A Journey to the East
Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.
Pairing: Altair x Malik
Rating: T
Genre: Adventure
Disclaimer: Assassins Creed belongs to Ubisoft.
This is an Adaption of 'Journey to the West' with Sun Wu Kong.
_
Drums of war and cries of victory echoed through the rocky plains. Once more had the army of Sultan Baybars claimed victory. It had been just a small village, barely worth talking about, but a victory was a victory.
In the ruins of the village there was barely any life left. Men that had tried to withstand the troops were now merely heads being stacked upon spears in the blood-painted sand. The birds would feed upon those corpses lying around for a while.
Beneath some of the stones, a few days after the attack, a young boy rose. His left arm was nothing more than a bloody mess and he was close to death. But a will of iron jerked his body up and forward. Sheer will kept him going forward, beyond the once safe walls of the village. The boy didn't know where he wanted to go, yet he kept going.
When he was in the middle of the desert, he lost consciousness once again.
Weeks later, Malik awoke in the citadel of a strange group of people. Mostly men, very similar to monks roamed this place. Part of them had come with a caravan and had picked up the boy and nursed him back to health. Somewhere between life and death, when Maliks body had been strong enough, they had decided to cut off the arm that had become useless, otherwise that arm might have killed Malik with infection.
These men were familiar with the ancient art of Arabian medicine. There had been no possible way of the boy dying with them there.
Just the question that remained in the boy's head was the same as most survivors might ask. 'Why am I still alive'. And to find out about this, he would need to keep on living.
"You have been nursed back to health now for several months, Malik.", the elder of the monks explained. He had invited the boy for a walk through the small garden they had been planting here. It was the only fertile patch of soil among the barren rocks.
"Now you can chose whether you want to leave us or stay with us. It may be hardly bearable what you have gone through. Remember, the past is something that is already been taken by someone. But the future lies in your hands."
"I don't know yet...I just wished.. my brother would have made it too.", Malik assumed that Kadar, his younger brother, had died. The memories of the day of the attack were fuzzy. It seemed that his subconscious mind was trying to avoid these kind of memories. Maybe it was better, so.
"Let me give you advice, young boy.", the elder began. "...when you are to go outside the world, it is better to not do that unarmed. Much less without any experience at all. So let's make a deal. You live among us until you are strong enough to live by yourself. And then you go outside and do something for our brotherhood."
"And what is that?"
"The time will come where this will be clear.", the old man laughed with his hoarse voice.
The years passed by, and Malik was not only very smart when it came to study Philosophy, Herbalism, Latin, English and other subjects, but very skilled with the sword, despite him being left with only one arm, thus being given the name 'Al-Sayf', the sword.
His first name had been the nearly the only thing he had been able to keep from the time before the attack.
The time of his department had arrived. He had grown to be a handsome young man and there was nothing the monks could teach him. He was free to go where he wanted. The elder from back then had died. But the vow still remained.
During his studies, Malik had learnt about alot of mysteries of the world and he wanted to visit some of them really badly, writing his own books and sharing knowledge with the people.
Of course the fire of revenge burnt vividly within his mind. There was no night and no day where he did not wish to avenge the death of his village. But there was only so much he could do with his single arm. And if he was to sacrifice his life in a battle with the mighty Sultan of Egypt, everything his mentors in the monastery had done would be in vain. It would be like spitting in their faces.
And this was a thing Malik didn't want.
For the first few weeks, Malik wandered around aimlessly. Every now and then he went to a village to refill on his provisions and get to know other people. Back in these days, most villages were a micro cosmos for themselves, not caring all that much about politics as long as there was enough food and water as well as a shelter.
Everything would be the same like it always has been.
Tradition was the reason why people would feel save.
However, when Malik came to rocky plains, with larger rocks placed here and there like god had emptied the sand from his sandal right here, he was met with something unnatural.
First, it was just a soft brown feather touching his head and he blinked and caught the quite large feather. He looked at it for a brief moment, puzzled. Then he looked above and more feathers came into his view.
Thousands of feathers now sailed down from the sky. And where the cloud of feathers was the thickest, a body was falling down. It was a man with receding wings! Against the sun, Malik could not make out the man, he just saw enough to make out the frame. But it really looked like he or she had wings and they were melting and spreading over the plains.
Malik felt reminded of the tale of Icarus and his father Daedalus that had tried to flee Creta... or had it been another greek island? Well, while Daedalus managed to escape, Icarus got too close to the sun and how Icarus might have fallen, this was just how Malik had always pictured it... what he saw now.
Was he dreaming, he wondered? With a low 'thud', the winged body landed somewhere between the rocks. Malik quickly ran up to the body. If he was dreaming or not, he would not find out what this was all about.
It was indeed a man. A young man at his late 20s, if Malik was guessing right. He had short light brown hair and seemed to be unconscious, but in pain. The last feathers now detached from his back and left two angry scars. Still mesmerized, Malik knelt down beside the strange man and checked if he was alive.
He was still breathing... then there was heartbeat. The monk looked up to the sky to see from where the guy might have fallen from. A floating island? What a silly thought and Malik slapped himself mentally for having thought of that.
But a winged man? The scars indicated that these wings had not been artificial. In the story of Icarus, the wings had been crafted - with wax and feathers.
So many questions, so few answers.
Seeing that he would get no answers like that, Malik decided to take care of this man and maybe nurse him back to health to get answers. His curiosity just commanded him to do so. And so he packed the stranger and about 20 minutes later, he was sitting with him in the safety of a wall of a rockface by a waterhole. Malik had set up a makeshift camp made by two larger blankets. One for the strange man to lie upon and another one to to create some shade. It would still take a while until the sun would set and it was pretty hot in the bare sunlight.
Malik twirled one of the nice feathers in his hand. He wanted to keep that one, but for now he cloaked himself in thought about the other man. What was he going to do? Should he actually treat the wounds? What was the right thing to do?
What if the winged man attacked him?
He concluded that if they stayed here, it was going to turn out badly either way. He had not enough food to feed both of them, even if the guy turned out to be a good person. The black haired man groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose.
Malik decided to build a construction to carry the winged man to the next village or town. That bastard owed him a few answers!
Several days later, consciousness dawned on the winged man. First, his eyelids fluttered, then his vision cleared.
"Have you finally woken up?"
In the meantime, Malik had managed to bring him to the next town. The people had given him awkward glances, but had not asked too many questions. Malik was dressed like a somewhat sophisticated scholar in their opinion and you never question a scholar's ways.
"Wh-where am I?", it seemed like the winged man slowly remembered how to speak. His voice was hoarse but other than that sounded nice in Maliks ears.
"You are in the village of Jayrud. I brought you here when you... landed in the desert.", he glared at the winged man. "And now I want answers. Why have you been there? who are you?"
The winged, now wingless man swallowed with some effort. Malik gave him a mug with water which he downed in one go.
"I am Altaïr...", he replied, not sure how much to tell the angry man. Also, despite that he had just woken up, he still felt like being hit by an elephant.
"I doubt you will believe me, but-"
"It is not up to you to decide whether I believe you or not. Just go and tell me your story, Altaïr.", Malik demanded.
"Very well..."
Altaïr had fallen out of the realm of the gods and demigods as it turned out. He had been taken those beautiful light brownish wings and could now no longer fly. Malik had tried to dress the wounds as good as possible, with ointment and bandages, but it would take a long time to heal them up and also Altaïr would never be able to fly again.
"Why have they thrown you out? Have you done... something?", Malik assumed that even gods might have some etiquette. Altaïr looked like the kind of guy to trespass rules.
But the other male just shook his head. "No, it's more like evil gods have taken over the realm... I tried to defend the good guys and that's what you get for overstepping your limits. ...You never told me your name."
Altaïr pouted and looked at the black haired male.
"Malik. ...I am a scholar from the west. I'm just something like a wandering monk. I have not found my place yet, I guess."
Awkward silence spread between the two until Altaïr belly grumbled.
"Guess you're hungry. Wait here, I'll bring you something.", Malik offered and got out of the room.
This gave Altaïr some time to rest and also focus his thoughts. He looked the room and wondered where he would be going from here. Certainly, he was not going to stay like that.
"Already up?", Malik furrowed his eyebrows as he entered the room again, a tray with food in his one arm. Altaïr stood by the window and looked outside. He didn't care if he was naked, safe for the bandages. "Put at least some clothes on."
The monk huffed and put the tray onto the only table inside the room. "There are children and women around this place. They shouldn't see you like that."
Altaïr made a face but obeyed reluctantly. He didn't want to annoy his new friend, for he had brought him food. As soon as he wore the robe he was given, he sat at the table and downed the food. It was rice, some vegetables and roasted chicken. Actually, one of the plates had been for Malik, he had gotten hungry too, but instead of eating himself he just watched how the other male downed everything as if it were nothing.
"You really /were/ hungry.", he pointed out.
"Mh...Do you have more?"
"What exactly are you?", Malik took the now empty tray and wondered if the family – where they had found hospitality – wouldn't be angry if they ate their storages empty.
"...Did I forget to tell you? I'm a demigod. I tend to eat more than you mortals."
"...mortals.", Malik was torn between liking and disliking Altaïr. This guy was simply too much for him.
"Here, another plate. But that's it for today. These people here can afford only so much. After all, they were not prepare... to host a demigod.", Malik rolled his eyes.
"Fine with me.", and with that, Altaïr downed one more plate, this time a bit slower.
Malik watched the demigod eating once more. Then his gaze wandered towards the window. "We need to leave soon. When do you think will you be ready for that?"
"Mh... tomorrow? Tomorrow after dinner, then we can go."
"Mh. Let me see your wounds, okay?"
"Do they look bad?"
Malik unwrapped the bandages. The two scars were still in an angry red. Cautiously, he poked those bits. "Does it hurt?"
Altaïr hissed and rested his forehead against the table.
"Guess this is a yes. But when you say we can go...", Malik really had a bad conscience about their stay here. It was not planned and they were just a nuisiance to those people here. Even when he tried to be helpful.
"Do you plan to go a certain place? Altaïr asked the next day as they made their way out of the village.
"No... not really.", Malik sighed.
"Then we could as well be going east."
"Why, is there something?"
"Uh... I have once heard a legend. There might be something cool, in the east.", Altaïr put on a sheepish grin.
As there were no alternatives, Malik agreed on going east. It wouldn't hurt. Just... "How far in the east do you plan to go?"
"Uhm...The land of the golden lotus."
"Golden lotus?", the monk furrowed his brows.
"Yeah. When we reach the water, we're there."
Malik thought for a moment. Then it made click.
"China?!"
"Is this what you call the land of the golden Lotus?
"Yes – but are you nuts? These are thousands and thousands of miles! Do you have any idea where we are?"
"Uhm... we are in the realm of the fertile crescent."
"Almost. But yeah. You seem to forget we have both no wings!"
"What's your problem? You didn't seem to have any other plans, so what would such a little trip hurt?"
"It's just too far! Also, the Chinese don't really like our kind. They call us the 'long nosed people'."
"So what?", Altaïr shrugged. He had to admit that he started to like Malik. Just when he got so angry, yet returned such sharp answers!
Malik, on the other hand, started to regret that he had picked up Altaïr. Yet, he had to admit that there were things he had wanted to see in China. The palaces and artwork of the Chinese were quite famous. Also their writings and silk. It was such an amazing empire... Then again, they were fierce. And known for them looking down on other folks. This was going to be quite the problem. He should see if Altaïr was able to fight... or at least run away.
"And even if they hate on your guys, you didn't seem to be the person to take concern on this.", Altaïr continued. "Alas... you are right when you say it is a long way to China. We should get help."
Malik frowned.
"I have seen caravans travelling forth and back from here to China. I think you humans call it 'silk road'. We could ask a nice merchant to let us tag along. I have seen from above how those poor merchants are often attacked. The silk road is not an easy path. And telling from the sword on your belt, you can fight."
The black haired male sighed deeply. "Well fine...", when he thought about it, it was not like he had other things to do with his life. There was just something incredibly odd about Altaïr and his ideas.
The closest station of the silk road was in Palmyra, where the two found a friendly man with a big belly and his young wife, getting ready for the journey to the East. It was quite a puzzle to Altaïr, how such a cute young girl was married to such an old and fat man. The man /was/ really nice and all, but still… it was odd.
The man's name was Djadi and he was well experienced on the silk road. Yet, he couldn't deny either that there had been alot of robbery across the silk road. It was just because every damn robber know where the silk road was, it was simply a pest.
"So, you're very welcome to accompany me."
"That's great. All we need it a bit of food and a resting place. In China however we will part ways... presumely."
"May I ask what your business is in the land of the dragons?"
"Hmm...", Altaïr was not sure.
"We want to go there because we're interested in their culture and knowledge.", Malik was a scholar after all.
"...Very well. You are in luck. I just need to get my caravan ready and then we will set off.", caravan was almost exaggerated. It was 3 camels of which were two fully packed and one of them was pulling a cart with big sturdy wheels. The cart was actually mainly for his wife but even there were goods stored already.
"Usually my caravan is not made for two additional men... but maybe we can make some space on the back of the cart. After all you guard my precious cargo."
Malik was quite excited about the voyage. He would be getting out of here and get into foreign countries. It was not entirely against his will, especially when he saw what reward it would be. Maybe it was not so bad having met Altaïr.
"But how will /you/ fight, Altaïr?", Malik looked up and down Altaïr. When he had fallen from the sky he had nothing more on him than torn clothes.
"Uh... I used to have multiple weapons...", Altaïr felt the back of his neck getting sweaty and he looked up at the sky.
"You need something to help this man. I won't do all the work for you."
"Hm, well...", he looked around for help, then found a long wooden stake. "This will do, ok?"
"You're joking, right?"
The first part of the route however went through barren, boring land. Desert and half-deserts made most of the environment. Near the Caspian Sea, robbers attacked them.
Djadis new bodyguards were able to dodge the attack. During the battle, Altaïr was able to trade his wooden stake for a real sword.
The last of the robbers was about to run away. It was just a young boy, barely older than 12. Still, Altaïr went after him and cut his head from his shoulders.
"Was that necessary?", Malik snapped.
"He might have grown up to become a fullblown robber. Better kill him while we can.", Altaïr wiped his sword on the corpse and ignored Maliks glare.
Malik huffed, and after a while, turned away from Altaïr.
In Samarqand Malik preferred to part from Djadi and Altaïr. He was fed up with Djadi's unnatural happiness and of how much of a jerk Altaïr was.
He walked down to the Registan place, where the three madrasah were housed. A madrasah was a sort of University for Islamic culture. It was just the place to go for him as he loved places where wisdom gathered.
Each of the madrasah were beautiful buildings with colourful mosaic tiles in the front. Also, other students walked in and out of the buildings, their eyes filled with understanding and brilliance of the mind.
Altaïr on the other hand was not really interested in the culture of the people, nor their wisdom. It was nothing compared what was offered in the realm of the gods. And he had sworn to go back.
... if it had not been for the sweets! He loved the food that the mortals made. Djadi sold some of his goods to buy good food for his wife and himself. Altaïr stayed with the two of them at their market stand. The market of Samarqand was buzzing with people of all sorts of culture.
Suddenly, a small white mouse came up and stole Altaïrs apple and ran off. Altaïr cursed and ran after the small creature. He was having none of that shit!
As he cornered the damn thing in an alley, the mouse grew larger in size and deformed.
Even when Altaïr had come from heaven and had seen some things, he was baffled for a moment.
"Finally I found you... you filthy bastard.", the 'mouse' said. Now it was a man with white hair and a large sword. It was not a fully grown man – more like a 9 year old boy and with large mouse ears. A mischievous smirk graced the man's face. Women might have found this face attractive. The mouse still had the apple and took a bite of it before tossing it away.
"Who are you?", Altair replied, trying to stay calm. He also drew his sword – just in case.
"My name is Kubira. I am one of the twelve heavenly Generals. And I am here to end you.", he took the large blade from his back and slashed at Altaïr.
Altaïr was taken aback and tried to draw his own sword as well. But before that, Kubira lunged at him and nearly sliced him several times. Just when Altaïr fell to the ground, he got an idea and quickly grabbed some sand he tossed at Kubiras face.
It worked, because Kubira cursed and rubbed his eyes. This gave Altaïr enough time to draw his sword and start to defend himself properly.
Kubira stopped rubbing his eyes soon enough and lunged at Altaïr once again, who was still barely able to dodge the blows. Altaïr was more of a lanky type. His style of fighting didn't need that much of strength usually. Quick and probably unfair hits would be on his repertoire.
So in this one he was going to lose ground soon.
That was untik Kubira suddenly halted and stared at Altaïr in disbelief. The brown haired man stared back, then both eyes wandered down to Kubiras chest where the tip of a sword was sticking out.
"You better don't underestimate us humans...", Maliks voice was suddenly heard from behind Kubira and the tip of the sword disappeared with a juicy sound.
Kubira paled and fell to his knees. "Damned...human!", Kubira cursed with wide eyes, huffing angrily before he vanished into thin air. Only a small grey orb was left behind.
"Need any further help, Altaïr?", Malik looked down at the eagle.
Altaïr was still speechless about how Malik had saved his life. He mechanically moved forward to pick up the orb, then got up. "Th-thank you... Malik. ... that's the second time now that you saved my life."
"Don't think too much of it. Come, Djadi must be waiting. And we still want to reach China by the end of the year."