The Assassin

He needs to die.

Herra’s orders were clear, and Mara obeyed Herra’s orders. She was Prime, after all. 

Mara’s eyes narrowed, picking out two figures between the stains on her blade.

Always so chatty.  She stilled her breath.

One breath. Then, silence.

She turned the corner, air pouring into her lungs. Her ears popped as the vacuum enveloped her. The guards would never hear her steps between the gale and the lack of medium to carry her footfalls. Their gasps, the sound of their bodies and weapons clattering to the floor, those would be snuffed. They would writhe, their lungs would clamor. By her fifth step, they would panic. By her tenth, silence.

Mara exhaled, refilling the corridor. She positioned herself in the alcove next to the corpses to wait for the roving sentries. 

She would wait, but not much longer. She had been waiting seven years to meet the leader of the Masked Ones. Mushad, they called him. For seven years, he had paralyzed Joranian forces, stitching them into the tiny square of land between Garat and the Palisades.   In that span, Mara had completed every assignment pushed by the Joranian Chiefs, the Elemental Guild, and Herra. Seven years had passed since Mara had left the Arscentia as Jorania’s top assassin and Herra had fast-tracked her way to the heights of Joranian leadership. They had spent those seven years forging a common identity, justifying rebellion and the means to further it. Passing time in the medical ward between the painful bouts induced by botched jobs.  Questioning daughters as mischievous as their mothers. Carrying the heaviness that comes from fueling a war and losing it. Mara had waited, but she was done waiting.

She swept her leg, catching the first guard by the backs of his knees and folding him forward. Springing off the fallen guard’s neck, she jumped, flipping the other guard onto his back by grabbing his head. In a breath, she mounted the man and pressed her lips to his. His eyes widened as the life was sucked from his chest. His lungs collapsed and he fell limp. The other guard staggered back in horror, crawling along the ground until he met the far wall. She unsheathed her blade. This one wasn’t masked, so she could see his shock as she plunged the dagger into his chest. She leaned on the handle, pressing until the hilt reached skin and all movement ceased.

You know you’re terrifying, right? Mara remembered Meir’s laugh, his head shaking in cautious disbelief at the ‘experiments’ Mara tried early at the Arscentia to stretch her powers. Meir had practically raised her after their parents went up with the Fire. He had raised them both, moving through shadows with the Guild to find enough bread and coin to keep their bellies from caving. When Mara was old enough, Meir brought her in, beginning the only education she had known. The school of slinking, of thieving, of doing what had to be done to survive. Meir was there when Mara discovered her breath. He was there when she give birth to Dinea. He had always been there, until he was wasn’t.

Meir is gone. I’m so sorry, Mara. Herra’s words had been tight, but steady. They took him to Calbraith, but we got the codes.  She knew she could trade Mara’s despair for vengeance and duty. This is what they had been waiting for, training for. They knew the risks and that they had no choice. But now they could strike. She would grieve together with Mara afterwards.

He needs to die. It would end if she ended Mushad. 

Mara studied the space. Was this the right room? The spartan decor disagreed with the opulence she had expected from the leader of the Masked Ones. Her eyes scanned, gripping the gold-tipped spear propped within arm’s reach of the sleeping man. Yes, this was the place. 

Mara chose a path, careful to avoid the moonlit spots. The moon shone through a window-sized opening in the wall. Damn, she exhaled sharply. She would have to use a more rudimentary method than vacuum to kill this one. 

She edged the bed, unsheathing her blade. The man slept with his mask on, following tradition. Each mask was unique, Mara had discovered. They all reflected the personality of the wearer. She wondered if their personalities followed them to the afterlife.

Moonlight glinted as her blade neared his throat. The light caught the edge of a crumpled paper carelessly strewn between the bedstand and the corner. A photograph.

Her breath caught. Was that – her?

Mara withdrew her blade slowly. She reached for the picture. Yes, that was her, and that was Meir. It was the only photo they had ever taken together, back when the Guild needed propaganda tools and they had stolen that camera. The photo was worn, its edges soft and dirty. The image was scratched and smudged but still showed their smiles clearly. Smiles that betrayed a circumstance of poverty and strife, immortalizing an easy past that was never theirs. 

Mara shifted her eyes to the body on the bed. Why would Mushad have this photo? Cautiously, she lifted the mask, revealing a gaunt, petrified stare.  

“Meir!” Mara screamed, muffling her cry. She unbound the gag at his mouth.

“Mara,” Meir coughed, adjusting to the moonlight and glancing between her eyes and the blade still in her hand. Tears welled in his eyes. “Damn, it’s good to see you. Hurry, get the bindings on my arms and legs.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“I’ll explain, but we have to go quickly,” Meir said, rubbing his wrists and dabbing a small streak of blood running down the side of his neck. “A little close on the shave. I can’t believe you saw that picture.  I threw it over there when they brought me in here the first time, before they tied me up.” He took the photograph from Mara, smoothing it before sliding it into his pocket. “How long has it been?”

“Thirteen days,” Mara said. He had been starved and beaten for thirteen days. “We need to get you back to Jorania. Herra will want to know everything you’ve seen since-”

“No.” Meir grabbed the gold-tipped spear. “I’m not going back until this is over.” He stalked toward the door.

“What do you mean?” Mara hurried after her brother. “Where are we going?”

“Where else?” Meir peered back at her, “We’re going to kill Mushad.”