The name...it sends shivers of pure fright up and down my spine. Hassan...where I lost my blood innocence....where I became a blood thirsty killer. Gods, I'm not sure how to explain.
I was taken in by a war-wolf named Alexander Fer'ah after I stumbled into Hassan on that horrible night. He raised me as if I were his own. I never suspected he would become what I feared the most.
It was later revealed that Alexander was a member of the White Lions Claw. An unhappy member. Tradition states, for the Clan, that any members will forfeit their lives eventually to any offspring they produce. Me. I was considered Alexander's daughter. He was to die by my hands.
I had no idea..
Sitting here in this inn, beside my sleeping allies, I'm not sure what to write. I'm not good with words when it comes to my feelings or my past. Something is compelling me to scribble all this information down, though, so I must comply.
It was a calm but frighteningly cold night that I stumbled across the truth about my surrogate father. I had silently crept down to get a drink of water when I heard sounds of muffled conversation. I listened in. I wish to whatever Gods there are today that I hadn't listened, but I did. I learned about Alexander's pleas to the Clan. He did not want to die. I was technically not his daughter, after all. It did not matter. He had taken me in as his own and he had to die. There was an eerie silence that settled over the house then. I can remember gripping my arm so tightly that it lost all feeling.
I do not recall my fainting spell. I do know it happened, I'm not sure why and when.
I woke up chained to a table. It was a horrible thing. I could not, for the life of me, move my limbs an inch. I was also nude, excluding a rather flimsy piece of cloth wrapped around my body. The fear then...it was amazing. My heart, I remember, was screaming. I, however, was not. My throat was actually very dry. I couldn't speak. Instead, I gazed in awe at my surroundings. It was a dark room. That was pretty much it. The table I was chained to was in the center. There was a door and that’s all.
Later on, I found out that I had been chained there for 4 days. During those 4 days, I got my water from a hooded man. I also got my food from him. It was always a short exchange but I savored it. I was scared. Any human contact was a blessing to me.
It was on the 5th day that the hooded man came in and revealed his face. He stared down at me. I swear, his eyes were smoldering coals. He was an evil man, I could tell. When he spoke, I flinched in fear. He told me I was to be the first of many new Ninjas. That I was special and would become what the Clan needed most: a fearless and blood lusting killer.
I did not believe him. Now I wish I had.
He unchained me and brought me to a field. I can't recall the exact location due to the fact I was blind-folded on the trip there. All I know is that I was scared and it was definitely a field. It was too....open....to be anything else. There, I was forced to kneel. Sometime during my kneeling, I had a cup of cool liquid shoved to me. I gladly accepted and hence gained my voice back. I asked questions, still blindfolded. Silly questions now. Questions such as "where is Alexander?" and "Are you going to ever let me go?". None of it was answered. Instead, I was backhanded. Oh, how I remember that backhand. It was a harsh and cruel slap that snapped my head back.
Sitting here, looking at my sleeping allies, I’m wondering if they could accept me if they knew what I truly was. Who I am.
I remember what the man said. He said that I was his slave. I was HIS. I belonged to him. His wish was my pleasure. He hauled the blindfold off me cruelly and I was amazed to see quite a few other men in the field with me. They held swords, whispering back and forth to each other. Oh, gods. I remember thinking that I was going to be murdered and that my body would be left for dead. I wish now that I had been murdered.
I was pulled roughly to my feet and shoved towards the men. They were giants! I was so young….so small…I felt as if it were hopeless. The first man attacked me and I vaguely recall the sting of his blade as it struck home – my thigh – and lodged there. After that, there was only darkness.
I awoke on that horrible table. Alone. The pain in my thigh made me scream in horror and I must have babbled like a fool. I cried out again and again for someone, anyone to help me. No help came in reply. I was truly alone. It was then that I noticed an itching on my hands and feet. A burning sensation. Foolishly, I tried to yank my hand up to look at it. My world exploded in agony. The sickening ripping noise of skin and the grind of bone still echoes in my ears at this very moment.
I was nailed to the table. Nails driven through my hands and through my feet. My consciousness collapsed and I was enveloped in the sweet darkness.
Memory is an odd thing, no doubt. My span of time was hideously twisted. Minutes seemed like seconds, days seemed like minutes and weeks seemed like days.
There is something, now, that I can remember from that whirl of time. Vividly, in fact.
That is what they did to my sense of caring. My sense of love. To rid me of those emotions, they put two innocent children in front of me. Children snatched from villages. Ripped from the threads of normal life.
I had to kill one child. If I failed to do so, the other child would be subjected to pain. No matter what I did, I could not save one of the children. When I resisted, I was beaten and so were the children.
The day came when I snapped.
I was given a sword. It was a fine blade and incredibly sharp. It wasn’t named. I was placed in front of the two children. Commanded to kill one. I resisted. I was beaten and the children screamed as they were whipped with a lash laced with razor sharp glass shards. Those cries often ring in my ears today.
One of the blows to my body slashed open my forehead. It bled openly, the blood pouring down into my eyes. I could barely see and the command came again. Kill.
My body ached. Screamed with pain. The children were whimpering and one of them was yelling for their mother. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was my poor, poor mind worn thin from the tortures. I acted.
Rushing in, I drove the blade of the sword deep into the noisy child’s throat. Blood spurted all over me, drenching me. As if it were raining death. I withdrew the sword and stared at the blood running down it’s length. Raining death.
As if brought to life by that word, the sword’s true name, black flames erupted from the blade. They didn’t burn me yet I felt their heat. I knew how deadly this sword would be.
Wielded by who, though? Surely not I.
Yet, as I was standing there mesmerized by the dark flames, I felt the presence of a large man behind me. He leaned down and whispered into my ear. His words has since been engraved in my cold, cruel heart.
"Finish it, Baine. Take AmeShi and kill the child. Kill. Kill."
The voice echoed in my mind. I tried to shut it out, even bringing my hands up to my ears. It was still there. In my fury, I lashed out. The other child fell in front of me, choking on his blood.
I had become a murderer.
Other things flash though my mind now and I recall the many times after that day that I was tortured. The insults from my ‘mentors’.
My heart quickly turned to stone underneath to lies, hatred and pain.
I wanted nothing more than to lash out. It was my will. All I wanted to do was cause death. To make them all pay. I trained, fought and acted like a woman possessed. Men died before me easily. Women fell upon AmeShi. I felt no mercy, no guilt. Where had they been where I needed them? Why had no one cared enough to try and help me? Why?
It was like a fuel to my inner fires.
One last event rings through my mind now as my hand tires from all this writing. Alexander.
I faced him one sunny day out in the field outside of Hassan. His eyes pleaded with me, silently asking me to give in. I would not. With a scream that was primal, I threw myself upon the only person who had ever loved me since my parents were killed. He fought bravely. He truly did. Yet he had no desire to kill me. He had no blood lust towards his sweet little adopted child.
I, on the other hand, had blood lust towards him.
He ended up losing an arm and an ear before I finally plunged the fiery blade of AmeShi into his neck. He croaked hoarsely and stared at me, sliding off the blade and crumpling on the ground in front of me. There, he died.
I laughed then. Long and hard. It was amusing to me. Gods, I don’t know why now. Looking back, I can truly say I was a monster.
The light outside the inn window indicates it’s almost time for everyone to wake. I have recorded my tale. How I came to be. Maybe there will be a reason for doing this later but for now, I will keep this scroll hidden.
For it is easier to bury the past than remember it.
- Kara Baine.