Date: Wed, 26 Dec 2012 21:29:32 +0000 From: Michael Offutt Subject: Chapter 11 The Assassin's Apprentice - Gay Science Fiction This story is protected under international and Pan-American copyright conventions. Please remember to donate to Nifty if you are financially able to do so. My website: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/books.html My email: kavrik@hotmail.com My art from my stories: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/my-artwork.html Forum discussion thread: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/discussion-board-for.html You will find a full color picture of Kian and Constantine on my art page. Kian is almost naked, and he's sporting some great abs and veiny muscles! Please note that one of my books, "Oculus," is on sale for $1.99 from my website until December 31st. So if you're waiting for a time to read, do so now :). "The Assassin's Apprentice" is told in first person present tense and has been heavily edited. ***** Chapter Eleven The clouds grow thick above the city as the afternoon turns to evening and then evening to twilight and finally night. A thunderclap wakes me. Next to me Talen stirs and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Outside, the patter of rain against the glass panes of my window grows louder as the wind slashes the heavy droplets against the walls of the guild house. I sit up in my bed and pull on my boots while Talen does the same. I grab the bag that holds my equipment for the trip tonight. Then, I wash my face in cool fresh water and open my window to watch the storm. Lightning flickers and dances under the purple clouds, and the smell of the rain fills my nostrils. The wind throws my hair about my face as I gaze into the courtyard below my bedroom. I love the smell of autumn storms. I close the window to my bedroom and latch it tight before kissing Talen passionately. "Good evening," he whispers, slipping into his shirt. He moves a bit stiffly, and I comb his hair for him while he gets ready. Together we set out for the floor beneath the dojo where three younger boys are playing darts on a makeshift board they've hung from the wall near where we emerge. The corridor's gloomy, lit only by a few smoky sconces that burn whale oil, an expensive fuel but practically the only means to light a dark room when not using candles. I tread lightly past the boys who are spooked by my mask. They stare at Talen and me with fear-filled eyes as if they think I might kill them. This actually feels awesome, but I've no time to enjoy the rush of power. We arrive in the mess hall, which is completely dark. I follow Talen to the kitchen. He lights a small candle using the coals from one of the ovens. With the flame happily bobbing about on the end of our candle and casting its glow about the room, I open up a grease jar and scrape some of it into a wooden drinking mug. Talen watches on with silent curiosity but soon figures out what I'm doing. I sort through the ovens till I find one that's somewhat cool, and I scoop soot out with a spoon and mix it with the grease. I stir the putrid concoction for a bit; it has a nauseating smell. The result is a thick black paste which I place in a canvas bag that Talen finds in a cabinet above the chopping block. I tighten the ends carefully and put this into my pack which is now overflowing with stuff I might need, the capstone being the end of my katana that juts out the top. I secure it tightly with some string and tie down the leather straps of my pack. Then I sling it over my shoulder. Talen holds the door open, and we leave through the mess hall, taking the outside exit which hangs slightly ajar in the windblown deluge. "It's raining hard tonight," Talen remarks. He positions himself in the entrance under the awning as I step out to join him. He has his jacket on and turns the collar up to shield his pale neck from the cold. Lightning continuously bursts above the city, and thunder quickly follows, making every window in our home rattle. Talen strides boldly into the rain, and I fall-in beside him. "I don't think the horses will get spooked by the thunder, Kian. But we might want to be prepared for it in any case." I nod as he walks to the far side of the guild house and over to the building that we're using as a temporary stables. It might have been living quarters in its heyday. But now, it's two stories of chipped and painted rock, boarded up windows, and broken glass. Someone at some point knocked a hole in the side and mounted two large doors from a pair of frail hinges. Directly inside these doors is a swinging oil lamp, and I spy Ambrell, Elliot, and Swift who make ready, hitching the two horses to a wagon equipped with large wheels and a connecting harness. The front part of the wagon comes with a single board for a rider to sit on--not luxurious by any means. I look around in the gloom, my eyes adjusting to pick out details. The floor's covered in dry straw and horse dung, and I hear mice scurrying inside a pile of rags, rotten blankets, and trash that resembles a nest in the northeast corner. The entire place reeks of putrefaction. Ambrell tosses me a thick brown blanket that has fleas jumping off it. "Should help to keep you warm tonight," she explains. She and Elliot are both dressed in soiled brown smocks. Talen and Swift don non-descript threadbare robes covered in many stains. I'm almost certain they're as vermin-ridden as the blanket in my right hand. "Where's Logren?" I ask. "Marcel told me to pick him up at the one league marker outside of Ladika," Swift states. "Marcel told you?" The challenge is obvious in my questioning tone. "Yes. He knew you were sleeping, and I told him that we'd best not wake you." Talen crawls into the back of the wagon and offers me his hand. "Come on, friend. I want to get this night done and over with." I grasp his hand and pull myself up into the back of the wagon. Ambrell and Elliot crawl in and settle down beside me, and Talen creeps forward to guide the horses. Swift opens the doors wide while Talen slaps the flank of the animals with a riding crop; the wagon lurches forward and pulls us into the rain-soaked night. Behind us, Swift closes the doors as best he can and runs after the wagon. He grasps hold of the side and pulls himself in, landing next to me with a loud 'whoosh' expelling from his lips. "Where are these cadavers going to be waiting for us?" Talen cocks his head to stare at me. I stand up and bend my narrow frame over the front of the wagon so he can hear me better. "Go to the Mortuary up on Cemetery Hill," I say. "There's five of them hopefully wrapped in burial linen." Talen laughs. "Hopefully? You seem unsure." I shrug my shoulders. "This is the first time I've bought dead people. I'm not sure what to expect." "Come to think of it," Talen says, "I'm in virgin territory as well. I seem to be saying that a lot lately." Then he jabs me in the ribs with his elbow. I wink at him, and he giggles. Talen clucks at the horses, and they start down the alley and into the city of Clothol. The streets of the City of Dreams are eerily quiet tonight. The rain forges vast puddles that dance wildly in the falling droplets. And the only laughter and sign of life emanates from the taverns and inns that stand on the threshold of darkness on the main road to Cemetery Hill. Within minutes I'm soaked to the skin, and I throw my blanket on, not caring much that it's so dirty. Besides, everything I know about fleas indicates they're fairly helpless when wet. So, in the end, it doesn't matter all that much anyway. To my surprise, Talen has an easy time managing the horses even when the thunder claps and resounds off of the windows and walls that loom on either side. Negotiating the seedy bureaus of Clothol is like traversing a narrow and steep canyon. There's an open sewer in the middle of the cobblestone avenue that swells to a mini river, and the clustered houses echo the uneven face of a gulch, their faux cliffs only an arm's length from our rolling wheels. Few people are out braving the storm. In all, I spot two desperate men: they're both beggars. One's wearing a yellow and brown smock that's been patched with bright red cloth. The other's equally mismatched. They're old men with stringy gray hair falling in clumps about their wrinkled faces. The two eye our party from underneath an awning created by the ceramic roof of a moneylender's shop. I also count a few desperate whores standing with soggy hair and damp clothing. They too watch passers-by, makeup running in streaks from their wet cheeks. Each hopes to score a John for the night, or it means a beating from their pimp. "Hello little sister," I say to one of the girls near the bottom of Cemetery Hill. She nods at me, and I fish inside my pouch for a coin. I toss it onto the cobblestones at her feet. "Get yourself something warm to eat and get some rest." Tethyr's teeth, she can't be more than thirteen. I notice from the swell of her tummy that she's with child. The girl smiles, and I see a little bit of color return to her damp and clammy skin. "Kian," Ambrell states, "that's a very nice thing you did." I look at her and wink. "Don't tell anyone. I've a reputation to keep." Talen guides the horse-drawn cart up Cemetery Hill with the wheels rattling loudly on the bumpy road. I see the Mortuary emerge out of the mist, first as a fuzzy shape with torches hissing wildly in the downpour, and later solidifying. It takes on a concrete shape of misshapen pillars and a distinct oval profile that materializes out of the gloom like magic. Talen stops the cart near the wrought-iron gate, and the steps that lead into the courtyard of the Mortuary. Three men in soiled white linen step into the light of the sputtering torches near a pair of double doors. Pillars on either side of the entrance rise up and above the house of the dead, and I notice their wicked curves end in two sharp points at the top. They face toward the center of the building. In the shadow of these pillars is a pile, a misshapen mass of lumpy linen and burlap bags. And it's these that the men bring to us on wooden litters. I can smell the blood and the slightly rancid flesh quite easily. However, there's also the scent of pungent chemicals. They drift upward from the blood-spotted material forcing water from my eyes. The exchange at the Embalmer's Guild is like a scene drawn from one of my nightmares: I'm chased by bands of the walking dead and am forced to hide in a greasy sack to avoid being eaten. "How absolutely horrid," Swift comments under his breath. For the first time, Swift and I are in consensus. Next to me, Talen starts to gurgle, bends over in his seat, and vomits over the side. His hands are white around the knuckles, and he grips the side of the wagon with wet fingers. His thin body quakes, and I want to comfort him but think twice because the others are not aware of our relationship. He shakes for a moment and retches again. Afterward, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. He looks embarrassed and glares at me accusingly. I, however, am rather proud of myself, all things considered. As repulsive as this is...my idea just may work. Ambrell hands Talen a water skin, and he accepts it with shaking hands. He pours some into his mouth, sloshes it around for a moment, and then spits it out. A second later, he takes another mouthful and then swallows. It's cold and fresh, and it helps wash away the nausea. Then he hands it back to her, mumbling a nearly intelligible "thank you." "Talen, let Swift take the reins," Ambrell suggests. "And ride in the back with those bodies? I think not." As if to emphasize his point, Ambrell squirms a little as Elliot pushes one of the burlap sacks into place beneath them. Then he settles on top of the sack, making himself as comfortable as one can in such a position, like a hen warming an egg. I lower myself into a corner of the wagon near the front. I don't have any room to stretch my long legs, but I'm comfortable 'cause my back has something to brace against, and I can steady myself using the rail as we move. Talen turns his back to me and thanks the men that loaded our cargo. Once again gripping the reins, he starts the horses in a trot back whence we came. There are three gates into and out of Clothol. Talen chooses the southern gate, which is a massive stone edifice. The portcullis is drawn and hangs over the stone road leading south to Ladika. Its steel teeth point ominously down at us, and they look rusted in spots from all the rain. The great spinning wheels that hold the chains to the drawbridge stand unmanned, and there's only two guards. Both keep an eye on the highway from inside a warmly lit room. I notice a table scattered with cards, two mead cups, and a platter holding leftovers from dinner. One of the guards watches us as we roll by. He looks up from his cards but pays us no particular heed. Soon we're moving over the quiet hills directly south of the Bay of Dreams. Talen halts the wagon after half an hour and lights two hooded lanterns using flint and steel. Once burning bright, he hangs them from hooks on long wooden poles which he swings outward in order to light the road. I soon find myself drifting into and out of consciousness, lulled by the claptrap of the horses' hooves and by the cold steady rhythm of the downpour. Finally, I succumb to sleep. Around midnight, I awake. Rather, I look up and clear my eyes, and I see the rain has ended. The night's clearing off and the lanterns continue to bob along in front of us. Talen's back faces me, and I glance over my shoulder. All I see are hills rising there, black against the red light coming from the moon Valinas. The moon's halfway past the horizon and resembles a large droplet of blood staining a dark canvas. There's a thick band of stars looking almost like spilt milk on ebony velvet. I find them beautiful and name several groups after tales I recall from my childhood. We weave our way past the skeletal branches of barren trees, and I'm spellbound. My pulse quickens to see the sky as it appears to me tonight away from the light pollution of the city. "Is it always this beautiful?" Ambrell asks. I shrug. "I don't know. I've never seen a sky like this." Talen turns his head. "Finally awake back there?" "Yes. I'm sorry...I must've dozed off." "Well, you didn't get any sleep this afternoon with all the hard work you put in," Talen jokes, knowing that only I will catch his drift. I snort derisively, and playfully slug him in the arm. "My hands are so cold I can't feel them." Elliot states. "Is it all right if we stop for a moment so I can stretch my legs and get my blood pumping again? Anyone?" We all look at each other, but no one objects. "All right then." Talen guides the horses off the road and pulls them to a stop. I push myself to my feet, and I feel blood returning to my limbs. My toes tingle painfully in my boots, but it only lasts a minute. I curl them to assist the circulation and watch the others hop down out of the wagon. "How much further do we have to go?" Elliot asks. "We're about halfway," Swift remarks. "In another three hours, we should be meeting up with Logren." Talen stretches his back and places his hands against the side of the wagon, spreading his feet against the soft mud. "Is he really a half-giant? That's what Marcel mentioned in Kian's debriefing." "Yes...yes he is," Swift says. He pulls out a wooden smoking pipe and fills the bowl with tobacco from a pouch that he produces from inside his jacket. He walks over to a lantern and lights the bowl, puffing on it occasionally to really get it going. "I've worked with him a couple of times. He doesn't speak...he can't actually. But he can communicate to you through telepathy." "Telepathy?" Elliot questions. "Yes, telepathy. It's a form of mental communication. He was born with it--you'll see. He can send pictures into your mind...thoughts...etc. He can also pick them up, so be careful what you project around him." "How big is he?" I ask. "Hmm..." Swift calculates a number, scratching his chin. "Bigger than all of us combined. You're six feet tall, right?" "Yes." "If Talen sat on your shoulders, he'd still be taller than the both of you. And he weighs a thousand pounds easy. He also carries a cadel with him. The name comes from an old Windwalker term for 'bison cleaver.' Take an axe, give it a double-bladed edge about three feet wide and then attach this axe head to a shaft of oak about as big around as your waist, and you've got yourself a cadel. It's a monstrous weapon that's absolutely terrifying to behold in battle." "What are windwalkers?" I ask, hopping down. Swift finishes his smoke, tapping his pipe out on the bottom of his leather boot. "The windwalkers were a tribe of men that lived in the region that stretched between the moors around the Valis-Dur Mountains all the way to the Mirimar jungles far to the South. In their day, all of that land was rolling prairie covered by spots of dense forest and a holy place, known as the Razor's Edge. It's a ring of dense thorns where they worshiped the great Chaggeroth, or four-armed ghost spirit of the rolling plains. The Chaggeroth is said to be a great shaggy beast with spider-like eyes, and great lengths of swampy hair. It's a horrible creature that hunts with the cadel--the bison cleaver. The fact that the cadel exists is testimony that the Chaggeroth is a real creature and not a faerie of legend dreamed up by the shamans of the Windwalkers." "You're just trying to scare us," Elliot states "There's no such thing as a Chaggeroth." Swift grows quiet and looks at the lot of us. "Aye, think what you wish, but the Chaggeroth is now urban legend. It is said that he that hears the cry of the Chaggeroth shall not live to see morning. It's a horrible and terrifying monster that roams these plains to this day. Sure, it shies away from the cities of man. But lo be the traveler that's caught outside on the roads between the hills that used to be its hunting grounds during the darkest part of the night." "What's that sound?" Ambrell fidgets, looking into the dark. "I didn't hear anything," Elliot replies. But he looks about his shoulders into the cold dark. I don't hear anything either, and my hearing is acutely sharp. It's just like Swift to go and scare us half to death on my first mission. Talen smirks. "Barking spiders. If ya'll will excuse me just a moment...ladies," he says, tipping his cap, "I've some...err...business to take care of before we continue on the road." Then he struts off into the night. I shake my leg and follow after him, realizing I too can use a good piss. After all, we still have several more hours to go, and I don't want to stop again. ***** I look forward to posting Chapter Twelve.