The Assassin

      The wind clawed through the air with a seemingly demonic force. The slender man clenched his teeth as he leaned against the rough stone wall in the shadows of the alleyway. He looked about the nondescript street; low buildings with sloping roofs of light metals—tin and various alloys of steel for the most part—dominated the street. These were most likely occupied by simple merchants trying to make a living off their various crafts; weapon and armor smiths, bakeries, tailors, perhaps even a bookshop.
      However, these uniform buildings were not what Nader was watching. He had  his sights on the large estate that stood in their midst. For there, in that house, was his target.
        He glanced down the street; the street lamps had not been lit yet. What few people that were out at this time would not notice him even if he were to go to the front door and break it down. Those that did would remain silent for fear of the guards discovering their own crimes.
      Nader peered at the two guardsmen standing across the street. Their broad shoulders and thick forearms indicated years of sword practice, as clearly as their round bellies told of their drinking habits. Nader had been observing these two  guards for several days now, figuring out their daily routines. The guards usually left  for their favorite pub, The Black Rose, right before their replacements arrived and lit the lamps. It was during this slight break that Nader would strike.
         “I ‘fink its time for some loving Mac,” the taller guard said to his comrade, “and by loving I mean loving of ale.” ‘Mac’ grunted his approval and they both trudged up the street towards the outer city walls.
         Nader slipped silently out of the shadows towards the estate house. The thick smell of an unwashed body still lingered in the air near where the guards post was. He put his hand over his mouth briefly to quell the stench.
         He darted in between the estate and the shop next to it, Mikal’s Book Store. He crept around to the back and found the small window slightly open. He smiled at this one’s obliviousness. Poor fool doesn’t know what’s about to happen to him, he thought, a smile briefly touching his face, all to the better.
         With practiced fingers he gently opened the window; just large enough to fit his slim body through. He lowered himself to the floor below, making little sound. The room he had entered was apparently the kitchen: A large wood-burning stove lie on the wall to the left, counters cluttered with boxes of flour, various sized spoons, plates, cups, and others of the like, several stools placed around the counters.
         Nader padded over to the doorway, staying entwined in shadows. A loud sigh emanated from the next room. As he peaked in, he saw a young man sitting with his head in his hands on a padded chair, next to a large writing desk. His attractive face, covered in stubbly hair, appeared tight with some sort of internal grief. A ledger filled with numbers lie open on the desk. The man sighed again and gave a nearly inaudible cry.
         About to meld back into the shadows, Nader noticed something that struck him as queer. There, plastering the walls of the study were newspaper clippings—dozens and dozens of them. The whitewashed walls were smothered by the sheer amount of them, layered upon one another. Though he could not make out their subject matter, he did find this peculiar.
         Focus, damn you. Nader thought as he shifted back into the shadows. He remained still for several moments. He slowed down his breathing and mentally counted up to ten and then back down again. He closed his eyes, steeling his emotions, forcing them back, until they were a small bundle in the back of his mind.
         Opening his eyes, Nader smiled faintly. He stepped out of the shadows.

         Moments later, the man gurgled as Nader pulled the slim blade from his throat. Nader grimaced as he wiped the blood-stained knife on the man’s shirt. Having placed it securely in its hiding place, he pushed the now limp body off the sturdy wooden chair onto the floor near the small stairway that led up.
         Nader began the task of looting the corpse of all valuables. He frowned as he took a thick silver ring from the man’s left ring finger. “GB” was engraved on the inside of the ring with a small heart next to the letters. This would be the token he took with him. It was Nader’s signature to take all trinkets of any value and arrange them carefully on the table taking only a single trophy from his kills. All killers-for-hire had a signature; it was their way of identifying who made what kill. This was a kind of game amongst them.
         “Hello?” a muffled voice called down from the second floor of the building.
         Nader froze; ring still in his left hand, right groping silently for his small knife. He slowly eased himself away from the body and crouched down behind the desk—so as not to be seen from the staircase. He readied his knife, hand by his right ear, poised to strike at whatever came down those stairs. A figure emerged, blinking in the light of the many candles about the room. Nader sprang, grabbing the person by the throat, and thrust the blade deep within the being’s chest.
      Only then did he look at this newcomer. Familiar green feminine eyes, wide, stared at him as his face began to twist in terror. Nader had slain women before, but this one was different, this one was his own flesh and blood. This was his sister.
         
      A 15 year-old young boy with sheepish long hair sat hunch-backed on his firm mattress. He stared at the slightly shorter figure on the bed opposite him, her back to the door. Her usually long, billowy hair was tightly braided in one single braid that was then wrapped around her head.
      “What the hell mean you by, ‘I’m done’?” Nader asked the older youth.
      “I mean that I am going. Leaving. I’m done with the stealing. Done with the killing.” She replied softly.
      Nader crossed his arms across his chest, frowning. “You can’t just leave.” He said sternly, “not after all the training Sean has given you. For God’s sake, Sarah, he took us in off the cold streets. He taught us how to survive! Doesn’t that mean anything?”
      Sarah looked down at the floorboards for a moment. “Nader, look at us, look at me,” she said, grasping him by his shoulders, “What have we become? I’ll tell you, since you obviously can’t see it for yourself.” She sighed. “Yes, Sean took us off the streets, yes he clothed us, but Nader, he made us evil.”
      Nader glared at the girl. Who the hell does she think she is? He thought bitterly, made us evil my arse. “A man has to survive,” he said, shrugging her hands off his shoulders, “if Sean taught you a thing it was that.”
      “But Nader, there are so many other possibilities,” Sarah said her voice rising slightly, “we could be bakers, or blacksmiths, or anything! Anything as long as it doesn’t involve killing. Nader please, you’re my only brother, my…my only family left. Please don’t let me lose you.”
      “You disgust me,” Nader spat, “after all he done for you, this be his payment, huh? Well, may the devils take you then.”
        Sarah started as if physically struck as his words echoed in the empty room. Silently, she hopped off the bed and gathered her small tote, filled with all her belongings: a change of clothes, some mostly-stale bread, and several dozen small knives and other such weapons.
      She moved over to the other side of the room, toward the single window and drew back the curtains, spilling the moon’s soft light on the room. She stopped for a moment as she stared out into the street below.
      “You know Nader, I had truly hoped that Sean hadn’t stolen your mind, but I guess I was wrong,” she said, wiping away the wet from her eyes with the back of one delicate hand, “may God have mercy on your soul, broth…” she paused, “no, not brother. I have no brother.”


He stumbled away from her, nearly tripping over the body of the man. Her hair cascaded freely over her shoulders like a waterfall of darkness. She groped for the blade buried deep within her slender breast. A deep red stained the white of her sleeping robes.
Nader stared at her, leaning heavily on the desk. Her smooth face a pale gray with tears just beginning to form around the edges of her eyes. Nader took a deep breath, closing the distance between them. He watched, unmoving, as she slid down to the floor, a small pool of blood gathering next to her like the dew gathers on a leaf in spring.
           “I...I’m sorry,” he began, his throat seizing up, like the pressure in the barrel of a gun as the bullet begins its journey. Slowly he knelt down on the floor next to her, the pain in his chest rapidly increasing.
“Me too,” she murmured, her last breath escaping her velvety lips.
Nader dropped his head and saw a single, thin handle glued to the right side of his pectoral muscle, the blade nowhere to be seen.
         “Haven’t forgotten ol’ Sean’s training, dear sister,” he chuckled, easing himself atop the still-warm body of the woman. He placed his head on her chest, feeling the liquid seep into his hair, attaching itself to his follicles.
         Glancing up, he noticed the strange clippings on the wall. At this distance he could make it out some of the words.

COLD-BLOODED KILLER STRIKES AGAIN!!
The body of local businessman, Roger Clemmens, was found
with a hole through his throat. His personal effects were arranged
neatly on his desk. Police believe that this…

ASSASSIN ON THE LOOSE!!
Another body was found, with all her jewelry aligned meticulously
on her nightstand…
         

      Nader’s face twitched into a faint smile, an expression he hadn’t felt for, (what was it?) twelve years? The police burst in as a final sigh escaped his bluish lips, though Nader didn’t see them—he only saw a smiling girl, with her hair in one thick braid, wrapped around her head.