Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad sat hunched over his desk in the dark shadows of his study. The quill he used was as stained as his fingers, the fibers of the feather frayed and inky black. The assassin's eyes were bloodshot and he only noticed his fatigue when he placed his quill down and sat back in his seat. His body voiced various complaints: hunger, thirst, a need to relieve himself, and various aches from sitting for so long. How long had he lost this time? A day? Longer? He'd lost track before, but Maria usually came looking for him if he was lost for too long. And where was Maria? Had she returned from the market yet? How long ago had she said she was going out?
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Altaїr, burdening his mind and body further than he thought he could take. He closed his eyes as the room began to spin and the faintly-glowing orb on the desk in front of him split into four images. He rubbed his temples and muttered a prayer for strength under his breath, shuddering as he reasserted control over his body. He took a moment's pause before bracing his hands on the arms of his chair and pushing himself to his feet.
The room was littered with scrolls and crates that proved to be more difficult to navigate than Altaїr was apparently ready to handle. He kicked a crate, swore and staggered around it, catching himself on a pyramid of scrolls that rolled and scattered when he landed on them.
"Damn it all," the assassin growled as he levered himself back to his feet and maneuvered his way across the room. He found the door in short order and pulled on the handle. It didn't budge. There was a stack of ancient, hefty tomes as high as his hip piled in front of the door and he had to lift them one at a time to set them carefully aside.
All in all, it took nearly ten minutes for Altaїr to open his study's door. And when he did, he hissed and held an arm up to shade his eyes from the piercing sunlight that shone through the window in the hallway.
He muttered grumpily under his breath as his eyes adjusted to the bright light and he stalked out into his house's main room, kicking a pillow across the floor. He took care of his various needs, spending a long moment out at the well sating his thirst and wiping a cool, wet rag along the back of his neck. The sun beat down on him mercilessly, uncaring of the energy it sapped from his already-exhausted limbs. He sighed, lowered the bucket into the well and walked back into the house. He paused just inside the door, wondering where his wife was.
A peek into the kitchen revealed it to be empty except for a freshly-baked loaf of Masa bread resting on the counter. He looked around again, then walked cautiously toward the bread. It smelled warm and fragrant. It would probably be crisp on the outside and melt on his tongue when he chewed it. His mouth watered as he neared the counter and he reached toward the knife laying just beside it. Surely Maria wouldn't mind if he took just a small piece? Or the whole loaf...his stomach agreed with that.
Altaїr reached out to take the bread and yelped when a rod of wood as thick around as his wrist smacked his knuckles. He jerked his hand away and turned to admonish whichever novice had the gall to strike him and found his wife standing in the doorway beside the counter, scowling at him. His words withered in his throat and he held his hand to his chest, taking a small half-step back as his anger cooled into cautious and loving respect of his wife's strength and lack of concern for his rank as Grandmaster. He could have worn a crown and she would still whack him over the head when he deserved it.
"And just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded. Her voice was honeyed by the accent of her homeland, but it did nothing to soothe her tone.
Altaїr rubbed his hand begrudgingly and said, "I was hungry."
"Then you'd best find something else to eat," Maria said primly. "I spent all day making this bread. I won't have your thieving little fingers touching it until dinner. Especially while they've got ink on them." She studied him and made a distasteful sound. "Look at you," she said, gesturing menacingly at him with the rolling pin. "You're a mess! I leave for three days and you fall into ruins. Did you never learn how to take care of yourself?"
Altaїr's lips pressed together as he struggled to control his expression. Three days? That certainly wasn't the longest the Apple had enthralled him, but it was daunting to know he'd lost so much time. Besides that, three days in the desert without water could kill him just as easily as a sword in his belly. He would have to work out a system to make sure he could resurface long enough to tend to the needs of his body.
"I'll wash up," he said, his voice resigned.
"Right you will," his wife growled. "And I'll make sure you do it properly."
Altaїr loved Maria to the depths of his soul. She was everything he wanted in life and more. But the woman could be downright scary sometimes, and she didn't care who knew it. She grabbed him by his wrist and hauled him to the bathhouse which those who lived in the Masyaf Sanctuary shared. She stripped him of his robes so fast that it seemed he went from fully-clothed to naked in the blink of an eye. He didn't even have time to protest before she shoved him unceremoniously into the warm bath.
The Master flailed helplessly in the water for longer than he would admit to anyone who might ask before he got his feet under him and thrust up to the surface, spluttering and gasping. The water wasn't very deep. In fact, it only came up to his chest. It was more than enough to make him nervous, though.
"Was that necessary?" he asked, wiping water from his face so he could glare indignantly up at his wife.
"Absolutely," Maria said sternly, though her lips curved into a small smirk. She crossed her arms under her breasts, outlining them in the white tunic she wore over brown pants. "Now start washing. Or do I have to come in after you and do it myself?"
Altaїr grabbed one of the bars of soap from the side of the tub and scrubbed his chest, his stomach, sliding the bar over the muscles of his arms and his neck. He looked pointedly up at his wife and she nodded in satisfaction before turning on her heel and striding out of the bathhouse. Sighing, Altaїr settled into the water, scrubbing less vigorously. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander as he cleaned himself. It would have been easy for him to fall into the trance-like state he often entertained when he remembered his studies of the Apple, but the sting of soap in his eyes brought him back to the present. He finished washing, wrapped a piece of linen around his waist and walked back to the house he and Maria shared.
"Happy?" he asked as he passed the kitchen where Maria was kneading another mound of dough.
"Very," she said as she rinsed her hands off in a basin. As she dried them, she walked toward Altaїr and looked him over. She stretched up and kissed him softly, lovingly. Just as he started to return the kiss, she pulled back and whispered against his lips, "You need to shave," and then turned around and returned to her dough.
Frustrated but nonetheless patient, Altaїr sighed and continued down the hall toward his bedroom. He passed his study on the way and tried to ignore the tugging sensation he felt deep in the core of his being when he saw the Apple's glow. He had responsibilities, chores to tend to. There was a new group of novices he had to welcome and a training session to oversee. He didn't have time to transcribe any more wonders. He pushed past the study door and walked to his bedroom. He touched the door's handle and felt the hallway tilt madly around him. His stomach heaved and he leaned his brow against the cool wood of the door. The world righted itself after a long moment, and he breathed a short sigh of annoyance and relief as he pushed the door open.
The cold darkness of his study greeted him like an old friend, and his mouth worked as he tried to understand what had just happened. He looked over his shoulder at the door at the end of the hallway and then back to his study. How had he...
Altaїr abandoned the thought when the Apple's golden glow pulsed brighter, drawing his gaze to its flawless, carved surface. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, easily avoiding the scrolls and crates that had posed such a problem an hour before. The Apple of Eden greeted him warmly, caressing his thoughts like a long-lost lover as he took up his quill and set his trembling hand gently on the slightly-warm orb.
The familiar whispered voices he could hear but not understand flowed into his mind as the Apple's warmth spread up his fingers into his arm and over his shoulder. His eyelids felt heavy, and the will to keep them open evaporated in the face of that comforting, engulfing warmth. He closed his eyes and set his quill aside, laying his hand on the desk.
"Show me your wonders," he whispered.
The voices whispered fervently, their words louder and more demanding than they had ever been. Take it up, one whispered, and a chorus of others responded in kind, hissing the phrase again and again.
Altaїr grimaced as the orb's glow brightened until he could see it even through his eyelids. He turned his face away from the light and felt his hand slide across the desk's surface of its own accord. His touch was gentle as he lifted the Apple and held it in his hands. His fingers buzzed with latent energy that traveled up his wrists to his forearms, over his elbows and into his shoulders. He shivered as the metal pulsed in his hands and the warmth of the orb itself flowed into his body, casting away the aches of his age and the worries of his mind until all that remained was reverence and adoration for the artifact he held.
Heat spread down his torso, further down his legs, until his very toes tingled with the power he held. Altaїr's even breath quickened as the energy expanded, trilling up and down his spine like a child raking a stick across a wooden fence to hear the funny sounds it made. It rode a fine line between being pleasant and uncomfortable, straddling the very edge of his tolerance until it stepped deliberately over into discomfort.
Altaїr's eyes opened and he flinched in surprise when he saw that the room was lit as if the sun itself shone in his study. The candle on his desk had melted, its wax flowing away from him as the edges of the papers and scrolls around him browned, curled and then blackened in the heat.
"Maria!" he shouted, when his gaze moved to his arms. His very skin glowed with near-blinding gold radiance, and he cried again, "Maria! Come quickly!"
It didn't take long for Maria to reach the study, and when she flung open the door, she staggered to a halt, shielding her eyes from the unexpected light. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision and squinting at him. "Altaїr, what's happening?" she asked, her voice sharp with fear. "What is that light?"
"I don't know!" Altaїr said in a high, panicked voice. "Help me!"
"How am I supposed to help you?" Maria asked. "I don't know what this is!" She tried to reach out to him, but shrank back with a cry of pain, holding her hand to her chest. Her fingertips were an angry red, and as Altaїr watched, blisters raised on the delicate skin.
"What do you want?" he demanded, glaring down at the Apple. He shook the artifact and snarled, "What do you want from me!" His vision blurred with tears whose source he couldn't have hoped to identify as the torrent of whispers returned, deafening him. He shook his head and clapped his left hand over his ear, whimpering, "I don't—I can't...too many voices..." He drew a few ragged breaths as the energy in his limbs transformed into a fierce burning and he cried out in frustration and fear.
Altaїr cocked his arm back as if to throw the Apple into the wall when he saw the look on Maria's face. Her eyes were wide, her expression tight with fear. She shuffled away a few steps, holding onto her hand protectively. "What has happened to you?" she whispered.
The assassin grimaced and hauled his arm back further to smash the artifact against the wall. The faces of agonized women and children screaming as their skin cracked and bled flashed in front of his eyes. Their blood boiled and their flesh blackened as fire consumed the earth. Altaїr lowered his hand and held the Apple close, whispering reassurances to it that he wouldn't break it, that he wouldn't dare.
"You are not the man I married, Altaїr," Maria whispered. "Your mind has been warped, corrupted..."
Altaїr shuddered and turned away from his wife, cradling the Apple to his chest even as his limbs burned agonizingly. He tried to respond, to say something to combat his wife's fears, but his voice caught in his throat, choked by the pain. Heat radiated from his limbs, growing hotter and hotter until he was convinced he was going to catch on fire.
When he thought he could stand the pain no longer, he heard Maria scream, but the sound cut off abruptly. He opened his eyes and saw white, nothing but blinding, empty absence. His stomach lurched as if he was falling from a great height, but the sensation ended as soon as it had begun when he smashed into something frighteningly, painfully, solid.
Altaїr let out a pitiful sound and he stretched out his arm, the Apple slipping from his fingers and halting a few inches away. Its luminous surface was black, as if it had been covered in soot from a fire pit, and the sun bleached its scorched surface to a dull gray. Slowly, the Master slipped into unconsciousness, glad to be away from the pain of the impact and that sickening heat that still burned in his flesh.
Midnight came and went, and still, Alex ordered drinks. The bartender had threatened to cut him off, but the hooded man had only to lift his gaze from his glass to persuade the fool otherwise. Alex's eyes focused on the amber drink and he lifted it to his lips, draining it in a single gulp.
"Another," he ordered.
"Sorry buddy," the bartender said in an obviously condescending tone, "we're closed."
Alex sniffed, set his glass aside and stood.
"You have to pay for the drinks," the other man protested.
"You're still breathing, right?" Alex said. "Seems I've paid you plenty."
Swallowing hard, the pudgy bartender nodded and looked down at the counter, scrubbing it with a rag. "It's on the house, sir," he said begrudgingly. Smart man.
Alex walked toward the door, smirked and said, "Keep the change." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and strode down the street toward his apartment. He'd spent the better part of the day trying to drink himself into a stupor but, alas, he had only achieved a light buzz.
He rounded a corner, feeling more annoyed than anything and stopped dead in his tracks when a bright flash of light brought his attention to an alleyway a block ahead of him. He grimaced and muttered, "The hell?" He walked toward the alleyway and frowned up at the angry storm clouds that rolled in overhead, blotting out the sunlight. "Strange weather."
Even stranger was what he found when he stepped into the alleyway. A man dressed in nothing but a dingy linen towel lay spread eagle on the ground with his head in an upturned container of Chinese food. His hand was scorched, his arm reaching out toward a black sphere not inches away from him. Rain pattered down around them, hissing into steam wherever it touched the man's skin. Alex looked up at the sky again and grimaced.
"Change that to freaky as hell," he said.
Cautiously, Alex walked toward the man and when nothing jumped up at him, he picked up the sphere. He hissed and bounced it from hand to hand, trying to keep the scalding metal from burning his skin. When the rain cooled it enough to handle, he scrubbed the surface with his jacket sleeve and grinned at the gleaming gold under the charred surface. It might be worth something.
Alex looked down at the haggard man at his feet, cocking a brow as he tried to imagine a scenario that would land him here. He had brown hair a little lighter than Alex's and it was cut very close to his head. A scar cut across his lips, disrupting the stubble that covered the man's jaw.
"Alright buddy, you're comin' with me," Alex announced, stuffing the sphere into his pocket and picking the man up. He flung the man over his shoulder, staggering to the alley wall when he became overbalanced to steady himself. "Keep your towel on, we're not goin' far. You can come back to your naked party when I'm through with you."
