It seemed as if light was sifting out of the forest as sunset approached. The cold stillness of the night was coming, and quickly. Maelearr grabbed at the tattered rag he called a cloak, and held it close to his goose-pimpled skin. He then placed a hand onto the left side of his hip and frisked. The concealed dagger was still there. The belt shifted uncomfortably when Maelearr's shaking hand wrapped around the hilt. His hand didn't stop shaking when he held it up in front of him as well. 'It must be colder than I thought' he said in his head and laughed.
The so-called path, that Maelearr was told about, was no more than a dirt track through the forest. The forest was thick, and Maelearr could feel eyes following him. It was well known that all sorts of spirits and wild creatures inhabited this forest. Naturally they could only be witnessed alone and at night time. Maelearr picked up the pace, he was not planning to get eaten tonight! The path was narrow and straight but once so often there was a sharp turn. At the end of the track was meant to be the target. Part of Maelearr hoped that this wasn't true, but he knew that what he was told was going to be accurate.
Maelearr started shaking his head and kissed his teeth, he was wondering why he had not brought a disguise, or at least a hood. What if someone saw him kill the guy? What if the guy escaped? He suddenly started thinking that he had a really recognizable face with overly distinct features. It was too late to worry over such things now since Maelearr had come to the end of the path. He stood in a clearing in which only a single, and rather small, mud hut lay ahead of him.
The hut was cylindrical with a pointed thatched roof. The whole thing looked rather flimsy and probably had one small room. Maelearr guessed that even a gust of wind could take the whole thing down. 'I could just burn the roof and everyone will thing the death was accidental!' Maelearr pondered as he stood motionless. Then he remembered the specific instructions given to him by the Fists. He had to stab the man in the neck in order to send a message. What that message was did not concern him. Maelearr took a deep breath and then approached the hut.
As he took cautious steps forward, he recalled how he had got himself into this position in the first place. He had made a few mistakes. Mistake number one: He had assumed that the Fists would primarily use their fists. The Fists were meant to be mindless thugs, not contract killers. Mistake number two: He had told the Fists why he wanted to join. All he wanted was to get stronger and gained some protection from their company and street credibility. The Fists now knew that they could physically and mentally bully this boy just like the others did. Also it meant that they had to test the boy to see whether he could be of any use to them. Mistake number three: He had used his real name. Names are useful, the Fists could use his strange name to track him down or use with the authorities so that he be used as a scapegoat. Within ten minutes of talking to the thug lieutenant in the market, Maelearr was in too deep. He had dived into the ocean and then traded his lungs for gills without even knowing. There was no way back for him now.
The door to the hut was open, in the fact that it was barely a door at all. The entrance to the hut was covered with a single large piece of bark, which hung onto the walls with rope which acted as hinges. However, Maelearr was taking no chances. He braced himself and then put all his weight behind a kick to open the door. He then clumsily drew his dagger and peered in. He wasn't sure what to expect; but he had certainly not anticipated there being four men being cramped inside this small space. He just stood there in front of these men, trying to figure out what to do.
"Kicking open the unlocked door, with dagger in hand, when you don't know who's inside or what your target looks like. All of which without concealing your identity. Both clever and subtle." the hooded man said. The two armed men either side of him chuckled as he said this. The old man on the straw mat said nothing, he just lay there, perfectly still.
"You are Ma-li-ah, yes?" The taller of the armed men asked. He wore leather armour with a plain iron helmet. The shorter, plumper man, wore the same. Maelearr guessed that there were the city guards but he had never seen them wear helmets before. He straightened his back and replied,
"It's pronounced May-lee-arr." Only after the words had escaped his mouth had he realised that these were not the best circumstances to tell strangers how to pronounce his name.
"Fucking Staeralyllian!" The plumper man scowled before spitting on the floor, "You cunts think you're fucking better than us just 'cause you put like sixty vowels in your bastard names!" The robed man raised an eyebrow as an awkward silence filled the room. Although Maelearr was used to this sort of xenophobic abuse, he said nothing. Instead he calmly sheathed his dagger, in a way that he thought most impressive. He also did his best not to let his head drop, he could not afford to let any fear of his show.
"Are you not planning to stab the old man then?" The robed man asked politely. Maelearr's gaze flashed to each of the guards and then back to the robed man. He still said nothing.
"Right...well then tell me boy, why do you plan on joining the Fists? It is a life long commitment as you know, and you are still so young," A small smile had lingered on the robed man's lips ever since Maelearr had entered the hut. However, this had faded as Maelearr continued to say nothing. He wondered how fast these men could run and how much of a head start would he get if he turned on his heels and ran right now.
"You'd never get away. A boy's legs are no match for trained men. Plus, you'd be running down a straight and very narrow path, not exactly an ideal route to lose someone." The robed man's eyes never left Maelearr's stare as he spoke.
"Instead boy, take this," He held out a small wooden dice with no number on. "Do what you want with it" Maelearr looked at the cube. 'What the fuck am I meant to do with this?' He thought. He was expecting to be cut in half, not looking at pieces of wood.
"I don't want it." he finally replied.
"Because you don't know what to do with it? I suppose one wouldn't know what they should do with something thrust upon them at random. Yet here you are acting like you know what you should do with your life." This had stopped Maelearr's fear, replacing it with confusion and anger. This fool was talking nonsense, in a really weird way and in the most odd circumstances.
"This fool is saying, that one cannot simply choose to join the Fists. You cannot give your life to the Fists. However, life can give you to the Fists."
"Look! They were looking for recruits! I was looking for work! I don't see the fucking problem or know what the fuck you're on about!" Maelearr snapped.
"God the young are so rude these days. And so very eager to grow up in this cruel world. Right I've heard enough, this one is getting shipped. Get rid off the old timer as well. Respectfully this time!" The robed man said to the guards.
Maelearr was already falling before he had a chance to turn and run. He had not noticed a third guard who had sneaked up behind and hit him on the back of the head. He was out cold.
