Feast:
Pushing through the crowded streets of busy people and braying mules, Al sat down exhausted on the white, sturdy bench outside of his favourite shop. The intense heat that beat down upon his shoulders seemed to amplify the delicious aroma wafting from the shop front. It was what we would call a restaurant in modern times, and arguably the best damn restaurant in Jerusalem.
Whenever Al had the chance to been in Jerusalem, he would always stop for a meal here. It was a small shop with only two rooms. Outside its bleached, mud-bricked walls were benches for the hungry people to relax on, for it was too small and cramped to eat inside. There was only one item on the menu, only one plate of food per person, but it was enough to turn heads and flare nostrils.
Al got up after resting a few moments, and received his share. The plate was divided into quarters, one quarter filled with an assortment of vegetables, another with a sliced fruit, another with a sort of dipping sauce, and finally the last with meat. It had to be the most delicious meat in the entire holy land. It was juicy and flavourful, and just thinking about it made Al's mouth water.
He always saved the meat for last though, making sure that he had eaten the vegetables and fruit first. He didn't know why he ate that way, for the meat never tasted any better than it would eating it first.
But tragedy struck poor Al on this day. As he finished off the last slice of fruit, he reached for the delicious slab of meat, only to have his fingers brush against the cold stone of the plate. It was gone. He looked around him, under the bench and the plate, but the slice of meat was nowhere to be found. He felt his spirit drop a little.
Standing up, he went back to his duties. Al would be in Jerusalem for a week, and he would come back to the little shop for lunch tomorrow. He would make sure to keep a closer eye on his plate.
The next day came and Al strolled merrily to the shop, craving the delicious food. Finding a bench, he sat down once more and began to eat, making sure he had the plate of food in his vision. Only a few times did he look away, and only for the briefest of seconds.
He spotted another man across the street from the shop, an informant he had helped earlier, and returned to his meal. His eyes widened in shock. The meat was gone. Again.
The third day had no better luck for Al. Once again, even though he swore his eyes were glued to the plate, his meat had grown legs and walked away without a trace. It frustrated him to no end. It was not fair! There were always other people at the shop eating, why was he the only one getting his food snatched?
The fourth day, Al did not come to the shop. Rather, he waited in the shadows across the street, watching jealously as the people ate their lunches. For an hour he waited, but no one had found their meal pillaged.
A few moments later, a thin looking boy entered the scene. He looked around, eyes resting on the bench that Al often sat on. Walking behind another costumer, his quick little fingers snatched the man's slice of meat clean from his plate, and walked away.
Al beamed in with triumph. He had found his food snatcher! Stepping from the shadows he proceeded to follow the little street urchin, who had zipped around a corner into an alley way. Entering into the alley, Al's eyes followed the boy as he ducked down behind some wooden crates.
Stepping ever so quietly, Al walked towards the boys hiding spot, and peered over the top of the wooden crates.
The boy who had stolen the meat crouched with two other smaller boys. All three were deathly thin, and Al could see their ribs poking out beneath their skin. The older boy tore the meat in half and gave each half to the two smaller boys. The older one did not eat, but only smiled as he watched the two eat ravenously. Al felt a bit of pity, wonder and awe in his heart as he watched the scene.
One of the smaller boys looked up and spotted Al watching them, and froze with fear. The other two jumped and turned to face Al. The older boy's eyes widened in shock as he recognized the man before him. Stepping in front of the two, he tried to make himself look as big as possible and snarled at Al, " Leave us alone, it's our food."
Al could only chuckle softly at the pitiful sight. "You're quite good at that, snatching food."
The boy tensed.
"Three times, you stole from me, and I never caught you."
"Punish me then," the boy resigned, "just don't do anything to them." The two boys behind him cowered.
"What is your name, boy?"
"Altair."
"Where is your father?"
"I don't have one."
"Come with me then," Al said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You are very talented, and I think I could find some use of you. Come with me back to Masyaf, and you will never be hungry again" The boy looked up, shocked, and then looked back to the other two boys. "They are invited too." Al finished.
"T-thank you sir-" the boy fumbled his words, bowing stiffly.
"Please," Al interrupted,
"Call me Al Mualim."
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Famine.
Ezio ran through the damp cobbled streets, the musty smell filling his lungs from the recent rainfall. A slight fog hung about the stone city and floated like a mist above the murky water of the canals. Small pools of water lay scattered and the dark, splotchy clouds threatened to let the rain fall once more. Ezio felt his strength waning with each step, a terrible and strange pressure in his abdomen. He needed to get back to Leonardo's home as soon as he could.
Rounding a corner, he slowed to a walk. The pressure subsided and flared randomly as he went along. After a few minutes of walking, he came to stone house. From the outside the building looked quite worn and run down. The boards that borded the windows and doors' paint was peeling, and several cracks snaked up the walls. Ezio pushed open the oak doors, and shut them slowly as to not disturb Leo.
The room inside was messy: canvas's and brushes lay abandoned on tables, half finished portraits and paintings piled up on one side of the room, and paint splattered the walls and stained the wood floor. Leonardo stood before an easel, dipping his brush into thick black paint.
Welcome to the studio, Ezio thought grimly. Leo turned as the door clicked shut.
"Ah, there you are Ezio," Leonardo exclaimed, setting aside his tools. "Tell me, how did it go?"
"The mission is done," Ezio said tiredly, leaning back against the door, which made Leonardo worried, "and I'm not hurt, but I feel-"
A loud, hollow gurgle sliced through the air, making Ezio stop dead in his tracks. Silence overtook the room.
"Hungry?" Leonardo finished.
"Yeah." Ezio replied weakly. Leonardo turned his back and began fiddling with something at a counter.
Ezio walked over and sat down on a rickety old chair, its joints creaking from the pressure. His stomach hurt. He hadn't eaten for days.
"It's strange," Ezio began. "Back home, if I was hungry, I would be fed. It did not matter what time of day, or how many times, I was always fed. But that was before the . . ." He stopped, deciding to drop the thought there. Taking a deep breath he continued. "I think now, maybe I was never really hungry in the first place. I lied whenever I said I was hungry. I know now, feeling hungry and being hungry are two very different things. . ."
"Hunger is a thing many people have never truly experienced," Leonardo called from over his shoulder. "I'm not surprised at your reaction to it."
"I never felt this hungry before, it's like a battle I cannot win." Another gurgle echoed through the room.
Leonardo set down a plate with two slices of bread and a little butter. Ezio looked up to Leo's smile. He reached out and patted Ezio's hand.
"Then let us destroy this hunger together."
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