Chapter I

Raphael prepares for his foster-sister Ana's birthday, and he's now twenty-four. His training his complete - and the journey is about to begin.

Chapter I

Party Crashers

 

“Can you turn my black roses red?”

-      Black Roses Red by Alana Grace

 

Durza was right.

I regularly woke up in a cold sweat, often felt the need to cry until I couldn’t anymore and as I grew up in his home, I did spend at least a total of six months overall plotting how to kill him.

Even at twenty four, I was still waking up in a sweat. I slept shirtless most of the time in anticipation of nights like this, but it was still hard to get used to the uncomfortable feeling of your entire body chilled with cold sweat. I closed my eyes and tried to just breathe. My heart was racing and I felt cold even though my body was warm. It took a few minutes but it passed, and I felt okay again. Slowly, I moved out of bed to go to the basin and mirror near the window. I needed a shave.

          I was much taller now, ranging around six foot two. I was broader in the shoulders, my legs and arms were longer, and I was built with more muscle than I had been. All of my baby fat was gone, toned down into lean sinews of bone-crushing muscle. That’s not just bragging either. I could crush more than half of the bones in a man’s hand if I gripped hard enough. On top of that, I had steely blue eyes that most women often seemed to dot on, when I took the time to speak with them. My black hair and my rough stubble seemed to make me quite the night’s catch. (I do mean the night, too.) Anyway; I had a harder look in my face now. Still young, I didn’t have a defined hard-edge to my eyes, but Bethany said that another ten more years in this business and I would.

I know I used to look as innocent as I was, but Beth told me almost every day that I was looking more and more like an Assassin. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Durza says often that it’s not exactly a good thing.

          I’m not even sure that it’s because of I look like one. I think it’s more of what an Assassin is.

          I can remember countless afternoons filled with drills and Durza’s lectures. When I would take breaks, he’d tell me about the Brotherhood; that is if he wasn’t ranting on about the False King. As a child, I thought it was just a group of men for hire who would kill if paid enough. That’s what I was told by many men I worked on and off for as a boy, at least. They used to tell me that they were nothing but assassins, killers �" and murderers. I slowly learned, though, that the name “assassin” isn’t one the Brotherhood originally chose.

          Durza used to tell me all the time that the people of my home country �" which I need to get to �" call us assassins because we kill, and we do it silently. That’s not all we are. We’re that big brother that protects his helpless siblings, the friend that sticks their neck out to save the innocent, and the man who is willing to die for those less able. Haven is their refuge. Brothers are their special brand of protection.

          We stand for more than just men who slit throats in the moonlight. We move in the night to serve the light. The Brotherhood works not only to bring down the False King, but to restore Ethein from the pit the False King has dug. He’s cast this country into poverty, despair, and a level of helplessness that men have ceased to tolerate.

          That’s why Haven started. It began with Jeth Roe, twenty years ago. He was one of the first men to speak out, along with the only man crazy enough to believe in his cause. He, along with the man who founded the Brotherhood, started a place for those who were also tired of taking abuse at the hands of the Black Monarch. It started small, of course. Not many men were willing to put up swords against the Guard.

          Tarcus, however, was more than willing. He had been a part of a secret task force for King Jon, before the man passed in his sleep. This force had been known to come like wind; unforeseeable and swift. Specially trained and apparently invincible to all who met him, Tarcus helped Jeth, a soldier himself, train all who came to Haven.

          Soon, though, Jeth and Tarcus began to disagree on what was best for the people. Their end goal remained the same, but the plan changed. Tarcus wanted to do it underground, slowly, minimizing the chance of exposure (to protect those involved) and bloodshed. Jeth wanted open war. Ambitions couldn’t be put aside, so they came to an agreement. Jeth would continue leading Haven as he saw fit �" becoming the main-mass army of the Rebel Faction of Ethein.

          Tarcus took a small amount of men and began deepening their training, teaching them even the cruelest of things he had been taught himself. This force became known as the Brotherhood �" an underground league of men who “specialized” in “secret, silent, and quick executions.” Thus, they were pinned as mere assassins. However, what they did went so much deeper. What we still do, in fact, goes so much deeper than eliminating men with too much power to allow.

          Of course, they still worked together. Relations aren’t so good these days, however. Couriers are the only hope the Brotherhood and Haven have of remaining informed to the other’s mode of action.

          That leads me to Bethany. She’s a small but very important piece of Haven and the Brotherhood. This was yet another compromise on the behalf of Jeth and Tarcus. Some men disagreed with the split, but still wanted to help. Other men wanted to help, but found themselves physically unfit to do what was asked of the soldiers. Of course, then there was the odd man with a certain level of wealth and diplomatic training who wanted to help the brains of the operation. And so, Couriers were born.

          Most Couriers now, however, are women. A Courier is more than a messenger but less than a spy. Bethany’s primary job is to be well informed, knowledgeable, and to mingle with what we Rebels call Feathers. The Bird, of course, is the False King. I’m not even entirely sure why Tarcus coined calling him a Bird, but I take it has something to do with his inexplicable hate of the creature.

          Couriers play a dangerous role. Their faces are very well known to both the Feathers (wealthy merchants, royals, and blue-bloods siding with the False King) and to all in the Brotherhood and Haven. Not only are they vastly tied up in the intelligence of the enemy, but they know absolutely everything about the Rebels. That’s why most officials in Haven and the Brotherhood have wives that are Couriers. They’re informed and understand why their husbands are freakishly paranoid for safety, security, and secrecy.

          Part of my job, as a fairly new Brother and Assassin, is to make sure that people like Bethany are not captured by men like Rathbull �" who makes it a bit of a sport to find, torture, interrogate, and kill Couriers.

Coming out of my thoughts, I focused on the blade that was currently near my face. Carefully, I ran the blade along the hard line of my jaw, trying to get rid of the stubble. I usually didn’t give a damn but today was Ana’s seventeenth birthday. For her sake, I would shave. Her father, Durza Black, would likely share the sentiment. Derek was the only one who shaved on a regular basis. I normally kept a fair amount of stubble on my face, merely because the fuzz worked for me.

          “Knock-knock,” said the light tinkling voice of my adoptive sister. I ignored her, trying my best to not be covered in nicks and scratches. She came over to me, standing so I could see her in the mirror as I went about my efforts. “You hate shaving,” she commented simply.

          “Shows how much I love my little sister, doesn’t it?” She beamed and I grinned back, finishing and rinsing my face in the basin. After I dried my face, she wrapped me in a big hug and I smiled wider, crushing her tight against my chest. Releasing her, I held her hands as I looked her over in her dress. It was a deep cerulean blue; her favorite color. Bethany had made it herself. The modest but still low neckline was sure to set Durza on edge, as well as they way it hugged the seventeen-year-old and her womanly shape.

          It was hard to think of Ana as a woman. She’d always been Little Ana �" my baby sister, for all intents and purposes. Perceptive like her mother, she saw how I was marveling at her apparently sudden womanhood and said, “I’m not a little girl anymore, Rafe. You and daddy are the only ones who have trouble thinking otherwise.” She wasn’t but I still had trouble processing that. She looked so much like Bethany. Long blonde hair laden with loose curls, a heart shaped face, a sweet smile, and big hazel-brown eyes that made almost any man alive melt. She looked as innocent as she was, too.

          “Durza is a father, Ana. He’s never going to stop thinking of you as a baby �" no matter how big you get,” I told her calmly, laughing at the way she pouted. She didn’t know that I wasn’t her brother. Durza had thought it easier (and perhaps better) to let her think I was her older brother. Derek was too fair haired and overall different to be Durza’s child: she assumed he was a cousin from her mother’s side. Meanwhile, Durza and I side by side these days looked shockingly similar.

          I’d wanted to tell her the truth about things, but how to explain to a young girl (who was fairly sheltered from the gore of reality) that I was here because her father brutally murdered a few men in what I had called home? How to tell her that I didn’t follow him out of father-son affection, but out of a need to escape a fate worse than what I’d chosen?

          How to tell sweet Ana that I arrived here, beaten, bloody, and half-dead?

          In the long run, I liked it this way. She treated me and Derek like brothers and listened to us as much the same �" and that had kept her away from dangerous places and people more than once. Where she wouldn’t listen to Durza, the “over-bearing” father, she’d listen to me.

          “Why can’t anyone see me as an adult? I’m seventeen now,” she complained.

          Smiling, I kissed her forehead and told her softly, “You’re not even close to an adult, dear sister. You’ll see that one day.”

          “Why is it that you’re an adult and I’m not? You’re no smarter than I am, Raphael,” she said with a hint of irritation.

          As I went about gathering up things to go to the bath house, I told her bluntly, “Ana, you are a seventeen year old girl. You’ve never been farther than two days from this house. You’ve never been in love. You’ve never been with a man, unless there’s something you want to tell me,” I added with a strict glance. She blushed so much that I knew she was still innocent without asking. I went on. “You haven’t had a child, you haven’t been married, and you haven’t done anything without Beth or Durza right there to catch you. You’re still a young woman.”

          The fact that I didn’t call her a little girl softened the blow of my blunt honesty. She took that as a good sign, saying softly, “Is there a big different between a young woman and a woman?”

          “Yes, but you’ll be there soon enough, Ana. I promise.”

          She took that as a good thing but challenged again, “You’ve never been married, you have no children, and you’re not in love. Why are you an adult?”

          Ana didn’t know what her father and I did. I had to carefully dance around the subject that I’d already killed men and done a few things that haunted me. “Ana, I’m a man and an adult because I’ve seen some of the world. I know what’s out there. I’ve been with a woman,” I said, which made her blush again. “I’ve never been in love because most women are simpering flowers and bore the ever-mother-loving-crap out of me.” Thankfully, she knew about Haven and a bit of the Brotherhood (enough to know that her father was considered a dangerous man), so I could add one more thing to tip the scale. “Finally, Durza and I do things for Haven and the Brotherhood that no child can. You have to be an adult to be able to stomach it, much less do it.”

          She looked at me a long moment before asking, “Why do you call mom and dad by their names? They’re your parents, Rafe. You act like they aren’t sometimes. Are you mad at Daddy?”

          I sighed softly, looking at her calmly as I said, “Durza,” I paused and corrected, “Dad has been my master more than my father for the past fifteen years. Sure, I stopped being his apprentice officially when I was twenty one, but I still answer to him. It’s difficult to work with a man you don’t feel equal to. I’ve been calling him Master Durza for over ten years. It sticks. That’s all.”

          “What about mom?”

          “I’m not sure where that started, but I promise to try to stop if it bothers you so much,” I told her, wanting to go get cleaned up and away from this conversation.

          She smiled, kissed my cheek, and thanked me. Then she said, giggling, “Your skin is smooth. It’s so weird. I’m used to being scratched by your fuzz.”

          I spanked her bottom lightly and said, “Get out so I can go get cleaned up, brat.” Ana stuck her tongue out at me, giggling, but went.

 

          Down in the bathhouse, I got cleaned up and dressed in my good clothes. I would normally wear my white assassin’s robes but Durza was strict about his daughter staying as far out of the Brotherhood as he could keep her. I remember asking why it was such a problem if she wasn’t actually in the Brotherhood, and discovered that family members were considered a smaller branch of the Brotherhood. Ana, by default, was a Sister. However, by Durza’s order (and since he took over six years ago, it was kind of final), no one was allowed to discuss anything with her. Ana was to be kept as far in the dark as possible.

          I stood in the ballroom, looking across the room at Ana as she laughed with friends. I knew that if she ever discovered how much her father �" and her mother, and Derek, and I �" hid from her, she might never forgive any of us.

          The ballroom was large and expansive, with several chandeliers for good lighting. The walls were covered in murals and different works of art. Likewise, there were marble statues along the edges of the room; though no more than ten of them. I couldn’t see them from where I stood, but I absent-mindedly searched out the Jeth Roe Bust and the statue of Tarcus with his sword pointed in the sky. Bethany had the room primarily colored in gold tones and whites. Finished off with one huge mural on the rounded ceiling, the place looked like a damn Duke owned it.

          Derek appeared at my side, dressed in his own best. Of course, his best and my best differed greatly. He had a finely tailored pair of trousers with a silk shirt, his Courier emblem stitched into the upper right arm of the shirt. His hair was combed back, his shoes shined, and cleanly shaven. I wore the only shirt I had (which was black compared to his white silk) that was neither torn, wrinkled, ripped, worn, or stained with some dead man’s blood. I had a few shirts that had no blood on them, but most of them were old and somehow unfit for these occasions. To top it off, my hair was a mess, I had five o’clock shadow, and my trousers were a matching black. Oh yes, and I was wearing my boots. I almost never took them off, and in favor of dress shoes, they were far more comfortable if not fashionable.

Derek looked debonair and handsome. I, like I said, looked like that man fathers dreaded letting their daughters even meet, much less speak to.

He had taken after Bethany, and became a Haven Courier. He was very well informed, diplomatic, tactful, and girls fell all over him. It was no wonder that they did. Light brown hair, deep eyes, a strong but kind expression, and a firm fairly muscled body made him the perfect choice for any man’s daughter. He was too gentlemanly to do anything about them, though. Being trained by a woman made him refined, calm, and constantly poised; not to mention Beth probably gave him the kind of arsenal for women that most men only wished they had.

          Derek, when courting women, recited pretty words and poetry when he finally got them alone.

          I wasn’t so romantic and I definitely wasn’t prince charming. Women liked me because I looked dangerous and rugged.

          There was a pretty redhead batting her eyelashes at Derek now, trying to convince him to dance. He politely took her hand, kissed it, and said warmly, “My lady, I assure you that before the night is out, my friend here will get enough alcohol in me that I would be more than obliged to dance. However, I’m afraid that sober, I’m a bit too shy.”

          I downed my entire mug of ale as I told her grinning, “I’ll get him nice and drunk for you, sweetheart.”She smiled and went off to find another victim. I looked over at Derek and said, “Treat her right and you’ll get to see how great she looks out of that skirt.”

          Looking at me with a tired smile, Derek laughed. “Is that all you think about with women? She might be highly intelligent and witty.”

          “She’s not,” I told him honestly.

          “How do you know?”

          “Let’s leave it at ‘been there, done that’. I think any more will make you pass on the lovely dinner Beth has been supervising all day,” I said, laughing as he sighed with that usual ‘oh Rafe’ look on his face.

          “Does Ana know you’re such a dog to her friends?”

          “If she did, would Ana talk to me? Of course not,” I told him. “It’s not exactly any of her business if I do, anyway. Pretty girls come to me looking for a good time. They come to you when they want romance.”

          He stared at me a long moment, saying seriously, “You belittle yourself, my friend. You could be some girl’s lucky day.”

          “No, I’m her very lucky night. Face it, Derek. Beth didn’t get the chance to make me a gentleman. Besides, being an assassin isn’t exactly a romantic business.”

          “Bullocks,” he muttered as he sipped his drink. He coughed a bit and glared at me. “Did you seriously just switch my drink out for ale instead of champagne?”

          “I promised I’d get you nice and drunk for her, Derek.” He tried to glare at me but we both ended up laughing.

          Beth came over to us, looking like a vision of complete beauty in her sheer silver dress that hugged her form wonderfully. Her blonde-and-brown locks were loose about her shoulders as usual. Bethany was one of those women that aged beautifully. Despite being, in reality, nearer to her forties than popular belief, she never looked it. Her skin was radiant, her smile dazzled, and her eyes spoke volumes. She had the slim, lean body of a woman who in her prime probably had the boys drooling and tripping over themselves. The very way she walked spoke massively of the confidence she obviously had.

Grinning broadly, Derek and I both took part in the obligatory whistles and cat-calls. She smiled, turning dramatically as she moved toward us. We laughed as she reached us, Derek saying, “You look beautiful, Bethany.”

          “Thank you, Derek. You look very handsome yourself.” She smiled at me and said, “Of course, the ever-dashing assassin. When will you let a woman steal that heart?”

          “Never,” I said, still grinning. “As I was just telling Derek, I’m no romantic. I’ve no patience for it.”

          She shook her head and hugged me tight. “You silly boy,” she said. She said nothing else, but merely kissed my head and moved on to find her husband.

          The party was going great �" until someone screamed from the garden.

 

          I was ready for these moments constantly. Without any hesitation, I slipped the knife from my belt and took off at a hard sprint for the gardens. Ana started to follow but I barked at her, “Stay in the ballroom.”

          She kept following, insisting, “You’re not the boss of me!”  

          I stopped, grabbing her roughly by the arm and growling, “Get back in the ballroom where there are men to protect you. I’m not asking you �" that’s an order. Do it.”

          I’m not sure if it was any kind of respect for my authority or that I scared her with the uncharacteristically serious tone, but she finally listened. I wasn’t in the mood to care which kept her safe either.

          The garden was filled with people, and I shoved them aside if the group was thin enough to slip through, but at one point, I had to scale up one of the large statues (which I made look easier than it was, as kids immediately started trying to copy me even after I was over it and gone) and leap down into clear patches of space. I vaulted over a bench and saw the conflict �" a woman had fainted because she spotted the careless b******s.

          I knew the emblem. Rathbull had sent men to crash the party.

          Gritting my teeth, I put the knife back on my belt and flicked both wrists so my hidden blades slipped from their places, charging forward to help Durza and two other men. I used the blade on my right arm to slice open the throat of a man about to take a lunge with his sword at Durza, who saw me and nodded thanks.

          There were at least fifteen or twenty of them. What surprised me a bit was when Bethany leaped into the fray, the bottom of her dress torn off at the knees to make movement easier. Unfortunately, most of the guests weren’t fighters, but Haven diplomats and friends of Ana’s. Durza saw his wife and barked, “Get them out of here! They’re a distraction!” She didn’t seem to like it but did as she was told.

          She stopped though, yelling, “Where’s Ana?”

          I took a hit to the jaw because the question stopped me. Growling, I rammed my knife into the man’s face, calling to her, “If she’s not in the ballroom where I left her, I call first dibs on beating her into a damn pulp!”

          Bethany’s face was stone but I saw the flash of horror at the idea that her daughter had come outside into this. She ran off to clear out the party and find Ana.

          Durza and I went back to back, elbowing each other when it was necessary to duck, move, roll, or make any avoidance maneuver. It was rare to be attuned to someone well enough to read them without looking at them �" but Durza had trained me. I knew his moves better than anyone just like he knew mine.

          I took a kick to the stomach as I blocked off the sword the man was trying to cleave me in two with. It hurt but I’d had worse. With a harsh exhale, I shoved the sword off and sent my foot into the man’s throat. He grabbed it, despite the pain, and started to try and tip me over. I used his grip against him, swinging my other foot up to kick his head again. He went down and I had to tuck and roll to avoid getting hit. “Durza,” I called out.

          He moved over to me, carefully keeping his eyes on his attacker. “Don’t move,” I ordered him. He kept in place, only moving to retaliate to the onslaught. I rolled again, throwing the knife from my belt. It landed with a crunching thump into the man’s throat. His eyes bulged and he slowly hit his knees. I ripped the knife out, looking for my next target.

          All the attackers were dead. It took a moment for the adrenaline to subside anyway, and I couldn’t get rid of the impulse-reflex urge to kill the next person to touch me. Durza knew that well enough and we didn’t speak for a few minutes. All five �" another man joined somewhere in the fight �" of us kept quiet and didn’t move. Finally, Durza growled, “I’m going to slaughter Rathbull for this.”

          I moved over to him, not touching him as I said, “Durza, find yourself. You know you can’t do that and you know why.”

          He glared at me fiercely. “This was an assault on my daughter’s life. I’m going to rip out his throat with my bare hands and feed his head to dogs.”

          I glared right back. “Durza, find yourself!” He didn’t seem to listen to me, so I punched his chest solidly. His glare turned on me again and I snarled, “Find yourself, Durza.”

          It took a few minutes for him to calm down, finally seeming to see me and not the man he wanted to slaughter. When he did calm down, he nodded slowly, breathing heavily. “Thank you,” he muttered.

          Find yourself: the phrase Durza had been saying to me whenever I went off track. It was his way of saying that this wasn’t me, that I was better than this, or that I needed to get a handle on whatever was going on in my head. I had to turn it back on him sometimes, though rarely. Somehow, I hadn’t expected to need it today.

          I kept a steady eye on Durza until I was positive his head was back in the game. Then, and only then, did I make a suggestion. “I’ll take a couple of men and go search down for any more of them. We can be back to report by morning if we go within the hour.”

          Durza was quiet as men from Haven and several of our Brothers (probably here because Durza had business to discuss with them after the party was over) circled around. “Raphael, I’m giving control to you. Take four men and be back by dawn. If you’re not,” he paused, looking at me fiercely, “I will come after you and Rathbull will be on a pike by dusk. Do I make myself clear?”

          I nodded solemnly, randomly picking four men I knew well and giving the signal to move out. On the way in to change, I saw Ana. I grabbed her arms and said, “Go find your mother, Ana. She’s worried out of her mind.”

          She was staring at me, color drained from her face. “Rafe, you’re covered in blood! Who’s blood is that? Why are you covered in blood? What happened?”

          I ignored her questions, merely telling her, “I’m fine; it’s not mine. Go find Mother,” I ordered, moving past her. Derek was doing crowd control. Everyone was in the ballroom, freaking out. He saw me and rushed over at the sight of blood. Immediately, I said, “It’s not mine.”

          He calmed only slightly, saying, “What the hell happened?”

          “Rathbull sent men. It’s Green Lane all over again,” I said. Green Lane had been the street I lived on with the old woman, Marian. It’s how we referred to that night.

          Derek swore, glancing at the herds of women who were either sobbing or screaming at guards for answers. The men in the room were all talking seriously. Considering most of them were Haven diplomats, I imagined they were grueling over what would go down in next week’s Gathering with the Brethren.

          He looked back at me and said, “What should I tell them?”

          I scanned the crowd and told him softly, “Keep it to the N.T.Ks. Tell officials that we can provide guards to take their families home, if they don’t have an escort with them. However, inform them that Durza is likely going to arrange an emergency Gather by tomorrow afternoon, provided I get back on time.”

          “What do you mean, get back on time? Where are you going?”

          “Me and four others are going to scout; I’m leading the group. I have to go with them. Durza put me in control,” I said, looking at him calmly. He knew what it meant to me to have Durza give me the reins on anything. Everyone knew he still looked at me like an apprentice. Getting leads from him was the best praise I could hope for.

          Derek patted my shoulder and said, “Be careful, brother. Don’t be reckless.”

          I nodded, looking around the room one more time as I said, “Same to you, brother.”

          With that, I ran upstairs to get ready.

         

          I was back downstairs within the hour, dressed in my full assassin’s garbs. The garb was simplistic and all white. It covered every inch of my body. It was loose enough to mar how by body really was, but tight enough not to flap in the wind. The fact that my clothes were white set me as a basic-level assassin �" though the colors varied on rank. That’s another issue to talk about later, though.

Ana was standing next to Beth, looking at me with red eyes, her makeup staining her cheeks from where she’d cried. However, I didn’t look back at her for more than a moment. I stood in front of Durza with my team, and he stared at me for a long moment before reaching out a hand. I took it and was yanked into a hug. I let him, clapping him on the back three times before he released me. His face was serious as he said, “I mean it. Be back by dawn, Rafe. No later.”

          Bowing respectfully with my hand cupping my fist, I was silent. Glancing at my men, I nodded and we all headed for the horses that had been brought out for us. I mounted up, looked back at Ana, who was still fixated on me, and then kicked my horse into a gallop.

          Then I was gone.

Author's Note

IGNORE " BECAUSE WRITERSCAFE REPLACES - WITH THEM. -- Tell me what you think. (:

Reviews

[Nicholas Hagenschneider]

I enjoyed this. Can't wait to read what happens next.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are a amazing writer. I wish I had the patience and time to write stories like this one. The pace and story is getting stronger. You have create a strong character and situation. A strong chapter.
Coyote