A/N: Finally! Here's a nice, long chapter, ladies and gentlemen! Maybe now I can focus on my research paper. Enjoy! :)
Shout out to hakkai212004! So glad you took the time to review and I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story! Thanks for reading!
y.r. 1189 A.D.
Aliyah stood half-crouched in the center of the ring. Five of the other novices surrounded her and she waited for their assault. As she expected, Abdul charged her first and she spun out of his reach only to close the gap immediately and slam the pommel of her knife onto the back of his head. The others attacked then and she turned from one to other, never really seeing them, only reacting to their movements. One by one, they went down then suddenly, she felt another presence behind her and she spun with a kick. Ibrahim dodged the blow, then attacked viciously, pushing her to the edge of the ring. Before he could shove her out, she spun around him and out of his reach. Then, she attacked. Dust billowed up around them as they sparred. Aliyah was able to land solid blows but Ibrahim blocked them sufficiently enough so that she caused him no real harm. For his part, he was only to land glancing hits as she constantly ducked and dodged him. Finally, blades were drawn and they found themselves dodging steel instead of fists until, suddenly, they held their knives to each other's throats. They circled slowly, waiting on the other to make a move.
"Enough," the master said and they broke apart.
Wiping sweat from her eyes, she took her place among the remaining novices outside the ring. Today, they would receive the red sash of an Assassin from Al-Mualim. As the master led them up the path to the fortress, a tremor of excitement ran through her. Five years ago, she had been Templar prey at the mercy of the world with no place and no name. Soon now, she would be something new.
In the courtyard, red sashes lined the stone balustrade and Al-Mualim stood in front of them. As he spoke the words of the Brotherhood's vow, they repeated them, careful not to miss a single word. Then, the other Assassins stepped between them, took a gauntlet, and fastened it onto the left wrist of each novice. Then, they took a sash, and tied it around the waist of each one. As the weight of the sash settled around her waist, she could have wept with joy. However, her heart was hammering in her chest. The master had told them that Al-Mualim would assign them permanent posts after the ceremony.
As they stood before his desk, he withdrew a scroll from his sleeve and began reading off the names of the ones who would remain in Masyaf as part of the guard. Then, he read the names of those who would be deployed to the cities to serve under a Rafiq.
"Abdul," he called. "Report to the Rafiq in Damascus, he will have your instructions."
Abdul stepped forward and took the scroll offered to him. "Yes, Master."
"Ibrahim, go to Jerusalem. Look into the affairs of a man named Robert de Sable and report your findings to me."
Ibrahim bowed and accepted the scroll. "Yes, Master."
"Aliyah," Al-Mualim called her last.
She stepped forward. "Yes, Master?"
He sighed wearily. "This information was kept from the novices so that you could train without distraction," he said. "We have been betrayed. Saamir Rahimi abandoned the Brotherhood some time ago and has thwarted every attempt we have made to bring him to justice."
"How many has he killed, Master?" she asked, feeling indignation burn within her core.
"The six men I sent to kill him," Al-Mualim answered in a grieved voice, "as well as several others in the cities before we were able to change the location of the Bureaus. He was last seen in Acre. I want you to find him…and kill him."
She could not conceal her shock as he placed a single white feather in her hand.
"I pray you will have success in this endeavor," he told her. Then, he nodded, dismissing them all.
Aliyah lingered and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the loathing in Abdul's eyes.
"May I speak, Master?" she asked once the room was empty.
"Speak," he said.
"Forgive me, Master, but I do not know whether I have been given an honor or an insult," she said.
"I gave this task to you because I feel you have the greatest chance for success," he explained patiently.
"Because I am a woman," she stated. "You believe that my gender may give me an advantage the others lacked."
"Yes," he replied. "Because you are a woman, he may underestimate you, or at least become overconfident."
"I should expect him to feel grievously insulted," she remarked.
Al-Mualim conceded with a nod. "Yes, I have no doubt of that. However, that may be what drives him to make a fatal mistake."
"The irony of this task is not lost on me," she said. "If I succeed, no one will be able to deny me a place here. If I fail, the Brotherhood will at last be free of an embarrassment spanning five years."
Al-Mualim said nothing, but the silence answered her as clearly as a shout.
"I will return as soon as it is done," she told him and turned toward the doors.
"Aliyah," he called and she paused. "You know you may never command their respect. Even if you complete this task, and one hundred others like it."
She turned back to him, an odd half-smile on her lips. "They do not have to respect me, Master, only my blade."
She selected a brown mare from the stable and began the three day ride to Acre. As the walls of the city came into view, she covered her white robes with a brown cloak. She had no doubt that Saamir had men watching, ready to notify him the moment an Assassin entered the city. Once inside, she would locate the Bureau and find out more information about her target. As she found her way into the souk, her pulse climbed with her anxiety. Such a simple disguise would not hide her long from Saamir and in the noise, she would never hear his approach.
Suddenly, she caught a flash of white in a doorway and she slowly made her way to it. Standing under the arch, hidden in the shadows, was a robed man carefully watching the crowd. He flexed his left hand and she glimpsed the stub of his missing finger. Cautiously, she slipped through a small group of people and entered the doorway beside him.
He instantly spun toward her, drawing a curved blade from the folds of his robe.
"Peace!" she said, her voice quiet but forceful.
"What do you want, woman?" he hissed angrily.
"I must speak with the Rafiq," she told him
He smirked. "You are in the wrong part of the city, then."
"Is that why you guard this door so closely?" she asked.
His black eyes narrowed dangerously. "Walk away, woman. I am not to harm the innocent but if you remain here, I will consider you a threat."
"I have been sent by Al-Mualim," she told him. "I seek Saamir Rahimi."
"You are mad, woman," he told her. "Be gone."
She extended her left hand as though to ask for coin but tugged back the fabric to reveal the gauntlet she wore. A shocked curse slipped from his lips.
"What is this?" he asked hoarsely.
"I must speak with the Rafiq," she repeated urgently.
He shook his head, too stunned to speak. "I do not understand this," he said at last.
"I will explain everything as soon as I am able," she promised. "But I must—"
"Speak with the Rafiq," he finished. He licked his lips nervously. "Just outside the souk, there is a man selling vegetables. Ask him if he will sell you five oranges for one silver piece. He will ask you 'Must it be oranges?' and you are to reply 'Yes, five oranges, no more no less.' Do you understand?"
She nodded and concealed her gauntlet. "Safety and peace," she said and walked away with her head bowed.
When she found the vegetable stand, there was a small crowed standing around it. She stepped into the fringe of it and forced herself to take a deep breath. This was not her first assignment. More than once, the novices had been sent to discover information about a target for another Assassin.
But this is different. The tiniest misstep will mean my life.
As the crowd dispersed, she made her way to the stand.
"Will you sell me five oranges for one silver piece?" she asked.
He looked at her in surprise. "Must it be oranges?" he asked, struggling to conceal his utter shock.
"Yes, five oranges, no more no less," she answered.
"Hmm, let me see," he said and leaned over. "I appear to have sold them all," he said, standing up again. He pressed a note into her hand. "Here, take this to the port. My son is there selling fruit to the sailors, perhaps he can help you find what you need."
"Thank you," she said.
"Safety and peace," he told her quietly.
"Safety and peace," she replied.
The port reeked of spoiled fish and tar. Just inside the gate, there was a man selling various fruits.
She walked up to him. "Will you sell me five oranges for one silver piece?"
He glared at her. "Is my father trying to mind my business as well as his own?"
She smiled slightly at his gruffness. "It would seem so," she said and handed him the paper. "I was told you could help me."
He read it briefly, then ripped it in half and gave it back. "I don't have what you're looking for. Go to the eastern watch tower. You might get a better idea of where you need to go. Safety and peace."
"Safety and peace."
As she made her way to the tower, her anxiety began to grow again. She felt completely exposed walking the streets and her back between her shoulder blades began to burn with the expectation of a blade.
A man in gray robes stood by the tower and when he saw her approaching, his hand went inside his robe, no doubt to grip a blade.
"What do you want, woman? This place is not safe for you," he told her.
"I wish to buy five oranges for a silver piece," she said. "But I am not sure where I need to go to find them."
He blinked at her a moment and though the lower half of his face was covered, she was sure she saw his mouth open.
"What have you there?" he asked, pointed to the paper in her hand.
"I am not sure anymore," she answered.
"Let me see," he said and took the torn pieces. He looked at her in astonishment for a moment, then he jerked his head toward a half-burned building. "That door there. Be careful."
She nodded and went inside, only to find no door inside. However, as she stepped further in, the floor creaked beneath her boot and she swept the dirt away with her hands, unearthing a trapdoor. She pulled the heavy door open and dropped into darkness. As soon as her feet touched the ground, blades appeared at her throat and she smelled sweat and fear.
"Safety and peace," she said, still on her knees.
Someone uncovered a lantern, revealing three Assassins standing around her.
"How did you find this place?" one of them demanded harshly.
"I spoke to a man in the souk, who sent me to trader outside of the souk, who sent me to a trader in the port, who sent me to the eastern watch tower, who sent me to investigate a burned home," she answered. "Quite the journey when one considers I was only meant to buy five oranges with one silver piece."
They stepped back and allowed her to stand.
"Why would they send a woman here?" another asked.
"I must speak with the Rafiq," she said. "Al-Mualim sent me to inquire after Saamir Rahimi."
Their eyes smoldered at the name.
"Have our numbers dwindled to so small an amount?" the third man asked, alarmed.
She could have smiled at his assumption. Why else would woman come for information about Saamir?
The first man held a dagger to her throat. "Who are you?" he breathed dangerously.
"My name is Aliyah," she told him. "I've come from Masyaf."
He glared down at her a moment longer. "Come with me."
He led her into a larger room, lit with candles and lanterns. Several Assassins lay on blankets on the floor, all severely wounded.
"Saadiq," one of them moaned, reaching toward the Assassin. "Please…water…"
Saadiq knelt beside him, raised his head and held a flask to his dry lips. "Slowly, Waseem." He glanced over his shoulder at Aliyah. "What, woman? Have you never seen dying men before?" he snapped, seeing her distraught expression.
"Many times," she answered. "But never ones I cared for."
"How could you care for them? You are not one of us," he snarled.
She met his hostile gaze. "Al-Mualim would disagree with you."
He stood slowly and fixed her with cold look. "Would he, indeed?"
She held his gaze without flinching, ready for him to strike her.
He shook his head in disgust. "Why are you here?"
"I have come for the life of Saamir Rahimi," she told him evenly.
One eyebrow went up and he looked to be on the verge of laughing in her face.
"Good, cut off…the rest of his fingers…and give him my greetings," Waseem said, coughing painfully.
Saadiq snapped around. "Get some rest, Waseem," he said with gruff gentleness. "Keep your strength."
Realization dawned on Aliyah. "Five oranges," she murmured, "and one silver piece."
"What?" Saadiq demanded.
"There are only five of you left," she said. "And the least amount of payment a doctor will accept here is a silver piece for each patient."
His eyes softened a little. "This is true."
"Al-Mualim said that the Bureaus were found before the Assassins could move," she said, looking around at the men writhing on blankets or lying far too still. "Saamir did this."
"He did not wield the blade, but he certainly directed it."
They both turned toward the new voice. An old man entered the room with a bucket of water and a handful of rags.
"Peace, Saadiq," he said. "She is one of us."
"A woman!?" Saadiq exclaimed.
"I said much the same thing when I received Al-Mualim's message," the Rafiq replied. "Why have you come?"
Aliyah stepped forward and held out the white feather. "I have come to take the life of Saamir Rahimi."
"Have you?" the Rafiq asked in an unimpressed tone, dropping to his knees to wipe the fever sweat from one the men's forehead. "And why do you assume that you will succeed when we have failed? Has the Brotherhood truly fallen to such disgrace?"
"I am certain that the Brotherhood will benefit regardless of which one of us dies," she answered and the Rafiq looked at her in surprise.
"Saamir was last seen near the fortress of William of Montferrat," he told her. "I have nothing else."
"Thank you, Rafiq," she said gratefully.
"You are a fool," he snapped.
"I have been many things, Rafiq," she said without taking offense.
"…cold…I am…cold," Waseem moaned pitifully.
Aliyah turned to the wounded man and knelt by his side. She draped her robe over him and smoothed his hair back from his face. Saadiq placed a basin of water by her knee and handed her a cloth. As he went to care for another, she bathed Waseem's face with the cool water.
"Saamir…he will not expect…you," he muttered in feverish excitement. "…he won't expect…maybe…maybe you can…kill him…"
"Perhaps," she agreed.
When night fell, she left the hideout and headed toward the fortress to hunt Saamir. The man would die if she had to slit his throat while he slept. The full moon was behind the clouds but still provided enough light for her to move quickly along the rooftops. When she reached the wall, she paused, searching for a way to climb inside the fortress. Suddenly, the gate opened just enough to allow three men to pass through. She ducked behind a rooftop garden, then slipped through the curtain to spy, her heart hammering in her chest. One of the men wore the robes and hood of an Assassin.
She had found Saamir.
She waited until they had passed below her, then she followed, skirting the edges of buildings, jumping from roof to roof, careful to keep her shadow from falling across their path. As they made their way along the twisted streets, she realized with horror that he was heading toward the Assassins' hideout. They turned down a side street and Aliyah crept to the edge. Her shadow fell behind her like a shed cloak. Gripping her throwing knives, she hurled two toward the men.
Saamir felt a sudden change in the air and grabbed one of the men accompanying him. The guard's startled cry ended in a choking gasp of agony and the second man dropped to the ground dead. Saamir glanced at him and recognized the blade protruding from his neck. He looked up toward the roof and saw the white-robed figure.
"They assumed they were here for my protection," he called up smugly. "Truthfully, they were here for my convenience. I haven't yet found the time to bother with dying."
Aliyah dropped to the street. The moon slipped out from behind the clouds and bathed the sun-bleached stone walls in blue-white light.
"He sent six men, all of them of a higher rank than you, and all of them I sent back to him dead," Saamir stated, his dark eyes glittering. "I suppose Al-Mualim wants more blood."
"Only yours, Saamir," Aliyah replied.
His eyes went wide in shock, then he began to laugh uproariously.
"A woman? Pardon me while I decide to be either amused or insulted," he bared his teeth in a predatory smile that she knew well. "I suppose he ran out of men. What will he send next? Children?"
Aliyah watched him, tightening her grip on her short blade, waiting for him to move. Even from a distance, she could see that he towered over her. If she engaged him head on, he would overpower her easily and death would be a mercy. Sweat trickled down her back and her mouth was dry with fear.
"Though I would greatly enjoy having my way with you, I shall have to abstain from that pleasure and indulge in another."
His arm moved in a blur as he flung a knife toward her. She barely managed to spin out of its path and felt it brush her cheek just beneath her right eye. When she looked again, he was standing in the middle of the street with his sword drawn. Anger burned hot within her. She thought of the six Assassins buried at Masyaf, of the ones hiding in Acre, clinging to life for want of a doctor. Her short blade could withstand his sword, she was sure of it.
He motioned her forward with a taunting curl of his finger. "Come, girl, let us end this folly."
She sprinted down the street toward him, her boots kicking up dust and he was smiling! As she came closer, his arm moved again and he hurled a second knife. She ducked just enough so that it passed over her shoulder, then, she veered toward the wall on her right. As she ran three steps up the stone, her arms crossed over her chest and one hand closed on a throwing knife.
The other closed on Malik's dagger secured against her heart.
She hurled her blade at his face and as he dodged it, her final step launched her off the wall and before he could recover, she plunged the dagger deep into the base of his neck. In the same moment, as he gasped in shock and pain, she drove her hidden blade into his heart. His legs collapsed beneath him and he fell onto his back, gasping for air. She withdrew her blades and cradled his head. Blood ran from his mouth and his arms and legs began to twitch.
"Why would you betray the Brotherhood, Saamir?" she asked, grieved.
He laughed, a harsh, horrible, wet sound. Then, his eyes glazed and he stared sightlessly at the stars above.
As she slid the feather through his blood, her throat tightened and she heaved a deep sigh to control herself.
Do we all feel this way after our first kill?
Then, she remembered the Assassins of Acre and she cut Saamir's purse off his belt, finding it heavy with coin.
She made her way back to the hideout and when she dropped down through the trapdoor, no blades greeted her. When she entered the room where the wounded were, the Rafiq was there tending the men, propping them up against the walls so they could eat some thin stew. Saadiq remained but the other two Assassins had been replaced by the one from the souk and the one from the tower.
"What news, woman? Is Saamir still in the fortress?" the Rafiq asked over his shoulder.
"Saamir Rahimi is dead," she told him.
In the stunned silence that followed, every man stared at her in disbelief.
"Have you proof of this?" the Rafiq asked, standing and facing her
She held out her bloody feather and a collective gasp of surprise went up from the group.
"I can hardly believe it," the Rafiq said, stepping toward her.
"She holds the proof of the task, Jabal," Saadiq told him. "How?"
"He barely fought back," she said, her tone confused.
"He was overconfident," the Rafiq replied. "A fatal mistake." He stared at the feather a moment longer, then started to turn away.
"Rafiq," she called him back and handed him Saamir's purse. "He caused their wounds, he can enable their healing."
The old man's eyes widened even further. "Saadiq," he called.
"Yes," Saadiq replied, took the purse and left in search of a doctor.
"Come, Aliyah, rest and eat," Jabal told her.
"Rest I will, Rafiq, but feed your men first. If there is any left at the end, then I will eat," she told him, sitting against the wall. She fell asleep with her legs crossed beneath her and her chin on her chest, not even waking when Jabal shook her shoulder to offer her food, nor when he cleaned the cut on her face.
When she rode through the gate of Masyaf three days later, she was both weary and exultant. She stabled her mare and walked the path to the fortress. Al-Mualim was in the library with Altair, Malik, Abbas and several others, much like the day she had requested to join the novices in training. As she strode into the room, all conversation ceased and Al-Mualim stared at her in amazement.
She stopped before the desk and pulled the feather from her belt. "Saamir is dead," she said simply.
He took the feather as though it was fragile and precious. "You have done well, Aliyah," he told her, fatherly pride in his voice. "You have done well, indeed. Now, there is only one thing left to do."
"What is that, Master?" she asked
"Commitment requires sacrifice," he said, holding up his left hand so she could see his missing finger. "Are you willing?"
Pride swelled in her chest. "I am," she replied.
He led her outside to the courtyard and placed her hand on a pedestal. Drawing an ornate dagger from his robe, he repeated the vow of the Brotherhood, and brought the blade down, severing the third finger of her left hand.
Aliyah focused on the horizon, the sun setting into the sea in a fiery display of red and gold. She saw the knife rise, she saw it fall, she felt the sudden burn as it severed her finger. The pain was a dull ache that intensified to a sharp pulse that caused her to clench her teeth but underneath the pain was a relief that was so sudden, so sweet, that she could have wept with joy.
I am something new.