A/N: TADAA! I am alive! If I fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness, would that make up for the horrible amount of time that has passed since my last update? I'm so sorry. Three things: 1) Senior year in college, so yeah, the workload. Bleh. 2) My dad did two stays in the hospital. He's okay, but still, it was MUCH stress. 3) I was sick over Christmas and I'm the world's biggest weenie when it comes to being sick and everybody knows better than to ask me for anything then. HOPEFULLY, I can start updating more often now.
Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313, MagicInTheStars and Axoire! Thanks so much for talking to me!
Axoire, I'm sooo happy you found me!
MagicInTheStars, yes the sass lol.
1Corinthians 1313, Akilah is a little bit scary and those are always fun to write ;)
To everybody that has read and faved and followed and put up with my nonexistent upload schedule, whether you've reviewed or not, you have earned sainthood. To you, I give this solemn promise: I will never, EVER, abandon a story. No matter how much time passes, I will finish what I start. Carve that in stone.
Enjoy!
Samuel rolled out of bed before the sun had begun to rise. His room was still dark and he turned up the lamp just enough to see what he was doing. He dressed as quickly as he could without disturbing his bandages and just as he slipped on his shoes, the door opened.
He startled slightly, but not as badly as he had the day before. Ibrahim never knocked and his expression whenever he looked at Samuel was an intense glower of distrust. Samuel was quickly becoming accustomed to it.
"Who stands by my door when you do not?" he asked suddenly.
Ibrahim's eyes narrowed to slits. "Of what benefit would that information be to you?"
"I was only curious," Samuel replied simply.
"Save your curiosity for the library, boy."
Samuel nodded and stood, and suddenly felt lightheaded. He blinked it away and followed Ibrahim to the library. He lit the candles, sat at his table and began his translations once more. Within moments, he forgot about Ibrahim lurking nearby and was completely engrossed in the paper and ink before him. For the past two days, he'd had a fairly easy time with the papers. Most of them were the semi-personal correspondence between Crusader officials and reports dealing with losses, supplies and troop numbers. At times, he'd find a Saracen document and that would force him to pause briefly as his mind changed from English to Arabic.
Malik came into the room as the sky began to lighten and he glanced around the room, checking its occupancy out of years of habit. Then, he looked again as he caught sight of Samuel in the corner, bent so low over his table that his nose was nearly touching the parchment he was reading.
"There are more candles," he said dryly.
Samuel looked up in surprise, then realized just close to the paper he was. "Oh," he smiled sheepishly. "I have plenty of light."
Malik glanced over the report. "Are troop numbers and the like so interesting, then?"
"All of it is interesting," Samuel replied and his eyes shone with a scholar's love. "Ever since I learned to read, there haven't been enough written words to satisfy me. Stories, factual documents. I love words. So many people will never comprehend how beautiful words can be."
Malik nodded slowly. "Powerful, as well."
Samuel's face fell slightly. "Yes, and that makes them frightening."
"Indeed," Malik agreed quietly, recalling so many words, so many lies.
"May I ask you something?" Samuel asked carefully.
Malik glanced at him in surprise. "You may. But I may not give you an answer."
"Fair enough," Samuel nodded. "Has there been any word from the Acre Bureau?"
Malik's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"I've been worried," Samuel explained. "With all the Templars in the city, if they found it…would it survive?"
"Yes, it would," Malik replied and turned to his desk. "And yes, we have received word from Acre. The Assassins are fine. The Templars have no interest in locating the Bureau."
"What about Maria Thorpe?"
"What of her?" Malik asked.
"She was searching for them when she captured me," Samuel told him. "It's the reason she captured me, actually."
"Hm, yes so I heard."
Samuel glanced up at him and his stomach twisted with Malik's dismissal.
"Jabal is no fool," Malik relented after a moment. "And Saadiq is cautious. They will be fine."
Samuel nodded, content and relieved and finished the report. Caleb took Ibrahim's place as Samuel's guard a short time later but he seemed even more disinterested in his charge than Ibrahim. When lunchtime came, Aliyah strode inside with two plates of food. One she gave to Malik. The other, she set before Samuel.
"I'll stay, Caleb," she said. "Go and get a meal."
Caleb nodded his gratitude and left.
"Thank you," Samuel said sincerely and carefully started eating the hot meal.
Aliyah studied him for a moment, taking in the feverish flush of his cheeks. She frowned thoughtfully. A slight fever was to be expected, considering the injuries he'd arrived with, but she didn't want it to worsen.
"What has the physician said about your injuries?" she asked.
Samuel looked up in surprise. "Well, very little actually," he said after swallowing a mouthful of bread. "When I see him in the evenings, he looks, pokes, prods, and sends me to bed."
She couldn't help but smile at his succinct summation and behind her, Malik coughed lightly.
"I suppose I'm alright though," Samuel shrugged slightly. "I wouldn't complain if my arm healed a bit faster, though."
"I imagine not," Aliyah commented dryly.
Caleb returned a little time later and resumed his post by Samuel and Aliyah left the library. Samuel remained engrossed in the papers before him, never noticing the spy reading over his shoulder in stolen glances.
As the sun sank lower, Samuel's pen moved a little slower. Pain pulsed behind his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the looming headache. When he looked back at the parchment, his gaze fell on a name.
Aaron Wright.
I know that name…
The more he tried to remember, the farther the memory went. Finally, he shook his head and carried on with his work. However, he couldn't shake his feeling of unease and the more he read, the greater it became. Aaron Wright had supplied Robert with excellent information about the cities and even found out some Assassin informants.
"Malik?" he called hesitantly.
"Hm," Malik grunted.
"Does the name Aaron Wright have any significance?"
Malik looked up with a frown. "Why do you ask?"
"I found his name in a report to Robert de Sable," Samuel brandished the paper. "He provided information on some Assassin informants."
Malik cocked his head. "I'll look over that one."
Samuel nodded and turned back to the paper. The words swam before his eyes and he rubbed his hand over his face.
"Caleb, make sure he gets to the physician and back to his room," Malik instructed without looking up.
"Of course," Caleb nodded and prodded Samuel out of his seat.
"I'm alright," Samuel insisted. "I'm just a little tired."
Malik looked up then and Samuel ducked his head at the Assassin's stern expression. Caleb led him from the room without another word. As they left, another Assassin entered.
"Malik, I have a report from Haroun al Rachid in Jerusalem."
"What does he have to say?"
Samuel balked at the name, the memory he needed dancing just beyond his grasp.
"Come on," Caleb said not unkindly.
Samuel fell asleep the instant his head touched his pillow but it was a restless one. His mind wrestled with the name Aaron Wright, trying to dredge up the memory he needed to put the question to rest.
He awoke with a gasp and nearly fell in his haste to get out of bed. "Ibrahim! Are you there?" he called, fighting to get free of his blankets.
The Assassin walked in with a scowl. "What, boy?"
"I have to see Malik!" Samuel exclaimed, finally getting to his feet. The room swam before his eyes and he swayed, steadying himself with a hand on the bed.
Ibrahim crossed his arms. "On what grounds?"
Samuel rubbed a hand over his face, barely noticing the sweat beading on his forehead. "Haroun al Rachid," he said in a strained voice. His head throbbed. "He's…he's a spy. He's…in the reports as a Templar informant."
Ibrahim's hand dropped to his dagger. "Watch your tongue, boy," he growled. "I have known Haroun for years."
"What is going on?" Caleb stepped into the room, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Haroun al Rachid is a Templar informant," Samuel said before Ibrahim could speak. "I found him in the reports this afternoon under the name Aaron Wright."
Caleb studied him. The boy's eyes were fever-bright and his skin was flushed. "I'll fetch Malik."
"Sit, boy, before you collapse," Ibrahim told him gruffly.
"I'm fine," Samuel insisted, leaning heavily against the bed.
"What is it about Haroun that you had me dragged from my bed at this unholy hour?" Malik asked with dry impatience.
"He's a Templar informant," Samuel said for what felt like the hundredth time. "He has another name: Aaron Wright. It's a rough, English equivalent. He's in both the Assassin's reports and the Templars." He looked at Caleb pleadingly. "The papers are on my table. The dates match. I've met him!" The room suddenly felt unbearably warm.
Malik turned to the dark hallway. "Stay here," he instructed to someone just out of sight and walked out. "Caleb, come with me."
Caleb left and Aliyah stepped inside. She wasn't wearing her Assassin's robes, but a simple dress and scarf.
Samuel's knees buckled and darkness encroached on the edges of his vision. Strong arms lifted him back onto the bed and he saw Ibrahim's disdainful scowl.
"I'm not mad," Samuel insisted weakly.
Aliyah tugged the Assassin away and stepped to Samuel's side. "Hand me that pitcher and a towel," she instructed, laying a hand on Samuel's hot forehead.
A cool cloth soon followed her words and he leaned into it with a moan. "My head…"
She unfastened his shirt and saw the red, half-healed wounds the physician had been tending. Samuel's teeth chattered as the cool air hit his fever sensitive skin.
"Should I get the physician?" Ibrahim asked.
Aliyah looked up sharply at his bland tone. "I think you can see how much good that has done him, thus far."
Ibrahim's dark eyes glinted with defensive anger. "He is my enemy."
"And what was I?" she countered.
He grimaced. "That isn't the same," he told her firmly.
"Isn't it?" she pressed. "I did not belong. Neither does he. I would hope you would extend him the same courtesy you did me, once."
Ibrahim hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish." His stiff tone concealed the dull pain he felt from her words, the memories of her days as a Novice.
She turned back to Samuel, wetting the cloth afresh. He closed his eyes in relief when she laid it on his forehead and Ibrahim finished stripping off his shirt.
"It's…not that bad," Samuel told her with a weak smile. "I've spent…every night like this so far."
She gave him a shocked look. "Why did you not speak sooner?"
"I thought…it would pass with enough time," he confessed through chattering teeth.
She shook her head, her lips pursed in a scolding expression. "Foolish boy," she muttered as she tugged a blanket over him.
Ibrahim shook his head. "He knew," he said in a low tone, speaking Arabic. "He knew the infection was still present. But why ask for help when the doctor leaves you to suffer?"
Aliyah nodded in grim understanding and glanced at the door when she heard Malik's soft steps. Caleb wasn't with him. He took in the boy's fevered shivering with narrowed eyes and when Aliyah pulled the blanket back to show him the inflamed sutures, his gaze hardened with anger.
"I shall send for Hashima first thing in the morning," he said as he poured a cup of water and added a pinch of powdered herbs. "Give him that," he handed the cup to Aliyah.
She pressed the cup to Samuel's lips and he drank it eagerly. A few minutes later, his eyelids fluttered closed, though his shivers lasted a bit longer.
"I sent birds to the Bureaus," Malik said quietly. "Caleb will leave at dawn."
"You believe him?" Ibrahim asked in dark disbelief.
"No," Malik replied evenly. "But neither am I willing to risk the danger of yet another traitor in our ranks."
A young woman approached the fortress in the gray light of dawn carrying a basket. She eyed the gate nervously.
"Who comes?" an Assassin called.
"I am Aida," she replied. "Hashima sent me with herbs."
An Assassin stepped into her line of sight. "Where is Abdul?" his deep voice wasn't the same that had demanded she identify herself. He sounded displeased.
She took a half-step back. "I—I do not know. He left after delivering the message." Then, her nerves overcame her. "Hashima was not feeling well and so I—I told her that I would come instead." She bit her lip and held up the basket. "Do you still need them?"
The Assassin approached like a specter through the mist. "What did she send?"
"I'm…not sure," she answered, her voice trembling slightly. "I—I am learning but she sent so many…she was not sure what would be necessary."
The Assassin nodded. "Come with me," he said in a less severe tone and led her into the fortress. The halls were quiet in the early hour but she still found herself trying to hide in his shadow. He took her into a room and she paused at the sight of Samuel lying on the bed, his blonde hair soaked with water and fever sweat. The woman sitting by him turned when they entered.
"Ah, thank you," she said softly and stood to take the basket.
Aida nodded and ducked her head slightly. This woman was striking, even wearing such simple clothing and it only made her acutely aware of her plainness.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.
"Yes, there is," the woman answered with relief. "We need to draw the infection from his injuries. Would you prepare the necessary herbs? What is your name?"
"I am Aida," she answered softly and began to select the herbs she needed.
"Thank you, Aida. I am Aliyah."
"I will see if the water is hot," the Assassin said and turned to leave.
"Thank you, Ibrahim," Aliyah said sincerely.
"You speak to him?" Aida asked in shock once Ibrahim was gone.
"He and I trained as Novices," Aliyah said with a faint smile. "We know each other well."
Aida nearly dropped the herbs in her hand. "Oh! Oh, it is you!" she exclaimed softly. "I remember the village speaking of a woman training with the Assassins."
Aliyah nodded. "Yes, it was I," she laughed softly, almost sadly. "It was highly disapproved of."
"It was," Aida agreed, then ducked her head. "Forgive me. That was inappropriate." She turned back to her herbs, wanting to finish the work before her presence began to tax Aliyah's patience.
"Truth is never inappropriate," Aliyah told her. "Any who say otherwise simply do not wish to hear it."
Aida did not reply and continued her work. The faint rasping of leaves and the click of vials were the only sounds aside from Samuel's breathing. Ibrahim came back sometime later with two other men and they carried Samuel down to the washroom to soak the infection from his injuries. He awoke with a startled gasp and his fever-bright eyes looked at the men in obvious apprehension.
"Take him down before the water cools," Ibrahim said gruffly.
"Wait," Samuel said hoarsely, his addled mind only grasping the word water. "I can't swim."
"Relax, boy, it's only a bath," Ibrahim told him.
Samuel nodded after a moment. "What about Aaron?" he asked worriedly.
Ibrahim frowned at him, still resentful of the boy's accusation. "We've heard nothing yet." He turned to Aliyah as the men took Samuel from the room. "Get some rest, Sister. I will see the girl home."
Aliyah nodded, her eyes shadowed with the need for sleep. "Thank you," she told Aida. "Please, tell Hashima that I will visit soon."
"I will," Aida promised and followed Ibrahim out and through the fortress. The walk to Hashima's home was a silent one and Aida kept her gaze fixed on the heels of his boots. Hashima met them at the door and the old woman's lined face seemed drawn in the morning light.
"Are you unwell?" Ibrahim asked with concern.
Hashima smiled tiredly. "I am old," she replied. "Thank you for walking her back. Come, Aida, I have breakfast. Will you stay, Ibrahim? I have fresh quaveh," her smile broadened.
He couldn't help but smile at the obvious bribe. "Of course." He pushed his hood back as he stepped into the house.
"Sit," she gestured to a cushion. "Pour the quaveh, child," she told Aida.
The girl startled slightly. She hadn't expected the Assassin to show his face so casually. His dark eyes were piercing and his gaze was sharp, almost predatory. Even still, there was something almost noble about his features and she felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. When she poured the drink, her hands shook so badly the cup rattled on its plate.
As Ibrahim and Hashima talked, his gaze strayed ever so often to the girl on his left. She never looked up once and rarely spoke but she was attentive and kept his cup full without prompting. The action almost seemed manic, as though she was afraid not to.
"I don't remember you," he said suddenly.
Aida's head snapped up and she swallowed nervously. "My family is from Damascus," she said quickly. "When my father died, I was sent here to my brother."
"Ah, I see," Ibrahim nodded and set his cup down. "I must return."
"Of course," Hashima said as he stood. "Stay well, Ibrahim."
"And you," he returned, pulling his hood up again.
Aida watched him leave and though her nerves subsided in his absence, she almost wished he had stayed longer. As she stepped to the window and watched him go, she missed Hashima's curious expression as well as the old woman's knowing half-smile.
Ibrahim reached the bend in the road and looked back at the little house. "Aida," he said her name quietly, as though committing it to memory. Somehow, it seemed…important.