The Assassin's Charge

Chapter 2

I wonder into her homeroom class, constantly scanning the familiar surroundings. The teacher's desk sits unobtrusively in the back left corner, and around twenty-five desks are set up in front of three whiteboards that dominate the wall in the front of the classroom.

There are stacks of papers on the teacher's desk, and, moving quietly over to it, I scan the papers out of curiosity: some English exam papers, a few notes about a meeting that the entire faculty body must attend during lunch period - URGENT, they read - and a few dozen printed-out webpages that appear to display very low income houses to rent. Shows how little a teacher's salary is here.

"Disgusting," I murmur to the still-empty classroom. Teachers should be held in much higher regard by the government, if not the entire population. It boggles my mind how backwards the priorities are here. Wars, fighting and weapons are more important than those who prepare you for the outside world, those who take care of those who cannot do it themselves, those who save lives everyday just because they want to; not because they are forced to, but because it is their calling and passion in life.

I search for her desk - second row from the front, third from the right - and swiftly make sure that it is completely safe from anyone or anything nasty. I travel to all of the classes that she will be in during the day - Math, Biology, Chemistry, History, French, and Art - before combing through the cafeteria; searching her usual table, those surrounding it, the delicatessen counter, the kitchen, the fridges and the storeroom. You can never be too careful.

As I leave the kitchen, my eyes dancing around, the flash of light refracting off of a metal object blinds me for a moment, and, in those moments, I am thrown into a memory.

***

Sunlight glances off the blade and directly into my already-watering eyes. She's selected her favorite weapon without a thought - a light scimitar with a leather grip that fits her hand perfectly, an obsidian pommel and guard, and a beautifully curved, single-edged blade; forged with my own calloused hands, not that she cares - and squares up against her opponent.

Whatever I think about her, nobody can deny the grace with which she battles, every movement deliberate, no attack unnecessary. She is a whirlwind of this grace, beauty and death when fighting, and I can't tear my eyes away.

Ducking, slashing, parrying, spinning. Blocking her opponent's blow and weaving around the other arm to come up behind them and slamming her boot into the attacker's knee.
She renders her much larger opponent useless in the space of two and a half minutes; a feat never recorded in her personal history. She wipes her brow, where a small sheen of perspiration has collected, as well as her upper lip and the back of her neck.

She bows and leaves the carefully marked out arena with the ever-present confident sway in her hips and minutely raised nose. She walks right into me, almost throwing me off my feet, as I hurry to vacate the courtyard before she notices that I was watching her bout. She stops with a vaguely confused expression on her face, like she can't believe the fact that someone dared to touch her. After a few seconds, in which I was slowly backing away - in the same way that one backs away from a wild, hungry lion - her expression morphs into one of anger and disdain. Even though I am more than a few inches taller than her, I feel no bigger than a shrew as she attempts to glare down her nose at me. She succeeds.
"How dare you? Watch where you're going, you miserable pile of toad bile!" she almost shrieks, causing all in the vicinity to stop and stare at the unfortunate soul who incurred her wrath.

She pushes past me, shoving me into the wall, as a malevolent sneer plays on her lips.
"Unbelievable," she mutters as she passes by, causing the old hatred to bubble up. I wait until she is out of sight and earshot, and normal activity has resumed, before letting out the only curse I will allow myself to utter, in fear that she will somehow hear me, and have me thrown out.