This story is protected under international and Pan-American copyright conventions. Please remember to donate to Nifty if you are financially able to do so.
Author information:
Website: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/books.html
Email: kavrik@hotmail.com
Art from my stories: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/my-artwork.html
I previously published "Wraith" on the Nifty Archive. It can be found at: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/wraith/
This week on my art page (link above), I have a full color picture of Kian wearing the priapus from this story. Constantine is also in the picture. The scene is directly from this chapter. I hope you like it!
"The Assassin's Apprentice" is told in first person present tense and has been heavily edited.
Chapter Seven
I don't tell Constantine, but I start attending church with the friar three nights a week. He's my friend, and he wants to make sure my feet are healthy. I like him, and I love to hear him talk about Tethyr. He tells me he's got something special planned for me, that I'll get to meet three other men who claim to have seen Tethyr himself. However, I must tell no one of the meeting. The friar says he wants to arrange a secluded place where, if I listen carefully enough, I'll hear Tethyr's voice speaking to me. I'll have to purify myself beforehand using his explicit instructions. I also must promise to obey his orders exactly.
I can hardly believe it. I've barely learned about Tethyr, and yet he's already responding to my prayers through his priest. The fact that this is happening to me is proof that he's listening and that I've finally found a god to love.
That night I sleep with comfort knowing that my god watches over me.
Just before dawn, I find myself sitting at the edge of my bed looking out at new morning's sunrise and staring at my feet which are pale, wounded, and sore. I feel strange and somehow invincible.
I don my boots but without the tacks and the strips of soiled cotton cloth. These I wind up and take with me downstairs. I toss them onto the breakfast table made from planks of cherry wood where Swift sits watching the transparent rays of first sunrise break their way through fragile panes of glass.
He looks at me. "Is it time Kian?"
"I think so. I've worn them for weeks now, and I don't want to anymore. I want to take the test."
Swift stands up. He's wearing a satin doublet made from deep magenta cloth. "All right, let's go downstairs."
I follow him across the room and down the stone steps. I'm not afraid, but my body erupts with a tingling brought on by a toxic combination of excitement and nervousness. My stomach also turns a little uneasily inside me as the training room comes into view. It's lit by braziers that leave smoke trails on the walls.
We're the only ones here for it's still early and thieves are by nature, creatures of darkness. He walks into an office and removes ten large sheets of delicate paper from a cabinet. These he takes in his hands and lays them out on the floor before me one by one. The pupils of his eyes grow large in this dim light, and he studies me as if to observe in my face some fatal resolution hidden there. Or perhaps he wants to see failure there--a kind of schadenfreude--to see me weary and bloodied again by the tortuous tacks. I look, for a moment, at the rice paper. It's like a narrow carpet splayed before me, two feet wide and ten feet long. And I know that it's the most difficult stuff to traverse in all the world.
I gaze at my boots and decide that I'm not going to take them off. No, I won't have to...
I try a meditative stance for just a moment, refusing the idea that I'm being put to the test. I get nervous under scrutiny, and the butterflies inside will oftentimes make me throw up. I murmur the word "balance" over and over again and try to find my center. I recognize a familiar calm within my soul, a gut feeling rises to the surface, and I recognize it for just an instant.
It's the kind that says, "Move now. You won't fail."
Then, I open my eyes, I take my first step, and I almost falter.
A bead of sweat rolls down the side of my face, and by all that's holy, I swear I feel Tethyr's hand in mine.
Am I hallucinating?
All of the experts say the first step is the hardest one to take. With that behind me and no torn paper beneath my boots, I realize that my destiny lies completely in my hands. But because Tethyr is now watching me, I resolve myself to success only. I take the rest of the steps one at a time rejecting all notions of failure.
I pass, and I smile at Swift feeling elated and relieved. I wait to see his reaction, and I listen to the silence. Adrenaline courses through my veins like liquid fuel.
Swift laughs softly. His manner is impulsive. "I don't believe it," he whispers. "H-how exactly did you do that?"
I shrug. "You either do it or you don't, right? I worked hard on this. I-I resolved to have the skill. And once my mind knew, my body and soul came along for the ride. Have I met your expectations, sir?"
"Yes," he says.
I don't know why, but I realize I like Swift. Maybe it's because he now sees me in a different light...almost as an equal.
"I'm sorry if I ever doubted you, Kian."
I shake his hand. "Thank you, sir. You don't know how much that means to me." I swallow hard and try not to cry. I'm not sure why I've got all this emotion bubbling up now, but I do.
Then Swift does something unexpected. He hugs me. And finally, I realize I don't care if I beat Talen's record so I don't even ask...it's no longer important.
I leave him then for I have only a few minutes to make it to my training. But I walk with the knowledge that I can do anything if I set my mind to it. That's probably the most important lesson I can take from something like this.
A month passes, maybe two. The long summer arrives, and it's the hottest one in history. Even the ancients in the guild can't recall when temperatures soared so high. Constantine allows me only ten minutes at a time in direct sunlight every four hours, tells me to drink clean cold water all day, and gives me a 'priapus' to wear. It's a very small comfortable garment, similar to a loincloth, made of supple black leather that barely covers my miniscule patch of blond pubic hair and maybe a third of my butt. The first time I wear it, I love it because it cradles my large balls impeccably, as if molded to them. Around the top is a belt of metal woven into the leather waistband from which can be suspended weights to aid with my workout. The whole of it is only 28 inches in diameter, but it's a perfect fit and locks into place so that up to twenty additional pounds can be added.
He also presents me with a pair of almost knee-high boots that fit my feet exactly. Made of super expensive black leather, they have many buckles and the soles have thick heavy tread that has enough resilience to render me silent as a cat. Constantine tells me they're expensive, are made to protect my feet and ankles so that I can kick harder without injury in the hot sand of the courtyard, and they'll protect my long, delicate toes. Once they're buckled on, I keep them on for sixteen hours. Constantine tells me in the summer to wear only the priapus and my boots while I train because it's so hot.
The summer heat makes my feet sweat fiercely but the leather soaks it up. And I discover the one drawback of the priapus is that it traps sweat around my balls.
Within just a few days, the outline of my toes permanently stains the top of the leather, and the boots quickly take on my musk. Because of a chemical in my sweat, no foul odor results from my profuse sweating. Constantine says this is a great advantage, because I can wear my boots all day without fear of fungus. Still, he insists that I bathe every single night without exception. Hygiene is extremely important to him, and he drills this into me over and over until I can't sleep without my daily washing.
My training continues, and I grow stronger, swifter, leaner--all of these things at the sake of a life without girls, friends, and Talen.
By mid-summer, I think my body is ugly. I'm nothing but skin-covered muscle. I've thick ropy veins trailing down my arms and over my chest, abdomen, and legs. They even rise up from the priapus that barely covers my groin, set off by my Apollo's belt--the deep triangular cuts in the flesh near my hips. And the globes of my butt don't touch together unless I flex them. At least my face doesn't change. It's the only place on my body that retains a little body fat.
Constantine teaches me new special maneuvers from a style called the "Clicking Lotus." It's an ancient discipline that focuses on the use of the legs and feet. "Clicking Lotus" is all about kicking and there's about twenty different ways to perform a kick, and each one has a different purpose. I practice the wheel kick until I can do one pretty regularly.
Then he tells me it's time to learn the axe kick.
An axe kick, simply put, is a swift downward blow with the feet against a standing opponent. When administered properly, it can knock an opponent to the ground, stunning him, or even knocking him unconscious. The effects vary with the execution. I can jump down onto an opponent, using vertical strikes with the side of my foot, and it might not do anything but make him angry. But that's because I'm not that good at it yet.
So I practice it.
After a week I'm still not much better. So I practice even more.
During master's siesta one afternoon, I visit with the friar in the empty church. I want to know if he's planned anything more regarding the clandestine trip to meet the men who saw Tethyr. I present the friar with half my earnings in tithe, a thing I've been doing for a few weeks now. The friar has a new robe and horse, so things are going well for him. He embraces me, but I feel embarrassed because I threw on master's plain burlap coat over my naked back and button it in front of me. How could I come to a holy place like this? And to make matters worse, underneath, I'm wearing only the priapus and my boots.
"I don't have much time, father," I say. "But is their word?"
He looks at me and says, "There is, child. There is. But won't you have a seat and take off your cloak? Let us catch up. There's always time for god."
"I-I can't. May I leave it on?"
He shakes his head. "No child. Not in the House of Tethyr. He sees into your heart. Hang up your cloak on the peg and sit with me."
I nod and unbutton it. I drape it on the hook next to the door. When I turn around, he's staring at me, mouth agape. I feel ashamed, angry at myself, and stupid.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "It's how I train. It's the heat, and I've not had time to change or bathe. Please...I mean no disrespect."
The friar closes his mouth and tells me to sit. "Apology accepted, Kian. We all came into the world wearing much less."
Feeling a little relieved, I plop down on the chair and wait for him to tell me more.
"I want you to come down here tonight at eleven o'clock. Tell no one. You should come dressed just like that but with a cloak concealing your body of course. Otherwise Tethyr may not recognize you as you've dared to come for consul dressed in these garments." He pauses, glancing down at my boots. "Are those...SWEAT stains on the tops of your boots?"
I nod. "I'm sorry. I can change them-maybe get some new shoes before I go. And I promise to bathe."
"Nonsense. Those are fine. Do NOT change out of them."
"But I bathe--"
He cut me off. "Not tonight. Come as you are from your training. It'll be better that way. I'm preparing a special potion that I'll finish this evening just for you. When you get here, I want you to drink the entire thing without exception. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Father."
"Good. It will purify your inner body to be worthy to receive Tethyr's wisdom." The friar looks about the room and his eyes settle on a jar near his chamber. He walks over to it and brings it back, tipping it to one side, and some clear olive oil flows onto his fingertips. "I must anoint you," he declares.
I nod, listening to him say a couple of magical holy words. He places the oil first on my navel, then my elbows and hands, and finally on my shoulders, the tips of my boots, and on my forehead.
He clears his throat. "I must anoint your genitals, Kian. It's part of the process."
"Of course," I say, and obediently slide the priapus down my muscular thighs. My thick cock spills out and hangs low before my body. He licks his lips to moisten his mouth, probably to say a few more of the holy words. I really admire the fact that he can speak for so long before the congregation and yet his voice never gives out. And then, he goes and makes time for me like this.
The friar firmly takes my balls in his hand, anoints them, and then rubs oil over my penis. I look to the side and think of nothing, but he continues to massage the oil into my skin and smooth it over the glans. The sensation, unfortunately, causes me to respond.
"I'm sorry, Father," I whisper, shutting my eyes tight.
He removes his hand.
"It's all right, Kian. You may cover up again," he says. "But that reaction needs to be controlled. Tethyr will never suffer the presence of a boy who has no discipline."
I swallow, "I've got discipline." I pull the priapus back over my cock which is growing soft again now that I've been disgraced.
"Maybe tonight is not right. I think I'll call this off."
"Please, father. Please don't call it off. I'm truly sorry."
He shakes his head. "I-I just don't believe you, Kian."
Tears stream from my eyes, and my cheeks grow hot. "I'll do anything to prove I'm ready-- to prove my devotion," I whisper.
The friar frowns. "I want this for you, child. Truly, I do." He grips the holy symbol hanging about his neck. I stare at it as he rubs it with the hem of his fine robe.
"There's one penance, swallowing the gift of life from a holy priest of Tethyr. But I'm loathe to suggest that because it would require you to...suck on my cock...and I'm not a faggot. It would be torture for me. I like you, Kian, but I don't want to torture myself."
I wipe the tears away and stare at his fat body. I've done this before with other men, but here, it's different. The idea of the priest cumming in my mouth fills me with revulsion. "Is there another way?" I ask, voice almost a whimper.
"Not if you want to hear Tethyr's voice tonight. Not if you want me to introduce you to those other men. But, it won't work if you're enjoying this, Kian. You grew hard with just my touch. I-I'm not certain if I can trust you."
"It was a reaction," I plead. "I couldn't help myself. I don't find you attractive at all."
The priest frowned and his face took on a greasy shine. "Of course you don't, my child. I'll tell you what, let's go through with this, but I'll ensure that you're not enjoying yourself. How's that sound?"
I blink the tears away, feeling hope surge in my chest. "It sounds wonderful. Like more of a sacrifice to Tethyr."
He walks over to a table and comes back with a rubber mallet. "I'll strike you in the groin with this before you take my cock into your mouth. It's blessed and shall ensure that your sacrifice doesn't go unnoticed. I'll have to sacrifice too, Kian. Just to be erect between your...soft pink lips...I'll have to-" He pauses to look around, "drink from that cup on the shelf. It's a trinket stolen from the shrine of the goddess of love and will allow me to experience a hard on which I normally..." his eyes trail down my body, "be incapable of. But I don't do this lightly. The act will give me nightmares."
I stare at the cup, and then offer him the rest of my money. "This is all that I have. Constantine pays me, and I want to tithe it as penance for my transgression...and as recompense to you for this horrible task that you do for me."
He checks the bag, lifts up the shiny gold coins and lets them tumble through his fingers. "Tethyr accepts your sacrifice. Shall we begin?"
I nod.
He walks over and pours wine into the cup. Then I fall to my knees before him.
The friar pushes me back with his right hand so that my groin is elevated and exposed. The outline of my dick and balls pushes tightly against the strained shiny black leather of the priapus. He strikes me hard with the mallet, and pain surges through me, tears pour from my eyes, and I double over in spasms. When I come up again, he swallows the wine in the cup, parts his robes, and presents me with a rigid cock to wet with my tongue. I'm surprised that he could be hard within an instant of drinking the wine. The magic in the goblet must be powerful.
"Lick it like a kitten would a bowl of milk," he commands.
I oblige and watch his eyes for instruction as I slide my tongue over the end and along the sides, taking his nuts into my mouth one at a time, all the while tears streaming from my eyes. My nuts hurt that badly.
"Cover your fucking teeth," he states, and pushes his dick between my lips.
I nod and work his shaft with my mouth, sucking as hard as I can, and occasionally looking up at him past the roundness of his belly, with the tip of his penis resting against my tongue. And the throbbing grows into a dull pulsating ache between my legs. The priest sets the goblet down on a table and grabs my hair with his fist, thrusting his hips at my mouth.
"Take it all," he whispers, grunting. Then he stabs at the inside of my cheeks with his cock.
Four minutes later, he grabs my ears so roughly with his hands that I think he might tear them off. A second later, hot semen shoots down my throat. He pulls out and spurts a long ropy line across my face and pushes me away with his hand, almost slapping me on the cheek.
"Be here at 11:00 tonight," he commands, covering himself. "You're purified and ready. Say nothing of this to anyone."
I try to get to my feet, but my testicles hurt so much that I can't do so without crying. Still I murmur my thanks, and wipe my face and hands off on the inside of the burlap cloak. I hope I'll have time to wash it before Constantine notices it's missing. Then I leave, feeling the ever present need to throw up. But it's all worth it if I get to hear Tethyr's voice tonight. He's my god, and I will do anything for him.
When I return, Constantine is waiting for me. I quickly throw the burlap cloak in a corner and turn to find him staring at me. But he says nothing. Instead, my master teaches me the basics of a flying double kick and when evening comes, he orders me to practice for several more hours.
"I've an errand to run. You're not to leave here until I return. Is that clear? And you'd better work out the rest of this time, Kian. No resting. You get twenty minutes for a break. That's it. You may also take one hour for dinner, but you'll take your meal here. I've rice for you and fresh smoked fish. You're to eat as much of the fish as possible as you need the protein."
I almost object, but I know better than to question him. "Yes, sir."
I secretly pray that he returns in time for me to make my appointment, especially considering what I went through to be worthy of Tethyr.
So, I do as I'm told. Evening comes. I drink plenty of water, I eat dinner, and I watch as the suns set. I'm in the circle of sand practicing blows on the martial arts dummy when I catch a glint from within Constantine's meditation room that I previously never noticed.
I stop and walk over, sweat falling off of me in rivulets. Hanging from an iron hook pounded into a wooden beam is the friar's holy symbol. It's suspended on a string that drips with blood.
I take it in my hand and stare at its shiny surface.
Then a strong hand grips me by the shoulder, I feel metal nails dig into my tender skin. Constantine whirls me around but without scratching me. I see the nails are from his gauntlets--he can easily rip the flesh from my bones with a single strike.
My master is dressed from head-to-toe in armor, wearing a black cape with a white fur-lined cowl. Taller than me by almost four inches, I cower before him.
"Stupid boy," he says. "I should cut your face."
I tremble, but I've no idea to what he's referring. Or at least--I don't want to know. I don't want to think that he's killed my friend.
Then I spy something in the shadows of the dojo. It's a bloody sack. I spot the balding pate of the friar's severed head. Next to it are three large lumps...men I've never seen before.
I turn to him with wide eyes, "W-why?"
He grips me about the throat and pulls out a knife. Without warning, he presses the sharp blade carefully to my cheek just below the right eye. "When I was growing up, I hated pretty boys. I'd say they were like you but there's no one like you, Kian. Do you have any idea how rare you are? No one has this color hair, or your eyes, or this body. No one." He pauses before slamming me up against the wall. The priest's holy symbol falls out of my fingers. "Let me get one thing straight with you. I own you. I own this body. If I wanted to fuck it every night, I would. But I'm not into that. Instead, I've chosen to make you my apprentice. Do you have any idea what kind of investment that is?"
I didn't answer.
"I hated you the moment I saw you because you were so pretty. I wanted to break you in two, see you fail, and hurl you from the rooftop to watch you splat against the street. But you've got incredible athletic gifts, my apprentice. Your looks, however, are a distraction. They're causing people to notice you and that shines light on me. I don't like the light. That priest was going to seriously hurt my investment. I don't care that you gave him all your money. I do care that he sold you to three Timeron Knights for enough platinum to afford a mansion near the rainbow gardens. All with the promise that they'd get to breed you until your anus ripped asunder from so much use. And then they'd start eating you piece by piece. They had no respect for my property, and that seriously pisses me off."
I start to cry. "He said I'd get to hear Tethyr's voice."
"A priest of the god of cutthroats and thieves lied to you," he scoffs, letting go of me, but leaving blood from his victims on my skin. "That's why I'm moving you here. I forbid you to sleep anywhere else from this day forward. I've made a room for you next to mine. You'll rest there, take your meals with me, bathe every night in the tub that I have, and if you leave this area for any reason, you'll wear a long-sleeved shirt, full pants, and a mask on your face."
He pulls out an elaborate thing of silver and black leather. It has holes for the nostrils, eyes, and mouth. Then, he hands it to me. I see immediately that it's designed to slip over the head, covering the hair and chin, but leaving the neck exposed. "You'll also wear this cloak." He tosses me one similar to his, with a hood made of black leather and ringed in white fur.
"But it's summer," I pleaded. "It's very hot."
"It will cool soon," he says, turning his back to me. "Kian, this is important. I want no one to know that you work for me, and you attract a lot of attention by just being you. I've killed boys for far less than what I'm asking, and that's because I need your talent. If you refuse to wear the mask, I'll disfigure your face. Mark my word, it'll happen right now. Don't make me do that to you." He turns around and I see compassion for the first time in his eyes. "You're a rose growing in my garden. I hate to pluck it before its time."
I swallow, look at my hands, and whisper. "Yes, master. I-I'm sorry. I'll wear the mask, always, outside this place. I swear to you."
He walks forward then and hugs me. I smell the stink of fresh blood on him. "I'm sorry," he says, patting me with his cruel gauntlets.
"For what?" I ask. "Killing the friar?"
"For NOT killing him sooner," Constantine states. "I'll kill Whistler tomorrow for having sent you to him in the first place. You can't tell me that fool of a dwarf didn't know what kind of predator the friar was. I just wish I could have prevented the friar from molesting you. He used his religious influence to take advantage of a child that has only curiosity for the gods."
"God," I say. "Only one god...Tethyr."
"Let me tell you something," Constantine says. "Tethyr is a bastard. He's a thieving conniving son of a bitch and answers no prayers. But to those who serve him faithfully, like myself, there are rewards to be had. Trust no one that follows him, not even me."
"I've no choice, but to trust you," I say.
He nods. "I know. You're my property. But if you're wise, you'll start using that brain of yours to figure out some way to prevent me from killing you if there's ever a time when you outlive your usefulness. All roses die, Kian. In the end, winter comes for us all."
He starts to move away when I step forward, "Am I grounded to this place then? Am I to never have any friends?"
"I didn't say that," Constantine replies. "You may have guests here as long as you aren't training. The boy...Talen...you fancy him, I know. Or Ambrell, for example, should you want to swing that way. But you must never speak of me." He looks once over his shoulder. "I know you like Talen. He's smarter than you. You'd be wise to foster that friendship or more if you desire. Just make sure that your relationship does not impact your training one bit. If it does, I'll make you castrate him right before I kill him."
I shall post Chapter Eight next weekend. Thanks for reading