Time passes quickly when life is calm.
That was how it was for Ryan in Birkoff. In three weeks without encountering a single Extraordinaire or anything resembling an Extraordinaire organization, he spent two hours every evening and all day Sunday volunteering at a free school and a Sunday school run by the Church, helping the children learn to read. His days were, by any measure, tranquil — though the pitifully small amount of time those children had for learning sat uneasily with him.
Any other free hours he spent scouting Birkoff and nearby cities. Every two to three days he eliminated another piece of human garbage — seven in all over three weeks. The Assassin's heightened senses and superhuman speed had shown him something genuinely disturbing: even in a country that appeared stable and peaceful, rape, trafficking, and the trade of addictive substances were far more common than he'd expected.
So in three weeks of outwardly unremarkable days, the internal presence that reacted whenever he behaved like a true Assassin had continued to dissolve. He estimated that compared to the beginning, it was now about half its original size.
Those three weeks had also largely confirmed what he'd suspected: thinking and acting like a genuine Assassin was the method — the way to prevent the potion from warping him and avoid losing control. Because in those three weeks, Ryan had not felt the potion's influence a single time. Not once had he heard that mysterious whispering in his ear.
It was now the evening of the fifteenth of November, Year 1352 of the Iron Age — a Saturday, just past ten o'clock.
After walking the children back to their homes and leaving a candle apiece for the few who still wanted to study but had no light, Ryan returned to the school — which only had students in the evenings — and found Sister Diana. She was white-haired and elderly, but her devotion to the Goddess of the Night remained unwavering.
"Good evening, Sister Diana."
"Child, so late in the evening — have you come to say goodbye?" The gentle-eyed nun asked warmly.
She had grown genuinely fond of this young man who had been a little clumsy at first, but patient and receptive.
"Yes. As I told you at the beginning — I'm afraid the time has come. I'm sorry."
He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed.
"No need to apologize, child. Even three weeks are precious to those children. And to have met a patient and kind young man like you has been a great comfort to me."
"I'm glad to hear you say so — though I should confess, I'm not like this with everyone."
"That is not a flaw, child. I am also glad you have found your direction and are no longer standing still."
"I wouldn't say I've found a direction. I've only understood that standing still won't mean anything. On another note, Sister — this is what I'd like to offer as a final gift to the children."
Ryan took out everything on him except the one hundred and fifty pounds in the bank. In three weeks he had eaten sparingly, and his total expenses — including the candles and other things he'd bought for the children — had amounted to less than two pounds. Added to what he'd taken from those seven individuals, it came to just over thirty pounds.
"I thank you on the children's behalf, young man. But please, don't let this affect your own future." The old nun tried, gently, to refuse.
"On that you needn't worry about me at all." Ryan said without hesitation.
Sister Diana thought back over his behavior in the weeks she'd known him and, in the end, accepted the money. She sent him off with a blessing:
"Mr. David John, your kindness will be watched over by the divine."
Because Ryan had mentioned straightforwardly that he had no faith, this generous-spirited woman left the specific deity unnamed.
What I'm actually hoping, he thought privately, is that if I ever get hauled in by a Evernight Goddess officer, you'll put in a good word for me, Sister.
But what he said was:
"I think that if I ever come to understand the mercy of the Goddess, it will be because of your example, honored Sister."
He bowed once more to this woman who had not missed a single day at the school in over twenty years, then turned and left.
Before stepping into the dark, he looked back one last time at the school standing in the shadows, and said quietly, to no one:
May all of you find what you're seeking.
"I'm really not that compassionate a person," he told himself as he faded into the darkness. "I can't bring myself to keep sacrificing just to help even one more child."
He knew exactly what was true and what wasn't. Giving up because his best effort was only a drop in the bucket was just an excuse. His sympathy for those children was real — but so was his inability to put them ahead of himself. If there hadn't been some possibility that this might one day earn him lighter treatment if he got arrested, he might not have started volunteering at all.
Oh well. For all I know, I'll end up worse off than they are someday. I'm already gone — time to think about myself.
He shook his head, cleared his mind, and fixed his attention on what came next.
After lying low for over half a month, Ryan was ready to move. Rather than simply targeting someone for money, he had spent nearly two weeks getting to know his actual target — a gang called the Black Ravens. Tonight, he would attempt to assassinate all the gang's leaders without being detected, and take whatever valuables he could easily carry.
He made his way to the Black Ravens' base, which was now more familiar to him than his own rented room — the largest, most prosperous criminal organization in Birkoff's slums.
Unlike the careful, methodical approach of his last two operations, tonight Ryan was bold — almost playful, like a gamer in a stealth title. For an Assassin in the dark, the difference between detection and invisibility was simple: no light meant no detection.
The only thing distinguishing this from a game was the possibility of something going unexpectedly wrong.
He had only just claimed the third of his five targets, following his planned route, when shouting erupted outside — the sound of someone raising the alarm, and a commotion spreading.
Of all the— I closed it behind me. Who goes for money at this hour?
He hadn't expected to be noticed before he'd even reached the more dangerous inner compound. Three leaders were already dead, but he'd only taken three hundred pounds so far.
He slipped outside and waited. While everyone was still focused on the commotion before anyone realized three of their leaders were dead, Ryan threw a knife — taken from the compound — using Power Strike. It buried itself in the skull of the fourth target, who had just been roused from sleep and was directing his men to seal the exits.
By the time the others reacted and sent a team to check on Ryan's last known position, he was already gone.
The unexpected turn had cost him — only three hundred pounds instead of the full haul. But four consecutive assassinations and a clean escape afterward still gave him a sense that the internal presence had dissolved a little further.
Two more Beyonders, maybe, and it'll be completely gone.
He was about to call it a night when he passed the area near the docks and heard a strange, animalistic shriek. Borne on the night wind was a distant, calm chanting — and wherever it touched, the people jarred awake by the shriek slipped quietly back into sleep.
A fight clearly involving Extraordinary powers. That piqued his interest. But even an Extraordinaire couldn't fully resist the tranquility threaded through that chanting voice — and besides, the fight was actively moving toward the edge of the city, upstream along the Tasok. Unable to get too close, Ryan circled ahead and positioned himself at the city's outskirts, where the open terrain offered unobstructed sightlines. There, relying on his eagle-sharp vision, he watched the battle from a distance.