Chapter 1: Natera

She was pale, with blue eyes and black hair so shiny and smooth it had an almost metallic sheen which hung just past her waist, framing her sharp, angular features, which seemed somewhat haunted, in a way indescribable with mortal words. Some considered her beautiful, but few had seen her in close quarters and lived to tell of it. Her body was long and wispy, yet betrayed by an inhuman strength, and the sword she carried at her side was rarely used and strangely, perpetually sharp, as if it were of elven make, the gleaming hilt contrasting sharply against the simple but beautiful deep blue, almost black gown she wore. Two gray leather bracers were strapped to her forearms, tooled with a black wing design, and concealing two shot flat knives, easy to retrieve in an emergency. A long slit up the right side of her gown revealed a long stiletto in its black sheath strapped close to her leg as she stood with an arrogant stance, atop a chimney. She looked out over the horizon with a smug expression on her face, as if she had not a care. She was Natera, the most feared and renowned assassin in the city, known simply as the Nightchild, or to others, the faithful, The Angel of Death. Her huge black wings swept the ground, and they were like holes in the air, absorbing all light that hit them. She killed silently, always in the night, leaving no trace of her presence but for a single black feather laid across her victim’s chest.

She leapt off the chimney and flew swiftly over the city, her eyes searching the crowded streets below. Breezes and downdrafts rippled the dark feathers of her wings as she glided over the rooftops and chimneys, her body warmed by the heat from the sun. She spotted the red silk canopy she searched for, and quickly moved into a steep dive towards it. Air rushed past her face, her hair pulled straight back by the wind. Just before she hit the rooftop, she pushed her wings against the wall of air she had built up and stopped in mid-flight, then gently dropped to the warm stucco floor. Natera stepped under the subtle shade of the canopy, where she saw an overweight man sitting among richly embroidered pillows and cushions, meticulously selecting chocolates and candied fruits from a tray held by a servant. The obese man had graying curly hair that was cut close to his head, and his skin was wrinkled and slightly blotchy from age and was clean-shaven. His servant wore a simple uniform of a flowing white shirt, red vest, and brown breeches tucked into knee high boots. He looked up when Natera landed, but the man appeared not to notice her presence. Natera drew her sword, and pointed it at the servant.

“You. Out.” She said angrily, and the servant quickly bowed and left. The man looked up, wondering where his chocolates and candies had gone, and finally saw Natera.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a snooty voice.

“I am not paid.” Said Natera as she sheathed her sword with a hiss.

“I sent a messenger-”

“Do you not know that I will never be reached by any messenger?” she interrupted.

“Do you ever comb your hair?” asked the man, trying to change the subject.

“Shut up,” spat Natera. “Give me all you have with you.”

“I have nothing with me,” he whined

“I am no fool. I see that purse on your belt.” She hissed. “Now give me the money.” The man grudgingly untied the purse from his belt and held it out to her. Roughly, she snapped it away and turned to go.

“Oh and please,” said the man. “Use it to hire some servants to comb your hair.”

“I let the wind comb my hair!” she snarled, and quickly dropped out of view.

Natera flew high over the city, then, when she spotted her old home, landed near the huge statue lying among the weeds and garbage of the slum. It was pocked with holes people had cut as windows and doors, and one arm would have been held high above the statue’s once crowned head, if it were upright. The points of the statue’s crown were broken off, and under the band were copper curls green with verdigris and rust. The lady’s face was solemn, and she held a tablet in the crook of her left arm. Green rusty robes covered her body, and where her feet would have been was a twisted mass of rusty metal and bricks. Natera’s bare feet splashed in a puddle as she landed, then picked her way through the mess to a piece of aged wood propped against a hole. She knocked softly, and a young girl of about six pushed aside the plank. Natera smiled at the girl, who wore a simple dirty smock and dirt on her small angelic face, framed by greasy yellow curls. Her eyes set her apart from the other children in the hovel, red, slitted, almost demonic in their appearance, and yet, benevolent and wise at the same time, one needed only to look beyond the evil appearance. Natera fished around in the delicate silk purse, and pulled out a shiny gold coin. The girl grinned, then pulled the plank shut over the hole. Natera smiled, then leapt back into the air.

She flew to her home, a small room in the top of a shining silver tower. She flew in through a broken window, and shivered from her flight. The room was sparsely furnished with a small fireplace, and a pile of blankets and cushions which served as a bed. It was lit with large candles situated on heavy stone plates, giving the room a dark, flickering, forest-like ambience, revealing a small wooden box. Natera went over to it, and seemingly pulled a key out of nowhere and unlocked it, and began sifting through her various treasures. They included a book, bound in leather, that she had found in the street. She couldn’t read it, but someone she knew could, and they said that it told of amazing things, vehicles that flew through the sky and to the stars, and horseless carriages that had destroyed the sky bit by bit. She had a small bag full of her feathers she had molted, a string of green glass beads, and a yellow coin, from long ago, she had guessed when she found it, that had the words ‘Coney Island Arcade’ stamped on its surface. She searched through her things, and when she found a small red jar filled to the brim with red dust, tucked it into the small pouch on her belt. She walked to the window and stood behind the shards of broken glass and looked out over the rooftops and chimneys of the city. She jumped, and quickly opened her wings and allowed the thermals and updrafts to carry her to a much more upscale part of the city. She landed on a roof, and crept along the top of it with cat-like smoothness and grace. She leapt to the roof across the narrow street, and let herself into the house through a window. She crept through the halls of the dark building, and down a flight of stairs, her bare feet making no sound on the dusty wood floor. She slipped into a broom closet through a secret entrance and pushed open the door, and entered a small pub with her sword drawn. It was stained with thin blue-gray smoke, and Natera quickly moved around the empty tables to the counter, where she rang a small tarnished bell sitting on it.

“We’s closed for business today!” called a man’s voice from within.

“The wine is poured!” Natera called back. “I want more bread!” The exchange was in a special code that her agent, Teoj had made up for his assassin’s ring.

“All right!” he said back, and came out of the kitchen, rubbing his hand on a dirty cloth. “What is it?” He was handsome, with long brown hair that fell in curls over his neck, and a black jacket that was fastened at his side with numerous silver buckles. He spoke with an accent, but Natera couldn’t place where it could be from and he was taller than her, and had dark skin, so it seemed he was tan year round. His deep black eyes bore a shaded, intelligent, quality to them, as if he knew far more than other people did, which was often true.

“Anything new?” asked Natera curtly. Teoj whipped a piece of parchment seemingly from nowhere and gazed at it.

“Aah… Nightchild, my favorite hunter. Carl is gone, I presume?” He asked, quickly glancing at Natera.

“Not a trace,” she replied.

“You are paid?”

“Not in the manner I’d like, but yes.”

“Very well. Some ‘Kasin’ wants you to meet him at the corner of Broad and Main at dusk, but I’m suspicious.”

“Why? You know I can take care of myself,”

“It still worries me, there have been vampire sightings a lot more lately, you know.”

“I don’t worry about them; you know they can’t hurt me. I’m not human.”

“Nor are you dead,” he retorted. “They may not be able to harm you, but you aren’t immune either.”

“So? I can fly, they can’t,”

“I still worry about you sometimes, you take so many risks-“

“Oh, so I take risks by flying because I have the ability?”

“No, because you allow yourself to be seen so much. People will talk-“

“About what? An angel with black wings in them sky? That people die in their beds at night and a black feather is lying on their chest?” she said, a little louder than before.

“Just be careful, you know I worry.” Said Teoj, and disappeared back into the ‘kitchen’.

“I’ll be fine. She said under her breath, to no one in particular. She exited the ‘restaurant’ without so much as a glance back at the shop. She climbed back to the roof and flew to her tower to nap until dusk.