University pretty much had its way with my time and soul this past week... I promise a quicker update next time!
Chapter Ten: Piece of Eden
It was a wordless arrangement, already used to each other's movements, Astrid rolled over and blew out a sleepy breath when her cheek smacked onto his chest – it was their room, their bed, and their time. Early morning sunlight struggled through the deep blue curtains; shrouding the room into the near-darkness of a cave and Altair shivered at the deep, steady breaths from Astrid's mouth that tickled his chest. His fingers dug into the ropes of thick dark hair, stirring her from her sleep. The shirt – his shirt – had climbed, it seemed, up to her waist and he stared at the curve of her hip, the simple black boy shorts teased him endlessly, and the sharp dip of her waist – he traced with his fingertips. She quivered in her sleep, pressing her lips to his chest, without opening her eyes.
Her face was in sharp detail as he studied her sleeping form. Her golden-tan skin was darker in the lack of light; her hair spilled over her shoulders and around her body like crow wings and her lips were curled in a half-smile he found enticing. The closeness, the intimacy of her presence were bound to have its effects on him – she opened her eyes as if she sensed the change in the room. Altair was tense, his eyes pierced her like the glare of a basilisk… but a snake would not have the dark, heated look. The snake would not reach out, cup her face in big, calloused hands and kiss her until she felt her entire soul thrumming with a desire so powerful she gasped.
Much too hot, too much, her delirious mind whimpered when Altair's hands and body moved against hers, pinning her, helpless and ecstatic. Resistance and indecision hammered at the sudden desire in her until he kissed her again, so deep her mind blurred and his name pounded in her head. Knowing who it was she was wrapped around, she arched to his touch, responding to each assault on her senses with her own until he could no longer tell where he ended and she began.
These violent cascades of sensations shouldn't be possible, was his last coherent thought when he completely immersed himself in her oblivious to their surroundings, the time apart from themselves – were nonexistent.
Sighing, Astrid settled herself, body still tingling, atop him and tried not to grin stupidly as his raspy pants blew into her ear. Her hair was stuck to her back and his chest and Altair found that he couldn't move his arms. Or legs.
After a hundred years, give or take a few decades, Altair's hand traced the curve of her spine, from bottom to top. "We have to go," he breathed into her hair. Astrid shook her head, mouth pressed against the curve of his shoulder. Contentment lightened them for the brief moments they forgot who they were and what their mission was and they basked in the afterglow of their actions. Still, Altair's words had brought their purpose and they rose as one, standing under the pounding water together and they showered, the former weightlessness now questioned under the weight of what they were – Assassins.
It was too early in the morning for anyone else to be awake, Astrid thought as they crept through the Bureau, climbing down the steep, wooden stairs to the 'entrance' of the apartment building attached to the Bureau. The apartment building was the cover of the Bureau, as an explained building would no doubt rouse the suspicions of anyone close enough to inspect the building. As they walked into the dull morning, the washed-out mist that settled around the bricked road, and whispered around their feet as they found the simple black Smart car by the Bureau's entrance struck Altair.
He'd been doing remarkably well, transition-wise, Astrid mused to herself, driving along the mostly empty streets towards the most famous cathedral in the world. As they approached, Astrid parked the car several blocks away from the structure itself and used the heavy morning as a cloak to hide themselves in a dark alley to climb upwards, to the shabby rooftops of the surrounding buildings.
The assassins were, like all people were, struck by the grandness of the structure and its details. Astrid faced the violet stained glass and it took her a moment to realize that Altair was not by her side. She whirled, heart eyes searching for his figure and she found him, frozen on the spot, gazing at the magnificent cathedral, lips parted and eyes glazed.
Altair's vision blurred. His body seemed to lift itself from where he stood as everything faded from him in a mist and Astrid ceased to exist as he remembered…
Altair stood on the rooftop of the stone building, a housing barrack for those who were building the place, and gazed at the ruin-like beginnings of what was hailed to become a colossal structure. His hood fluttered in the chilly breeze of the foreign country and he studied the ant-like figures of the workers laying the stones with mortar, one after the other, ceaselessly and mindlessly. It was nighttime, he couldn't understand how they could work in the cold air and the only lights were the hundreds of candles and lamps floating creating an eerie glow about the night – he saw several uneasy glances and he recalled European superstitions with a smirk. The workers were simple men, burly but he could see they were not fighters – they just meant to build and return to their families. Yet if they saw him they would kill him – no questions asked – because of his origins. It was an intriguing place; beautiful, filled with artificial women with ridiculous wigs and dirty streets, bricked streets … but they had a fair king. Philippe II or Auguste was treating his country well, Altair mused.
But they had been here before, at this very stop, Malik and him, to see the grand spire of the cathedral. It truly was a splendid sight, he admitted, but it the cold stone and jagged curves were uninviting and angry compared to the rounded, decorated mosques he was so fond of climbing in Damascus and Jerusalem. As he shifted his weight, already having stood there for more than two hours, he glanced at Malik and he could see him eyeing the structure with pure admiration… how typical, Altair thought a small smile curving his lips. His brother had chosen a good spot to hide the cursed orb, Altair decided. The finished spire was untouchable and appropriate. No one, he thought, would think of climbing the spire without silly ropes and pulleys… unless they were Altair and Malik and Altair once again tilted his head to seek out the point of the spire.
It jutted from the ground, reaching into the inky sky mercilessly, spearing into the darkness, the smooth stone gleaming in the damp night. None of the workers touched the base of the spire, he observed with satisfaction, which made their job remarkably easy. In the darkness he could barely see the details of the spire but in the sunlight he's been able to carve out a route to the top – to the cross. They watched, counting for the bells – ah, there it was, Altair though, inching forward – to clang and they watched the workers drop their stones, axes and mortar to retire for the night.
"So, Malik?" Altair questioned, feeling the silver orb in the rucksack he carried, wanting nothing more than to get rid of it. He couldn't bring himself to destroy it. He'd tried so many times to crush it with his bare palms, to drive his sword through its heart but something would always halt him. He loathed it. Malik studied the retiring workers as the lights that flickered out one by one to leave them shrouded in darkness. They wouldn't be able to climb the spire in this pitch-blackness of night.
"We must wait for dawn, Altair, we would fall to our deaths if we attempt to climb the spire this night," Malik voiced what Altair was already thinking. Malik could feel Altair's tension and disgruntled energy – but he wanted as much as Altair does to get rid of that artifact. He patted Altair's arm and headed to the small room atop the barracks where they stayed. "We must rest – we begin to climb as soon as dawn breaks."
Altair gazed at the spire once more, giving the formidable height a challenging stare before following Malik's retreating form to the room with its two European feather beds.
*****
Dawn was damp, Altair thought as he climbed out of the room to face a dull gray morning. The sun wasn't even in the sky yet but it was light enough that Altair could see Malik at the edge of the barracks, head craned to seek the spiky top of the spire they were to climb. Crickets and dogs scurried by and Altair leapt lightly to the ground, Malik landing softly next to him, and they hurried to the base. It was wider and bigger from close up, Altair realized with surprise as they ran around the base to the dark interior of the cathedral and climbed the platforms to make their climb slightly less challenging. They stopped, at least twenty feet up and they faced the completed, curved wall of the spire and as he ran up the wall, his hands clamping onto a statue's feet, he realized the stone was damp with morning dew.
This sort of humidity irritated him as he'd been forced to shed several layers of his white robes in order to not drown in his own sweat. Now his bare arms were coated with moisture and his outer robe and pants were damp as he moved upwards, reaching and pushing himself up. Malik was behind him, climbing with one arm. Altair resisted the urge to look down at his friend to see just how in the world he was climbing one-armed but rather pushed forward, faster, hands slipping as the moisture became slicker and wetter on the stone as they ascended.
Even if the workers came out now they wouldn't see them. Malik and Altair's breaths were coming in sharp pants an their muscles strained – but they were halfway up. Altair couldn't look up or down – he could only look straight ahead as he climbed, feeling the muscles in his arms burn in the strain of hauling his body and the rucksack up a vertical surface slowly began to take its toll. Sweat beaded down his forehead but he ignored it, just as he ignored his fingertips being scrapped raw in the rough stone.
The workers were out and working by the time Altair hauled himself to the top of the spire, onto the small circle of stones were the cross sat. He grabbed it hold himself steady in the small quarters and waited as Malik's one arm reached up and Altair grabbed onto the man's wrist to pull him up. They sat, panting for a minute, Altair wiping sweat from his brow and Malik's one arm shaking from the strain.
Altair slipped off his rucksack and dropped its contents onto the stones where he chiseled the larges stone off the structure and proceeded to widen out the crevice before dropping the warm Piece of Eden into the cradle. Before covering the artifact with the stone that would hide it from view, he stared at the silver orb once again, a sense of something important leaving him, something he desperately needed… Wanted … he shook it off, knowing the cursed sphere created it all those illusions, almost as if it knew him, and slammed the rock down, covering Eden with rock and mortar, baring his teeth. Relief coursed through him and he felt the sudden lightness of a burden leaving him as he sealed the stone with sand, rubble and mortar from the rucksack.
Malik watched intently, occasionally handing Altair tools as the man carved into the stone with a tiny chisel – a hidden talent of Altair's, he realized as an immaculate Assassin symbol was etched under the key stone and he rocked back on his haunches, wiping dust from the stone, finger tracing the symbol as if entranced.
They must have been up there for nearly two hours. Altair was disoriented by the great height, temporarily, and waited while Malik edged towards the end of the world before releasing a sigh and launched himself off, gracefully, one arm held out as he dropped from sight – a leap of faith.
Altair spared one last glance at the spot where Eden lay and turned his back on it, determination fueling him to leap out into the air. The wind roared in his ears as he plunged through emptiness, adrenaline exploded into his blood making the detail of the statues flying by his line of sight become almost lifelike as he speared through the air. The whooshing grew almost deafening as his heart pounded madly in his chest, the excitement of the near-flying experience swelling in his chest. He couldn't resist an elated laugh before he landed in a large pile of wool, always dazed by the heaviness of his body after experiencing extreme weightlessness.
He rolled out, head down and fists clenched, away from the pile and towards Malik who opened his mouth to speak. He blurred, his face distorting into haze. Colors grew sharper, the cathedral distorted... A giant violet rose towered above him… there was a hand on his arm and a soft voice in his ear… a scent he recognized…
****
"…Altair?" He knew that voice. He loved it. Astrid's face flowed into focus before him, her hand resting on his cheek stirred him, but her concern came him. Her eyes were slightly wide and apprehensive as he looked down at her, then up the violet stained glass, then to the right spire. He could remember the half-built spire so clearly and the Piece of Eden in his hand as he dropped it into its coffin.
"I know where it is," Altair said shortly and tried to move past but Astrid slapped a hand on his chest.
"Wait! Look around, Altair; there are more than a thousand people here. We have to wait until dawn," she hissed and he glanced sharply at her and remembered the similar words spoken to him by Malik.
Altair tensed, surprised by the urge to grab her arm and pull her towards the spire, and nodded silently as she sighed and turned to face the cathedral. "You know, that zombie thing really scared me. But you remembered, didn't you – Altair? Altair! Shit!" Astrid swore loudly when Altair's running figure dashed from sight around the spire. Growling under her breath, Astrid followed the shocked whispers and French shouting to see Altair already twenty feet up and moving fast. Following impulse, she followed, running up the wall until she grabbed onto a ledge and hauled herself up until she was neck and neck with Altair. Her arms shook as she reached and pulled, using her legs to alleviate the strain by pushing until she was pressed, toes to forehead against the wall and climbing.
Altair heard Astrid's labored breathing and had to give her a smile, recognizing stubbornness when he saw it, and she threw him a death glare before scrambling upwards, ignoring the sirens that wailed. She would have preferred doing this at their own pace without the French population staring holes into their backs as they progressed, passing the halfway point. Astrid didn't dare stop, knowing if she did, she'd never start but instead followed Altair's method of never looking up or down, only reaching and pulling herself up even though her muscles screamed, not used to extensive and difficult climbing without her equipment. As they powered upwards, they could barely hear the sirens or the shouts as they moved closer and closer to the weathered cross and Astrid nearly gasped and scrambled up, rather ungracefully, and her hands clutching the cross so she wouldn't slide off the edge.
"You did well," Altair said. He knew that at several points during their long climb upwards, she'd wavered, her arms shaking and threatening to collapse but he had to commend her determination. Or stubbornness. Or fear of falling. Altair chuckled at her red, sweaty face and watched as she gathered herself so she sat on her haunches, mimicking his own pose with his hands dangling between his knees. She would have retorted but her gaze landed on a barely present crease on the rock between them. It was too straight to be a crack and she could feel the indentation of a parallel line. It didn't make sense to her until Altair traced the assassin symbol and Astrid pulled her knife from under her light jacket and began to saw at the old mortar that gave away like cheese.
"If its not here, Altair, and I just climbed that for nothing, I'm going to kill you," Astrid growled as she knifed around the rock. It made sense to hide it here. One would have to be insane, or they had to be Altair and Astrid, to climb that spire in the middle of the morning in France.
As Astrid sheathed the knife, Altair dug his fingers in the creases and lifted it, shifting the stone as it rasped its way out of its place. Astrid coughed when a small mushroom cloud of smoke wafted from the small pit but she stopped when Altair lifted a piece of silver, of Eden, in his bare hand and it glowed in the sunlight. It was certainly more powerful than the one she taken from Abstergo since Astrid could feel its heat and power as if it thrummed with energy.
"Here," Astrid whispered and grabbed her black bag from her pocket and Altai nearly threw it in its depths, a wide-eyed look on his face.
Still on top of the spire, Astrid braved a look down at the ant-like people still gathered round the spire. "Now what?"
Author's Notes: To quote a fellow fanfiction writer… whom, for the life of me, I can't remember which story they wrote, said, "The thought of Altair having sex breaks my poor little brain." It applies to me as well. :) I had to stop and skip to the end or else I would have exploded all over. Said FF writer also wrote the prologue to rather intriguing story that I can't seem to find… so if you know, drop me a review or a message so I can give proper credit.
On a historical note… Notre Dame was actually started around 90+ years before Altair's time so I figure the timing was decent in the completion of the right or left spire since it took them a hell of a long time to get that done. I took the 'wool pile' idea from AC2.
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