Chapter 11: Birds of Prey

"I cannot leave the city," he told Altaïr, who stood in his Bureau, defiant of the protocol to return to Masyaf for permission.

"Perhaps you should walk the streets and learn what you can. You call yourself perceptive; perhaps you'll see something I could not."

"I don't know, I must think on this."

"As you do, I ride for Arsuf."

With that, Altaïr left. Despite Kazhal's new contempt for Malik, she had to know what the assassin meant. What was going on? Is the war over the Holy Land involving more players than once thought? "Dai, why would we be the common enemy for Salah al-Din and…Richard?" The foreign name fell rough from her lips.

"Because we do things that they do not favor," he answered monotonously, deep in thought.

"Sounds about right," Kazhal mumbled in Kurdish, knowing he would not understand.

"I can do that as well, you know. I speak the foreigners' tongues." He continued in the language of the Franj, "Do you think this is a respectful thing to do? Speak in another tongue to berate me, thinking you will get away with it? You are foolish and a child."

"Why don't you go out and do what Altaïr says? Maybe you'll gain some of the sense he has. Go out for a walk. There is nothing for you to do, as far as I know. No one has requested maps, we are stocked on food. Please, go." Kazhal motioned to the secret back door. "Since I cannot leave, maybe you should."

Through gritted teeth, he growled, "You are no one to tell me what to do!"

"Then perhaps I will send word to Afshan, and she can pleasure you into do something productive today."

"Enough! I do not have to take this from the likes of you. I've never met such a rude woman!"

Kazhal said nothing as she watched him leave through the back door. There was nothing to say.

The day was quiet without him; only the buzzing of passing conversations outside reminded her of her solitude. She cleaned for hours, regardless if the area had already been cleaned. The scrolls in the wall shelf were reorganized at least three times, the contents of her room shifted in various ways to keep the previous night's incident from happening again. When she heard the padded landing of an assassin in the entrance room, she lit incense in the workroom then moved to greet the visitor. "Salaam, Aidah."

Aidah pushed back her hood, unveiling a sober face. "You're not safe here."

"What do you mean? Aidah!" Kazhal trailed after Aidah, who rushed through the rooms, checking for something, or someone. "What's going on?"

"I've learned things upon returning to Jerusalem," Aidah finally slowed down, and sat on the carpets in the entrance room.

"Yes, like Abbas. Malik already knows as well."

The armed medic shook her head. "Ismat is up to something. I followed her and Afshan through the bazaar a few days ago. Then, I passed it along to Altaïr, and we are both starting to get the same idea. Al Mualim, Ismat, Afshan, they are all Templars."

Kazhal shifted uncomfortably. "I don't understand…"

"Afshan was stationed here to distract Malik. When that did not work, they used Munzir and you to distract Malik. They hired the men that attacked you, everything. Of course, that was supposed to work out differently. You're the last thing to be disposed of, after you turn Altaïr and Malik against one another again."

The assistant sighed. "None of this makes any sense. Why this complex plan? Why not just kill Malik?"

"Malik is smart," Aidah answered, "if he started making connections, he could sway the Assassins. With his fall from grace, Altaïr is not so eagerly received."

"…So what do I do? What is there for me?"

"When Malik returns, I am telling him that I am taking you home."

Kazhal's heart leapt out of her chest. "Home?" She thought of Shelan, whose face was starting to blur in her mind. There was Rahim and Saeed, Leyla, too.

"It would be temporary. From there, there are two things that can happen. You leave willingly, or we take you back by force. Abbas has already agreed to marry you."

"Then I might as well go to Masyaf already, because if I go home, I will never want to leave."

Aidah had to laugh. She admired Kazhal's honesty, even if frank. "Then you and I will remain here until things come out into the open—"

"What things?" A voice called from atop the grate. Spying on them like a bird of prey was Ismat, whose lips curled into a leer with negative intent. "Aidah, why are you poisoning this girl's mind with rubbish? We are sisters, after all."

Aidah scoffed, "I am not sister of a Templar. Kazhal, move."

Just as Kazhal made to move out of the way, a flying dagger whizzed past Kazhal's ear and caught her pant leg on the carpet. Ismat growled, "Move again. I dare you." She leapt down to the rugs below. "Altaïr was here. Where did he say he was going?"

Ismat's dark eyes bore into Kazhal's lighter ones, but all she found was defiance, rolling and tumbling over itself like a storm. "I have no answers for a traitor or someone who took me from my family."

The assassin cackled a bit, but dared not take her eyes off either Kazhal or Aidah. "You think you are the first girl ever to be taken from her family? Please. Look at the woman next to you—her family sold her. Isn't that right, Dhahabi? Or do you prefer your real name, over your whore name? Which is it, Atmaja?"

"You bitch," Aidah ran towards Kazhal to put distance between her and their assailant. Then, she swept Ismat from her feet.

On her back, Ismat slashed through the air with her knife, hoping to graze A'idah's leg. Instead, the other woman backed out of the way, shoving Kazhal into the hall. Ismat surged up towards Aidah with an uppercut, knocking her back as well.

"Kazhal, go find Malik, now!"

Without so much as a nod, Kazhal bolted for the back door. Of course, she should have realized that Malik would lock it from the outside, because it would not budge at her touch. Kazhal then remembered that there was a courtyard, with high but scalable walls. The trees were small but could still help. Her ability to climb the heights was initially adequate, but with the adrenaline rush, she found herself climbing like an Assassin. Once over the wall, she tore through the city, calling out for Malik.

Halfway down a block, someone grabbed at Kazhal and yanked her into an alley way. "Don't scream, it's me—Ruya. Afshan is following us, and she is armed. We have to be careful, but we should be able to find Malik—I know where he is going."

When Ruya relinquished hold, Kazhal asked, "Where would he go? Altaïr told him to walk the streets to find the truth…or something similar."

"He has," Ruya nodded, "And he's returning to the place where he first lost his arm."

Suleiman's Temple resembled a mine; it was cold, dark, and dank. Tiny beams of light filtered through the cracks of the rocks above, but it was not enough to shake the eerie feeling consuming Kazhal. Something was wrong.

"You don't think he's hurt, do you? That Afshan knew he would come here?" She asked, as Ruya tightened a makeshift harness around the younger girl to lower her further in. Typically an Assassin would simply free run across the beams before them. Ruya learned to a long time ago, and became doubly unsure she could with Kazhal in tow. Luckily, Ruya came prepared with plenty of items—daggers, poison darts, the aforementioned rope, and more.

Ruya shrugged, then plopped down next to her. "Afshan could try, but Malik was second only to Altaïr throughout the years. Besides, he lost his left arm, not his sword arm…try to be quiet."

It felt like a maze. Every turn looked the same, until finally they happened upon an opening, the main entrance revealing the renowned edifice, Suleiman's Temple. Kazhal's heart skipped a beat as her eyes traced the lines and reliefs on the building—this was history for her. Suleiman was the last of the three greatest Jewish kings, a prophet for all Abrahamic traditions including her own. Suddenly, Ruya clears her throat, and shocking Kazhal, she lets out a sound between a whistle and a squeal. It reminds the listener of an eagle, or maybe a hawk. Kazhal did not know the difference.

"He'll know if an Assassin is trying to call him."

"But won't Afshan?"

Ruya's face went blank before her lips sagged into a frown. "I am not always as smart as I think."

They heard a reply close-by, and again Kazhal's heart became a resounding drum in a silent room. Turning a corner, Ruya unsheathed a dagger and pressed it into Kazhal's hands; the other she kept close to her person. "Whatever happens," Ruya said, "Don't defend yourself, kill them."

"Kill who?" Malik emerged from the darkness, covered in dust and dirt.

Ruya, startled even more than Kazhal, let the dagger slip from her hands and clatter on the ground. She placed a fist over her heart with a gasp, "Dai! Salaam—"

The Dai repeated. "Kill who?"

Ruya looked to Kazhal, unsure of how to answer. The latter had no problem letting the name roll of her tongue, saturated with venom, "Afshan, of course."

She expected the Dai to furrow his brows and swear at her, but instead he looked to his feet. A look of perplexity flitted across his features before he mumbled, "She is in on this, too."

"Ismat and Aidah are still in the Bureau fighting. Ismat attacked us, and she told me to flee and find you," Kazhal added, "Ruya found me in the streets and took me here. Dai, what is going on? Things are chaotic, and I do not understand."

Malik explained to her the things he found in Robert de Sable's journal within the Temple. Rashid ad-Din Sinan, better known as Al Mualim, was involved with the Templars all along. He sought the Apple, and used Altaïr's mistake as a means to assassinate those in his way. Al Mualim wanted to control, and to do that, he needed the Apple. "I have to return to Masyaf."

"Then take Kazhal with you. She isn't safe here."

"She will be fine. There is nothing here to hurt her."

Kazhal scoffed. "And what of Afshan? Not that you know, she will stop hunting me?"

Malik whipped his gaze at her and snapped, "Why would she be specifically after you? So I found out about the Templars in our ranks, what does it have to do with you?"

"I was the distraction," Kazhal deadpanned, recalling at the events preceding the present. Munzir's kiss, Nawal and her family, the month of Ramadan spent learning Arabic so she could communicate as well as she did now, and even leaving her home in Urmia. "Munzir, the guards in the alleyway…Ismat planned all that. I was your distraction. You were not supposed to believe Altaïr's words. Afshan was unable to keep your attention."

The Dai stewed on what he heard. It seemed very farfetched at first, but the renovation to Kazhal's room, the way Munzir disappeared and was never heard from again…the scenario added more confusion and complexity than was necessary. After a while, he finally spoke. "I guess I will see to it that you are returned home. Afshan will be taken care of. You will not have to remain in the Order. Forget all that you have seen and heard in the time spent among us." He looked to Ruya and said, "Return to the streets and track Afshan. I am returning her to her family."

The longer the day grew, the more surreal everything felt. Was this all just a dream? Was it some part-nightmare, part-fantasy created to satisfy her boredom? Once again, she stood before her old home, a store front for a tailor with a knack for embroidery that would delight the most finicky tastes; she was there, right next to Malik. In Suleiman's Temple, Kazhal noticed her scarf missing, and felt an ever-flowing current of embarrassment through her veins. To walk around so freely, as if everyone on the streets were a relative was not a safe thing to do.

Muezza, Leyla's silver-haired tabby sat in a loaf next to the door, sunbathing, her eyes locking onto to Kazhal's for mere seconds before squinting in leisure. The girl hoped her family would be as much ease as their feline companion.

Kazhal, followed by the one-armed Dai, went inside, finding Rahim behind the counter with needle and thread, embroidering an Egyptian design into a future customer's overcoat.

Her name left his mouth silently as he stumbled to his feet, dropping the needle somewhere on the floor. Rahim fought for words, and barely made out, "This cannot be real!"

"Salaam, brother."

Outside, the three settled into chairs in the courtyard. Leyla, though stunned, slowly concocted a magnificent blend of tea while Shelan and Saeed watched from the windows above, unknown to the visitors below.

Malik told him everything. He had no fear, no hesitation in describing the events leading up to the present. Only, he fixed his words to portray a girl kidnapped by the savage Crusaders, and he, a veteran Saracen, did as he thought best. No words about Assassins or Templars ever made way into the woven story, but the details were still all the same. Rahim, in his typical listening stance, leaned back in his chair, holding his chin, nodding frequently to convey understanding. Sometimes, the words were lost to Kazhal; Malik could speak so quickly and such beautiful Arabic, she would have thought he was reciting the Noble Qur'an. When he was finished, Rahim sat up, cleared his throat, and gazed at Kazhal. "Is this all true?"

"It is," Kazhal answered with a nod. "Unfortunately."

His next question took her by surprise. "Are you married to this man?"

"W-what? No…"

"Where is your modesty? Your scarf? Have you been so unguarded all these days outside your home? That is how you represent this family?"

"Rahim, I lost my scarf today trying to escape," she whined, "I am not the way you are thinking."

"How am I to know?" Rahim's angry eyes bore into Malik, though the target seemed unfazed. "Have you deflowered my sister-in-law, you cripple?"

Kazhal expected Malik to rear up and to verbally abuse her brother-in-law, but no such reaction came. Instead, he answered slowly, "I would not insult this woman with such a thing."

"How can I believe either one of you? You, my sister-in-law, show up on my doorstep, immodest, after being caught leaving with some man and dead in an alleyway. You were dead! If I remember correctly, this is the cripple from your first week in Jerusalem. You are telling me this is purely coincidental? I do not buy it."

A silence fell over them all, save for the clinking of tea cups in Leyla's trembling hands as she sauntered between them to serve tea. Somewhere in the background, Shelan shushed Saeed so she could hear.

"Had this happen sooner I would believe it," Rahim continued after a sip of tea, "But the evidence, in my opinion, makes me believe that you are trying to return home so you can slowly introduce your lover over here. Or, you lost your honor on the streets and thought making this poor cripple testify on your behalf would make us believe that you are a victim in all this and deserve to return home. Regardless of the matter, none of this would have happened had you remained with Shelan inside of Nawal's home—"

"But everyone is in the streets at the time of Eid—"

"I do not care! I will not allow some…whore…to reside in the house of my son, my wife, and your pure, unmarried sister."

Malik went unheard when he repeated Kazhal's purity remained intact. Kazhal started to break into sobs, and fell on her knees before Rahim. Leyla had been standing behind Rahim during the latter part of the conversation, and though she held composure before, she was now starting to break down. In front of Malik, Leyla grabbed the hem of her scarf and covered her anguish-twisted face. "Rahim, please! What you think is not the same as the truth! I am pure! This man has never touched me—Wallah, no one has touched me! I promise by God!"

Rahim's gaze fell to his toes. If he felt remorse it did not show. His reputation, the reputation of Kazhal's sisters, would disintegrate before their very eyes should he welcome her back. She was tampered with in his eyes, and no man would ever want to marry a tampered woman. "I am sorry, Kazhal, but you are no longer welcome in this house. Be on your way. Perhaps the cripple can provide you with the salvation you need."

Kazhal's sobs elevated to the wails of a mad woman. She had returned home, the very thing she wanted all along. Here she was, but again, it was out of her reach. Rahim turned her away like a beggar on the street, and with little consideration for her. What did Leyla think? What did Shelan think? It would not matter, because Rahim was the head of the house. He could have the guards called on them. Ready to leave, Malik placed his empty tea cup back on its saucer, and set it down on the small table between himself and her brother-in-law. He mumbled a pleasantry despite the fuming expression on his face. If the word cripple was wounding to his ego, he could not imagine what betrayal his assistant felt being denied her right to her home.

She took one last look at her home, at Leyla who still concealed her face to cry, at Saeed who badgered Shelan because he did not understand, Shelan who sunk into herself like a sack of old vegetables in disbelief, and Rahim whose expression revealed no guilt. None of this belonged to her anymore. Maybe it never did. Kazhal tried to gather herself as she bid her family—or what was—goodbye.

Oh snap! Bet you didn't see that coming! Or maybe you did, who knows. I am sorry this took so long; I wanted to see what the best road was for this story! Review!