"And then I killed it." Altair made a gesture with his thumb as if to slit his throat.
The group of novices surrounding him grinned and nodded approvingly. Shaded from the midday heat they sat under a gnarled fig tree in the garden of Masyaf to listen to Altair's newest adventure.
He loved their attention. He needed them. There was no family living in the nearby village, waiting for him to visit them once in a while. Basically raised within the walls of Masyaf after the death of first his mother and later his father, he had been more or less adopted by Al Mualim whose understanding of care mostly did not venture beyond thorough training and the occasional pat on the back.
"When I'm as far in training as he is I want to be just like him." a young novice whispered to his friend, nodding in Altair's direction. "I have heard he even beat master Izmir in sword fight once!"
The other boy's eyes grew wide and he turned to stare at the vividly gesticulating Altair, who was busy describing how he started a fire to roast the rabbit he had caught in a snare in the lands around Masyaf. You really had to be very nimble if you wanted to escape the guard's attention the boy thought with a mixture of jealousy and admiration – there were at least twenty of them patrolling the towers at any time of day. But then again, maybe the guards turned a blind eye to Altair's lax interpretation of the rules because they liked him for his promising talent.
High above the gardens in the cool vaults of the library Malik was reading a scroll with intense focus, now and then stroking the short, black beard on his chin in concentration. He did not care much for the childish pastimes of his fellow novices – racing each other through the corridors when no guards were looking or playing pranks on the washing women visiting the fortress. Yet, sometimes he envied his younger brother Kadar, who recently joined the order, for his straightforward character that let him get along easily with everyone. His own aloofness made him seem older and let him stand out between the others.
When they had just started their training, one of the novices had hidden Malik's white robes for a whole day so his victim had to absolve all lessons in his almost see-through muslin sleeping habit. The day after the episode, the joker was seen less cheerful than usual on top of having a slightly crooked and swollen nose, whereas Malik was his calm, composed self again.
Since the day he had come to Masyaf, Kadar and Malik were often seen wandering the grounds together; the older brother trying to pace the younger's clumsy eagerness to imitate fighting techniques that were way beyond his skill level or comforting him whenever he was homesick. Only when being with Kadar did Malik show a glimpse of his amicable side.
The two boys, Malik and Altair, though of the same age, did not take greater notice of each other, only during mutual activities like eating in the great hall or when they changed locations during training they sometimes nodded as a greeting.
On this hot afternoon in Masyaf the heat was weighing down all life in the fortress – everybody made sure to move as little as possible and stay in the cool, soothing shadows. For instructor Halil those were just the perfect conditions to teach the older novices a lecture in essential combat skills. He called them together with a sharp whistle.
Altair got up nonchalantly from under the tree, stretched his fingers with a crunching noise and followed the others to the big training arena in the center of the courtyard. God, how much he wished he could just skip this lesson and wander around this secluded lake between the rocks that he had discovered on one of his hunting trips. Hot sweat was trailing through his hair, along the side of his neck, down to his smaller back, leaving dark streaks on his linen robes. Some novices were already gathered around the ring, waiting for instructions from Halil, who stood in a shaded part of the circle, frowning upon the group of tardy boys.
Ugh, how Malik hated their careless arrogance which always caused the instructors to be extra strict and make life sour for all the novices but he had no time to dwell on that thought since Halil started to explain this afternoon's lesson: "Novices! As assassins you need to be stealthy but you also need to know how to defend yourselves against possible attacks. Since you are not allowed to carry any weapons until you become adequate assassins, this is especially important for you. Today we will train hand-to-hand combat. "Malik Al-Sayf and Altair Ibn La'Ahad!" he beckoned them into the ring "You two will start. Please disrobe and meet me in the center of the ring."
Weak gusts of wind carried the scent of dust and flowers from the gardens into the courtyard while from the high towers the soft clang of swords being put down could be heard. Guards welcoming some distraction from their tiring routine were eyeing the assembly of novices. Altair was the first to return to Halil. He had torn those robes from his heated body as soon as he heard his name, throwing them to his buddy Nizar, who caught them with slightly curled lips, holding the robe as far away as possible from his own.
Malik had carefully taken off the white habit and placed it neatly-folded over the top of the wooden railing that was enclosing the arena.
Now they were both standing next to each other in the sunlight, while little beads of sweat formed on their pectorals. In his head, Malik was already going through a number of attack maneuvers. He wanted to get this narcissistic poser off his high horse and take him down as quickly as possible so he would shut up for at least some days.
Altair knew that Malik seemed calm but could put up a considerable fight. He assessed his opponent with a sideward glance – they were both similarly built, only was Malik more wiry and slender than Altair. Malik's skin had the velvety, olive-shaded complexion of the local people whereas Altair's northern heritage clearly showed in his lighter skin, which became the tiniest bit sprinkled with cinnamon-coloured freckles in summer.
Fastening the ties of his breeches, Malik stepped aside to face Altair and bend down into an attack position. The bystanding novices whispered and gave each other excited puffs for the match would soon begin. Altair vehemently slapped his hands together, jumping into a crouched position opposite of Malik. The instructor urged them again to comply with the rules – no hitting, kicking or biting – the only moves allowed to force the other into submission were throws, holds and joint locks. A high-pitched whistle was blown and the two boys started moving – every muscle tensed, arms held in front to grab the other.
Altair made the first attempt to attack, grabbing Malik's neck, trying to pull him closer, forcing him into a headlock.
His black-haired partner was having none of this, using the gap in Altair's defence to sling his arms around his torso and placing a foot in the hollow of his knees so the attacker sank down, finding himself flat on his back. Malik laid heavy upon him, pinning Altair's legs to the ground with athletic thighs and holding his upper body in check by anchoring his elbows behind Altair's shoulders so he could press against his jaw, making every attempt to move a painful undertaking.
They were now sweating heavily, a layer of salty water forming where their abdomens touched and moved against each other from the exhausted breathing caused by the strain of the position. Malik shifted his weight slightly in an attempt to quickly sit on top of Altair but the latter had already planned his next move, wriggling his legs free and clasping them around Malik's waist. The scrunching force of his competitor's leg clamp forced Malik to let go of Altair's neck with a short gasp of surprise.
Like a flying bird Altair thrust his arms free, just to flip Malik on his back, who was now being pressed against Altair's chest, firmly held down in a choke-hold in the crook of his arm. Pleased, he noticed Malik's face becoming red with heat and anger while he was writhing to escape this uncomfortable embrace. Altair was gleaming through the ache of the effort he had to put into holding Malik still, who was thrashing his hip and legs wildly to break the hold while Altair tried to hook his legs over Malik's to immobilize them as well.
The bystanders now cheered loudly, calling the fighter's names to spur them on, beating their hands against the wooden railing to make as much noise as possible. Altair felt fired up when he heard the others cry his name, fastening his trembling arm around Malik's throat, however, also loosening his leg hold, which gave Malik the chance to free himself, turn around and bump his head into Altair's chest, who released his arm with a deep
"Ugh!". Springing to his feet, Malik shook the sweat from his head – tiny diamonds splashing from the pitch-black hair. He wiped his brows,and caught his breath, when Altair jumped up as well, lunging jet another attack at the dark boy in front of him. This time successfully.
He pulled Malik's neck towards himself so that his head was forced against his collarbone.
Malik could smell the fresh, musky aroma effusing from the golden hair under Altair's arm. While trying to grab Altairs shoulders, he stepped forward in an attempt to push his rival off balance. He was breathing heavily with this effort, blowing warm gushes of air over Altair's chest, causing the skin to flush with tiny goose bumps where Malik's breath touched it.
Altair felt a slight tingle running down his spine, nesting in the lower part of his abdomen. He also noticed that one of his nipples had become stiff, yearning to be touched. Why was this happening now? Angrily, he pushed Malik away, still keeping hold of his wrists for the next strike.
Malik, however, forcefully pulled his arms upward, free from Altair's hands and in a flash had the hissing boy in a crushing headlock, his biceps pressing against Altair's cheek. With his free arm, Malik twisted the hand of his rival upwards and a painful twinge forced Altair to his knees.
However, not only the ongoing pain in his joint was the reason for his failure to stay on his legs. His nose buried in Malik's flank, he sipped in the dark, almost powdery scent of his bronzy skin while the sweat of both ran into the crack of his mouth, causing a stinging in the scar running over his lips. Something in his brain went blank and a heavy sensation was spreading out from his belly down to his toes.
When Malik felt his antagonist go limp, he was surprised since he did not yet exert the full force on Altair's wrist as he was planning to and he did not expect Altair to give in that quickly.
He was right. After a few seconds Altair was back on his feet, now groaning with rage. Ignoring the pressure on his Adam's apple, he slid out of Malik's hold, grasping his opponent by the shoulders in a furious attempt to bluntly push him over. His teeth tightly-clenched, he dug his fingers into Malik's hard muscles but the other boy only glared at him with eyes coal-black from the heat of the fight.
That was the moment it hit Altair. The moment he locked eyes with Malik, a cold shiver of shock and excitement ran through him, this time radiating to every part of his body. He was completely caught off guard by this powerful emotion and again, lost control over his posture.
Malik saw the amber eyes of his opponent widen in something like surprise for a split second before he felt the chance to take Altair by the shoulders and thrust him on the floor. Like a lifeless cat, the muscular boy slid along the coloured floor of compressed clay, eyes still wide in what seemed unbelieving bewilderment.
The novices were cheering and booing around the ring, calling Altair awake from his stupor.
Malik stood a few meters away with the sun in his back, clenching his fists but his face showing a slight expression of wonder. He knew he would win the fight, however, he did not expect it to happen like that. It was like in the end Altair had just given up – that was no winning! Looking down on his opponent as he scrambled quickly to his feet, carelessly wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, he suddenly felt a warm attraction to the otherwise so annoying boy. What was that? He shook his head to expel this odd thought, covering the puzzled expression that crept on his face with a small, victorious smirk. What did Altair see that suddenly broke his will to fight? This thought was lingering in his head as he strode back to his corner to dry himself with a fresh cloth of linen while Halil announced him the winner and explained the various techniques to the watching novices.
Kadar had sneaked away from a group of younger students to see his brother fight and was now jumping energetically around his brother, beaming with shameless pride.
Altair was greeted by his friends with open mockery and gloating. Never had they seen Altair loose a fight like this and they were happy to see that he was also only human in the end. They taunted him by playfully trying to get him in a headlock again but he harshly pushed them away, growling muttered threats in all directions. He did not wait for the lesson to end but grasped his robe and walked in a straight line towards the gardens where he searched a cool fountain far away from the courtyard.
When Malik saw Altair leave with flushed pink cheeks, still breathing heavily, he felt almost disappointed. What was this sudden interest in the big-mouthed Altair?
When Altair returned to his friends again, the sun was about to set and the novices assembled in the great hall for their evening meal. He entered like nothing had happened, slumping on one of the wooden benches next to Nazir.
When Nazir raised his eyebrow in silent question, Altair waved his hand dismissively, saying "Oh, you know I'm a bad loser...! I'm sorry if I was rough, but I just could not stand everyone staring at me. It's all good now. Next time I will take him down!" The moment he said this, his heart made a leap of joy. For some reason he could not wait to get his hands on Malik again. He wanted to redeem himself from this humiliating defeat but also show this smug bastard that he had nothing on him once he was completely focused. He generously ignored the little voice in his head continuously whispering that those were not the only reasons why he could not wait for the next fight against Malik.
Seeing Altair lounging on the benches with his friends, in splendid mood again, entertaining everyone with his stories, made Malik roll his eyes but also sent a tang of pain through his chest. Probably only because the loudmouth was not as humbled as he had hoped for, Malik thought to himself. However, when he took off his robes that night to lay naked under the cool fabric of his bed sheet, he could not fight down the picture of Altair springing up in his mind. Over and over, he saw those golden eyes in front of him – the pupils shooting open when they had looked at each other. He also vividly remembered the silky touch of Altair's skin from when he had him pinned to the ground in the beginning. Malik shivered even though it was a warm night. Why did he remember these things for god's sake? Cold sweat stood on his forehead when he realized that he had been musing in thoughts of Altair for a long while and now his penis pressed hard against his stomach. What was he to do with that? He shifted uneasily under his sheets, trying not to waken the other novices in the room.
There was no way he could sleep like that. Slowly, he let his hand run down his flank, eventually reaching the burning flesh that demanded his attention. Carefully he laid his hand around the base of his aching shaft that was now throbbing and giving off little drops of crystal-clear fluid at its apex. He could not prevent breathing in sharply when he started to move his hand rhythmically up and down, feeling the waves of pleasure extend from the core of his body. He had to bury his face in the pillow when he finally came, letting out a long, shaky breath. Thank god, nobody seemed to have noticed. He cleaned himself quickly with the corner of his bed sheet. He did not envy the washing women. Relaxed, but still confused about his thoughts, he dozed off into a dreamless sleep.
The following two weeks of training continued as usual for the older novices. Everyone got their fair share of bruises, winning and losing. There were two, however, who took more than just a beating during these hand-to-hand matches. Altair and Malik were clearly head and shoulders above their fellow novices, but when they had to fight each other, sparks were flying. None of the two wanted to surrender, putting their last grain of energy into winning the upper hand. The fights between Malik and Altair soon became the attraction of the fortress and everyone, student or worker, tried to be witness of this spectacle.
For the two boys, however, the situation became more and more painful to bear. Both of them realized a clash of their emotions – on the one hand they wanted to crush the other in the ring, but then again, neither of them could deny that they anticipated being so close to the other with secret delight. The result was that their fights became so intense that they usually had to be separated by Halil and there was no winner or loser. Mostly, the two competitors then walked into their respective corner with an absent gaze and were better not to be addressed.
They were fuming. They were electrified.
Those feelings lasted for the whole day and especially Malik had to suffer under his younger brother, who would not stop ranting about what happened. Kadar did not know if he was coming or going – trapped between the love and support for his brother and the sheer admiration he had for Altair.
Even though Altair and Malik seemed to handle the tension in a different way – Altair being even more exuberant than usual and Malik secluding himself deeper into adamant studying – in the concealment of the night they let their imagination run wild. Not knowing that the other was suffering from the same consuming fever, they became increasingly short-tempered and crabby. Only before a fight they were pumped with excitement and adrenaline.
After one of those days when they had been up against each other and needed to be separated because no one could get the upper hand, both of them were so keyed up that they had to get some air. Malik and Altair left Masyaf early in the afternoon – each one on his own secret path.
Altair stumbled over rocks and through the sparse vegetation growing on his way to the lake. He needed to cool down. His heart was still beating from the previous agitation and he cursed under his breath. That stupid Malik! He sighed and kicked a little rock down the slope of the mountain on which the fortress of Masyaf was built. A frightened rabbit shot out of his burrow but Altair was not the slightest bit interested in chasing it today. He chewed on his lip.
Malik had wandered farther away from the fortress than he had ever done before. He settled down on a small, green lake, which was surrounded by bushy hills. He leaned his back against a rock on the water's edge, rubbing his eyes as if it would help to chase away these nagging thoughts of Altair. Why could he not just stop? Be reasonable. He puffed out and started unpacking his drawing utensil. The sun was still high, crickets were chirping and shimmering waves danced over the lake. Some sketching would take the pressure of his mind.
He broke off a twig and grumbled. The image of Malik would not go away. The little voice in his head triumphed: you knew it is not about winning that stupid competition... Altair kicked the dirt on the ground but he knew it was true. He had to do something about that. If he stayed that absent-minded there was no way he would ever become an assassin. Speeding up his pace, he climbed up the crest of a dusty hill. He had almost reached the lake.
Damn this flax-haired demon! Another blot of black ink spread over the parchment – the sketch was now definitely ruined. Malik sighed heartrendingly and put his work aside on the sandy ground. He folded his arms around the knees and buried his face in the dark. It drove him out of his mind that he could not discipline himself to be as cool and distant as he would have liked to be. He sat motionless like a statue, brooding helplessly over a solution for his problem.
Altair saw the white spot on the water's edge as soon as he crossed the top of the hill. Then he saw the ruffled, black hair on the crouched figure and his heart dropped like in free fall. He wanted to turn on his heel and disappear as quickly as he had come but something made him stop short. What was he thinking – Running away like a coward? He was Altair Ibn La'Ahad, son of a master assassin! He pulled himself up to his natural height, legs firmly on the ground. His palms were cold and sweaty but his mind was made up – he would go and face Malik, whatever would come out of this...
Malik jerked his head up when he heard a flock of wild pigeons starting from a nearby tree. They flew off into the mild afternoon sun but Malik's eyes still fixated the place where the birds had been roosting. Then he saw him. Within a second Malik jumped to his feet, just about to hastily grab his belongings and run off when he realized that Altair had already seen him and apparently made a straight line to where he was standing. The feeling of being caught tasted bitter in his mouth and he felt embarrassed that Altair had most likely seen his attempt to flee. Despite his heart thumping forcefully against his ribcage and blood roaring in his ears, he mustered to keep his breath under control and even forced that slight, snide smirk onto his lips when Altair finally approached him through a patch of knee-high, dried grass.
They stood at arm's length, facing each other. The wind shook the grass around them and the last green leaves in the trees with a silvery whisper. A choir of insects buzzed a symphony of high-pitched screeches and hums. None of the boys moved. For what seemed minutes they were just staring into each others eyes, both deer and headlights at the same time.
Eventually, Altair stirred, opening his mouth as if to speak but closing it again without having said a word. Instead, he reached out to Malik, trying to touch his arm.
"What do you think you're doing?" hissed Malik, taking one step backwards.
Altair noticed that this rebuff was much milder than what he had become used to hear from his rival. He even thought to sense a trace of fear in Malik's voice that betrayed his otherwise completely composed expression. He opened his mouth again.
"Malik,..." Altair's tongue was dry all of a sudden and he had to swallow audibly. "I..." He sighed. "What is wrong with us?"
Malik raised his eyebrows. "With us? The question should rather be what is wrong with you! Why are you disturbing me? I'm practicing." He heard his own voice sound much more hysteric than was appropriate and he wanted to kick himself.
Altair almost smiled as he said: "I'm not stupid, Malik. I saw you brooding down there since I set foot on the hill – you were not practicing anything. So what is it that troubles you? I can hear your heartbeat as loud as the cicadas..." He felt more confident now that he had taken the initiative. Bit by bit he could feel his tensed muscles relax until there was only curious interest and an exhilarated knot in his stomach.
Malik did nothing for a while. He stood motionless, clenching his fists until the knuckles were white, his lips pressed together so they were merely a dark line on his face. Then he spun around, turning his back to Altair and mumbled in a deep, cracking voice: "I don't know what you are talking about."
Malik did not walk away though.
At that moment Altair acted on pure instinct. His arm flew forward, grasping Malik's hand. It felt so natural to do this.
When Malik felt a cold hand capturing his, something deep inside prevented him from ripping his hand back and giving a juicy smack on top of it like he normally would.
Now the two figures just stood there, both unable to remove their hands.
Altair began softly stroking his thumb over the back of Malik's hand. For what seemed ages, they did not move even an inch – Malik facing the rocky slopes that were starting to glow orange in the afternoon light, Altair watching Malik's shoulders rise and fall with heavy breathing.
Altair did not let go. Malik did not pull away.
When Altair was about to open his mouth a third time, suddenly, Malik answered the strokes on his hand. The breath of the tall, dark boy was almost panting now and his face showed a tortured expression. Malik had closed his eyes and his mouth stood slightly open so he could gasp in enough air. His eyes still shut, he turned around to Altair, still not letting go of his hand.
In his dreams he had touched Altair a thousand times but he had not expected that a simple caress could set him on fire like this. He did not dare to open his eyes; afraid to see himself in this very situation; afraid that it was only a dream. So he waited there surrounded by red darkness, almost crushing Altair's hand, biting his lips in concentration.
Ever so carefully, Altair pulled Malik towards himself. Malik did not resist, staggering into the direction of the draw like an unconscious sleepwalker. The boy with the auburn hair walked slowly backwards until they reached a rock that was still warm from the hot day. He tugged on Malik's sleeve and both were now kneeling in front of each other, surrounded by a patch of dried grass and moss.
Since Malik's lids were still closed, Altair smiled softly and started tracing the other's aristocratic nose. Malik did not open his eyes but looked more relaxed than before. When Altair touched the full lips of Malik, that had the colour of burnt umber, they sprang open like a ripe fruit, revealing a row of white, shimmering teeth. Altair smiled brightly at the sight of this unconscious motion and started brushing Malik's lips harder so they were drawn into the direction of his muscular fingers. With the tiniest sigh and shiver Maliks lips parted even wider, sending his ragged breaths down Altair's wrist, who in turn felt his heartbeat quicken and a hot sensation in his abdomen.
Malik's head was swimming with fervour as he began to rub his overly sensitized lips against Altair's hand, his tongue venturing out of its cave to relish the taste of salty skin. Little electric shocks were traveling from his tongue up to his brain and deep into his abdomen. What in god's name was he doing here? How did it come to this? He shoved the thoughts aside. The only thing occupying his mind at the moment was that he craved more of this sweet feeling. More of Altair's taste. Playfully, Malik caught an index finger between his teeth, surprised by his own initiative.
Now it was Altair's turn to let out a soft moan, his backbone straightening upwards. Malik raised his own hand to take Altair's, slowly licking one finger after the other, covering all of them in thick, shiny saliva.
When he felt the hot lips closing round his skin, Altair almost collapsed with pleasure, his chest burning under the white robes. He could not bear the tension of being passive any longer. He pulled his hand away, catching Malik's hungry lips with his own.
Something in Malik's head exploded in white light when their mouths connected in a fevered shiver. He took Altair's head into his hands to hold him closer; to prevent him from ever pulling away, although this concern was unsubstantiated.
Altair had just the same impulse and so both boys were now tussling each other's hair while their tongues explored the exciting taste of the foreign lips. Not long after that, their caresses ventured further – brushing over eyebrows, teasing earlobes, licking the soft skin of the throat, tongues tracing stubbly jaw lines.
Altair was the first to tug on the clasp of Malik's robes that allowed opening the front, revealing the heaving chest of the almost unconscious Malik. Sparse black was hair glistening in the sun that was approaching the horizon.
Quivering, Malik sat up straight in the tangled grass, for the first time looking straight into the eyes of Altair. His coal black irises were smoldering with desire and excitement. Closing his lids again with a flutter, Malik leaned forward to drink Altair, to absorb as much of his essence as he possibly could. With flying fingers, he opened the clasp of Altair's robe and both boys were now wriggling out of their uniform, yet never letting go of each other.
The sky stretched above them as a milky orange plane. Birds were starting to warble their evening song and a gentle breeze from the mountains chased shallow waves over the lake. But the boys did not notice any of this. They were rolling around in the rustling grass, fighting over the best place to plant the next blazing kiss on the others skin. The rock next to them radiated enough warmth for them not to feel the cool, rising damp. But in all honesty, the heat of their bodies put that of the setting sun to shame.
They loosened their embrace only to unfasten the ties of each others breeches, frantically tugging at the folds that covered the taut bulges which were now straining the fabric.
Altair ran his hand through the coarse, humid hair between Malik's thighs, who answered with a deep groan, pressing himself closer to Altair. Malik struggled down his pants and Altair followed suit but none of them could bring up the patience to take them off completely. When they were naked, they fell into a crushing embrace while their shafts pulsated wildly against each other.
Reaching down, Altair closed his fingers around the long, slender erection of Malik, who winced and let out a shivering sigh. Cringing, he bit Altairs shoulder and ran his nails down the rippled surface of his stomach until his hand found the burning flesh amidst golden brown curls. In unison they were stroking each other, first gently, later with increasing urgency until both thrust their hips forward to gain even more stimulation from the other.
Malik was breathing flat against Altair's lips now and ecstatically digging his heels into the ground. Altair increased the frequency of his strokes until Malik cried out helplessly, his whole body shaking with rolling spasms. A hot jet of pearly white fluid splashed against Altair's belly, who at the sight of this and his gasping lover, felt his own orgasm surfacing. Tingling ripples traveled from his toes and fingertips to meet in his center, congregating to one big eruption of lust that almost took his senses.
Malik felt warm moisture on his chest when Altair came hard under the rhythmical thrusts of his hand.
Collapsing into the grass in exhaustion, the two boys clung to each other, placing soft kisses where their faces laid against the others body. Malik stroked Altair's drenched hair with his lips while Altair tasted his own, bitter semen when he drew his teeth over the flushed chest of his partner.
For a while they laid silently under the purple shimmer of the approaching twilight, feeling saturated and peaceful, only listening to the sound of the others breathing.
Malik felt complete, holding Altair's muscular body in his arms. How could he have known that such fulfillment was possible? He leaned his forehead against the top of Altair's head wishing they would never have to part.
Altair on the other hand was almost dozing off. He could not hold a single thought in his mind and was just wrapped in a cloud of fuzzy tingles and pure contentment.
Eventually, they had to change their position – the breeze was blowing cooler and the first stars appeared on the horizon. Both groaned when they moved their limbs, which were stiff from their unchanging position and sore from the cuts that the sharp leaves of the grass had left on their skin.
Blushing slightly, trying not to meet the others gaze, Malik pulled up his breeches and walked to the water's edge. He splashed cold water into his face and over his chest.
Altair had followed him with a grin on his face, also refreshing himself with the water of the lake. When Malik saw the content expression on the others face, he was puzzled. How could Altair be so happy-go-lucky? They would never be able to go on with that, he thought desperately.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Altair, who let out a relieved sigh: "Pheeew! I'm glad that's over with. What do you think?"
Malik blinked blankly at the fair-skinned figure standing in the water, not really grasping the meaning of Altair's words, yet.
"Oh, come on!" Altair crowed "You know it has been eating us up from the inside. Now we finally know how to calm down, right?"
"You cannot seriously suggest that there will be a second time?" Malik asked, his eyes wide in shock.
"And you, cannot seriously suggest that you would not want this to happen, do you?"
Malik pressed his lips together. Of course he wanted it. God, he craved it even now they had just done it. How would it be after some days, a week? What would happen when they had to wrestle each other in training? Everything would be a screaming reminiscence of this evening. Malik shook his head. How could they go through with this?
Guessing the others thoughts, Altair waved his hand angrily. "What are you thinking, Malik? Stealth and blending is the first thing they teach the novices. We are almost assassins now – sneaking away to this place will be more than easy. Not even a challenge!"
He is right, Malik thought reluctantly, and a small flame of hope was ignited in his heart.
They had to return to Masyaf before they were missed. If they were quick, they could still make it to the evening meal. Putting on his robe and gathering his belongings that were strewn in the sand, Malik could not help but smile silently to himself. When Altair saw this secret expression on Malik's face, he knew everything would be fine. They would arrive in Masyaf as if nothing had happened – Malik being calm and distant as usual and Altair himself would just make up some story about a mountain goat he was chasing through the valleys.
It was almost dark when they had reached the top of the hill. In the distance, the fortress of Masyaf was towering above the mountains. Before they parted to each hurry home on a different path, they shared one last kiss and looked into each others eyes as if to make a silent promise.
Then they started off into the darkness.