Confronting the Myst: Inner Badgering

By Josiah Snyder

A group of misfit assassins are abruptly thrown off course by an unknown enemy. They discover new friends along the way, trying to unify their company so they may defeat their great opposer. But will they remain unified? Will one of their own turn on them and become the enemy themself? Join Sto, Ismay, and a host of other characters as they depart on this adventure. They must overcome an enemy from the outside, but also learn to defeat the enemy within themselves. Facing death, past memories, and their wandering hope this inexperienced group learns how to persevere past death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669855279

Josiah Snyder

Growing up, Josiah Snyder enjoyed reading and exploring his imagination, and was soon inspired to take on his own project. He began writing early on, but it was in high school where he found his passion and began writing Confronting the Myst: Inner Badgering. Since then, he has completed this book as a part of the Confronting the Myst trilogy. He also enjoys playing card games and sports, hiking, or being involved in a small group study.

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Copyright © 2022 by Josiah Snyder.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/08/2022

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER ONE

I PULLED A DAGGER out of the man’s chest, blood dripping down my arm. I had prepared for this moment most of my life, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the feeling of killing another man; and yet the worst is yet to come, I know: dismemberment of the body. But that was how I had to look at it. A body. Not Lord Briding, a human being with family. It was just a body. Cringing, I bent down and started to work on it. I knew this kill was a test, to see if I was diligent enough for the task of ending another human’s life. And I showed I am. But even with all the training, a morbid feeling in my gut would not go away. I couldn’t stop seeing the eyes of the Lord—the terror within them as he realized his end. But it had to be done. I will do as my employer Percival Jevlin tells me, no questions asked. He has his reasons for wanting people dead, and it wasn’t we the assassin’s job to question his motives.

The young man winced slightly at the uneasy feeling that had settled over him as he replayed the recent adventure he had undergone. This was tougher than he imagined, and now he realized the little glamour of becoming an assassin did not exist. He looked up into the sky, wondering whether he would ever be able to find enjoyment in this duty. The ride back was a long and degrading one.

~

How did he do?

Percival looked up from his desk. Although a fire was blazing behind him, a distinct chill always covered his study. Percival did not feel it. No, many thought he was the cause of it. For those who entered always noticed a drastic change in the air. The study was small, decorated darkly with maroon and black colors spread throughout. Bookshelves spread on either side of the room and a huge desk where Percival resided lay in the middle, making the room even more cramped. The fire was the only light, casting eerie shadows amongst the other objects in the room. Percival waved in the visitor and gestured him to a chair.

He seemed to do well. He offered the visitor a cigar, which he gladly took. Tentative, of course. But he didn’t have any trouble. I think he’ll do just fine.

I’m worried about him, the man said as Percival leaned over to light the cigar. A puff of smoke went up from it, spreading across the room.

And why is that, Arthur?

I don’t think he’s handled it well. He’s been in his room for two days now and hasn’t eaten much. Frankly, I don’t trust him with another mission.

Relax Arthur. It happens to most of them after their first kill. Do you not remember how your own made you feel? I certainly do. It isn’t necessarily an easy thing to cope with, but with time you learn how to handle it. I’ll give him some time to think and sort things out before giving him another target. If he fails a mission and flees, well. He paused and blew a wisp of smoke from his cigar, watching it peacefully rise up to the ceiling. Let’s just say our lad Sto will not go far until we hunt him down and kill him.

~

Sto breathed in the fresh air. It was nice to be outside again, even if it did mean his training would start—he didn’t mind the training, no. He greeted the challenges that were given firmly—it had just been nice to take a break and relax. The warm spring sun felt good on his face as he stopped at the edge of the fountain in the garden that rested atop a hill, looking down on the complex Percival had built. He was studying the pure water when someone pulled alongside him. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Instead, he kept his eyes steadfast on the water, not letting her see into him through his eyes.

How are you doing?

I’m fine. He felt her eyes bore into him.

Like you expect me to believe that.

Sto forced an attempted smile. What happened while I was gone?

Nothing really. Normal training. Silas was sent on a mission. Should be back in a couple days.

Where to? He asked even though he already knew the answer. None of their mission information was allowed to be breathed between them. Percival thought it safer this way. If they needed to know, he would tell them. The only information he let slip was their departure and deadline date.

She turned fully toward him, ignoring the question. Look at me. There was a forcefulness yet calmness in her voice that made him chill. Reluctantly, he looked at her. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. I know you know that, but sometimes it helps being reminded. She gave him a small smile.

Sto nodded. Thank you Ismay. But I’m fine—for now. He didn’t want to talk. Not now. Not later. Maybe not ever.

She nodded, her eyes still gleaming at him. He stared back. Walk? She asked.

Sto bent his head and shook it. I have training soon. After dinner? She nodded. They looked at each other for a second, then drew into a hug. Thank you Ismay. He whispered to her. She didn’t say anything, but the gentle embrace she returned was enough for him.

~

Ismay watched Sto walk away. She knew he was shaken from his first kill. Anybody would be. Everybody was after their first time. She still remembered her first kill like it was last night: the target, choice of weapon, the smell of the room as she entered through the two story window. It was something you couldn’t forget, no matter much you wanted or how hard you tried. She shook her head and shuddered at the memory. The first was the worst. It got a little easier over time, but she never forgot the eyes, something that would haunt her to the death. As Sto disappeared from the garden, Ismay’s continued to longingly looking after him, wishing she could somehow help him. She knew he wouldn’t let her—or at least not yet—and open up about the difficult experience. Three years his senior, she could offer plenty of advice and help him cope with the feeling of taking another person’s life…but she needed him to let her. Ismay turned from the fountain and started walking through the garden. In the midst of spring, the flowers were in mid-bloom, causing the garden to smell sweetly of the scents from the beautifully colored plants. This was her favorite time of year. The warmness of spring, beautiful plants, and signs of growth brought joy into her life, no matter how small or fleeting.

It had been three months since her last mission, the longest layoff she’d had since she started. As much as she hated to admit it, the adrenaline, danger, and excitement killing brought her was addictive, and she was itching to get out on another hunt. She exited the garden, stopping at the top of an embankment, looking at the convoluted complex. The camp was of good size, containing the building where the assassins slept and ate—referred to as the common house—the courtyard, training area, and another area where assassins-to-be were raised and trained before they were of age. A 12 foot wall separated the assassins and those under age. Contact was strictly limited here, the reasoning never fully disclosed to the assassins—but they trusted their leader to have good intentions, and didn’t indulge in trying to discover his motives for running things the way he did. He was older and wiser than them, the king of assassins, as he was often portrayed. They didn’t have the right or status to ask questions and doubt him, for he was their rescuer.

Ismay walked towards the building where they resided. She was thankful Percival had picked her up off the streets, even if the job was undesirable. She was glad for the people she’d met and the skills she learned. Ismay sighed as she entered the building and walked to her room. The building was fairly small, only two stories high and containing the mere necessities—bedrooms, washrooms, dining areas, a few studies or secluded rooms where leisure activity and relaxation could take place. She entered her room on the second floor and sank on the soft bed, staring up at the ceiling. A gentle breeze drifted through her open window.

Ismay thought about her future and the fear that accompanied it in her core. She had no clue what she wanted to do or even how she would act outside of this environment, for it had become a part of her and what she knew best. The only other place she had lived was her hometown, and there was no circumstance that could ever make her go back to that place of torment, unless she was carrying out the duties she had learned here. Going from a sheer pain and malice infested dwelling to one where her only duty was to kill people, she didn’t know how to act outside of the most undesirable circumstance. Perhaps she needed another teacher. Perhaps she needed someone to show her, and where she would find that someone—or even if—she wasn’t sure. Who would be willing to explain to a pitiful, broken, useless girl the simplest things needed to live well in a society?

When they reached age twenty-five, Percival allowed the assassins to choose whether they wanted to stay and serve him, become a trainer for the assassins-to-be, or be escorted to a far off land to live, searching for whatever it was they wanted. Most stayed to train. As much as the thrill killing brought her, she wanted to settle down and start a family—even if it did mean leaving everything she knew. But she had plenty of time to decide for sure. Five years. She exhaled and closed her eyes.

~

Tough training? Ismay asked as he slid next to her inside the dining hall.

Sto nodded. I’ll feel it in the morning. Quarter-staff. I needed some practice and I feel my few days of inactivity combatting me. He reached for a roll and placed it on his plate, scanning the other options of food in front of him.

Ismay winced. I hate quarter-staff. Never was good with it. Give me some daggers or a sword and I’m fine. But I never could figure out that stick. I think it’s too long and awkward for me to handle.

Sto smiled, stuffing some corn into his mouth. Cassius sat down across from them, the oldest assassin among them. His radiant blue eyes sparkled, contrasting his stark, but radiant, black hair. I was always pretty good with the pole. He winked at Ismay, who turned a slight pink. Maybe I could teach you sometime. He smiled gleefully at her.

She stared at him, her eyes flickering. A smirk tugged at her mouth. Maybe, she said dexterously.

Sto skipped a breath, nearly choking on his food, sending him into a coughing fit. He felt his face turning a deep red as Ismay slapped him on the back. You alright there? Or do I need to call Sierra over here to give you some mouth-to-mouth? Sto immersed into another coughing fit, Cassius and Ismay both dying of laughter.

After they had finally stopped chuckling and Sto’s face returned to its normal shade, Cassius grew serious. So how was the first mission Sto?

Sto stared at his plate and finished chewing, Ismay shooting Cassius a look of disbelief. He shrugged and smiled slightly, Ismay rolling her eyes in response. Pretty as he may be, he was the most insensitive man she’d ever met—save maybe her father.

It was fine, Sto said quietly. No complications. Quick and easy. Did you do anything exciting while I was gone? Sto looked up at Cassius to find him staring into his eyes. The intensity in them was overbearing, a cloudiness seeming to hover for a moment but then it was gone.

Well actually. Cassius returned to his normal sly self, the warmness returning in his eyes. He leaned closer to them, lowering his voice. You know those servant dames Percival keeps around? Yeah, well the other night I was walking back from training and nobody was around. Except this one girl. And let me tell ya, she was quite the—

Ismay stood up, pulling Sto with her. Come on, we don’t need to hear this.

What did I say? Cassius griped.

Ismay rolled her eyes and stared at him. If I want to hear one of your stories, I’ll come find out for myself.

Cassius smiled and stretched, placing his hands behind his head. Hey, you’re welcome anytime.

To what? Disappointment?

Cassius gave her a hurt look. You insult me.

I’m so glad you noticed. She smiled sweetly at him and walked away, pulling Sto with her.

Where’re we going? He asked.

Our walk.

But—my food! She dragged him outside, Sto giving his half eaten plate of food a sorrowful look as Cassius reached for it.

~

The man writhed in pain as his last digit was cut off and fell to the floor. His torturer smiled, relishing in the pain he was giving. Slowly, he had cut off the man’s toes, one by one. Then his fingers. He looked hungrily at the man dangling in front of him, his arms hanging from a chain tied to the ceiling. He scanned his body. The ears. They were next to go. He took a step toward him.

No, please, the wretched man mouthed bloodily, several missing teeth forming a gape in his mouth.

His torturer just smiled. Swift as a hawk, he cut off the man’s ears, only relishing in the pain he was giving. The tongue was next. The torturer reached into the man’s mouth and grasped his tongue, slicing it with his knife. The man writhed in agony, shaking from the chain uncontrollably as he whimpered and cried miserably. What a wretch. The man looked into his torturer’s deep brown eyes, giving him one last look before—

Sto shot up in bed, nearly bolting himself onto the floor. He was shaking violently, sweat dripping down his neck and back. He ran his arm down his back, making sure the warm, wet, sticky liquid was perspiration, not blood. He heard a sigh of relief escape his lungs as fell back down, still shaking slightly. It was just a dream, he told himself.

Sto got out of bed and lit a candle, going to his dresser and pulling out a clean shirt. He set the candle down and sat in a chair, feeling drained and, well, evil. He had been the torturer. What kind of man had he become? Was this what Percival’s intentions were? To create monsters who could do that to a man? He’d had the same type of dream ever since he’d killed, leaving most of his nights sleepless. Would they ever end, or was this the consequence of his decisions? They all ended the same. Some he simply killed the man, others were more gruesome. Sto stirred the fire, creating sparks which were wafted up the chimney. There was a senseless feeling in his gut and he hated it. He wanted to leave, to get away from this life, to start over. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave the thing he had committed his life to, the people he knew and loved. He knew better than to leave—Percival would find him. He thought of his dream, and the man he had tortured. What he had done was despicable. What if he was ordered to do something like this? Could he do it? Sto shook his head and stared out of the window to where the assassins-to-be were. He had to talk to Ismay. No. He couldn’t. She’d never look at him the same. But he had to talk to someone. Because he had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed the way torturing that man made him feel. He had enjoyed his first kill.

CHAPTER TWO

S TO STOOD STIFFLY yet slightly trembling in Percival’s office, a chill running up and down his spine. It had been two and half weeks since his first mission, and the nightmares had continued. Not as vivid, but he still woke up in a sweat each time.

Percival was speaking: "…tonight. You have fifteen days to complete the task. You will not tell anyone of your mission, target, departure or return time, or any other detail that pertains to your mission. You will leave around the time of Vespers*. Understood?"

Sto nodded curtly, barely releasing his breath. Percival handed him a sealed folder. Mission details. Memorize, then destroy. Sto took the folder, his hand slightly trembling; he willed it to stop. Percival studied him for a second and then said blankly: Dismissed.

As quickly but discreetly as he could, Sto turned and walked out the door, a warmness seeming to return as he let out a lung full of air. Still trembling, he tucked the folder inside his cloak, briskly walking away from the vile office. Percival’s office was below the main building in a dismal, dank, dim, disgustful basement. Sto swore as he started to climb the poorly lit slippery stairs. There had to be at least 150.

He finally reached the top where the hidden trap door was. He pushed it open, the light from the kitchen—the room it resided in—flooding his eyes as he started to climb out—

New mission?

Sto jumped, nearly falling down the crude stairs. Good heavens Ismay!

She gave him an attempted smile. Sorry. She leaned against a countertop, plucking an apple off its smooth surface and taking a bite.

How long have you been waiting?

Since you went down.

You were tailing me. It was more of a statement than a question.

Ismay shrugged. Yeah. New mission?

Sto gave her a look as he shut the trap door.

Ismay looked at him impatiently, Sto wagging his head as he started to walk away. She grabbed his arm. Why you, and not me? It’s been almost four months.

Sto studied her, searching. You miss it? You miss killing the innocent people he chooses for us?

No. Ismay closed her eyes—if anything, to avoid the look he was giving her. That’s not what I meant. She looked up, his dark brown eyes fluttering specks of red behind them piercing her.

Yes it was, he said. Sto pulled his arm out of her grip, looking deep into her dark, marble blue eyes. A piece of him swooned and lifted off the ground, but he pulled himself down. If you want a mission, go ask Percival. But don’t blame me for taking your victims, he spat, coldly. He gave her one last look before walking away.

~

Cessair looked on in terror. What is this thing? She thought as she slowly backed away from it. She was in a small alley, high walls on both sides, no exit. She should have known better than to come down this way. Her heels bumped into the back wall of the alley, the space between her and the thing in front disappearing quickly. Her heart beat faster, if that was possible, as it growled and snarled low and menacingly, but only loud enough for her to hear and no one else passing the alley. Huge canines in its gaping mouth drooled as it slowly opened in an inauspicious way, taunting her. The smell reeking from it was unimaginable—it made her gag and heave inside as it came closer.

Cessair drew two daggers from beneath her cloak. She was always a good shot with them, and this thing was at a close distance. But even as she threw them, she doubted their ability to penetrate the being. The daggers hit its head but—they went through it. How was this possible? Certainly it appeared to be a sort of fog or mist or mythical being, but there was such a vibrant physical aspect to it that she fleetingly believed she had a chance with a blade. Its image contained such an unfamiliar aspect to it, but a warmth and eminent essence also seemed to stalk its way towards her, drawing her in. It promised danger and death, but peace and satisfaction. It penetrated fear and disgust, but resonated comfort and beauty. Its sinister grin grew as it crept closer, the shadowy shape becoming vaster and more consuming as it neared. Cessair drew the saber attached on her back, standing ready; this sword had never failed her yet, and even if it seemed no blade could penetrate such a being, she had faith. It was less than 10 feet away now. Trembling, Cessair took a timid step forward to separate herself from the wall. She had never been this terrified. She didn’t know it was possible to be this terrified. The immense black being inched closer, somehow driving more dread into the ally. It was a being of control, a being of fear, a being that was calm: a being who knew how to perform. Although it was the middle of the night and there was no light in the alley, it still enveloped it in a deeper darkness. A different type of darkness. A blackness that should not have been possible to be that dark. The only visible features on it were its gaping, size less mouth and dull, grey eyes specked with red. Less than eight feet away, Cessair heard claws retract from it, its eyes hungry for blood.

She lunged for it, swiping again and again with the saber, pulling every move she knew in a matter of seconds with fluid motion toned over years of practice. She hit nothing. Once again, her weapon went through it. She felt hopeless. She swung again, but it was like nothing was there. The creature felt as if it was all around her. She grew exhausted far quicker than she should have; her sword grew heavy and she felt herself drop it. She dropped to her knees, unable to keep standing. She felt every ounce of strength and mobility sucked from her, leaving her as a lifeless form. She was not living, but she was not dead. It was painless, yet unbearable. She had no reason to live—all hope and joy was destroyed. She wanted to die. It was agonizing. She willed herself to death, but it did not come. She felt suffocated in all the darkness. Her eyes could not close, she couldn’t think straight. Everything whirled around her. The beast was inside her head, showing and taunting her with memories from her childhood, training, and her missions. It was mocking her, showing her it was in control and there was nothing she could do. Delirium and dizziness struck her, making her feel sick. She felt like she should vomit, but nothing could emerge from her stomach. Nothing was there but evil, venomous, suffocating, dreary, vile darkness. This beast was maddening, agonizing. She did not know how long she was there, how long the beast was inside her. It may have been a few minutes, or a few days. When she thought she could take it no longer, darkness came. She fell on her side, slamming her head against the cool stone. Cessair was dead.

~

Sto studied his mission details. He was to go to Carrith—a two day trip by horseback. His target was a high-ranking official who resided in the castle and from the tales