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Chapter 3
Moonshade returned to camp two days later, highly satisfied with herself.
“Did you find something?” Starblade asked her, his accustomed wariness edged through his voice. Moonshade nodded slightly.
“A nearby village is having problems with bandits,” she said.
“And you intend to rid them of that problem?” Starblade asked. Moonshade shrugged.
“It's for the greater good,” she said simply.
“No, it isn't. You have a choice about this, Masako.” She withheld a cringe as he said her old name.
“Of course I do. I can choose to do nothing, and let a band of outlaws terrorize a defenseless village. Or I can choose to take action and stop them. Besides,” she added. “If I don't stop them, somebody else will. The only difference lies in how many people they kill before that time.” She shot Starblade a sidelong glance. He sat back, clearly defeated.
“I suppose you want to do this on your own?” he asked.
“Of course.”
It was so easy. Beautifully, horribly easy. Starblade wouldn't fight her. He would try to hold her back, try to convince her that what she did was wrong, but he would never restrain her.
His arguments fell on deaf ears. She already knew the difference between right and wrong, and she knew what category her actions fell in. And she didn't care anymore.
But he did. And he was trying to change her with all his might, or as much as his conscience would let him. After all, how could he force her to stop doing what he did every day? How could he be a hypocrite? His guilt and reserve provided her freedom.
Freedom to act.
Freedom to grow.
Freedom to kill.
She sat idly at the side of the road, stirring a gentle wind with the steel ribbed fan Starblade had given her. It was a rare occasion, to which she wore women's clothing over her armor and concealed weapons. A perfect occasion, an opportunity. Such chances did not come easily, and she had no intention of wasting it by frightening her little targets away.
She nearly laughed as they approached, their faces twisted into disgusting leers. Two dozen bandits, and their headstrong leader. They were nothing but little mice to her, and she was the cat. She continued fanning herself carelessly, heaving a contented sigh, pretending that she didn't notice her prey. They needed to come closer. She wanted to fight them at once, and it would only be irksome if they scattered and fled.
“Oh,” she said at last, her voice honeyed and soft. “Gentlemen, good day.” Slowly circling around her, the bandits came ever closer, many of them exchanging cruel smirks. “Tell me, can I help you?” she asked.
One of the bandits said something vulgar and came closer. And then he fell to the ground, a dagger embedded in his throat.
“Come now,” Moonshade said, still in the gentle woman's voice. She daintily pulled herself to her feet. “You shouldn't say such things before a lady. It's hardly polite.” The other bandits stood in silence for a stunned moments, staring between their fallen comrade and the strange woman.
“What are you, you witch?” another shouted, suddenly realizing what she had done. He rushed at her, a club in his hand. The others stood back. Surely, this man would need no help in bringing down a mere woman. Especially now that she was without her knife.
Moonshade smiled coldly at the bandit and danced out of reach of his weapon. From beneath her clothes, she drew a sword, previously sheathed at her hips, concealed by the billowing robes. As quickly as a fox, she darted behind him and struck, removing his head in a single stroke.
Bandits were among her favorite prey for two reasons: first, they always traveled in groups, allowing for many live targets. And second, they were as stupid as they were arrogant.
The rest rushed in at her at once, some of them savagely crying the names of their fallen companions. She had no concern for this, however. She dodged to the side, savagely cutting into one man's side. He careened in pain, stumbling into another bandit. More came, and she flitted back, severing one man's head, cutting another in the heart, a third in the belly. One of them attacked her from behind—he was fast, and quieter than the others. She pulled another dagger from her sleeve and pounced on him, burying it in his heart before throwing his corpse at the others. Another slash, another cut, and more men fell to the ground. There were twelve men left, less than half the original number. And finally they were losing their arrogance.
A few turned to escape. Moonshade followed after them, cutting them down as they ran. Only seven men remained now, these pale and frightened, but still angry, and still willing to fight. She grinned savagely and lowered her sword, embedding it in the stained earth.
“Whenever you're ready,” she said, extending her arms as though to embrace her attackers. They rushed at her. She returned the charge, leaping gracefully at one of the men. She wrapped one arm around his neck in what seemed at first to be an affectionate hug. Until she drew another dagger from a sheath at her shoulder and stabbed the startled man, plunging the weapon into his back. She pushed the half dead man into two of his companions, making them stumble as they tried not to bring him further harm. That hesitation was all Moonshade needed, and she killed both in the confusion.
The remaining four charged again...
And they fell, just like their comrades.
Moonshade surveyed the evidence of her work with renewed satisfaction. Her ruthless drills were at last showing results. Almost as an afterthought, she checked over the bodies of her once living practice dummies, decapitating all the corpses that still had their heads.
She knew too well what could happen if you weren't absolutely sure of your opponent's death. These men didn't pose any threat to her, and even if there had been some survivor, they wouldn't have come after her again. But it was a good habit to keep.
Once finished, she set to the routine task of searching the bodies for weapons and armor and valuables. There were enough of the latter, though most of the weapons she found were crude, badly made, and the armor was poorly preserved. Jewelry, however, and money abounded with these men. She collected the spoils and left their bodies. She had no more use for them.
“Who's there?” he demanded feebly. Moonshade kept her face straight and emerged from the darkness.
“You've been having problems with bandits?” she repeated. The man stared at her for a moment. She had discarded the innocent looking robes, and now openly wore her armor and gear. The man blanched, but nodded.
“That's right. What is it that you want? We're just a poor village. We don't have anything of value left—”
“And you don't have bandits, either,” Moonshade interrupted. She raised a sack she had been carrying and emptied its contents at the man's feet.
The severed head of the bandit's leader rolled onto the grass. The village head gave a small cry, a mixture of horror and relief.
“Who—why--?” he stammered. Moonshade said nothing. The man swallowed and attempted to compose himself. “Thank you, ma'am. We are indebted. But...I'm afraid I can't pay you. The bandits, they took everything from us. I do dearly wish we could...”
“If they did indeed take 'everything,' then I am sure you will be eager to get it back,” Moonshade said quietly.
“Ma'am?”
“I understand that a rather skilled blacksmith lives in this village.”
“That's right.”
“I am...in need of his services. Arrange for them, and your village will be reunited with its lost possessions.” The village head stared at her for a moment. He glanced down at the severed head for a moment, and then returned his gaze to her.
“Whatever you want, it's yours,” he said. Whether his eagerness was the result of terror or gratitude was indistinguishable. Moonshade reached into a pouch on her belt and retrieved a piece of paper. A design had been painted into it, of two circles. Each was half the size of a man's palm. The first depicted a sun, moon and star, connected by the graceful intertwining of thin lines. The other showed only a crescent moon.
“Two sides of the same coin,” she dictated. “It is to be made of silver, and this,” she indicated the crescent moon on the otherwise unadorned side. “Will be inlaid with obsidian.” The village head stared stupidly at the paper. Moonshade's eyes narrowed. She could nearly see the thoughts sifting through his ancient head.
“This is...” he stammered.
“An assassin's seal. Obviously.” The old man blanched.
“But...this...I mean...”
“There is no danger in making the seal. Only in wearing it. If you are so concerned for your village, then tell nobody about it. Nobody except for your blacksmith.” The village head seemed to take minimal comfort from the statement. He pointed a trembling finger at the more complex design.
“Your...your clan?” he asked. Moonshade allowed a smirk to shift across her features.
“That's right. I'm a Celestial.” A Celestial Assassin. It meant everything, yet nothing. Killers held little association with one another, and even less relation, though their styles were nearly uniform throughout their clans. The old man had heard stories in his years, and he could glean only sparse interpretation from the fact: the woman before him was a killer. She relied not on strength, speed, foul play or guile. Those belonged to the other clans. She had only skill and cunning. A deadly enemy. A valuable ally.
And she was yet unfledged.
“What...what identity did you choose?” he asked timidly.
“Moonshade,” the assassin said, a flicker of pride in her cold voice.
“Ahh...A good name, my lady. Please, come back in...two weeks, perhaps? And it will be finished.” He was nearly kowtowing at this point. Moonshade watched him with expertly disguised amusement. She wasn't even official yet, and already this man was grappling for her favor!
“Very well,” she said coolly. “You can expect me back then.” And she disappeared into the night.
“Did you expect any different?” Masako asked, a slight laugh in her voice. Starblade shot her a sidelong glance. As much as he wanted to see her happy, such good moods did not bode well. “Bandits are easy prey. How those villagers could have had difficulties with such fools is beyond me.” This really didn't bode well.
“Most villagers aren't accustomed to battle, Masako,” he pointed out. “And the few that are are rarely practiced enough to take on many opponents at once. A well protected village is a rarity in these times. And great numbers can overwhelm anyone.” He stopped, rebuking himself for his loss of tact. The change in his ward was slight, but he noticed it. Her entire frame had become more rigid, her jade eyes flashed dangerously at nothing. The fingers of her left hand brushed absently against a scar on her other hand.
It's a habit you'll have to break, Masako, he thought. If anyone else catches it, it will only end in your death.
“I am aware of that,” she said coolly, her good mood forgotten. She stepped close to the fire and spooned a portion of rice into a waiting plate. Chicken, as well, and a few other spices. She idly pulled a bottle from her belt and poured some of its contents into a cup, before filling the rest with tea.
“Most people add honey to their drink,” Starblade pointed out wryly. “I'm not sure venom will give it the same flavor.”
“You know what I'm doing,” Masako said. By now she had no doubt tired of his humor. She raised the cup to her lips, then paused reflectively. “I've ordered a commission for my seal,” she said. She didn't see the forlorn look that shadowed Starblade's eyes.
“You're going through with it, then?” he asked. It was a stupid question. She had been killing for years. The only difference was that now she would do so officially. But it was the point of no return. Once an assassin gained their seal, it was his occupation until death. As short of a period as that might occupy...
“Yes.”
“Are you...?” Masako pensively sipped at her tea, grimacing as the taste of poison washed over her tongue.
“Yes. Whether you want to teach me or not, I'm still your apprentice. Your clan is mine.”
“And how, exactly, did you manage to conjure the Celestial insignia? It isn't exactly simple.” Masako shrugged and took another sip.
“No, it wasn't. That's why I copied yours when you were sleeping.”
“I see...And I didn't wake up?” The girl shook her head. “Are you sure?”
“You came very close,” Masako admitted. Starblade laughed.
“So I'm not completely incompetent. That's good to hear.”
“M-hm,” Masako mumbled, draining the last of her tea. Some of the poison had coagulated in the bottom, and she grudgingly swallowed the foul globules.
“Your experiments are going to get you into trouble someday,” Starblade said, unrolling his sleeping mat, though he kept one eye on his ward as she did the same.
“They already have,” she said to him, surrendering to the familiar darkness of sleep.
