The Rose and the Azalea - Chapter Fifteen

• Posted by The Sunflower Manual October 11, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Long Story - #Harrow  #Sabina  #Rose/Azalea  - 1,266 views

  

   

   

  

  

  A number of Nedic tribes have been recorded using the rose as a symbol and literary device connoting transient beauty. It is more than likely that it is because these tribes did not know how to care for flowers properly, leading to a short lifespan of months - often weeks - even for normal rosebushes.
  

   

   

   

   

  

   

   

   

                  I had never really believed in the dull folk truisms of bad things snowballing, but now-

   

                  Now-

   

                  Gods, when had it all begun? One catastrophe after another, mistakes and betrayals and mysterious disappearances, and now Fjorn Iron-Tooth was lying dead by my own hand.

   

                  The shock of the whole event had struck Azalea mute. He was curled up in a corner, shaking with his hands around his knees.

   

                  Edwin stood perfectly still next to me. I could not see his face, but I could feel his alarm radiating off his person like an infectious cloud. Panic closed on my throat, but I forced it down.

   

                  Just focus on what I can do right now. Salvage the situation.

   

                  ‘Hide-’ I swallowed. ‘We have to hide the body somehow. Where did Fjorn send his bodyguards? It might not amount to anything, but we have to at least try-’

   

                  Motion from behind. I had left the door open when I burst in. I turned, an equal sense of dread and cold purpose filling me. Whoever it was would have to die.

   

                  It was the priest. Still clad in the robes he’d worn for the wake. His eyes wide open in disbelief, in an accusatory fear. His hood was off. Belatedly, I realised that the priest was a Nord.

   

                  The priest turned and ran, his robes flapping behind him. We stood there like fools almost five full seconds before Edwin started and spun wildly towards me. ‘He’s heading for the carriage!’ he shouted, and we both charged through the doorway.

   

                  To my dismay, I heard my coachman cry out in surprise, and then a loud neigh and the beat of hooves. We burst out of the tomb just in time to see the priest tearing down the hill on my coach, both horses going like the wind. He was headed towards the city.

   

                  My coachman simply stared up at me from where he’d obviously fallen, utterly confused. I punched him in the jaw and sent him sprawling into the dirt. ‘Useless incompetent,’ I yelled, before taking a deep breath and calming myself. ‘Edwin – after him, I’ll take care of the body.’

   

                  Edwin acted immediately, setting off downhill at a sprint – not directly after the priest, but angling slightly towards the east. Despite everything, I felt just the briefest tingle of relief. Edwin was as observant as always. He’d noted the stables we’d passed on our way up the hill. The priest was on a carriage and riding downhill to boot. With luck, Edwin could catch up to him before they were even halfway down. And then… killing holy men left a foul taste in my mouth, but it wasn’t as if I had any options left.

   

                  I made my way back to the tomb and debated what to do with Fjorn’s corpse. Shove it into Hrolka’s casket somehow, then close the lid? The Iron-Tooth bodyguards were gone, and I might even have time to deal with the blood…

   

                  Then I stopped as I put one foot into the mausoleum.

   

                  Azalea was gone.

   

                  Gone.

   

                  I stood frozen, rooted to the spot like a statue. ‘Azalea?’ I called quietly into the dark tomb as a numbness began buzzing down from my head to my chest, a feeling far worse than my earlier panic. My mind didn’t yet understand, but my body was beginning to.

   

                  ‘Azalea,’ I repeated, the word like lead on my lips. I stumbled out of the tomb. ‘Azalea…’

   

                  I was alone.

   

                  I sat down as if in a trance. The earth was damp, and the air smelled clean. Metallic. It smelled of lightning.

   

                  Somewhere in the distance, thunder roared.

  

   

  

  The codename 'Azalea' has been applied to over five thousand different recorded individuals, two hundred of which were Tsukikage shinobi.
  

   
  

  

   

   

                  When there were things to be done, I could forget.

   

                  And for that I was grateful to Edwin Lysanders. As he rushed towards the stables, I ran out silently behind Sabina, and with a final pang in my heart rode a lightning bolt straight up towards a branch. This was it. I could leave her behind. She was an intelligent girl. She would survive. Eke out a living elsewhere, somehow. No goodbyes were necessary.

   

                  I gathered strength in my thigh muscles and leapt forward, using tree branches as leverage. The hill was not steep. Vegetation was still ample.

   

                  Even in his armour, Lysanders was quick – either a testament to his prime physical condition or the ingenuity of Dwemer armoursmiths. Perhaps both. It took twenty seconds for him to reach a horse and only two to cut it loose and mount it in the same motion. And then he was speeding off after the priest, the horse seemingly part of his body.

   

                  Riding lightning once more, I flickered towards another tree, then resigned myself to physical movement. Edwin was on horseback, yes – but he was clad in full armour, riding downhill, and on uneven terrain a shinobi could move with far greater speed than the average Colovian saddlehorse.

   

                  I prepared a spell in my right hand as I flitted from branch to branch, compacting an immense charge of electricity into a small volume of magicka. It was well that I’d chosen to follow Edwin mostly on foot, and that I hadn’t used much magic in the past months. The spell would drain most of my reserves.

   

                  The double chase carried on for the better part of a minute, until Lysanders was barely thirty feet behind the priest, and I was positioned directly above him clinging to a redwood trunk.

   

                  The bodyguard rode past, singularly focused on his goal. I narrowed my eyes, gauged the distance, and released the spell.

   

                  My magical capabilities were not quite at the level where I could kill with a single bolt just yet, but it was still enough to paralyse the horse immediately. I’d flung my improvised lightning spear straight through the hind biceps, and with an agonised whinny it keeled over, convulsing stiffly. Lysanders jerked back, shocked, and then the horse’s torso landed square on his right leg. I heard his armour crunch. The bodyguard screamed. That was his femur.

   

                  I dropped down from the tree. Edwin didn’t notice me. Together the two of us stared at the dust trails left by the priest as he rode his stolen carriage straight towards Little Whiterun.

   

                  Lysanders spat out some curse, then tried to move. He placed one hand under his cuisses and the other under the horse, and then to his astonishment the horse twitched once, twice, then got up and limped away.

   

                  He saw me then, and comprehension was soon followed by hate.

   

                  ‘You,’ Lysanders hissed, in his usual warbling voice. ‘You? I should’ve – no, I knew from the start, but I should’ve- I should’ve-’

   

                  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, and crouched down beside him, drawing the poniard.

   

                  The bodyguard’s eyes grew wide as he saw the weapon that he had handed himself.

   

                  ‘Whore,’ he spat, and with the last of his strength drove a gauntleted fist at me as he struggled to rise on one foot.

   

                  I swept him back down, placed a hand on his helmet as I held him, and plunged the stiletto into his neck, splitting a single link of chainmail as I punctured his carotid artery.

   

                  I didn’t know what compelled me to leave the dagger there. It was a foolish move, abandoning the only blade that I had on my person, but I felt-

   

                  I felt that I needed to leave her-

   

                  Leaving her-

   

                  I cut off that train of thought. We’re never going to see each other again. Let it stay that way. My own feelings will dampen over time.

   

                  They will.

   

                  They will…

   

                  The day was ending. Clouds had gathered; the sky was growing dark. I set off back to make my report.

  

   

                  Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

   

                  When I returned to the command post, Haruka was there. She left the room as I entered. She would not meet my eyes.

   

                  It was night. The apartment was lit dimly with candles, much like the room I had-

   

                  Much like the room I had questioned Dandelion in.

   

                  None of the Oculatus agents were there. They had cleared out, taking their equipment and observation notes with them. In the senior agent’s desk sat Bengakhi in place of Elinnaeus. The Grandmaster’s advisor was reading a file. He continued reading it as I arrived and gave my report on the mission. He continued reading it as I drew to a close. He continued reading it as I stood there, silent, equal amounts of anticipation and trepidation building in my chest.

   

                  At long last he snapped the file shut. I saw my name on the cover. The file was dated today.

   

                  ‘The Flavanas have lost the majority of their connections in the city watch,’ Bengakhi began. ‘And now they are thoroughly alienated from the rest of the criminal underworld. Arrests and seizure of property will be made over the course of the next few hours.’

   

                  ‘As you say, sir,’ I said. My mouth felt very dry.

   

                  ‘However-’ Bengakhi raised his voice slowly over the course of the three syllables. ‘There is one small…’ He trained his yellow eyes on me. ‘Hiccup.’

   

                  Silence. After a full minute, I dared to ask. ‘Sir?’

   

                  ‘A minor detail,’ Bengakhi said, still in a voice menacingly slow. ‘Sabina Flavana yet lives.’

   

                  The room filled with the scent of lilac and vanilla. I tried – as desperately as I could without appearing so – to control it, to rein it in, to halt my stress-induced secretion. Bengakhi’s nostrils widened as he took in the scent, while his eyes narrowed to glowing malevolent slits.

   

                  ‘Bengakhi-ra, sir,’ I swallowed – I actually swallowed. ‘Killing her right now would accomplish little. Her organisation is dismantled already, and her property-’

   

                  Every candle in the room was snuffed out as Bengakhi drew himself up to his fullest height, brushing the ceiling with his head. ‘Is that so?’ he rumbled, tongue falling on each word like an executioner’s axe.

   

                  ‘I-’ I stammered, coherent speech slipping from my grasp. ‘Sir, I-’

   

                  ‘You’ve grown close with Sabina Flavana,’ Bengakhi said, bending down to look at me. His voice was low and dark. ‘As was your assignment, but I really must wonder…’

   

                  ‘I- I don’t- sir, I-’

   

                  The shadows in the room seemed to pounce along with Bengakhi, magnifying his size a hundredfold as he dove at me, his face a deathshead one inch from my own. ‘Do not lie to me.’

   

                  ‘I… I-’

   

                  Bengakhi swooped back towards the desk and picked up the report. I recovered some of my composure.

   

                  ‘Sir, there is no reason to-’

   

                  ‘On four separate occasions,’ Bengakhi said, still in his dangerously low voice. ‘You copulated with your sanctioned target while operating in the Bouquet… and continued to do so well after you were isolated and given an opportunity to perform the kill.’

   

                  That threw me off. I blinked. ‘Sir?’

   

                  ‘You were observed,’ Bengakhi continued, his eyes burning into mine. ‘Engaging in promiscuous activity with the Nord Dandelion on six separate occasions, while off-duty. And now your obvious personal attachment to Sabina Flavana. I really must ask, kit-

   

                  ‘Is the village not enough for you?’

   

                  Cold. Sheer cold. The nightmare was back- the nightmare was here.

   

                  ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘No, sir, no, I- I’ve always, I’ve always-’

   

                  ‘Seeking comfort, seeking false love even from your targets – perhaps you feel that the village is not the proper place for you after all?’

   

                  ‘No, no, no-’ My breath hitched. ‘There’s always only been- I’ve never- I’ll never-’

   

                  ‘Your word,’ Bengakhi hissed. ‘Is no longer sufficient.’

   

                  And then the tears came. Burning, biting hot against my skin as I crumpled to my knees. The past three months came tumbling out as disjointed, frantic sentences.

   

                  ‘Don’t make me- don’t- don’t make me please don’t make me,’ I begged, no longer able to control my lower lip. ‘Don’t- make me leave please I don’t want to leave don’t don’t don’t- please don’t make me-’

   

                  ‘But you see, kit,’ Bengakhi said, very calmly. ‘The Council wants her dead.’

   

                  ‘Another- shinobi…’ My disorganised mind, grasping at straws, came upon an idea. ‘Even- you- sir-’

   

                  Bengakhi sneered – he was amused. ‘Kit,’ he chuckled while still glaring at me. ‘Did you just suggest that I do it myself?’

   

                  ‘Or even- the Oculatus- sir- just- I-’

   

                  Bengakhi said nothing and I felt myself break, piece by wretched piece.

   

                  ‘Don’t make me choose – don’t make m- sir, please don’t make me choose-’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t I can’t I can’t, I’m a bad shinobi, I’m a bad shinobi just like you always said, I can’t, I really can’t, please don’t make me choose…’

   

                  And then Bengakhi smiled. He reached out with a hand – in the darkness of the room and the shadows, it seemed larger than my entire body – he reached out with a hand that could crush my skull like thin plaster, and laid it gently, gently on my head.

   

                  ‘Kit,’ he said. ‘I’ve never once said you were a bad shinobi.’

   

                  His voice rang with authority. It was magical. It was enough. It was enough to stop the tears. I looked up.

   

                  ‘I know,’ Bengakhi said. ‘And I know that you know, too. Come now. You left her without a moment’s hesitation. You even suggested how best to have her killed earlier, did you not? You gave her over to the most experienced Shadeclaw now in Anvil – me. You care nothing for Sabina Flavana.’

   

                  I trembled. ‘Bengakhi-ra…’

   

                  ‘You never loved her.’

   

                  I shook my head slowly, beginning to cry again. ‘Please don’t make me, sir, please don’t make me choose…’

   

                  ‘I won’t,’ Bengakhi said.

   

                  He leant in close.

   

                  His breath was hot on my ear.

   

                  He gave me the order.

   

                  He released me.

   

                  I was falling, my form flying through the air, weightless. It was bliss; I was a good shinobi; a good shinobi followed orders. It was all so simple; I was free, I was free to be with the village, I had only ever loved the village, I had only ever wanted the village to love me, everything else was false, fake, only there – why, only there because I had been away from the village for so long, of course. Thank goodness Bengakhi had been here for me, really, thank goodness-

   

                  I hit the floor spread-eagled, dazed, and stayed there even as Bengakhi left and took his enormous, shadowy pressure with him. I sat up, smiling, laughing, even as tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and ran down my cheeks and I sobbed until I could no longer feel my throat shake.

   

                  Sabina Flavana will die.