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Author information:
Website: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/books.html
Email: kavrik@hotmail.com
I previously published "Wraith" on the Nifty Archive. It can be found at: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/wraith/
If you have read "Slipstream", I'm announcing the sequel "Oculus" is now available. If you want to see the cover art, please check my website today.
I like to draw. Artwork of characters featured in this and other stories of mine can be found at: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/my-artwork.html Yes, there's a black and white pencil drawing of Kian :). You may want to bookmark the page as I update it with drawings from time to time. Of course you are free to use my drawings for non-commercial purposes if you would like (just give me credit please). I would consider this flattering.
I intend to post a new chapter every weekend. "The Assassin's Apprentice" is a complete fantasy novella. This tale is told in first person present tense.
Chapter Two
With my eyes on the fire, I wash and dry myself. I barely see her enter and drop the bundle of clothes into the chair.
I am naked, and I drop my towel so that she can see me. I walk to the clothes and study them, and her eyes follow me about the room. I like it when people watch me like this. I feel her gaze crawl across my skin like marching ants, and I'm aware of a small gasp just about to burst upon her lips as she spies something unexpected.
With professional reserve, Ambrell catches this expression at the last moment. Disappointment fills me, because it might have led to something we both might treasure.
Life is filled with tragic irony.
"Thank you," I say, breaking the silence. Her green irises lift from my steaming body, and she meets my gaze with a look I'm growing all too familiar with.
"Sit down," she says. Her voice has a lilt to it, barely detectable, but a lilt nonetheless. "Here, I'll cut your hair for you. It's better if we get to it while it's still damp." I take a seat on the edge of the tub.
"By Tethyr, you've a lot of tangles here."
She lifts a wooden comb to my yellow locks and smooths them between her fingers. Her touch is gentle and comfortable to me.
"Who's Tethyr?" I ask. She snags my hair with the comb as she works on it, and twice I feel a sharp pain.
She stops for a moment. "How can you NOT know who Tethyr is?"
When I don't answer she continues.
"Tethyr's the god of thieves," she says. "Everyone knows that."
"I didn't."
"Well... you'd have to be a dolt not to."
She makes me chuckle. "Why do you worship him?"
Ambrell starts to snip at my locks then, and I see the golden curls of my damp hair falling to the polished tiles of the floor. "Tethyr," she continues, "is the god that keeps us safe. He watches over us and protects us. He's the great Father of all that we see."
"Is he a good god then?" I ask. More of my hair is collecting on the tiles. I'm surprised at how overgrown I've become.
"Well, I'd say that he's neither good nor evil but whatever one will make of him."
I laugh. "Does he really exist?"
She pauses her cutting then. "I think it all has to do with what a person believes. At some point someone must've seen him, or else we wouldn't even know about him. Does that make sense?" She turns me around in the seat and holds a mirror to my face. "I guess that's what faith is- -believing in what you can't see or touch. So in answer to your question...yes, Tethyr's real. But don't take my word for it. The priest upstairs assures me he's like pain, hunger, or even the sun in the sky. Tethyr gives the faithful strength and magic! I've seen the priest perform miracles. That kind of power has to come from somewhere, right?"
"Magic," I say with contempt thick on my tongue. "Magic is gone from the world. What remains are parlor tricks employed by entertainers to separate the gullible from their coin. You're a fool if you think it's real sorcery."
"I'm not. I swear by Tethyr's name that I speak the truth."
I stare at her trying to find lies resting behind those pupils, but I see none. "How can you be so sure? Can you recognize magic when you see it?"
"Yes."
"Real honest-to-god sorcery?"
"I know what magic you're talking about," she states. "And yes...spells. I've seen wounds close of their own volition."
I've always been a bit secular in my outlook. I've never believed in any god, not after my people drowned in a swirling ocean of blood. There'd been temples and glories enough in the city where I lived. But no magic saved us. And I couldn't bring myself to think that the priests in those temples hadn't prayed to their gods for salvation. I met her gaze.
"Have you always been this charming, Kian?" she asks me.
"Charming? In what way?"
She shrugs her shoulders. "You're so filled with questions." She pulls the hair back from my brow with damp fingertips. "You're very handsome," she remarks.
There follows a moment of silence in which I wonder if I should kiss her.
"Thank you," I whisper. I question her with my eyes; I look at her as if asking, "Do you really mean this?" but in fact I say nothing.
Her eyes fail to answer me. She fixes them on the pile of clothes that she has brought in with her. "Why don't we see if these'll fit you?"
I grab a thick blue sweater and a pair of leather boots. I push my head through the top of the shirt and let it drop over my moist torso. The fabric feels course against my bare skin, and there's a collar I can button around my neck if I want. The pants are a bit loose, but I tighten them with a belt and stuff the ends of them into the tops of the leather boots I have on my feet. The insides are lined in soft rabbit's fur. They're awfully tight, and I figure I'll have a few blisters before too long.
I finish combing my hair when the door opens and another youth about my age leans inside. He's wearing a similar outfit, only his is brown. The youth wears a leather bandolier slung over one shoulder and a sword rests between his muscular shoulders.
I find him very attractive and admire his narrow face and dauntless turquoise eyes. His hair is medium-length and brown. I imagine it feels as soft as mouse fur.
"Ambrell," he says, catching his breath. He's flushed from running, and his hair is a bit windblown and messy. "Marcel needs to see you."
She presses her lips together. It must be a habit of hers. "Will you be all right?" she asks me.
"I guess so. Can I poke around a bit?"
She turns her back on me and waives at the young man in the door. He walks over to us with the gait of someone that's exceptionally athletic and well endowed. I note he has a piercingly genuine smile filled with gleaming teeth. "This is Talen," she says introducing him to me.
I extend my hand, and Talen shakes it firmly.
"What do you think?" Talen asks me.
I shrug my shoulders. "Think about what?"
Talen smiles. "It's a greeting. What do you think--a farthing for your thoughts--something along those lines."
"Ahh," I say. Then I wink at him.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
I stare at the floor a moment. "Yes, but I don't have any money."
"I'll buy. But you'll have to listen to one of my jokes."
"Okay," I agree, waiting.
"Say, have you ever heard why dragons have big noses?"
I think for a moment. "No. I can't say that I've ever met a dragon."
Talen rolls his eyes. "Tough crowd tonight," he says. "But I'll loosen you up, old boy. It's because air is free."
I don't know what to say.
"Get it? Dragons like gold? It's supposed to be funny, Kian. You need to laugh when I tell you a joke or I might punch you."
I smile. "Have you ever met a dragon?" I ask him.
"My mother," he replies. "What a shrew. Follow me, Kian," he announces and heads up the stairs two and three at a time.
I shall post Chapter Three next weekend