Part Twenty: Birth of an Assassin
Now that Ezio had all the seals, he wished to return to Monteriggioni. That armor Altair had left behind was interesting, Mario had said that it was strong as it was light, and Ezio knew that his speed was his greatest advantage.
But Leonardo had said he'd be visiting Venice for June, so that he could join Ezio in celebrating his birthday, so Ezio decided his trip home would be delayed.
The painter arrived on the first of June and Ezio couldn't quite stop smiling now that his oldest and best friend was in the city. Ezio showed Leonardo the sites, the ones he doubted his painter friend had seen given how short his stay had been in Venice, and taking him to where all the painters gathered.
Leonardo also brought with him more translations for the Codex pages Ezio had gathered over the winter from Antonio.
"The Apple is more than a catalog of that which precedes us. Within its twisting, sparking innards I've caught glimpses of what will be. Such a thing should not be possible. Perhaps it isn't. Maybe it is simply a suggestion. How to know? How to be sure?
"I contemplate the consequences of these visions: are they images of things to come – or simply the potential for what might be? Can we influence the outcome? Dare we try? And in so doing, do we merely ensure that which we've seen?
"I am torn – as always – between action and inaction – unclear as to which – if either – will make a difference. Am I even meant to make a difference? Still, I keep this journal. Is that not an attempt to change – or perhaps guarantee – what I have seen?"
It was another odd rambling. Ezio had seen enough pages of the Codex to know the Apple was the same as the Piece of Eden, though why it was referred to with different names, he wasn't sure. Altair was speaking of visions of the future, which was impossible. Yet the great Assassin was looking at these visions with a calm and practical view, debating benefits and deficits of each action he took.
Strange.
Still Ezio's birthday dawned, June twenty-fourth, and he took a moment to sit by the canal by the Palazzo Ducale. It was a day for celebration, or at least spending time with his friends, but he couldn't seem to produce the joy necessary. Instead, he had woken up to another nightmare of his father and brothers swinging on the gallows.
He stayed there, the morning sun rising high into the sky, content to hide from his associates for a time and just dwell on how revenge seemed so far out of his grasp still.
Rosa, unsurprisingly, was the first to find him.
"There you are, Ezio. Why so serious?"
Ezio gave an ironic grin. "It's my birthday."
"Really?" Rosa replied, surprised. "Happy birthday. That's wonderful?"
And this was why Ezio wished to be left alone. He didn't want well wishes when he was thinking of his losses.
"Is it?" he replied quietly. "It's been over ten years since I watched my father and brothers die. Ten years of hunting the men responsible. I'm so close to the end now, but..." he sighed. "No closer to understanding what any of it was for."
Why? Why did his family have to die? Because they were Assassins? What was the grand conspiracy Giovanni had discovered and couldn't even put to words for Lorenzo? Why were the Templars so determined to take over the cities, Florence, Venice, who knew what others? What did they gain from it, and how did his father fit into the puzzle? Was he even making a difference? His hands steeped in blood, death following in his wake, was his family any safer for it? Was anyone?
Rosa sat patting his shoulder with great sympathy. "You may not see it, Ezio, but it's better here now because of the things you've done," she said softly. "Venice has turned a corner. There's no more fear in the streets. People are daring to be happy. You can too."
Ezio didn't say anything, just looking away.
Rosa sighed. "Enough. Look here," she pulled out a bound book. "I have a 'birthday' present for you. It's L'Arsenale's shipping manifest from the day the boat left."
Ezio turned quickly, wiping his eyes. "The boat to Cyprus? You're serious? I thought Agostino was still battling the shipyard in procedures and protocols!"
"He still is," Rosa smiled. "But he was getting tired of waiting for this particular document. You're not the only one who's been busy, you know."
Ezio reached for it and Rosa held it further away. Giving her most beautiful smile, she said, "And guess when it's scheduled to return? Tomorrow."
Ezio smiled his first honest smile in a week.
"Ezio!"
Ezio turned, still leaning in close to Rosa, and saw Leonardo approaching, rubbing the back of his head and glancing away.
"Leonardo?" Ezio smiled again. "When did you get back from Teodora's?"
The painter gave an embarrassed laugh. "Just now. I need to talk to you. Right away."
Rosa gave a throaty chuckle. "Go on," she said, handing the book to Ezio. "Have fun boys."
Ezio blinked, uncertain what her smile was for, my God even Rosa knows Leonardo's gay and Ezio still doesn't see it! but he turned to his friend and pointed a finger. "This better be good." He turned back to Rosa, but she was already walking away.
"Oh, it is! It is!" Leonardo assured him. "Walk with me. Stay close."
Standing, Ezio playfully shoved his friend in annoyance. "Close indeed. Come on then."
Leonardo chuckled, his face still colored. He gave a dry chuckle, but then sobered into seriousness. "These last two Codex pages... I was studying the copies. I don't know why I never saw it before," Leonardo said, serious yet his eyes alight with wonder. "But when put together I realized the markings on the back clarify into words. Here," he said, pulling out the pages and spreading them out on the stone wall over the water. "The Prophet... will appear... when the second piece is brought to the floating city."
Ezio traced Leonardo's finger's path, piecing the words together and seeing what his friend meant. Mario had talked of words spilling from one page to another, but seeing it now seemed to call up the memory.
"Prophet?" Ezio murmured, thinking of what his uncle had said and bits of what he'd seen in Altair's Codex. " 'Only the prophet may open it'... 'Two Pieces of Eden'..."
"What are you saying?" Leonardo asked, rolling up the pages. "Ezio, what is this?"
Ezio smiled warmly at Leonardo. "We've known each other a long time, Leonardo. If I can't trust you, there is nobody," he said, putting a hand on the painter's shoulder. "My uncle Mario spoke of it long ago," he said softly. "A prophecy hidden in the Codex... leading to an ancient vault that holds something... very powerful."
Leonardo only blinked at the news. "How grand. But if you took these pages from the Barbarigo, then maybe they know about this vault too. That's not good."
All at once, things connected in Ezio's mind.
"Wait... what if that's why they sent the ship to Cyprus?" he said quietly, as everything connected. "To find this... Piece of Eden and bring it back to Venezia."
Leonardo looked at Ezio solemnly. " 'When the second piece is brought to the floating city'..."
" 'The Prophet will appear'..." Ezio continued. " 'only the Prophet can open the vault'... My God!" Ezio started to curse himself. "When my uncle told me about the Codex I was too young, too brash to imagine it was anything but an old man's fantasy!" Ezio growled, completely angry at himself for being so damnably blind. "But now I see... The killing of Mocenigo... even the Medici... my father and brothers... it was all part of his plan!" It wasn't just about conquering all of Italy, like Ezio had suspected. It wasn't about replacing the Medici in Florence or controlling Venice with the Barbarigo or even Forli with Girolamo. It was all preparation, assurances, to get to something that only the Assassin Altair knew of and wrote about. "To find the vault... the Spaniard!" Ezio cursed again.
Leonardo nodded. "Rodrigo Borgia."
Ezio took a deep breath, calming himself and focusing. He had much work to do.
"The boat from Cyprus arrives tomorrow," he told Leonardo. "I plan to be there to meet it."
The painter nodded, putting a hand to Ezio's shoulder. "Good luck, my friend."
The rest of the day wasn't one for celebration as Ezio went back to his room at Bartolomeo's barracks and started going through all of his equipment. If the Spaniard wanted that Piece of Eden so desperately, he'd be there to collect it, waiting for some supposed Prophet who could open the Vault. Whether Ezio believed the story or not, the Spaniard certainly did and that was enough for Ezio to seek to stop him.
After checking his supplies, Ezio went out to shop, seeking to restock what he was low on and spent the rest of the afternoon polishing his weapons and sharpening the edges.
This, hopefully, would be his chance. Prophet or no prophet, the Spaniard would be there. And Ezio would meet him. Then kill him. The Templars, without their head and without the major families supporting them, would fall apart. And a tragedy like Ezio's family would never be repeated.
Leonardo did show up again to drag Ezio to dinner, and the Assassin was able to get a few hours of relaxation before bidding his friend farewell. Once more in his rooms, Ezio started to arm himself. The dagger in his boot, the knives on his belt, sword by his side, pouches filled with supplies, and hidden blades on both wrists, gun loaded, poison loaded, Ezio bore all the weapons of his own arsenal, and slipped out in the evening sun to infiltrate a different Arsenale.
In the dark of the shipyard, Ezio found a nook in the roofs and huddled there through the night, not daring to take the chance that the ship would come in early and he would miss it. He slept lightly, aware that the city guard was still patrolling the area and while Agostino would never press charges against him, it was best to stay out of deliberate trouble.
He awoke when the first rays of light started to lighten the sky and ate a light breakfast from the travel mix he brought with him. After all, who really knew what this day would bring? Ezio was prepared for just about anything. He ascended to the west wall of the shipyard, the extra height allowing him to see that much more.
The ship arrived shortly after, just as the sun was cresting the eastern wall of l'Arsenale. Ezio watched as a guard nimbly stepped off the planks with a strange, egg shaped item that bore wings at its base. It was given to an agile guard, who bore an armband with a bull on it, the crest of the Borgia family. Ezio growled.
As the handoff occurred, however, Ezio's eyes spied something else down below. In the shadows of early morning was the Auditore crest on the back of a cape. Glancing around, the figure watched the handoff as well.
Uncle Mario...? What was he doing there?
But Ezio had no time to ponder what his uncle was doing here. Likely chasing down a lead on the Spaniard as well, but Ezio knew following that agile guard would be the more expedient path to take. There was no time to climb down and inform his uncle, so he instead trailed after the agile guard from the roofline, following him out of the Arsenale.
Where were they taking it, this supposed Piece of Eden? What was this Piece supposed to even be? It was small, given the size he'd seen, but how could that truly be so dangerous?
Ezio shook such thoughts aside. Prophecies were pointless. It was merely a path for him to get to the Spaniard.
The rising sun brought workers to the shipyard, still bleary-eyed with sleep and Ezio easily descended to the ground and mingled with them, keeping as close as he dared to the Borgia courier.
The difficulty was that the courier liked to take deserted dark alleys where he would pause and turn around, trying to spy if someone was following him.
So Ezio took to the roofs. Any archers patrolling the skyline would be exhausted and the shift would not change for another hour, making it easy for Ezio to stick to the shadows and follow the Borgia courier as he slowly headed northeast to the Cannaregio district.
Eventually, as the morning progressed and the guards finally switched shifts, Ezio had to descend to the streets again, particularly since the canal separating San Marco and Cannaregio didn't have any immediate place to cross above.
The agile courier started to take dark narrow alleys again, and Ezio had to carefully follow between buildings via beams and balconies. The Cannaregio district was one of the oldest in Venice, and one of the poorest; the brickwork was crumbling and clearly hadn't been repainted in some time. The alleys were the narrowest Ezio had ever seen, and he had to watch his footing lest some loose brick or mortar crumble down and alert the Borgia to his presence. And if there was one thing Ezio was certain of, it was that he would not ruin this chance.
At one point the courier hopped to a pole sticking out of the canal and across to another alley where a guard was standing by. Ezio gauged the distance and time, and quickly ascended to the roofs from the balcony he was observing from for a safer route, before ducking down again when an archer shouted, "You are not allowed up here!"
The guard below didn't look up, clearly not hearing the above archer over the natural ebb and flow of the water of the canal.
Ezio continued to follow the courier, careful of his footing and position and keeping the Borgia in his sight. Eventually he had to get back down to the streets again as the courier entered a wide boulevard.
It had been several hours since he first started trailing the courier and the afternoon was starting to get truly hot. The waters of the canals were really starting to stink and Ezio was sweating as he made each leap. The paths were getting more and more circuitous, rounding around itself before going off in a set direction for a bit, before circling back again. It made a difficult job keeping himself oriented.
Ezio was down to the streets again, circling around a church, and then, to Ezio's surprise, the Borgia courier took to the same type of path that Ezio had been traveling to follow him. The beams and arches between buildings. Ezio stayed to the street level, keeping an eye on the agile courier from under his hood, but the Borgia didn't deviate from the street, eventually hopping down to street level again to cross another canal. Ezio seamlessly merged with the crowds and watched the courier enter an abandoned home guarded by four soldiers also bearing the Borgia crest.
Ezio easily ducked into an alley and silently pulled off the boards of one of the windows and snuck into the house.
The guard from outside stepped in, glaring at the courier.
"The Maestro awaits. He will not suffer mistakes. Package it correctly. Do it now."
Ezio smiled. The Spaniard was there? This changed things. He could infiltrate this group and take the place of the courier and the guards would lead him right to the figlio di puttana.
The guard went to check his men and left the Borgia courier to finally have a meal. The courier removed his helmet with a sigh of relief given the heat of the day, and started breaking the bread to eat.
Ezio slipped up and silently put his hidden blade into the courier's neck, leaving the clothes and armor clean and dragged him to a different room to change clothes.
The outfit was a little tight, especially in the shoulders, and whoever had decided that wool in the summer time was a good idea needed to be spoken to. Still, Ezio kept all of his weapons, though more discreetly hidden, and looked to the treasure. He opened the box, wishing a closer look at what this conspiracy was all about, but could do no more.
The guard from before came in and Ezio closed the box, looking up.
"Yes, sir?"
The guard smiled broadly. "This is a moment of great importance. Stay in formation. Make this right."
Ezio nodded, picking up the box. He didn't have time to hide the treasure from the Spaniard, but he would still face his ultimate enemy. And he would finally end this.
Ezio followed the guard out, two others flanking behind him, making a formidable sight to any who wished to find out what sort of box required such heavy guards. Ezio remembered the drills Bartolomeo had taken him through and stayed two steps behind the leader, eyes roaming everywhere as he noted his location, much easier now that he wasn't following an agile courier who liked to walk in circles.
They headed down the street and over the canals, the mid afternoon sun high above them. The leader pushed aside any in their way, giving Ezio a clear path to follow. The guards stayed silent, completely professional, and only nodded to other patrols they passed. Ezio was surprised that they continued to stick to the main streets, instead of ducking through back allies, but said nothing as they continued over another bridge.
They were going parallel to the Grand Canal when Ezio narrowed his eyes and worked to hold back a growl, seeing a man waiting for them in a black hood.
The Spaniard.
Rodrigo Borgia.
The man who was at Uberto Alberti's house when he'd delivered documents to free his father; the man who'd pulled the lever; watched as Giovanni, Federico, even little Petruccio swung and strangled and bled on the gallows. The man who'd arranged a bold assassination attempt on Lorenzo de' Medici in church. The man who killed Jacopo de' Pazzi for his failures, who had arranged to place Marco Barbarigo in the Doge's seat in Venice. The man who sought to control cities, gain power through bribery or murder or both - and all for some stupid artifact from Cyprus that Altair had hid there. Some antiquity and blind belief that some kind of "prophet" would arrive and... what? Prophesize his destiny? Lead him to Paradise? Introduce him to Christ?
Ezio looked around.
No one else was there.
No one.
No prophet.
... For a brief moment, he had believed it. Believed Altair's less than sensible rambling about the funny egg in the crate weighing down his arms; but no one was here. Just Borgia, the guards, and him.
The prophet was a fake.
No one was here.
Borgia's work was for nothing.
... His family died for nothing. The conspiracy, the blood, the price, the lives, all of it was utterly pointless, because no one was here, and to find such an end to Ezio's road to understanding... Something in him was boiling, his ears were pounding with is blood, and his breathing was becoming deeper, quicker. All this death, all over some stupid egg in a crate and a broken promise that something would happen. Blind faith was just so... so...
He shifted the weight of the crate, freeing his left arm and extending his hidden blade. Whatever conversation Borgia was having with the guard was cut off, his blade sinking deep into the soft tissue below the ribs, and he twisted his wrist before retracting the blade. The guard grunted, clutching his back, before pitching to the ground. The two flanking Ezio tried to move in as well, but Ezio put down the crate and he slit their throats.
It was just him and Borgia now. He and the man responsible for everything.
The Templar eyed the Assassin; perhaps showing surprise, Ezio did not know the man enough to guess. The Spaniard shrugged if off, however, and relaxed.
"Ezio. It's been some time."
Forward to use his given name like that. Bastard. Ezio returned the favor. "Rodrigo," he greeted, his rich baritone low and hard and dangerous. "So, where is he?"
"Hmmm? Who?"
"Your prophet?" Ezio said, gesturing to the three bodies at his feet, the empty corner by the canal. "Doesn't seem like anybody showed up, Rodrigo," he drove home, pointing to the crate, anger threatening to overtake him. "How many people have died for this? For what's in this box? And look: There's nobody here!" It was a sham, it made everything that happened in the last dozen years meaningless, it made his family's death meaningless; all this work, over nothing.
And Borgia smiled.
A bright, knowing, smug smirk of a smile that showed he knew something Ezio didn't. Ezio hated that look.
"You claim not to be a believer," he said lightly, gesturing. "And yet, here you are..." He spread his hands lightly, an almost welcoming gesture. "Don't you see him? The Prophet is already here..."
He drew his sword. "I am the Prophet," Borgia said, his voice dropping an octave and becoming dangerous. "Now give me the Apple."
Mad.
The Spaniard was mad.
Ezio callously stepped over the crate, blocking it from the cardinal-deacon, and drew his own sword. "Come and take it from me."
"Guards!"
... Of course the Templar wouldn't play fair. Two dozen Venetian guards flooded into the small square with their armor and swords and knives and maces, surrounding him. One darted forward to try and grab the crate as Ezio watched them move in, and his answer was to kick the guard aside, sheathing his sword and instead pulling out his knife, knowing it would serve better against multiple enemies. He slit the throat of one guard before stabbing his blade into the soft belly of another, yanking it out and spinning under a swing and driving the pommel of his knife into the jaw of a third and kicking a fourth in order to give him some breathing room and keep their hands off the crate.
He was furious.
And so he released his anger.
One guard tried to swing at him and Ezio grabbed the offensive wrist, twisting and guiding the blade into the guard's own abdomen, shoving at another guard and then dropping his knife to grab at a lance, fighting for leverage briefly before kicking the guard away and moving into an immediate spin, the blade of the lance cutting and nicking several people but giving him the room to keep the crate at his feet. He would be damned if the Piece of Eden fell into the hands of the Templars. He would be damned if they got their way, damned if his family's deaths weren't avenged. He didn't care if Borgia sent the entire Venetian army after him, he would defend that damn crate and then he would kill the Spaniard.
Someone with a broadsword managed to split the lance Ezio was wielding but he had spent years training under Mario and Ulderico and Bartolomeo, he simply used them as two short swords, impaling them in two different guards. He was also trained by Antonio and la Volpe as well, and his speed was utterly unmatched - especially in the lighter Venetian guard armor he wore. He got his hands on the knife he had dropped earlier, ramming it into the foot of a guard and then to the man's throat, spinning around and stabbing another in the shoulder, and then another in the gut, and then grabbing three throwing knives and sending them flying. Two hit their mark, and the third was distracted enough that Ezio was able to duck into the man's circle and run his blade across the man's neck.
A heavily armored brute swung a massive axe at him, and Ezio dropped his knife again, ducking around the blow as a second man rammed into him, wrapping his arms around Ezio's waist and dragging him to the ground while a third moved to the crate.
A long string of curses flew out of Ezio's mouth, and he took a throwing knife and stabbed it into the eye of the man around his waste, blood spurting everywhere, before lifting himself to his feet and grabbing another throwing knife, his fifth so far, and tossing it end over end to the clever third guard. It landed in his arm instead of his neck, but the pain distracted the guard enough that Ezio kicked him off the crate, extending his hidden blade and shoving it into the man's gut, out, and then back in.
The axe man from before managed a glancing blow to Ezio's shoulder, he had ducked aside but not enough apparently, and pain erupted from his shoulder that he then steadfastly ignored as he grabbed at the axe, fought for footing, and then yanked the weapon away, clubbing the brute and then driving the blade into the man's skull.
Ten lay dead at his feet, not including the three guards who had escorted him.
Fourteen other guards were still making their bid for the Piece of Eden, and Borgia watched coldly from a corner, gaze narrow and calculating before offering an evil grin.
"Is this all you have?" the Spaniard asked, voice wry and contemptuous. "Where's the rest of your people?"
Ezio ignored the jibe, his shoulder throbbing as a second brute with a broadsword moved in. The assassin managed to yank the axe out of his most recent kill's head and used it to deflect the broadsword, the heavy swing sending agony up his wounded arm but he once more ignored it, following up with a sideways strike, a little clumsy but effective. He grabbed another throwing knife and sent it flying before extending both of his hidden blades for full combat.
There was a brief lull in the battle, and he took a moment to breath, remembering his uncle's training. Fight to survive means to fight defensively; save energy. He planted his feet around the crate and the treasure inside, and he opened his eyes, his eagle awake, and he waited.
One moved forward, and Ezio used his momentum against him, shoving him into the canal while a second was quickly stabbed in both eye sockets, followed by a double slash to the throat of a third and a critical shoulder stab of the fourth. A brute tried his luck next, another lance, and Ezio slowly backed up from the strikes, lulling the enemy into a false sense of security before leaping up over the lance and sending his blade deep into the brute's neck, the momentum sending the body crashing over the crate, back to start.
After that, two came at once, and the guard with a mace landed a shockingly good hit to Ezio's bad shoulder, and for a moment he was blind with pain but he refused to fail, flailing at any perception of motion his eagle granted him, before he could gather his wits again. He was beginning to tire now, and when he risked looking past his immediate circle he saw that more guards were pouring into the square.
... He remembered his thought about the entire Venetian army coming, and he quietly hoped that it didn't really come to that.
A hand touched his shoulder, and only his eagle prevented him from striking it. He turned, startled, and saw a face he had seen at dawn.
"... Uncle?"
"Don't worry, nipote," he said calmly. "You are not alone."
The shock of it made Ezio come to a complete stop, watching as Mario dove into the battle, and when a guard shoved Ezio aside he was caught completely unawares. Instead he struggled to get to his feet in time, only to see it was unnecessary when the russet colors of a thief appeared, stabbing the guard in the back. "Volpe...! What are you doing here?"
The thief was already working on another guard. "We could very well ask you the same thing!" He lifted Ezio up to his feet before engaging another guard.
"...'We'?"
The shock was overwhelming, and then there was an arrow in the eye of a guard sneaking up beside him. Antonio came up and shoved the end of his bow into the guard's stomach before drawing a dagger.
"Save your questions, brother. Don't let Borgia leave with that box!"
"Forward!"
And Bartolomeo was there, a wide grin splitting his face as he charged into the fray, bodies lining his path.
What... Where... How...?
But another guard was digging through the bodies to get at the Piece of Eden, and Ezio leapt upon him, hidden blade sinking wearily into the soft tissues of the neck before he twisted it and took up his defense again. Borgia, in his corner, looked utterly furious.
"Take him down, Ezio," Antonio said. "We'll guard the box. Take your revenge, we are right behind you."
"Come at me, codardi! All of you! My Bianca hungers for more skulls to crush!"
"Down, boy. You mess with the fox, you get the sword."
"Rosa, Ugo! Where are your diversions?"
"Nipote, come, this way!"
They... they were all here...
Ezio felt strength return to him, his heart lifted, and he boldly walked away from the Piece of Eden, secure that it was safe, and marched through the veritable forest of swords, past Bartolomeo smashing heads giddily, past Volpe cutting belts before stabbing backs, past Antonio's shouted directions as he threw knives, glancing up to see a certain brother and sister darting over roofs before fireworks lit up the sky from somewhere, explosions filling the air, and at last joined his Uncle Mario, who was engaged in swordplay with the fifty-seven year old Rodrigo Borgia.
"This is pathetic," the Spaniard was cursing. "You cannot stop what is written. What lies in the Vault shall be mine!"
"Written?" Mario said brightly, blocking a strike and the grandly motioning for Ezio to take over. He offered a bright laugh to Borgia. "What was written was not for your eyes, Templar, and you are delusional if you think you have any part in it."
Shoulder throbbing, renewed but still exhausted, Ezio locked eyes with the Spaniard.
He saw Petruccio's neck snapping. He saw Federico strangling. He heard his father's last words. "You may take our lives this day, but we will have yours in return! I swear! We will-"
He swung brutally, the power of the swing breaking the old Spaniard's defense. The follow up strike nicked the sword wholesale from Borgia's hands. The Templar looked surprised, and even a little desperate, pulling out a dagger; but Ezio knocked that away as well. Hot anger filled him, but at the same time it was cold; this was not the blind rage of his youth, or the steely determination of his training. This was cold, calculated, revenge. Revenge for his father, for his brothers, for his family, for the Medici, for Venice, but mostly for his father. Blood-spattered, achy, sweating, panting, he slowly raised his bloody hidden blade, contemplating the moment, thinking of everything that brought him here, anticipating the cold satisfaction that would bring this dozen year journey to a conclusion, that he would at last have the answer to his tragedy, that his family would at last be safe.
"This is for my father..." he muttered, his uncle bearing witness.
"This is a losing battle for you, boy," Borgia said, falling to his knees and leaning back, away from the approaching death. "This war has been going on far longer than either of us have played a role, it won't stop with my death."
Ezio raised his blade, deaf to Borgia's words, thinking only of the kill. His shoulder throbbed, making his eye twitch.
It was all Borgia needed.
He threw dirt up into Ezio's face, into his eyes behind the helmet, and Ezio staggered back even as he tried to blindly drive the blade home. Instead something smashed into his shoulder, and all he could comprehend after that was pain. White, staticy, unadulterated pain.
"Ezio!"
"After him!"
"No, we have what we need."
"But..."
Cursing, Ezio finally worked his way past the pain, panting, and pulled himself to his feet. Where was the Spaniard? Where was Borgia? He spun around, dizzy and confused at what had happened. His body was soaked with sweat, heat seemed to emanate from his entire frame.
Dark eyes and arched eyebrows met his gaze, and seeing a face he had not seen in years only muddled his thinking further.
"Paola..?" No, that wasn't important. Where was Borgia? "Where's the Spaniard?" he demanded, unsteady on his feet. That man was about to die!
"He's gone," the Florentine courtesan said, "but we have what we came for."
Gone?
... Gone?
"No!" Ezio growled, blinking and trying to stay upright. "I need to go after him...!"
"Do you really, now?" asked a new voice, and Ezio spun again, disoriented, to see the habit of another courtesan. "Or are you here for another reason, my son?"
"Teodora...? What...?"
He realized the crowd that had gathered around him amongst the bodies. Mario, Paola, Volpe, Antonio, Teodora, Bartolomeo. Almost every one of his teachers of the last dozen years... How... why... "What are you all doing here?" he asked, stumbling but keeping himself standing.
Another man was there as well, unknown to Ezio; thin-faced with a strong jaw, and he answered the question.
"Perhaps the same thing you are, Ezio. Hoping to see the Prophet appear."
That madness again? Ezio shook his head, a wave of dizziness sweeping over him.
"I came here to kill the Spaniard," he said. "I couldn't care less about your prophet... It's sophistry at any rate... He never showed up. Nobody came."
"No?" the stranger asked. "But, you did."
Ezio blinked.
Then he blinked again.
"... What?"
The stranger shrugged his shoulders. "A prophet's arrival was foretold... And, unbeknownst to us - here you are. Perhaps all along, you were the one we sought."
Ezio shook his head, swaying slightly on his feet. Mario put a bracing hand to his good shoulder. How much blood had he lost? The events were threatening to overwhelm him. The prophet... him? He was certainly no prophet... the very suggestion... and Borgia was gone, and everyone was here, and... and...
"Who are you?" he asked the thin-faced man.
"Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli," he said, nodding his head. "I am an Assassin - trained in the ancient ways to safeguard mankind's evolution. Just like you, and each one of us here."
Wait... what?
"You are all Assassins? Paola...? Volpe...?" Teodora, Antonio, Bartolomeo...? All Assassins? Like Mario? Like his father?
"It's true, nipote," Mario said at his shoulder. "But I think first we need to get you to a doctor. The day was eventful to say the least, for you most of all. Let's get you checked out before you pass out completely."
"Agreed," Paola said.
"My girls will help," Teodora said, and before Ezio could really understand what was happening, he and Mario and Machiavelli were surrounded by a gaggle of Teodora's sisters, Antonio and Volpe darting up a three-story building, Rosa and Ugo's shadows seen from above. Fireworks were still lighting up the sky, and Bartolomeo took off down an alley, shouting curses at men who were apparently waiting for him. The Cannaregio was flooded with Venetian guards, but they were all engaged, either with Bartolomeo's men or chasing after some cluster of thieves.
They crossed the Grand Canal and entered the San Polo district, somewhat quieter, and Ezio realized the fireworks were coming from Castello and Dorsoduro, drawing more guards away from Cannaregio and the excitement. Rosa dropped down from somewhere, looking coy and not a little smug, Ugo hot on her heels.
"I see we can't leave you alone for two minutes," she said brightly, working her way through Teodora's sisters and smiling down on the dazed Ezio. "Don't tell me I have another little brother to look after?"
Ezio stared at her, mind utterly blank, before he could only mutely shake his head. "You, too?" he asked.
"Me, what?"
"No," Mario said. "These two still have quite a bit of training to go through. But that's for another time."
Rosa looked to Mario, Ugo already souring, and glared at him. "Who are you to say my brother and I need more training?" she asked, her throaty voice suddenly low.
"Someone who will be talking to Antonio very shortly," Mario replied, "And you can wiggle your answers out of him. In the meantime, I need to see to my nephew."
Both siblings blinked, looking between Mario and Ezio, then looking at each other.
"If you please," Paola said softly, "We should see to Ezio first before we discuss internal matters."
"Yes," Teodora agreed. "Go see to your master, I'm certain the night will leave you much yet to do."
"... Let's go, Ugo."
"What? Now I'm taking orders from-"
"Now, Ugo."
The two departed, and shortly thereafter Teodora knocked on a door and the entourage was lead inside by a doctor, adjusting his plague mask. Ezio's weak Venetian armor was stripped away - the axe that had wounded his shoulder had dented it terribly, but the dent had ultimately saved his arm, according to the doctor, as the cut was stitched together and bandaged. The swelling would go down in a few days time, and that the pain would be excruciating in the meantime. Ezio heartily agreed with this as he was given wine to guzzle, and he refused (not for the first time) the use of leeches. He was given a sleeping drought at some point, and he fell asleep to Mario looking down on him with pride, surrounded by his other teachers.
The next morning brought a litany of questions and explanations. Ezio explained his meeting with Leonardo - who was quickly summoned and dragged into the impromptu meeting to explain his work with the Codex. It was the first time his best friend had met Mario as an Assassin, and the thirty-four year old painter was a little nervous at the intimidating stature compared to the gruff, friendly man he had known previously. Ezio shared the Codex pages he had just gotten, Mario and Volpe reading them adamantly, muttering to themselves briefly while Antonio asked about Ezio's conversation with Rosa. Ezio in turn learned that Antonio had the ship's manifest for several weeks - enough to summon Mario and the others, and that all had been surprised when Ezio was a no-show to their planning session. Teodora had spent much of the day searching for the Florentine, while Antonio and Bartolomeo set up their diversions once they located the Spaniard and Mario took to tailing the courier.
Neither Mario nor Ezio could understand how they had missed each other, but eventually agreed that they were entirely too focused on their objectives to note other shadows.
Then came the explanation of Ezio's training, a struggle on Mario's part because he knew Ezio hadn't initially wanted anything to do with the Assassins, only hide his family, and so it had been decided to train him in secret, and see if he could grow into his role on his own.
To this, everyone agreed, he had exceeded any and all expectations.
"When you first came to me, nipote," Mario said, "You couldn't fathom things outside your own pain. Your only focus was running to Spain with Maria and Claudia and hiding. Then, you were only focused on avenging Giovanni and your brothers - a righteous goal, but one very selfish. Now you've saved Firenze, and Venezia, for the sake of their people instead of your own goals. Even your pursuit of the Spaniard, it was to prevent him from getting the Piece of Eden, over your wish for revenge. If it hadn't, those Venetian guards would have gotten the Apple while you were killing Borgia. We couldn't have hoped for a greater change. You've made me, all of us, very proud."
"And we all agree," Paola said with her mysterious eyes trained on him. "You are ready."
"... Ready for what?"
"To join us."
And Ezio was overwhelmed again.
Leonardo was politely dismissed - some ceremonies were private, even for best friends - and Ezio was given another sleeping draught to rest up, and that night he was lead to one of the campanile by the Ponte Rialto. Ezio could see the Frari and the Basilica di San Marco, and L'Arsenale, and the Grand Canal. It was a spectacular view, and Bartolomeo was stoking a fire.
"Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine," Mario said, his gruff voice solemn, sober. "These are the words spoken by our ancestors - and lay at the heart of our Creed."
"Where men hold power over others, we remind them that they are merely men," Volpe said.
"Where women are treated as things, we show them we are equals," Paola said.
"Where nobility are bigoted, we teach them the real nobility," Antonio said.
"Where people are owned, we reveal the freedom of choice," Teodora said.
"Where justice is ignored, we fight for what is right," Bartolomeo said.
"Where ignorance is prevalent, we imbue knowledge," Machiavelli said.
"We are Assassins," Mario said, nodding to Ezio.
Machiavelli stepped forward, his face intent. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember:"
"...Nothing is true," Ezio replied.
"Where other men are limited, by morality or law, remember:"
"...Everything is permitted."
"We work in the dark to serve the light," Mario said. "We are Assassins."
Bartolomeo pulled a brazier out of the fire, its end red hot, smoking slightly. Mario took Ezio's arm. "It is time Ezio," he said softly. "In this modern age, we may not be as literal as our ancestors. I know Altair spoke of the commitment of removing a finger, but our seal is no less permanent. Are you ready to join us?"
Ezio closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. His father's face filled his mind, clearer than it had been in years, and he was smiling; soft and proud, and his lips were moving. Ezio knew what he was saying, and he knew deep in his bones what his answer was, and he knew - at last - what the end of his journey was. It wasn't about the death of Borgia, it wasn't about avenging his family; it was about becoming a man, and learning from his father's letters, from Altair's Codex, from Mario's training and everyone supporting him over the years, all of it had led him up to this moment. It was about understanding his family, and it was bout finally joining it. It was about finally becoming what he had always admired in his father - even if he didn't recognize it. It was about becoming an Assassin.
Was he ready?
"I am."
He had never been more ready in his life.
"Hold out your left hand," Mario ordered, and Ezio did so without hesitation, watching as Bartolomeo brought the brazier closer.
"This only hurts for a while, brother," Antonio said, reassuring, "Like so many things."
Bartolomeo pressed the brazier on his finger, and the burning sensation was terrible, he couldn't stop the wince that creased his face, and like a waft of smoke he wondered if Altair losing his finger had it worse than this. The hot iron was quickly removed, and Paola just as quickly dumped Ezio's hand in a basin of water, the cool liquid serving to burn his finger even more. Teodora touched his shoulder in support, and Ezio realized her finger was scarred just as his would be, and a glance showed that Paola had one too, as did Antonio, and undoubtedly the others, though they wore gloves. Why had he never noticed...?
As one, everyone circled around Ezio, and said:
"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
The moment hung, heavy in the air.
"Benvenuto, Ezio," Machiavelli said. "You are one of us now. Come! We have much to do."
And with that, he hopped lightly onto the beam sticking out of the campanile and leapt off of it, plunging down to the ground.
Ezio blinked, Antonio looking out over the edge before nodding, and leaping himself, followed by Bartolomeo and even Paola and Teodora. He looked to his Uncle.
"The Leap of Faith," Mario said, grabbing Ezio's good shoulder. "It is the last ceremony of the Assassin: the ultimate proof of his faith in the Order, his faith in himself, and his faith in his brothers. It does much more than help a running man escape."
And he took the leap himself.
Ezio was alone now, the fire down to embers. He could see nothing below him; he had no idea what awaited him.
And yet... he did.
He stood on that beam, looking down to the darkness, thinking.
And he smiled.
"Father... Thank you."
And he leapt.
The wind rushed through his hood, roaring in his ears; he felt like an eagle in midair, and he knew that he could die in this moment an be utterly content, and that certainty was encased in the sweet scent of fresh hay as he landed into the cart that had been set up below.
He was content, because he was an Assassin.
He had joined the ranks of his teachers, and of his father.
And he had finally learned what came after the deaths of his family.
Resolution.
"Tu sei un Auditore. Sei un combattente. Percio combattente!"
Desmond startled, his finger was burning, and he sucked in a deep breath, suddenly disoriented with the bright lights of the loft compared to the dead of night of the ceremony.
Lucy was at his side in an instant. "Are you okay?" she asked, eyeing him as he worried his finger, spinning his hand around, trying to find the burn scar. "Do you want to stop?"
Stop? Stop that feeling?
"No!" Desmond said quickly, sucking in a deep breath. "I need to go back, right now."
"Look at that," Shaun said from his corner. "Enthusiasm. He might make a professional yet."
But Desmond was already closing his eyes, willing himself back into the Animus, to Venice in 1488, to that night and Ezio, to that feeling, that feeling, the one he had wanted all his life...
The white load screen appeared, and Desmond walked around a little in his Ezio avatar, energy making him fidgety. "Can we replay memories?" he asked suddenly, the thought occurring to him. "I'd love to relive that over and over."
"What, Ezio's initiation?" Rebecca asked.
"Hell yeah."
"You'll get initiated yourself, though, so why bother?"
Desmond shook his head, unable to put it into words, not wanting to put it in words. Rebecca didn't understand, she'd been an assassin all her life - or at least it seemed like it. Shaun joined up out of necessity, he wondered if even Lucy could understand why he wanted that again, and he just kept pacing about, pulling out his sword and swinging it experimentally. His form had improved with all of his training in the Animus, but he didn't think he was anything like Ezio yet.
"O-Oh. Oh, dear." Shaun's voice was low.
"Shaun?" Lucy asked.
"Of course. How could I have forgotten?"
"You wanna share with the rest of us?" Desmond asked, still pacing and swinging and practicing in the load screen.
"Rodrigo Borgia is elected Pope in 1492. Which means Ezio's greatest enemy is now also the most powerful man in Italy."
God that guy had his share of problems... Desmond shrugged his shoulders, opting for sarcasm. "Always wanted to visit the Vatican..."
There was a very long pause from everyone in the loft, before Shaun quipped right back.
"Well you're luck's in, Desmond. Happy days. 'Cause that's exactly where you're going."
"Great. Then what's taking so long?" Desmond asked, pulling his hood down and looking up. "I thought 'baby' was a zillion times better than that crap table at Abstergo?"
"It should be loading..." Rebecca's voice answered. "It should be loading. Hang on, let me open up the debug. Protocols are up to date, synchronization is optimal, no... aw, shiiiiiiiiit."
"What?" Lucy asked. "What is it?"
"It's the files," Rebecca explained, and the white room faded away, pulling Desmond back to the loft. "Some of them are corrupted. I'm gonna have to go through them - without Desmond plugged in - and see why they're being flagged. It may be a failsafe of the Abstergo memory core, and I don't want to have some kind of virus or something explode in Baby while people are attached. First I have to back up all the files we've generated, except some of them are corrupted too, and I don't know why, and that's a whole other problem and..." Her technobabble continued as she detached Desmond, already opening up a panel behind the orange cushions he had just been sitting in and examining circuitry, muttering about hardware not being a problem but checking just in case before swinging her computer screen around and opening up a diagnostic window.
Lucy, Shaun, and Desmond all looked at each other, surprised that their day had suddenly shut down like that. Desmond, for his part, felt like cursing, and his toes curled in his sneakers before muttering, "I'm going for a run," and slipping out of the loft and down to the warehouse.
He ran every line, every course, every combination he could think of in the warehouse. He leapt from metal scaffolding to hanging beams, testing his weight on light fixtures and barreling off crates to catwalks. He missed the innate grace his body had acquired, but he did notice the ease of his run, and that made him push himself harder, wanting to burn off the excess frustration. He wanted to go back, but even as he realized why, he hated himself for it, and that made him push himself harder.
He was panting by the time he finished, the windows to the outside displaying a dark sky and a lot of light pollution.
"Are you okay?"
He spun around, a little startled, to find Lucy, a brown jacket wrapped around her shoulders.
"... Yeah," he said, sighing. "I guess."
Lucy's gaze narrowed, her focus increasing, before handing over a cup of coffee. "What's wrong?" she asked slowly. "Why did you want to go back so badly?"
Desmond frowned, sitting on a crate and pulling off his sweatshirt. He drew from his mug, ruminating, before he tried to construct an answer.
"... It's the first time I wanted to go back," he said slowly. "Have you been in the Animus?"
"No."
"I don't think the computers record everything," Desmond said. "I mean, they get the visuals, sure, and the dialogue, and all the nitty-gritty little details, but, there are some things in there that you just can't see. When I was Altair - God, was that just last week? - I could feel his mourning of Adha, some girl he knew in his apprenticeship that was kidnapped by the Templars and tortured to death. I kinda saw his dreams, and his thoughts of settling down with her. I could see all the love he had for Maria, too..."
"Maria? Who's Maria?"
"... especially that night in Acre when Sef was conceived - and god wasn't that fucked up..."
"Wait," Lucy said, holding up a hand. "Back up. Maria? Sef?"
... Right. That had been a dream. Desmond winced. "... Never mind," he said quickly, hoping to wave it off. "It's just... that kind of stuff is private. And it's the same thing with Ezio. I could feel every bit of pain he felt when he watched his family hang, and I can still feel the weight of the shovel when he and Cristina buried them. It's... it's private, and I feel like I'm intruding. It's even worse because it affects me, too. I'm feeling it even though it's not me. It's why I freak out whenever Ezio decides to whore himself out. Ezio's getting the erection, but I'm getting it too, whether I think the chick is hot or not, and I shouldn't. I'm not a prude, like Shaun thinks, it's just too freakin' weird." He sucked in another breath. "The word 'reliving' doesn't even begin to cover it, you know? And it's all so private, some of it, stuff you don't talk about, but now I'm sharing in it and I feel like some shit-faced voyeur-stalker or something. But that... that night... it was the first time I felt..."
He trailed off, having run out of words.
Lucy looked at him, her face carefully blank; and she reached out and put her hand on his knee. His heart fluttered.
"What did you feel?"
"... It was the first time I felt... I felt like I belonged," Desmond said, helpless to find a better description. "Ezio... he has a new family now, and it doesn't replace his dad or his brothers, but he feels like he belongs now, like he doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he isn't alone anymore. And I've wanted that, I've wanted that feeling for years. It's why I ran away from the farm. It's why I hated New York so much. I want..." He shrugged. "I want to feel that again. I want to 'relive' it."
"... You want to belong," Lucy said, her voice soft, wistful, almost sad.
"Yeah..."
The two sat together for a long time, both lost in their thoughts, Lucy's hand on Desmond's knee.
Author's Notes: Whew, what to say about this chapter...
In a way, this should have been the ending of AC2 rather than the last memory ten years later (we'll whine about THAT particular timeskip later...). This was the ultimate culmination of Ezio's training, and it's when he finally comes into his own. He is, at last, at Altair's level and education, and now we can believe that he will do the things he does in Brotherhood and become the centerpiece of the Golden Age of Assassins. No more whiny little kid mad at the world. Well mostly. It's one of the defining moments of his life.
Which is why it affects Desmond so much.
Having played Revelations and learning about Desmond's backstory, it made sense that this memory would probably make him a believer in the Animus. It's no longer about doing it to get things done, he's more receptive to reliving the memories no matter how much they creep him out and invade his privacy. It also opens him up to the Bleeding Effect more, because now he's not going to break synch so much, and in fact breaking synch will happen when he's out of the Animus. More on that in Brotherhood when we finally get around to writing it. (so many ideas... hard to keep track of them all...)
We also have a bonding moment with Lucy. Win!
We're actually going to take a small break from Ezio for a bit. Rebecca mentioned something about corrupted files, and that problem needs to be solved, first. We can all guess what that means.
Next chapter: Glyphs. Lots and lots of Glyphs. And the Truth.