To Basilio's relief, and his irritation, Tazim was the most stubborn student he had ever encountered. Unable to move on with any lesson until he became proficient, Tazim was no easily lectured boy.
The two had begun their private sessions three weeks after Tazim's initial sparring, which left him quite battered and bruised. With his wounds, Basilio refused to begin their training until he was well rested and strong once more. Tazim only grew frustrated, opting to go out on his own before Basilio pulled him aside, promising their lessons would begin soon enough. With a stern threat of abandoning the idea all together if Tazim did not follow his rules, they agreed the wait would be worth the while.
An honest young man, the Spanish boy suddenly stole Tazim away from the stables one afternoon to begin their lessons. Tazim had never been more joyful.
Quickly, Tazim took notice of the specific way in which his friend tutored him. He was quite pleased and impressed with the younger boy. Basilio was a true teacher. He was also a true student. He understood how to help Tazim, how to carry himself as they trained. Never thinking himself above his friend, no matter their differing skills or knowledge in their craft. Tazim grew to admire this trait.
"Thumbs out," he explained vividly, examining Tazim's fist and putting it in a more proper position, "or you may break them. Idiot."
"I'll break you."
His lessons began with the most basic forms of training. From correcting his stance in a fight down to the way he moved his hands for a stealthy theft. Tazim was often berated over his unethical fighting ways.
"Your arms, keep them in. Solid, Tazim!" Basilio would also scold Tazim for any imperfection he saw, "You will not prance about like a drunkard!"
A perfectionist in his own right, Basilio never hesitated a heated reprimand. Tazim found his more bold and smart-mouthed sessions to be the most entertaining. They made Basilio feel more like an old friend than an instructor giving a lecture. It was more than welcoming.
Basilio understood the way one's body worked. He understood everything about the movement of arms and legs. He understood the importance of breathing and never overworking one's own body, of taking care where an opponent may strike next and avoiding the hit. He knew to examine and take note of one's opponent and how Tazim may learn from his enemies' way of fighting.
Tazim figured Basilio sounded like an old man most days.
Occasionally, the duo ended their lessons early. Both beyond tired from their days' work and their afternoon sessions, which went long into the night. Their nook, concealed to any who tried finding them, offered a warm comfort to them both. A place free from the world. Free of their worries and problems. A place in which they could be anyone they wished.
"I may have been a fisherman at this age," Basilio muttered through closed eyes one night, "If I had not left home."
Tazim thumbed through his book, held comfortably across his folded legs. He tried to imagine Basilio as a fisherman. The sight of his friend cooking his own skin in the hot sun, yet cooling off with the fresh ocean breeze. Instead, a different thought came to his mind, "You do have a fish's mouth."
Basilio' lifted his head curiously, "Huh?"
"Out of the water," the other boy explained, the edges of his lips curling upward as he lifted and shook his arms, "flapping about, its mouth unable to stay closed."
"Oh, shut up!"
It was never difficult for Tazim to be cheerful with Basilio at his side. He might have made a decent fisherman, he thought, watching his companion nod off again, a ghostly grin still across his lips. The ends of Basilio's hair curled slightly, much like Tazim's own. It was almost difficult to imagine him at an older age with such softened qualities. Though he was capable enough to master whatever occupation life gave him, be it a fisherman, common folk or petty thief. It was clear to him, Basilio would surely make an even better Assassin.
When they grew bored, Tazim read out loud. Basilio listened. He really listened. At times, a strange little smile would appear on his lips as Tazim read to him. He often wondered what his friend thought of in those moments. Was he reminded of his simpler childhood? His parents? Other times, Basilio asked questions. Not of the story but of life, lost and found.
Tazim could never offer a proper answer. They knew nothing of life, lost or found. They were still boys. They existed in the in-between. They had yet to lose their lives, and they had yet to properly find them. They basked in the content of living in the present.
Basilio was pleased with that response the most, and the thought of it alone made Tazim feel at ease.
One particular morning, after weeks of training, Basilio would be sent off to a different city. A test for most in his rank. Many were to leave with their superiors that morning. Preparation for them to rise and come one more step closer to becoming an Assassin. It was just Tazim's luck that they would assign Basilio to his home city, of all places.
The Spanish boy had only vaguely mentioned the oncoming journey the night before, and Tazim had asked few questions, if any. Though when the morning finally arrived, it did not take him long to dress and bound into the courtyard in search of the Spanish boy.
There were few who had the same idea, wishing their comrades a safe trip, and others who awoke only to see what the commotion was about. It was long before sunrise, the sky a pale blue, preparing for the more earthly colors of day. The air around him felt crisp as a warning for a windy day ahead.
It was easy to make out Basilio among the scattered men, his hair wet and being sloppily combed by his own thin fingers. He was alone, trying his best to wake himself up as he yawned endlessly and kicked at the dirt below him. Tazim could only roll his eyes in amusement. Always such a child.
"Basilio," he called, with a wave of his hand before scrambling to meet the other boy.
Though sleep clung to his eyelids, Basilio never failed to give a welcoming smile. A trait of which the other boy admired greatly. He pulled Tazim into a hug, the dampness of his hair causing him to shiver, "You've come to send me off."
Tazim nodded, pulling a strand of the other boy's hair as he took a step back, "Did you put your head in a bucket of water? You look like a wet rat."
"How else would I be awake at this time?" Basilio mused, his voice still raw with sleep, "If we were meant to awake at such an unholy hour, we would be able to see in the dark. How is your morning, dear Tazim?"
Straight to the point. "I need a favor done."
There came no hesitation from Basilio, only pure commitment. "Of course," he nodded solemnly, "Anything."
A message to his family. His mother most of all.
Tazim hadn't prepared, nor had he previously thought of what he would want to tell his mother. What he would want her to know if she never saw him again. So many things he had wished to tell her ever since he reached Masyaf, and now all of his words suddenly disappeared.
Though, first and foremost, she needed to know he was safe.
"My mother," he explained cautiously, "You will find our home near the west end. She sells adorned scarves. "
Part of him was hesitant in telling Basilio of his private life. Though Basilio himself had told Tazim details of his own childhood and homeland. Somehow, he was sure the Spanish boy would be capable of finding his mother with limited information. It was the first time Basilio ever heard of Tazim's family and held onto his friends every word as though it were the last drop of water in the desert.
"You tell her…," Tazim began timidly, "I've found my place. I have come home." He had at last found his father, and Tazim would not abandon him. He would keep that to himself but was more than positive Basilio would understand without being given an explanation. He was Tazim's friend after all. The young boy swallowed hard. "Keep this private, Basilio."
Basilio nodded reassuringly, his arm coming up to pat his friend's shoulder, "No one else will know. On my own mother's life, brother."
"Thank you."
As fate would have it, Basilio would be gone for the duration of the week. Tazim dreaded every second of his absence. On his first night alone, the young man had attempted in training by himself. Though Tazim tired easily. He grew bored with going through the same motions and exercises he and Basilio did each night. Even more so now that he was forced to do them alone.
Tazim needed a partner. He needed to feel the retaliation of an opponent, and he knew just where to find one.
It had been days since he and Basilio returned to the secret training grounds of the other Assassins. The only instances they visited were to borrow equipment. It wasn't as though they were rejected or banned, it was Tazim who preferred to train with his friend on their own. He was never fond of the way Basilio was treated by the peculiar boy Tarek.
On his second night alone though, Tazim decided to pay them another visit.
It was never difficult to come across the very boy who Tazim dreaded. On days with no training, they unintentionally flocked to the same areas within the fortress. Tarek often finding Tazim nestled among the stables or courtyard with a book in hand. Each boy regularly giving the other a nasty look. That night in particular, even with the other men training around them, it seemed almost like fate they would cross paths yet again.
Almost.
Tarek had changed very little since their first spar together. Apart from his change of clothes, he somehow always looked as though he'd gone on a lengthy chase through the castle garden. A loose twig or petal could always be found anywhere on his person. His boots were heavily covered in dirt, Tazim wondered if the boy ever took care of his things.
Just as Tazim spotted the ruthless boy, Tarek eyed him down as well. He stalked over, his hands just as dirty as his boots, "You've returned. Alone."
A filthy specimen of man.
Tazim nodded, challenging the other boy, "Would that be a problem, Tarek?"
There was no doubt, if Basilio were present, their meeting may have turned far more taunting. Though, even without the other boy, Tazim was capable enough of annoying Tarek all on his own. Part of him hoped it would even lead to a second spar between them.
Tazim was only pleasantly surprised with the tyrant boy's response, "No problem. Maybe we can teach you more than the runt can." The most vague of smiles appeared across Tarek's lips, his gaze never leaving Tazim. He called to one of his friends, the younger boy from before, to join them, "Grab a dummy, Tazim. Has he taught you to throw a blade?"
It came as a surprise to Tazim, finding that Tarek was not as sinister as he initially believed. His young friend, Rafi, was even more sinister in the most silent of ways. With his own brother being sternly loyal to Abbas, Rafi's own presence among them was a dangerous gift.
Even so, Tazim was more than thankful for their help, though they did no better in teaching him any new skills than Basilio had previously. Their assistance in giving him challenges to complete was more than welcomed and appreciated.
Only a single week away, Basilio may as well have been gone all year long. With what favor Tazim had asked of him, the young man could hardly wait for the news from home. Training with Rafi and Tarek was hardly enough to keep him occupied. Even when the two threw stones at him to dodge, Tazim could think only of Basilio's return. He only wished time would move by faster.
Tazim was only too excited once the week ended. He was the first one to arrive at the stables, waiting all afternoon. Many of the other men had returned earlier, each one seemingly more tired than the previous. All of them dressed in tattered and filthy clothing. A few wore newly acquired bruises or scrapes across their faces. It wasn't difficult to spot the annoyed Basilio once he entered the area.
His robes were covered in dry blood along the neckline, though Tazim cared very little. As long as his friend was alive and well, he would rejoice in his return, "Basilio!"
He carried himself heavily, his head down as he dragged his feet and held a parcel close to his chest. It was only once hearing Tazim yell his name that Basilio turned eagerly, the exhaustion quickly dissipating.
The Spanish boy stalked over, a wide grin across his dry lips. "I knew you would miss me."
Though it was true, it had been far too quiet those days without his friend. But Tazim would never admit it aloud. Taking Basilio into his arms for a well deserved welcoming, Tazim quickly noticed the prominent curve to his partner's nose. The injury was something he could not easily ignore, "You're hurt. Idiot."
"Only my pride," the younger answered. He offered Tazim the parcel in his grasp, which the boy took with pleasure, "I have a message for you."
Tazim nods in understanding before looking around, and once more at his friend, "Not here."
A broken nose was not the only thing Basilio had returned with that day. Basilio was quick in reminding Tazim just how loudly he could talk within a moment's notice. "I've brought you a pastry!" the boy exclaimed as they walked through the darkened halls. Within the parcel Tazim carried, the other had brought back treats, "Quite delicious, believe me."
If only he could keep still. Tazim does what he can while guiding Basilio back to his room. He felt like a regular laborer, carrying the boy's few belongings, slung over his shoulder. Though Basilio kept jumping in front of him, recalling the many things that occurred on his trip. Tazim found himself missing the quiet days from his week alone.
At last in his room, Tazim sat the chattery Basilio down on his bed. He ignored Basilio's ranting while reaching over to examine his friend's injury closely, "When did this break?" The bridge of Basilio's nose had a new bump across it. Even the bags under his eyes seemed to be made more prominent with the bruises over his face. It was no easily concealed injury, the entire center of Basilio's face was an array of darkened tones.
The Spanish boy shrugged, waving his hand dismissively, "First day out. Still handsome, don't you think?"
If what Basilio believed to be handsome was to have bruises and scrapes over his face, then he was a regular masterpiece. "We can try to fix it." Tazim offered, still inspecting his friend closely.
"Forget it, we can do that later. I'd brought you a wine but," Basilio chuckled, "I lost it on the return home."
"Did you leave only to eat and get fat?" Always more concerned over food or drinks, Basilio's worries did not surprise Tazim one bit. His friend was more than predictable. Always such a goof and always such a boy. "Forget about that," Tazim argued, "Now tell me. Please."
He was positive it would not have been difficult for his friend to locate Amani. One of his main concerns was whether she would give Basilio a chance to speak. Her anger toward the Order had only grown since Tazim was a boy. Would she have welcomed Basilio's words, or scolded him for being present within the city?
"It was almost impossible to separate from Fadil all week," Basilio explained dramatically, "Luckily, the old man loves to sleep late into the morning. I was able to locate your mother by the fourth day."
"Is she well?"
At this, Basilio hesitated for just a moment. Tazim grew nervous. Was it possible that something may have happened during his time away those past months?
The younger boy turned, an unsure curl to his lips, "Yes. She is kind. Though she is... strange."
"Careful with your words, boy," Tazim warned as he put Basilio's belongings down at his desk.
"She mistook me for someone else."
Of course she did. Tazim could only imagine her shock. The mere image of seeing someone with their Assassin clothing at her door. The ghost of his own father. Or perhaps the news of her son's untimely death after being gone for months. The pain it must have caused her.
Though, Tazim would give no such explanation to Basilio. Not yet.
"What did she say, Basilio?"
"Yes, of course," he apologized, "She prays for you. She is fearful, worried, and wishes you returned."
So nothing had changed since his departure. "Of course she does."
There was no point in trying to convince them when he first set out. Tazim's own family had their doubts. How else would they expect him to react? It came as no surprise to him that his mother still yearned for his return home. For Tazim to abandon the very path he had taken. The life of which he spent years preparing for.
It could have been anything. The darkness behind his eyes or the sudden stillness in the air. Tazim's own sorrow carved right into Basilio's chest and he desired so desperately to comfort his friend. With kind eyes and a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Basilio urged, "But she is prideful as well."
Tazim only scoffed, "Impossible."
He isn't sure why he did it, but Basilio could not bear seeing his friend be so tormented within his mind. And so he spoke the only words he knew Tazim needed to hear.
"Whenever you feel lost, unsure of yourself..." he began with a light smile on his lips, "...look to the stars. You will find your way."
It wasn't much. Basilio wished he could offer more comfort. He of all people knew the pain that came from leaving one's home. From losing one's mother. They were the only words he could offer, and somehow they were the only words needed in that moment.
Tazim only smiled in return. Such a soft and timid smile, though it was more than reassuring to them both.
I hope all you readers are doing well out there! And I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Thank you so much for reading, as always have a great day/night! Comments or questions are appreciated. ❤