Tazim took a breath, the cool night air helped clear his crowded mind. What could he possibly say to his father? The man who had been a legend in his eyes all throughout his young life. The man of which Tazim was gifted stories of as a boy. The very same man that Tazim idolized, whom he ventured far from home for and wanted to prove himself to.
The same man who Tazim carried within.
He must be careful with his words. The young man bent down thoughtfully, clearing the grave of any scattered weeds or misplaced stone. The few dried leaves and unwanted pebbles were tossed away. His father's grave, untouched for far too many years, brought a level of pleasurable comfort to Tazim.
The answer of his absence had always so plainly presented itself before him. Tazim had rejected it, he had been rejecting it all his life. The teasing he endured as a child, the mocking from Rahim and at last the ignorance of his mother who had already figured it out herself. His father would never return home to them. Naivety or foolishness, whatever he dared call it, Tazim had already known.
Yet seeing it so clearly before him, Tazim would never understand why he felt so astonished. Perhaps over the fact that his father had no means of returning home or perhaps because Tazim would never in his life have the chance of meeting the man who came before him.
"I was unsure of what I would find coming here." The young man began calmly, almost too timid to voice his thoughts, "Although, I believe some part of me must have already known. I needed only to see with my own eyes. To see you."
Tazim felt the lick of anguish across his soul. There were no words in the world to express his current state. He must have already known, deep within himself. Resting his palm against the frigid stone, his fingers lingering ever so carefully against the edges. "All my life I have trained to make you proud."
Reminded of the years he spent preparing for that very moment, Tazim felt a dreaded knot form in his throat. He was reminded of all the days of misery and torment from the other children. Every story his mother gifted him with on nights he refused to sleep, all filling his heart with the craved feeling of hope. Acceptance, of which only his father could grant. Of pride.
The young man wiped away the dirt from his face and dried patches of blood. He felt the familiar stench of embarrassment from not too long ago during his spar and recruitment among the men. "I-I've nothing to offer you," he began, "for that, I am sorry."
He'd been beaten like a child. Always beaten. How could he ever begin to compare with his father. How he only wished his mother could be at his side. Tazim could only imagine the weighted history that had transpired before him. He felt so unworthy yet all the same, the pressed emotion of admiration. "Mother is well. She misses you, though she would never speak it aloud." his voice hitched and Tazim paused, taking a shaky breath, "I miss you."
Tazim felt the weight of sudden anger, of hurt and betrayal all burst from inside him. It wasn't as though his father were the only man to have ever died in the world. But to Tazim, he may very well have been. To lose someone he never even had the chance to meet or perhaps remember. Remember should have been the better word. He had met him as a baby. If only Tazim could remember those moments. What he would give to recall those days. Had his father ever held him? Had he comforted Tazim on nights he was unable to sleep.
The thoughts continued to wash over into his mind. His eyes becoming wet, damp with the thought of what could have been. The young boy could only wipe the silent tears away as they travelled down his soiled face. "It is strange," Tazim cleared his throat, scratched with the rumble of passion clear within his chest. He did not wish to cry yet the tears had formed, "to miss someone you've never met."
His voice became hoarse at the tight knot in his throat, refusing to let him speak, "To love someone who you've only known from stories."
The sudden urge to scream out into the night was one Tazim could hardly contain. What could have been done to ensure his father's safety? If precautions had been taken, would his father had lived a full life with Tazim at his side? If only he had been there earlier, Tazim had so much he wished to tell his father. So many emotions he wanted to express. Bubbling inside him were the words choking his soul and collapsing his very heart.
Tazim's voice made him feel weak, it made him feel so vulnerable. The wetness of his words, the tears staining his face, he fought his hardest to keep the emotions at bay, "I am sorry for not arriving sooner. I've walked the same halls you once graced with your presence. I only hope to be as noble a fighter as you once were."
There were many things in Tazim's life that he worked hard at. At that moment the only thing he craved was to feel wanted. To feel whole. To feel that his journey to Masyaf was not a wrong decision made by a foolish boy. He wanted to hear his father's own words, to be spoken to, to be proud of him. Perhaps that time may come, but for now, he would need to be content in having found his family. His home.
Sometimes, Tazim needed only to breathe. He did not feel any better, yet he did not feel any worse.
"They will notice my absence," Tazim wiped his nose roughly with his sleeve. Standing once more, brushing the dirt from his knees, the young man set his hand atop the gravestone, "I will not be far. You will no longer be alone, baba. I promise."
He would no longer be alone in such a cruel place, Tazim would see to it himself. Neither of them would be alone anymore.
Within a single day, it seemed Tazim's own blood and sweat displayed more vigor and far more confidence than he had on the night of his recruitment. There were few men whom he could properly identify that were loyal just as he and Basilio, but those that knew him were sure to offer a solemn nod of respect his way when passing.
Respect enough for his sparring, though having been beaten, Tazim kept his chin high and that alone was enough to gain their thoughtfulness.
Even befriending Basilio came with its advantages as much as disadvantages. The Spanish boy was ever so rarely quiet, most always opting to speak his mind quite vividly. They had yet to begin Tazim's more personal training lessons, and the young man grew increasingly irritated.
Almost a week after Tazim's sparring, the other boy meagerly wandered to his side during the breakfast hour. With only a small bowl in his hands, Basilio sat across from Tazim with no greeting that morning. His head hung low and his cowl over his head, though no one paid any attention to him, and a distinct growing red mark across his cheekbone. Fresh, Tazim thought, a recent injury. It felt almost wrong to see Basilio in such a state, the injury seemed far too prominent against his soft skin. The red mark of a roughened hand across his cheek felt out of place against the rest of his young face.
It felt shameful to him, Tazim knew the precise reason behind the cruel mark. The unfairness of the situation only served to feed his growing anger. "The Master called you in."
It was no secret that a small handful of the men in the Order had been called upon recently. Each one of them having been questioned on a particular matter. Basilio, it seemed, had received a more brute conference than the others.
"They believed I would know of Zamir's whereabouts." Basilio answered, reaching into his bowl with a scanty amount of cut fruit. Tazim eyed the way his delicate fingers twitched and shook as he took hold of a slice of pear. Basilio took notice of his friend's gaze, a scoff escaping his lips as he forced out a crooked smile of reassurance, popping the piece of fruit in his mouth quickly.
"Something tells me you do not," Tazim muttered, wiping his own cheek to acknowledge Basilio's injury.
Tazim, among the rest of the Order were well informed on the news spreading about. Though they would be scolded for knowing before any official report was made, it never kept the men from talking. Zamir had betrayed them, spoke the whispers and voices in the halls, his true alliance and loyalty being not to their Master but the one who had left them long ago.
How he had been caught, they may never know, though it would be helpful to them. They too could be cast off much like their superior. What little information they knew, they guarded well. Zamir was on the run, like a dog being sent off only to die. He may as well be dead, Tazim thought.
Basilio acted as though his mouth were sewn shut, Tazim welcomed the silence but it worried him still. The older man and his new friend had been a pair, from what little he knew. Tazim wanted to know more, he had the right to know as he was just as much a target as either of them, given their true loyalty. Yet now was not the time for questions.
Basilio sensed the concerning presence within Tazim's mind and quickly drew his attention elsewhere. "Eat your food, Novicio," he rebuked, sighing as exhaustion from the morning settled over him, "There is still work to be done, as if the life of an Assassin."
"And training?" Tazim answered, he could only hope the young man would at last deem them recovered enough to train once more. They had done nothing but rest and work in their respectable areas during the day since Tazim's first meeting. Some nights, the duo snuck away in search of their own nook of sorts to have their lessons. Tazim had grown eager to recover from his injuries so he and Basilio could resume their training.
"Not tonight," the young man answered with a devilish grin, the mark on his face long forgotten. They deserved a night to themselves, "Tonight we are free to be young fools."
The duo scampered into the village below that very evening after their busy day came to an end. Basilio particularly taking notice the obvious worry remaining on his friend's face from that morning.
The Spanish boy occasionally gave a teasing push to his partner every so often and Tazim nudged him in return. It was enough to peel the frown right from Tazim's face as they frolicked about like the pair of young fools they set off to be. Some men eyed them curiously but the two young boys went on with their silly night.
A few merchants had yet to retire for the night, taking advantage of every second of sunlight left in the day. Basilio took particular interest in those few who still had their merchandise out in the open, most of which sold a variety of fruits.
"Have you ever stolen anything?" Basilio finally spoke, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. His eyes scanned over the stalls and vendors among their goods.
"Stolen?" Tazim answered, vaguely insulted by such a question.
The other boy could only smile, like a young toddler having just learned to walk. He brought his arm over Tazim's shoulder, bringing the boy close, "When I was small, I liked to take fruits from the vendors. Oranges were best for the hottest days."
"Of course you were a thief." Tazim rolled his eyes, ignoring just how comfortable the other was with him. It wasn't difficult to imagine Basilio as a small boy, eager to steal on a hot summer day. Looking over at him now, Tazim eyed the other boy's hair in particular and wondered if he had ever combed it when he was young. Had his mother run her hands through his hair, like Amani had done so for Tazim many times before? Would she scold Basilio if ever returning with injuries?
Tazim found that the more he tried forgetting about his home, of his mother and family, the more they persisted and appeared into his thoughts. He felt thankful that he at least had family to look back upon. A part of him felt saddened, Basilio had no such family, that Tazim knew of, that the young boy could reminisce over on bad days. At most, he had Zamir. But even he was gone now.
Basilio finally let go of his friend, the smile on his face never diminishing. Even with the wound across his cheek from that morning's encounter, the grin across his lips illuminated the boys entire face, "Come. You have much to learn, child."
Surprisingly enough to him, Tazim was not difficult to be convinced into following Basilio into foolish situations. In the future, Tazim would ponder on this being only the start of their ridiculous ways and idiotic choices in life.
The Spanish boy had chosen a peculiar stall near the edge of the area. He pulled Tazim aside and explained just how discreet they would need to be. Basilio would be the first, to set an example, as he'd put into words. His hands were fluid, Tazim stared in awe as he walked past discreetly, gifting the vendor with a comfortable remark before walking away just as soon.
His self-satisfied grin was enough to annoy Tazim once Basilio was far enough from the stall, taking a large bite from his stolen apple.
Basilio made it look so simple. Tazim needed only to control his nerves. A task which did not come easily for his current engagement. If only it were that easy for him. Tazim barely made it out by the skin of his teeth. It was no problem for him to be cunning, though for Tazim, he felt a tad sinful and sheepish for stealing from others. His guilt threw him off just long enough for the vendor to chase him away as a thief.
Be that as it may, the adrenaline pumping through his body all the while Basilio shouted and howled as Tazim ran behind him, made Tazim feel quite smug and confident. He could never remember when he'd last smiled so much in a single day.
"You did well," Basilio congratulated, patting his friend on the back, "Good practice."
Tazim grinned, "I will do better next time."
The sun had begun to set, softly across the horizon as the two young men fell into a comfortable stride beside one another. Enjoying not only their delightful treat but each other's company, far from the market.
Though, Tazim eyed his companion with mild disgust. In the dining hall, Basilio was one of the most hygenic and almost elegant people when having his meal. Yet right before him, the young boy bit into his apple much like he'd seen horses do so at the stables on a humid night.
"Are you not hungry?" Basilio asked, a mouthful of apple chunks just waiting to fall out.
Tazim shook his head. He only stole the apple because of Basilio. Tazim himself hadn't been at all hungry. If he had been, Basilio had certainly scared away his hunger. Instead, he gave his half eaten apple to his companion who took it eagerly, with a large grin across his face. Basilio thanked him fervently, stressing just how starved he'd been most of the day. At least that confirmed as to why Basilio ate like a ravenous dog.
"Would you always take a stroll after a theft?" Tazim's voice held a hint of accusation.
Basilio laughed, "No. Oftentimes, I snuck away for a swim." He went on to share how, as a child, he often needed to find ways to occupy himself while his parents were busy elsewhere.
Oddly, Tazim grew fond of Basilio's stories. He enjoyed them more than he had initially thought he would. There were many more things Tazim wanted to know about the Spanish boy. Had he always been so talkative? So quick with his friendship? Had he always held the same boyish smile all his young life? Yet there was a different, more delicate topic of which the young boy had wanted to ask about since that morning.
"Is Zamir a relative?" Tazim lamely asked, wiping his hands on his legs.
"No." Basilio answered, hesitating briefly as he tossed his apple away and wiped his mouth. Tazim knew well that he was buying a few extra moments before his next words, "And that is a terrible way to extract information from me."
Tazim only grinned, "But you admit, I am extracting information."
The briefest, most curious smirk marked Basilio's face before he turned away once more. He could never keep such information away from his new friend. Most possibly the only friend he had now. And Basilio knew he was in no position to turn down any possible chance for a friend.
With the most innocent of gestures, Basilio nodded and gazed curiously at his friend. What he searched for across his face, Tazim wasn't sure. Trust? Faith? Whatever it was, he must have found it. "I was brought to the Order as a boy by my father. Without my mother, he was unable to care for me."
A foreigner from another land, much like himself. Tazim wanted to know more. "You left Valencia?"
Basilio nodded solemnly, every so often a light smile forced it's way against his lips, "We were never close to begin with. Though it never bothered me."
For some reason, Tazim could not comprehend why Basilio would not have been close with his father. Of all things, that is what took him most by surprise. He was unable to imagine the idea. Having one's father so close yet so far. Most possibly, it must have been his own desire for his own father.
"We never saw eye to eye, although I was just a child." Basilio's words came easily to him, easily to tell his friend. "But he was all I had. And then I didn't."
The young boy went on to explain just how desperate his father had been, thrusting his son into the hands of the first Assassin he spotted. Zamir, having been the most unfortunate, was arriving from an assignment that very moment. From then on, the older man had looked after Basilio delicately.
"He raised you?" Tazim asked, curious.
"He was a guardian of sorts," the boy answered sheepishly. He took a breath, smiling after just as quickly and turned to his friend, "And your father?"
There was a part of him, deep within, that wanted to tell Basilio everything. A part that wanted nothing more than reassurance from someone, anyone, that all would be well. Basilio had shared a part of himself that night. Tazim wanted, more than anything, to return the favor. He wanted to be comforted and supported. Tazim only wished he had the courage to speak the words that burned against his tongue to be let free. Except, he couldn't. Not yet.
With a subtle nod of his head, Tazim soberly answered with a faint smile on his lips, "He rests."
Took me forever but it is here! Better late than never. Hope you readers enjoy the chapter as it was a bit of a toughie and I'm ready to be rid of it and throw it out to the public! I hope you are all safe and doing well during these times please take care of yourselves!
Feel free to leave any questions or comments, have an awesome day/night see ya next time!