The Carpenter

The moon had already begun its steady ascent into the sky, casting a cool glow over where the sun’s rays had departed. The sun hadn’t even finished its descent beneath the horizon yet. Bright reds and oranges blended with the deep blues and purples as the sky made its transition into nighttime. It looked as if an artist had spilled their paints upon a pond and embraced the surface as their canvas.

Carahall Forest seemed to be settling down for the night itself. Small critters scurried along the forest floor towards the safety of their dens, escaping the clutches of hungry, nocturnal predators. The chirping of birds ceased, making way for the hooting of owls. Leaves rustled gently, as if the trees themselves were trying to get comfortable for another chilly night, huddling together for warmth. In response, the multicolored leaves broke free from their shackles and fluttered to the ground. It was only a matter of time until the entire ground was blanketed in the fall leaves.

Within the confines of the forest sat a lone cabin and a shop. The home of a local carpenter, only one beaten trail led to the cabin from the village. The small home wasn’t much to look at, but it did well to keep the inhabitants safe from the elements. The wood was sturdy, made from the local cedar trees. There were parts where the wood had begun to crack and splinter, but the tradesman would be sure to tend to the wounds before they escalated into an irreparable mess. Save for a set of shutters near the front door, no windows adorned the exterior walls of the small home. The roof, also made from cedar, was unadorned except for the stone chimney at its hearth.

Inside the cabin was quiet. There was no movement within the wooden walls, no snoring or hushed whispers or singing from any inhabitants as they went about their business. No light escaped the cracks of the cabin, and not even a fire set plumes of smoke billowing from the chimney. The cabin was empty.

Except for the lone figure crouched atop its roof. Shrouded in shadow, the figure was not watching for movement in the cabin. No, their attention was drawn to the shop and the carpenter working within. Made from the same cedar as the home, the shop looked nearly identical to the home besides the fact that it was larger in size. With no windows to peer inside the shop, the front door stood to be the only way to see in or outside the building. A warm glow emanated from the slightly larger building, casting the surrounding trees in a secondary dusk. The sounds of hammering and sawing were growing sparse as the day drew to a close. It was almost time to retire to bed after a long day of working, but the carpenter still had one last thing to do.

The assassin waited patiently as the carpenter’s hammering ebbed into silence. If today were anything like the previous five days she monitored the target and his routine, he would spend an additional hour or so in the shop before going to bed. She couldn’t figure out what the man was doing in his shop that would take him an extra hour to close up. Yesterday, she had given in to her curiosity and prowled up to the door to peer inside. After a quick surveying of the interior, she found the building to be empty, and she wondered if she had neglected to notice that he’d already gone home. The thought was immediately dismissed. Of course she didn’t miss him leaving; she never missed any details.

Before she could begin her search for traces of where the man had gone, the creaking of hinges prompted the rogue to retreat from the shop back into the shadows. It sounded as if there were another door within the establishment. Was there a back door she had missed? Certainly not, since she had already inspected the entire cabin and shop for any and all potential exits. Perhaps there was a secret trap door in the shop. If so, where did it lead? What did the carpenter need to tend to for an hour every night? Surely he didn’t spend an hour just storing materials and counting stock. Was he hiding something?

Roxii waited in silence for a few minutes. Her wolf-like ears rotated and flicked expectantly, attempting to decipher if her target was going to follow his routine or leave the shop. She picked up the sound of boots clicking against the stone floors followed by the grating sound of hinges. After a few moments, the hinges protested once again as the hidden door was closed, muffling the clicking of his boots as he retreated down his secret passage.

Another minute or so passed before the shadowy assassin began moving. Her tightly-woven cloth boots concealing her footfalls, the rogue silently dropped down from the roof of the tradesman’s home and made her way to the shop. Gloved fingers cautiously turned the knob and pushed the door open, allowing the warm light to escape into the night. She paused before entering, peering into the building and watching for movement.

A stone hearth sat in the middle of the shop, the flame within flickering and dancing to an unheard song. Sparks spat and fluttered before dropping to the ground in a dying blaze. To the furthermost wall sat a large, six-foot-tall storage cabinet, the wood graying from lack of care. The left wall harbored a long, greatly used carpenter’s bench. The wood was notched and burned and splintering from years of use. Tools and wood pieces lay strewn about, their purpose indelible and their presence momentarily forgotten. Dozens of tools hung on the walls, some of them seemingly meaningless to that of a different profession. Most of them, the half-breed couldn’t even name, much less interpret their purpose. To the right held shelves and cabinets. Dozens of types of wood and larger tools, such as ladders, adorned the small storage space. It looked haphazardly organized, but she was sure the tradesman knew exactly where everything was.

But there was no carpenter.

Puzzled, Roxii stepped fully within the shop. It was warmer in the building than it was out in the fall air. She momentarily regretted donning such a thick cloak, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She would only be a few minutes, anyways. He was just a simple carpenter, after all. What was he going to do? Throw a hammer at her?

The shop was even more boring than she had predicted, and it only took the assassin about ten minutes to fully scour the one-roomed building. She had looked inside the large cabinet, but there was nothing in there except a few sledgehammers. The stone floor was too thick to harbor a trap door, and there were no hidden switches or levers beneath the shelves or tables. She frowned. Where did he go…? 

Her gaze traveled back to the cabinet. If she remembered the floorplan of the shop accurately, the back wall of the shop should extend a few more feet beyond the storage cabinet. Within a few strides, she was standing before the nondescript piece of furniture. Roxii gripped the double doors and opened them again, expecting something new to occur. She paused. Slowly, she closed the doors and reopened them. Their hinges creaked and squealed like she had heard before. Her brow furrowed as she better inspected the inside of the storage cabinet. The inside was just as unremarkable as the outside. Old wood combined with years of use made it rather unsightly.

Her eye caught a gap in the wood between the backing and the side. Intrigued, a hand went to feel at the gap. A warm breeze could be felt, originating from wherever the gap led. Without a second thought, the assassin placed a hand on the back of the storage cabinet and pushed. The hinges of this door were newer and didn’t make a sound as the door opened up to a downward-spiraling stone staircase.

Well, now she knew where her target had disappeared to. With a satisfying sssssssshink! Roxii removed her dagger from its sheath and began her descent into the darkness. There were no torches along the walls, so she was grateful to be blessed with the eyesight of a wolf. Her silver eyes were full and attentive as she descended, being careful not to set off any traps or miss a step. Her ears were equally alert as she listened for footsteps or voices that were not her own.

It didn’t take long for the rogue to finish descending the stairs. The floor opened up in front of her into a large room. There was only one torch within, placed near the entrance to the room, but it was enough to reveal to her the ghastly sight set up before her, causing her heart to drop and a shocked gasp to escape her lips.

The room was round, perhaps 20 to 25 feet in diameter. In the middle of the room sat an upraised iron table, a pair of shackles about halfway down and another pair at the end. It was empty at the moment, but there were the remnants of blood staining its surface. Pairs of shackles dotted the walls in equal intervals, 15 pairs in total. 12 of the pairs were in use by terrified, dazed women. Some of them looked to be around the half-breed’s age, in their 20s or 30s, but the rest were young girls looking to be no older than 17.

They all looked at her with fear in their eyes. One of them tried to open their mouth to speak, but only a pitiful squeak escaped.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

The half-breed tensed and her ears swiveled towards the voice that spoke behind her. She tightened her grip on her dagger, but before she could even move Roxii was struck in the back of the head with what she could only assume to be a hammer.

⟡ ∙ ⟡ ∙ ⟡

Roxii awoke to grinding metal and her head pounding. A low groan escaped her as she willed her eyes to open. To her right stood a tall male figure. He was making long, quick gestures that resulted in the grinding sound, and it took her a few to realize that the man was sharpening a dagger with a whetstone.

Her head lolled to the left and, in her double-visioned state, was able to distinguish that all the shackled females were staring at her, wide-eyed. She gazed at them for a few before the 24 females turned back into 12. The assassin’s brow furrowed as she inspected the females. They all seemed rather familiar. Not only that, but they were all… incomplete. One of them was missing their feet, another was missing their hair, another missing an arm… Her gaze settled on the one who had tried to speak earlier. She mouthed something to Roxii, something she couldn’t decipher in her dazed state, but she realized that the girl had no tongue to speak with.

A memory swept across her mind. The memory of a “Missing” poster. Not just one, but a dozen of them, all women that had disappeared without a trace. Only then did the rogue realize that she was looking directly into the eyes of the missing women, their faces somewhat matching the drawings upon those posters.

Her blood went ice cold.

She could feel fresh blood sticking to her hair, drying in clumps. Roxii tried to bring a hand up to prod the wound but found her wrists shackled tightly against the surface of the iron table. Panic rising within her, the assassin pulled on the shackles, testing to see if the metal would give. The chains only jingled sadly at her captivity.

“Roxii Sicarius, it is good to finally meet you,” the carpenter trilled.

Her silver eyes dragged up to meet with the man’s green ones. “What is this?” she hissed.

The carpenter tilted his head like a curious dog. “I was growing impatient, you know,” he continued, ignoring her question. “I didn’t know if you had received my request.”

Roxii’s eyes narrowed at the man. She inquired, “You sent the request? Why?”

The man’s eyes twinkled with pride and amusement. “Of course I did! I wanted to meet the greatest assassin in all of Thiyalia! And I knew you wouldn’t have showed up if I had just asked.” His crazed grin hadn’t left his face.

Meanwhile, the assassin had begun calling upon her shadow magic. The room was dark, so there was plenty at her disposal. She drew them in to her, allowing the cool darkness to envelope her hands. Within a few moments, she could direct them towards this insane man, kill him, free these women, and—

The carpenter’s hand suddenly brought the dagger down, the tip of the blade piercing her hand and colliding with the surface of the table. The shadows immediately dissipated as the assassin screamed. “Now, now,” he cooed. “We can’t have you doing that, now can we?” He yanked the blade out and allowed the blood to flow over her hand and pour onto the stone floor.

The carpenter gazed at the assassin like a hunter admiring their kill. His green eyes glittered menacingly in the torchlight as he examined his prize lying upon the table. “You are so perfect, my dear,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I want to take first.” He ran the dagger along her injured hand—the dagger, she realized, that was her own—, and Roxii willed herself to stop shaking from the stinging pain. “The hands that have skillfully taken hundreds of lives…” He moved to the head of the table, dragging the dagger’s blade against the iron surface. The two metals screeched for dominance, and her ears flattened against her skull. “The ears that hear even the slightest of sounds…” She could  hear the smirk dancing upon his lips.

He stopped on her left, obscuring her view of the wide-eyed girls in the background. She raised her eyes to meet his and found him staring directly at her. His expression had contorted into one of thoughtfulness. He looked almost normal, and the assassin wondered what sent him over the edge, if there was ever a “before”.

Suddenly, the crazed grin returned and the spark returned to his eyes. “I know exactly what I want.”

Before Roxii could question what he meant, the carpenter brought the blade to her face and maneuvered the tip beneath her eye. A gut-wrenching scream erupted from her as she tried to pull away, but there was nothing she could do as the man took her eyes for himself.

⟡ ∙ ⟡ ∙ ⟡

Some hours had passed before the shadowy rogue stirred. The man had tried to keep her awake through the ordeal, but at some point she had inevitably passed out from the pain. She supposed he allowed it since he didn’t try to wake her again. Or perhaps he did try and his attempts proved to be futile. In the end, the assassin couldn’t stay awake through the forced removal of her right eye after the left was brutally taken.

The first thing she noted was that she couldn’t open her eyes. Not like it would’ve helped her anyways. The movement was strained and painful, and she settled for staying still instead. It seemed that after the carpenter was done with her he stitched her eyes shut to fill the gaping holes and to stop the bleeding. Whether it was a kind gesture or a sick game didn’t matter to her. It didn’t excuse the fact that he had just mutilated her.

It felt as though a layer of mud or old makeup had been caked upon her face. Whether it was tears, blood, or both, Roxii couldn’t tell. She’d bet her life savings that it was a heavy mixture of the two. It was rather uncomfortable, and she couldn’t bring her hands to wipe it away since her wrists were restrained above her.

“Are you okay?”

The half-breed flicked an ear toward the feeble voice. She tried to open her eyes again out of habit but regretted it immediately.

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

Roxii swallowed and attempted to speak. Instead, only a squeak escaped. Her throat and mouth were so dry and sore that forming words was nearly impossible. She resorted to nodding instead, ignoring the dizziness in her head.

Only silence followed. It wasn’t like they could do anything for the rogue. They were chained and disfigured. She could bet that they’d never even laid eyes on a sword before, much less held one. They were in a rather hopeless situation, with no hope of breaking themselves free.

But Roxii was not like them.

The assassin pulled upon her restraints, trying to pull her hands through the shackles. They were small openings, ones that would not allow her to pull her hands through in one piece. If she could just spend a bit more time…

Boots clicked against stone, signalling the return of the carpenter. They descended the stairs at a leisurely pace and advanced upon the females. They were silent as the man stopped before them. He was still for a moment before the assassin heard him approach her, stopping just a few feet in front of her.

Silence passed between them, the tension thick enough to cut through. He finally spoke, “I will take better care of them for you.”

The half-breed bared her teeth at where the voice came from and growled like a wild animal. “Go to hell,” she rasped.

The carpenter laughed heartily. Another momentary silence passed before he spoke again, his voice closer than before. Was he kneeling in front of her now? “We already are, my dear.”

Hatred for the man before her bubbled within her. She could feel the bile rising in her throat from the fear and anger. Her fingers continued to subtly work at her chains, pushing her hands little by little through the hole. The slow escape stung as her skin was torn and peeled back, but she’d endure it if it meant escaping this hell. And this man thought he owned her, like some sort of prized possession! Just the thought of it disgusted her. Without a second thought, she spat towards the man. Whether she hit the carpenter or not, she couldn’t tell.

The carpenter didn’t react. Instead, he spoke thoughtfully, “I think I’ll take your ears next.”

There was a flash of terrible pain as her thumbs dislocated themselves, allowing her to slip out of the shackles. However, she didn’t allow herself to hesitate. Roxii threw herself forward into the carpenter and felt his head collide with her own. There was a grunt as the two sprawled upon the cold floor followed by the clattering of something metal. My dagger! 

The assassin scrambled for the weapon, trying to pinpoint where the dagger had fallen. Her hands slapped at the floor desperately, trying to find the small bladed weapon. A hand gripped her ankle and tried to pull her away from where the dagger had skittered off to. In response, she called upon the shadows around her and threw them desperately down towards the man in what would’ve been a ball of the substance. The resemblance would be similar to that of fire magic, but whether or not it held its shape or worked efficiently was unclear. It must’ve worked because he grunted and let go of the assassin. She crawled towards where she remembered the sound had originated and bumped the weapon, the blade cutting into her hand.

The rogue desperately grabbed for the handle and flipped herself over, stabbing the blade upwards. She felt the blade connect with the familiar pillow of flesh and found it hard to push the weapon upwards any further. The carpenter let out a gargled gasp dangerously close, and something clattered to the floor right next to her head. Another weapon? Most likely. She realized that she was mere moments away from being subdued again.

The man began going limp, and her arms started shaking from the weight. Deciding that she’d rather not end her legacy by being crushed to death, Roxii pushed him off to the side as he fell forward. He thudded against the ground, and she took a moment to listen to his breathing and heartbeat. It slowed to a gradual stop, where he released his last breath and fell into an endless slumber.

Roxii took a moment to compose herself. Her breathing was ragged and rushed, heartbeat racing like a racehorse, and she willed them to slow. She fought to slow the surge of emotions that washed over her, emotions that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Pain was among the most prominent. Her hand stung from the lacerations, her thumbs needed to be relocated, and her head continued to throb and ache relentlessly. But her eyes hurt more, more than any injury she’d ever sustained. She supposed it was the lack of eyes that hurt the most.

The rogue brought her hands to her face and rubbed at the dried blood, trying to wipe most of it away. She stopped when she bumped into the stitches, and she took a moment to prod at them. They were still sore and throbbing, but the handiwork was similar to that of a doctor, not a carpenter. He must’ve had plenty of practice before working on the half-breed. Judging by the sole fact that she was even still alive, the carpenter must’ve known what he was doing to take what he wanted without putting the owner at risk.

“Are you okay, Roxii?”

This voice was different from before, belonging to one of the younger girls. Roxii was dragged back into reality and realized she was surrounded by young women that were all looking to her for help. She didn’t respond. Instead, the rogue rolled towards the carpenter and felt around for any sort of keys. There! In his front pocket was an object, and upon pulling it out realized it was a singular key. Not trusting her legs to carry her safely, pushed herself back onto her hands and knees and crawled towards the voice.

It took her agonizingly long to figure out where the key went. She found it though, and the girl fell forward and embraced the assassin. Roxii was shocked. Physical connections were not her specialty, unless it pertained to a battle or fight. Such tenderness was something she hadn’t experienced in a long while. Nonetheless, she gave in and returned the hug.

Fortunately, the girl took the key from her and began releasing the rest of the chained women. The assassin wasn’t sure she’d be able to free the others. Her head felt like it was spinning on a top, and she felt weak. Blood loss, most likely. She needed a very long rest, but how was she to get home? Stumbling around like a hopeless drunkard was not what she wanted to mimic. But what other way was there?

An arm hooked underneath the rogue and lifted her up. It was a struggle, and Roxii could feel the woman shaking from the weight. She tried to relieve some of the weight, but her legs were less than joyous to cooperate. Still, the women began staggering up the stairs, out of the shop, and into Carahall Forest. The air wasn’t as chilly as it was when Roxii had first entered the shop; instead, it was growing rather warm. The sun was rising, bringing in a new day.

A new day for a new lifestyle.

It wasn’t until they were well away from the carpenter’s home that the gravity of what the man had done to her hit her. The tidal wave was full force, and she couldn’t stop the strangled sob that escaped her. He must’ve not taken her tear ducts too, because she could feel fresh tears beginning to slide down her cheeks.

She was blind.

Roxii was an assassin, a shadow in the night that took lives for payment. It was her livelihood. Her sight was one of her most valued senses. She could deal with losing a hand; she’d learned how to handle a weapon in both. Taste was of no importance to her; it’s not like she drank for the taste of alcohol. Smell wasn’t very helpful, either; vanilla and lavender were among her favorite smells, but they didn’t help her in her line of work. Hearing was her next best, allowing her to listen for the smallest of sounds. Could she have lived without her sense of hearing, too?

The half-breed collapsed to the ground. She’d never see the intricacies of blacksmith handiwork nor the brutish creation of delicate armors. She’d never see glittering lakes or the vast expanse of sea. She’d never see new architecture and admire the beauty of skilled engineers and carpenters and stonemasons. Nor would she ever see the meadows of her homeland, the rising tower of Wyntague Cliffs, or the tall mountains of Scarlet Heights. And she’d never see another dusk or dawn, to see the most beautiful phenomenon the gods could offer to their people.

I am blind.

The woman tried to urge her onwards, to keep moving until they got somewhere safe, but the blind assassin had stopped listening. All she could hear was that painful reality that would surely destroy her. And for the first time in 14 years, Roxii cried.