Chapter 11 - Osapi

She heard an unexpected sound coming from the direction of the road. In one fluid motion, she was sitting on her heels, ready to spring to her feet in an instant. She scanned the shadows, listening intently for more clues. There it was again. The sound of cloth rustling. She moved quickly sideways, slipping out of the immediate circle of light cast by the fire.
Years of practice kicked in. In seconds, she had an arrow on the bow, aimed, and released. It struck the trunk of a tree, startling someone hidden beside it. Knowing his exact position, she had a knife under his chin before he could move.
"Please," the man pleaded, sounding shocked.
She yanked him out into the light. He couldn't have been more than twenty, taller than her, which was an achievement, with long ginger hair in a braid and bright blue eyes. His clothes and demeanor suggested a possible warrior, though his age made him likely an apprentice with too little experience to handle a problematic situation. She saw no other weapons besides a knife, indicating a lack of preparation.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Just someone."
An idiotic answer. Anger flared in her. She grabbed his wrist and wrenched the knife from his grip.
"Exactly where do you think an answer like that will lead?"
He didn't reply, but confusion clouded his face, not defiance.
"There's a reason you're at the mercy of a warrior your senior by far more than you right now. If you want to stay alive, you'd better show some capability and prove your life worth sparing. Stupid answers don't help."
The young man tried to free himself. She had never behaved so foolishly in the hands of an enemy. It was silly even to try.
"First of all," she continued, "accept your failure and don't insult your captor by thinking you'll escape. I'm in no mood for foolery, and you'll end up dead if you continue." He stopped struggling. "Thank you. I'm going to teach you a lesson, boy, because you seem to need it. When you get caught—and you will from time to time—no one is interested in keeping you alive if you behave like a toddler caught snatching cookies. Civilized behavior and information exchange are your only chance."
"Ha!" he snorted. "Like I would ever tell you who I work for."
"So, you do work for someone, and your reason for sneaking behind the trees wasn't innocent." She grinned at the stupid look on his face. "Then I’d say it's Oon Barsate who sent you to kill the boy over there, am I right?"
The man hesitated before answering, "Yes."
"Never, ever, expose your employer, boy! There are other pieces of information you can share, but don't confirm or deny who sent you. That's a question you should never answer." Her anger turned to amusement. What kind of master did this whelp have? He was old enough to know better.
"So, if I let you go, what will you do?"
"Go back home?"
"Good. And?"
"I tell them I killed the boy?"
"Wrong. Don't lie. You want your employer to trust you. If you can't be trusted, they'll pay you nothing, and you won't get any new missions. It's not about your ego; it's about building a good reputation and getting paid jobs. You're not the hero, son; you're a hired hand doing a dangerous and awful job. No dragons to slay, no damsels in distress. Remember that."
She released him, and he stumbled backward. He lingered at the edge of the light.
"Thank you," he mumbled, still not leaving.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Osapi."
"Go home in peace, Osapi."
He gazed at her with eyes full of respect and wonder. Then he turned and ran. She listened as his footsteps faded into the distance along the road.
So Oon Barsate had sent this Osapi to kill Putt. Or maybe even to kill both of them. Why? Did she truly think Putt was so dangerous he needed to be killed? Or was it some twisted sense of justice? She might never know. What was certain was that Putt wasn't safe. She couldn't count on Oon giving up. Maybe she would, but it was a dangerous assumption. Tomorrow they would have to move the camp.




It was his third mission on his own. They had all been the same: killing people. He felt like an assassin. This was not what he thought it would be like to be a warrior. It was not noble to kill people when they were vulnerable, in their sleep, or unarmed. This time, he was sent to kill an old woman and her grandchild. All the way there, he thought about how he could avoid it; what he could do to keep his reputation and his master and still feel he kept his honor.
He had not made up his mind when he stood among the trees watching them by the campfire. First, he had decided he would only kill the old woman, but when he saw the boy lying in pain by the fire, he realized the boy would not be able to run. Maybe he would not even be able to leave on foot at any speed. He would probably starve to death. Osapi felt a cold lump in his stomach. He leaned against the trunk of the tree where he was hiding.
When he turned towards the couple by the fire again, the woman was gone. An arrow jammed itself into the tree where he stood, just a hands-width from killing him. Shocked, he stumbled sideways. He felt a hand grabbing him and a sharp edge against his throat.
Was he about to die? Now? No!
“Please,” he squeaked.
“Who are you?” she demanded. She made the mistake of talking first. Good. He collected his racing thoughts.
“Just someone.”
“Exactly where do you think an answer like that will lead?” What? This was not how it was supposed to go. “There's a reason you're at the mercy of a warrior your senior by far more than you right now. If you want to stay alive, you'd better show some capability and prove your life worth sparing. Stupid answers don't help”
His mind raced again in panic. Something went wrong here. He did not know what. The woman might be old, but she was tall and strong, and he felt utterly small. He was in the hands of another warrior, far more skilled than he. ‘Old woman’ indeed. Who had underestimated the target with such huge leaps? The warrior behind him continued:
"First of all, accept your failure and don't insult your captor by thinking you'll escape. I'm in no mood for foolery, and you'll end up dead if you continue." Osapi stopped at once. He did not want to die. Not this way. Not today. "Thank you. I'm going to teach you a lesson, boy, because you seem to need it. When you get caught—and you will from time to time—no one is interested in keeping you alive if you behave like a toddler caught snatching cookies. Civilized behavior and information exchange are your only chance."
“Ha!” he snorted back. “Like I would ever tell you who I work for.”
“So, you do work for someone, and your reason for sneaking behind the trees was not innocent.” He felt his cheeks getting hot. She had fooled him and knew it. “Then I would say it’s Oon Barsate who has sent you to kill the boy over there, am I right?”
Should he say he was sent to kill them both? He decided to just answer the question that was asked:
“Yes.”
“Never, ever, expose your employer, boy!”
Who was this woman? He did not feel mocked, but taught, like she was educating her prisoner. He wished he did not have a sharp blade under his chin, because he wanted to focus on what she was saying.
“There are other pieces of information you can share,” she continued, “but don't confirm or deny who sent you. That's a question you should never answer. So, if I let you go, what will you do?”
“Go back home?”
“Good. And?”
“I tell them I killed the boy?”
“Wrong. Don't lie. You want your employer to trust you. If you can't be trusted, they'll pay you nothing, and you won't get any new missions. It's not about your ego; it's about building a good reputation and getting paid jobs. You're not the hero, son; you're a hired hand doing a dangerous and awful job. No dragons to slay, no damsels in distress. Remember that.”
She let go of him, and he stumbled a few steps backward. He lingered by the edge of the light. He felt no fright, no panic, just amazement. This was what a warrior should be.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, still not leaving.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Osapi.”
“Go home in peace, Osapi.” He gazed at her with respect and wonder. Then he turned and ran. Not because he was scared, but because he felt like a simple, unskilled coward.
Osapi ran through the trees, his mind racing with everything the woman had said. Oon Barsate had sent him to kill Putt, and maybe even the old woman, but he had failed. And instead of feeling shame, he felt a strange sense of relief. He had been shown mercy and given advice that resonated with him. He realized now that being a warrior was not about killing for the sake of it. It was about something deeper, something he had yet to understand fully.
As he ran, he thought about his future. He couldn’t go back to Oon Barsate and tell her he had failed. He needed to find a new path, one that aligned with the lessons the warrior had taught him. He would need to find a way to become a true warrior, one who fought with honor and purpose.
The night was dark, but Osapi felt a new sense of clarity. He would remember the woman’s words and strive to live by them. He would become the kind of warrior she would respect, one who understood that the strength of a warrior lay not just in their ability to fight, but in their wisdom and integrity.
For now, he needed to survive and find a place to start over. He would need to train harder, learn more, and most importantly, understand the true essence of being a warrior. As he disappeared into the night, Osapi felt a renewed sense of purpose, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with the lessons he had learned tonight.