Once the boring paperwork was done Altair didn't feel guilty getting up and leaving. Malik didn't want him around anyway. He did motion for Kamal to stay and he knew that annoyed him. Kamal didn't like being kept at the Grandmaster's desk during the afternoon. That was really too bad. He wasn't useful to Altair in the afternoon. So instead he left Kamal and Kadar both there with Malik and if Kamal was upset Kadar was even more so. All the cats knew Altair's lap was the best place to sit when they wanted attention and now the big, gray, tom would have to make due with Kamal or Malik paying attention to him.
Altair walked across the fortress to the library. It was mostly empty except for the librarians and a few older novices pouring over some books in their down time before some lecture or test. There was also one of their scholars off in the corner with a young boy, slowly teaching him how to write. When Altair had told them he wanted to train the boy to write the one before this one had laughed at him. Teach the blind to write? What silliness was that? Altair had put him on novice disciplinary duty after that. Responsible for cleaning out stables. Normally Altair would have just wanted to kill the man for the insolence and laughing in his face but they couldn't afford to lose their learned men right now, they were too few. So stable cleaning for the month was good enough punishment.
The next man hadn't laughed or said it was impossible. He just said it would be very difficult. Altair said to do it anyway.
He walked up to the table and the tutor looked up. His eyes were tired at given an impossible task. Jihad didn't notice him. He was writing something. Altair glanced over at the page. Each word was in line with itself but they weren't lined up with each other. "Grandmaster," the tutor said as greeting.
Jihad's head immediately popped up. "Altair," he said, excited as ever to see him, or not see him but know he was there.
"How does it go?" Altair asked him.
"It is slow," the tutor said, "but we celebrate small victories. Right Jihad?" he asked the boy. Jihad nodded enthusiastically. "Show the Grandmaster."
Jihad felt around a little to make sure his inkwell wouldn't get knocked over and then turned the paper he was writing on. Altair leaned over the table to look down at it. He was not a little amused it looked a lot like his bad handwriting but if anything Jihad's was more legible than Altair's because he only wrote in one language and Altair in whichever one felt best to write in for that word. "Very good, Jihad," he said and Jihad smiled in his direction. "Writing lessons are over for the day. Come with me."
"Yes, sir," Jihad said. The tutor helped him pack up his things and leave them in a neat pile on the table. These few seats in the library were strictly off limits to other novices so Jihad could come here and know where things were anytime he wanted to come here to practice by himself. Altair just waited and Jihad got up, adjusted his uniform a little and reached out for Altair.
Altair allowed the boy to grab hold of his sleeve. He nodded at the tutor who was putting his own things away and walked out with Jihad. "We're going up stairs, Jihad," Altair said after they'd walked a bit.
"Okay. How many stairs?"
"A lot of stairs, I will tell you when we get to each landing."
"Thank you."
They walked up and up and up to one of the highest points in the fortress accessible by stairs and not climbing and Altair stopped at a window with an ornate grate over it. He gently took Jihad's hand off his sleeve so he could open the grate. Cool air blew in from the bottom of the mountain ruffling their clothing. "Master, where are we?" Jihad asked. "Are we on another wall tower?"
"Why don't you look and tell me where we are?"
Jihad frowned. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes they were no longer brown, but gold and bright as the sun overhead. Jihad almost immediately closed his eyes and covered his face with his arm. "It's so bright."
Altair put a hand across his shoulder and kept him close to the big window. "The world is bright," Altair said. Then he looked down at Jihad, "You were progressing well before. Now you are not. What's the matter?"
"Huh?" Jihad looked up at him with his blind eyes.
"When we first began you were able to keep your eyes open. Now you close them all the time." Jihad's eyes moved around but did so unseeingly. "You are not moving forward in being able to see, in being useful to the Order."
"Master, I'm blind-
"You allow yourself to be blind. Allah did not give you normal eyes but blessed you with another way to see. I said I would teach you but if you allow yourself to willfully be blind…" Altair frowned. Jihad put his head down. "Is something wrong?" After a moment Jihad nodded. "What is it?" Jihad didn't say. Altair knelt down next to him and turned Jihad so he faced Altair. "Jihad, I am the only one who will understand. Tell me."
Jihad looked up about where Altair's face was. "It hurts sometimes. A lot," he licked his lips. "Down in the halls I was trying to see more to build up my tolerance. I did it even when it hurt and the next day I woke up and my roommates were distraught. They said I was bleeding from my eyes. Or I had bled from my eyes and hadn't felt it. I'm scared. I don't want to let you down… but it hurts when I see, Altair." He swallowed like he was making sure he didn't cry in front of Altair.
Altair stared at him. Such a thing had never occurred to him. That it would cause pain. His own sight never pained him but it was not the single source of his vision. But why would it hurt Jihad? Perhaps Allah knew and was punishing Altair. That he would continue to fail, to destroy everything he touched. But that couldn't be right. Allah was a lie. A figment created by weaker men to make their deeds acceptable to others. So they could freely drink from the well of disgrace and say later to themselves that it was Allah's will.
Altair got up and closed the grate across the window, shutting out much of the light in the area. He held the latch staring through the holes out across the mountain. If Allah did not exist then he was responsible for his own actions. Altair always knew that though it was hard to care about it sometimes. What did his actions matter to men who weaker than him, who bent and broke before his piercing gaze? He wasn't responsible and beholden to no one. Not even Malik. He obeyed because it was easier to do as commanded than do the long thinking he knew Malik agonized over.
This was perhaps the only time Altair had ever been responsible for anyone other than himself.
Everyone else in Altair's sphere of influence could think and act and do for themselves. Even Dhiya was able to defend herself and despite what had happened even Kamal fought against a bully. They were not helpless things. They were scared and uncertain of their future but not helpless. Even if Altair did nothing others did in his stead. Rakkim had protected Kamal and would have done more so had the bullying continued. Dhiya had her father and brother. Altair did not even entertain for a moment that Mika wouldn't kill whoever may harm his daughter no matter what oath he took to the Order or to Altair. He cast them in his extra protection because it was what he could do, to give them a chance.
It had never even entered his mind that someone close to him would be honestly, through no fault of their own, helpless.
Not for the first time Altair knew he was a fool.
What else other than a fool didn't see a blind boy as helpless?
He went and kneeled in front of Jihad again. "Jihad, look at me," he said. Jihad's blind eyes focused as best they could on where his face was, directed by the sound of his voice. "No, look at me Jihad." He put his hands on Jihad's shoulders.
"I don't want it to hurt," Jihad said.
"It is darker now. Open light can be blinding. Now look at me."
Jihad sniffed and rubbed his nose. How had Altair not seen? He was a boy, probably not even older than ten. Jihad didn't know how old he was. He didn't know when he'd been born other than 'I think it was in summer' and had been too young when his parents had been killed to know dates. But he was a child.
Jihad blinked and his eyes went from brown to gold. He squinted looking at Altair. "What do you see?" he asked Jihad.
"I see you," Jihad said and reached out, touching his chest.
"What color am I?"
"Blue," he said.
"Do you know what color you are for me?" Altair asked him.
Jihad looked up and right into his eyes, confused. Altair rarely talked about what he saw in this sight because it was things from nightmares. The sight was seeing the truth of things as you fully, totally believed them to be and how the world understood them to be to some extent as well. For a man like Altair who's hands were so coated in blood sometimes all he saw was blood and treason and failure of character because that was how he saw the world. Other than Malik he never divulged the color of people around him. One because it would mean exposing his ability and two because knowing how others thought of you in truth was power and Altair did not want people to have that sort of power over him.
"No," Jihad said.
"What color do you think?"
Jihad frowned a little. "Blue?"
"No. You're not blue, Jihad." Jihad licked his lips with no small amount of anxiety. "What color have you told me you have never seen?"
"Yellow," Jihad said.
"Now guess."
"Am I… yellow?"
"Yes. You are." Jihad blinked again and his eyes became brown. He rubbed his eyes and there was water in them. Not tears. But his eyes were wet from the exercise regardless. "Do you know why?" Jihad shook his head. "Because you are special to me. Before we found you I thought I was alone, just like you did."
"Really? But you always have all those people around you."
"And yet they are blind compared to me; to us. They cannot see as we see. I had to grow up not knowing and had to figure it out as I went. But blindly being told Allah had given me a special gift I did not want because it made me strange. So when I look at you I see the real gift Allah gave me," if Allah existed at all. "A boy like me who doesn't have to suffer growing up with this condition blindly, or terrified of what I saw, not knowing what it was I see.
"I did not know that your seeing is any different than mine. All I know if my own. I did not knows yours could hurt you and it is not my intention to hurt you."
Jihad bit his lip before saying, "What is your intention then? I know we are the same but I will never do things like the other novices. I can't run or jump or fight or-
"You will," Altair said.
"I can't see-
"You will," Altair said again. "But it will be in sips and glances, not in wide staring like our other novices. You have a gift, Jihad, and your parents named you well. But this is a trial that will better you."
"I don't want it to hurt though."
"I know," Altair said. "And I do not wish to hurt you either. So for now, we will not being doing the seeing exercises."
"No?" Jihad asked, perking up a bit.
"No," Altair stood and reached for Jihad's hand. "I can see through the sight without limits, but my sight is different. It infects my vision even when I do not see in these shades. If extended periods hurt then we will build stamina very slowly and work on other things to help you navigate the world instead."
"Like what?" Jihad asked as Altair walked away from the window. He had his hand around Jihad's small hand and he had to take three steps for each of Altair's.
"Do you remember the exercise we did with my door guards?"
"Yes," Jihad nodded.
"Think like that." Jihad just made a noise in his mouth but said nothing. He rubbed his eyes some more as Altair led him down a few flights of stairs to the Grandmaster's apartments. Christopher was sitting watch, bored, picking his nose and nearly cut himself on his own hidden blade to drop his hand when he saw Altair. "Christopher."
"Master," Christopher bowed a little in his chair.
Altair stopped in front of him. "I need you to run and errand. Or get Kamal and have him do it. I don't care which. Bring heavy drapes to my room that will block out the light from the windows."
"May I inquire why?" Christopher asked.
"Because I wish it to be dark," Altair said, giving him a look. "Do not question me, do it."
"Ah-! Of course, sir. Sorry, sir," Christopher said as he lurched out of the chair and practically ran down the stairs.
"You didn't have to be mean to him. He's nice," Jihad said.
Altair looked down at him with fondness. Oh Jihad. He didn't know how cruel Altair could be. How horrible and vile and monstrous his true self was. That was why he had no mirrors in the room. He did not even want to glance his reflections. "I was not. I was reminding Christopher of his place in things. He is my guard and loyal sword and servant. If he had disobeyed I would have actually been mean."
With that he shepherded Jihad into his apartments. He had him sit on the rug and the cats came to investigate him. At first Jihad was nervous of the creatures before finding them to be felines and they graciously accepted his petting like they were doing him some grand favor in letting him stroke their heads or under their chins. Altair went into his bedroom and took off his blacks. He undressed and clothed himself again in more comfortable clothes. When he went back out he was pleased to see his cats had made friends with Jihad.
He went over to them and sat with them. "Who do they belong to?" Jihad asked, petting the brothers dutifully.
"Me," Altair said.
"You?"
"Yes. They are my most treasured things. I do not allow just anyone near them," he pet Kanwai on the top of the head and playfully tugged on the end of Kadar's gray tail.
"What are their names?"
"I will tell you once Christopher returns," Altair said. Jihad pouted a little but did not argue. He liked petting the cats and they in turn accepted the petting.
Christopher wasn't gone long. He knocked and Altair got the door. "As requested, Master," Christopher said.
"Help me hang them," Altair instructed. Christopher entered the room and helped Altair drape the heavy fabric over the curtain rods already installed to hold up more translucent curtains. There were three windows to cover and once they were done Altair bid Christopher to leave again.
"Will you tell me their names now?" Jihad asked once Altair sat with him.
Altair reached over and took one of Jihad's hands. "Tell me, who are they?" He asked as he placed Jihad's hand gently on Seif's deep gray coat.
Jihad's sight had a secondary gift to it. He could see a thing through touch and know it as well as Altair did with his eyes. Jihad did see a lot with his hands, always touching things to know their shape or texture, to learn his world through his fingertips alone. Altair didn't think it was actually a special gift like his sight, but rather he understood better what he touched because of his sight. Seif licked Jihad's fingers as he touched the cat's head and face with gentle hands. "Friendly. They have a funny bump on their skull from something. Short whiskers and the fur is longer than the others."
"Now look at him."
Jihad hesitated but did change his eyes. Altair only allowed it for a moment before he covered Jihad's eyes with his hands. "Hey! What?"
"Now tell me, what did you see?"
"I saw… I don't know?"
"Did you see a cat? Or the shape of the cat? Did you see texture your hands know? The short whiskers and long fur?"
Jihad said nothing a second. "Can I take a second look?" Altair briefly lifted his hand and placed it back across Jihad's eyes. "He has yellow eyes," he said.
"He does have yellow eyes," Altair said. "And his claws are very sharp. His name is Seif."
"Seif," Jihad said like committing it to memory.
They did a similar thing with the rest of the kittens though Jihad was allowed to open and close his eyes in the dim light of the room. Once Altair was satisfied Jihad had seen the cat he told him their name and he was always happy every time he learned one.
Then last, of course, came Sawsan. She'd been in her box the entire time, her belly noticeable. She wasn't interested in Jihad like her children were but she was also a pregnant lady and pregnant women were known for their moods. He set her down in front of Jihad and she acted bored with his gentle attention of scratching her just under the jaw or between the ears. Altair saw the way the tip of her tail curled in pleasure.
"Now, who is this?" Altair asked.
Jihad ran his careful fingers across Sawsan's head, chest, and flank. He turned and looked at Altair with both confused and accusatory eyes, his black brows drawing down and creasing his young forehead. "They're you," he said. Altair sat there and said nothing. He just stared. "Altair?" he reached out to make sure Altair was still there and Altair hadn't left him alone. Jihad's fingers found his thigh.
"I think I misheard you," Altair said. "What did you say?" Jihad didn't know if he should lie. "I am not angry. You do not need to tease out your words."
"I said they feel like you."
At that Sawsan meowed sharply. "And what is that?"
"Mmm," Jihad pet Sawsan some more, his hand now resting half off Altair's leg so he knew Altair was still there and perhaps to make sure that the two were actual separate things. "It is difficult to explain. I just know that they are like you."
"I am not a cat," Altair said.
"No," Jihad agreed. Jihad blinked in and out of sight of a fey times, his eyes like shuttered lanterns. "But the rest are forthcoming, this one is not. They feel like… mmmm," he thought long on what he wanted to say. "Like they have seen things." Jihad looked at Altair with his blind eyes again. "Like you have. I don't know what, but you're an Assassin. I have to assume it was not a pretty thing they saw."
"Her name is Sawsan," Altair said. She stood up and stepped over to Altair. As she did she flicked Jihad in the nose with the tip of her tail and Altair smiled a little at that. "She is the mother of all the others you saw today."
"Heh. I like that you named her daughters like that," Jihad said. "Do you like lilies, Altair?"
"They are poisonous plants who mask their danger in their beauty," Altair said. "I appreciate them."
"I have never seen or touched one. Just heard of them. Are they really beautiful?"
"They are," Altair said.
Jihad blinked his eyes open. In the darkened room it did not strain his eyes so much to see. "Why is she you though?"
Altair was rubbing Sawsan's chest where she sat in front of him. He could feel the swell of her stomach from the new kittens she'd have soon. Very soon. A few weeks more. She was nowhere near as fat as with her first litter, so the litter would be smaller. She was purring, happy and content with the attention. "Why is she like me?"
"No," Jihad said.
Altair said nothing for a bit. He did not want to say things that would scare the boy. Had this been an older boy or a grown man and been convinced to share these things he would not spared the details. Just to watch their faces. To see them grimace and squirm under the horrific things that Altair could say.
Instead he said, "I made friends with her mother on the road. I fed her scraps of my meal. One day she did not return for food and I went looking for her. I found a burrow she'd claimed. A predator had gotten into it. They'd killed Sawsan's mother and the rest of the litter. But not Sawsan." He could have spoken of the blood. Of the gore and tiny broken limbs, matted fur stuck against walls, and stench of death that had even made his stomach roll. How the burrow had been eviscerated by some creature, gouged out by claws to get at the easy prey within. It could have been a wolf, a leopard, or a lone male lion without a pride looking for a meal. It could have been anything larger that would have loved to eat a cat and her litter but Altair had never known.
He kept the specifics out of this telling. "Somehow the predator had missed her. Or it was satisfied and moved on. I found her in there, crying for her mother. I was surprised something else hadn't found her first. So I took her with me to Jerusalem." He didn't mention the confusion or that he thought of the mercy he could give the poor, helpless thing instead. A mercy through death in a world that wanted to devour it. He didn't mention Aaban and how when he looked at Sawsan, all matted with blood, her eyes open but so small she fit in the palm of his hand, all he saw was a cat he could save like he couldn't his Aaban. How he'd just let his late mother's cat get slaughtered in front of him and how he'd wept like a fool from the loss of it and the new scar on his face.
"Malik took care of her after that," Altair said.
"Ah," Jihad said. "Perhaps that is it then."
"What is it then?"
"That is why she feels like you. Because Malik looks after you both."
Altair softened a little. If nothing else Jihad was an idealist on how this had happened. He didn't know what had happened in Jerusalem. Like the horror of how he had found Sawsan Altair would not tell him of that horror either. He would not tell anyone that horror. Hardly even himself. "Yes," he said instead.
Jihad smiled. "That's good. I'm glad someone like Malik looks after you, even if he isn't blue."
"He isn't?"
"No," Jihad said, "He's white, obviously."
Altair chuckled. "Yes, that does sound about right for Malik," he agreed.
He looked away from Jihad when there was a stern knocking on the door. "Master," Kamal called.
"Kamal doesn't know about what we do, hide your eyes," Altair told Jihad. Jihad dutifully dimmed his eyes. "Enter," Altair barked.
Kamal entered. The scribe was white as a ghost and his hood was a bit askew. "Master, we just received a message from Jerusalem."
Altair didn't like the sound of that. "From Zonira?" he asked.
"Yes," Kamal swallowed thickly.
"She's not dead is she?"
"No," Kamal said. Then he cleared his throat and composed himself. "An-Nasir Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub, Sultan of the Holy Land and Egypt… is dead."
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