ZIIO
I did not want to expect her words. But I knew.
I knew it was no longer safe here. Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent – that was part of the Creed. Part of the oath all of us had sworn. Now George had been targeted, we were good as pointing the blade to the innocent.
Immediately, Soyala spoke. "What?"
"My words were clear. " Eva's eyes shimmered with shadows, a knot of emotions bound her lips. "We need to leave. All of us."
"Before the guards...discover the bodies." George choked on the weight of his words.
Protests rose and attacked them both. Where would we go? When would we return to the homestead? What of the children? Would we have to wake them? Would the sudden escape of George Stirling – Philadelphia's most profound doctor – go unnoticed? Wouldn't that raise suspicions?
Eva seemed as reluctant to answer as we were to listen. "Ziio, Soyala, you are to wake the twins. You are to inform them what has happened; that we must escape. Tell them to pack a pile of clothing – nothing else. You do the same. Take some clothing. We'll be ready to leave in less than an hour."
How could she have planned this all in one reply? The reality of leaving...well, there seemed no reality. I had been in this beautiful house for over twelve years. Its walls had soaked my sorrows, my memories, my secure and slave-free life.
Soyala rose from the table – no questions – to obey Eva's orders. The questions continued as I followed her upstairs. How would I tell my children? How would they react? Where were we going, and would I ever see this land again? The peaceful paint on the walls. The bookshelves, tucked in every crevice of the hallways. The forest: my only freedom from society. What about all the history of this held?
I woke the twins and told them. There were no questions: only slow, premature and bitter understanding. Soyala aided them to pack their few belongings. I retreated to my chambers to do the same. I am not so materialistic, even now, but I wanted something. Something of this land, just in case I never returned.
Next to the mirror, there sat a silver locket. I never wore it – instead I displayed it on the dressing table as a source of comfort. Inside the shell was a small drawing Soyala had done last year. It was the eban (growing up, she'd been told it was an African symbol for love and security). It was everything that this land was to me. Clenching the cold, yet lukewarm locket, I left the room – possibly – for the last time.
The four of us descended into the hallway. Prudence's gaze passed mournfully over the children. She, too, knew how it felt to leave everything behind. I never viewed the older woman as sympathetic...but was this how she felt on leaving England, over ten years ago?
But if I pitied anyone, it was Hamish. He had just walked into a world he never knew of. He'd grazed the surface of the century-long war. Assassins and Templars. They were so close, yet so far from his life. Would he have to flee with us? Yes, I supposed he had actively killed one of the guards.
A natural fighter, even without any training. Would he end up joining our ranks?
That was the least of our worries. The plan was for Prudence to shelter us (that was, myself, the children, Soyala and George) until further notice. Eva would be staying with Jack, trying to pull apart the mess we were in. Everyone else would be returning to Virginia from whence they came. But what about Hamish?
"I'll come with you," he decided, very suddenly. "Perhaps you could...answer some of my questions on the way?"
Eva's eyes stung with salt and sadness, but nodded. "Forgive us for the circumstances. We owe you some form of justification, and a thank-you, too."
Hamish looked at his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the honour. "If it were any other man, he'd have done the same," he mumbled. "It so happened to be me."
"You would be astonished, Mister Wolf," François sighed, "by the cruelty of man's heart."
Journeys.
Whenever I'd travelled by horse and cart – slave or free – it was a path to the unknown. Still I remember crouching in the cage they called a carriage. To slavery. To Fort Johnson. To Johnson Hall. To the slave market. To Philadelphia. All that stood between myself and my fears were thin wooden bars. I still remember as my fears seeped in; taunted me. Where was I going this time? Would I ever stay in one place again?
I sat on a cart with George and the twins. Holding out a lantern that George could see, I turned to see the homestead one more time. And with every passing glance, at every angle, I felt it slipping from me.
How fruitless it seems now. But at that moment, I felt myself losing the life I felt safe in.
When we reached the streets, I placed the lantern behind me. My children stared bleakly into the rain. Imala lay her head upon my shoulder. Immediately I pulled her in close, protecting her from the cold. The water from her eyes was not the raindrops: she began to weep. I wanted to cry with her, not because we were leaving – but because she and Ohitekah had lost their innocence too soon. Entangled in a war that was not theirs, their security was scattered like the rain. Ohitekah refused to weep, though. He continued to watch the rain: his saltless tears.
By the time we reached Virginia, the sun frowned across the sky. Jack's cart – leader of the three-cart convoy – showed us to the door of a small wooden townhouse. It happened to be Jack's home.
Impossible. How could someone with his wisdom; his intelligence, be living in conditions like this? Not that the house was dreadful – I was taken by surprise.
The Assassins stayed in Wilding's house for an hour, while we worked out the logistics of this move. The cart drivers (George, Soyala and François) were sent upstairs to rest. I wondered for a moment if there was any bedding other than floor for them up there. Not that it mattered. George was beyond the point of exhaustion. Limping without injury, he trudged upstairs behind the other two.
First came the explanations.
Yes, Hamish now understood about the Assassins and Templars: Eva had recounted everything on the journey. The mysteries of Wolf's father remained. There was no proof that he'd been an Assassin, but the evidence was "overwhelming". And so – probably because he'd nothing better to do – Hamish stayed with Jack to fix this mess. While he wanted to continue with his musical passion (once he found himself a new fiddle!), he had no permanent residence. He would turn up to inns and stay there, nights at a time. In short...his career had been a failure, not because he lacked in skill – but because he lacked in money.
Perhaps...perhaps being part of the Brotherhood would give him protection. He already believed in the Creed; he was raised by it. If that wasn't convincing enough, Hamish could fight.
So there, right in front of my children, Hamish decided to join the Virginian Assassins.
It was strange, calling ourselves the Virginian Assassins, when in fact I had never been to the area. This was the place where Eva was sent to live, aged just eighteen. Somehow, it felt the same as Philadelphia. All the towns I had been to felt the same: made from sharply-cut shapes. The only art of any town was its palette of colourful cultures; of people.
We also took the time to explain the situation to Ohitekah and Imala.
They knew. Somehow, they'd always suspected that something was unusual about our family. Even Ohitekah – the less inquisitive of my children – hung his mouth loosely and murmured: "That is why Haytham could never visit."
"But if he is a...Templar, was it?" Imala asked, then continued as I nodded: "Why did you speak to him? How did you ever come to like him?"
Fate, I wanted to say. "I was not an Assassin, then. I knew of the Assassins; in fact I thought Haytham was one himself. He had the blades."
"Like yours?" Ohitekah asked.
"More or less."
"Can I see them?"
I had equipped myself with blades before we left: they'd be heavy with all the clothes I packed. Carefully, I ejected the silver claw and watched my son's eyes grow with tired wonder.
"How many men have you killed?"
"With these blades?" I didn't want to admit this to my child. But both of them had been robbed of childish naïveté. Why filter the truth now? "A few."
It was an awful thing to witness, my children viewing me in a different light. A darker colour. Their mother was frosted in the heart...a killer. I watched the images of what I'd seen flare over their eyes. The blood of a man's open throat' the jagged slice of flesh; the drowning, final cries of empty-souled sinners. I had never killed any important Templars. Not yet.
"And before then?" Imala whispered. Her lips hardly touched each other as she spoke.
"I had killed long before then. Before Ratohnhaké:ton was born, even."
"Why?" By now, my daughter was trembling. "Why did you kill?"
"It was war, Alexa...and any value of human soul is...distorted in wartime. I would sit and tell you everything...but I doubt you are old enough yet. Let us confirm what faces us now before we worry over my past."
So that we did. As planned, myself, the children and George stayed in Prudence's moderate-sized house for a few days. Our emotions were all so exhausted, so colourless, that these three days were uneventful. I did reveal a little more of my past to the twins – and Prudence shared a proportion of hers to them. If they were to be staying here until the Templars backed away, they at least knew some background.
But that was only a temporary solution. What were we to do about George's work? The twins' schooling? The Brotherhood? Hamish's training?
Soon enough, those far-reaching fears were to shrink like sunset.
On the third day, Eva visited us from Jack's townhouse. She was significantly more hopeful than after the previous days' events. It wasn't because we were going home: it was because Jack had received another letter from Achilles.
Connor has found him. Medical supplies loaded onto Church's ship; sailed for Martinique this week. Connor taken his crew to follow them. To enclose further details would endanger us all. Is there a time when I can visit?
–A.
And so a week later, Achilles rode for Virginia. To this day I wish he had contacted us earlier – that way, the Assassins would be under less pressure for the road to come. The road that led me to you.
All five of us walked to Jack's townhouse again. We had been regular visitors, even in this past week. Sitting idle was not an activity I considered healthy. I had grown restless; so had my children. Achilles would bring a sense of time.
When Jack led us all into the kitchen, there he sat. He'd aged – my goodness, how he had aged. Achilles' hat was pulled so low over his eyes, it would've made an excellent hood. His coat was a rich material; his walking cane even more so. The old negro surveyed us with tired eyes. Then he sae me – and the tiredness (momentarily) dissolved.
"Ziio?"
"Achilles."
Even for a man experienced as him – he who had witnessed kill upon kill – Achilles' astonishment was genuine. But why had he not expected to see me? Eva had told him I was there...had she not?
"How?" he croaked. "What are you doing here? We all believed you –"
"Dead. I know."
"No...in slavery..." He surveyed my children; their likeness to me, and his confusion grew. "Why did you refrain from telling me this?" he asked Jack.
"Because we've greater matters at stake," the leader replied monotonously. "You can play catch-up in a moment. Ziio, sit down. You too, Prudence. Achilles has a proposal to make."
"R-right," Davenport frowned, none the wiser.
How did he know I was in slavery?
George and the twins also made themselves comfortable, despite the fact that they weren't Assassins. The news Achilles was to deliver would affect us all.
Shortly after Connor, his father and their crew had sailed after Church, Connor's mentor had discovered something. Church was protected – not by a small convoy, but a colossal naval fleet. The British Army were behind it; of course they were ready and waiting to shoot Connor's ship down in flames. It was too late to warn them now. That was why Achilles needed us.
"Have you a fleet? A ship?" he asked.
"Neither," Eva sighed. "We are an isolated and poorly funded Brotherhood."
"No access to a naval ship?"
She shook her head bitterly. "I am sorry, mentor. We cannot help you."
It didn't take long. After a moment's disappointed silence, George's voice grew from a murmur.
"No..." he said thoughtfully. "No, we don't have a ship. But we have a sailor!"
"George!" Eva exclaimed.
"No, only listen to me! I may not have captained or even sailed in years, but have you heard the saying? 'Once a sailor, always a sailor'? I could take us. All of us!"
"But George –" Eva began again.
"I'll have my supplies back in time for Flood to back away. Darling, don't you remember what I vowed? In any way I could aid the Brotherhood, I would? This is my chance. It could unite us with the Boston Brotherhood, if there is such a movement, and –"
"No...what I meant," his wife sighed, defeated, "was that we haven't a ship. I am confident that you could still captain, with a little practice, but how would we obtain access to such a thing? And even if we did, by the time we were out of shallow waters...it would be too late. Church is already two weeks ahead of us. How would we ever catch him?"
"We can try!" Soyala joined in. "Better than knowing that defeat was inevitable, is it not?"
"Not to mention," François added, "zat leaving for Martinique from this dock would give us ze upper hand. We've fewer islands to sail around; a much straighter course. We might just manage it."
"And the ship?" Jack challenged.
"I can...negotiate with my captain," François thought aloud. "Like I always say, ze Patriots have always supported our Order."
"The Patriots know of your allegiance to the Assassins?" Achilles exclaimed, shocked.
"Not exactly. But if I explained it was to fight ze British, zey might just let me have a ship!"
This idea – conceived from almost nothing – was to become a reality in just days. François left the meeting to find his captain, and all the others began to think about how this mission would work. How long would it take? Who would go? How would the Brotherhood adapt to combat on a ship?
The original plan was that I would remain behind with the children. That was, until Achilles addressed me directly.
"How did you come to be here?" he murmured. "Connor thought you dead. Raised believing he'd never see you. Half the reason he and Haytham set sail was to look for you, once they discovered you were enslaved by Johnson!"
I frowned. "Do you refer to the Boston Assassin? I have never met the man."
A wry, cracked smile spread across his face. "Oh, Ziio," he chuckled. "I think you have."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, Connor Kenway is your son."
And that was how I knew of your affiliations, Ratohnhaké:ton. From that moment, the plan changed. I was to attend this voyage – and so, unbelievably – were Ohitekah and Imala. Yes, children on a brig of war. But Achilles had mentioned Connor's father...so Haytham was on this voyage too? Working with an Assassin: his son?
It seemed beyond all my dreams. Even in my absence, there was some element of family. Assassin and Templar bonded together, with myself as their common ground. And that was not all: was Haytham truly a Templar? Yes, Achilles had argued, but I was having doubts.
My son. My beautiful son had killed Johnson; killed Pitcairn and Hickey; killed the men who had caused me much grief. It seemed poetically ironic, that the reason I breathed in sadness – deprivation of you, Ratohnhaké:ton – was the reason my fears were finally laid to rest.
All these years...if only Achilles had contacted us before. If only Eva would let me go looking. If only I'd heard Connor's surname: Kenway. That way, I would have known. That way, I would have been reunited with you sooner. Not that it matters now. I have found you again.
Eva couldn't refuse letting me come. She insisted that the twins should stay in Virginia. But the moment Ohitekah and Imala heard of Haytham being on the mission, they begged to join us. Even I had refused to allow it. What about the risk? The horror of battle? What about the further entanglement in the Assassin-Templar battle?
"Either we come with you and survive one battle," Imala put in, "or we stay here and let Flood find and take us. Which would you prefer?"
"The child has a point," Toby chimed.
"Flood won't find us, Imala."
"I fear he already has."
At this, all of us whipped on Jack. How had he said this so casually? The lives of two children – my son and daughter – were at stake, and he forgot to mention?
"What do you mean, 'already has'?" I snapped.
"Earlier on today, I saw a band of men lurking in the town centre. I was not close enough to see their rings, but there is little chance of this being coincidence. One of them even pointed at me. No, not at me – at my gauntlet."
"Your hidden blade," Prudence corrected.
"Exactly."
"Why did you not tell me this?" I was absolutely furious.
"That was the other reason I called you here," Jack replied calmly. "If I had told Eva, she would've had Prudence barricade you in."
Eva shot him a look dirtier than Templar deeds. Folding her arms, she cut in: "That's all very well, Jack, but who is to say they were Templars? And yes, I wholly believe that this seems queer...but surely Flood would have attacked by now?"
"Not necessarily, Eva. Ziio is surrounded by Assassins; seemingly she has a convoy around her. Now, by breaking in and killing her family, what sort of destruction would that cause to their Order?"
"More than is humanely possible, if I were our leader." I clenched my fists, angered at the thought of my children being in danger.
"You see, Mother? It is far more dangerous for Alexa and I to stay," Ohitekah began, with pleading puppy eyes, "than to come with you on the ship. At least with all the Assassins, we would be protected."
"And what sort of mother would that make me?" I retorted. "Letting my eleven-year-old children witness a battle on a ship?"
"A good one," my son smirked. Laughter rippled around the minute kitchen.
"Please, Mother?" Imala picked up her brother's thread. "Please, at least...consider the thought?"
Why was I even thinking about this? I turned to Soyala for support, but she simply bowed her head. I turned to Eva; nothing. George? Surely he thought this was ludicrous? No. All I saw was a table of concave brows, telling the twins – not me – to make the choice.
What made me agree I cannot quite remember, but only days later, we boarded our newly-baptised ship.
I never supported the Patriots, but we were so thankful for François' captain's understanding. He gave François permission to take an unused brig – so long as it flew the Revolutionary flag. I understood the captain's logic; in fact, I think that the only reason he let us have the ship was because we were fighting the British.
As she curtseyed to the crowd of Assassins, Toby noted something. He strolled along the frontier, before humming dissatisfiedly.
"She's got no name. The ship."
"Well? Let's give her a name!" Ohitekah came bounding towards George from where we stood. "I think you should name it."
"'It'?" George pretended to snort disgustedly, ruffling my son's hair. "Aaron, you address a ship as 'she'."
"She, then. What should we call her, George?"
"I think that she should be named in François' honour," he suggested. "Frances, perhaps?"
I wasn't the only one who laughed. Looking through squinted eyes, Eva was ready to implode. "Frances?" she sniggered. "You must be joking!"
"My mother's name was Frances," Prudence stated indignantly. The laughter ceased at once.
"Very well." I cleared my throat. "If not in honour of François, what about in honour of his wife?"
"Rose." François frowned, scratching his chin. "A beautiful name, but it needs something more."
"The Belle Rose," Toby said dryly.
"Mais c'est parfait! It's perfect! The Beautiful Rose. Sank you, Toby!"
If Toby had had any drink in his mouth, it'd be all down his front by now. "What? I-I wasn't being serious, Fran –"
"All right, she has a name," Jack cut in, "but can she sail? George, would you benefit from a trial run around the port?"
And so he did. It was only George, Jack and François to start with. As soon as he touched the mahogany wheel, George looked as if he'd been reunited with a mistress. The mild breeze massaged his hair; the sails were catching his spirit and driving them forth. Why had the navy ever let George go? He was a natural. Over fifteen years without sailing a ship, and we could safely call him captain of the Belle Rose.
Captain Stirling. Yes, it suited him – though he seemed overwhelmed by the title. The ship also suited George: warm, smart and almost built to serve our needs. For a ship built for war, the Belle Rose was extremely comfortable.
I know I could not possibly judge – this was my first time boarding a ship. Nobody had warned me of the different feel of the water; of the slow but constant rocking. As I swayed on the spot while mounting, Soyala stopped to laugh.
"This is your first time – I know by the way you balance."
I had no problems with my balance: it had been part of my training, after all. Even before then I could perch on high branches, which – if I were any heavier – would break underneath me. Earning my "sea legs" aside, I could appreciate the comfort I'd be living in for the indefinite number of weeks.
We would all be sharing cabins – two people to one. I shared with Soyala; Eva with George, the twins were in a cabin together, Toby and François, Jack and Hamish and Prudence was lucky enough to be alone. There was even a cabin to spare.
Nonetheless, George's bunk was never usually in use. Being the only skilful sailor among us, he spent most of his time navigating with help from François and Jack. As the voyage went on, some of us learned our way around the hull...just to make George's life a little easier. Whenever we anchored for the night, I decided to aid on deck in whatever way I could. It was around this time that I began talking to our new recruit: Hamish.
"It must be strange for you," I'd said, securing a rope, "to embark on this voyage."
"Well, I..." Hamish scratched the back of his neck. "I hardly had any home to go back to."
"How? Were you not taught music at a...what was the word?"
"Conservatoire? I was, only...I'd taken on other jobs, you see. Odd jobs and the like, but it was enough. Enough to survive."
"What happened?" I asked. "Why did you leave? And, what is a conservatoire?"
"A place of study, if you like," he shrugged. "I had to leave, in truth. I ran out of money to fund m'self."
I could relate to Hamish in this way. Music was his way of life, and he'd been taken from its stream too soon. I was born in the forest; part of my soul would always be there. Yet here we both stood, skilled in learning to adapt...but learning all the same.
"Would you ever go back?"
"Not now. I've training to complete."
"You can have a life outside the Brotherhood, you know. Take François. He is a soldier -"
"Oh, I know," Hamish reassured me, "but I can live without the conservatoire. They fed me my passion, but there were parts that I know I shan't miss."
"Such as...?"
"The pressure to perform," he winced. "I'm not keen on being in the centre of attention, you see. Playing a fiddle in a tavern is different...they don't look at you. Just keep talking."
"Then I think you'll cope well as an Assassin," I half-smiled. "Remember, we work in the shadows."
"The shadows are my best bet," Hamish murmured. "You've probably gathered, I don't talk that much."
In fact, that was almost the only time I spoke to him. Hamish spent the rest of his time up in the crow's nest, while Soyala and I took on more traditional roles on the ship.
I despised cooking on the Belle Rose. While I knew it would be no banquet, nothing I made seemed particularly appetising. The crew members would eat without question, but I could see the dissatisfaction in their faces (particularly Ohitekah's). However, most of the time, we were distracted by the conversations around the (nonexistent) dinner table.
"We remain undecided," Prudence said after the children were in bed, "on who will have the pleasure of killing Church."
"I will." Acting upon instinct, I sat upright. This was my chance to prove my training as worthy. My chance to truly burn my memories, in a dangerous, yet constructive way. Unless Jack refused me that luxury I so desperately needed.
"For closure's sake," Soyala added. "I agree."
"I concur." To my surprise (and relief), it was Eva who spoke. "If anyone around this table deserves to seek revenge, it is Ziio."
"May I point out a flaw?"
Everyone swivelled to Toby. With a cocked eyebrow and half-grin, he said: "I seem to remember Soyala telling us that last time Ziio saw Church, she almost collapsed."
"That was different," I said with gritted teeth. I despised times when people outlined my weaknesses. "I had not seen him in years, and I didn't expect him."
"And yet...your eyes were seeing demons and you forgot to breathe?"
Soyala frowned at Toby. "Did I say that?"
He nodded, the dimple in his cheek mocking me as it twitched. I was sure Toby was exaggerating this. Yes, this occurrence was after my week of nightmares – possibly the worst I'd ever had – but I hadn't "nearly collapsed" on seeing Church.
Or was I truly that weak? I couldn't look a (former) Templar in the eye. How would I be able to kill him?
Realisation filled me like the beat of a war drum. It was different now. I had no need to hide; no fear for my anonymity. I was known now: Kaniehtí:io, Ruth, an Assassin...and soon to be the slayer of Benjamin Church. After all he did, no fear could ever stop me from making him pay.
"It doesn't matter what you said." Jack spoke to Soyala now. "I agree with Eva. Once we have sunken Church's fleet, we will keep his ship afloat, that we might question him about the supplies. Ziio can strike the blow. She needs to. Her son needs her to."
My son.
I thought of little else on this voyage. No worries about facing the fleet. No concern over losing crew members (the only one of us who'd died was James). My main concern, Ratohnhaké:ton, was you.
Throughout the voyage, the pride I felt for you was vast as a hawk's horizon. My own son, an Assassin – with Achilles as a mentor, no less. In the four years I did have the privilege of raising you, I stressed over whether I had passed on the correct morals. Now I know I had. If only I could word how thrilled I was to see you, I would. But before today...I felt restored just by the thought of you.
Above all, I wanted to surprise you. Both you and Haytham.
I wondered what Haytham would think of the twins. Whatever his opinion, I knew he would never judge me for it. But would he ever think them as burdens?
"If Haytham is as you always described him," Soyala said a week ago, "then he will be accepting. He'll show compassion. He may even see them as –"
"Ladies, why locked away in a cabin when the sun is out?"
It was Toby – of course it was Toby – bursting into mine and Soyala's cabin. Knowing his maturity, I wondered if he'd been stood listening behind the door, interrupting before our conversation became too meaningful.
"Come on, get your arses on deck!"
"Good heavens, Toby. It ill becomes you to address a woman with such insolence!" I stood, imitating Prudence...and Toby almost collapsed in laughter.
He was right, though: the sun was beautiful when we went on deck.
I had never left the colonies; apart from moving to Philadelphia, I'd never experienced a change like this. The sun glowed like a great pearl above, and the water glistened back. The islands on the horizon were also pearls, with their white and silky substance. But there was no sign of life. Only a salty spray: the fragrance the Belle Rose always wore, and the gentle wash of waves. The water and sky were blue – flawlessly so – though it seemed that there were more colours. Upon looking in the water, I found we were gliding above a glorious forest of tiny trees. Scarlet, amber, gold, violet...none of the vibe I'd expected in the ocean.
"Beautiful, no?"
François had appeared behind me at the ship's bow. In the brilliant heat, he'd removed his usual blue coat and untied his brown hair. I smiled at him.
"What is it?"
"Coral," he replied, leaning over the ship's edge. "Or, as Hector once described it on a ship back from France, 'ze forgotten colours of God's paint pallet.'"
"Your eldest son?" I was absolutely astonished – by both the coral, and this. "How could a boy so young devise...something so poetic?"
"It must be a gift," François chuckled with a warm pride.
Warmth. It was soon to fade.
Do you remember the storms? The sudden switch from crystal to colourless? The waves that made me fear even for my children? That was when we found your ship: the Aquila.
And we braced ourselves. Ohitekah and Imala were ordered to stay in their cabin at all times. We readied our weapons; our robes. There was no knowing when (and from where) Church would strike. There was also the issue of keeping our distance: what if 'Connor' thought we were an enemy?
I highly doubted it, as you were pursuing the British.
How soon you spotted us, you would have to tell me. I certainly tried to look for you through a telescope, but nature stood in my way. All the better for when I finally saw you. But that was not until the day of battle.
From our safe distance, we could observe that the Aquila was faster than the Belle Rose, and also larger by a fair margin. This gave us the upper hand in chasing Church: while we could slip through narrow straights undamaged, the Aquila would have to take the long way around. It did mean that your crew were more at risk of assault.
Eva must've felt dreadful, putting this unbearable pressure on George. He was not the type to cope with stressful situations...and was certainly not fit for battle. But we'd had practices throughout the voyage. We had eyes and ears on every corner. When, finally, we heard Hamish cry: "Enemy ahead!" from the crow's nest, George behaved as if he were built for this.
"Man the cannons! To arms! Make ready to –"
He was interrupted by the wheeze of a distant cannon. Already, the Aquila had emerged from the side of the island...and it was shooting at a number of smaller schooners. Church's fleet...circling the most colossal ship I'd ever seen, ten times greater than the Belle Rose.
While Eva's instinct was to charge, Captain Stirling had a better idea. We waited behind the rocks from whence we came, picking off the schooners from a distance. Immediately I jumped to a cannon, loading it the way George had shown me. This was my first thrill as an Assassin. I was readier than ever to kill the enemy.
After the first three ships were reduced to wreckage, we showed ourselves. The Aquila had already splintered Church's bigger ship; the men seemed to have boarded it too. We only had three more schooners to defeat. Then, all my hopes would be fulfilled. All of them.
The battle passed quickly. I didn't notice the battering of my ears; the splinters of wood; the sea salty with tears of the British. All I could think of was you.
"Make ready to board!" George yelled, as cannonballs zipped across our vision. "Eva, oversee the distribution of weapons!"
As I swung the hook above my head, I looked for you and Haytham on Church's ship, but the air was heavy as the sounds of battle. We threw the hooks on George's command and pulled.
Now was the time. One by one we clambered to the top of the mast and leapt.
There were so many on deck, their coats stained red with the dye of their kills. But I had a job to do. Perched on the mast, hood up, mesh over face, holding back my identity, scattered as the rain.
One...two...three...
I jumped, joining the battle with a crew I'd never met. But which one was my son?
"Ziio," Eva bellowed beside me, "Church will be hidden in his cabin by now. Go!"
You know the rest, Ratohnhaké:ton.
I had wanted to surprise Haytham, and surprise him I did. On entering the cabin I had no time to inspect his face. All I saw was his blue coat, splayed on the floor like the skin of prey. His tricorne hat lay beside him: a severed piece of him.
But it wasn't his head. He was alive, writhing under Church's grasp. My rage was so silent, it seemed to scream. I plunged my blade in the back of Church's throat; a white phantom, I watched him fall.
You would've thought that – as I pulled the blade from his neck – I felt closure. You'd have thought that the blood dripping from his green coat to the floor was redemption; redemption of all the tears I'd wept, returned to me in red. But I wasn't concerned about that now. I could only think of one thing.
Haytham.
I wish I could've stopped shaking when I saw his face. His jet hair had turned a pure silver; his skin darkened by the sun. Right before his eyes, my guiding light returned to my body in a fit of trembling. Right in front of him, part of my soul was fixed back into place. I've no clue how I managed to stand him up without emitting a gasp, or a sob, or some other revealing notion.
That was when Eva came in. She closed Church's eyes and told me to return to deck. For my own good, I did so. And do you know what happened next, my son? My world became whole again.
Church's men, however, were not so whole. The carnage on deck almost floated in a bloodbath; as the last surviving writhed helplessly, Soyala shot him to end his suffering. Our work here was complete.
I removed the mesh, and I will never forget that recognition in your face.
"I-Ista..."
I would describe it, only it was overshadowed by being in your arms. As numb as I was, I squeezed sixteen years of love into our embrace. Quickly, Jack diverted us to another cabin...to surprise Haytham. Even that stunned me: Jack was never one for entertaining stunts like this. Besides, I was far too emotional to laugh. Goodness, if Haytham had been on deck to see my tears, I'd have put yours to shame.
We only had to wait a few minutes before he appeared. Still no words were spoken; only a channel of overflowing love, relief, denial and unity. There was more to come: when we heard Haytham's running footsteps, I quickly pulled up my hood.
I didn't think it was possible to feel that wave of emotions twice in a matter of moments. But the stupefaction on your father's face – the crashing into a state of absolute shock – made it so.
To hear your voice speaking English – calling him 'Father', even – filled me with more of this flame. It flared like a thousand suns as we stood together, lost to the world around us, but found to each other.
So here we stand now. After sixteen years shortened to a few hours, this is how I came to be with you again. It was far from an easy journey; in fact I was weakened to oblivion; to death, almost. But you two were my guidance. My purpose. My distant everything, and – ultimately – my fate. I never lost my way, because you were living. I never doubted my beliefs, because I always hoped I'd find you. Fate is a beautiful thing.
And you, Ratohnhaké:ton? What have I missed?
Hey, folks!
This is the last chapter in the pluperfect as it were, so back to Haytham's point-of-view after loads from Ziio! Just to say I'm gonna be really busy from now onwards...London Comic Con this Saturday! If you're going, look out for me! I'll be cosplaying as Sasha Braus from Attack on Titan (SNK). I've been thinking of making a vlog of it as well (and ultimately restart making YouTube videos again) but I'm a bit conflicted as to whether I should do it! What do you think?
Thanks for reading...don't forget to review!
