The Rose and the Azalea - Epilogue

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                    Human. It is a curious word.

     

                    In the languages of all cultures that have ever been recorded on Nirn, there has been a word equivalent to that of the standard Tamrielic ‘human’. They are all words that connote a sapient being – one capable of sympathy and empathy, and one that desires both. Traits such as these are often placed under an umbrella in a culture’s vernacular. In Tamrielic, that would be ‘humanity’.

     

                    It is the reason that so many cultures view the act of murder, the absolute antithesis to ‘humanity’, as a great sin, often the great sin. It is why any judicial system, however stern, at least attempts to justify execution.

     

                    It is why cultures at war each do their best to dehumanise the other. Insults and pejoratives such as ‘Old Mary’, ‘greyskin’ and even ones as simple as ‘dog’, ‘lizard’, ‘ape’ help add to the illusion, help a soldier forget the fact that the person he is meant to kill is just that.

     

                    A shinobi cannot do the same.

     

                    The average drafted peasant will serve in one war. Perhaps two if they are so unfortunate and so fortunate. Professional soldiers such as Legionnaires will serve for an average period of ten to twenty years. Their rigid training and conformity will allow them to kill with less hesitation, but once again, any large-scale killing they do will be done in war. The fighting would typically only last months or a few years. If they survive, reintegration into society will not be easy. Their psyche will never be the same afterwards. Still, their hate and fear and racially motivated bigotry, once necessary to cope with the experience of killing, can be allowed a chance to fade. Other kinds of killers all need some form of reasoning in order to normalise their work. Money. Religious observance. A sense of duty. The logic that killing in self-defence is just.

     

                    None usually last long enough to help a shinobi. A Tsukikage operative lives, on average, for one hundred and twenty-seven years. That average includes the kits who die young and inexperienced. The typical shinobi can expect to live and is expected to live to the last minute of their two-century lifespan. No amount of justification or normalisation can sustain us for two hundred years. Nor can we reassure ourselves using bigotry – a true Shadeclaw must be capable of killing indiscriminately. No matter how much praise Takarro lauds on certain outliers, this is fact.

     

                    The only solution, then, is one that is not unique to Tsukikage or even shinobi in general, as all of the killers already mentioned do so to some degree as well, but it is to us that it is the most important. We must dehumanise ourselves.

     

                    And we do so from an early age, from the moment our kits begin to learn how to read. We drill into their minds how they are a member of the collective. We strip away individuality. We break down the concept of a person until all they see are bundles of flesh and bone with target organs inside to strike and break and kill, then set them on a defenceless target while reminding them that they are killing a human being. Their initial guilt and their subsequent acceptance ties them to the village for life.

     

                    I had once thought that was enough. I could not have been more wrong.

     

                    The village as it is now continuously defeats itself. We claim that a shinobi must have no limits, then pivot and also claim that ‘Tsukikage does not target innocents’ in a transparent attempt to sooth our operatives’ minds. We make allowances for severe lapses in discipline. We let prodigious talents go to waste simply because of some ludicrous self-imposed rule. We coddle.

     

                    Takarro and the Council believe otherwise. I am next to them in power, but – as of now – I can do nothing. And admittedly, Tsukikage is still functional in its current state. It is also difficult to become fully detached when the village as a whole behaves as a family. But I refuse to let a kit who has been put under my charge squander their potential.

     

                    Particularly a kit like Harrow.

     

                    For operatives like Torako and Mokko and Ambarro and most other Po’ Tun, the ability to fully dehumanise oneself and achieve a state where killing is no longer killing is not absolutely essential. Even I hesitate at times. Especially when confronted with the concept of family. Ayanne remains a pressure point of psychological trauma that I have so far failed to fully compartmentalise. If I had not been paying so much attention to her, I would have noticed the Cathay-raht insurgents’ approach and devised an appropriate counter-strategy. Paradoxically, if I had not cared about her too much, I would not have lost her.

     

                    That is why I must oversee and guide Harrow’s development. I know what it is to be blinded by one’s bonds. And for Harrow, it is not just important, it is imperative that he becomes thoroughly ‘inhuman’. His appearance is a perfect blend of man and mer, and with minimal adjustment, there are few relevant social circles that he will be incapable of infiltrating. In the current political climate, that trait is more valuable than ever. His physical attractiveness as perceived by both males and females from the almost universal Tamriellian standard is another tremendous advantage. It follows that he must then be able to become emotionally close with any individual, maintain a perfect relationship with said individual if the mission requires it, while also being capable of eliminating them without even a glimmer of internal conflict.

     

                    A drastically different task compared to simply sneaking up to a target and slitting their throat, but he can do it. He has done it. He has no more doubts.

     

                    All that’s left now is to build up his skills, and that – that, at least, I can trust to Jorra and his instructors.

     

                    We have made good progress in the last few months.

     

     

                    Bengakhi opened his eyes. Harrow had returned. It had barely been one day after the Flavana operation had drawn to a close, and already he had finished another assassination. Double targets.

     

                    ‘…and there was no need to conceal the bodies in the ensuring tavern brawl,’ Harrow finished his report. ‘There were multiple deaths from trampling alone.’

     

                    ‘I commend your use of public disturbances and makeshift weaponry to mask your kills,’ Bengakhi said, nodding. ‘Considering we would prefer not to have the city watch scrutinise their deaths at all.’

     

                    ‘Of course, Bengakhi-ra. Thank you, sir.’

     

                    Rising from his meditative position, Bengakhi motioned to the command post’s central table. There was a flat case resting on top. Harrow opened it. Folded inside was the white and violet silk robes he had worn as Azalea the courtesan.

     

                    ‘Put the furisode back on,’ Bengakhi said. ‘You’re going to stay in the city for a while longer.’

     

                    Harrow stripped off his tunic and gear on the spot. As he tugged off one boot, Bengakhi continued.

     

                    ‘I will be returning to the village and resuming my administrative duties, but the Imperial anticorruption effort in Anvil is far from over.’

     

                    ‘As you say, sir.’

     

                    ‘Haruka will be arriving shortly with more details on your targets, but briefly – the operation is large-scale. Several other Shadeclaws will be arriving to assist operatives already in the city. Expect your assignments to be nobility, involved with and most likely funding key chains of the international slave trade.’

     

                    ‘Yes, sir.’

     

                    ‘Prepare yourself once you’re dressed. You will be attending an underground auction two days from now as the centrepiece.’

     

                    ‘Understood, sir.’

     

                    Nothing else needed to be said. Bengakhi left through the window and fell, the cool night air tousling his mane. A part of him felt a sort of disproportionate satisfaction to how well Harrow had done so far. Even a trickle of pride.

     

                    Perhaps the part that once yearned to be a father.

     

                    Ayanne…

     

                    If that made him too human, then he accepted that flaw. Because I will make him better.

     

                    I will make him better than any of us.

     

                    His boots touched the ground. Despite his immense weight, the soft noise of his landing was inaudible even to an owl. His form melted into the dark as-

     

                    Bengakhi paused. The majority of his life had been spent in shadows. He knew them, had an affinity for them, even blended them into illusions when he fought and moved in the field, so he could tell. Something was amiss with Anvil’s shadows. Something was here that hadn’t been here yesterday, and yesterday had only been a few hours ago.

     

                    Something… else.

     

                    He kept his senses focused but continued on his way. It had been an instinctive feeling, nothing that he could consciously observe, and while he valued his instinct, there was no immediate threat in the area. His work was more important.

     

                    As the moons moved, the shadows shifted, and the sense of discordancy faded. Bengakhi headed north, beginning the long journey back to the Jeralls.

     

     

Comments

1 Comment   |   ilanisilver and 2 others like this.
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  October 15, 2018
    Well, I have to say that I am liking Bengakhi more and more. Very interesting line of thought here, believable, doing very good job at tying the loss of his wife into his mentality and reasoning. 
    And a new job for Harrow. No rest for the wicked, eh ;)