The Price of Forbidden Love
How do Assassins handle love? Surely they are trained against such things, for an Assassin with a heart is not allowed to exist. Assassins do love, but not in a manner such as you or I. When they love, it is dangerous for all involved, including themselves.
Assassins have no home, but there was a place this Assassin returned to sporadically. It was deep within uncharted forest, where the streams poured past tall cliffs and the small clearings that rested at their feet. There he went to be at peace, and there she came to him, as she also did sporadically. With his back to a large tree, he felt a wire slip 'round his neck and threaten to hang him. Even though it brought his feet inches off the ground, he made no effort to escape it. He merely dangled on one end while she came down on the other, holding fast to the wire with one hand. Then, from out of nowhere, a raven swooped down and clipped the wire from his neck, sending both Assassins to the ground. The raven flew around and returned with intent on attacking her, but she prepared for it. She took a large handkerchief from her bosom and caught the bird within it, then dashed it against the trunk of the tree. He stood and watched it fall limp in the garment but showed no concern for the creature that aided him.
"Keeping a pet," she asked him.
"I keep no one," he replied. "It is keeping me. It will recover, and if you are still here when it does, you will regret it."
"Then let us finish our business quickly, you and I," she said, then moved swiftly enough to put a dagger in his right shoulder. Just as swiftly, he removed the dagger and placed it in her left. Then they came together, as they had often did, mixing body and blood on the soft grass of the clearing. The raven had long-since woken by the time their business was done, but it kept at peace for the time being.
They laid together, but separate, for a while. Then peaceful silence was broken by conversation. "I grow tired of kissing everything but a face," she said. "Do you think yours too good for my lips?"
"You have seen all that you will see of me," he replied, "until I am dead and unable to prevent otherwise."
"I will make note, and remember, to have my kiss as you are taken from this world." She smiled openly, for her own mask merely covered the top half of her face. "But I will have one while we both still live. This I assure you."
"Hn. You make promises you cannot keep."
"But I can, for we have been coupled. A noble is to die and we must seek her head together."
"By order of the Council?"
"The decree lies within your grasp."
He felt the ground until a scroll found its way to his hand, then unfurled it and held it up to his vision. In the Assassin's special code, the order was quite clear: seek out Jillian Demau, and return with her scalp as proof of her termination. The Demau family were of the highest noble order, and their castle would have many guards. For a lone Assassin, such an order would be far too difficult to fulfill. They dressed each other once the decree was fully understood, then set off to begin their task.
These were the happier moments of Jillian's life. She was engaged to Count Armondo Matheid, and in a few short days their wedding would commence in glorious fashion. She meant to outdo her cousin Angelina's wedding ten-fold, so no expense was spared and no advisor went unheard. All of Al De Baran would be charged with attending, but the reception would only be for those of rich or noble standing. And their honeymoon...
"Our honeymoon will NOT be held on that filthy Jawaii Island unless it has been cleansed far better than it was the last time I was there," she demanded of her caretaker.
"Madame," he replied, "I assure you Jawaii Island is the cleanest and most expensive place in all of Midgard to have one's honeymoon."
"Then why is it, that when we toured there to see if it was a suitable spot, that place was crawling with couples who were far less worthy of it than I?" Her constant pacing made it hard on the squadron of dressmakers, who did their best to stitch and plan her wedding dress around her wild movements. "If the Count and I are to have our honeymoon there, then all of Jawaii Island will be VACANT of vagrants, and CLEANSED of whatever trace of filth they leave behind! I want it all to myself, you understand? ALL TO MYSELF!"
"Very good, Madame." Her caretaker excused himself to check on other things, such as the bottle of brandy he kept hidden beneath a vase in the lower hallway.
As he exited, a guard entered with another man close behind. "Madame, your dance instructor is here to see you. Victor Matinata."
Jillian would have objected to such an intrusion, but then her eyes swept over Matinata's chiseled countenance, and her ears caught sound of his velvety, accented voice. "At your reception, Madame, you must not simply dance," he said. "You must, fly, through the audience, like a bird through the clouds. Shall I teach you how to fly?"
"Guards, get rid of these dressmakers and fetch me an orchestra," Jillian demanded. The walls of her bedchamber were lined with guards and at least a third of them ushered the dressmakers away. In only long britches and a wire cage, she approached Matinata, and each step made the image of her fiancé more blurred in her mind. The orchestra played something sensual when they arrived, and the dance instructor immediately took charge of the moment.
"We shall begin with a waltz," he said, and the lesson took flight. Jillian was naturally graceful and therefore a fast learner when it came to dancing. Soon their session became nothing more than a flirtatious game of follow-the-leader. Bits of unfixed fabric flew from Jillian's cage, marking her path. Victor Matinata let his hands trace gently over her face, then ran his fingers through her long, blonde hair.
"You have such luxurious hair, Madame," he said to her. "So wild, and yet so tame."
"This hair has brought many-a-suitor my way," she told him. "Yet, none so worthy as the Count. Until now, perhaps?" Her eyes met his for a moment, then she looked away. "No, it is too late. The Count and I must be wed, for it will join our family fortunes and make us all the better for it. But that does not mean my happiness must lie only in him, you know...."
"Yes," Matinata replied, "happiness may come from many sources."
"Have you received an invitation to my wedding," she asked him.
"No, Madame, for I do not live within Al De Baran."
"Then see my caretaker on your way out to receive one, along with your payment. I will be looking for you at the reception. I will be sure to save you a dance."
"Best to save one for your fiancé, Madame. My partner is with him as we speak, teaching him all that he will need to know for that one night."
Count Matheid's dance lesson ended much earlier than Jillian Demau's, but for a similar reason. In the privacy of his bedchamber, he shared a plate of wine and cheese with Andrea Matinata, along with a few laughs over poor jokes.
"My fortune is not as vast as she believes it to be," the Count informed his dance instructor. "That is why I am marrying her. Heh, I need the money."
"But what about all that the Matheids own," Andrea asked while casually swirling her wineglass.
"Ah, the mines collapsed years ago," he confessed. "Killed many husbands and sons here in Geffen. It was unfortunate. But we have many poachers on our payroll still who head north to harvest fashionable appendages from the animals there. Furs, horns, scales... Even eyes and stingers have become part of a fashion now! As long as we keep peasants well clothed, we ourselves will never have to stoop to their level."
"And once you secure Madame Demau's fortune, you will remain high on the proverbial hog?" Andrea took the wine bottle in hand and offered to pour them both another glass. "I believe such brilliance calls for a toast."
The Count smiled cleverly to her, and his smile increased as she sipped sensually from his glass. "To brilliance," he announced as he raised his glass high, then sipped the wine for himself. "Tell me, my dear. Do you plan to attend our wedding?"
"Why yes, Count Matheid. My brother and I revel in seeing our finished product in motion."
"Excellent. All other members of my family are away on business, and I would enjoy having a familiar face." The dance instructor's familiar face began to fade from the Count's view, however, as a strange feeling of fatigue came over him. Count Matheid slipped from his chair and to the floor, unable to hear the soft questions of concern coming from Andrea's lips.
"Too much wine, I suppose," Andrea said to herself, then sent for the guards outside of the Count's room. They put the Count to bed, for it was obvious that he was tired, then sent her away with her payment in hand.
The day of the wedding was a day of celebration within the walls of Al De Baran. Banners hung from every post, and confetti was thrown from every window. In a gondola made of the finest timbers, the bride was paraded around the city's waterways for all to see and admire her beauty. When that was over, she was carried on a sedan chair to the courtyard of her castle, where all of Al De Baran waited for the commencement of the wedding. The castle orchestra played fine wedding music, and Count Matheid waited proudly at the end of a long runway for her to approach him. The ceremony took hours from commencement to completion but once it was finished, everyone knew the real affair would begin.
The reception was by invitation only, and a cavalcade of guards waited at the castle gate to prevent anyone from entering who did not have a proper invitation. Madame Jillian waited as well, watching every man that came in for signs of Victor Matinata. From her throne, she pierced the crowd with her gaze to find him--a few times she thought she did, but found each guess only to be different noblemen from Morroc. After a time, Count Matheid noticed her searching glances and inquired with her about them.
"You seem to be missing someone, my dear. Tell me, and I will send the guards to seek this person out for you."
"I need no guards to do what I can with my own eyes," she said coldly.
"You will have to, for now at least," he replied, then took her by the hand. "For now it is time that you and I dance as we have been instructed to. Come. Let us show the other nobles that we have learned to fly."
His words caught her off guard, and Jillian was easily pulled from her seat to the dance floor. The crowd made plenty of room for the two of them to begin their waltz, but beforehand, the Count raised his goblet to make a toast. "To all of nobility! May we continue to prosper, 'less the entire world be driven into poverty at our downfall."
"To all of nobility," the crowd chanted, then all drank in unison.
"And now," the Count said as he handed off his goblet, "the waltz." The orchestra played as sensually as they did during Jillian's lessons, and gradually she became at ease with the moment. She would have her revenge on Victor Matinata for not attending her soiree, but in the meantime, Count Matheid was a suitable substitute. He danced as smoothly as Matinata, and Jillian indeed felt as though she were flying when they twirled around the ballroom floor. She was so enraptured by their waltz, she did not notice when someone else joined in.
Across the wide circle, a lone woman in a lavender evening gown came twirling from the audience. She went clockwise around the edge of the circle while the newly weds went counter-clockwise. Only when she passed Jillian--and let her hand caress Madame's face--did she gain notice. Jillian was more than offended but could not seem to keep her gaze on the woman long enough to say anything to her. Count Matheid kept her locked in their endless dance despite her sudden protests.
"Stop! Hold on! Who is that woman? How dare she touch--Would you stop for a moment? Guards! Guards! Get that woman out of my ballroom!"
Guards began to march in from the hallway, but stopped short of the entrance as a raven landed in their path. The raven carried a dead branch with it and it quickly snapped it on the ground. Instantly a Ghostring was summoned, and in turn it summoned a horde of Giant Whispers who blanketed the hallway and smothered the guards with their presence.
The presence of the monsters would have been frightening to the nobles, but one by one they were all succumbing to fatigue. While the Count secured Jillian in their dance, everyone else collapsed to the floor--everyone except the woman who had decided to join the waltz. On her next come-around, she joined hands with Count Matheid and locked Jillian between them. Then they continued to dance as if the bride were not there, struggling and demanding an explanation.
"HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME," Jillian screamed. "I'LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU ARE HANGED, COUNT! I'LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU ARE HANGED!"
"You would forgive the Count, perhaps," the woman replied, "if his messenger had arrived in time with note of his ill health." Then she settled her chin on Jillian's left shoulder and looked directly at the Count. "I told you I would have that kiss, Did I not?"
"If that is what you desire, then the moment has been given to you," the Count replied, then to the horror of Madame, he leaned forward and engaged the woman in a long, passionate kiss. While they kissed, the Count took a knife to Jillian's stomach, and the woman took a dagger to Jillian's backside. Madame slipped silently to the floor and the couple danced away from her, leaving bloody footprints in a clockwise formation around the circle. The orchestra had long-since collapsed as well, but the music went on in the couple's minds. When the guards finished dealing with the ghostly invasion, they would find nothing but stillness within the ballroom of the Demau castle. One less Demau would also be found, with hair no longer to entice would-be suitors.
Deep within the Assassin's stronghold, they knelt before the Council of Three. An attendant took up the hair of Jillian Demau and presented it to the Council for confirmation. "Excellent," was the Council's reply. "Our beseecher will be pleased and our profits will grow. The two of you work quite well together."
"We cooperate as we are ordered to," the Assassins replied in unison.
"As it should be. Shien, a new assignment awaits you. Seek instructions in the next room. ShadowNinja, we will speak to you now on private matters."
She left quickly, and he stayed, rising to his feet to look before the Council of Three. "The two of you indeed work well together," the Council told him, "and that is why you must never see her again."
Their words caught him off guard, but he did not let that show. "What does the Council mean by this," he asked.
"Curb your training in deception, ShadowNinja. You are not dealing with mere peasants, unfamiliar to our ways. You are not even dealing with your fellow Assassin. We are the Council of Three. For every Assassin, there are eyes and ears which tell us even of your most private moments. You have a distraction in that one, and we will not let it be so."
"I am distracted by nothing." His words were laced with insult.
"We have ensured that this is so," the Council stated. "In our world, only the completion of a contract is guaranteed. We sacrifice even our greatest, if it will ensure our greatness in the centuries to come. You are close to increasing our numbers in the ranks of the Assassin Cross. Shien as well. But, a choice must be made. A choice, has been made. You are dismissed."
Without another word, he left the Council's audience. Only the raven joined him on his journey away from the Assassin's stronghold.
Almost anything was possible within the city of Yuno. Its rules were mere suggestions with loopholes to favor the scientists and nobles who did business there. Many noblemen came there to satisfy their carnal needs, and it seemed this one was no different. For shame or privacy, he kept his body covered in a dark robe and his face hidden by a hood and Mr. Smile mask. He met with a scientist in one of Yuno's many courtyards, then was led to a darker portion of the city, a side few saw without paying some sort of price.
"So it was Count Matheid who recommended us," the scientist asked as they walked through a dark hallway. "Yes, he comes here much himself when he has a need. All of our stock is prime, I assure you. They come from unscrupulous backgrounds, so there is no shame. We like to say that whatever happens, they deserve it in some way."
His guest was more interested in the journey's end than its introduction. "What I am looking for is something fresh," he stated. "Something recent. Nothing used."
"That will be a bit more expensive, but it can be arranged." The scientist chuckled at his own, lecherous thoughts. "After surgery, we like to try and break them in ourselves. But there are a few still being worked on who might be available for... sampling?"
"Once I see what you have to offer, I will decide then." All conversation ended with those few words and the two continued on. Eventually, doors became part of the scenery in the hallway, and behind them came the sounds of moaning in various pitches, and for various reasons. A few twists and turns later, the scientist stopped at the entrance to another hall, where there were fewer doors, and silence to greet them.
"This is where we keep the ones who are unfinished but no longer resistant," he said. "I could open all of their doors right now and not a one of them would escape. Would you like to see them?" His guest gave no reply and slipped past him to wander the hall. The scientist rushed to get ahead of him and open the doors to showcase what was behind them. "Granted, none of them are lively, but you did say you wanted fresh! And they will still serve their purpose, won't they?" He rushed his salespitch, for his guest was not inclined to stop and look in each room. "And, if you like what you see, we can have it specially programmed to your exact desires. A take-home package, if you will?"
At one of the doors, his guest finally took pause. Laying on a wooden slab was a woman with trimmed, purple hair, wearing a crude hospital gown. A good salesman knew when a customer was ready to purchase, and the scientist could see that his guest was quite interested in that particular sale. "You have a fine eye for quality," he said as he slipped past the noble and into the cell. The scientist lifted her chin gently and brushed hair from her face to further reveal her beauty. "It is rare, and I shouldn't be sharing this information with you, but sometimes we receive these as tribute from the Assassin's Guild. They appear to be damaged goods when they come from there, but as you can see, our medical facilities are quite state of the art. And, after a brief mental adjustment, they become as docile as a peasant girl." He pet the woman on her head, then let her drop to the bench once again. "You've caught this one at just the right moment! All we've done is made her a blank slate so far, so if you want we could--"
"Leave us."
The scientist was disappointed in having his well-memorized salespitch interrupted, but he knew what his guest wanted. "Try before you buy, eh?" He laughed as more lecherous thoughts came to mind. "Very well. I'll just go down the hall for a few minutes and check on other merchandise."
They switched places, and the scientist closed the door behind him, taking a momentary peek before leaving them alone as he had promised. Once the guest was certain that he was alone, he approached the woman and knelt before her. Through his mask he looked into her eyes--they were so vacant, he could not find his reflection. "Do you know who I am," he asked her. "Do you even know who you are?" The woman returned his stare, and for a moment, it seemed as though she were coming back to life. She reached out for his mask and gripped its edges, but something reminded her that she was forbidden to remove it from his face. Then her life slipped sadly away once more as she smiled blankly, and let her fingers play on his mask as though it were a stage and they were dancers. Matching scars dimpled her temples where crude instruments had been used to make her this way.
He watched her play, then stood out of her reach. "This is by no means a justified waste. But, now I see the price of personal affair. And now that I see it, I no longer fear it. And without fear, I can do as I please." He pulled his hood from his head as he continued to speak, letting his white hair jut freely outward. "I will grow stronger knowing that my superiors are undeserving of my service. Then, when the hour comes that my superiors are my equal, I will cut them down, one by one, until all that is left is me." Then he looked to her with respect, for he would die before he felt pity. "Those were our plans, were they not? To one day kill alongside each other? Then, let a final treachery decide who would reign? Well." He took a knife from his robe and used it to split her throat. "The decision has been made."
She did not cry out, and she did not flinch as blood poured from her gullet to the cell floor. He lifted her into his arms while her life drained from her, then with one hand, he pulled the mask from his face and kissed her, tasting the blood that spilled past her lips. "Wear this mask for me, Shien," he said as he slipped the Mr. Smile mask over her face. Then he took a Grinning Goblin mask from his robe and placed it over his own countenance. Just as his ritual ended, the door of the cell opened to the scientist, who hoped to catch them in the middle of a different moment.
"What the Hell?" The scientist stared at the pool of blood and the back of his guest. "Hey! You break it you buy it," he demanded.
"Tell me," the man asked quietly. "Did you have a hand in lobotomizing this girl?"
"Did I?" The scientist was insulted at not having his work recognized. "I am chief lobotomizer of this facility! I have a hand in all lobotomies. Hers was one of my most recent works of art."
"Good. Then you can be the first to die in her name." His guest spun the woman once, and before she could fall, he turned and dug deep into the scientist's belly with his knife. A jagged edge of the knife brought the scientist's entrails out with it as his guest spun in time to catch the woman with one arm. He took her legs over his other arm and let shredded entrails drag behind him as he left out of the cell. He would have dragged the scientist too, had he not disappeared and left no trace of himself to do so.
Deep within uncharted forest, where the streams poured past tall cliffs, a pyre burned and lit up the night sky. Two bodies burned within it--one was hers, the other, the spy that he had found to be watching over him. The raven preached in its own language at their private funeral, then the pyre's remains were cast to the water to be lost at sea. He would never return to his place of solace. From then on, he had no reason to.