Garden of Shadows

The seductive persuasion of night basks her darkness across the city. I gaze out waiting patiently for Barsad to return from his task. He was already late, and I have not received a call as to what is keeping him from our meeting. He should know that I’m anxious, however, for now I’m left alone with my thoughts.

Watching the snow collect on the streets below in Gotham the scene is reminiscent of a simpler time before the mask, and ex-communication from the League of Shadows, when life was easier as a lowly foot soldier. Back when my venom was distributed by pills and injections, and I held Ra’s al Ghul adoration for saving Talia. Nothing gold is meant to stay indeed Mr. Whitman.

It took me back to that cold barren place where there was a brief moment where I was granted another chance at redemption.

It was a special kind of hell, Russia that is with its freezing temperatures and bleak atmosphere. The unrelenting snow had begun to lightly fall continuing to blanket the ground as I had jogged through the forest near the compound. It was the first week of January and the new millennium had come and went, and the world did not fall from its orbit, nor did the apocalypse sweep through the streets. While I was content with the status quo, there were those amongst us wishing for it all to burn.

I awoke early this morning despondent with this setting, and these people. Animals: total lack of civility. When I first came to Pskov it became apparent that there is no code, or moral essence. Stepping outside I watch a severely beaten man lye in the courtyard while the offending party unzipped his pants urinating on him. It reminded me of darker times as in being held in Pena Duro, or more commonly known as the pit. Walking through the compound itself any corridor or piece of furniture served as mating place with no regard of an audience being present, or not: Caligula.

Ra’s al Ghul had ordered me here last week regarding a job, as they had been in need of an assassin. It’s hard to believe that they needed to hire outside given the skills of the brutal men amongst them. With that being said it was explained I was needed for the removal of one of their own associates which was my mark, and a connection back to the mafia would be detrimental to his hierarchical structure.

I find it interesting that Ra’s al Ghul would affiliate himself with these ghouls. There must be some connection that I’m unaware of, however, it matters not. There has been a tension between Ra’s and me for the past few months, so if this what it takes to set things right then so be it. The tension has also seeped into Talia and my relationship as well. I felt as if I was standing on a precipice, and fragmentation was inevitable. The more time she spends with him the further she drifts from me. She never questions her father’s philosophy: trusting him blindly. Ultimately, it is she whom will become the perfect prodigy.

The freezing cold air to burned my lungs as I exhaled. Attempting to clear my mind from the carnage last night I ran through the frozen forest. The sun is threatening to rise shortly. I hear a low hum which causes me to stop. Moving towards the sound I soon discover that it is not a hum at all, but rather someone singing.

By the tone and pitch I can tell it is a either a small boy, or a girl. What on earth would a child be out in this cold so early in the morning? Watching the tree lines I see movement about 15 meters in front of me. Its small girl child who is singing, and the closer I get I hear the most precarious thing: it’s English.

Drawing in on her I see the only thing between her and the bitter cold is a filthy blue long sleeve dress. Her blond hair hangs mostly down, but some strands seem pulled back from her face. She pulls a child’s rusted red wagon behind her, and seems as if she is collecting twigs. Moving closer I can hear the lyrics are reminiscent of a lullaby. Her voice is softly angelic, and fascinating.

“Come little children I'll take thee away,
Into a land of enchantment,
came little children the time's come to play,
here in my garden of shadows...”

Lost in her enriched tone I stepped closer and didn’t realize as I snapped a twig beneath my foot. Causing her to jump, and pause. Comprehending that I have startled her I stop, and slowly watch her turn. Her mouth is agape, and eyes are wide staring directly at me. She drops the handle of her wagon, and attempts to hide herself behind a tree.

Continuing closer to her I watch as she circles the tree attempting to shield herself from me. Intrigued I advised, “Little child you don’t have to fear me. I don’t wish to harm you.” It had been the first time I spoken English in a week.

Stopping in my tracks I watched as rather large green eyes appear from behind the tree. The rest of her slowly trailed as well from around the tree so that eventually I come to see a small girl no bigger than five I assumed, standing before me.

Her eyes trace the outline of me I’m sure she is questioning rather or not to trust me. Towering above dressed in cargo pants and black shirt she should be scared of me. Given where we are she should not trust anyone. Men and women alike are deplorable.

Swallowing before she spoke she looked at my feet as she asked, “You speak America?” Her ignorance made me laugh, but the fact that we spoke the same language left me intrigued. Her English was spoken with only a shallow Russian accent. Obviously she is not a native. How the hell did she get all the way to this perdition?

I nod at her, and then corrected, “The language that we are speaking is called English. Who are you?” She diverted her eyes back at her wagon before looking at me. She then bluntly stated, “I am property of Ivank, and you are not allowed to touch me.” She then pulled a chain with a charm from around her neck out from underneath the fabric. It was the symbol of the crime syndicate of this compound.

She must have been terrified of me to bring up the fact that she is a slave. Swallowing down my anger that someone could subjugate such a small child I shake my head at her as I explained, “Like I said I don’t wish to hurt you. I’m just curious who you are, and how you got here?”

The only thing that reflected in her eyes was fear and distrust. After gazing at them I realize I saw her at least once the prior week. She had been in the foyer scrubbing the floor in the main house. It was midday so I had seen the blue crescents underneath her eyes. I recall as I watched her then, that she is much too young to be doing that kind of labor. In that moment she reminded me of Talia.

She tilted her head to me inquisitively and asked, “Did my mama send you? Are you to take me home?” As she questioned me she took a step towards me as a small smile began to dance across her face. Hating to disappoint her, but I know from experience that the truth no matter how ugly would be more beneficial than a fabrication. I shake my head at her. She withdraws her steps as her lips return to their muted state.

Not wanting to confuse her I asked her a simple question. “What is your name?” Her mouth opens, and closes before she finally decides to tell me. “Cozet.”
“Cozet, what is your last name?” I ask. She gently rolls her shoulders, and then with a display of nervousness she grabbed her right wrist with her left hand. Her sleeve is pushed back enough for me to see bruises. It caused my jaw to involuntarily to tick.

Turning back to her wagon she picks up the handle and tugs till it roughly jumps over the root of a large tree that we’re near. Snow began to settle in her hair and every time she spoke the air she exhaled visually danced in front of her due to the freezing temperature.
She broke the silence. “I have to complete my…sluchaynaya rabota. Please leave me be.” Apparently she didn’t know the English word for ‘chore’ so she switched to Russian.

The sun began to rise in the east casting a warm glow upon all the whiteness that surrounded us. Taking into account her wagon was almost filled with dry wood I ask. “Are you gathering wood for a fire?” I noted earlier in the week the vast amount of fire places within the compound. They served as the main source of heat, naturally in this archaic setting.

She nods at me. Following behind her I help to complete her task in hope that she may return back to the compound sooner. Curious too much to keep my mouth shut I asked, “How old are you?” She glanced over her shoulder before she replied. “Eight I think.” This caused me to stop in my tracks. She looked no older than five. There couldn’t be no more than 2.8 stone on her bones and she barley stood four feet. Exhaling more resentment it’s obvious that she is malnourished.

At one point she dropped the wagon handle to pick up some wood. It was then I pulled the wagon for the rest of the way. With a full wagon we headed back to the house. She placed her hand over mine gazing up at me she pleaded. “I need to pull the cart the rest of the way. They will be mad if they know you helped me.” I could feel the calluses that her small hand possessed as it rested on top of mine. I removed my hand allowing her to grip the cold metal.

Looking down at her she keeps dragging the full wagon through the snow at times using both hands. I stop and watch her move towards the compound giving her distance between us. I’m bothered when she seems to struggle as the wheels stop due to wetness of the snow for then she has to drag it.

She finally reaches a shed where a teenage boy pops out. Some words are exchanged, and when she attempts to remove some wood from her wagon it caused the others to avalanche over the side. The boy roughly grabbed her by her hair, and kicked her in the stomach. She crumbled to the ground, but quickly squirmed away from him. Her will for surviving is strong and consisted of self-preservation.

He will die for that, and I will take pleasure in it.

The following night I’m was in what appeared to be Ivank’s study, but like everything else it was subpar. Sparsely furnished with two chairs and bookcase with only a handful of books I stand next to the fire place, and am reminded of small Cozet, and her gathering the kindle in the freezing cold. I had not seen her since the forest.

Later on in the day I had tracked down the thuggish teenage boy, and broke his neck. Afterwards I dragged him to a set of stairs posed it as an accident.

The fire burned before me was powerful as it heated the entire room.
The door closed as Ivank walked in and gestured with a sway of his hand for me to take a seat. I oblige. He begins giving his family history, and their great rise to power. Only half listening I pick up that it began during the early Stalin years, and that while he is third generation he is preparing his son to take control.

His verbal spillage is interrupted by small girl walking in with a bottle of vodka and glasses. I immediately noticed it was tiny Cozet. Ivank lets out a hearty laugh as she stops in front of him. He calls her, “Ptitsa,” which is Russian for bird. He grabbed at the bottle of booze, and gestured for me to grab a glass. I shook my head in disagreement. Alcohol has always adversely affected my Venom so I had learned to stay clear. He helped himself to one. Setting the bottle back on the tray Cozet gives me a small smirk before she turned, and left the room.

I take this opportunity to bring up her position in the house. Waiting till he has had a swallow of his liquor I asked, “Where did that little girl come from?” He sucked his teeth before he answered me. “She was payment from someone who owed me quite a bit of money. Since her mother did not have the funds she offered me what she could: her daughter. Her name is Cozet. She has the most wonderful singing voice. I call her my bird. Her mother was very beautiful, and in time she will be as well. Eventually, she will be my personal concubine when the time comes.” He paused for a moment staring into the fire before he continued. “When she is old enough to bleed she will be old enough to butcher.” A smile snaked across his face.

Much like Talia and me she was to be used as a pawn. An innocent sacrificed for a parental sin. Talia was punished being born in the pit for her mother’s sexual indiscretion. Authorities being unable to punish my father sent me in his place to the pit. Why do the innocent always pay? Well I will re-write the narrative, and liberate her before it’s too late.

Without much thought I stood up forcefully pushing the glass cup into Ivank face, cracking his teeth and fracturing his jaw and nose. Blood pooled down from his wounds as he let out a moan. It was his last. He met the same demise as the teenage boy from yesterday. With a quick tork of his neck he was dead and laying limp in his chair.

As I walked down the hall I call out to her in hope that she hadn’t made it very far. My voice echoes through the hall. “Cozet.” Attempting to stay calm I called out to her again. Pulling from my lectures over mediation I settle myself as I begun to open doors and searched for the child.
Ivank’s comrades will figure out soon enough that the mercenary in their mist has just killed there leader. I knew that Ra’s al Ghul was not going to like my actions, but I didn’t really care.

It was then that I saw her appear from a door. Making my way towards her I don’t break my stride as I scoop her up. She instinctually wraped her legs around my chest as I made my way through the compound. We are about to hit the outside when I notice she has placed her head on my shoulder curling into me. Subconsciously, I ran my hand through her hair in an attempt to comfort her, however, she had not seemed upset.

We cleared the main entrance as the snow crunched under my foot leaving a visual trail as we made our way towards the garage. It hindsight it was an old converted barn. The door was locked so with a swift kick I knocked it from its hinges. Cozete stirred, but only to cling to me tighter.

I notice of a dark blue Mercedes. Running towards it I pull on the passenger side front door, and found that it was locked. I moved quickly to the drivers side, I kicked through the window, and manually unlock the door. Opening the door I clutched onto Cozete with one hand, and swept the shards glass out of the automobile with the other. Placing her in the seat I strapped her in with a click of the belt. I then concentrated on hot wiring the car which was never my greatest skill, but one was grateful to have at that point.

The dash board lit up, and engine came alive. Looking over at Cozete, I commanded her, “Duck down.” After she has complied I’m about to throw the car into drive, and run it through the garage door when I notice a blue button that hung from the visor. Pushing it the raises the large door. There are two of his henchmen standing in front. I decide that I should go with my first thought. Revving the engine I throw the car in drive, and manage to take out a man who was to slow to move from my path.

As I drove down the unlit side roads I promised myself to return and burn the compound to the ground till there is nothing but ashes. If it wasn’t for the child I would have already seen to it. Looking over at her I note that she is still following orders. She has curled herself into a small ball. She is so tiny. Up to this point everything had been a reaction. It had finally become a reality of what I had done, and its possible ramifications. I began heading north looking for signs for St. Petersburg knowing that it is easier to lose people in the big city if Ivank’s men choose to follow.

Reaching over to her I place my hand on her shoulder, and she unfurls herself to the point where she poked her head out giving me a small smile. All my thoughts of Ra’s al Ghul reaction melt away in that one gesture by her.

Clearing my throat I tell her, “You don’t have to duck down anymore. I’m freed you from your enslavement. You are never going back there. Close your eyes, and get some rest little one.” I had begun to wonder if she had an idea of what kind of life was ahead of her back at the compound. That Ivank’s planned on using her sexually. Looking away from her I hoped that she was ignorant of that fact.

Her small voice cut through stillness in the car as she asked, “Are you to be my new master?” The question disturbed me. Shaking my head I told her. “No one will ever be your master again.”

I looked over at her as she acknowledged my statement with a nod, and then she asked slightly more disturbing question. “Are you going to be my Papa?”

I glanced back at the road I concentrated before I answered. The thought of her being my ward, or formulating any sort of family unit was far too domestic for me to wrap my head around at age twenty. Thinking of Talia and how she has turned out I should not be allowed a cat. As I turned back to her she was smiling again her eyes are as wide as her question.

I gently shook my head at her I responded softly. “No, I cannot be your Papa. Do you know what a benefactor is?” She shook her head in response.

“It is someone that looks out for your wellbeing. I will make sure that you are properly taken care of by someone else.” She nodded, and finally rests her head against the back of the seat. Pulling out my cell phone I searched for a contact, and called to arrange a flight out of this sullen desperate land.

Looking down at I notice that she has followed my orders again for her eyes are closed, and she is fast asleep. Patting her head, I compliment her, “Good soldier.” The irony is not lost on me knowing she is the farthest thing from it.

As I drive it becomes apparent that I don’t want her at the League. I have seen how it has turned Talia. I spent my adolescence doing my best to protect her from the threat of darkness only to find that it managed to become part of her soul. I blame Ra’s as Ghul for his insatiable need for revenge has now become hers. I didn’t want that for this small child.
With that being said my next call was to Talia. After two brief rings, her voiced echoed over the line.

“Bane, have you finished the Pskov job so soon? I’m excited that you are on your way back I’ve missed you old friend.” I inwardly cringed as she called me that.

“Yes, I have finished a job. I need your assistance with something. I need Eleanor Dubois number.” The line was silent for a moment. I could only imagine what she thought. Finally her voice broke through again as she rattled off the number. Interesting enough she did not ask why.
I waited until after we board the small charter flight before I call Ms. Dubois on a satellite phone. Cozet slept soundly next to me as I arranged a new life for her.

Ms. Dubois, and I had met on several occasions. She is opera singer who happens to be one of Ra’s many lovers. Recalling an occasion where we had a rather serious discussion over dinner in which she confided that one of her biggest regrets was that she had never been a mother. By the end of the conversation she agreed to meet me in Charles De Gaulle Airport, and to take the child.

As the plane hit the tarmac in Paris something settled over me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Contentment blanketed over me as I stared at the Cozet for she was going to have a beautiful life: one that I hade been denied.

Crashing back to reality the apartment door opens and I turn watching Barsad walking towards me. He looks weathered which immediately concerns me. Clutching the vest I wear with both hands I walk towards him demanding, “Why are you late, and why so grim?” My voice takes on a menacing tone only partly due to the mask.

He shakes his head at me not able to look me in the eyes. A surge of fear swarms up in me. Is she all right? He walks over to the table removing a manila folder from his bag tossing it on the table.
Grabbing the folder I can’t hold back my questions anymore. “Is she alright? Answer me.”

He gestures to the folder as he tells me. “See for yourself.”

Opening the folder several photos are collected within it, but the one that stares back at me is glorious. Her blond hair is bound in a large braid haloing her head. Her large green eyes contrast against the smoky colors painted around them. I’m unable to tell is she is wearing any lipstick on her luscious lips. Her skin is like porcelain alabaster that is covered by a gold and black bodice with a full skirt. She is more than beautiful. Frankly she is beyond words. I stare and wonder if this is an opera costume, or a ball gown.

For a brief moment my breath hitches in my throat. Looking over at Barsad I note that he is staring out the window taking up the stance that I held only a few minutes ago.
Breaking the silence I ask. “She is well then?” Barsad still does not meet me my eyes, but stares blankly out the window. What is he hiding?

“Barsad, tell me what troubles you so?” I command. The air hung heavy with tension. I inhale deeply the venom vapor through my mask afraid that he is about to make a dark confession.
Finally matching my gaze he looks at me before announcing. “Do not send me to her again. Send someone else who cannot be swayed, or enchanted by her. She is as kind as she is beautiful, and intelligent as she is charming. I’m only a man. Send someone else.”