Chapter 13: Ra'Jeem

Ra'Jeem sat on the floor by the edge of his twin-sized bed. A cool breeze wafted in from his open window, finally offering a little relief from the stifling heat. It was early, very early, but Ra'Jeem enjoyed the predawn stillness, the time to himself. It wasn't that he didn't like people, because he did, but when you lived in a house with four other Disciples, sharing a sitting area and bathroom, it could be hard to find any quiet time alone.

He sat with his back to his bed, facing the window so the sunrise would signal the end of his meditation. His long, slender face was at rest, and his chest bare, revealing a slight tuft of black hair below his throat. Harem pants covered his crossed legs, and his feet were also bare. A slight twitch in one of his feet broke his concentration, but he tried to recover it. Breaking his concentration had been fairly easy to do the last few days. Ra'Jeem had been thinking about Master Zorrik ever since the night they met. He'd heard the legends told about the man, had watched him on missions, or from across a crowded courtyard, but despite having trained in the same building for the past thirty years, they'd never actually spoken until the night of the banquet.

Ra'Jeem's eyes opened. The sky was starting to lighten, so he conceded that he might as well wrap things up. He'd managed to calm his mind better than he had the morning before, and even a small victory was still a victory. He stretched his arms and legs and then stood to greet the day.

Before long, his housemates were coming out of their bedrooms, either leaving to join their students at the cafeteria or fixing themselves something to eat in the small, makeshift kitchen they shared. Ra'Jeem nodded at them as he stepped out of his room. He was fully dressed now, wearing his long blue robes, tied with a black sash at his waist, and his black hair was tied up. He usually opted to eat with the Novices and Apprentices, so he bid his housemates farewell and walked out the front door to join the throng.

The cafeteria was always bustling in the morning. It was the only time the Assassins-in-training got to have a meal together, as the rest of the meals rotated around practice schedules. Ra'Jeem liked the noise, not for the sound itself, but for the observations he could make. He loved to watch people, to learn about them without the need to ask them questions. He got a plate of food from the self-service counter at the front of the room and then sat down at a table by himself. The food was nutritious, packed with the protein and calories that training would require. Ra'Jeem only picked at it, though, more interested in his fellow Assassins than eating, even though he could hear one of his old teacher's voices berating him for not being mindful as he ate. Ra'Jeem smiled at the thought and took another bite of egg as he glanced out at the tables beyond. There were quite a few Disciples this morning, most of them with morning classes or training, and they'd be wrangling the children as soon as they finished up eating.

Suddenly, Ra'Jeem's reverie was broken by a gang of three nervous-looking boys. They seemed to materialize in his field of vision, and he looked at them with a patient smile.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked.

The boys prodded one another and whispered into each other's ears until one of them finally worked up the courage to quietly say, "Is it true you met Master Zorrik?"

Ra'Jeem chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I talked to him for a few minutes at the banquet."

The boys whispered exclamations of awe and disbelief, but before they could ask any more questions, a Disciple called them over, and their class left the cafeteria.

Ra'Jeem shook his head as they left, but he could understand how they felt. He quickly finished up his breakfast before anyone else got the notion to ask him questions, and then went back to his house to prepare for morning training. Luckily, he wasn't teaching that day and had the morning to himself to sharpen his own skills. Hanging on his wall, in a place of honor, was a leather scabbard. In it was a short, but very powerful scimitar, whose edge tapered into a wide curve. He tied the scabbard around his waist and then made for the training courtyard.

There was a group of Apprentices working on their fighting stances to one side of the dirt-covered training ground. Luckily, they were old enough not to become distracted by his sword play. The morning was starting to warm, so he removed the scabbard and gently laid it down on a bench before untying his sash and taking off his outer robe. Bare chested again, he pulled the gleaming scimitar from its scabbard and moved to an open area away from the trees. He took a few breaths, his scimitar held with both hands around the hilt, as if in prayer, and his eyes closed. Then he set his jaw and stepped forward, swinging the sword in a low, steady arc as he crouched low. Then he quickly brought the blade back toward him as he stepped back into his original position. The scimitar was not built for thrusting, but slashing, so Ra'Jeem continued swinging gracefully, each time with the scimitar and his body in a different position.

Before long, his breath began to quicken, and a sheen of sweat covered his chest and back. As he was about to finish his set, though, a messenger walked toward him and bowed his head. Ra'Jeem lowered his blade and nodded back.

"The Grand Assassin would like to speak with you," the messenger said.

Ra'Jeem took a breath and frowned. The Grand Assassin rarely met with anyone, much less a Disciple.

"He wants to see me?" he asked, as if he'd misheard.

"Yes," the messenger answered. "He wants to see you on the roof of the training building." He turned to walk away and then looked back. "And he wants to see you now."