At Peace
***This story is heavily influenced by Assassin's Creed. None of the original characters are used, but the plot is very similar to a part in the game. I hope you enjoy!**
I keep my head low as I walk through the dusty streets towards the market square, the center of Melaam. The streets of Melaam are always crowded with people: vendors, buyers, passerbies, children, city guard. All of them unaware of the lion in their midst, for today, one of the hundreds of people in the marketplace will die by my hand. The city guard, dressed in their white and orange robes, are weary of me for I am a newcomer to their city. The wars have made everyone suspecting. Any sign of misbehavior on my part and I will have more than my share of bloodshed. I mingle with the throngs of people, blending in as I have been trained. My prey is one of the many other predators that lurk in the shadows of this place. He is a tyrant to those who work for him and a thief to those he bargains with. I have been sent to end his life and remove a piece from the chessboard. I must reach the market square soon if I am to complete my task.
The noise rings inside my head. Everyone is shouting. As hard as I try I cannot block the noise from my thoughts. The midday sun beats down upon my body and makes me sweat. Dust clings to my clothes and skin, hardening like a pot in the furnace. Everyone here is at ease despite the commotion, going about their business as they always have. I am fidgety and anxious, as I have been for many months now. I have spent many sleepless nights thinking about my place in this world, about my place as an assassin. I questioned myself and as always, I rose with the sun without an answer. My brothers within the Tower have taunted me for my musings, saying that I had grown soft and was unfit to stand beside them as a master of the deadly arts. I took my questions to Master Al-Am, who in turn sent me here to complete the task of eliminating a black market weapons dealer responsible for the deaths of thousands both inside and beyond Melaam.
_+_
"Once you have completed this task, you will have your answers."
"But Master –"
He held up his hand to silence me. "You are still young, Kal-Ai. It is natural to question your heart."
I turned my gaze toward the stone floor of the Tower, biting back a retort. The rays of the desert sun shown in from the large window. Al-Am rose from his desk, wrinkled hands clasped to the arms of his chair to help his aged body stand. He closed the space between us, walking silently. Though many rains had come since my master had studied the art of assassination, he was still silent in all his movements as it is hard to forget the teachings of the Tower. He stopped beside me and placed a gentle, calloused hand on my shoulder, forcing me to meet his grey eyes.
"When you came to us, you were but a child. The wars had left you orphaned and bitter. You longed to avenge your parents. You trained vigorously in the years since, exceeding even my expectations, and have become a grand assassin. Justice found the men who killed your parents, yet you were still unsatisfied. You longed for peace within yourself. Many men have fallen by your hand, Kal-Ai; evil men, but men nonetheless. Your questions come from a moral heart, not a weak one."
His voice spoke with the wisdom I knew only him to possess. A gentle sigh escaped my lips as I looked away.
"Your words humble me, Master."
The man smiled. "I would not speak it if it were not true. Your eyes tell much about you, Kal-Ai, as I have said since you became my pupil. You have the spirit of the First within you."
He motioned to a portrait of the man behind his desk. The Father assassin was the founder of the Tower. The painting's eyes looked down at me, the left one, blue as the sky; the right, golden like an eagle's. I felt a weight fall on my shoulders as I turned back to face my teacher.
"Go now to Melaam. Find Tiram and your answers, for I believe his death will kill your doubts, as well."
"As you wish, Master." I placed my arm across my chest and bowed.
"Peace be with you, young one."
I set out at once for Melaam. It was a two day's ride from the Tower and I had not time to spare. Using my acquired skills, I uncovered information about my target, Tiram, and followed him to this point where his death would hopefully give me the answers my master promised.
_+_
The streets widen as I enter the square. I stop at a platform where a man is shouting. His words strike my ears like a drum, but I push them from my mind as I mingle with the crowd of people listening to his preaching's. From here, I scan the rest of the marketplace for any sign of my target. He has yet to arrive. I will need to be ready to strike when he appears. I search for a nearby bench, choosing to wait there for my target. Finding one with a good view of the area, I step out of the group of listeners and towards the bench. My anxiety is rising. I must complete my task. I quickly walk through the crowd with ease, sidestepping a group of women carrying large pots. It is then that I bump into someone standing behind me. I turn.
"Watch where you're going!" The guard has his hand on the hilt of his long-sword. The two other men he is standing with are also poised and awaiting any sign of malicious intent from me. They wear orange-trimmed tunics over thick chain mail that clinks as they move. They are members of the city guard, but like most of the men they are employed by Tiram. I lower my eyes.
"Forgive me. I was only making way for the women."
"Dog. You should know better than to interfere with our duties!" he says, grabbing the front of my robes and throwing me backwards into a merchant's stand. I have the chance to regain my balance, but allow myself to fall. The table, littered with jars of oils and incense, collapses under the force of my weight. People scatter as the guards laugh at me.
"Look at what you have done! My oils! My fragrances! Do you realize how expensive these are?" The shop owner is yelling, complaining about the loss of his wares.
The scents from the broken jars are nauseating. The noise in the streets seems to intensify tenfold and pound inside my head. I see red as an urge, so strong it startles me, grows within my chest. My mind's eye sees my blade embedded into each of the guards' necks, severing their spinal column and dropping them dead. My heart beats faster at the thought of it and no sooner has the feeling come, it vanishes into the shadows of the present moment.
I slowly pick myself up. I am drenched in oil, which the dust clings to like a sandspur.
"That'll teach you!"
The guards move on, but they will no doubt remember my face again later. Their large, full coin purses only prove that the weapons dealer is paying them to protect his dealings around the city. I mutter a small apology to the shopkeeper as I hand him a bag of coins I had picked from the belt of a gatekeeper to replace his merchandise and hush his complaints. I move farther down the line of shops to a well in the corner of the square, intent on washing what part of me I could. An old man, hunched over from years of labor, is hoisting a bucket from its depths. He sees me walking towards him and turns to face me. He chuckles softly, shaking his white-crowned head, before summoning me closer. I stand near him, but not so close that he can see my face clearly.
"The guards are quite ruthless here, now that Tiram pays them." He sits the bucket on the edge of the well close to me. I dip my hands in the cool water and raise a handful of it to my face. The sensation shocks me slightly, but feels refreshing. I splash another handful onto my face before responding.
"Are there any that Tiram doesn't control?" I wipe the excess water from my brow.
"There are," he says, "but they stay on the walls, away from the market square. Tiram has had men killed for refusing him."
I nod once as I gaze at my reflection in the bucket. My eyes, set against the tanned flesh of my face, stare back at me from beneath the shadow of my hood. It was an odd thing, my eyes. One was scarred from an accident in my childhood and was a bright blue color. The other was golden. Master has always thought that it was a sign of great power and knowledge, since the First was said to have had the same mismatched eyes.
"Thank you for your help."
The man gives me a sad kind of smile. "If we do not show civility and kindness, no one will. That is how our world works, child."
I give him a nod as I dry my face with a mostly unspoiled section of my sleeve. The man lifts the bucket with some difficulty as he makes his way through the crowd. He soon disappears into a stall against the west wall.
I let out a small sigh as I walk, more carefully this time, to my waiting place. The men on either end of the bench glance at me as I sit, no doubt questioning the smell emanating from my, fragrance-drenched, sand-covered clothes. I pay them no mind. I place my chin, covered with dark stubble, on my hands as I lean forward, keeping my eyes open for my target. I take slow deep breaths as I search. I sincerely hope master is right. I am making careless mistakes, as if I were the novice I hadn't been for many years. The thought of making an error as I had done embarrasses me. Perhaps I amunfit to be an assassin. But I cannot let these thoughts linger. Master entrusted this task to me and I cannot fail him. I must eliminate Tiram. I cannot let him escape now, not when I am so close to finishing him and gaining the answers I seek.
There is a commotion in the north-east corner of the square. I pick up my head to find that Tiram has entered the marketplace with one of his men. He is shouting. I stand and walk closer to the center of the street where a statue stands looming over the crowds. I situate myself behind it, pretending to look at a carpet for sale, and listen to his conversation.
"You have failed me yet again Rishar!"
"I've done what I could. It is not my responsibility to look after the weapons after they've been loaded for transport." Rishar, no doubt a servant for Tiram, is visibly nervous.
"Then what good are you?" Tiram turns on the man, making him step away for fear of being struck.
"Forgive me! It will not happen again," he begs.
"No, it will not." I see Tiram draw the blade before Rishar even hears the words leave his master's lips. Tiram raises the dagger and thrusts it down into the man's chest. Women standing nearby scream and flee the square, some dropping their belongings as they do so. Rishar's eyes are wide as his master stabs him repeatedly before kicking over his lifeless body. Tiram kneels and wipes the blood on the dead man's clothes, sheathing his dagger once more. The guards move to pick up the body, but Tiram stops them.
"Leave it. He is not deserving of your attention."
The guards look at each other before returning to their posts. The urge to kill again swells within me, making my heart beat faster. I keep my eyes on Tiram. Just seeing his face infuriates me. My informant had said that the weapon's dealer would be in the square to wait for a shipment to arrive before leaving the city. It was midday yet, and the caravan would arrive within the hour. I have plenty of time.
The man walks around the square, inspecting the shops that disguise his black market dealings. Guards are stationed where the square opens to the streets. Occasionally one walks through the square as he makes his way to around the city. These men, too, are under Tiram's influence. I have to make a quick escape once the deed is done. I locate a ladder leaning against a building in the square. I could use the rooftops to avoid the crowded streets and return to my contact within the city. From there, I could return home to the Tower.
All of the sounds of the market echo in the square. My target starts walking towards the western wall where another fragrance shop stands. I take slow steps towards him, gently pushing through the crowd that separates me from him. I will strike when he passes the shop to avoid alerting him to my presence. The guards are watching me. They are on edge since Tiram's arrival can sense something suspicious. I do not falter even as images of past killings enter my mind. Each man I had slain, the looks in their eyes as death embraced them, shook me to the core. I believe that life is sacred and that ending it is a sin. However, I am an assassin whose job is to kill, supposedly for the greater good. My breathing is deep, my heart is racing. I keep my face hidden beneath my hood as I stalk my prey. The noise in the square, accompanied by the heavy pounding of my heart in my ears, is now louder than anything I have ever heard. I fear I will go deaf. There are now only feet between us.
Tiram stops at the incense shop, inspecting the fragrances and the shopkeeper. I close the space between us, knowing that the smell on my clothes will go unnoticed. As I make the final step, I recognize the old man from the well is behind the stand. His eyes meet mine with a look of fear and knowledge of my intent. I wonder what he thinks of me, now that he knows my purpose. Most feared and despised me for my profession, yet a look buried in the man's eyes tell me that somewhere inside his heart, he is glad to see the death of evil. This light, however faint, encourages me and I extend my hand. Tiram turns towards me, seeing the look on the old man's face. My gaze now connects with my target's. A realization shines in his eyes as he understands that this is the end. The look in his eyes excites me, though I do not know why. The secret blade I carry, passed down from the First and hidden beneath my leather gauntlets, thrusts forward into his back as I clamp my hand over his mouth to muffle his screams. My heart stops. I watch the life leave his fearful eyes and feel no remorse, for the evil within his heart dies with him. And for once, the world is silent.