Die Twice- Shadow's Call, page 1
part #1 of The Assassin's Gift Series
Die Twice: Shadow’s Call
The Assassin’s Gift: Book 1
Honie Jar
Contents
1. Die Twice: Shadow’s Call
2. The Descent
3. The Awakening
4. The Den of Thieves
5. The Initiation
6. The Jewel of the Sea
7. Nothing is True
8. The Prodigal Father
9. The Sealed Vow
10. We Are Assassins
Die Twice: Shadow’s Call Rulebook
1. The Doctrine: The Nine Degrees
2. Clan Rank: Levels
3. Attributes and Abilities
4. Skills
The Ascendancy of Unity
1. Nafasam Clan
2. The Shield
3. Assembly of the Undead
4. The Qurinas
5. The Sacred Band of Çiriş
6. Brigade of Torment
7. Clan of Bahram
Kazeveh
1. Bakahisar
2. Çiriş
3. Nirim
4. Zamer
5. Abastan
6. Adar
7. Khora
Weapons
1. Blunt Weaponry
2. Swords
3. Kukri
4. Spear
5. Daggers
6. Air Propelled Weaponry
7. Pyrotechnic Weaponry
8. Axes
9. Bows
10. Short Blades
11. Poisons
Character Sheets
1. Asha Ayari
2. Leila Iravani
3. Armin Kamali
4. Yasamin Mobasseri
5. Dana Farzan
6. Ramin Balkhi
7. Ervin Darvish
8. Donya Keshmiri
9. Bijan Hakimi
Also by Honie Jar
About Honie Jar
Also Published by Bardic Inspirations
1 Die Twice: Shadow’s Call
2 The Descent
I was in the death struggle with self: God and Satan fought for my soul those three long hours. God conquered — now I have only one doubt left — which of the twain was God?
Aleister Crowley
Today was a good day to get out of jail. Like the times before, her belongings, collected at the time of her arrest, dumped out on the counter. The figurative and literal pelvic exam of all of her stuff on display for everyone to see. Asha had grown accustomed to this tradition, since it meant that it was almost time to leave this place. All she owned, poured within a square foot. This was humiliating, but the only way to leave. She had mixed feelings about leaving. On one hand, she longed for her freedom, and on the other, she was not entirely free. Like clockwork, she would return to a different prison.
The fluorescent light nearly blinded Asha as it reflected off of the white counter. “Is everything there?” asked the guard, unsympathetically, not even look in Asha’s direction. The guard was mandated to ask and return all the inmate’s property to them that were collected while they held her in custody. She was following protocol.
Asha looked at the items spread across the counter. Her eyes squinting from the contrast of her dark cell to the stark luminance of the administration office. Scarf, check. Beanie, check. Purse, check. Asha was familiar with this procedure, she was well aware they would not give the contraband she had on her back. She would see them again during the trial, that she was certain. Aram would be beyond furious when would find out that all the drugs were entered into evidence. The case the district attorney would build against her. Asha’s stomach dropped at the notion of telling Aram they picked her up during the drop-off.
She dug through her purse, alarmed when her fingers did not touch the cool glass of her cell phone.
“Where’s my phone?” Asha asked.
The guard behind the counter checked her paperwork affixed to a clipboard. “That was entered into evidence.” Looking back at Asha, the first time she looked in her direction, the female guard said, “But you can use our phones. You can make one complimentary phone call upon your release. Any others, you will have to dial collect.”
Asha nodded, and answered, “No, unnecessary.”
The guard asked, “Do you need a ride or a bus ticket?”
Fully aware that a drop off by a police cruiser would cause more harm than good, Asha answered, “Bus ticket.”
The guard went back into the office, returning with a ticket in her hand. “Here’s a one-way ticket. Since you are being released on your own recognizance, I will need your signature on this line right here,” explained the guard, her finger pointing to the spot where the courts required Asha to sign, confirming that she would appear at her trial. The arraignment earlier in the morning had Asha returning to the court in three weeks. In the meantime, Asha would need to either keep her public defender or hire counsel.
Asha signed on the line and the guard gave her the one-way bus ticket. Without a word or response, Asha took the ticket, her belongings, and turned toward the door to freedom. Standing in front of the only barrier that kept her from being inside to the clean fresh air she yearned to breathe once again, she waited. The triple-locked door, the main exit for anyone released out of the prison was the only thing that stood in her way. The guard came around the counter and unlocked the door for her, holding it open while Asha passed through it.
“Bus stop is on the corner of Fifth and Main,” the guard said as she shut the door and locked it behind Asha. Asha knew where the bus stop was. This was not her first rodeo. She was surprised that once again, the judge released her on her own recognizance and did not require her to pay bail since this had been the fifth time authorities had picked her up.
As usual, Asha felt a momentary moment of mourning. Freedom was what she wanted but emerging from the safety of the confines of her cell to her real-life always bore anxiety for Asha. She knew what she was returning to. She paused briefly as she stepped out. Even though she was only detained for twelve hours, the daylight seemed brighter, the air fresher, and the world lighter.
Tightening her scarf around her neck to keep the flesh of her neck warm, Asha trekked down the street to the bus stop. Detained at night, Asha did not have her sunglasses on her, so it required her to squint at the morning rays. She did not wait long until the city bus came by, stopping in front of her.
Releasing her complimentary one-way ticket to the driver as she entered, she wondered if she just took it to anywhere. Anywhere but the home she had to return. She knew what was waiting for her, and like a beaten dog, she returned to her owner.
* * *
As the bus made its route, the notion of not getting off at her stop crossed her mind. However, she had nowhere to go, no money, nothing but the few items she had in her purse. Not even a cell phone anymore. So, when the bus pulled up to her stop, Asha felt herself lift off the seat as if she was in an out-of-body experience, trying to fight herself and her hypnotized mind, but the conflict was futile and her face was once again met with the crisp air as her body found its way off of the bus.
Fences lined the sidewalk, outlining the private property as she made her way down the street. She ran her fingers over the chain links as she walked, a momentary distraction, her mind mesmerized by the movement of her phalanges. The chain-link fence had ended, and Asha knew what was next.
Turing into the yard after the end of the fence, Asha walked up the path to the front door. Not having any keys to the house, she lifted her closed fist to wrap on the door, but before her knuckles touched the wood, the door gave way.
“Bitch! Where have you been?” an angry voice came from the opened door. Asha knew the voice but did not see him. Without a response, she walked through the open door. Immediately, her head was pulled to the side as she felt a hand grab a fist full of her long brown hair.
“Bitch! Answer me when I speak to you!” the voice persisted. Asha yelled in pain but refrained from making too much noise not to alarm the neighbors. That would only make things worse.
“Did your stupid ass get snatched up again?” the voice interrogated, Asha now down on her knees while her hair kept her gaze to the ground, her hair the teether. The pulsating rage radiated from his hand that held her head close to the floor.
While her eyes were on the floor, the black boots within her sight. One of the boots left the floor out of her field of vision. Darkness.
“Get him!”
“Mother fucker!”
“Fucking whore! I will get you!”
The familiar sounding burly voice woke Asha as she came back to consciousness. Oh, right? She had just come back home. Her eyes opened, the laminate hardwood floor panels right next to the corner of her eye, the cool surface against her cheekbone.
She lifted her body, struggling to get to a seated position. There, Aram and Bashar sat on the couch, engrossed in their video game, yelling at each other. Asha got to her feet, standing up and joining them on the couch to watch.
“Look who’s up,” Bashar announced.
“Can’t believe she was so stupid to do a deal with a snitch,” muttered Aram as Asha sat down next to him.
As Asha sat next to Aram, he affectionately put a hand on her knee. “And the whore had two whole on her,” projected Aram to Bashar.
“Fuck!”
“But she will work it off tonight.”
Still groggy, Asha looked at Aram. She nodded and put her head down. The two on the couch did not skip a beat. As they played their favor
Aram turned to Asha, “Want to play?” he asked, handing her the controller. “I have some phone calls to make before tonight. I will line up your entire night.” Aram paused the game while he handed her the gaming controller. After getting up and getting halfway the hallway, he turned and said, “Two whole is a lot of work. Hope you’re ready!”
Asha took a deep sigh at the thought and un-paused the game to pick up where Aram left off. Bashar said to Asha, “I’ll be your cover. Make your way down that corridor. We are trying to seize the fallen temple of Çiriş now.”
As instructed, Asha moved the controller with her thumb, guiding the dark-cloaked, hood assassin down the corridor while Bashar held her cover in the split screen, protecting her character with a crossbow.
For a moment, Asha lost herself in the game. The intrigue and mystery of the game, wondering what would come next. Asha transported herself to the land of Kazeveh, a world of enchantment and vibrant colors. She played Aram’s character Ivan, a member of the Clan of Bahram, a new initiate into the clan whose sole mission was to restore the High Priest to power, the sole guardian of Druheqir, their sacred religion.
Asha could hear Aram from the bedroom as he made a phone call after a phone call, lining up the johns for Asha. He did not pimp her out as much as he once did, but he knew the amount she lost was enormous, and the supplier would need their cut in a few days. As Asha saw it, there was the only way.
Aram returned from the bedroom and sat between Asha and Bashar. “Give me that,” he shouted as he took the gaming controller from her hands, her grasp no match for his burley palms.
“Hey!” Asha shouted, a rare act of resistance. Over the years, she learned that fighting Aram was far more treacherous than giving in. In a way, she developed Stockholm syndrome, identifying with Aram’s wants and needs.
“Bitch, you had your turn. You need to get ready for tonight,” barked Aram.
This was a rare occurrence, allowing Asha to play the Ascendancy of Unity. Most of the time, Asha watched as he and Bashar played. She had become enthralled with the storyline and how the clans that once formed an alliance to ensure sovereignty over their land were now in an upheaval with the new King of Kazeveh who took power after the death of the previous High Priest.
“Go get ready,” repeated Aram. Not seeing any other options in the matter, Asha reluctantly got up from the couch and trounced to the bathroom, her purse in hand.
Slamming the door behind her, she wished she was somewhere other than there. Bouncing around from foster home to foster home, when Asha turned eighteen and aged out of the foster care system, she met what she thought was the man of her dreams, Aram. They had the same heritage, being from Kazeveh and meeting at the local mosque. As Aram courted Asha, while she worked at a clerk at the local Ninety-nine, she became convinced that Aram would provide for her and believed his promises.
Little did Asha know that Aram was involved in a drug ring, and to fulfill her dreams, he would need her to deliver the goods from the deals he lined up. When they came up short, he would need her to turn tricks to keep them afloat and their suppliers happy.
Asha realized that she was fed a bunch of lies, but after the curtain was pulled and she saw the wizard, it was already too late. Asha had to where to turn as she had excluded herself from the few friend and connections she made while growing up. Without a family and support system to pull her out, she had no one. No one but Aram.
However, all of this was tiring for Asha. She was tired of using her body to come up with the money for the suppliers when Aram could not make his quota. She was tired of nights in jail and morning arraignments. She was tired of sleeping on the mattress on the floor in the basement while she heard Aram bang his latest conquest above her, her replacement. Yet, they were all on the same road as her.
Tired of it all, Asha rummaged through her purse, frantic. Looking for the concealed blade hidden in a tube of lipstick. Fiddling through the various compacts, the eye shadows, the blushes, and the various other lipstick tubes she had in her satchel, she found the one she was looking for.
Relieved that the intake guards did not take it, as it was an illegal weapon, she pushed the release of the spring-loaded blade that the acrylic tube of lipstick concealed.
The two-inch blade emerged with a dash and the sharp silver metal sat atop the lipstick tube handle of the knife. Realizing this was her only way out, Asha turned on the facet of the sink to muffle the sound. This was a rarity that the water had not been turned off. Another relief.
She began cutting her wrist with the blade, making a gentle incision from the base of her palm to the she watched the blood emerge. Both pain and relief came over her as the blood escaped.
Realizing that something like this would take forever, she went to the bathtub and plugged the drain and turned the facet. Hopeful that Aram would only suspect she was bathing for the big night ahead of her she stripped naked and got in the full tub of hot water.
The tub with hot water would plum her veins and keep them open while the blood escaped. She was fearful of the unknown and what she would meet on the other side, but whatever she would meet was more palatable than the night she would endure.
She sank into the warm water that engulfed her body, making her feel warm like a cocoon. Taking the lipstick knife with her when she entered the tub, she picked it back up and put it to her wrist. She focused on all the pain and suffering she endured during her life. How she never had parents, a home, and very few friends. Her only sense of community was joining the mosque and that was tainted now because that is where she met Aram.
She took her right arm and turned it palm side up. She held the lipstick knife in her left hand because she knew it was important to make the first cut with the nondominant hand.
She did not want to try slashing her wrist with her fumbling left hand while it was gushing out blood.
Instead, she opted to have the dominant and familiar hand do the hard work.
She played the tip of the knife on her forearm about two thirds of the way from her wrist to her elbow, the blade facing her palm. She cuts through the flesh all the way along the vein toward her wrist. Making the slash straight down. She was careful not to sever any tendons in her hand because she would need it for the next arm.
She repeated the slice with the right hand, realizing the cuts were easier to make.
After successfully slashing both of her wrists, she leaned back into the warm water. She focused on the growing peach and tranquility she felt as the loose of blood make her feel steadily weaker. The bathwater turned crimson from the outpouring of her life, and she revealed in the thought that Aram might have to prostitute himself tonight to make up for the short fall of the supply. Then she thought again and realized that the burden would be passed on from one of the other whores he seduced into this life.
A gentle peace fell over her as she no longer worried about the beating from Aram, not having any choices in her life and looking forward to what the next life would bring. She closed her eyes as her conscience faded to black and the bathwater penetrated her nostrils.
