Hastily-scrawled graffiti adorned the sides of the moonlit alley. Ahead, a lone streetlight flickered on and off. Old newspapers and forgotten pieces of trash blew lazily back and forth in the light breeze, their rustling barely concealing Dario's faint footsteps. In the distance, a peal of thunder rumbled softly.
Damn this weather, the black lemur thought as a light drizzle began to fall.
He crept stealthily through the alley, sloshing quietly through the swelling puddles. Although he hated the rain, he wasn't one to let minor misfortune interfere with his work. Dario was a professional assassin. He took pride in his skill on the job, and, while he was always aware that his chosen line of work was rather less than reputable, Dario prided himself on his uncommon selectiveness. He never accepted a job unless he himself believed it to be a noble one; if there were ever honor among thieves, Dario was a perfect gentleman. Devoutly religious, he always acted in service to the goddess Elysia, and he strictly avoided any assignments that might anger her.
But there was always something amiss about him, something that hinted at a tumultuous past or a hidden inner conflict. Maybe it was the faint glimmer of madness in his piercing crimson eyes. Maybe it was the way his sinuous tail constantly flicked back and forth as he stood. Or maybe it was the way in which he always kept silent when asked about his past, the way he always stiffened when asked about his life, or the way he was uncannily streetwise. He was an inscrutable enigma to most and conveyed the aura of one whose unmentionable past should rightly be forgotten.
This particular mission was personally significant. The target was a priest of Dario's nemesis: the evil insect god of bitterness and hatred, Valliklaw. The heretic was to be executed without remorse. Dario grinned smugly as he imagined his victim's fate. This night would be the priest's last. His gruesome death would be another victory for the divine justice of Elysia.
Indeed, there was no time to waste.
The lemur slunk to the end of the alley. Peering out, he discerned a row of ramshackle buildings. One of these, he had been told, contained the living quarters of the target. A crash of thunder sounded in the distance as Dario stepped out to locate the victim's residence. The oblong buildings were asymmetrical and eccentric in design. Rooms jutted out at odd angles. Shingles had worked their way loose. It was clear that nobody had bothered to keep the residences in good repair—or, more likely, nobody could afford it.
Dario grimaced. I'd better be able to find the right place, he worried. The buildings themselves seemed to leer at him. The black lemur felt a pang of nervousness unbecoming of assassins of his prowess. His instincts told him that something was not right. But with a conscious effort he shrugged it off, for there was work to be done.
He had been told only that the residence he sought was one with a ladder hanging from the upper window. Dario hoped that such a meager description would suffice. Creeping along the road, the shadowed assassin eyed the imposing houses one by one. Eventually, he spied the residence. A rickety ladder drooped from its upstairs window to the slick pavement.
Too easy, he grinned. With his keen eyes, he eagerly followed the ladder upward to the open second-floor window—
Damn. Just my luck, he spat. The light was on. This might be a little harder than I thought.
Dario pondered whether to wait for the light or to continue as planned. To be sure, the job had become more difficult. He wouldn't be able to kill in cold blood as he preferred to do. But that isn't professional anyway, he silently observed.
So it was settled. Let's go. This should be interesting, he mused. Besides, the accomplished assassin had undertaken far more difficult feats than this in the past. Poor slums were nothing for seasoned professionals like himself.
—But why, then, did he still feel trepidation?
With artful precision, Dario sneaked silently toward the chosen residence. The black lemur glided toward the dangling ladder and gave it a slight tug. It held. For a moment, Dario smiled slightly. Then, he began his ascent. Slowly and soundlessly, the assassin climbed the ladder. Its rungs were slippery from the dripping rain, which also matted Dario's black fur. Upon reaching the top of the ladder, he raised his head ever-so-slightly above the windowsill and peered inward.
The room was sparsely furnished and illuminated by a single antique lamp perched on a dresser. A simple wooden bed lay in the corner near the open window. Across the room, a gray wolf in a robe sat hunched over a writing desk, hastily scribbling something with a pen. Completely engrossed in his frenetic writing, the wolf took no notice at all of the unwelcome visitor perched on the ladder just a few feet behind him.
There he is, thought Dario. In an instant, the lemur sprang into the room, his crimson eyes ablaze with fury. The assassin went about his work with cold professional efficiency. In seconds, it was over.
The wolf lay lifeless on the floor, the blank stare of death in his eyes accompanying the shocked expression on his muzzle. Tiny tears in the fur of his neck betrayed his cause of death: sudden strangulation. The corpse lay slumped in a heap, its right paw still clutching the writing instrument.
Dario hadn't time to admire his handiwork. Satisfied with a job well done, he turned to make his getaway. There was no reason to remain in the building, although the deed had been performed flawlessly; the victim hadn't uttered more than a few muffled gasps for breath.
But an odd glint on the floor caught the seasoned assassin's eye.
Dario inspected the body. The glimmer had come from some metallic object in its vicinity. Immediately, the black lemur discovered what it was: a curious medallion around the dead priest's neck. He tugged at it, intrigued. Dario knew well that priests of Valliklaw typically did not wear emblems around their necks. He wrenched the object free, thrust it onto the floor, and stared at it in disbelief. The medallion depicted a radiant sun, an icon which Dario recognized immediately. For the first time in his career, he let loose an audible gasp.
The emblem of Elysia, he thought, amazed. Why on Earth would he have that?
The black lemur quickly recalled the letter on the writing desk. Perhaps it would yield a clue. He spun around, snatched it, and read it.
Most holy Priestess:
I write this letter with utmost urgency. I beg you for aid.
My dreams have been extremely unsettling as of late. I sense that Valliklaw is most displeased with my repentance and conversion. The foul god has sent signs and omens to me. In my dreams, I have seen gruesome horrors, the likes of which only Valliklaw could invent.
Valliklaw's rage knows no boundaries, as I know well. I fear the worst. I fear that my life is in grave peril, that the dark god's retribution will be swift.
I require the protection of your church immediately. I implore you to guard me against the minions of the fiend Valliklaw. Even so—
The letter ended.
Dario returned the letter to the table and stared at it for some time, turning its contents over in his mind.
What did it mean? Could he have been wrong? Everything now seemed to point to the inconceivable conclusion that Dario had just murdered a priest of Elysia.
He thought back to that day, so many years ago, when he had been forced to cleanse his own son. Evil spirits, a plague of demons from Valliklaw himself, had infested his entire family save himself, and he had sought to drive them out. But his incorrigible wife Aranaya had leaped to her son's aid. Ultimately, he had succeeded in purifying his own son but had failed in his attempt to exorcise the demons who had bewitched his wife—and had been thrown into prison for killing his son.
And nobody knew it was for his own good! he angrily thought. I was alone then. But I was right. I was right!
As I am now, he silently declared. As I have ALWAYS been!
It was clear now. Dario had completed his task. The foul priest of Valliklaw lay dead. He had achieved another victory in the name of Elysia's divine righteousness.
And nobody could tell him otherwise.
He picked up the letter. A faint grin escaped his lips. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the letter hurtling out the window before making his escape.
The letter landed in a forgotten corner of the road, where the falling rain began to smear its ink. Soon, a soggy scrap of paper was all that remained.
Furritasia © 2003 LemurKat. Story © 2003 Nightwatch.