Tazim had begun to tire of his fruitless days spent in the stable, tending to the horses. Although, at times, he found their company far more favorable than that of anyone one else. Lately, he began taking his book along with him to read each morning on his way there. Never tiring of it. He'd been grateful to find it among his belongings, having not realized he'd brought along his mother's book with him to Masyaf.
Not only his mothers' book, his fathers' as well. Whenever he had the spare time, the young man would find a nearby bench and begin reading once more. Occasionally, he found himself reading to the horses as well.
He'd come to think of the grand library the Master had in his possession, with an extensive amount of books and wished to thoroughly see it. The wisdom and knowledge it so surely must possess entranced Tazim's young mind. Nevertheless, it was unknown to him whether it was acceptable to venture into the fortress in search of the library and so Tazim had never troubled himself with it. That and he much preferred to avoid any of the other Assassin's after his encounter while with Basilio in the village.
The other's, at times, made him feel uneasy. Whether he acknowledged the emotion or not, Tazim had been angered.
He could instead buy a new book in the village if he ever needed one. And it made sense to him, going into the village to instead buy a new book that he could own. Although he certainly would miss out on the material within the books of the Order.
That afternoon, after he finished his work in the stable, Tazim took comfort underneath the shade of a tree not too far from the horses. He would need to wait for Basilio as they planned the day before. While he began his reading, he let his mind drift away. What would Zamir think of him now if he were to decide to ride into Masyaf that very moment? Such simple thoughts and yet Tazim reflected on them more often than not…
Yet there was one question on his mind he continued to nurture from time to time.
What would my father think of me?
His father, great and triumphant as Tazim would always imagine. His legacy, that which Tazim could only ever hope to amount to. Still, Tazim had yet to find answers. His father was not in the Masyaf castle, but soon he would find him.
He ran his tired hand along the brittle and soiled pages of his beloved book, remembering his mother's words. How his father had gifted his name in exchange for the text, the same book with which he would later teach Amani to read with. Tazim could only imagine them both, his father pressing the woman to read aloud to him as Amani had done with her own son years later. He reminisced pleasantly over the thought of his father and the stories he'd been given of the man.
"Stubborn…" Tazim mumbled to himself, closing his eyes and leaned his head back on the stone wall behind him, "He was stubborn… wise and capable."
His father was many things, Tazim knew. Proud. Sincere. Honest and good. Tazim imagined, his father as a young man, walking up the steep hill of the castle after a successful kill. The same he and countless others journeyed through each day to return to the fortress. His robes, the same of which Tazim now proudly wore. The halls of which he walked, graced with his aura. Tazim could only imagine his father in his youth.
He wondered what his father looked like in his own Assassin robes. Had he ever worked in the stable as well? What did his voice sound like as a young man? Did he ever train any of the new recruits? Was he prideful once graduating into a ranking Assassin?
Had he smiled?
Grazing his chin, the young man speculated quietly, the ghost of a smile on his lips, "A warrior..."
Cloaked in secrecy, Tazim thought, but wise beyond his years. At times, Tazim feared he overestimated his father's personality but soon brushed the thoughts away. He could only ever have positive things to take from his father, to display for him as well.
As Tazim continued his list of traits, a voice called out to him suddenly, "What is it that you are doing, child?"
He looked up, alarmed for a partial moment before relaxing once realizing who it was.
There stood Basilio, his ever so present grin plastered on his face. Like a child, his softened face seeming to oppose the rest of his body. His limbs, lanky and gaunt, awkwardly thin. His weight being more dramatically noticed because of his height, just barely taller than Tazim himself.
How he'd ever become an Assassin with such a meager physique, Tazim would never know.
"I am not a child, you are younger than I am," Tazim bit back, closing his book and stretching his muscles before standing. He felt the kiss of cold air hit his skin, realizing the darkness of night blanketing over them.
"Our heights beg to differ," The Spanish boy countered with a wave of his hand, "Come, we are late." He turned, his hands at his core, carrying something which Tazim could not yet identify.
Tazim was quick in hiding his book within a hidden crevice in the stable, he would be able to find it later. He rushed quickly to catch up to Basilio who suddenly felt the need to be hasty in his walk. "Where have you been?" he asked, unamused and quite honestly annoyed.
It was then that Tazim took distinct notice of the item in Basilio's grasp, covered lightly in cheesecloth. The younger boy held it carefully, not slowing down his pace in the least as they ventured into the village. His grin only seemed to become more prominent, "I've a treat for you."
Without slowing his pace, Basilio handed the item to Tazim who took it with no hesitation. He unwrapped the cloth, surprised with his findings, "Bread?"
"Three hours that took me!" the younger man pointed out, "You'll need strength. You are getting thinner than even myself."
Tazim nurtured the idea of a possible poisoning done by the Spaniard but his angered stomach was quick to destroy those thoughts. Hungrily, Tazim devoured the treat. He had not eaten since breakfast and had been awaiting Basilio longer than intended. Although irritated and angry, Tazim was gracious for his baked gift.
On their walk, Basilio explained the ways of those Tazim would meet. Why they trained in secret. Training was not entirely forbidden in the Order, the Spaniard made clear to him. But it was not commonly practiced either. The men had become lethargic under Abbas' rule, selfish and weary. They were lazy. Caring only to be named as Assassin's and hardly anything more.
"We must rise in rank evidently, of course," he'd made clear. The most prominent reason for training among the Order if not the sole reason.
Most who trained actively, those who Tazim would become familiar with, believed in the old ways of the Assassin's and were loyal to their true Master. They believed in the tales they told themselves, Altair would return one day and reclaim the Assassin's. Restore the pride and honor to the name. To the Order itself.
Basilio passionately believed in the tales of their previous Master. That he would one day return, that his supposed death was simply a false accusation. Although, his voice was hushed, afraid much like his mother's had been when gifting Tazim stories as a boy.
The Spaniard guided him, quietly, through the alleys of the village. Making sure they would not be followed, the two kept to the shadows of the homes around them, making use of what little illumination the moon offered that night. The stars above were their only witness to what wicked things they would venture out to accomplish.
They crept from within the village, escaping the borders of the city through a well found cavity Basilio steered him through. One of which was hidden efficiently among the city's walls, behind a deserted home.
For the next few minutes, Basilio was silent, which thoroughly surprised Tazim. His praise for Altair and his obscure faith in their loyal brothers had reduced to a mere mumble of his lips. Basilio looked to the sky, he ambled through tall grass, turned after arriving at a certain tree or at times stopped altogether, hushing Tazim before continuing their walk once more.
At last, they reached a defoliated area. A nook, cozily settled among soft grass and shrubs with boulders of varying sizes serving as a rough barrier around them. Hidden from the view of any who did not already know of its location. Settled comfortably besides a soft flowing creek nearby. A fire was set, enough to shed a faint light on the area yet small enough to not attract attention.
Tazim took notice the men already gathered. They were engaged in their training, not at all taking notice the two boys having just arrived. Those who did not wear their cowl, Tazim realized, were among his own age. He counted at least twelve, most wearing the gray sleeves of a ranking novice and the rest displaying their deadly white.
Each had busied himself one way or another. A trio on one end took turns, flinging throwing knives into a dummy made of wood. Beside them, another man busied himself with a novice, sparring with their swords as did two other Assassins nearby. To his left, toward the creek, others busied themselves, either men sharpening their blades or practicing in disarming one another with varying techniques.
Tazim had not noticed the pair of eyes that so sharply detected their presence.
"A new recruit?" a voice mocked from behind them. Tazim and Basilio turned, noticing a boy now nearing them with a hint of eagerness in his raspy voice. His boisterous words had caught the attention of some of the other men, surely having been done so purposely.
Although wearing his cowl, Tazim could notice the dirt and grime covering the stranger's cheeks, now irritated from an attempt of being wiped clean beforehand. His overall demeanor made Tazim's nose wrinkle in disgust. He didn't seem much older than Tazim himself, his gray sleeves were torn from one arm and the other seemed to have been burnt.
Basilio was quick with his words, boldly facing the other boy. Annoyed for having even been spoken to, his attitude more prominent than before. "No, a stray cat." he swiftly answered, a light growl in his words, "Why else would I bring him in, Tarek?"
Tazim's entire face soured, his eyebrows furrowed all the while he took in not only the boy before them but his surroundings as well. The only sounds now being the stern mumbles between the few men, and the gentle motion of the creek not too far from them. Some had abandoned their training entirely, having heard Tarek's loud reprimand and finding the new recruit to be far more intriguing.
"You understand the consequence of taking such actions among us, do you not?" The boy lectured, ignoring the previous insult.
"Death."
"Dishonorable death." he nodded, his eye's challenging Basilio. If any of them were to be caught, the punishment would be severe.
If he was uncomfortable or intimidated, Basilio showed none of it. His own replies came out fluidly, his tongue spitting out poisonous words, "Only if my recruit happens to be a traitor. Does he look like a traitor to you?"
"No. But yourself on the other hand..."
Basilio's demeanor became rigid, his eyes angry and annoyed. His lips curled in disgust. "Infant. All you are is an infant," he spat out, "A child dressed in a man's armor much too large for him."
The other boy held his chin up, a smirk hidden within the shadows of his face. He threatened the Spanish boy, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone,"Zamir should teach you manners when he returns."
The younger teen scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, "He is not my father."
"You almost had me fooled. You've always followed him like a lost pup."
Basilio's voice rose, he was eager to state his business with them that night and Tarek was pestering him, "Will my recruit be given the chance to fight or will you keep spitting out mockeries? Hmm? Afraid he will best you in combat, Tarek?"
At his words, Tazim stepped forward, standing at his companion's side. This crude boy was coming in between him and his training. No one else seemed to want to interrupt, instead finding the ordeal interesting and amusing. Tarek smelt of burnt hay, a dreadful scent to Tazim's nose. He eye'd Tazim primitively, his glare deepening as he judged the novice leveled boy.
"Afraid for his own well being perhaps. Does he have what it takes?" Tarek challenged, a mischievous grin tugging at his dry lips.
He did not fully like the fact that Basilio was speaking for him. Tazim could defend and speak for himself just fine. Before the Spanish boy was able to utter a word, Tazim cut in, stepping forward, "Let me show you."
Tarek studied the new recruit. His dark eyes becoming more sinister yet Tazim did not falter. He refused to be pushed around by this boy, one of which claimed to be a loyalist to Altair as much as the others. His voice annoyed Tazim, deep and feigning authority.
"Rafi will take the first spar," The boy called out roughly after a moment, "Rafael!"
Out from within the group of men scattered about, a young boy appeared. The same who had been sparring with another as Basilio and Tazim had arrived. No older than fifteen, his ruffled hair filled with sweat and his eyes both wide and curious as he trotted toward them. He was lively, not wanting to misuse any moment in training.
An older Assassin had approved their match, one of which kept watch over most of the men. His task primarily being to bandage any wounds or stand guard among the border of their training grounds. He cared little for their childish brawls and insults, it tired him further. After giving confirmation, he turned to rest under a tree while the others had their fun. He would observe from afar.
Tarek and Basilio urged and pressed the rowdy men to make space for the two combatants before them. Basilio had done so little as to whisper a soft 'Be nimble' to Tazim before joining the crowd surrounding him and the younger novice.
Swordsmanship was his first trial, it seemed.
They'd each been given a wooden sword, much to Tazim's relief. The young Rafael had sheepishly given one to Tazim and quickly returned with another for himself. The other few men around them seemed more disappointed, hoping for a more amusing sense of entertainment that night.
They wanted bloodshed, Tazim surmised.
"Whenever you are ready," called the older Assassin from his resting place, well hidden behind the others.
The men waited in anticipation, most mumbling or speaking to one another, speculating how the match would develop.
Tazim was first to attack, much like he had been during his brawl with Zamir. He ran, his arms held high as he brought his sword down on his opponent. Rafi was able to easily deflect, his sword moving fluidly and stepped to the side. Again, Tazim turned and swung horizontally now. Yet just the same, he was met with the wood of Rafi's own weapon before being propelled away from his competitor with a heavy amount of force that dazed him.
Rafi may have been younger than Tazim but in truth, he was more experienced, having trained with the Assassin's from a young age. Tazim had only ever trained by himself, or at times with Rahim, being lectured by his uncle passively. The novice knew this practice well.
Rafi studied his movements, stepping aside slowly like a lion watching its prey. With found determination, he attacked, swinging his wooden sword which Tazim hastily, yet anxiously, deflected with his own weapon. The tip of the wooden sword's blade grazed his shoulder and he was thankful it was not a real blade. Tazim mentally cursed to himself, this boy was far more capable than his shy demeanor led him to believe.
Tazim's gaze fell upon a few of the Assassins, some nodding in approval and others waving their hands in dismissal. Basilio, ever so eager with Tarek at his side, both boy's with their fists clenched tightly.
Not a moment to catch his bearings and Rafi was abruptly upon him once more, charging with all his might. The crowd of Assassin's roared out with enthusiastic shouts and cheers over the exciting brawl before them. Within an instant, Rafi had swung hard, hurling Tazim's sword out of his hands before turning and kicking him, knocking the older boy to the ground with a grunt of force.
"¡Levántate! Defend, Tazim!" Basilio's voice rang out.
Rafi's sword pummeled down on Tazim who rolled to one side and then quickly to another. His weapon had been knocked far away from him, he had to act fast. Basilio's shouts filled his ears and Tazim urged himself for a solution.
Without a second thought, he spotted an opening and was able to kick Rafi's ankle with much precision and force. Rafi bounded backwards, stumbling yet forcing himself to stay on his feet. Tazim took the chance to hastily stand, his hand grasping a mix of dirt and sand and hurling it toward his opponent's face, although mildly unintentionally.
The sounds of the Assassin's kept him lively, their cheers and claps as well as their disapproving reprimands. Tarek yelled out, anger filling his lungs as he did not like Tazim's tactics. Surely the kick to Rafi's ankle and the prideless thrust of dirt, "Mutt! That is unfair!"
"Life is unfair!" Basilio answered quickly, "His leg was not broken."
It seemed their sparring match had ended quickly as both boys collected themselves. Each one nursing a different wound. Rafi rubbed at his eyes, cleaning the filth from his face. He did not appear to have severely hurt his leg. He began to soon pace about in circles and dispersing the pain in his ankle but kept his gaze lowered.
Tazim held a hand to his stomach, doing his best to level his breathing. His coughs for air not at all hidden from the others. He felt sick. His head throbbed and his ribs hurt unlike anything he had ever experienced.
After a few moments, Rafi came to check on him, a meager look on his reddened face, "My apologies. You are not seriously hurt, are you?"
"Of course not." Tazim forced out with a groan, attempting to stand straight.
Basilio came to his side briskly. He brushed Tazim off, offering his help entirely. Tazim disliked it. He was no child and he had not been gravely injured. "Mind your balance, Tazim." The Spanish boy commented. His attention then turned to the other boy, scolding him, "Rafi, dance about, it is practice is it not?"
The younger boy apologized timidly, nodding his head in acknowledgment to Basilio. He excused himself and soon went to join the other men in discussion. Tarek yelled to them from afar but considerately left Basilio to speak with his recruit.
"Are you alright?" he asked as soon as Rafi was out of earshot, his eyes narrowed on the few visible scratches covering his recruits' face.
Tazim nodded, not wanting to seem defeated. He refused to seem weak, "I am alive."
"Good. You must keep your knees bent, Tazim, and your guard up. Rafi is no swordsman." Basilio reassured with a kind grasp of his shoulder.
"That I can believe." Rafi had been a brute. He had no brain in Tazim's opinion. He gave one last deep breath before standing to his full height, shaking the dizziness from his sight and ignoring the nausea in his stomach.
Even from afar, Tazim took notice the angry, burnt smelling boy coming their way. "Be rid of that childish tool, Novice," Tarek scolded, grabbing both wooden swords from the ground and tossing them roughly aside, "A man is only as strong as his fists and his wits." He would be the one to show Tazim how ruthless their ways could be. Judging by his glare, the older boy would not be as merciful to him as Rafi had been prior.
The men once more stepped back. Farther back this time than before. Some crossed their arms, a fragile grin on their faces while others removed their hoods entirely to better their sight of the duel. It did not worry Tazim at the time. He blocked out all doubt and fear. This boy would not frighten him so easily.
Tazim was his fathers' son, he would not give in to intimidation.
The two awaited for their brawl to be initiated, watching one another in careful inspection. Basilio had little trouble in keeping the other men at bay. They knew what Tazim had only surmised so far. His opponent was far too headstrong and much too prideful for his own good.
"You must understand what it is like to be hurt," Tarek lectured as he eyed Tazim dangerously.
Basilio called out the start of the match, the others leaning in expectantly. It was Tarek who launched himself into the fight. Tazim held up his fists, one farther out than the other but it helped him very little as his opponent neared and immediately kicked him across his abdomen, driving him backwards. His already wounded torso ached with far more pain.
The gathered men winced and Basilio called out, incoherent words to Tazim's ears. He coughed and spit to the side, gathering himself and standing quickly although his vision blurred. The silhouette in his vision grew larger, growling and Tazim brought his fists up once more in defense.
As Tazim had previously believed, Tarek showed no compassion as their sparring match went on. Tazim had little to no chance in besting him, he knew that much. But he had learned from the way Rafi had calculated his own movements. He too must take care and study his partners' actions. Tarek was a boy and nothing more. He was human, no more special than Tazim himself.
He could hear the chants from Basilio behind him and Tazim rushed forward, meeting his opponent and letting his fist drive straight to the other boys' cheek. Tarek had been stunned for a few seconds though his own fist had landed on Tazim's nose, earning a sudden crack from the hit and warm blood gushed from his nostrils.
"Defend! Arms up!" he heard Basilio's voice from afar.
Tazim's eyes watered, unable to compose himself so hastily, he instinctively let his fists hit whatever they could. He felt the weight of Tarek's shoulder on his own and all Tazim could do was grab hold, hoping his other fist met swiftly with the boy's ribs.
Tarek grew annoyed, grasping Tazim and pushing him apart from himself. The strength in such momentum sent Tazim bounding backwards to the crowd's feet. His opponent trudged forward, his stomping grew heavy, attempting to startle the younger boy.
Before Tarek could trample him any further, Tazim rolled forward, trying his best to avoid getting struck. From behind him, he could hear a few of the other men mocking his ways of defense as the young boy continued to recoil and evade Tarek's stomps to the dirt.
"Use your weapon!" Basilio cried out, frustrated to no end.
Tazim rolled to the side once more, doing his best to avoid Tarek at all costs. With the men chanting out and Basilio ordering him around, the young man grew increasingly more anxious and outraged.
"There is no weapon!" he called out angrily, his voice nearly breaking.
"Your fists! Be nimble! On your feet, Tazim!"
Yet he had not been nimble enough. Tarek had grasped his leg, dragging Tazim backward. Tazim's legs thought before he had and kicked his opponent straight across his jaw, giving him enough chance to stand and wipe his own bloodied nose.
The solid kick to his jaw was enough to anger Tarek who grabbed Tazim's arm, pulling him back to their fight, his fist in turn landing harshly on his cheekbone. Tazim felt himself recoil from the hit, bending downward when Tarek's knee then rose swiftly, slamming right into his chest and sent him bounding backwards.
He felt the solid ground underneath him, his head throbbed painfully and Tazim felt the sudden burden of death. Such a dishonorable way for him to be dispatched from the world. Tarek's weight was suddenly upon him, all Tazim could do was hold his arms over his face in hopes of not being disfigured by his opponent as the boy pounced and rained blow after blow down on him.
"Enough!" Basilio declared at last, jumping down from his perched position among the boulders. He pushed his way through the group of men as they did nothing to stop the animalistic behavior before them, only wincing and observing with pity in their eyes.
Tarek's hits ceased long enough for him to glance upward. He removed himself from atop Tazim, resting on his heels instead. "The mutt has decided to join!" he bellowed with a point of his finger.
"I said enough." the other boy demanded in a low growl, "We will not have you murder my recruit."
The other men had the decency to step away from the devoid area that served as their makeshift ring. Few cast their glances, their eyes hidden within the shadows of their cowls. Tarek brushed the filth from his robes and stood, casting a dangerous glance toward Basilio before making his leave amongst the others.
"You fought honorably," the Spaniard comforted, helping Tazim to his feet and dusting him off. He ignored the obvious swelling on the others' cheekbone and his blood stained face.
Coughing, Tazim's voice roughened with defeat, "I was terrible."
"Yes- Yes, you were."
Tazim had traveled from home to find something. To make his father proud, the single ideal that kept him going. And yet there he was, getting beaten to a bloody pulp only days after having been recruited. How could he ever possibly think his father would become proud of him now?
Basilio was at least kind enough to rid Tazim of his dreaded anxiety amongst the others. Bringing him to the far end of the creek, away from the men in order to soothe and tend to his injuries. The elder Assassin, their healer, had been excused by Basilio previously over the matters of the young man's wounds. Tazim was thankful, he did not wish for the others to see him in such a weakened state and was sure the Spanish boy knew it as well.
There was little they could do over his tattered and destroyed robes until they returned to the castle. All the while Basilio cleaned his more minor cuts, Tazim took notice the pained expression on his face. Bitter anger in such innocent eyes. He seemed almost as destroyed as Tazim felt.
The Spanish boy finally spoke, having gently wiped away the remaining blood with a wet cloth and began with applying an salve, "I should have warned you. I apologize."
Tazim felt yet another prick within himself. A sense of respect for his newly found friend and not solely because of Basilio's 'ill-blood'. It was not respect out of pity toward the Spanish boy. Basilio treated him no differently than Tazim would have treated anyone in his position. If anything, Basilio treated him as though Tazim were his most delicately prized friend. His only friend, a fact Tazim knew fairly well but spoke nothing of.
"Nonsense." Tazim answered easily, his mouth tasted like copper and the salve smelled terrible. He struggled in sitting upright with the pain from his abdomen but pushed through the sensation. His father would not have raised a coward.
Basilio shook his head earnestly, "A warning may have aided you."
"It would not have made me any faster nor any stronger." Tazim cut him off quickly. He would have still been defeated anyway, a warning would have not changed that. A warning would not have suddenly gifted him with the skills of an excellent fighter nor the speed of an experienced Assassin. He had been defeated, a fact Tazim would accept and learn from.
Though his friend was not easily convinced. Nor did he easily feel unburdened of the blame that was Tazim's injured face and spirit. He hid it well, Basilio knew, his tattered spirit blending well behind the pride in his broken voice. Basilio had very little to offer but knew just the way to redeem himself.
"I can teach you how to fight. You will learn here, of course, but-" he took a moment to think over his words, a rare occurrence for the young boy, "But I can offer you individual guidance as well."
That was enough to make Tazim smile in content, tugging at the bruise having formed on the corner of his lips, "Thank you."
Basilio kept his head bent slightly, doing his best to hide the grin from his face. He continued rubbing the salve on Tazim's wounds and the young man's thoughts resurfaced from the few days prior. A certain question he had been waiting to ask Basilio. Their private time together, away from the eyes and ears of the other men was an advantage Tazim would not shy away from.
"You've said before, traitors were put to death." Tazim began to say, his gaze turning to Basilio, "Were they buried?"
Basilio nodded, discarding the bloodied bandages and cloth Tazim had stained. He gave a deep breath, ready for the discussion soon to be had. "By those still loyal at the time, yes. Before they themselves were put to death and discarded. A final act of respect and loyalty to the very death."
"Where?"
"Beyond the hill." he took his time with the bandages. His hands were careful, rolling each unused piece and making a pile of the soiled ones. Tazim himself seemed more relaxed from his injuries and stimulated into their conversation. "The true master's wife, youngest son, and second in command. His burial was the most... unpleasant."
"Why is that?" Tazim's voice was precise and gentle. He knew exactly who Basilio spoke of.
"You don't know?" He looked up from the rolled cloths in his lap, lips parted. In such a light, Tazim could think his brother to be beautiful almost. His Spanish heritage overpowering his boyish features, "Malik... second in command. Close friend. Brother. He was imprisoned for two years, beheaded soon after. That is to put it most simply."
Tazim swallowed hard. He felt the heat gathering around his neck, the sweat collecting within his palms. The heavy weight being brought down upon his chest. He froze. Feeling unnerved, having his entire soul ripped from inside his rigid body.
Dread filled his entire being.
He forced out his words, a faint breath escaping his lips, "The bastard..."
No matter how hard he pushed it down. Tazim could not rid himself of the dreaded feeling in his gut. He wanted to cry. He was angry. He was miserable. His eyes were tainted with the tears he had yet to shed.
"No death is kind, Tazim." Basilio responded soon enough, "The tragedy is only the story behind their deaths. All under the order of the fool in the tower at this very moment."
Basilio had finally set aside the bandages and soiled rags. His being radiated a calming energy, his voice working in only enhancing such sensation. The Spanish boy spoke angrily yet the strength behind his voice felt appeasing to Tazim's ears as the dreaded pain lingered in his chest.
"How were the other's killed?" Tazim felt uneasy to even utter their names. He pushed through the sudden anxiousness in his belly, the cold sweat of his palms and forehead.
"As he slept, Sef was awoken by a blade. He was told his death was ordered by his own father." Basilio explained with the bitterness rising in his softened voice.
"They lied to him." Tazim accused.
"Malik was then imprisoned, blamed for the death of the masters youngest son." The anger in his voice, although passionate, came out from Basilio's mouth in a soothing manner to Tazim's ears. As though the young boy were physically incapable of expressing any violent rage no matter how hard he tried.
"But he returned. Altair, I mean. Confronted Abbas." Tazim recalled the stories they all grew familiar with. The stories he was given as a child by his mother. Perhaps even the same stories of which the other men were told by loyal Assassin's before them.
The Spanish boy nodded solemnly, "At what cost? His wife, a great fighter. But their story is for a different day."
Basilio gathered his things, the bandages both soiled and clean as well as the few discarded pieces of clothing Tazim had removed. Looking back to their small camp, most men had retired while few others lingered either speaking with one another or continue their training.
"Come," the Spanish boy beckoned, "it is late. We should rest."
Tazim made no attempt at standing up. He kept his hands together for warmth and decided he would not return to the fortress just yet. He had many questions on his mind and the answers had at last been presented. "Go ahead, I'll only be a moment."
Basilio was respectful in his leaving, assuming Tazim would want time to himself. Time enough to process the information he was given as well as the experience from his lost spar matches. He bid his friend goodnight and was off, leaving Tazim to his own thoughts for the night.
The young man's gaze turned to the hill just beyond their encampment. Buried just beyond the hill. "So, that is where you lay hidden," Tazim found himself saying.
His father, so prideful and so honorable. So lifeless. Hopeless. Tazim felt it. The sudden weight dawned on him, the seriousness of his presence in the Masyaf fortress. The possibility of death had crossed his mind few times before, yet at that very moment did it set in at last.
It did not take him long to find his father. The hill of which he resided was a modest resting place for his father and the other's. Tazim paid his respects to the Master's son and wife, having first found their disheveled graves. At a distant, he eye'd the corner of a gravestone.
There was a patch of weeds before him although the area was mostly surrounded by dried dirt and pebbles. Tazim felt the ache within his chest begin to rise once more. He swallowed roughly, reaching down to pull the weeds from their place and tossing them away.
"Baba. I've arrived."
Merry Christmas! If there are any mistakes please blame my sleep deprived self because I am soooo tired. I just had to finish this chapter though as a christmas gift so here you go. Dudes, I could have been sleeping but nopes. One hour left of Christmas so let's make it count.
Questions and comments are appreciated please enjoy, Merry Christmas 2019 and have a good night or day, I am deceased!