There are so many 'fics called "Leap of Faith" that it's painful. So I shortened it.
Altair takes in a deep breath. The air is clear and crisp this high up, cold but pleasant, and the draught refreshes him as if he had drunk water. He thinks he could sit up here with the birds and watch them bobbing along the currents of the air for hours; an eagle has apparently been spotted making its nest nearby, and he wants to see it. Yes, that sounds like a good idea. He will sit here on the nice, reassuringly solid stone, and—
"Altair ibn-La'Ahad." Al Mualim's voice is unmistakable, its tone weathered with age and yet still strong. The novice assassin straightens, back instinctively stiffening at his master's voice. He is both surprised and unsurprised that his master approached him undetected: surprised because of Al Mualim's age, and unsurprised because, after all, the man is the Grand Master of the Assassins.
"You have proven yourself worthy," the Assassin leader continues, "of the honor of becoming an Assassin. Now is the time for your final test."
The Grand Master circles Altair slowly as he speaks, and the novice knows better than to show signs of fear – he is stock-still and impassive even as his heart threatens to hammer through his ribs.
"I trust you have heard of the Leap of Faith?" Al Mualim asks. When his young protégé does not reply, he smiles a little and says, "You may speak."
"Yes, Master." Altair's voice is unusually soft and meek. Like a woman, he thinks disgustedly. If Malik could only see me now…
"As its name implies, making the Leap requires much faith." The old man has stopped behind the novice, and Altair has to forcibly remind himself not to turn and watch his master, no matter how unsettling the prickling at the back of his neck is. He locks his gaze onto the tapering wooden beam that extends from the edge of the parapet.
"First, faith in oneself, that you can correctly judge the leap. Second, faith in what cushions your fall, that you are not afraid to land. Third and most importantly, faith in the sky and the earth, for an assassin must maintain control of his environment at all times."
A whisper of cloth and Al Mualim is suddenly in front of him. "Do you understand, Altair?"
"Yes, Master," he repeats, his voice stronger this time. The Grand Master gives him an approving nod and steps to the side, indicating, with a flourish, the thin plank of wood – so thin! – jutting out into the sky like a splinter.
The four steps to the parapet Altair takes with confidence, head held high and oozing his infamous arrogance, but when he clambers onto the edge and begins to inch out onto the wood, the confidence slips away swift as the darting silver fish that populate Masyaf's river. He's left with shaking legs and a dry throat. His step falters.
"Jump," his master commands, and the novice nods, not trusting his voice.
Assassins do not fear death, he reminds himself. But he is not an Assassin yet, so the fear lingers.
But then he jumps, and his fears and his worries and his cowardice stay rooted to the ledge, bound to the ground, and he is free. The weakness in his legs vanish as he pushes firmly against the wood, which he sees now is no thinner than it ought to be, and he spreads his arms like the wings of a bird. The sky in all its vastness has no room for hesitation.
For a moment the whole world seems to freeze and come into focus. He can see the river that waters Masyaf stopped in its tracks, every fleck of foam on its churning surface clear to his eyes. An eagle hangs suspended in the air, the remains of a kill dangling from its beak; a hawk is frozen in its descent after some small rodent; a basket-weaver's scowl is fixed to his face as he haggles over the price of his wares.
Then the spell is broken and he is dropping – no, not dropping, he is diving, cutting a swift clean line through the sky like an eagle descending on its prey. He would laugh in jubilation if he could find the breath. There's no need, though; the wind and the sky and the fall and the smile on his face are loud and exultant enough for the world to hear.
Circling high above his head, an eagle stretching its flight feathers for the first time screams in joy.
Beta'd by my awesome sister. She knows who she is.