Fate's Vinculum

Part II, Chapter 1. The Assassin

--Eyrarbakki, Iceland--

Einar was raised in the family business of fishing. He lived with his parents in a beautiful, quaint, blue house on a hill that overlooked the sparkling cerulean sea. Einar and his father would spend their days out on the crystal sea, chatting as they waited for the fish to bite. As the sun set-sometimes a bit sooner-they would return to their modest house where his mother and twin sister would clean their catch for sale the following day.

It was a simple, quiet, and usually enjoyable life. It was a life Einar would come to barely remember.

"Einar!" his mother called. "Jóhanna! It's time for dinner!"

Einar looked in horror at his young twin. He pointed at her. "You're covered in mud!"

"What?" His sister, Jóhanna, looked down at herself.

Currently they sat at the bottom of the hill, their house looming over their shoulder. A storm had rolled through the night before, both children being awoken several times by loud thunder crashes. In the morning the pair hurried through their chores, wanting to get outside and enjoy the fresh summer's air. They had been playing in a mud puddle all afternoon, not fully comprehending the consequences of their actions.

Immediately Jóhanna began to cry.

"Don't cry," Einar said, rolling his eyes.

Jóhanna grew frantic. She tried removing the mud from her clothes, but it did little more than press the mud deeper into the fabric.

"Einar! Jóhanna!" their mother called again at the top of the hill. "Where are you?"

Jóhanna shouted in frustration, flinging mud at her brother. "This is all your fault!"

"My fault?" Einar spat, eyes widening.

Jóhanna flung more mud at her brother. "Yes! This was your idea-"

Einar hastily got to his feet, slipping. Regaining his balance he clenched his hands into small fists, glaring at his sister. "You went along with it! It's not like you said you didn't want to!"

Jóhanna got to her feet then, too, and shoved her brother squarely in the chest. Einar shoved her back. Before long, the pair were back in the mud, wrestling each other and pulling at each other's hair.

"I'm going to tell your father," their mother's voice called, slicing through their argument like a knife. The pair froze. With that threat from their mother they scrambled up, Jóhanna giving her brother a final shove.

As slowly as humanly possible they clambered up the hill. Looking back on it, Einar knew this hill was probably small. As a child, however, it seemed like a veritable mountain. When they finally crested the hill, their mother audibly gasped. The pair came to stand just below the first porch step, not looking their mother in the eye.

"Your clothes!" she all but shrieked. "Your shoes! Oh, and your hair! Look at your hair!"

Jóhanna glared at Einar. He didn't pay attention, face burning in shame.

"Oh, never mind," the matron of the house tisked. "Just come in, come in. Father is waiting, and you know how displeased he is if dinner is late."

The two skulked into the house. Slipping off their muddy shoes, they left them outside. The pair slowly made it to the bathroom, pausing only once to peek at their father.

The large man sat at the table. His face was obscured by the newspaper he was reading. The twins took this as a blessing and rushed past, shutting the sliding door behind them as quietly as humanly possible.