Brusk Estate, Province of Rebirth

  “Susan, are you certain my notebook is here?”

  Having lost count, Susan sighs before answering the question for maybe the seventh time, “Unless you snuck in here in the last two month and took it already it would have to be.”

  Terara continues to shuffle through the contents of her desk’s side-drawer. She knows she put it here, where could it have gone?

  She’s been avoiding coming to the Estate for months, ever sense, that day. She wouldn’t be here now if it were not for the contents of that notebook. She needs the notes she took on the shipping fleet and she would sooner kiss the Free’er before asking the twins for that data again.

  The only thing worse than the twins would be Anton or one of his minions.

  A memory surfaces of the day she last saw her notebook; she was in a rush like now. She opened the desk drawer and set the notebook on top of the upright file folders before slamming it shut.

  Dropping flat to the floor she takes a look underneath, the desk has a solid bottom, which means it could be stuck behind the drawer.

  Lifting herself onto hands and knees, she slides the drawer open halfway and attempts to snake her arm over the back of the drawer to the exposed gap.

  Feeling the familiar shape, “I think I found it!”

  Squeezing her hand, she can’t get the notebook over the back of the drawer. Not allowing herself to be deterred, Terara releases the notebook, and slides the drawer forward and lifts it off its track and drops it noisily to the floor.

  Snatching her prize, she plots a route out of the estate, with the least likelihood of crossing paths with anyone who could impede her hasty retreat.

  A cautious rapping on her partially open office door, crushes her hopes of a clean get-away.

  The light knocking is followed by a barely familiar voice, “Knock-knock; Hello, Lady Terara, Susan?”

  Short cropped green hair, with a dark pink streak, and matching magenta eyes identify the man as one of Anton’s minions, a man named Jocko.

  “Oh, you’re both here; perfect.”

  Pulling the door open and stepping uninvited inside, “Mind if I come in?

  “Debs from reception thought she saw you skulking around the delivery entrance and sent me a notice… in case you might need something from me.”

  Terara, still on the floor, head barely peeking over the desk’s edge, stands with as much dignity as she can muster. Tosses her freshly recovered notebook too her desk, drops into her chair, sets her hands together before her, and glowers at Jocko, “What do you want?”

  Nervously glancing at Susan, he receives a less veiled look of loathing.

  “What do I want? Not a thing, you’ve got this all wrong. I’m here because your brother has been worried about you. You never come over; he’s afraid your estates will suffer from neglect.”

  Terara relaxes, this is a game she knows all too well.

  “You know, he, your brother, has given me authorization to make a proposal of stewardship.

  “I or someone we can all agree upon could take over the day-to-day operations of your holdings, so you can do whatever”, wiggling his fingers, “it is you like doing.”

  Terara lets those words hang in the air for only a moment, “Tell Anton”, wiggling her fingers, “my brother-in-law, no thank you. My holdings, properties, and businesses concerns are doing just fine without his interference.

  “I can run things from Casa Abaya as well as from anywhere else.”

  Approaching her desk and placing his fingertips on the edge, Jocko continues with a fake smile, “Yes, Casa Abaya… there was something I was supposed to ask about that.”

  Lady Terara stiffens noticeably, knowing where this is going.

  Sensing her reaction, “You’ve been interviewing for a new chef for over a month now. Why don’t you let Anton loan you one of his. If they are to your liking, you can keep them.

  “By the way, what happened to your old butler and chef?”

  This is it, the lie she tells herself, “You mean Sylus? He left on family business. I had been disappointed with his performance of late, so I didn’t ask many questions. I didn’t get the impression he was planning to return.”

  Knowing a lie when he hears one, Jocko lets it go, as there is nothing he can do but pass the information along.

  Putting his weight on his fingertips, Jocko moves on to his next topic, “Your brother is pleased to hear your relationship with the Governor of the Southern Shores is blossoming.”

  Thinking of Anfal nearly makes the lady blush, exercising continence, “There’s nothing there, tell my brother in-law that he can stop looking for a replacement for my husband and a chef.”

  Not letting her get away with a second lie, so easily, “Really? Nothing there? You two have been seen together in public a dozen times in the last month alone.”

  Looking Jocko dead in the eye, her face as expressionless as the night she murdered Sylus, “Coincidence, we both dine out often and have the same tastes in food.”

  Removing his fingers from the desk that suddenly feels too cold. Jocko inventories his hold of therms out of a sudden need of reassurance that he can defend himself should the need arise.

  “Tell me Lady Terara, have you heard from Lord Malo lately?”

  “You know I haven’t. He’s not been anywhere close for more than a year. If Anton wants to talk to him, tell him to talk to the moon.”

  A thought occurs to Terara, “I wonder if the legendary character, Man on the Moon had its origin in someone like Malo?”

  Caught off guard by the non-sequitur, Jocko nearly fumbles his next line of questioning, “Naval battles, er, I mean the merchant defense. I don’t suppose you’re still interested in that?”

  A pair of hurried voices float through the doorway, knowingly Lady Terara smirks before responding, “Not one bit. I’ve moved on to personal matters. I’m sure my brother in-law, Anton can handle North Cenoka and the Empire of Blood just fine on his own.”

  Her gaze shifts to the doorway, causing Jocko to look over his shoulder. He does a double take as identical faces peer through the doorway.

  Efron’s head above Samir’s, the two stopped to look just long enough to make sure their aunt Terara’s arm wasn’t cocked in a throwing position.

  Samir moves in first, “You are here!”

  Efron follows, “This is wonderful!”

  Samir adds, “We can simply hand you the data you requested, instead of employing a courier.”

  Efron amends, “With the bonus of getting to see you in person,”

  Samir finishes, “which is always the best part of any day.”

  The twins read the room and completely ignore Jocko. The pair walk up to the desk and flank Anton’s flunky in a shallow attempt to gain favor with their aunt.

  Samir presents a folder with dozens of pages of data. Efron reports, “Here’s this week’s fleet numbers, with a summary of each enemy engagement.”

  Efron hands over a second folder. Samir adds, “We’ve also compiled a list of studies that have provided resources to protecting trade.”

  Lady Terara stands after accepting both folders and gathers her notebook with the intention of using this interruption as a pretense to break away from Jocko when an unexpected, yet welcome voice comes from the office’s open door.

  Nobody else matters, Anfal Nikitin, the governor of the Southern Shores has found her yet again.

  “Lady Terara, I thought I recognized the carriage outside. It’s always a pleasure to cross your path.”

  Somehow without her noticing, he crossed the room bypassing the three persona-non-grata individuals lined up at her desk.

  She doesn’t remember offering her hand, but somehow with only a dislocated desk drawer between them, the salty governor’s lips are brushing across the back of her hand.

  A shiver ripples through her core, blood engorges her cheeks, lips, and a warm feeling in her abdomen has her melting. Lady Terara is speechless.

  Anfal saves her from embarrassment by feigning to suddenly notice the desk drawer at his feet, “You seem to be having trouble with your desk. Let me get this for you.”

  Stooping, the governor retrieves and lines the drawer up with the opening, before sliding it home with a satisfying click.

  Standing while retrieving the hand that is still extended, “I was hoping to catch you before you left so I could ask you if you’ve made dinner plans?”

  Terara blinks twice as the question registers, and boldly answers, “None at all. We should dine together.”

  Anfal smiles genuinely, “That would please me very much.”

  “Then let’s be away from here.”

  Neither acknowledge the room full of people as they glide out the door.

  It takes twenty seconds for the sound of their retreating footsteps to fade. That was enough time for Jocko to throw his arms up in silent frustration, turn, and leave.

  Samir uneasily glances at Efron, who feels the same impending danger and motions with his head it’s time to go. As one, the two look over at Susan who has already picked up the Lady’s paperweight.

  The twins hastily retreat before the paperweight can get out of hand.

  Springville, North Cenoka

  Six hours before sunrise, Liam takes stock of his equipment. Dressed head to tow in classic black garb, face concealed, with strategically placed ballistic armor plates protecting his most vulnerable spots. His nocturnal assault uniform, perfectly tailored to allow maximum movement with minimal sound.

  It was a long journey, having never been to this area of the Empire of Blood he was forced to make the journey on foot. Traversing South Cenoka took only a moment, from his ready room all he had to do was imagine himself in the family townhome, sever his ties to time, and collapse into a quantum wave. Once he flickers into existence in both rooms, he only needed to let go of his first anchor to complete the journey.

  A short ride by train, followed by weeks of lonely travel by inu and on foot, made heart wrenching by the steady flow of fleeing refugees flowing from the north. No children, almost no women, the few he observed fleeing are worn and beaten down by the harsh conditions forced on them by the Empire.

  After traversing the badlands, the landscape gives way to jungle, villages and small towns are all empty. If there are any people they make sure to stay hidden upon his approach.

  Near the end of his journey, he hears the distant baying of hounds, Liam takes no chance and instantly returns to his ready room in the deep south woods of Vorg and the safety of the Jones Estate.

  After giving the area three days to be cleared he returns and continues his journey. Three months and two weeks later, he’s here. The walled town of Springville is just ahead, and it is not empty. The harsh glow of outdoor furnaces illuminates the night sky, washing away any hope of seeing more than the brightest stars.

  The hovering nearly full moon would normally be detrimental on a mission like this, the soft light betraying his location. But not this moon, it’s an all-seeing eye, everyone feels it, the presence, its judgment.

  It’s been the same everywhere, by day, it’s the moon with a silly man on it that wants to protect us. Then when it gets dark, and your thoughts wander, you reflect on your day, on your life. You realize there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, he’s there. Watching.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Instead of observing their surroundings, people look at their feet to avoid a glimpse of the moon. Tonight, the light of the moon is like a glamour that dazzles the eyes and blinds people to threats, threats like Liam.

  Without any fanfare, no noise, Liam breaks into a sprint through the light brush running parallel to the paved road, leading to the walled factory, once known as Springville.

  Two hops take him past a small stream, the wall in sight, he drops lower, increases his speed. Lightly suppressing time, he feels the pull of his quantum state, ensuring he’s still unobserved.

  Four heartbeats and he reaches the wall, there’s no sign of sentries. Leaping halfway up the five-yard-high barrier, he stabs his kunai between stones securing purchase to the crude stone wall. A powerful pull with both arms, supplemented by his momentum propels him to its top.

  It takes only a glance over the rim; before grasping the wall’s lip. Liam becomes a wave and appears thirty yards away, hanging on the side of an apartment building. A heartbeat later, he blinks away from the wall and scrambles onto the building’s rooftop.

  Liam takes a moment to check his gear, the ampule of poison strapped to the inside of his right wrist is secure. Smoke canisters, caltrops, garrote, blowgun, and his newly forged dragon scale sai are all as they should be.

  Keeping low, Liam looks at the next roof top, waves himself into existence upon it. Not letting go, he waves himself into existence a third time. He extends himself seven times in total.

  The temptation to do more is enticing, the sensory overload of having seven sets of eyes, ears, and sense of smell, all with their own unique experiences is unexplainably intoxicating. If he were moving it would be different, the ability to gather information seems to scale with each iteration. Navigating multiple environments does not, hence many of the rooms in the Jones family home are duplicated and almost all share the same layout.

  When the temple and the weapons factory built around it are finally in view, he releases himself to the final roof top.

  Instinctively he checks his gear again, even though he hasn’t moved a muscle since the last check. The ampule on his wrist gets a third check.

  Satisfied, Liam smoothly crawls to the building’s edge and surveys the grounds surrounding the temple and the factory beyond.

  Below is a dozen or so dragon priests heading in and out of the temple, crossing what was once considered the town square.

  The presence of the full moon does its job, eyes are locked down and forward. Liam watches as they stream in and out. Everyone moves with a purpose, he can’t imagine what that would be. It’s five hours before sunrise and the activity below is as busy as most manufactories are during the day.

  There’s a temptation to follow the industrious priests as they loop around to the left or right factory entrances. In another time he would have, but tonight he has a higher calling; the disciples of the Free’er threatened his granddaughter’s life.

  They may not know who she is. How could they when she doesn’t even know herself. Keeping her safe is all that matters to this old man. The blood of one disciple is already on his hands, a few more should be enough to keep her safe. Checking the ampule once more; tonight, he’s going to move that agenda forward.

  It’s taken an hour, to be sure, but there’s a definite cadence to the priests exiting the temple. A cluster of four leave every seven minutes. Another cluster returns two minutes later. The only unknown is who or what is on the other side of that staircase leading into the temple.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  Three priests leave the temple in a group, almost a minute later a fourth scurries out alone. The returning group of four have already exited the factory entrance on the left.

  The straggler turns to the right, following the group of three.

  Liam stands and puts a foot up on the roof’s ledge, cuts himself off from time, and waves himself into existence halfway up the temple entrance.

  No hesitation, he cuts himself from the roof top and rushes up the stairs, entering the temple.

  The route he needs to take will be mostly unguarded except for the teams of four on their endless errands. All he needs to do is follow the incoming group through the next two doorways unobserved.

  The stonework inside is better fitting than outside, but centuries of settling have distorted the once perfect ninety-degree angles into obtuse and acute imperfections.

  The tighter corner has better lighting, but the odds of anyone looking up and back is low. Playing the odds, Liam leaps upwards and uses his legs braced against the narrow corner walls with hands pushing down against the ceiling to wedge himself hopefully out of sight of the incoming four dragon priests.

  Voices low, there seems to be an argument brewing among them.

  “These drills are pointless.”

  “I agree with you, but our Lady has ordered them, they will be done.”

  “You two should stop talking, you never know when she’s listening.”

  “Everyone knows what she’s doing now, this is when she sets her melanin. Her attention is one hundred percent directed inward.”

  Gladdened to have his hunches confirmed, Liam had to swallow any joy he was feeling as one of the dragon priests stopped and slowly turned around.

  Time slowed for Liam, not from any gift, but from decades of training.

  Relaxing his arms upward pressure, his body lurches forward, bent knees extend, launching him towards the group of four.

  Muscle memory has his two kunai in hand and with a flick of wrist they find the necks of the priest who was turning and one other.

  In less than a heartbeat, he lands behind the remaining two priests, with a sai embedded in each of their spines.

  So much for this being a stealth mission. He has less than a minute before the bodies will be discovered. A moment is lost to retrieve his kunai and sheath his sai’s.

  Through the doorway, down the hall, through a second, and turn left. There he needs to traverse another hall for thirty yards, before coming to a t-intersection where he turns right. A final staircase will lead him to her chambers.

  The door is locked as expected, a rake and tensioner are applied crudely, without concern for noise, an alarm is about to be raised anyways.

  The lock releases with a click, the door squeaks surprisingly loud. A brief thought, was that on purpose?

  Disciple Yara stands nude with her face unblurred facing her attacker, “So you are the one sent to dispatch me, like my sister R?tsel?”

  She’s beautiful, perfect carbon black skin with the same natural wild untrimmed white hair adorning her head and concealing her maidenhead.

  Liam playing the part of silent assassin, says nothing. He’s completely at her mercy, she commands all the elements of the gift and has had hundreds if not thousands of years to master them. He can only be in two places at once if unobserved.

  A gong from somewhere, is beaten at a steady rate for the next ten seconds; that must be the alarm. On the fifth signal, Liam makes his move.

  Lunging forward with sai in hands he goes for a direct kill shot.

  The punch of kinetic energy to his chest explodes the ballistic plates, saving his life. They spare his life but enough energy penetrates to halt his forward progress.

  Undeterred he throws the two sai at her perfect torso. Followed by his kunai. All four instruments hit their marks, piercing perfect ebony skin.

  Not a trickle of blood escapes. Yara doesn’t even acknowledge the wounds as the weapons slowly slide out of her body and fall haplessly to the floor.

  She’s disgusted at the lack of danger, “That’s it? I heard R?tsel was subdued and tortured to death, and all I get is a garden variety assassin?”

  Liam has no other recourse, the ampule on his wrist is in his mouth before Yara can react. A crushing bite and his mouth is flooded with tetrodotoxin.

  Not waiting on the effects he allows himself to crumple to the floor.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!

  “R?tsel, gets an elite assassin with the ability to suppress her gifts and boons and all I get is this ninja-wannabe that kills himself?”

  Her rant is interrupted by the approach of guards. Blurring her face, she turns to face them.

  “You’re late. Strip him and search him, layout what you find.”

  Yara fumes over the indignity of being attacked by such a mundane assassin. When she finds out who sent him, they will pay.

  It doesn’t take long, Liam didn’t bring much. His ninja gear is laid out neatly next to his naked lifeless body.

  A close examination of his body reveals a crudely applied, fresh tattoo of a jaguar on the back of his head barely concealed by his short cropped hair.

  The priest who finds it declares, “Tepeyollotl!”

  Yara moves in to inspect the tattoo for herself, before responding.

  “It does appear so.

  “Leave me! Dispose of this! All of it!”

  Yara turns back to her meditation mat and resumes her melanin reinforcement ritual.

  One thought distracts her, she’ll lose a gradient of black this night and it infuriates her. Tepey would never be so stupid as to brand his assassin. His short hair proves his head was recently shaved.

  Out loud she mutters, “Tepey is young, but smart. This is the work of a moron.”

  A certain sing-song voice comes to mind when she thinks of what kind of moron would try something like this.

  Outside a pair of dragon priest’s drag Liam’s body down the hall.

  “Where should we take this?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “We could toss him in a furnace?”

  “That’s a long way to haul a corps.”

  “True, how about we dump it in an alley toward the front gate?”

  “Nobody will smell it there, that sound like a good idea to me.”

  Their plan firm the two dragon priests don’t notice the subtle change in their burden as his heart begins to beat again.

  Liam having experienced the effects of tetrodotoxin dozens of times to prepare for these times awakens with minimum signs of life.

  The two dragon priests carry him into an ally and drop him without a thought before turning back to their temple.

  Liam waits until they are out of sight before blocking time, becoming a wave, and returns to his ready room where he severs his ties to Springville.

  Prison Block 400

  The yard, being empty isn’t very reassuring. Marshal would prefer there to be witnesses to whatever is going down. The prison guards that brought him here are standing by the only entrance to the yard, huddled in conversation, clearly ignoring him. Pulled from his days work assignment and dropped here can only mean one thing; he pissed off the big man, again.

  Operating a printing press all day, means he stands a lot. Marshal isn’t going to stand when he doesn’t have to, he moves to a stone bench attached to the yards wall and sits.

  Windows of time for these things are not indefinite. Even the big man must comply with certain schedules, Marshal doesn’t have to wait long. The crunch of the steel door opening, his two guards exiting and leaving the door ajar is not unexpected.

  In struts the big guy, flanked by two burly inmates. His prison uniform looks new, still creased from being folded for a decade where it sat stacked in the prison warehouse. He must get a new one each day. Unbuttoned to his naval, collar popped, the drab beige dye somehow looks bright on him. His hair is adulterated with some form of grease, allowing it to stick up in jagged unkempt spikes. In spite of all the irregularities, he’s still within prison standards. Except for the footwear, the platform shoes give him an extra six inches of height over those around him.

  Standing, Marshal greets the big guy, “Lynx, you look well.”

  Smiling broadly as he always does, “As do you Marshal.

  “How goes the printing business?”

  “Oh, you know how it is. The party keeps me busy.”

  Lynx’s smile faulters for a moment, “We don’t have much time, but you know that.”

  Pulling a pamphlet from his pocket and addressing his escorts, “We have business to discuss, have a chat with the guards, will you?”

  The two goonish inmates nod acquiescence and saunter back towards the exit.

  Half handing, half tossing the pamphlet to Marshal, “What’s with this non-sense?

  “Did you make changes?”

  Marshal knows exactly what Lynx is referring to and can say without a doubt, he changed nothing.

  “You know all the messaging comes from my guy on the outside. All I do is the type setting and printing when the guards have their backs turned.

  “And thank you by the way, my opportunities to run independent projects have doubled since I earned your patronage.

  “My anti-party work has flourished in here.”

  Lynx’s smile faulters once again, “That’s what concerns me.

  “It feels like your anti-party movement is encroaching on my message on Grace Eternal.”

  Marshal had prepared this speech for weeks, knowing it would have to come out eventually.

  “This is by design. The missionary that placed me here, has two goals. We each share one of them. Had he known about you he probably wouldn’t have placed me inside as he did. I was perfectly capable of organizing party opposition out there.”

  “That line about defense of ones neighbors. The party won’t like it. Many of my privileges are dependent on my adherence to party doctrines. Your missionary will have me walking a fine line with this one.

  “Can we trust him?”

  Pointing down to where everyone knows the moon sits at the moment, “He did.”

  Lynx, reverently says the name, “Malo.

  “If he trusted him, so shall I.”

  Marshal seeing he’s out of danger of crossing the big man, stands, “Great we should get to work then.”

  “Not so fast, Marshal. Tell me about your journey’s progress.”

  Inwardly Marshal rolls his eyes, but unlike his emotional comrade, he is a professionally trained performer, a community organizer, his smile never faulters, his perfect smile and expressionless eyes are a blank slate, available for people to paint with their own emotions, they see what they want to see.

  “My journey towards Grace is difficult as is all of ours…”

  Marshal spins words until Lynx is satisfied, and the two part ways.

  One Room Studio Apartment in Thuma

  Shelly, always the first to detect his presence, yanks open the studio door before he can touch the door knob.

  Unabashed, she throws her arms around the man she loves with all her heart and attempts to kiss him on the lips.

  Puck knowing her methods well, pulls her close and pushes his chin over her shoulder and calls out to the other four girls slowly standing.

  “Ladies, Charlotte. It’s good to see you.”

  Decoupling from a disappointed Shelly, Puck strides into the room and sits between Gege and Abott. Who both move closer to him out of habit.

  Not to be left out, Silk sashays her way from her seat and moves behind the trio and goes to work rubbing Puck’s shoulders.

  Shelly takes her place on the floor, leaning against Pucks legs and attempts to look both comfortable and dignified.

  Charlotte, who up to this point was in control of this little group, smiles at the scene before her. Fifty years ago, she was one of the ditzy woman pining for Puck’s favors.

  Little did she know at the time, that once received he would no longer desire you. He craves affection, not satisfaction. This group seems to know that and keeps themselves in the same chaste state of denial that stokes his hunger.

  It’s her apartment, she might as well act like an adult, even though she’s tempted to childishly go back to playing house with the infantile monster before her, “How was Twoya?”

  “Dreadful as always. I was so lonely, and it rained the whole time I was there.”

  “You’ve been gone four hours, how lonely can you get in four hours?”

  Eye’s closed in bliss at the contact of his four favorite pets, “Four hours away from here is an eternity.”

  All five women shiver in unison at the perceived compliment.

  Charlotte snickers at herself for allowing her feelings to run amok in Puck’s presence, “That’s not what I was asking. Did you give my granddaughter the box?”

  Peeling open one eye to glare, “Of course I did, and now our debts are settled.”

  “Not quite. Did you make sure the box was too big for her to carry?”

  “Yes, that was one of the assigned parameters. The oversized boy Teum now carries the seal.”

  “Good, that was the worst idea my daughter ever came up with. I don’t know what she was thinking.”

  Puck sighs to himself as he stands, “Me neither, but I know what you’re thinking.”

  Heart fluttering, “Oh, and what may that be?”

  “The rest of my obligation to pay off my debt to you.”

  Puck takes Charlotte’s hand and leads her to the bed in the corner of the room.

  Charlotte calls over her shoulder, “Why don’t you girls wait outside.”

  Gigi, Shelly, Abott, and Silk sheepishly make their way to the attached balcony and shut themselves outside.

  They all share a blush at the squeaks, squeals, and moans that penetrate the double paned glass door.