Hashashin

Today, I reach the age of seventeen and am ready to kill my master. My father sent me here to kill Sheikh Usman, who has misguided my people for so long. But he doesn’t seem misguided to me? I was only ten years old when he took me under his wing.

“I’m always happy to accept new pupils,” he said.

He has taught me everything I know. How to write; how to read, and even how to stand according to the customs of the House of Wisdom. Spend days in the scorching desert sun to get the ingredients for my favourite meals. He comforted me at nights when I had my nightmares. He even taught me to hunt, for he believed a scholar shouldn’t only teach, but also defend. I heard that he lived in a palace equal in luxury to the Caliph's palace. But his residence has only two rooms. The main room only contained a bookshelf next to the right wall. A lantern hung on the left wall, and a grass green carpet on the floor. The other room’s only light source was a window on the right wall, and two beds lay next to the left wall for us to sleep.

He does seem to be a humble man. No, I must not allow my senses to make such judgements. He is an infidel and must be killed. I grabbed my dagger and smoked my hashish. A surge of power went through me.

“Son,” Usman entered the room. He faced me with his hawk nose. The beam of light from his lantern fell on me, and I stood. His sharp eyes observed me. He combed his white beard, which reached the end of his neck. He patted my right shoulder with his nimble hands and walked past me. He bent, and his eyes widened as he saw my pipe. I stabbed his neck, but he blocked with his staff. He hit my stomach and then slapped me with his staff. He kicked me, and I stumbled and fell into the other room. The golden light from the lantern blinded me for a second.

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“Why?” he asked.

“You are an infidel. You support the Caliph. He who oppresses us all.” I stabbed his eye, but he slid to the left. I did a series of attacks, but he dodged them all.

“Yes, I do agree.”

“You do?”

“But charging them with daggers will not solve anything.”

“No, we must take action now.”

I kicked his chest, and his back hit the bookshelf. I slashed his neck, but his staff got in the way.

“By killing an old man?” My grip loosened, and he pushed me away.

“Is this how you will bring change?”

“First, we will kill the likes of you, and eventually, we’ll come for the Caliph himself.”

“What I did wrong, Son? Was I too strict on you?”

“I’m not your son!” My hand trembled. “My Father cannot be wrong.”

“So, am I wrong? What has he taught you?”

“Do not speak about my father like that. He has taught me many things like… like….”

“What was his name, Son? Do you know where you come from?”

“I…. don’t remember.”

“His name was—”

His eyes bulged, and air ran out of his lungs as I stabbed him in the stomach. I twisted it, and he throbbed his arms. “I know nothing,” I said. “But I know one thing. That you misguide fair people, thus must be cleaned from the face of this earth.”

I pulled my dagger out, and he fell to his knees. He mumbled, and I drew near to listen. “His name was Yahya,” he whispered. “I pray this stops your nightmares.”

My hand quaked, and I dropped the dagger. I hugged him, and his blood blessed my clothes. I gripped him tight so my life may transfer to him. But alas, my hands will forever be stained with his death.