Edar’s face never stopped grinning as he led them to a table next to the fire. Roark frowned.

  Roark wondered if he ought to mention Edar’s earlier desires to Byronia, but what could he say? And what business was his? Edar had grown young, and, in years, Byronia’s body was older than Edar’s.

  “What’s wrong, my friend?” Edar asked.

  “Nothing, strange thoughts is all.”

  A jovial maid scuttled over. She side-eyed Roark with approval as she curtsied. “Welcome, milady, milords. The elfkin are always welcome at the Black Lion.”

  “Thank you,” Byronia said.

  “Will you be dining with us tonight?”

  “Yes. Do you still have the roasted pig with stewed apples?” Edar asked.

  The maid brought their dinner, massive ham steaks smothered in stewed apples and cherries. Edar ate with the delight of a freed soul. Bottles of wine were brought to their table, which Edar guzzled cup after cup until his eyes swam and every word reeked of sour booze.

  “This is a silly request, but will you dance with me, my lady?” Edar asked. He placed his palm upwards.

  “Yes.” Byronia placed her hand upon his. They joined the dancers on the floor. Edar circled forward while Byronia circled the opposite direction.

  After three paces the dancers stopped and bowed to each other. They laughed as they spun. Roark felt the wideness of the Expanse at that moment. He missed the fellowship he once had with Eohan and Kian.

  He must choose between life and his Great Work. He would learn from Edar but also learn from his mistakes. He certainly wouldn’t put the people he loved in such pain. He would never choose to transmute the way Edar did, but there had to be another way. A better way.

  Roark’s thoughts were interrupted by Byronia grabbing his hands. “Come.” She pulled him into the dancers.

  Roark scanned the crowds until he found Edar speaking to a rosy-complexioned girl in a white dress.

  “Focus.” Byronia hissed into his ear. “Look who just entered. They took the table next to the bar.”

  Roark saw them: the new species. Their hair moving about the human and dwarf rentgirls as if it had a mind of its own.

  “Let’s go to another pub, my friends,” Edar said, his hands about the girl in the white dress.

  “Edar, look. There in the corner.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “This is a night of magic, not of sorrow.” And he and the girl in the white dress drunkenly stumbled outside.

  Byronia went to the bar and paid. “Um, Roark, I’m sorry to ask, but you might need to get the next tab.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Edar’s drunk, and in his state, he’ll be no good to us anyway. Ensure he gets home safely. I’ll keep watch here.”

  •

  Chapter 16

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  Edar stared at the half-naked girl asleep, twisted amongst the sheets, her white dress and ripped stockings on the floor. He noted a handprint on her shoulder. He hoped he hadn’t done it but had no idea. He didn’t even know her name.

  He crawled out of bed and looked at his new face in the mirror. How lovely and full of life he was. How flush his cheeks were. How his eyes sparkled. His chest though still slender would fill out in the next few years.

  It had been many decades since his organ functioned, but he assumed most of the rules of courtship remained the same. He hurried to the kitch
en to make her breakfast; that’s what a good paramour did. He must make his beloved feel loved—maybe he could ask Roark to reintroduce himself and learn her name.

  He wished it didn’t feel like a million spiders crept up his new flesh. Pulsing with the lifeblood flowing through his veins and oxygen through his lungs, Edar paced his kitchen. He sat on his wooden chair without the creak of old joints, but pleasure was overtaken by the strange sensation that someone else was behind his eyes. He quickly scrawled in his tome: This young body is but a mask for an old soul, and I am not alone in the shell. Thomas is still here. I need to find a spell to disperse his soul to the Waters of Resurrection.

  His stomach growled. “The Work isn’t done.” His body trembled violently. He stumbled down the hall. He collapsed. The first tears fell from Edar’s eyes in nearly thirty years.

  “Roark,” he called.

  Minutes later, the young man appeared. Edar realized their bodies were the same age.

  “I’m ill. Make me a sleeping draft.”

  “Is this what happened last time? When you became a lich?”

  “I don’t remember, but I don’t remember the neighbor’s conversations being so loud. I feel everything, my heartbeat, the blood in my veins. I remember everything. My life as Edar, my life as a revenant. I feel I have new eyes, new ears. I want to experience more. Yet, I’m terrified. And I don’t remember her name!”

  Roark’s footsteps crossed the stone floor. Edar covered his ears. Why was the boy being so loud? He could walk in silence, why wasn’t he? Roark lifted him to his feet.

  “Whose name?”

  “The girl in my room.”

  “Sara. She’s a rent girl.”

  “Not a paramour?”

  “I’m sorry. I suppose she could be if you loved her.”

  “You’re such a romantic. I wanted to make her some current bread, but if she’s a rentgirl … ” The wetness ran down his cheek. “Where is Byronia?”

  “We saw some of them. She stayed to gather more intel.”