Malik ran home. He felt his heart race and his lungs burn within his chest. His leg stung from the fresh wound but the young man refused to give in. It was only a slight amount of pain so he ignored it. There could be worse wounds. He was sweating when he arrived home at last. Dropping down from a rooftop, he noticed the sun disappearing in the horizon. Malik made sure to hide his gifted throwing knife within his folded waistband of his trousers. His mother would not be glad to see him arrive so late as well as with a weapon.
Stepping into his home, he realized he was right.
Amani turned her head, wet tears having recently been wiped from her cheeks and new ones beginning to pool in once more. Individual strands of hair stuck to her forehead and damp cheeks. She sat at their kitchen table but quickly stood up, rushing to engulf Malik in a strong hug. Her voice rang heavy with emotion as Malik let her cry into his shoulder, he let his own hands fall upon her back.
"You idiot!" She hit her fist against his chest and sobbed.
Malik was unsure why it was that she was crying so much. She never worried as much as she did that night. He raised his head to see his cousins around their small kitchen. His uncle sat at their table, Rahim and Ilma stood on either side of his frame. Ilma's own eyes were red with stains of tears rolling down her filthy cheeks. She wiped her nose and took the seat his mother had left behind.
Rahim had his arms crossed, eyeing Malik dangerously, "We thought you were killed, you fool. I saw the Assassin run after you!"
Of course.
Malik had been an idiot. Rahim had only seen as he had started a fight with the guards and mere seconds later had an Assassin run after him after he'd disposed of those very same guards. It didn't help that the man had roughly been tossing Malik aside like a rag doll. And he had also been gone for the entirety of the afternoon. A cruel way to bring his family pain but he was home now. He was alive. And perhaps more alive than ever before.
His mother's sobs soon faded into light whimpers, glad that her son was home. She removed herself from his grasp and wiped her cheeks with her scarf. As she looked into her son's face she noticed his scratched cheek, bringing her soft hand up to it.
"Malik," she began quietly, "you are hurt."
Malik shook his head, he grabbed his mothers hand and brought it back down, "I am fine." He had much to explain to them all. Much of what he himself had decided on his return home. But first he must make them see things through his own eyes, he must try, it was only right, "The Assassin- he helped me."
Rahim growled. He shook his head in anger and pointed at Malik, "You were a witness to his killing! Assassin's help no one. Just look at your face."
His mother took a moment compose herself as well as she could. She fixed the scarf atop her head and wiped her face once again, a few light whimpers escaping her throat every now and again. Other than soft gasps and sniffles, she kept quiet and listened to what her son had to say for himself.
"Well, he helped me," Malik admitted in a single breath. He was unsure whether to mention what the Assassin had gifted him. Malik took a deep breath before making up his mind, better now than later, "He gave me... a gift."
At that, they all took notice as Malik slowly unfolded the throwing knife from within the waistband of his trousers. Malik gripped it tightly, the sharp edge glistening in the candle and firelight coming from the kitchen. Amani kept a hand over her mouth, sighing in disappointment, she took a step back.
Rahim shook his head, his voice loud and stern as he made his beliefs known, "Idiot, he means to kill you with it. You've been marked by death!"
"I'm meant to learn with it!" Malik contradicted, gripping the knife as his fists balled and went to his side immediately.
Amani finally spoke out, her gentle voice rising steadily, "No."
"Mother-"
"You get rid of that blade," she began, her tone serious with few strands of hair coming loose from her undone braid, "It has gone far enough with the Assassin's, Malik! I will not lose my only son to some ridiculous cause!" With that, she turned to go back to the kitchen, having made her desire known and presumed it would be followed. Malik still had yet to finish. He would be heard out by his family no matter what.
How dare they? Amani had gifted him with various stories of his father. Of the true Assassin ways of life and discipline. His own uncle had guided Malik's self training. And now that he crossed paths with the Assassin in the markets, Malik would not let his chance whither away. No, he quickly remembered his fight with the Assassin. He pursed his lips together. No, not Malik...
"Tazim," he let out. Malik kept his chin high, avoiding eye contact with his family.
No one seemed to answer. The air around them filled with confusion and fear. Amani peered her eyes over, turning ever so slightly to her son before looking back at Rahim and Ilma. His mother and cousin's all exchanging different glances before it was Ilma who dared to speak. Her soft, sweet voice coming gently into their chaos, "What?"
Malik cleared his throat. He would make sure they listened. He would not be tossed aside. His words would be heard, his plan would be come to realization with their blessing or not.
"I'm going to Masyaf as Tazim. I will find father myself, or answers to his absence. You once spoke proudly of the Assassin's, mother," he accused with a shake of his head, fingers still tightly grasping the throwing knife at his side.
Amani took a breath, she tangled her own fingers together in front of her, resting them underneath her stomach, "I was wrong to do so."
Oh, yes she was.
Rahim scoffed, making fun of his cousin's ridiculous choice, it was then that their attention was turned to him, "It's suicide. You'll return with your tail between your legs before a single day passes, Tazim."
He must be insane to go forth with such a goal in mind. It was one thing to say he would train and join their ranks while it was quite another to take action. They knew little of the Order aside from stories. Stories, not actual first hand experience at all. And most of those same stories were very much dated themselves.
"You have no horse," Ilma quickly added, her eyebrows furrowed. She knew Malik was capable of much but truly hoped he had no more tricks up his sleeve. He was a stubborn young man and once with a goal in mind, it was not easy to steer him away from it.
"Assassin's adapt." Malik bit back just as quickly.
"But you are no Assassin!" His mother cried, her hands now clutching her skirts and her face full of anger, "You do as you're told. I want that blade to be rid of."
Malik had never seen her in such a state before. It almost scared him just how full of rage she was in. Yet he kept his own emotions hidden as well as he could. They were all scared. For him or of him, Malik was unsure. That was when Malik noticed his uncle. He hadn't uttered a single word since the argument began. He stood from his seat, Ilma helping him up. He seemed older and more fragile than ever before as his trousers hung loosely from his body, quickly becoming frail with age.
"He is gone, Malik. If your father still walked the earth, he would be here. But he is not."
His words, although calm, were strict and inpatient. No, it could not be true. It was not true. No matter how much it pained him to hear such things, Malik refused to believe what he was being told.
Yet that was all it took for an anger and hurt unlike any other to rise in his chest. Malik felt tears prick at his eyes with such words being spoken aloud into the crisp night air. He did his best to keep his voice steady but was unsuccessful, feeling the knot rise within his throat, "You don't know that for sure. No one knows that!"
"Enough!" his uncle exclaimed, "You bring nothing but shame to this family. I will have no more of this."
Malik attempted to steady his breathing, light gasps of air passed through his trembling body. Was it anger? Fear? He could not say. He could no longer live with the thought that he didn't at least attempt in finding his father or the reason to his absence. Malik let his eye's hover from one family member to another. Ilma didn't dare look at him, she wiped her cheek and kept her head down while Rahim bit his lip and looked to the side. His own mother sighed, her face tired, could hardly look up into her sons face.
He pursed his lips, growling in a low voice, "I will not stand idly by wondering what could have been. If I die, your lack of support is what will have brought me to deaths door." Without another word, the young man turned and bounded out of his home.
His family could do very little. But there was one who would not let Malik fall to such a ruined path so easily.
It was Rahim who came out to follow him some few minutes later. The sound of his footsteps rang heavily among the quiet night of Jerusalem. His older cousin could only shake his head in disappointment as Malik sat on a ladder within the alley near their home. He always went there, into the alley to collect himself or have some time away from everyone else.
Malik didn't have the energy to look up, he flipped the throwing knife still in is grasp. Surveying its smooth surface and running his thumb along the edges, "You've come to mock me."
Comforting Malik was not something Rahim often did, if ever. They mostly fought, argued and annoyed one another. It was not unnatural for his cousin to come looking for Malik but it always came with a lesson or mockery.
"I've come to talk sense into you" Rahim answered, dark hair softly falling on his forehead, and knelt down, "Peace?"
"Peace?" Malik scoffed, he looked over to his elder, eyeing him up and down, "Since when do you ask for such a thing?"
His cousin ignored him. Of course he was a stubborn fool, very little would change. Rahim rolled his eyes. He took notice in the stain behind his knee. He suddenly found the wound Malik had acquired to be far more interesting, "There is blood on your leg."
"Dried blood. I fell."
"On a blade?" he teased.
"The guards," Malik corrected, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Rahim sighed heavily, running a hand through his unkempt hair, "Malik-"
"Tazim," he corrected.
He would not let it go so easily. It irritated Rahim beyond belief yet he kept his irritation at bay.
"Fine," he paused, "Tazim, you must leave such silly ideas behind," he sighed. Rahim kept his eyes to the ground and began to pace, "Grow up. You are no longer a child. You are searching for your father when in reality you are only searching for a ghost who no longer exists. This-" he gestured with his hands, "the Assassin's, you cannot truly believe-"
"Silly ideas?" Malik accused suddenly, "Rahim, you once use to train alongside me. We raced across rooftops together."
When they were children going into their teenage years. Rahim and Malik always challenging one another no matter the situation. Yet even the mention of such memories persuaded Rahim of nothing.
"I once bested you at each of those things as well," the elder cousin barked back, "You will not let this go will you?"
"No."
Rahim scoffed, "Then you are an ignorant fool. And you will die."
That was all he could say before spitting to the ground and leaving Malik alone once more with his thoughts. Malik fiddled with the blade in his grasp, turning it and watching the moonlight bounce from it's sharpened edge. It shouldn't come as a surprise that his family went against his beliefs and goal. Yet that didn't stop it from wounding him deeply.
His father must have answers to his absence. If not him then the Order itself. Malik needed the confirmation. He had to gain answers, see things with his very own eyes. He needed to make his father proud, live up to the name he had been given from birth.
An hour had passed and Malik had yet to move from his position, staying perched on the ladder with his blade in hand. Thinking of his day, basking in the freshness of the night, the young man sighed.
Malik could not stay home and do nothing when there was a world out there just for him. Answers to where his father had gone, why he was absent for so long. And perhaps, Malik needed only to prove himself so his father would at last return home to him and his mother. He had been given the Assassin's blessing. One solid chance which he could not let slip by. No. No, he refused to let his chance pass him by.
Malik would leave tonight.
Entering his home, everyone was now fast asleep. Thinking quickly, he used this time to his advantage. Malik securely cleansed and dressed his wound, ready for his legs to carry him to a new land. The young man packed a bag, filled it with a few apples as he thought of his mother fast asleep in their bedroom not far from the kitchen. He changed his clothing, ready for his journey and made his way to a chest hidden away in their kitchen.
Malik had always been so confident in himself and yet as he opened his uncles chest, taking in the sight of his sword, he'd never felt so uncertain. It all felt so wrong yet so right once he grasped the hilt and brought it out. A finely crafted sword, old and worn yet sturdy and deadly as ever. The young man sheathed it, grabbing his bag and stood up proudly.
It didn't hurt him as he left his home. It did not hurt to think he left behind his family. Malik stuck to the shadows, blending into the quiet of the night. Scaling the wall of the gates proved no difficulty to Malik. The fear of being caught is what made his palms slick with sweat. He ventured on, light on his feet and his arms never failing him as he made it into the vast empty land before him.
Malik's breath hitched, freezing in his place once realizing he was outside of Jerusalem. Hearing a passing guard, he quickly hid within the shadows. Malik felt his hands shake, whether from excitement or fear he couldn't be sure. It was then that he took notice in a lone horse hidden away. A red dun, just as the Assassin had spoken. With nothing but it's saddle, the horse had been waiting for him. The Assassin had made sure of it. The young man couldn't help but grin as he stepped over to the large animal.
"What a beauty you are," Malik chuckled to himself. He strapped his satchel onto the saddle and mounted the horse. At last he would be given his chance, he would make his way to Mayaf.
Let's be honest, this chapter was killing me and I finally finished it! I roughly edited it and may have missed a thing or two but so be it! Plus it's longer so that's good, right? Thank you readers and also a certain reader who with a kind congratulations pushed me to finally finish and post this chapter. Any thoughts or comments are greatly appreciated! Have an awesome day/night!