Hey all, thank you for reading this fanfiction!
I apologise for any grammatical errors I might have made. When I was writing this I wasn't as good as English as I am now... And I still have a lot to learn!
Please leave reviews, I'd love to know what you think! c:
The water of the seemingly endless sea splashed at the hull of the wooden three-master as it made its way across the Atlantic ocean. It was the only sound that could be heard here on open sea, along with the occasional orders barked by the captain of the ship.
The sun was setting, making the sea water sparkle and setting the boat in a warm light. The dark green ship with its yellow markings along the side swayed a little, causing some of its passengers to feel nauseous. Those could mostly be found on the deck of the ship, as it is believed that it is best to watch the horizon while being seasick.
This also applied for a certain white hooded man, who was watching the sea, not the horizon, for he believed that did the trick. Said man closed his eyes as he felt yet another wave of nausea coming over him, trying to control it. He opened his eyes again as he felt a bit better, and only raised his head a little as a rough male voice behind him made its presence known.
"Sir, we will be reaching the colonies by tomorrow afternoon, if we are lucky."
The white hooded man nodded without looking at the other, but knowing it was the captain by his harsh voice he had heard shouting throughout the whole day.
"If we are lucky?" The man asked, now turning around.
"Aye, if there will be no stormy weather, that is." The captain, who looked to be in his fifties or sixties, had a worn out face from being on his ship every day, in every weather. He had countless wrinkles and a serious, sun-tanned face. He stood with his hands on his hips and his feet firmly planted on the wooden deck. He held his head high and his chest forward.
The captain knew that this passenger could be dangerous, the weapons all over his body established that. Though he didn't show any fear towards the white hooded man, which surprised the seasick man a bit. Most people would flinch under his scowl, although they couldn't even see his eyes. Maybe that's what made him so eerie.
"There better not be." The white hooded man said simple, and the air around them felt heavy all of a sudden.
They stared each other down for a few seconds, as if playing a stare contest.
Then the captain grumbled and moved away. He let his arms fall down by his side in silent defeat. The white hooded man seemed to show a bit of a smirk as he walked past the captain.
The captain couldn't wait until they reached America. This man had been a burden throughout the whole journey, with that arrogant character of his.
The captain watched the other go down the stairs and into the ship with angry eyes and spat on the floor. This man was the devil himself.
"Ah, master! Are you feeling any better?"
"Move aside, novice. How I'm feeling is none of your business." The still seasick man said as he walked into the cabin where his companions – who were lower in rank than he – had spent the days while they had first gotten on the boat.
The 'novice' backed away slowly towards the others, where they gave him sympathetic looks and pats on his back for being treated like scum by their leader. They sat on the hard wooden bench and continued talking.
The white hooded man coughed a little to get the other white hooded people's attention.
"Assassins… I am being told we will be reaching the colonies tomorrow afternoon. We moor at the harbour of New York. There we will be greeted by our American allies, " He hated it when he had to add: "At the moment you get off the boat I am no longer your leader. You will have to listen to the American assassins' mentor. Got it?" The white hooded man looked around. The others nodded quickly.
"Good." The man said and waved the others dismissively off with his hand.
Still feeling nauseous, the man had decided to spend the rest of the time before dinner on the upper decks, before he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
"A-Altaïr…?" The man, Altaïr, turned around with an annoyed look on his face.
"What is it, Kadar?" Altaïr asked annoyed. He noticed it was the 'novice' that had asked him on his wellbeing when he had entered the cabin.
"I wanted to know, is this a temporary task or are we transmitted to America for… forever?"
Altaïr sighed. "Haven't you paid any attention at all? This is a temporary thing. They need some more hands as apparently there aren't a lot of assassins in the colonies."
"Oh. Ok thanks." Kadar's face brightened up a little as he walked back to the others who were playing a cards game.
Cards games… Those novices are so immature… Altaïr thought as he made his way to the deck.
After the disgusting 'dinner' the sip provided, Altaïr went straight to his cabin to sleep. He felt too nauseous anyway to stay with the others.
He had never been too keen on travelling by ship. It was just now, he had to.
He placed himself on the matrass and felt the boat sway on the waves. Altaïr stared at the low ceiling of his cabin, mentally preparing himself for a foreign country, with a foreign language and all sorts of nationalities. He hated this trip already.
He closed his eyes and thought back of the day where this… nightmare had begun.
"Master, master! We have just learned how to dodge!" Three 'novices' surrounded Altaïr as he was cleaning his hidden blade.
The master assassin cocked an eyebrow and let the blade go back into its place.
"Oh have you now?" Altaïr said unimpressed.
"You bet! We even beat our teacher!" The boys laughed.
Altaïr stood and grinned.
"Your teacher must be weak, then. If he couldn't even beat some novices…"
"You are weak! We can take you, as well!" They shouted.
Altaïr's grin widened.
"Um… Well master, we never use real swords…"
"Indeed, our teacher always lets us practice with wooden swords."
The novices looked at each other and then to Altaïr, who was holding three swords from the weapon room.
"Don't chicken out now, eh? Or are you afraid I'm going to beat you?"
Altaïr's tease was enough for the novices to make up their mind. Apparently their need to get respect from the marvellous master assassin was more important than the fact that they could get hurt.
"Bring it on, coward!" One of the boys yelled as he took a sword from Altaïr.
They stood in the training ring Altaïr remembered oh-so well. Here he and Abbas had put an end to their friendship. Altaïr shook his head in pity of said man. He still had his head filled with memories of a long lost friendship when the first of the boys came up to him, seeing a gap in Altaïr's defence.
But Altaïr was quick to react and parried the sword with his own with ease. To let the boy know he shouldn't try again to surprise a master assassin, he punched the boy hard in his stomach. The poor novice gulped and fell to his knees.
"Defeated already?" Altaïr teased and the boy quickly stood up and backed down.
Now one of the other boys, a taller one, stood forward. Ready to avenge his friend.
Altaïr only sniggered. Who do they think they are?
With a cry that was supposed to scare Altaïr off, but failed to do so as it sounded unconfident, he ran forward, sword pointed at Altaïr.
Altaïr waited till the last moment the sword would pierce him, and simply stepped aside while the boy tumbled past Altaïr. He planted his elbow in the neck of the boy, who lost balance and hit the floor, face down, flat on his stomach.
Altaïr shook his head and sniggered once more.
"I thought you learned how to dodge, yet you keep on attacking me first." Altaïr shouted. The tall boy stood up and rubbed his neck as he made his way back to the others.
The last boy stepped forward, more cautious as he had seen what had happened to his companions. They circled around each other for a moment, when Altaïr decided to strike. He aimed for the boy's right shoulder, but quickly changed it and went for his left underarm as the boy was already protecting his left side. Altaïr's blade made a deep cut in the unarmoured arm of the novice, who quickly grabbed his injured arm.
The other two boys quickly stepped on either side of their friend, swords drawn.
"Don't you dare do that again!" The taller one of them screamed as he made the foolish mistake again of attacking the master assassin first, instead of letting him come to them. His anger seemed to cloud his common sense.
Altaïr deflected the sword and disarmed the tall novice without too much effort. The sword clattered on the ground and Altaïr hit the boy on his forehead with the stump end of the hilt of his sword.
"What are you going to do about it, then?" Altaïr smirked.
Now all three of them started circling the master assassin, weary of their movements.
Though Altaïr could see them communicating as to who would strike first. He took that opportunity to swing his sword at the leg of the novice who had faced him first. The boy screamed. Having practised with wooden swords only, the boys weren't used to pain as such.
Altaïr took the fortunate opportunity again as the boys were still in shock.
He turned around and with a swing of his sword he disarmed the tall novice once again. The boy tried to find his balance but was too late as Altaïr had pulled out his dagger and stabbed it into the boy's left shoulder.
The boy cried out in pain.
Altaïr turned around at a speed that was inhuman, flicking out his hidden blade, going for the last boy standing.
"ALTAÏR. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?" A voice shouted from behind.
Altaïr instantly stopped and the bloodlust he had only seconds ago had now fully disappeared. He dropped his sword to the ground in terror and turned around.
"Master…"