Living Despite It All
A Word: Ibid.
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"For most Novices, the trials are about their first kill," Hamid says as they make their way back to Masyaf. The road stretches on before them, dusty and empty of any presence save their own for the moment. "Finding the information, and tracking their mark on their own is a simple matter really. It's the killing that is always the hardest part. Even with all the training and all the reasoning in the world on their side, there are still those who cannot complete the task. Those who cannot bring themselves to stain their hands with blood."
Malik purses her lips and tries to see the point Hamid is making, because she knows he is trying to teach her something here. She listens closely because she doesn't understand it. Doesn't understand how a Novice could not complete their mission.
"They are not lesser for it," Hamid explains patiently as he walks his horse around a pile of rocks. "It makes them innocent, their inability to harm another human like that. It's a rare quality in this world Malik, and it's one we must protect at all costs."
"Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent," Malik dutifully recites. The tenets ingrained in her as much as anything else.
"Yes," Hamid turns to in his seat to look at her. To gauge her face. "Tell me though, Malik, what do you think you would feel if you were to kill an innocent as you did Peter?"
Malik grimaces, her mind flashing first to the Creed and the consequences of breaking it so badly. The thought of being caught and stripped of everything makes her want to recoil from the question, but it's Hamid asking her and she makes herself think about it. "Nothing," Malik grudgingly admits to Hamid. "I would feel nothing."
"There are people in this world who would feel the same, or would feel only pleasure at it. They are cruel people who feel nothing for anyone," Hamid turns back to the road and they travel a while in silence as he lets her think on that. Remember the blind panic she felt so long ago when the first scream rose at the sight of her hand covered in blood. The panic that had come only because something was wrong and Malik could not truly understand it. "It is rare to find one with this ability to feel nothing, and yet still be able to interact with others."
"I," Malik hasn't thought long or often about the things Hamid is bringing up. Not since he brought her to become and Assassin. "But I don't! I do feel things for others!" The protest is loud over the road, but panic is starting to swirl a little in her. The panic, she is beginning to think, that should have been there as she contemplated the best way to kill her target.
"Hush, now, little one," Hamid spurs his horse closer and reaches for her arm. His grip solid and soothing as he smiles. The same smile he'd given her on that roof so long ago it feels, when he told her what she felt wasn't right. "I know, all who know you know. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that you feel things for people. Love, compassion, anger, and even hate. You feel them all so very strongly, Malik, and I'm trying to tell you how very exceedingly rare that is."
Hamid's hand slips away and their horse drift apart before he continues. "The first time I killed a man I was older than you, and had far more time to train and prepare myself. Faced with a living man I hesitated though. Only when he tried to kill me was I able to complete my mission. The action wore on me heavily, Malik, and it still does to this day. All of the men I've killed weigh on me in a way that I don't think you will ever quite understand."
"You said it was wrong," Malik says as she tries to imagine it. Imagine being troubled by Peter or the guard whose name she never knew. Death is not something to be casually dealt out, she feels that, but she feels no regret or trouble over the two she has already caused.
"I did not! I said it wasn't right," Hamid corrects her sternly. "Wrong would be if you found pleasure in it, in the act of killing and not just in the fact of a mission well done. Wrong is going out of your way to kill. Wrong is turning your blades onto the flesh of the innocent. Not feeling regret for the lives you rightfully take is a boon, and one you must watch carefully to ensure you do not slip. Follow the Creed so that you do not end up as those others do."
"Is that why you brought me to the Master?" Malik asks.
"One of the reasons, yes," Hamid smiles fondly at her. "Mostly I brought you to the Order because I'd grown inordinately fond of the frowning street child who went out of her way to find information on targets I did not know the names of until I arrived in Jerusalem."
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"Do you have a family?" Kadar had asked once when they were first leaving Jerusalem. Not even a day out of the city, and hours after the novelty of travel had worn off.
Hamid had stared off into the distance with a look of such bitterness that he did not even need to answer for Malik to know what he would say. "Once, I did, I do not anymore."
Malik never asked afterwards and she shushed Kadar's questions until the boy grew enough to learn not to ask them on his own.
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"But why can't I come?" Kadar asks again. Disappointed and upset all at the same time.
"You have a few months yet before you become a Novice, Kadar," Malik says as she pulls the stiff robes tight around her body. It will take a while to break them of their newness, but Malik enjoys it for the moment. Enjoys the obvious sign of her advancement.
She ruffles his hair and he lets her only because she's been away. He hates the gesture otherwise.
"You can wait for me by the front gates," she says and Kadar grudgingly accepts the compromise.
The ceremony is bright and vivid in a way it never was before. Being the focus of all the eyes of the Brotherhood as she's acknowledged, her work accepted, makes all the difference. The Creed flows from her lips under the Master's watchful eyes and something fierce burns bright in her chest as she turns to the plank. The weight of eyes against her back pushing her on despite the fact she hasn't needed any help performing a Leap of Faith.
She doesn't look before jumping but she knows already where she's going, and the hood of her pristine robe hides her smile as she lands exactly where she needs to land. Safely hidden in the hay she allows herself to smile as wide as she wants to.
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"It suits you, Malika," Dima says as she pushes Malik up against a wall. A fence only partially obscuring them from sight of anyone who might walk down this particular street, and doing nothing to stop any eyes from above seeing them.
Malik doesn't protest though when Dima presses in close. Her teeth worrying Malik's lower lip and her hands already becoming familiar with the new ties. "Your eyes shine against the white. They never did that with the gray."
Malik wants to say something that will make Dima smile, but the woman's hands find their mark and Malik focuses instead on keeping quiet. Her own teeth sinking into her lips as Dima grins and slowly sinks down to her knees, making staying silent that much harder.
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Aban had left for his trials, the ass keeping that little fact to himself until well after Malik was gone. She'll make him pay for it when he returns.
She wakes early on the first day out of habit though she won't have to deal with lessons taking up most of her day anymore. Malik ties her robes closed as tight as she needs to make them fit -a stop to the tailor or weaver is in order- and wonders if it would be worth the argument she knows Altair will level against moving their sparring to later in the day to get an extra bit of sleep.
Kadar rolls onto his back, arms and legs spread so wide they hang off the bed. Malik smiles and shakes her head, adds getting another bed to her list of chores for when the market opens. It's past time they stopped sharing. Before she has to wake up to an awkward situation in the middle of the night.
Altair is in the hall, leaning against the wall directly opposite of the door. Arms crossed over his chest, smirk in place, and giving off an air of patient waiting that Malik knows is a filthy lie. Altair is never patient.
"I got the rank first," Altair starts when they both turn to the training arena. Their boots tapping nearly silently on the stone, the sound only allowed because they are safe here and it's polite to give warning of their approach.
"So?" Malik brushes the white sleeves of her robe free of dust that is not there. "We are the same rank now."
"It's unfair," Altair shrugs carelessly, lips turning down as if he's disappointed. "I already have the advantage in skill, and now time. You'll have to work hard if you want to keep up with me when I rise in rank."
"Oh?" Malik's lips thin and she alters the course of her hand. Away from the practice swords she wanted, and going for the heavy sticks that can be used as staffs or spears depending on grip. Altair's grin is sharp when she throws one at him, and Malik knows there will be no slow warm up this morning. He's spoiling for a fight, and Malik is inclined to give it to him. "I'll grant you the time lead, but you must've hit your head falling off a wall if you think you are the better of me in any other area. Are you so forgetful that a few days away has turned you incredibly stupid?"
"Maybe I need another hit on the head to remember," Altair holds his staff deceptively loose at his side as Malik begins to circle him. Looking for an opening she know won't present itself until he tires of trading words with her. "Because I distinctly remember the last time we used sticks," Altair is a sudden blur, but Malik is spinning already. Her own staff out and deflecting a blow with a sharp crack. Altair turns to face her. Staff up and ready to be snapped out in any direction. His grin is bright and a little on the manic side, and Malik wonders if anyone tried sparring with him while she was gone. "You ate more dirt than bread for breakfast."
A truth, but Malik only snorts and lashes out. One hand on the very end of the staff to give her a long reach without bringing her too close. Altair ducks and Malik jumps inside his guard, scraping the end of the staff painfully along the side of his knee and making him stifle a curse. "Then it's my turn to repay the favor."
Malik does end up the victor in the match, though she trips Altair's smug ass far less than she hoped to.
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"I laid with a woman last night," Altair says as he drops down onto the roof Malik is occupying.
"Good for you," Malik says with complete apathy as she peels thin slices off of an apple. She's over hearing about the sexual exploits of others. Aban at least has the decency to keep his conquests to himself. "Should I offer the poor woman my condolences?" Malik looks up to smirk at Altair and blinks in surprise. There's no trace of the smugness that she expected to see from his comment. Altair instead looks vaguely troubled and more than vaguely disgusted. "Or do you need them instead?"
Altair glares at her and crouches down beside her. Balancing on the balls of his feet and giving the impression that he's only going to rest a little while before running off. "It was horrible. What is the point to it?"
Altair's tone is frustrated and confused, and Malik finds herself emphasizing with it despite herself. Remembering the way she tried to understand the boasts of the Novices, the confusion of the first time, and the absolute revelation that came too late for that first encounter.
"Hm," Malik hums patiently, feeling oddly benevolent in this moment as she decides to teach Altair something. "Yes, it is horrible when you don't know what you're doing," Altair's head snaps around fast and she can hear him draw in a hissing breath to growl back at her, his pride smarting from the implication he doesn't know something. She continues over him, "It was very unenjoyable for me the first time too. Uncomfortable, messy," Malik grimaces at the memory of the merchant's son grunting and sweating over her. "I thought I'd have been better off spending my time scaling the cliffs and then throwing myself off them onto the rocks below."
Altair is frowning now, but silent. Eyes locked on her intently as he waits for her to say more. "I think it's easier for men to find their pleasure than women," Malik shrugs the hard learned lesson off and tries to find a way to relate her experiences to Altair's becuase he will not find it in the words of their peers. "It is not something that we are born knowing to do, despite what others say. So the first times will always be bad until you learn the secrets of it I suppose."
Dima's expert hands flash through her mind, Malik's only way of knowing that her experience with the merchant was a fluke instead of the way it was supposed to be.
"It takes practice," Malik sums up even though Altair, for once, doesn't look to be growing impatient with her musings. His usual demands for her to reach a point absent. "Like anything worth doing."
"Practice," Altair repeats in a tone of voice that's both thoughtful and determined. His eyes are still intent as he slowly turns back to look out over the city.
Malik slices another sliver of apple off and eats it. Wondering if she should warn the people of the city to lock their daughters up. Though, knowing those women, it'd be unlikely to help if they heard Altair is looking for a bed partner. Too many bold young women had tried prying secrets of the 'mysterious' Altair out of her in bids to get his attention. Attempts that had died down after one asked how he got his distinctive scar.
Theories and rumors had abounded before she could answer. Each more outlandish and ridiculously fanciful than the last. The women had been absolutely underwhelmed when Malik informed them the scar was from her boot. The lack of a dashing reason killed all the rest of their burning curiosity.
Though it just might pick up again.
Malik shakes her head and peels off a messy strip of pulp from her blade and sucks it off her hands. Mind already wandering away from Altair's future exploits and calculating how long she has to wait for Masoud to leave Dima for the day.
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