Captain: VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR! May you look back on 2018 with fondness and lessons learned, and look forward to a bright and promising 2019! I know this chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but some important stuff happens, even if it doesn't seem like it at first! I know I left ya'll off on a bit of a cliffhanger last time, so I'll let you jump into it without further ado! Recommended listening for this chapter: Mad World, Jasmine Thompson Cover.
We're Only Human
Ground was eaten away at an alarming rate under the black stallion's hooves. Even as the distance from the road faded, Altair did not allow the horse to slow. They charged down narrow trails, up steep slopes that should have been impossible to scale, along precarious ledges, until they were far enough that even the dust cloud from the raiders could no longer be seen.
Emma had not relinquished her grip on the assassin as the horse twisted and turned down non-existent trails, and felt her heart drop to her gut at the views of certain death should the horse stumble. As they charged down a hill, the animal sliding more than moving his legs at this point, Emma closed her eyes and pressed her face into the assassin's back. Roller coasters were less nauseating than this, and she had more faith in forty-year-old safety straps than she did her own balance.
Once they reached the bottom and their path flattened, the pace began to slow. The cop didn't know if it was the assassin or exhaustion bringing the reduction in speed, but she was grateful for it nonetheless.
At least maybe now his driving wouldn't be what killed her.
She slid off as the animal came to a slow walk, needing the ground under her feet no matter what Altair thought. She'd ridden only a handful of times, and never on such terrain. To say she was a bit shaken would be an understatement. Even if it was just for a minute, she needed unmoving dirt under her boots to get her breathing and bearings straight. Her heart hammered in her ears, attesting to the adrenaline that was still coursing through her system. She would take a high-speed chase on a crowded interstate any day over doing that again.
"Care to tell me what that was about?" She panted, relieved that instead of demanding she get back on, Altair dismounted as well.
While she was fairly sure he'd mentioned the raiders before, it'd been in the same breath as the soldiers of the warring nations. Nothing had been indicated that the Mongols were somehow a worse threat. And yet, she doubted such a response would have been drawn from Saracen or English soldiers.
He was focusing on the way they had come, though she thought the idea of anyone following them utterly absurd. No one had seen them leave the road, and even looking back at the path she knew they had taken, she could see no sign of their passing.
"The raiders have caused chaos and destruction for years; we have pushed them back, protected the villages that we can. It has made them hate us greatly. Had we been sighted, they would have pursued until their horses dropped dead beneath them." He glanced at the panting horse beside them; they wouldn't have gotten far had it come to that.
Pulling the reins over the animal's head, he looped them once in his hand, turning away from the path they had come down. "Come, there is a village not far from here where we may take shelter until the road is safe to travel."
Emma did not argue or hesitate this time in following, easily falling into step beside the assassin. "Can we not just go around?"
It was rockier in this part of the world than when they had begun, with steep ridges and cliffs that cut across any easy trekking. Still, there was usually always a backdoor into places, wasn't there? At least Eliot always seemed sure every old structure had some sort of secret passage in and out. Would make sense to have anyway, with such raiders roaming about.
"There is only one way into Masyaf," Altair stated plainly, casting occasional glances behind them. The Mongol raiders had to be a very serious threat indeed, to cause someone like him to abandon his aloofness for vigilance.
"Hardly practical." While his hood cast a sharp shadow over his face, she was certain she saw a brow arch as he looked at her.
"Fewer paths create less opportunity for enemies to find us or catch us unaware." Right, made perfect sense. After all, these were the same people who built a two-story safehouse where the only door was a bloody skylight. She should have expected their home base to be equally designed.
"And yet traps you quite nicely should your enemies find you." She stated dryly, remembering their very first meeting. Altair had dropped through the roof and there was nowhere she could have escaped to had he intended anything worse than a little razor burn. Hell, even Helms Deep had the tunnel into the mountains as a last resort.
Altair tipped his head in what could have been mistaken as a concession to her point. Not much of a victory, but she would take it anyway. Perhaps he wasn't totally unreasonable. Maybe he'd been trapped like that once before, or maybe he'd done the trapping on one of his victims and knew how effective a single exit could be used against someone.
Smoke rose above the rocks ahead, the village was close. Their view was still blocked by the landscape, but it was a relief to know that it was just around the corner. While she'd managed to calm her breathing, her heart was taking longer to come down from the adrenaline of the run. When it finally did, she knew her body would compensate by demanding rest; a siesta under a real shelter sounded heavenly.
"So how far are we from Masyaf now?" She asked after a long moment of silence. Glancing to the stallion, she hoped it wasn't too far; her rear was rather sick of riding and the animal appeared rather sick of carrying them.
"An hour on horseback." His eyes flashed over the stallion. "On a fresh horse."
Probably two hours on the black then, hopefully no more than six miles. That was close. It was as much a relief as it served to twist her gut into knots. No matter how Malik had tried to reassure her, there was just no knowing what she would be walking into. Would their so-called Master really be able to help her? Would he want to? Or would he see her situation as an opportunity to learn of the future? What if she gave something away and he acted on it? What if something dramatic changed that would affect the outcomes of the future? A lot of terrible things happened throughout history, but she was fairly confident in believing the world had still turned out alright despite it. There were a lot worse fates that could be awaiting should she fuck up. Assuming, of course, that anything she did could change the course of the world. Gods above did she hate thinking about time travel. The mercenaries hunting them certainly didn't think too much about it, didn't care. How much had already been screwed up by injuring Altair and delaying his departure? What if there'd been someone he was supposed to help but had now missed the chance? Don't think about it, she chided herself, there was nothing she could do. She didn't know his past….err...future, she just had to mind what she gave away to their leader. Who she would be meeting by the end of the day, in just a few short hours.
"Then we can finally go our separate…...oh…..God." She stuttered to a halt as Altair did the same beside her, her words dying forgotten.
Laid out before them was the village and it was a smoldering ruin.
Black smoke rose lazily from the hot ashes of what were once homes, barns, and shops. Smashed and trampled belongings carelessly tossed about; fences broken into irreparable pieces. Entire lives, generations of memory consumed in flames that still crackled in places. The villagers themselves appeared to be gone. No, that wasn't right. Emma looked harder and found them, wishing she hadn't. Their bodies littered the street, charred beyond recognition and hardly distinguishable from the burned lumber.
"The raiders must have been here this morning." Altair breathed, his words strained and soft.
Not even the livestock had been spared, run down and butchered, left to rot. Their blood glimmered darkly in the dirt. A shadow crossed over, drawing her gaze upward. Vultures were gathering in numbers overhead; Emma didn't know how they had missed them before. Her feet moved of their own accord, taking her down the ruined street as she scanned for any sign of life. For anything that might indicate the destruction wasn't total and complete. Tattered clothing rustled in the breeze. Not a soul breathed. It was wrong that her steps should make the little noise that they did.
In what was once a doorway there lay a carved figure, half scorched but dimly recognizable. Emma crouched by it, slowly drew it from the ashes. It was a crude shape of a horse, worn smooth on the edges with nicks and scratches that indicated it had not been handled with much care. A toy. A child's toy.
She pressed a hand hard against her mouth to muffle the strangled sound that escaped as she realized the thin burned limb peeking out from beneath the rubble of the house was not a part of the building at all. It was the arm of a child. The child that had probably been playing with the toy horse that very morning.
A hand softly settled on her shoulder, squeezed. She didn't turn, couldn't look away from all that was left of a family. Bile rose sharply. Training had her forcing it back.
She'd come across terrible things working as an officer, thought she'd seen the utter worst of humanity. Children always made it harder. But never had it been anything like this, never an entire village. Slaughtered for sport and burned, their only crime making a life in the path of the raiders. Her hand cupped the child's. This wasn't criminal; this was beyond that.
"Emma." It was probably the first time he'd said her name, but she didn't turn to him, couldn't move from the child left like trash to the elements.
"We have to bury them." She barely choked out the words, tucking the toy into the child's hand.
"No."
"No?! We can't just leave them like this!" She lurched to her feet, whirling on him. How could he be so callous? How could he be so unaffected by this? How could any decent human being suggest to leave these people to the vultures? For once his hood was down and the look on his face stopped her short of verbalizing such thoughts. Pain, sorrow, fury; everything she felt was mirrored in his eyes.
"We can't leave them like this." She repeated, her voice cracking.
"We have to." Hatred crossed his features. Hatred for the raiders for doing this, hatred for himself for having to say such a thing. "We cannot stay here, they could circle back."
"Why would they? There's nothing left!" She gestured wildly to their surroundings, the call of the vultures getting louder.
His hands clasped onto her shoulders, his grip firm but not forceful. "Because that is what they do, Emma. They destroy and then they come back for anyone they might have missed or who could be trying to help. If we try to bury them and they come back, we will die. I am sorry, but we cannot stay."
He was using his hold to pull her back towards the horse who'd stayed rooted where Altair had dropped the reins. Emma didn't have the focus or will to fight him. "But we have to do something for them."
The vultures were coming lower; she would not regret using her ammunition to shoot them down.
Altair forced her to look at him, to meet his gaze. Regret was there, but so was anger and determination. "We will. We will tell Al Mualim of what happened here, and my brothers will hunt the raiders down. The Assassins will not stand for this."
It was a promise, a vow that the rabid dogs that had done this would be dealt with. She believed him and understood how much he wanted to do more, to be able to bury them. He wasn't heartless, he wasn't unbothered by this, but his duty was to keep them alive. They could help avenge no one if they were caught and killed before word could be brought to the leader.
Emma nodded. As much as she hated it, he was right. They had to leave. They were two against a small army. Fall back, get more fighters, then justice could be dispensed.
As the horse carried them away from the village, she couldn't stop herself from glancing back. The little toy stood out in stark contrast to the palm of the child that would never grow up.
'For you and all the children of Neverland, I will escort your killers to the gates of Hell.' She silently swore, turning to face the path ahead only when the rocks blocked her view.
Altair was looking at her, his hood still pulled down. After a moment, his lips parted, and his voice was soft. "Are you alright?"
She blinked slowly, meeting his gaze. "I will be."
When the Mongols paid, when they gave blood to make up for what they spilled, she would be alright.
She tilted her head slightly. "Are you alright?"
These were his people, after all, his world that he tried to make better in the only way he knew how. As terrible as it was for her to behold such cruelty, it was probably worse for him, knowing that it was not so rare and being unable to stop it.
He turned away with a short nod, echoing, "I will be."
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Present Day
"Sir?" Otto paused in his steps for the slightest moment to allow Marcus to catch up. The man's face was pinched, and he was carrying a tablet in his hands. Usually, that meant something of importance had appeared on the security cameras they had tapped into around the city.
"Are the Assassins moving?" It was getting increasingly more difficult to stay ahead of their enemy as they became more cautious. He sorely missed the days when they'd had a mole in their ranks.
Marcus shook his head. "Nothing on that front and the Harp men appear to be backing off as well."
Otto didn't buy it for a second. They weren't backing off, they were just planning their next move, no doubt with the help of the Assassins now. He was stuck between doubling his efforts to root out the rats and calling the Hunters back to protect the information and artifacts in the building. He'd settled with calling them back to the city, and sent them to prowling the streets.
"Then what is it?" He was in no mood for guessing games, and even less so for bad news.
Marcus shuffled as much as a man could while walking. "The memories we have been able to glean from Subject 17's blood have been corrupted to the point that they are no longer viewable or functional in the Animus."
"I know that," Otto growled. That was hardly anything new. Subject 17's blood memories had started fading the moment the man died, it was only a matter of time before they failed completely.
"When Vidic had Subject 17 in the Animus the first time, he recorded all of the footage from the sessions. It was then all put into storage once we had the map." Marcus hurried on, though Otto felt his little patience slipping.
"Do you have something useful to say, or are you just wasting my time?" He didn't bother to look at the other man anymore. Obviously, they didn't need to watch the footage from the Crusades, they'd taken enough images of the map of the Piece of Eden locations to not need to.
"The footage was stored on this tablet, which has been turned off and disconnected from everything in this building." He paused, pushing the tablet in front of Otto. He raised his brows at the impudence and hardly took note of the screen. "Even now, all I've done is turn it on and go through a few videos from the sessions. You need to see this."
Otto glanced down at the screen and tapped play. If this turned out to be insignificant, he was going to have the man removed from his post, permanently.
It was Altair, walking through the rich district of Jerusalem, judging by the date it was around the time he was going after Talal. Whether the man was dead already or not was unclear, but as the lattice framework of a roof came into view, it was evident he was heading to the Assassin Bureau.
He looked up from the tablet to level a hard stare at Marcus, but the man gestured for him to keep watching. There was nothing special, the picture was as clear as the older technology was capable of.
Altair dropped through the roof, took two steps, and the picture froze. It skipped forward a moment later, but only half the Bureau was clear. The rest was blurred. Voices, some words coming in clear, some garbled. He recognized the words that were spoken, enough to know that there shouldn't have been anything else said. But it seemed that there was, though it was impossible to tell what the words were or who it was even said to. Otto narrowed his eyes, taking in as many details as he could. Altair was center screen, and the Bureau leader stood in his dark robes in front of him, but neither were looking at each other. Instead, they were both looking at the same thing, at something that was hidden by the corrupted picture. Nonsense that came through as static but was probably words, neither of the men's lips had moved.
Someone else was there.
Someone who had not been there when Subject 17 relived the memory.
"Did you compare this to the written transcripts?" He tried skipping forward, to see if perhaps the corruption faded. It did not stay in one spot, it moved as if following someone.
"I did; the transcripts haven't changed. What you hear is all that was said when 17 was in the memory, and only two people were in the room. There's also no notes that anything was wrong with the recording or clarity of any part of the room." Marcus' brows were still pinched, but he looked less like a messenger waiting to be shot.
"Get me Byron."
Their so-called expert on time travel did not take long to start 'hmm'-ing repeatedly as he watched the video and looked over the transcripts. He flipped through several of the sessions, stopping only when the entire tablet froze as Altair left Jerusalem the second time.
"Ah." He hummed again, replaying earlier videos again easily. "Fascinating."
Otto barely suppressed an audible growl. "Well?"
"Well," Kevin Byron pulled his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose, his an expression of wonder. "It would appear we have our answer."
The next person who made Otto drag an answer out of them was going to hang from the roof by their toes.
"Time does not run in a straight line, it curves back on itself repeatedly, like a snake. It's how the machine worked in the first place; by charging the dark matter that keeps time separate from itself, it distorted the boundaries, allowing us to send someone through. But certain times are more easily accessible than others, depending on if they lie on a curve. It's why we can't go back any less than a year, the time right behind us is on the turn. I believe that is why it failed to send the woman back to Ezio's time." Kevin's eyes kept flashing back to the tablet, to the point where it stopped. Only Altair and his black horse were clear, all features of his environment so distorted as to be impossible to tell where he was. He was frozen, but Kevin noted with an odd glee that the timer on the bottom was still rolling.
"I know how my machine works, Mr. Byron." At least the tidbit about Ezio's era probably being on a curve was new, though not entirely helpful at this point.
Kevin continued on, utterly unaffected by Otto's hard stare. "The woman was sent back, what, a month and a half ago?"
"Something like that."
He spun the tablet back to Otto and pointed at the date. "Right now, right this second, this is the date for her and our men. You can't see any of the footage after this because it hasn't happened for them yet."
"But why is it affecting the Assassin's footage in the first place?" Otto frowned, an idea in his head already about why, which only raised his ire about how the assassin was still alive.
"My Theory of Time appears to be supported with this. Their time and ours are moving along together, but it is in our same universe, it is our history. We'll just have to wait for them to change things for it to change here. Assuming, of course, that they manage to change anything that severely." Kevin wiped his glasses on his shirt before returning them to his nose. "Why the change in the footage? Because something about those events has changed. Given the current evidence and lack of astounding variables, I can only assume the officer you sent back has met and is traveling with Altair. We can't see or hear her, or see anything else that she changes, because this footage was taken before she ever arrived."
"So the footage is useless then." Not that it had been of great value before, but now it was even less so, and Otto did so hate when things became useless. Worse yet, the Harp woman had found the assassin and somehow gotten him to help her. There wasn't a critical thing she could really do, but she could affect the efficiency of his men if she gave the assassin warning of what he was against. Just what was it about the Harp family that drew Assassins to them? It was infuriating.
"Not quite." Kevin interjected, motioning to the screen that had yet to move despite still ticking away. "We can actually use it to determine what doesn't get changed. If he still does something exactly the way he did it before, we should be able to see it when it happens. Given how it has frozen here, I believe he is still on his way to Masyaf, he was just delayed or took a different route with the woman with him. If he still has his conversation with Al Mualim on his arrival, we should see that. It is a way, I think, we can monitor if he lives."
Not all was lost then. It was certainly more promising than staring at Robert's journal and the Codex pages and waiting for new ink to appear.
"I want eyes on this at all times, and I want to know if anything changes." Otto looked to Marcus to make sure the man got the order loud and clear. He nodded in understanding, taking the tablet with him as he left.
"You know," Kevin leaned back in his seat, his tone easy and borderline uncaring. "there's a good chance all of this won't mean anything. We may be seeing changes now, but they're probably small, insignificant in the grand scheme of history. Anything bigger may be...prevented, or impossible. You built the machine to kill Assassins, but if you succeed, they won't be around to cause you to build the machine in the first place. A paradox is created. And we have no way of knowing what will come of us should history change. So far we remember what is ours, or we think we do anyway and can compare it to what's changing. If too much is changed, it could prevent key people from ever being born: Da Vinci, Louis, Washington, Hitler, you. Meddling with time could change the entire planet's history, and not always for the better. And how would we know it's changed if we don't even know how much we might remember?"
"If you were trying to imply something in all that nonsense, Byron, don't." Otto turned on his heel before the other man could try to continue.
This was going to work, and in the meantime, he had Assassins in this time to rid himself of.
Captain: So there we are with Chapter 11! Emma and Altair see a different side of each other and the raiders are up to no good, meanwhile, Otto gets some answers he doesn't like. What are the modern Assassins up to? And what will happen when our heroes reach Masyaf? Find out next time! Thanks for hanging with me folks and please drop a review to let me know you're still here and what parts you're enjoying!
