War Cry

Shao Jun had left me – a young man with a longbow hung over his shoulders ushered her away – and I spent the next few hours investigating my surroundings: the hall I had entered into was actually an old bazaar, with the stalls still running. Though, there was little trade in coin – the majority of it was bartering. One particular man I was watching had a knife too many, so he traded one for an armful of bread loaves – he then traded most of the loaves for a fanciful persian-styled rug. Finally, he brought the rug to an old disused fountain in the centre, and placed it upon the ground, where he began to eat some of the bread he had attained. A while later, he began to share out the bread, even offering some to me, when it was obvious by Zhu's opposition behind me that he should not.

But, I was hungry, and disliked Zhu – so I took the food gratefully and sat beside the man upon his rug. He asked me many questions, and I did the same in turn to him, slowly, more people joined our conversations and I was able to slip out a while later. Though I enjoyed hearing the tales, and watching some surprisingly adept folk perform the stories as they were told, the bazaar was dusty, and I had not breathed fresh air since I had awoken. I made my way, as quickly as I could through the dense crowd, towards the exit, dashing for the door when I was close enough.

Finally, I barelled through, sucking the somewhat fresher air through my lungs. It was then that I noticed where I had been taken; while still in Shanghai (I could recognise some of the more sizeable landmarks, even in the darkening evening light), the scent of fish and noise of the waves meant that we were by the port. It was a start, at the very least, I just had to find someway of escaping this accursed city now. Though I hadn't killed the general – my untimely departure would only point the authorities in my direction. But with no money, and mostly likely being hunted: where could I go. I longed for the safety and familiarity of my family home now, surprising myself in the process, given how much I had hated the place when I'd left.

I decided then, to take a stroll to the seafront, from the level of noise it didn't seem to be a very long walk at all, and I needed the exercise – I felt as if I would start climbing the walls if I'd staying indoors for much longer. In the end, it only took a few minutes until I found myself sat upon the end of a wooden pier, gazing out into the darkness. Home really did feel a world away at this point.

"You shouldn't be outside alone." I heard the footsteps of someone approaching before I had heard Jun's voice, and I immediately recognised her when she spoke.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't going to be out long." I replied softly speaking in Mandarin as she had to me (while I appreciated hearing Italian again, she wasn't the most proficient orator), craning my head up to watch her as she moved to sit down beside me.

She sighed, staying silent for few minutes, the only sounds coming from the lapping waves and seagulls circling above. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so exhausted; yes, work was difficult, and it was emotionally draining – but my schedule was kept loose, and I had time to recover between sessions. And travelling had been a wonderful adventure – I had seen, and experienced so much in the last year, it had opened my eyes, not drawn them together.

But here, sat drenched in moonlight and salt water beside a woman I barely knew, speaking in a language I scarcely understood, I could practically feel the energy being taken from my body. And it was then, in this moment of silence, that I finally remembered.

"You're an Assassin." I stated. I heard a muffled affirmative from my midnight companion. "My father almost killed you when we spoke." We both laughed at this, reminiscing.

He hadn't let me spend much of my time with the stranger, even sending my mother, brother and I away to stay with a family friend after a few days of Jun's arrival. (I had never appreciated Machiavelli when I was young, he did not allow me to stay up late as I could convince my mother to.)

"Jun," I began, wringing my hands together and playing with the hem of the shirt I had been given earlier. I found it simultaneously effortless and challenging to talk with this woman, but at this time, I could not place why. "Why did you bring me here?"

She was silent for a while, and I could hear her open her mouth and take a breath to speak more than once, until, finally; "You are a legacy." Then she stood, her hand grazing my shoulder (either out of an accident or meant as comfort I could not tell), "Men may write history; but it is us who define it."

I stood upright, taking her hand as she had offered it, but we both refused to let go. I could not understand, and she could not find the words to explain. I think we both felt, in time, everything would make sense.

"Flavia…"

I received, then, a rush of affection when I noticed the way she stared at me; for a moment, nothing else in my life mattered but hearing what this woman had to say to me. It was a moment so deftly intimate, something I never before borne witness too, that I was overcome with emotion, and barely heeded her next words.

"You are what you choose to be."