What We Can't Have
Chapter Twenty-Five
1191, Masyaf
"Stupid!" She stomped her way down the stony stairs, carrying with her the bucket now filled with dirty water and the mop. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! 'Hey, woman,'" she mimicked Altair's voice in a deep, guttural way. "'I don't favour you, like, at all. But listen, I also don't favour you doing things. Why, you ask? Because I said so.'''
She nearly screeched in irritation. Whoa. Calm.
Instead, straightening her back and tilting her chin up, she went down the stairs like a proper lady. She would not allow his words and actions affect her because she was not going to go out her way to perform them. No matter his orders, she would not abandon her post. Suck on that!
"Here's a news flash, ass-ass-in. Oh. Would you lookie here, you being the leader and all, are perhaps the reason why there are two asses in the word that defines you. I should write that down," she next thought deeply. Then nodded. "Maybe even hang it on the wall in his room." She would. When she found exactly where he stayed, that is. But she continued in her rambling she'd kept up for the five/six hours she'd scrubbed the floors after his departure. "Just because you're the leader does not mean you can push people around. It's not nice."
No, really. Why was he acting like that towards her? Okay, she got where his dislike to her came from, but being all caring the next moment? His actions warm enough to melt the upcoming snow? Warm enough to, at least, make her belly, heart, and everything, really, within her flutter? It was not fair! He couldn't play with her emotions in that manner. If he was cold, then he should stay cold. Then at least she'd know where she stood with him. But when he acted like she... like she was the centre of his world—even for the briefest moment—and he cared for her and only her, it was unsettling.
Well, here's another news flash then. She'd be cold. Yes! She'd make him know that he couldn't boss her around—even though he was the boss and she respected him for that because he did earn it in the eyes of his brethren—but she really would not permit him to toy with her emotions any longer. Already so much has taken place in these past few weeks, she would not let another alter her life again. She'd just gotten used to her routine, having it distorted would throw her off balance, and she'd have no anchor to grip onto in the thunderous waves crashing her down. It was her decision or no decision at all.
"Yes, show them," she encouraged herself. "I should stop thinking aloud. Oh, doing it again." Shaking her head, she continued her way down.
When she reached the kitchen, when she opened the door, a smile broadened her lips as she spotted the familiar people filling the space. Love instantly filled her chest. Ah, did she love them. "My lovely, lovely greetings to everyone," she offered, strolling inside. Dania, from hearing her voice, came rushing in from the garden, almost instantly rubbing her body against her ankles. Still smiling, she bent over and gave her head a scratch.
"Our lovely, lovely greetings to you, too," Zainab said, walking over to give her a hug. She embraced her right back. "Someone's in a good mood."
She shrugged. "I seem to make myself happy."
Zainab laughed, withdrawing and going back to peeling potatoes.
Farah neared them, wedging her body between Zainab's and Haroon's. "Ooh, what are we cooking?"
"Yakhanit Batata," Zainab answered. "A potato stew. The Cadets have been working and training in the cold, we thought we'd cook something warm for them."
"Mmm." Her mouth watered and she licked her lips. "I can't wait." Kissing Zainab on the cheek and bumping Haroon on the shoulder with her fist, she went away to empty her bucket of filthy water and cleanse the mop under the water coming from the kitchen's water pump.
Once done, she excused herself. "Let me bathe and I will come and help you around."
"Okay!" Zainab tossed over her shoulder.
Exiting the kitchen, she came face-to-face with Maryam. She let out a quick scream, and then palmed her chest. "God, woman, you scared me."
Maryam chuckled from the depth of her chest, the vibrations even making Farah's chest tingle.
"Just the person I've been wanting to see," she said.
Farah frowned. Then instant realization dawned, and she raised her eyebrows in advance. "Oh, no. He actually talked to you."
Maryam didn't feign ignorance. She knew what Farah meant. She sighed, shrugging. "I'm sorry, honey. But he's my leader. His word is not to be taken lightly. He wishes you come down to the kitchen."
If Farah was a cat, her claws would've come out. "Well, I like my place up there. I already told him that."
"Girl," Maryam huskily said, tilting her head to the side. "Do not make this hard on me. He didn't enjoy seeing your mars, and I, too."
Didn't enjoy seeing her mars? The ones in her soul or her fingers? Who cares, her fingers weren't there for him to enjoy! Nevertheless, she knew where Maryam was coming from and adamantly shook her head. "I will manage. I'm not exchanging my spot up there to down here. I can do another duty after it but I cannot handle another alteration. Please, understand."
Maryam sighed, the sound let out roughly. "Alright," she at last gave in. "After your duty with the floors, you will help around the kitchen—like you already do."
Farah suddenly brightened. "Yes!" She fist-pumped the air. "I really appreciate you, Maryam. You know that, right? Your existence is a blessing to mankind." She embraced the older woman, kissing her cheek three times.
"Alright, alright." Maryam hoarsely chuckled. "But do not think I'm okay with your decision. Remember, girl, if ever you find yourself desiring change, come to me."
Withdrawing, Farah said, "I will. You don't worry about that." With that, she went away to her chamber. Once all clean and washed up, she loosened her hair, wore a black tunic and slacks, her boots and cloak, and went out to the kitchen.
There, she helped with the meal, helped Haroon with his reading—yes, they moved to reading since he already learned the alphabet—and was now walking alone outside. The air was fresh, filling her lungs with minty-like oxygen, and a strong breeze once in a while blew across the land. The sun hid behind grey clouds, casting a shadow below.
As Farah walked about, ignoring the glances shot her way, she realized how... beautiful, ethereal, almost, this place was. From the entrance she'd emerged, the ground to her left forming into steps that lead down to the main gateway and the training grounds, she found herself gaping at the structure of the fortress.
Stationed right before the main gateway, where outside it was a small market place, she craned her neck back and took in the entire monstrous size of it.
She knew it was stationed at the top of the mountain, some corners of it hidden with the help of the rocks itself, and noticed many turrets in the foundation. Massively constructed palisade walls protected it from each side, with the aid of the sheer towering heights of the mountain, and guards patrolled above them, watching out for any danger.
As she travelled about the fortress, further examining it, she spotted a low river of pure, cold water gushing forth from the left-hand side of the fortress. She suspected even the village below had a perfect view at it. But another second mountainous valley and a wider and bigger river could be spotted from the other side of the fortress, and yet its currents did not flow towards the village nesting below. On the same right-hand side of it, she spotted a high tower completely separate from the other foundations with a series of ropes and wooden beams hanging before it that were connecting their way to the rising valley.
She turned about yet again. Watchtowers completely surrounded the fortress' walls, and she spotted expert archers perched above them, watching the valleys and the village below for any suspicious act.
On the Southern part of the fortress, there could be seen a wide stone platform that jutted out from the mountain, and high at its peak, there were wooden beams shooting out. Below each anchored beam, there were, as odd as it may seem, several rows of resting haystacks. Move a little from the hays, and one would see another row of wooden beams and ropes criss-crossing over the river below and to the other mountainous side.
Last but not least, after one reached over to the other side of the river, there was a lofty tower rising towards the sky, and at its top were... well—logs? What were they?—being restrained by a wooden barrier.
Gazing about and soon finding herself in the middle of the training grounds and amidst both men and younger boys, she spotted a few shirtless ones in the training ground and accidently gave them a thumbs-up. When they clocked her and chuckled, some even whistling, she cleared her throat and awkwardly turned and walked toward the main gateway. Stationed close to it was a barn, and she entered it without a second's thought.
It was warm inside, and she heard the huffs and rough snorts of the horses. Facing her were aligned stables crowded with them. Her shoulders easing, she approached one stall and smiled at a brown horse. Its dark eyes watched her, and it deeply exhaled on her hand when she tried to gently brush its nose.
"Hey there little guy," she murmured, still smiling. At her fourth caress, it stomped its legs on the ground and released another rough snort. She laughed. "My name is Farah, what's yours?"
"Naima," came the answer from behind her.
Startled, she screamed, instantly twirling around. An aged man with a bald head with a few grey strands still hanging on at his sides, kindly smiled at her through dark brown eyes. "I'm Hashem," he introduced himself. "The groom."
Farah licked her lips, and scratched her temple nervously. "I'm, uh, not supposed to be here. I guess. And I think I guessed correctly. I should go." She was making for the door but he softly laughed, clasping his wrist behind his back.
"You are allowed here, child," he said. "Do not fret. Come back."
She stopped, turned around. "Oh," she murmured. "Well, I don't feel silly at all. I'm Farah."
He smiled without revealing his teeth. "Beautiful name. Where are you from, Farah?"
How did he already know she was a foreigner? She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened, closed. "Would you believe me if I said I'm from here?"
He chuckled, briefly glancing down before looking up at her once more. "Your accent is not like ours. It's different when you speak English words. Our tone is heavy, yours is light. That is how I depicted you to be from elsewhere."
Farah tugged her lips down in a 'Wow, impressive' manner. "You're right. I'm Bulgarian. Well, half Bulgarian. The other half is Syrian."
"Father? Mother?"
"Father," she answered with a purse of her lips.
He nodded. "What brought you here, to our home?"
"Well," she drawled, slowly making her way to the horses. She approached a shining black stallion, marvelling at its beauty, and caressed its wide forehead. "Life did." Its fur was smooth and silky under her touch, meaning it was well cared for.
"Be careful, this one bites," he warned. And just in time. The rascal was about to snap its teeth down on her hand. "Oh!" She immediately snatched her hand away, and then abruptly laughed out loud. The old man Hashem laughed with her.
"Thanks," she offered, wiping her hands on her thighs. "Nearly got me there."
"You see, this one," he said, walking over to the horse and gently rubbing its neck up and down, "is one of our greatest stallions. She's got strong legs, strong muscles. She races like no other, leaps like no other, and holds herself like no other. She's feisty like that. Her name is Zahra. And she's pregnant, hence the biting."
"Oh," she instantly echoed. "Really?"
"Yes." He nodded. "Now, come here. I will show you where to touch so she doesn't feel the need to attack you."
"Okay." She inched up to him, half nervous half afraid.
He demonstrated. "Run your palm slowly, smoothly over her neck. Don't roam it too down or up, just the middle."
She nodded in understanding. "I can do that." Licking her lips, she outstretched her hand. "Don't bite me, Zahra. I'm a good human being." At her words, the groom chuckled and Zahra released a huff of air.
Biting her lower lip, she rested her hand on the powerful muscles of her neck and gently rubbed up and down. The locked muscles began to ease under her touch and she relaxed at last. Craning her raven face away, she snorted.
"That's it," Hashem praised.
"When is she due?" Farah asked, looking at him from over her shoulder.
"She mated late in the season. Eleven full moon's have since passed; her foal's due this month."
"Wow," she said in a murmur, focusing on Zahra again. "You're such a big girl," she praised. "Oh, yes you are. Who's the father?"
Hashem pointed at a very big and healthy-looking chestnut stallion at the end of the stables. "That one. He's met his match when he met Zahra, I tell you."
She chuckled. "So whose horse is she?"
Hashem shook his head. "Nobody except two people were able to tame her. Our late mentor and the new one, Altair ibn La-Ahad. The rest were thrown right off. She has no owner."
At the mention of his name, Farah's insides instantly reacted, and she Oh'd, ignoring the slight leap of her heart. "That seems about right." Then, when curiosity bugged at her, she, finally mustering an easy tone but really somewhat anxious on the inside, asked, "So... which one's the mentor's horse? I mean the new one's, not the deceased." And, goodness, could she get more blunt in her speech? Much less obvious? "Not that I care or anything," she hastily added. Shut up, she thought to herself. Just stop talking.
Hashem didn't seem bothered by her choice of words, and shrugged, pointing once more to the end of the stables. "The chestnut is the father to this mare's foal. He's the mentor's stallion."
You have got to be kidding me. Of course the father was Altair's horse. Why ever would she think otherwise? "I'm not even surprised," she let out with slight chuckle, giving Zahra another gentle rub.
"And you shouldn't be. She allowed no other horse to approach her except the horse of the man who'd managed to tame her. This one's going to be one healthy foal, let me tell you."
"I'm so proud of you," she said to Zahra, looking into her big coal-like eyes. "Keep that posture, and don't let no males get the best of you." Turning to him, she asked, "Would you mind if I take her out for a walk? I won't ride her due to her pregnancy but a little walk and exercise helps the mare. Or that's what I've been taught."
Hashem craned his neck to the side, his lips forming into a small, kind smile. "No, you've been educated well. By all means, do so. I was just about to take them out for a run."
Her eyebrows immediately shot up in surprise. "Really? You wouldn't mind if I joined you? I don't mean to pressure anybody here so if you wish to do it alone, I totally—"
"—No, by all means, child. Come." He waved his hand before his body in welcome.
She agreed almost instantly. "Okay!"
"Just help me get them out of their stalls. You start from the chestnut and work your way to the middle while I start from the opposite end."
She nodded. "Sure; I can do that." The chestnut. Okay. There was no problem facing Altair's horse. None at all. So the chestnut, huh?
She made her way to the end and stopped before his stall. With a wide forehead, big nostrils, and beautiful melted honey eyes with spiky, dark lashes protecting them, he was the epitome of loveliness. A true breed of the Arabian horses.
At her face, he craned his neck to the side, then the other, and huffed with a quick shake of his head. She outstretched her hand, making sure to ease her shoulders in the process, and placed it on his face. His fur, too, was soft and silky underneath her touch, but his chiselled muscles and strong bone structure shifted underneath all that softness, and she knew him to be an instant dominator.
From his body language, he was readying himself. For something. To plough her to the very ground? Most likely. But she tried to relax her body as well as she was able, trying to assure the horse that she meant no harm.
Unhooking the wood that shut the door and placing it aside, she slowly opened the door. And, okay, wow, he was huge. An average horse towered up to fifteen to sixteen hands high. This one was most probably eighteen.
Farah, facing off a very proud stallion, walked backwards and, with her hands, beckoned him to come out. One step, two, he leisurely clacked his way out, following her. She quickly turned, left him there, and went on to open other doors.
One by one, horses of every colour—white, black, chestnut, grey—strode out, and all were glorious with their shining skin tight around their body, revealing the structure of their bones and well-defined muscles. Their legs were thin but strong, and the hairs on their nape and tail were long and brushed, falling faultlessly on their sides.
The last but not least was Zahra's stable. She whined the barrier open, releasing her in all her glory. Now this one was a major deal-breaker.
"Magnificent," Farah said in sheer wonderment. Adorned with jet black fur from head to toe, towering up to almost seventeen hands high, she was the goddess amongst these pile of horses. Or the horess. Yes, inane, but oh, my. The inky hair behind her nape was so many and so thick, as though purposely brushed to the side to make her appear more majestic, that Farah actually envied a horse's hair. At the tip of her heels, she had feathers, and that added more ethereality to her appearance.
Yeah, she kind of got where Zahra's haughtiness came from.
With her hands, she beckoned her to step out. Only problem—she didn't. She lingered in her spot, eyeing Farah straight in the face. Attitude, much?
"Oh, I see," she said, puckering her lips. "You want to show who's the boss, huh? Come on." She beckoned her out. Or tried to; Zahra stayed glued to her place. "We're going to take a walk outside."
She loudly snorted, flared her nostrils, flattened her ears, and gave her big, gorgeous head a shake. Farah narrowed her eyes and, anchoring her hands on her hips, intently gazed at her. Was she really having a stare down with a horse?
Zahra suddenly leapt forth and, with a push from her forehead, thrust Farah aside. She gasped, slamming against the door, causing it to rattle. She swept her hair away from her face. "Oh, no you didn't!"
"Zahra!" Hashem's voice boomed across the barn, and whatever Farah was about to do she stopped mid-process. The horse was bowing her head down in a hostile manner, ready to attack her again. Hashem approached the stable, raising his hands high in reassurance. "Calm, girl," he softly let out. "Easy, Zahra. Easy." When he gently placed his hand on her forehead, then her neck, and brushed it, she leisurely calmed under his caring touch. When done, Hashem looked back at her.
"I apologize. She was learning who the dominant was. Horses tend to do that when they're looking for a rider; it's quite natural."
She swallowed, shaking her head. "It's okay. I should've been ready myself."
Giving her a warm smile, he ushered Zahra out of her stable. When all the horses were outside the barn, Hashem brought out two saddles. "Here." He handed her one. "Ride the chestnut."
Her head instantly snapped up. "What? Oh, you mean Naima. Okay."
"No, no." He shook his head, and began putting the saddle atop a grey horse. "Naima is picky. She'll provoke you when you begin riding her, redirecting your courses."
"Seriously, what is up with these horses?"
He chuckled. "I meant Vaclav—the mentor's horse. He's the dominating type, alright, but every horse's basic instinct demands it. What's good about him is his discipline. Once you prove to him you are the rider, he'll follow. And he knows the roads down to the meadows better than most. I need to make sure your safety is of the highest priority."
Her heart softened a little at the last sentence. "You are kind. Well, then, I guess I shall prove myself." Walking over to the said chestnut, she put the saddle on the ground and straightened to ascertain her leadership. She puffed out her chest a little. Good, let him know you've got yourself some lady balls. He gazed at her with his beautiful caramel eyes, and flared his nostrils. His ears flattened a little. By these acts, he was clearly spelling out "Get the hell out of my space". With a step forward, he attempted to enter her personal space.
She was awaiting exactly that.
Living with Ahmad and helping him around the barn, she learned couple of new tricks. When Vaclav inched her way, Farah raised her arms and took a step forth, too. She clacked her tongue at him, meaning he move backwards. He roughly exhaled. She continued in her act. One step, two, she approached him in a manner that was not hostile but definitely demanding. And soon, he, with one step, two, retraced back his steps. Yes! Success. Holla! When he attempted to step forth again, she clacked her tongue, slowly waving her hand to keep him away. Only when he stopped and she stood in his personal space did she rest her hand on his head and rubbed. "There, you stubborn big guy, you. Stay here." She pointed sternly.
Lifting the saddle from the ground and placing it atop him, she noticed him try to brush his body against hers. A sign of disrespect. She clacked her tongue again, much louder this time. At the warning, he inched away from her. She had his respect. For now.
"Impressive," Hashem said as she saddled Vaclav.
She smiled, looking over her shoulder. "Thanks. A great man from my past taught me the essentials. He was very good with horses." Remembering Ahmad and his great acts, her heart ached and she felt weighed down. Missing you.
"He taught well. Let us leave, then?"
"Yes." Securing the belts and the ropes, Farah, with a powerful push, mounted the towering horse, and comfortably nestled on top of him. The chiselled muscles below shifted, and he turned. She grabbed the reigns and redirected his motions. And, oh, wow, the view from up here was definitely enthralling. Being this high, she felt the blow of the wind more powerfully. And loved it. Exhaling deeply, she urged Vaclav to move when Hashem began guiding the horses out from the main gateway. People and the guards stepped out of their way, and some tossed her surprised expressions. Perhaps it had something to do with her riding their mentor's stallion. She cleared her already clear throat and shifted her gaze away.
When all stomped out, increasing their pace in the face of a grand opening, Vaclav also began to feel excited. He trudged forth with vigour but Farah made sure not to lean forward. She did not wish to excite him further when they were about to go downhill towards the village.
Dust rose from the ground, small rocks rattled and jumped up and down, and a vibration resounded in the air as more than fifty horses trampled down the mountainous hill. Loud neighs and snorts boomed across the space, further thrilling her horse, pumping his body with adrenaline. Vaclav bolted into action, speeding into the midst of the bodies of horses, trying to get to the front. Only then Farah realized he was aiming to lead the herd of horses as their dominant leader. This time, she leaned a little forward, and her act communicated itself to Vaclav and he sped onwards. She bypassed Hashem and even Zahra.
When she reached the clearing, earning the first place and having horses follow Vaclav, a bright smile parted her lips.
It had been so long since she left the grounds of the castle, and doing so now blessed her with the feeling of freedom. Excitement. She thought walking Zahra around a bit would ease her and usher comfort into her day, but this was so much better. So much better than her expectations. She recalled Ahmad, his horses; she recalled Khadijah, her delicious meals she prepared after she'd finished cleaning the barn. She recalled Sarah and their days filled with chaos and sisterly love. She recalled all the precious memories with them, the freedom with them, and now felt something akin to it flow through her veins, delighting her.
They descended on the village grounds, bypassed around it and the homes residing in the area, and made their way straight to the flat valleys resting far beyond. She allowed Vaclav to bolt forth to the lands he knew of, and witnessed the muscles below jolt and shift mightily. He was strong. Fast. Flexible.
The cold air not only nipped at her but blew harshly against her form, causing the ends of her cloak to flutter and her long black strands to whip backwards and dance with the wind. And yet it did nothing to calm the adrenaline pumping through her system.
The horses caught up and soon she found them at her sides, their strong legs leaping forth, merriment in their eyes, and watched liberty become them. Heads rose and fell, their paces decreasing and increasing, and up in the skies, in the vast greyness of the atmosphere, the shriek of an eagle erupted.
-x-
Hours later, after taking the horses to the flat valleys and letting them run free by the stream of water, they returned to the castle. The sun was setting, the golden sphere shooting rays of light pink, blue and purple shades across the sky and illuminating the clouds. Striding side-by-side on their horses, Farah and Hashem entered through the main gateway.
He was also sharing with her his life. Hashem was a retired assassin; he had no wife nor kids. He was the only child in his family, and now lead a peaceful life as the groom. His brethren respected him immensely, loved him dearly, and that was all that mattered, was what he said.
"Was there no one you loved in your life?" Farah asked, facing him sideways.
He laughed softly, but then a sad, almost pitying expression fell upon his features, and he looked solemn. "I loved, my dear child. Oh, how I loved. She loved, too. But her parents could not give away their sweet daughter to a killer. I understood their decision. I had to. And she was given to another man." He nodded then, gaze towards the ground. As though accepting, as painful as it was, the choices that were made.
Farah's chest ached, and she suddenly wanted to hug the old man. "I'm so sorry. But they made a huge mistake, that I can tell."
He chuckled, lifting his face and beaming at her. "Do you wish to know about her?" he asked.
"Yes," she immediately responded. "Do tell."
"Her name was Hawa. We were very young when we met. Twenty-one, I remember. She was from Acre, that beautiful lady, and I from here. I was on a mission, ready to strike down my enemy. And I did. But I was spotted just as quickly, hence I ran but not fast enough. The guards were going to reach me, capture me, but a lady from a shop suddenly pulled me inside and hid me." He chuckled, shaking his head as though still in disbelief.
"When I gazed down, I was greeted by the most beautiful creation my eyes had ever seen. Surely God took His time with her. With black eyes, midnight curly hair, oiled and brushed so gracefully, and skin sun-kissed and decorated by small moles, she was the epitome of Heaven. She was the woman the poets poured out their hearts to on paper, and she was wind itself, carrying everyone with calm attitude at days, then stormy at others. We fell in love so quickly, so passionately, it was as though she swept me away in her tornado, and I truly never wished to be found. She was kind, especially to animals, and she was generous, especially to the poor. But I knew in my stained soul that I could never attain a purity such as she. And I didn't. We fell apart right after the declination of my proposal, and I stopped visiting Acre. When I did, I did my best to avoid her. By God, I have not seen her since."
Farah listened intently. Then, "Would you like to see her now?" she asked softly.
"More the one who lost a possession so dear and valuable in the vastness of the desert, and hopelessly wished and prayed for its return and was at last able to find it."
"Then why don't you?"
He faced her, brows slightly furrowing. "I... Well, she is married to another man. Her parents told me so. I cannot go back in her life; I'm not welcome there."
Farah sighed, frowning a little herself. "I see."
"Forgive me, I get quite taken away when speaking of her," he apologized.
"Oh, no," she reassured. "I rather enjoy such stories. It's been an honour being acquainted with you, Hashem. You are admirable." When their horses rounded the barn, she, before descending down Vaclav, asked, "I might be crossing a few lines here, but I would really love to help you out more around the barn. I'm well educated when it comes to horses. Or at least cleaning after them and making sure they've food in their stomachs. I won't get in your way, promise. And let me tell you, I'm prettay good when it comes to keeping promises. I'm babbling, sorry. I just enjoyed what we did today."
Hashem laughed, shaking his greying head. "Of course, child! You won't be getting in anyone's way. I'm the only man who cares for the horses, and a little hand would do me no harm. You are welcome. Come any time you wish."
Farah threw her arms in the air, letting out a, "Yes!" Then, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said to Hashem, coming down her horse and shaking his hand even before he descended his.
Joy filled her, thrilling her. She felt light and buoyant. The simple thought of doing what she once used to do for Ahmad made her feel like she was home again. She wanted to be stable, she wanted an anchor, and here it was. Something she could relate to her past.
"I will come tomorrow the same time, you can expect me. I will be of great aid to you."
Hashem nodded, squeezing her hand warmly. "I will expect you, dear child."
"Okay," she said, smiling.
When every horse was in his stable again, she waved goodbye to him and walked back inside the castle and to her chamber.
At night, she turned to her side, clutching the blanket to her chest and facing Altair's side of the bed. She inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. She thought of Hashem's words.
"More than someone who lost a valuable possession in the vastness of the desert and was at last able to find it, huh?" she murmured to herself, her voice hushed and low in the darkness of her chamber. Such an odd and unpalatable description, to be quite honest. If it was lost in the desert, it was as good as gone. And yet, why did his words describe so well what she felt whenever she chanced a glance at Altair?
It was as though she'd been denied water for so many years and was at last given a sip of it.
She shook her head, her hair rustling against her pillow. Can't think like that. She closed her eyes, trying her hardest to sustain the emotions building up inside her. Can't ever think like that.
-x-
In the following days, word had reached Maryam about the Prison Girl helping Hashem around the barn. She'd tracked Farah down and questioned her. Farah had simply replied, "I just wanted to help him, that is all."
Maryam had sighed, the sound coming out hoarse and almost smoky. "Alright," she'd said. "You can work there, but on one condition."
She'd frowned. "What is it?"
"You cannot continue with three jobs, it'll be the end of you. Drop the cleaning on the three floors and take up the duty with the horses."
"Ha!" Farah had retorted. "Nice try. I'd rather drop the kitchen work instead."
"Girl," Maryam had sternly said, as though in warning.
"Is that a 'yes, of course' I hear? Sweet!"
She'd kissed Maryam on the cheek and had rushed away, hearing the main housekeeper let out, "Whatever am I going to do with you."
Now she was in the barn, cocooned in the heat and warmth of it, gently brushing one of the horses. She slid the brush across his side, leaving smooth lines in its wake. She hummed to herself as she brushed and brushed and brushed. After finishing combing his hair, she lead him back to his stall and closed the door. They've been fed, their stalls cleaned, and themselves brushed to the point they shined.
"Now that you all look more presentable than me, I'll take it as my cue to finish up here and go wash up." As she turned to go, she gave Zahra's head a rub and snatched her hand away before she could bite it. Smiling, she walked to the exit, in the process of opening the door.
Just as she reached out, it unlocked from the outside, and in stepped a man draped all in black.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and the smile on her lips broadened. "Malik!"
His head rose, and his dark eyes collided with hers. He grinned. "If it isn't our one and only Farah." He ran his gaze over her form. "You look good."
She snorted. "And you are a big, fat liar."
He touched where his heart beat. "Ah, you mar me."
"Good. Now, what are you here for? We have grey horses, black horses, white horses."
He tapped his chin in fake contemplation. "Any pink ones? My favourite colour."
She laughed. "No, but we do have a colour close to it. Say, the black one. Preferably Zahra. Oh, she's a darling."
This time he laughed, the sound husky. "Had your share with her, did you?"
"Nearly bit my fingers off."
"You came off easy. Me, well," he winced, "Nearly lost my two best friends."
She frowned. "Your two best friends— Oh!" Realization struck, and she laughed out louder even when a blush spilled over her cheeks. "Your two best friends," she said between chuckles. "They didn't dare part, did they?"
He arched a brow, a grin lifting the edges of his lips. His dark eyes shone with humour. "No. As they call it, they're still as close as two beings can be."
She couldn't believe they were having a conversation about his... yeah. If they continued, she would find herself on the floor, clutching her stomach.
She wiped the tears away from the corners of her eyes, and straightened, exhaling the strain that was building up in her belly. "Well, can I be of any help?"
"To them? Do not worry, I sought help for them a long time ago."
She punched his shoulder, chuckling as she did so. "I don't mean your best buddies, Malik."
He tsk-tsked. "And here I thought we were getting quite along."
"Oh, we were. Do you want to meet my two best friends?" She arched a brow, teasing him.
He lifted one brow and appeared taken-aback. She nearly rolled her eyes. She knew what he was thinking about. Her breasts. Men, she thought.
She raised her fists instead. "This is," she indicated at her right hand, "is Kiss Me. This," she indicated at her left hand, "is With a Punch."
Malik, who was about to assume something else, suddenly barked out a laugh. Shaking his head, he quieted and faced her. "Amusing as always. Now I see why Altair kept you around."
Her amusement immediately fell, and she slowly lowered her fists. She hastily looked away. "So the horses. You wanted a grey one, you said? Oh, you didn't even say anything! Silly me. How about the chestnut? I hear she's very manipulative, but I'm guessing you can handle her. It reminds me, do you have a horse? Who am I kidding, I'm sure you do."
"Farah?" Malik unsurely called.
She faced him. "Hmmm?"
"Are you okay?"
She tossed him the fakest smile ever. "I'm perfect."
"Ha," he muttered, tilting his chin up a notch as he watched her. "So your sudden uneasiness has nothing to do with the fact that I mentioned Altair's name?"
She swallowed hard, then forced herself to shake her head. "No," she croaked out. "Not at all. Why would you... think that? And me, nervous? Never."
He took a step towards her, and she took one back. Then, straightening, she faced him with slightly questioning eyes. He inched towards her.
"Are you sure?" he lowly asked when he was a foot shy away from her.
She forced another smile. "Yes."
"Alright," he then said. Before she could open her mouth to respond, he abruptly chanted out, "Altair, Altair, Altair."
At the mention of his name, her heart leapt and picked up speed. She actually flinched at the sensations brewing within her, because they were that heavy. She clutched her belly, where the butterflies fluttered almost painfully.
She tried to brave it, really she did, but he kept on repeating his name. "Altair, Altair, Altair."
"Okay!" she shot out, no longer able to withstand it. "Okay, you win! God!"
He stopped, then watched her in silence. She watched him back. More silence. Then, "Altair," he let out for the last time. Another flinch, another round of butterflies.
"Malik!" she shouted, pushing at his shoulder. He took a few steps back, chuckling.
"There, there." He lifted his palms in surrender. "That was the final one."
She narrowed her eyes. "It better be, or else I'll introduce my Kiss Me With a Punch fists to your face."
"And ruin all this beauty? You wouldn't dare."
She snorted. "Please."
"I'll ignore that tone of yours and get straight to the matter at hand. What is it with you and his name?"
She shrugged. "Nothing."
He tilted his head to the side. "Be honest."
Another shrug. "I am."
"Farah Dovaros, was it?" he suddenly questioned, making her straighten her spine a little more.
Her lips parted, but she quickly closed them. "You know my full name, big deal."
"I also know your mother's. Dominica Dovaros."
She opened her mouth, ready to start an argument. "How do you—"
"That doesn't matter because I also know that you're not a Templar, that you lost your family a year ago, that you betrayed my friend and nearly robbed him of his life. See, I know a lot of things."
She faced him silently. Then, "He told you," she stated plainly. Something broke inside her, but she ignored it. She had no right to judge him for his actions when she'd caused what she did. He obviously needed an outlet, but why did it still hurt that he'd shared their past memories with someone else? Something that was so intimate and could only be spoken between them?
Malik, seeing the hurt written all over her face, sighed. "He needed the burden lifted from him. A burden that should not have been there in the first place."
She nodded, looking away. "And now you think I owe you some kind of explanation, is that it?"
He frowned, slightly leaning back from shock. "What? No. I would never use your weaknesses against you. I have got my pretty face for that. The reason I'm telling you all these things is that I know."
She licked her lips, meeting his eyes again. "And what did you conclude?"
He shrugged. "I concluded that I liked you."
"Oh," she muttered. "Really?"
He nodded. "You are braver than most of the men I know. Hence, Farah, you can share with me anything. I'm not here to judge or point fingers."
She liked those words. A lot. She had a friend, a true, genuine friend. "Well," she began, and cleared her throat. "He... uh, well, I don't know. He just... makes me feel... things. Odd things. It doesn't matter." She waved her words away.
He frowned. "Good things? Bad things?"
She blushed. Her belly still had the faint lingers of the butterflies, so... good? No. No, no, no. Not good. She would not harbour warm feelings for someone who was cold towards her. This whole thing was not to be spoken of at all. What was she doing, spilling all her innermost thoughts to the second-in-command? What if Altair learned of them? She'd be humiliated. That couldn't happen.
"Nothing," she replied with a sigh. "Let's just drop it. Please. And don't say anything about this to anyone."
"You've admitted nothing in particular for me to tell anybody of anything. But fret not, I will not press further. This will stay between us. Whatever it was."
"Thank you," she breathed out in relief. "And thank you for your friendship. You might not know it, but it means a lot to me."
He grinned at her. "Now," he said, changing the topic. "Where is my Naima?"
"Naima?" she echoed in surprise. "She's your horse?"
"My one and only."
Lips twitching at the corners, she guided him to her stall. "There is your one and only, looking prettier than you."
He approached the stall, opened the door and guided her out. "You look stunning," he praised, rubbing her neck up and down, to which she responded with a rough huff. "You've done a great job with her fur."
"Thaaank you."
He tossed her a smile over his shoulder.
As he was guiding her out of the barn, Farah asked, "If it isn't too personal, may I ask you a question?"
He faced her. "Ask."
"Your arm." She pointed, then, thinking it rude, lowered her finger. "How did you lose it? Or were you born this way?"
He was indifferent with her act, and shrugged. "I lost it on a mission."
"Really? What happened?"
Malik's expression altered, and he gazed at her with utter humbleness and solemnity. "It was recently, actually. A year ago. My brother Kadar and I were being somewhat mentored by Altair."
His name grabbed her attention almost instantly. "Wait, so Altair was involved?"
"If Fate had another name, it'd be Cruelty. He was. In fact, he played a major role in it."
"Of you losing your arm?"
"We were to go to Solomon's Temple to retrieve what you actually witnessed—the golden sphere. We did, but it came with casualties. Altair had acted abruptly, ignoring the three tenets of our Creed, and ambushed our enemies. That day I lost my arm and a brother."
She gasped. "Oh, no. No, please. For real?"
He nodded.
"I'm so sorry."
He gave her a sad smile. "Do not be. It's all over and buried in the past."
"But how?" she questioned, bewildered and in absolute shock. "How are you—"
"In good terms with him?" he finished for her. "Well, Farah Dovaros. You cannot hold responsible someone for who they were in the past when they're completely different in the present. Altair, given, was a proud man. And stubborn to his very core. The latter has not changed, nor the former, but only into positivity. He'd gone out on the road to redemption after his great fall from Master Assassin, and he'd gained it, alright. When he'd approached me for forgiveness, I knew and saw the change in him, a change that greatly matured him and grounded him more to the ground, and realized that I was facing a completely different man. I could not hold my grudge on him any longer, hence I forgave him. Yes, at times he might seem too proud, distant, or even cold, but that is just the manner he holds himself. He is messed up, we all are, but, even with the horrible things he'd endured in his childhood, he still seems to deal with it better than any of us. Altair may be a lot of things, but he isn't a coward, a betrayer, a thief or a liar. He's honest, brutally so, generous at times, but most of all, he's knowledgeable and full of truthfulness. To turn on him is to turn on goodness altogether. Even a fool should know better. I certainly did, hence why we are closer than ever."
Malik patted her on the shoulder and mounted his horse. Despite her urgency to question him of the horrible things Altair had experienced as a child, she realized it was not his place to tell so. And she wouldn't put him in a position like that.
"So you are friends now?" Farah asked instead, looking up at him.
"No," he plainly replied. Then smiled. It was an honest and warming one. "We are brothers."
With that, he rode off, leaving her alone to her thoughts.
"Brothers," she muttered to herself, bombarded. She slowly shook her head. How lucky of Altair to have a brother like Malik, and how lucky of Malik to have a brother like Altair. There was a bond, clearly. And even if she could not make sense out of it, she admitted it was filled with great respect, love, and sheer honesty. They looked ready to kill for each other. Stain their hands for each other. Give up for each other.
She was indeed at awe.
-x-
1191, Masyaf
The sun hid behind grey clouds, and the shadows still hovered above the land, giving the castle an eerie atmosphere, as though at last surging forth its real character. Despite the coldness of the days, the daily routine never faltered. People awoke as early as it was the break of dawn, opened up their shops, brought up their goods, and shuffled about the village nesting below. The training grounds were filled even before the sun rose, and soon it was overcome with loud chants and grunts of the Cadets in heavy exercise. Wooden swords clashed, some broke, arrows were shot at dummies rooted around the training grounds, the loud tap of the tips of numerous sharp arrows breaking past wood echoing around the space, and the stomps of horses being taught discipline joined the chorus reverberating in Masyaf's castle.
The cold season was only a month shy away from arriving, and already heavy rain poured down at nights and in dewy mornings. Grass wilted away, trees lost all their leaves, leaving them naked and vulnerable to the blowing of the gushing wind. The rivers were freezing-cold, and many filled barrels of them and kept them within the enclosure of four walls so as to make it warm for later use.
But today, after three days of continues rain, the sun was at last showing itself, gracing the land with enough warmth to only wear a tunic and black slacks.
Residing atop a stack of hay at the entrance to the barn, wearing only tight slacks and red tunic and black boots, was Farah. On her lap was a letter and a feather-pen with a small bottle of ink resting next to her thigh. She also had a book stolen from the library that was currently stationed under the letter, giving her a solid barrier to write upon. She lowly hummed and sang as her fingers scribbled on the yellow page, leaving wet, black letters in their wake.
Currently, she was pondering of ways to write to her family in Jerusalem. She wanted to let them know that she was safe and unharmed and that she was eating well. So far? She only drew a funny face of Altair. Googly eyes, huge nose, rabbit-like and crooked teeth with the lips of a hooker. She just couldn't stop herself.
One, she didn't know how to get him out of her mind, and, two, she didn't know how to write a proper letter to her family. After so many weeks of nothing, she'd just say "Well, hello. I'm good and you"? That was simply cold. And heartless. They'd wonder if she left them on purpose hence the reason why she wasn't returning to them. They'd be upset and heartbroken, and she would eat away her nails in worry. Nails that were now covered with bandages and ointment. But she also could not not write to them. They needed some kind of closure, something she wasn't capable of giving at the moment.
Perhaps she could pay them a visit? Just a simple visit to show them she was fine and take her depart without spilling anything? There was only one problem: she wasn't allowed to leave the grounds of Masyaf because Altair commanded so. Altair, she thought with narrowing eyes. Make that two problems.
She scratched the back of her head, her hair once again braided and pinned above in a bun, only leaving a few strands tumbling down her sides, and sighed out loud. She tapped the inky pen on her thigh and, accidently sending splatters of black ink on her tunic and paper, she cursed under her breath. She'd just bathed, finishing her daily jobs—the three floors and the barn. She wiped at the ink on the paper, causing it to smudge and worsen.
"Damnation," she muttered, putting away the pen and the paper away. It's all your fault, Altair, she blamed, glancing up and shifting her gaze towards the training grounds, in the process of watching the Cadets exercise.
Instead of a calm breath easing her chest, a sharp gasp got caught up in her throat.
Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.
Striding side-by-side next to Malik was none other than the mentor himself. While Malik wore all black, Altair wore his silvery outfit, his arched hood swung over his head. They had such vast contrast; like day and night. The sun and the moon.
Her first reaction was the thumping of her heart as it thrust against her rib-cage, desiring to break free. Her second was the urge to run up to him and embrace him. She'd oddly missed him. Her third was Hell no, and the thought to scatter and hide was too strong.
She did the third.
Cursing in a fierce whisper, she leapt to her feet and hastily glanced right and left, trying to find a hiding spot. At her abrupt jump, the book and the letter fell to the ground in a thud, and she, with haste, grabbed them and jumped behind the hay, attempting to escape notice but terribly failing—because they both turned their heads at the sudden sound.
She closed her eyes. Walk away, walk away, walk away, she internally prayed. Her heartbeat increased, and she pressed her lips together. She really did not have the courage to face him yet. She didn't lie when she told Malik that his friend made her feel odd things a few days prior.
Two shadows suddenly appeared above her, and even with her eyes closed, her body noticed it nevertheless.
"We can see you," came the deep and husky voice of Altair, and it sent a shiver running down her spine. Act natural.
Cracking her eyes open, Farah straightened, then rose and turned to face them. She anchored her hand on her hip. "Oh, hey, Malik!" She waved.
By greeting him and not Altair—she didn't even look at him, really—she felt golden eyes slightly narrow at her, nearly making her squirm. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
Malik grinned wickedly. "My greetings to you as well, Farah."
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Well, given the fact we live here, I'd say taking a leisure stroll with Altair."
Don't react, don't you dare react. She nodded. "I see." She sooo didn't.
Malik blinked at her, then suddenly inhaled, attempting at a new pace. "Were you reading?"
Her eyes instantly widened. The book! From the library! Stolen! They couldn't see it. Hastily hiding it behind her back, she cleared her throat. So much for eluding notice. "Reading?" she asked innocently.
Beside him, Altair snorted, and she finally shifted her gaze to him. And, oh, goodness, there goes her heart again. With the shadows of his hood playing dark-and-light with his features, giving his golden eyes an extra gleam, and his luscious lips a dark allure, she was breathless all of a sudden.
His eyes met hers, and he stiffened in awareness. Of what, she hadn't the slightest clue.
She fused her lashes together, trying to hide the sparkle of appreciating in her eyes. "Okay, fine. You caught me. I was reading. Not only that, but it's from the library. I stole it, boohoo."
The corners of his lips twitched, and— Wait, was he fighting a smile? This was so not amusing!
"You stole it?" he echoed her words, arching a brow.
She formed a fake smile. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, so I won't. Besides, my dear mama warned me of talking to a stranger." Take that!
At her words, his eyes instantly narrowed to tiny slits, hiding the golden gleam. "Your mother was a wise woman," he lowly, darkly uttered.
"Wise she was."
Beside them, Malik shifted uneasily. Maybe it was due to the tension brewing between the two of them. It was electrical, even. Heating and pulsing with a soul of its own.
Altair turned his face away, his eyes abandoning hers and instead landing on the ground. He then frowned.
"What is this?" he asked, bending over to grab something from below.
Oblivious, she, too, gazed down—and gasped in utter horror.
"Nooo!" she shouted, reaching for the letter before him. It was too late. He took hold of it and easily pushed her hand out of the way. She must've dropped it in her haste! Oh, this is going to be humiliating!
Eyes on her, he then slowly dragged them to the paper—and stilled. Then, his dark lashes fused dangerously, and he examined the things she drew on the yellow page. Wordlessly, he faced her, grounding her with his intense glare, then the paper, and then her again.
Malik, curious, took a peek at the paper, and immediately barked out a laugh. "Oh, this is pure brilliance. You've got a good imagination, Farah."
"I was testing if I still had my talent. Good news, I apparently still do!" she provided, crossing her arms against her chest even when her cheeks burned with heat.
"On the contrary, my portrait would've come out well if you hadn't replaced my features with yours," Altair then offered drily.
Farah gasped in shock. He did not just—
Malik's gaze shifted from her to him, from him to her. "This is going to be fun."
She snatched the paper from his grip. "Just so you know, my features would even make a horse look good. In other words, I helped enhance your beauty and that was the result."
His lips twitched yet again. "In other words, your features are only good enough to make an animal appear presentable and not a human. Yet again you've failed."
Her jaw dropped open but before she could retort, his eyes landed on her hands, and the tease abruptly vanished. He was frowning. "I hear you've taken it upon yourself to help Hashem."
She tilted her chin up in determination. She wouldn't let him change it. "I did. I didn't wish to work in the kitchen."
"Fair enough," he offered, his reply totally not what she expected.
"Oh." She eased a little, her determined walls coming down. "Okay. That's good."
"Now who were you writing to?" he asked suddenly, taking her by surprise.
She stuttered. "W-What?"
"The letter." He pointed at it with a tilt of his chin. "You wrote Dear and put a comma. I assume it's a letter or I will take it you were indicating it to my drawing."
Her cheeks heated, turning tomato-red she was sure. She fumbled over her words yet again. "N-No, I definitely was not!"
He crossed his arms against his chest, making the material of his robe hug his figure tightly. She saw the outline of his brawn muscles, and noticed her mouth water. No! She drew her gaze away, shaking the affect off. Concentrate.
"Who were you writing to, female?" he ground out. Even Malik eyed her.
She, too, crossed her arms against her middle, hugging the book in the process, but remained silent.
"A husband, perhaps?" Altair pressed, and she thought she heard the words laced with spite. "Your child?"
She frowned, nearly even sputtered. Child? "What? No," she answered, waving his words away. "Just some... people." My family.
She also thought she noticed his shoulders slightly ease down in... gladness? Her eyes were most probably fooling her.
"Look, I was attempting to write a letter but I didn't, okay? I know how you feel about all of this so you have my word that I won't send out anything." She spoke true; now that he knew of her letter mission, there was no way she'd betray him again.
"Are they close enough to worry about you?" His question surprised her.
She stared at him, then offered a soft nod. "Yes."
He nodded, as if all was settled. "Tomorrow morning, be at the office. I will advice you."
"What do you mean?"
"Tomorrow," he repeated, offering no more information. "And as for the book," he gestured, "return it when done."
"Wait, so you are not... mad?"
"Mad?" he echoed. "Over a book? Much less over the tales of Dadah Qorqud?"
"Yes, that too. But what about the... letter? What if I sent it out, mentioning where, exactly, I was located?"
He straightened in a beat, his expression darkening. "Is that your way of cueing you already did what you just said? If so—"
"No!" She abruptly defended herself. "No, God. You know what? I'm all in. Tomorrow, right? Okay, tomorrow it is. Nice talking to you both. Now," she gave her book a pat, "I'm going to go read this somewhere I won't be bothered. Malik," she said, bidding her farewell.
He inclined his head down. "Farah."
She turned her attention to Altair. "Assassin," she said, making sure her voice didn't tremble.
A muscle below his eye ticked. "Female."
Right. She turned on her heels, heart in her throat, disappointment in her chest at parting from him so soon, and made her way towards the other way—straight at the tower holding the massive wooden planks at its peak.
Hugging the book to her chest to somewhat ease the sting surging from her middle, she walked away. The more she strode away, the more the sting transformed into a burning hole, and the wider the hole became, the stronger the urge to glance back gripped at her.
You have to be cold, remember? Indifferent. Just leave. Keep the needed distance and do not turn around.
A sudden blast resounded in the area, for the briefest second ushering in silence and quietening everything and everyone, and then the thundering fall of—
Oblivious and in innocent naivety, Farah halted and gently lifted her head up.
From high above the tower rising before her, the humongous wooden planks came tumbling down, each ear-piercing thud reverberating her very body and shaking the ground she stood upon.
Sudden screams erupted around her, and then the shouts of both men and women. Running noises greeted her ears.
Farah stood frozen in place, unable to register the current situation in.
Her lips parted, her lashes lifted high and long, and her eyes gaped at the scenery unfolding before her.
Swiftly was the fall of the planks; they tumbled, tumbled, tumbled dooown and rolling, rolling, rolling crashed directly onto the ground, shaking it. One after the other, they came, each new hit causing the one in the back to leap to the front. They rushed forth and across the land—rushed straight at her.
Gasping, only one thing registered in her mind. It was not to move, to run, or to even save herself, no.
It was the desire to see one being. One man—even if it was for the last time.
She swiftly turned in her place, screaming, "Altair!" when a plank was a foot away from squashing her little body.
Before her eyes could register anything in, any of the chaos, a body slammed against hers, sending them both crashing to the ground. Air whooshed out of her lungs, and in the moment of contact, her back harshly scratched against the rugged ground. She let out a loud yet broken cry.
The body abruptly embraced her, shielding her with its own. And the heavy plank that was just about to crush her, miraculously jumped over their forms, missing them by only an inch.
She witnessed everything through widened eyes, and yet could not digest anything at the moment. What she instead performed was, when thunderous echoes greeted her ears in a never ending cycle, when every fall told her she'd be breathing her last, tightly shut her eyes. Seconds, minutes—a whole eternity, perhaps—passed, and when everything was quiet, when every thud and clanking of the planks ceased and only silence saluted her senses, only then did she dare to crack her lids open.
Dust plumed the air, clouding her surroundings, and heaviness still weighed her down, protecting her. Slowly, gently, Farah craned her head to the side, trying to see past the sandy-dust and to the person above her.
She didn't have to do it alone.
His head rose, and she was greeted by golden hawk eyes deeply gazing down at her.
A gasp clogged her throat, and sudden tears burned the back of her eyes as her jaw dropped and she, aghast, returned his stare.
Lines of tension abraded his forehead, his slashing brows meeting in the middle, and his lips formed into a scowl. She could not put a label on his expression. It was both pained and relieved. Angry but at the same time glad.
Her hands, tugging them out from below his body, went straight to his face. She grabbed his cheeks, and slightly lifted her head so their noses brushed against each other. She peered into his golden pools.
"Altair," she rasped out, breathless. Hot tears burned her eyes as sudden realization dawned on her. He protected her. Shielded her. Risked his life for her. Then another realization saluted her, this one of utter horror and fear for the utmost worst.
"Are you hurt?" she rushed out, frantic. Her hands brushed at his face, his neck, his head. "Please, oh, God," she cried out softly. "Tell me you're unhurt. I beg you. P-Plea...se" her voice broke. If he wasn't, if h-he... was not, she wouldn't be able to live with herself. Her lower lip trembled. "Altair, I beg you..."
He gently palmed her hand, resting it below his chin and pressing his forehead against hers. The act comforted her. He deeply and thoroughly inhaled and exhaled. "I'm well," he reassured her. "Unharmed. I promise."
It felt as though someone had punched the remaining breath out of her lungs, because she exhaled in utter relief. "Oh, G-God!" she let out with sob and tightly embraced him. Right then the hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and she broke down in his arms. Her body shook with every sob.
The alleviation was too much, it even bombarded her. But she cared not. So was so scared, so scared for him. Just the thought of blood coating his unmoving body nearly threw her over the edge.
"I'm well," he said once more, and gently, smoothly, collected her body and began to rise.
Breath hitched in her throat. "What are y-you—"
"Hold on," he grunted out, pushing to his feet. "Don't let go."
Even if his weapons dug into her body, she further tightened her embrace around his neck. He lifted her, putting one arm around her back and one below her knees.
He stood, and his arms meshed her body to his, still shielding her. Still protecting.
Around them the dust leisurely settled, and soon the outlines of humans and shapes alike came into view. Altair turned in his spot, and the figures, those watching for any movement, might've noticed the sudden act because they leapt into action, rushing towards them.
"Altair! Farah!" Malik's voice broke the silence, and she saw his body running to them.
Then, following him, everybody ran, too. The planks, she now saw, were scattered around the land, but she saw no lifeless body lying under it or next to it.
"Are you well? Are you hurt?" Malik's voice resounded close to them. Altair shifted, looking at his second-in-command. Soon, everybody crowded them.
"We are both well," Altair informed. His tone was edgy, almost laced with fury, but not at Malik.
Malik exhaled in happiness, giving Altair's shoulder two rough pats. "Thank God."
Farah sniffed, wiping away her tears. She wiggled in his arms, telling him it was okay to let her down now. He didn't heed her body language. She did it again, he still ignored the hint. Then, "You can put me down now. I'm alright. I promise," she softly said, looking up at him.
"Stay," he firmly commanded, his arms further tightening around her. His words and acts both confused and gladdened her at the same time, leaving her speechless.
He then looked around, his eyes scanning the catastrophe. "Is everybody well?" he shouted. Chorus of "Yes's" filled the space. At the positive response, his shoulders eased down. No one harmed? No injuries? It was a divine miracle.
"Very well," he said, looking at Malik. "Have the planks removed and learn the cause of all this. Inform me when you have answers."
His second-in-command curtly nodded. "Will do."
He then turned, lifting his head and gazing up at the tower. Farah, too, gazed up.
The space that'd contained the planks was now empty. There was nothing. There was no one.
Something dark and strange befell her, and she found herself cowering in fear. She knew Altair felt the same, but he did not cower. Instead, he turned on his heels and strode away with her still in his arms.
But Farah, deep inside, knew, just alike the times she did when she'd opened up to Altair about her father and it felt as though they'd broken one of Life's main rules, or just alike the time before her meeting with Edwardo and soon her mother's death, that black clouds hovered above her.
The leaking inky, black clouds of a certain approaching doom.
-x-