His fingertips trailed along the rough surface of his desk inching ever closer to the orb. A plain silver thing it somehow managed to looked harmless and benign at times but Altaïr knew that to be a ruse - there was more danger in this ball than all than the blades he had ever faced - the last vision the artefact had shown him had taught him well...
It calls to you, luring you as a siren from the depths of the ocean dragging any unguarded mind into an abyss, drawn to your own ruin by the promise of everything your heart desires and nothing it truly needs. Would he ever be able to master this thing, this relic? Al Mualim had believed himself capable of such mastery but even he - the man Altaïr had held in such high esteem he had considered him a father – had fallen to the songs it whispered in your ear.
He and Malik had begun to explore the possibility of destroying the thing but in his deepest heart he knew he never would. It was a puzzle he had to solve, a survivor from ancient times which could show them great and wonderful things if they dared to look. The promise of power was not the song it sung to the new Master of the assassins it tempted him with the wisdom of the ages, with knowledge from past and future generations. And so he sat in his newly acquired seat watching his fingers move closer and closer to orb wondering what it would show him today?
His flesh had barely made contact with the cold surface of the apple before it started glowing filling his head with dazzling light which shone from his eyes as it poured its secrets into his mind.
It was his bedroom at Masyaf he was standing at the foot of the bed looking at a woman, he recognised her. Her name was Baljinder she was one of the women from the garden, the most beautiful of them all. His hands reached out for her and she stepped forward as though she had been waiting for his invitation. The sweet smell of roses filled his nostrils as her arms wound around his neck with a well practised graceful movement. Pushing the dress from her shoulders he watched as the sheer silk material clung to every curve of her body on its path to the floor.
A shift in perspective still his bedroom but now he is at the door making his way to the bed, to the woman with the long dark hair lying there with their child in his arms. She is tired but moves her arms to show him his daughter, "What shall you call her husband?"
In the training ring now he sees Malik swing a sword for his head and sidesteps it just in time to avoid the painful contact from the dull training blade. Glancing to his left he sees his wife moving towards the village with their newest baby in her arms and the girl at her feet. She doesn't raise her eyes to meet him in public but he knows she has stolen a look on her way past and smiles.
He sees himself now older the first grey creeping into the hair which frames his head he is seated at the desk in the study surrounded by paper and books. She comes in quietly and places a tray at the corner of the desk offering him a smile as she bows and leaves him to his work. He looks up as she leaves and realises with regret that he hasn't spent much time with her lately.
Malik is walking beside him as they climb the stairs to the part of the fortress were they sleep. They separate and he turns the handle on the door he knows will lead to his private quarters and he sees them seated around a table waiting for him to arrive so they can begin their meal. Baljinder comes to him and takes his outer robes, "We are having something special tonight husband in honour of our daughters upcoming wedding."
The meeting room next to the study now and all the master assassins are seated at the table. Malik is on his feet arguing passionately about something but the words are not clear to him. Standing to face him he tries to quiet him but Abbas stands and speaks first drawing Malik's hate filled glare onto him Abbas sits down glowering. Frowning he looks out of the window and when he sees his wife walking slowly across the training yard he smiles, she like him is getting old but unlike him the years were slowing her down.
He is standing beside a horse with a man full grown who he knows to be his son already seated on his own. The woman is there and even though most of her face is hidden by the veil she wears he knows she is crying. Putting his hand on her cheek he whispers words of comfort to her telling her the Mongol must be stopped and none but he can do it. She smiles through her tears and steps back from him knowing it will be many years before they meet again.
What looks like the hull of a ship now and a woman smiling at him but there is something behind that smile. It's the woman from Jerusalem; he doesn't understand why they are together until he sees her bound hands as he cuts the ropes. She climbs the first few steps but when he moves to follow her foot smashes against his face throwing him against the wall. He feels the fury of the moment as he watches her disappear through the shaft into the bright daylight.
He's chasing someone now, its Acre and night time but he can clearly see his target scampering across the rooftops of the fortress trying to escape their fate. Lowering his head he thunders after them relentless in his pursuit. The door slams in his face but he looks to the tower and smirks, he has climbed far more difficult walls than this. Scrambling over the top he sees a red cross on their cloak and the fingers of his left hand twitch preparing to release the blade. The target turns to face him and lowers their hood –it's her- the woman from the boat and she doesn't look afraid as she raises her finger telling him to advance. He moves towards her and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest it is always this way before a kill. Closing the distance in three steps he reaches her and pulls her roughly into his arms, devouring her with his mouth.
Limassol now and they are seated at the head of a table surrounded by people. She turns to him and smiles and he feels his breathe catch in his throat when she whispers what she has planned for him later. The Templar is his wife.
In the corridor of Masyaf he hears someone screaming, the English woman is close and in pain. He wants to go to her but she is with the midwife and his place is outside. The door opens and the midwife bids him enter. She is leaning on the pillows her hair plastered to her flushed face, showing him the bundle in her arms she grins, "Can you believe we made something so beautiful? "
Another sword and another sidestep but this time it is his wife who is aiming for his head, he grins and moves to her left knowing it to be her weaker side, "Not this time my love."
At his desk, the same grey hair and the same pile of work. She approaches and stops in front of his desk the only thing in her hands is her hips and she holds them to display her displeasure, "You've been here for days now I feel like a widow and your sons are poor fatherless waifs, come now and join us for dinner."
He and Malik again walking toward the sleeping quarters his hand again on the door he knows will lead to his family turning the handle he opens the door. Empty. There is nobody waiting for him to eat or to take his cloak. He hears sounds from the other room and moves towards it opening the door to his bedroom he finds her at the foot of the bed. She stands when she sees him and smirks lowering her gown she steps across the room to face him. He takes her in his arms feeling his body react to her closeness she coils an arm around his neck and whispers against his ear, "Darim and Sef are asleep I wanted you to myself for a change."
A meeting of the counsel and she is there by his side at least she was until her fist thumped against the table and she stood knocking over her seat in the process. Malik stands too and joins her in the protest, they are together against him, he understands this is a common occurrence but he also understands that these two people are the reason he is still sane, he trusts them with his life his order and the apple. Taking to his feet he holds out a hand to placate them to make them let him speak. Abbas tries to stand to join the fray but she puts a rough hand on his shoulder and forces him back into his seat.
They are standing outside the stables again a man he knows to be his son is seated on a horse but the woman is embracing the younger son, holding him close and telling him she loves him. He wishes she would hurry up and let him get on his horse so they leave but when her arms free him it is not his youngest son who climbs into the saddle but his wife. She is fighting off tears he knows will fall later when they are alone when she looks at him and tells him she is ready. Glancing over his shoulder he sees his son standing beside the double gates of Masyaf watching his family leave. Looking to the woman who bore him that son he smiles knowing she is as always going to be right by his side.
A hand closes over his and he hears Malik's voice urging him to let go of the apple, his fingers comply even though his mind is not fully willing to let go. "What did it show you?"
He looked up at the face of the man who had surprisingly become his closest friend and shrugged, "Possibilities, nothing more."
The images were already fading as was the way with the apple, he tried to write or draw what he was seeing as soon as the apple loosened its grip on him but this time he would have no idea how to write down what he had seen.
Malik frowned at the cryptic response as he placed the apple back inside the ornate shell which kept it safe from greedy eyes, "Well we have more tangible concerns than possibilities. I have received word that a fleet of Templar vessels have docked at the port of Acre, who shall we send to investigate?"
Altaïr thought of the blue eyes of the European woman and wished he had known her name. "I'll go Malik I need to get out from behind this desk before I get fat."
Malik dropped into the seat across from his and scowled, "We will send another if you need exercise then go to the garden and pick an energetic woman, you leaving Masyaf now would be a mistake."
The last images he would have of the visions were of the women one crying as he left and the other holding in tears until they were alone together. "No Malik I think it should be me who goes."