The Eclipse Sword: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: GIGI

2.30 AM, 25. 05. 2030.

I spin the arrow around my finger. My cap and my buff protect my face from the building that is on fire next to me. My assailant sits across from me, a dagger in his ribcage.

“You missed,” he tells me. 

“Well,” I reply, “I was aiming for your shoulder.” 

He grins. “Ah, I’m getting to you.” He says, and I smile.

“I’m deciding whether to twist the knife,” I reply. He looks down to where he is bleeding out, clearly in pain. “So, do you need this back, or…?” he asks me, trying hard not to squint.

I frown heavily at him. “You’re asking if you can keep the knife in your ribcage?” I ask. 

“Yes, it’s very… homey. 

“It’s a freaking knife!” I say. He shrugs, and I groan.

I place my arrow back in the arrow sack. I step closer to him, until we’re only a few inches apart. “Look, tough guy. Can we just get this over with? I got things to do.” He frowns. “Get this over with? Darling, you’re the one interrogating me.” He drawls. Now I’m really annoyed. I narrow my eyes at him again. “Well, what do you want to know?” he asks.

“Admit to me that you attempted murder,” I reply and press the recorder. 

“But I didn’t murder them,” he says. 

“But you poisoned them,” I say again. “Look, I don’t like them any more than you do.” 

He sighs. “Got that right. That's why I poisoned them.” 

His eyes widen with the realisation of what he confessed. I press the recorder again and smile. “No, please! Do you know what they do to people who tell, once they find out?” he begs. I turn around, a smile still plastered on my face.

“Oh, I don’t care,” I reply. “That’s not really my problem,” I say. 

“And you say you assassinate for the good of the better,” he says, and looks at the recorder in my hand. “I do, just not to mutts like you,” I reply. “And I’m giving this to The Crescent Sword,” I say He panics at the name of the underground assassin organisation. 

I draw another arrow and shoot it at the roof across from us. The fletchings of the arrow dislocate from the rest of the arrow, making a zipline way across for me.

Once I land, I turn my cape inside out, so that the colour is dark red. I wrap it around my waist so it now acts as a skirt. I french-braid my hair, using a water puddle as a mirror. I stare at my reflection and drop the recorder in the pocket of my cap.

I peel off my sleeves, tie them into a bow at the side of my skirt, and put my long braid over my shoulder. Then, I grab a nearby rock and scrape the mud off my heels, and I head home. 

 It’s not my real home, but wherever they go, I go. The door creaks, and a tall, muscular man opens it. I look up at him, and he glares at me. I clear my throat. I turn around and wipe the concealer off just below my neck. The password is the initiation tattoo—a crescent moon at the hilt of a sword.

 I replace my braid over the tattoo. The man nods and steps aside. I enter and ask the man, “Sicarius vel fucis?” which, from Latin, translates directly to assassins, or disguises?  I need to ask for confirmation: are we undercover, or is this a safehouse? “Sicarius.” He replies. So I braided my hair for nothing? I take off my cape and hand it to him.

He laughs deeply. “That was not in Liam’s letter, was it?” he asks, in a Southern drawl, referring to the head of the organisation. I look at him and ask, “Former military, new security?” He tilts his head to the side.

“Close. Former sheriff. But I am new security; you got that much.” He extends his hand towards me. He looks about my age, maybe 1 year younger. “Jett Chase, and you are?” I shake his hand. 

“Gianna Williams, my friends call me Gigi. Or, at least they would if I had any friends.” That gets a laugh out of him. I hand him my bow and arrow as well. “Find a place for this?” I ask. His lips tilt upward. “No problem.” He says. We both head in opposite directions. My stiletto boots click across the floor.

I come to the living room. The boys are drinking beer and watching a baseball game. I smile. “Go Yankees!” I say, with a fist in the air. They turn around. “Hey Gigi,” they all say in unison.

“Hey, boys.” I greet back. The rest of the men are playing poker with the two women. Wesley is sitting next to Nora, his hand wrapped tightly around her waist. He nudges her side and tickles her slightly, making her smile.

I greet them, and Nora greets me. Wesley nods towards the back, where I’m guessing Liam is. I open the door to Liam’s new office. “Gigi! Back already? Have a seat,” he says lazily.

I take a seat across from him and rant on about the burning building and the annoying assailant that I struggled to get information out of. He grins, listening to me. His black hair is ruffled up, and his light brown eyes look darker than usual.

“Do you have proof of this confession?” he asks me. I take the recorder from my pocket and place it on the table.

“Job well done, Gigi,” Liam says. I haven’t heard anyone call me by my full name in a while. “Here’s your payment,” he says as he hands me a small bag of money. I stare at it.

“You know how I feel about getting paid for jobs like this,” I say. He sighs. “It doesn’t feel right -” I begin, but he cuts me off. “Yes, I know. It doesn’t feel right to get paid for something that is said to be for the greater good. I do not do it for the money,” he says, laughing. If I didn’t know him, I’d wonder why he’s the leader. I head out and sit down for a game of poker. Wes’s poker face is good; mine is better.