Chapter 3
The night was cold, dark. A chilly wind swept across the man leaning against a mossy wall, shifting his black cloak. There was a shack in front of him, a wooden affair, well shielded from the outside world by tall fences, trees, and...certain magic.
There was silence in the night, except for the rhythmic ticking of the man’s pocket watch, which was now clutched tightly in his hand.
Despite the dark, it seemed he had no trouble seeing. He emanated a feeling of power, of confidence. It wasn't the force of joy, nor sorrow. It was just the personality of the man, the personality he currently embodied.
Tick.
Silence, but for the rustling of leaves. Not a critter in the dark made a sound. The shack felt completely isolated from the outside world. The silence was unnerving, haunting.
Tick.
The wind changed directions, brushing against the man as it did so.
Tick.
And a figure appeared in front of him, dressed in black. Amidst the night, it would have been impossible to see, but the man had no trouble doing so.
“You’re late.”, he said, grimacing. He slipped the watch inside his pocket, and walked away from the mossy wood, until he stood in front of the figure. It looked up at him.
It didn’t say a word.
The man smiled wryly, then turned and walked away. He called back to the figure while he did so.
“Follow, Kaleb.”
***
Kaleb followed. He didn’t even wait for the oath around his soul to compel him, he was so used to his master’s commands that he just followed and thought about it later.
Sometimes he didn’t even bother to think. Sometimes the better option was to just...let it be. Especially when it came to his ‘work’.
His master led him behind the shack, where he knew greenery covered a large trapdoor, lodged in the dirt. Without a word, he walked forward and removed the various vines, grass and leaves covering it. The area around them was wild, untamed with various shoots of plants growing, unlike the beautiful garden out front. It provided good camouflage.
The trapdoor was large, and heavy, made of a strange metal. No normal human should have had it easy to open this thing, but Kaleb swung it open with casual strength that defied his small stature. Inside was a set of stone stairs leading down. He stepped aside to let his master inside first.
His master spoke as he went down the stairs. “How’d it go?”
The question was merely ceremony, there was no way Kaleb would be here if the plan hadn’t worked out.
“It went well. I’ve framed the other noble as you told me to. There was no one else there, after all.”
Kaleb always indulged his master in this...ceremony. He didn’t know why he did so.
His master snorted. The stairs went deep, spiralling downwards. Kaleb didn’t wonder about the feasibility of the structure, angels were quite good at doing the impossible. Cones with lit torches were placed intermittently, but on a good day, neither of them needed the light. It just was there for ceremony. Like this conversation he’d just had.
They finally reached a square room, at the far end of which stood a massive door. Black metal, covered with glowing purple runes that screamed power.
Kaleb had been the one responsible for the runes, at least for powering them. It had taken him the whole of three years he spent training, and the constant straining of his sorrow from doing so had probably helped him progress faster.
The door wasn’t just protected by the runes, of course. Traps were something he didn’t know well, his ‘education’ hadn’t included that. Not the mundane ones, anyway.
He reached his hand out, touching the door, willing the sorrow to move, to activate. A bead of sweat rolled down his face while he strained, and then the glow dimmed.
The massive door swung open on silent hinges, something that would have been impossible without magic. The magic of sorrow, to be precise.
He walked in with his master. The room beyond the door was well lit, circular, and had a table right smack in the middle of it. The table was cluttered with papers.
His master walked over to the table, then pulled out a chair. He sat down and stretched, working out the kinks in his body, apparently.
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Kaleb knew it was all for show. The man was strong, his body wasn’t frail enough to warrant stretching all the time. But his master was a dedicated actor, and once he stuck to a role, he wore it like a second skin.
His master looked at him, then spoke. “Report.”
And so he did. He left nothing out, for he did not have to. This man in front of him was the very same person who had ordered him to murder an angel and frame the other. He didn’t think too much of the fact that he still thought them as ‘angels’, either. His master had been quick to disillusion him of the notion, saying that the word was something that came from hell, from the awe of the damned. ‘Angels’ were men. But he still couldn’t completely think that way.
He told his master of how he had planned it out, how he had disguised as a guard, and how he had used the novelty of his magic to his advantage.
His master had helped with the planning, at least the first few times when he took out low profile targets, but now he had to come up with the plan himself. He wondered about the efficacy of this. It would be much more efficient for the master assassin to plan, and for the disposable pawn to execute it. But he did not question his master. Well, not anymore, not after that incident.
His master nodded as he finished speaking.
“You’ve done well. As a reward, I’ll let you have this.”
His master slid an envelope towards him, and he walked forward, grabbing it. A flicker of emotion passed through his face as he realised it was from his sister. Apparently. But he didn’t entertain the thought of any other possibility.
“Go to your room. There’s food on the table. Help yourself.”
His master turned away from him, and he started to walk out. But then his master called out to him.
“I almost forgot. These are your next targets. The information you’ll need is all in here.”
Kaleb turned around to see his master pointing at a sheaf of papers on the table. He walked forward and took in his hands, another flicker of emotion passing through his face.
If his master noticed, he didn’t give it any attention. He waved his hand.
“Go, now. I’ve got stuff to do. Don’t interrupt me unless it’s important.”
Kaleb nodded, then left the room. He felt the command settle over his soul, restricting him. He’d tried to spy on his master before, and it had ended quite unpleasantly, to say the least. Then his master had never forgotten to command him to leave him alone.
As he climbed up the stairs, one step at a time, a heavy burden seemed to settle on his shoulders, and it had nothing to do with the binding oath.
His hand holding the sheaf of papers trembled, ever so slightly .
***
Kaleb closed the door to the shack. True to his word, the table was laden with scrumptious food, but Kaleb found he had no appetite.
To be hungry after what he had just done would be...quite fortunate actually. An unburdened mind. He wished.
He placed the papers along with the envelope on a chair.
Then he went to the corner of the shack, where a bucket lay, filled with clear water. After removing his mask and pulling back his hood, he splashed it across his face, massaging his eyes. Near the bucket was a full length mirror. It was dirty now, dusty, the image unclear.
He stood in front of it. The mirror reflected a young man, sporting an angular face with dark hair, purple eyes. He was lean, and thin scars covered his face.
He’d grown stronger over the past three years. He was stage three for sorrow, stage one for joy. The joy within his core was barely enough to hold back the transformation.
Just as the thought passed his mind, his flesh wriggled painfully, before settling back. A pity he wasn’t more joyful.
One particular thing about joy was that forced pleasure induced by drugs did not fill the core. The novelty of flavour enhanced food had lost its taste for him, and he found no great pleasure from eating it anymore.
He found no pleasure from anything in fact. He didn’t know what that meant for him, in the future.
His eyes lingered over the envelope. From his sister. Then he walked over to it, and picked it up.
He held it in trembling hands, before he placed it carefully inside a drawer, filled with the rest of the envelopes he’d gotten from her. He’d never read one a single time. She hadn’t learned to write when he had left her alone, so it wasn’t like he could recognise her writing either.
She was doing better, now. Sequestered in some place in the lower city, her symptoms cured, eating good food and getting education.
Or so he was told. He didn’t think too deeply into it. He had, once. It hadn’t worked out well for him.
He couldn’t read his sister’s notes for him right now. Maybe he never could, never would. He feared what it would say, what it would bring out from his ugly, numbed mind.
Sighing, he looked at the sheaf of papers that lay on his chair. Next targets. He walked over to it wearily, picking it up.
It contained the full report, like his master said it would. Two nobles, a husband and a wife. They’d probably have a child too. He grit his teeth before his mind could take that thought too far.
He’d have to do his own assessment, of course. The papers contained their current addresses, future events they would attend, and where they would likely be in the next month or so. But to do a job, he had to do it well. His master had taught him that.
He’d have to scout the place out, figure out the guard patrols, control the variables. He was an assassin, not a warrior. He couldn’t win in a straight fight, and he knew it.
In fact, he’d had multiple second thoughts about his previous hits, wondering whether he would be able to take out his targets even with the element of surprise.
He’d grown up in hell. He’d seen the angels, their power. It was hard to get rid of that concept, to understand that they were just men, too. ‘Angel’ was something they were called by those in hell, who didn’t know better. And by him sometimes, who knew better.
He thought back to the words his master had said to him, the first time he’d managed to land a hit, drawing a thin line of blood across his master’s arm. His master had obviously given the hit to him, of course. He wouldn’t be even able to touch a hair on his master’s head in a real fight.
His master had said angels bled too. Angels died too. If he couldn’t completely get rid of thinking of them as angels, then the least he could do was reinforce to himself the fact of their mortality.
Angels bleed. Angels fall. That was the line he said to himself every night before he went to sleep. Every night before he went to kill.
Angels fall.
Kaleb sighed deeply. He’d have to stay up, planning in detail with the information given in the papers. Tomorrow, news would arrive of the lord’s death. His master would mingle with the commoners in the lower city, picking up titbits in the expert way only he could. Yes, tomorrow the people would be in an uproar, and a random nobleman would get condemned for a crime he didn’t commit.
Once the furore settled down, he’d have to go to the upper city, to scout. Then he would plan in detail, committing to his mind every single thing he had learned or inferred.
Then, when the time came, he would kill.