Bad Blood
'There was a great rumor somewhere in the land of desert of a true treasure that has been lost for many centuries. They say that the people who hold its secret of its location state it belongs to God Himself. A true gift that was once lost due to the Templar's interference many centuries ago, yet, somehow it was brought back to these people. As a young man at that time, I did not care for what it was that they believed belonged to their God or the Templar's. I only lusted after what value it could hold in a time of war. What great nation would want a gift from God? The true value would have made me rich. The desert people knew where this treasure was buried. They knew, but they would not tell. It was sacred to them. They did not want to lose it once more.
Campbell: my most trusted friend aboard this ship. He has tried to reason with me on my motives. He was the one who has told me of this treasure and the power it could hold. He wanted me to become captain of this ship after the mutiny. Why? I was not sure of his motivation. He seemed to be contempt with being my second-hand man. Of all the mysterious he holds, there was something that compelled me to know. Campbell only wanted the location of the treasure; not for trade or for himself, but there was something that he was not telling me. He saw this treasure as 'Holy'.
Like the desert people, he-himself- was holding back the secrets.
This place that I set aflame: Masyaf.'
I closed my father's journal thinking of what I read within it. He talked of this treasure-once he became captain of Ghost of Davy Jones. I was wondering to myself what my father's motives were at that time. This treasure was from God Himself which was something that even I could not believe. Was there even such a thing as a treasure from God; it was not possible? Is this treasure the reason why Gray eye was not looking for revenge on my father? Was it the treasure that drove the men aboard the ship to act against their own captain?
'I truly do not know my own father.'
Grabbing the necklace that was secured around my neck, I began to take it off. As it was in my hands, dangling and swaying I placed it on the journal. It held many memories that I was never a part of. It was the only symbol that I held close for most of my life. It always took hold of who I truly was: a mere reminder of my bloodline.
Closing my eyes shut with a growing pain in my head, I let out a low sigh. There were still missing pieces that needed to be found. Then looking back to the journal I remembered father always talking of the massacre. This treasure he speaks of may have had to do with what has happened in his past. Though, I was not sure if it truly did. I knew nothing which was more than frustrating. I grew tired of having to decipher what it was he is trying to tell me. Too many secrets withheld in such a small journal that has yet to be solved.
Sighing, I had to remove myself from my own room. If I continued on-wards with my father's words, I feared that I would go mad. The throbbing in my head was doing me no good. It was troubling that I could over-think over something so little, but it was important. This was my father's journal, yet, I felt as if he was leading me to the answer that I seek. Did it all have to do with this treasure? Placing my hand on my head the pain grew worse. Clenching my teeth I begged the God's to calm me. Maybe I could be of a bother to the men downstairs to rid myself of this pain. They could take my mind off of the journal for the time being. As of late, Connor has had this obsession with his new achievement of assassin. Shaking my head at the passing days, I could spend the rest of the day in training or practice my marksmanship.
Walking out of my room with some relief to the nauseating pain of my head, I began to hear the sound of knocking from downstairs. All of my thoughts of the pass few moments were gone. Curious as to who was at the door I walked to the stairs. Descending down the steps Connor was the first to answer. He began to talk to his friend, Kanen'to kon, about important matters involving their village. I did not want to interrupt their conversation nor did I want to return to my room to that journal, but once Connor stepped foot outside to continue I once more had to come to a halt on the steps.
I heard the sound of Achilles walking from one of the rooms towards the entrance of the manor. It would seem that the knocking on the door also caught his attention, if not that, than Connor's rising voice. Stepping down the last of the steps and to the older man's side, the air was all but tense. Keeping my eyes stern to the situation with crossed arms there was more to what was going on. Beside me Achilles was observing more intently; dissecting the conversation before us. If only I could be as obedient in observation as the older man. I guess it came with age, knowledge, and experience.
"We cannot oppose the sachem. But you are right as well. We cannot give up our home." His friend said.
"Do you have a name? Do you know who is responsible?" Connor asked.
"He is called William Johnson."
"Where is Johnson now?"
"In Boston, making preparations for the sale." This is what made Connor angry the most.
"Sale? This is theft."
I took a step forwards to thinking I could try and calm the situation at hand anyway that I could, but I felt Achilles' walking stick poke me at the sides hard. He always used the damn thing against me when he believed that I was overstepping my boundary. Not making a sound to the pressure that was at my side, the older man decided on his own to talk.
"Connor, take care. These men are powerful." Achilles warned.
"What would you have me do? I made a promise to my people." Connor was clearly angry. This was the most I have seen the boy show this side. It was off-putting that even I wanted to counter-attack with such vile words for speaking to the old man the way he did. Even if it was not my place to speak on such matters (for I had my own agenda to deal with) I was here to help out my allies. We may have walked different routes, but in the end we would meet somewhere in the middle.
"You are not serious?" I stated with disappointment looking to the assassin. I was not angry. I was trying to understand this situation. "Do you have a plan or are you willing to go alone and handle this situation? I call it a suicide mission. Have you forgotten your training already? You are no good dead if you happen to make a mistake." I continued onwards, walking towards Connor. This made Kanen'to kon step forward but Connor looked to him. If he thought me to be a threat for standing my ground and speaking out of term; one thing is always made clear, I was more than just a woman standing up to man. I could think of this as madness: such a sickness that plagues the mind from true intent. I was not going to fight nor was I going to back away.
"This does not concern you, Seliah. These are my people, not yours." Connor spoke pointing his finger at me than placing his arms by his sides. Glaring at him, I was not going to be treated as if I was a child. Even if he was older than me I was not going to back down. This situation was serious; understandable. I still stood as tall in-front of the assassin, waiting to see if he would say anymore. I had enough respect for the boy and his people-even though I did not fully understand their way of life- but respect was enough. "I do not want to hear what you have to say to me."
"I have held my tongue long enough." I spoke in my language. "Good men die because they do not see through their own arrogance; their own anger. It blinds them like it is blinding you. At least let my words soak through that complicated head of yours." And once more did I feel the pressure of the older man's stick in my side.
"My own anger is not blinding me." He retorted.
"Enough! Keep that mouth of yours shut, Seliah. Connor, if you insist upon this course of action; seek out Samuel Adams in Boston. He'll be able to help." Achilles spoke keeping his eye on me.
Once more looking to his childhood friend, Connor stretched out his arm knowing full well what he was to do. As if he knew, Kanen'to kon gave the assassin a hatchet, which I grew even worried as to what he intended to do with the weapon. Taking a defensive stance in case something was to go wrong, angrily did the boy place the weapon in the pillar. I was too tense to have my thoughts reason with my actions. Only I could think of the worst and hope for the best. The pain of the throbbing in my head could only grow worse, yet I still stood tall in front of the men before me. Even if they could see the annoyance on my face, I was waiting to see how this would play itself out.
People can be unpredictable.
"What have you done?!" The older man spat.
"When my people go to war, a hatchet is buried into a post to signify its start. When the threat is ended, the hatchet is removed." The assassin stated.
"It is like you are trying to bring down the crown by yourself when you know well that there are others who can help." My words only went through the stubborn boy. He only glared at me as I did the same. Fighting amongst each other would not solve a damn thing. "Whatever it is you plan to do with Johnson, let me know. I am here to assist. I trained for a reason and I do not want to be pushed aside for your means."
Lowering my guard to ease the tension in my shoulders, Connor still kept a stern look. He made his decision.
"We will leave within the week. Be ready."
Frustrated at how the situation came to be, I placed my hand on the side of my head. Leaning on the wall with my eyes closed the throbbing pain began to slow down. The pain inside of my head felt as if a hot knife was cutting its way through my skull. Unbearable was the only way to describe it. Unaware that Connor and Kanen'to kon have walked away, could I hear Achilles yell out to them.
"You could have used a tree!"
"Sometimes I wonder who is more stubborn, Connor or myself." Opening my eyes, the older man looked to me with little concern. This was unsettling that I shifted under the older man's gaze. "Forgive me for speaking out of term. I was not to expect my day to be this way. Connor is far beyond reason…"
"…what has gotten to you?" He asked. "That mouth of yours needs to know when to keep shut in such matters. That pirate blood inside of you is showing its ugly head, again! Learn to control it before I tear out that tongue. If it is not Connor it is you. If it is not you it is Connor. You two butt heads for who is more complicated." Once more, the stick was pushed into my side as he began to walk inside. "…nothing more than children."
As much as I hate the term of being called a child once more, the older man was again right. The way Connor and I were acting was out of… It was out of bound. This was not how we had to act. Connor was angry for many reasons and I only poked him to try and reason. It was a fail on my own part. He has much going through his mind while I had much going through mine. Our friendship could be fine one moment then something will smack it in the face. Placing my hand on my side I had solitude outside with the clouds covering the sun. Hearing the birds in the trees and the winds blowing softly, I looked to the hatchet that was held steady in the pillar. Connor saw what was happening with his people as an act of war. For him, this was personal.
One thing was for sure: it was not my concern.
No matter how many times I have to hear it I was going to help in any way possible. I was not going to let my training go to waste. When Connor returns-whether he likes it or not- I was going to travel with him to Boston. One man cannot do this alone; maybe he could. The boy had to understand that there are others who can help. At this moment we all had to calm our nerves. The air was still too tense. One small slip of the tongue and we would be at each other's throats like savage dogs. The throbbing pain in my head faded away. The thought of the day was going to linger for a few moments longer.
'We are not acting like children. We are acting like the savage dogs ready for war.'
1773: Boston
There was something that was different about this place. Even though the red coats still patrolled and still had power over the citizens, Salty still kept weary. The citizens were showing more of a backbone. They were not afraid as they once were some three years before when the red coats fired upon the unarmed. It made the former pirate think differently about the people who lived, worked, and even traded here. Every now and again, would patrols go to a random home; knocking on the door ordering for those living inside to pay their dues or else. Some would fight back while others saw no reason.
The people were finally opening their eyes to how they were being treated.
Salty returned to the tavern he was staying in. In his room he felt no comfort. He felt alone, isolated, tired, and worn thin. He has been in Boston for three months waiting for word on the broken blade. Even though Campbell was dead, Salty was unaware that his former crew-mate had a child of his own. Campbell's son has been in hiding for most of his young life, but when the young man's father was killed he sought out Salty. The young boy's name was Oliver and he was now the new blacksmith that Salty could trust with such a weapon as the hidden blade.
It was a beautiful piece of weapon that has not seen the light of day in many years after it was taken. Such a delicate design once it was polished and cleaned to its original state. Salty felt proud that the weapon was restored after paying a good amount of coins for Oliver's hard work for the past three months. The young man was truly talented like his father.
This weapon would be of use if and when he would find Gray eye. The sneaky bastard of a snake has been playing with him for too long. Each trail would grow warm with each step, only to grow cold quickly once Gray eye knew Salty was getting near. There would be weeks without a single trail giving Salty time to rest. Not every waking moment was trying to find his former captain. He trained himself to the fullest of what he was capable of. Time and age slowed him very, but he was still a fighter.
There was a hard knock on the door making Salty jump out of his thoughts. Placing the blade inside of his pack, cautiously the former pirate walked towards the door. He was not expecting visitors or anyone for that matter. But the knocking on the door was becoming faster and once Salty opened the door he saw Oliver. The young boy was sweating, breathing in and out trying to gasp for air, and he was holding a large book in his right hand.
"What are you doing here?" Salty asked the boy.
"I found this going through my father's belongings. I do not know why I have forgotten about this book until you asked me to fix the blade." Oliver said taking in large gulps of breath. He felt as if he were going to collapse on the floor in front of Salty. Seeing the fatigue in the boy, Salty ushered him inside ordering him to take a seat at the desk.
Once seated with the door closed, Oliver placed the book on his lap. His body was shaking slightly, muscles in his legs were burning, but there was a reason why the boy ran from his shop over to the tavern his father's longtime friend was renting. Hearing the boots of Salty walking closer to him the boy's tired brown eyes looked to the stern former pirate.
"What book do you possess?" He asked calmly.
"The Holy Bible. I thought nothing of it until I realized it was not the actual book. Inside I found many documents going back to the time of the crusades. Father has always kept this secret and somehow when he found you, when he knew about your family lineage, I had to give this to you." The boy's fingers were twitching on the old dusted cover.
With a raised brow Salty took the book from the boy's twitching hands. His palms were sweating leaving sweat marks on it. Inside the dusted fake book were indeed loads of many documents. Neatly stacked on top of each other; ready to fall apart when touched, stained rather badly. Salty was not so sure how he was going to handle these rare documents without trying to ruin them. He was fascinated, yet he wanted to know how and why Campbell could keep track of his family lineage. Then again, he was an assassin for most of his life until his death.
"Is there something about my lineage that I should be aware of?" Salty placed on hand in the book to grab a document. There was a sense of confusion when he saw what was inside. There was writing in another language that he was not so familiar with: French.
"That was something I have come to ask myself many atime. The Brotherhood holds many secrets like the Templar's, but this is something that the assassins have been keeping their eyes on for almost six-hundred years. They are trying to reclaim the treasure that was lost in the war. The assassins have been finding great descendants of Templar's. Your family was unfortunate to have been descendants of Robert de Sable: Grand Master of the knights Templar during the crusades."
Salty's eyes looked quickly to the boy. "You are solely mistaken, boy. I have no lineage with the Templar's nor will I ever accept it. My family would have shared that secret with me. They would have told me before I left to sail the seas as a common seaman. It would take years to keep record of such things."
Oliver could see that this was affecting Salty in a negative way. From the stories Campbell told to him was that Salty had no respect for the Templar's. He despised them with every fiber of his soul. Any chance that he could, the former pirate would attack supposed Templar ships. Salty was known to kill without hesitation making him the most fear of pirates. Today, this was something different. This was not the pirate that sailed the seas as a captain of Ghost of Davy Jones.
"I am afraid it is true. Whether you believe me or not, your family lineage starts with de Sable. The names may have changed due to marriage, growing families, and politics of de Sable's children and grandchildren in the European lands, but father had an interest in you when you became a pirate. It takes years to keep documents of family lineage, but those following de Sable's bloodline kept such a record."
"I will not let myself believe that I had a Templar in my family. I will not say I have some of his tainted blood in me."
"It was more than six-hundred years ago, times have changed since then. The Brotherhood is looking for the lost treasure that was taken by the Templar Knights after the war ended. It has been centuries with the assassins dealing with other matters such as politics, land development, and treaties; there are a few assassins that are charged with searching for that lost treasure. They have been searching for the descendants in hopes they hold the answers. Your ancestor took the most precious of them all. When I say the most precious I mean by God himself. That is why my father has been by your side until his death."
Salty placed the document inside of the book. Closing it roughly and throwing it to the boy, the former pirate did not want to hear anymore. This was not of importance to him nor will it ever be. Robert de Sable was not his ancestor. That Templar will never be his ancestor. However, the memories of long past flashed in his mind. The phrase God Himself was all too familiar. Could this be the same treasure that I once looked for many years ago? He asked himself. No! It cannot be possible. The desert people may have known where it lay but…
"Do not call him my ancestor! I have nothing but distaste to the Templar's. What the Templar's did with the treasure is none of my concern." He said harshly.
"But you do not understand Salty. When my father persuade Gray eye before his death, not only was the pirate looking for the ship, but he was also looking for the treasure he sought for many years. I am not aware of his knowledge of your family bloodline, Salty. Gray eye will stop at nothing until he finds it. He is leading you into a wild goose chase but you know that he is planning something dealing with you. It is not revenge he wants; he wants you to reveal the location."
Salty stood still. The walls that were once built strong in his memory were beginning to crack. His past was no longer going to keep hold behind a stone wall. The former pirate was not going to accept a Templar into his family bloodline. Salty had to lie once more. He knew the true location. He knew where the treasure hid. If it was not for the massacre, Salty would have found the treasure. If these documents are proven to be right Gray eye was not going to get them.
"You are wasting your time on me for I will not accept this suppose truth. Years ago I sought the treasure only to kill those who knew the true location. The old man that I took the blade from muttered in his dying breath to me of the location, but I am not sure if the documents that are within the book are one in the same. Gray eye is only looking for ghosts that have been long dead. Your father told you many things about his life, but I am afraid that I am wasting your time."
Oliver was defeated. Salty was what his father always said that he was: stubborn. Even with the facts that were presented in front of him the former pirate could not accept it.
"Please reconsider your motives for Gray eye. He is only waiting for the right opportunity to strike when your guard is down." Oliver said.
"I have made my choice long ago when I found he was still alive. Let me rest for a little while longer, Oliver. I thank you for what you are doing. Your father was one of my best friends; the only person I considered a true friend. I will not accept what was said to me. Go home."
