Unbroken (Haytham Kenway)

Chapter 5

No more than a week after Haytham's departure, Clara branched out to find a mentor. She wanted desperately to let out her anger and confusion, but it only ended in frustration and split knuckles when she clumsily tried to punch something (namely trees or other hard objects).

Her resources were devoted to finding a teacher; someone she could learn killing from. She'd almost given up hope - it had been four weeks, after all - when she got a hit. The trip to the potential instructor was long and hard, and on her third day she was halted by a blizzard.

When she finally made it there, she found a short, lean woman with dark eyes and a hawkish nose. She had an air or irritability around her constantly, and she wasn't friendly in the slightest when Clara greeted her.

"I don't care who you are; a sewer rat or an empress." Was her curt response after the noblewoman's introduction. "If I'm going to train you, you can't be a lady of this house or that. You're my apprentice, nothing else."

The younger woman nodded. "Very well. Will you train me?"

A few tense seconds later, after those dark eyes had peered into her soul, the woman gestured for her to grab her things and go inside the cabin.

Clara glanced at the door, then to the horse laden with baggage, in dismay. She let out a sigh and filled her arms, already wondering how she would manage to keep up.

When she walked in, struggling to hold everything in her arms, the woman looked at her with criticism written plainly on her face, but just lead her to a tiny room in the East corner of the small house. It was sparsely furnished: a small bed with a thin mattress and blankets, a dresser (sans mirror), a bedside table, and a wardrobe. There was nothing hanging on the walls, and the floors were plain wood.

Clara set her things down on the bed and turned to her soon-to-be mentor as the woman addressed her. "You'll sleep here. Every morning, you wake up at dawn, and we start training. If you're not up with the sun, you'll be sorry."

The noble nodded, daintily taking off her coat and shawl. "I understand."

"You're going to whine and complain, I promise. I don't care; as long as you get your work done and keep your mouth shut, you can stay." She stated with an air of indomitable authority.

"What should I call you by?" Clara asked.

"Mentor." Answered the woman. "If I learn to trust you, I'll tell you my name, but until then I am your Mentor and you are my Apprentice. Oh, and: you missed dinner, but going without a meal won't kill you."

"Very well." She replied, hiding her disappointment. An eyebrow was raised at her, and she hastily revised her sentence. "Very well, Mentor."

The older woman walked out without another word and left her with swirling thoughts and shattered fantasies. This wouldn't be at all glamorous. She glanced at the small fireplace, only to find that the wood was nowhere to be found. It was going to be a cold night.

Sleep evaded her long after she'd changed and slipped under the covers. She tossed and turned, dozed a little, and stared at the ceiling for the entire night. Maybe two hours before dawn, she finally fell asleep.

The state of unconsciousness was broken suddenly by a frigid cold. It was awful, and snapped her out of rest faster than anything else could've. Mentor stood above her bed, smirking slightly, with a dripping bucket in her hands. "I told you you'd regret sleeping in."

Clara bit back her anger -- just barely. She shivered all throughout getting ready, her fingers fumbling with the strings of the corset. It was quite frustrating, because she'd never gone without a maid to help her.

When she left her room, Mentor was waiting at the table with a plate of food in front of her. The younger woman looked around to see if she'd get any, but didn't find traces of anything to eat. "You missed breakfast, too. Better luck next time."

Clara sighed a little inside. She was starting to grow irritable, and it was only her first day. "When is lunch, so I might not miss it?" She huffed out.

"Later today. I'll be with you, so unless you slack off, you won't go without food again." Mentor said around a cup of tea. When she finished, she set the plates aside. "Now, to get you into something useable."

The apprentice was led to a trunk in the small sitting room. Inside, there were a pair of worn leather boots, wraps for binding her breasts, trousers, a tunic, a belt (with holsters for guns, Clara noted), a pair of fingerless gloves, bracers, and a heavy coat. All of it was given to her before she was sent back to her room.

When she finally made sense of it all, she left her room and found Mentor waiting impatiently at the door. "Took you long enough." Snarked the woman.

Clara followed her outside into the cold, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Mentor lead her around the side of the house, where logs were stacked against the outer wall. A stump rested nearby, and an axe rested in the wood.

The apprentice was told to watch carefully as her trainer showed her how to chop the logs. Then, she was told to fill every fireplace with the lumber, as well as the lean-to. At least the movement kept her warm.

Three hours later, the noblewoman walked back inside for the last time, her arms full of timber. She was already exhausted. Mentor looked up from her book to glance her over, then set the tome down. "I take it you're finished?"

"I am, Mentor." Clara replied. Her feet and hands ached from the cold.

A moment of thought from the older woman, then, "Put extra by every fireplace, and by the stove. Don't come back in unless you're finished."

"Very well." She answered. Inside, she was seething. How could household chores help her get revenge?