It was the fourth day of the games made by the men, but even then, it was just long enough for others to become intrigued to join in as well. In a way, it felt like the first official day with everyone present at last. With more hands to assist in preparing the area, the faster the trials could begin.
Tazim himself went out of his way to lend a helping hand. He became familiar with more of his brothers this way. The younger novices were no threat, often making small talk as they brought in bandages together, for possible injuries. Many of the older Assassin's cared little about him, knowing Tazim only as 'The runt's companion.'
Being labeled as such, Tazim had to frequently bite his tongue. They knew nothing about him. Though, creating a scene or starting a fight would do him no good. They would witness his strength in the games, and Tazim was counting on it.
It was no surprise his former friends would eventually have made an appearance. Rafi and Tarek made no attempt in hiding themselves. Tazim had felt the itch of being stalked most afternoon. What puzzled him the most was their insistent discussions with other men; novices and higher ranks alike. On one end of the courtyard, Rafi helped with bringing forth swords, deep in conversation with the man accompanying him. Across from the sparring ring, Tarek was actively speaking to a younger novice clearing the area.
Were they plotting against Tazim? Most unlikely, they had yet to make contact with him.
Still, they were fools if they tried such a thing, he thought. Tazim kept hidden a throwing knife within his robes, the same he was gifted when still in Jerusalem almost three years prior.
A reckless Assassin was a dead Assassin. Tazim had no plans of death that night.
Perhaps he shouldn't have, but Tazim had grown curious himself. He couldn't help it, scanning across the courtyard of scrambled men. If Rafi and Tarek were nearby it meant one other thing...
He was alone. Of course, there was no surprise there. Basilio was alone. Content with setting up practice dummies for those participating in the throwing knives event. They would cross paths eventually, it was best to do it now rather than later, thought Tazim.
He stalked over to the boy, making no attempt at being friendly, "Why are you here?"
Basilio, on the other hand, answered with no care in the world. He kicked at the stumps of the dummy, carving the post down into the soft ground. "Enjoying the competition of course, Tazim. Watching. Studying."
"The men?"
"Boys." Basilio corrected nonchalantly.
He examined his work with the dummies, making sure they were sturdy. He didn't mind the space between him and Tazim, though the air was thick with uncertainty. A part of him wanted the other boy to leave. To yell obscenities into his face so he would never return. The other part of him wished for Tazim to stay for good. Wanted Tazim to see the error in his ways and correct them.
Basilio had seen enough in his life to know that would not be happening.
"You never told me of those on the hill." Tazim mentioned suddenly, cutting into the silence, "Altair and his wife. It is 'another time' today."
What was he doing?
The other boy shakes his head, squinting in the sunlight. He's holding on tightly to something buried inside him. Resentment? Desire? Even this was something his smiles could not mask.
"What is there to tell? You would never listen." Basilio's voice softened, close to a whisper, "If only Maria had put you to rest instead."
"What was that?"
The younger boy waved his hand in dismissal, standing to his full height and motioning to Tazim's robes, "Nothing. I see you are competing."
Tazim nods. Of course he would be competing. There was no doubt about it. Nothing less would be expected of him.
They stay like that for a moment, in steady silence. There is something between them which words could never describe. Something Tazim could never explain. The undeniable truth of faith gradually being corrupted. Poisoned. Faith between the two boys, or the faith they once shared of their future, neither could be too sure.
Tazim is no idiot, he knows when to best take his leave. He says nothing, only nods in understanding before leaving Basilio to his own. It isn't until he's a few steps away that he hears the unmistakable voice of the other boy from behind him. Tazim can almost imagine the smile as Basilio spoke, "May fortune favor your blade."
It's enough to force a curl to Tazim's own lips as he departs.
When he finds Nahir and Gadiel, they have already sent Kabir off to the leg-races outside the village. If he didn't know any better, he would assume the two older boys despised their youngest member. Tazim had witnessed first hand, how the young Kabir was treated so loosely amongst them. He would be wise to make sure it didn't happen to him as well.
Nahir seems particularly interested in Tazim that afternoon, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him toward the sparring ring. Gadiel is close behind, snatching something from Tazim's middle. Before he can protest, Gadiel taps him on the nose, a prominent and sinister grin on his face, bringing forth the blade Tazim had hidden on his belt.
"No weapons," Nahir explains beside him, roughly pushing him forward, "Prove yourself, Assassin."
Gladly.
His first match runs smoothly.
Tazim has been partnered with a novice, equal in weight and stature. But the boy is younger. Lacking composure and experience. Unsure of his fighting style, only running towards Tazim, and hoping to land a hit. He was undisciplined and sloppy, much like Tazim had been at his initiation into the Order.
The fight ends as soon as it begins.
Even without a sword, Tazim is experienced enough to avoid his opponents blows. Be nimble, he reminds himself throughout the match. Evading each punch, and side stepping the careless slaps aimed at his head. Basilio's words stuck in his mind, years after he first spoke them.
Use your weapon.
Fists.
He's been in this situation before. Men chanting and cursing for their wagered match. No ounce of shame in their voices. Suddenly, Tazim is seventeen again, in the grassy arena within their hidden refuge outside the village. All eye's on him, hoping, waiting for him to make a mistake.
The battle for pride continues, and Tazim refuses to lose.
One wrong step to the side, Tazim finds an opening. A corrupt slap against the novice's temple is all Tazim needs before he grabs his opponent by the collar of his robes, wrenching him forward. With one solid hit to his chin, and another kick to his knee, he falls. The shouts of the men feel like sudden rain in the desert. Tazim has clambered over the novice, reveling in victory.
He's unscathed, the cries of success surround him, feeding the flame in his chest.
Tazim could feast on this sensation forever.
His friends congratulate him on his victory, but Tazim feels that it somehow isn't enough.
Be better.
They are each equally successful in defeating their opponents. Their longest match, between them, is Nahir's, after being paired with an older Assassin. Though he took longer in bringing the man to the ground, he was no less precise in his attacks.
Gadiel, on the other hand, is a brute, cocky with his victory. When Tazim is near, he does nothing to soften his teasing, actively mocking Tazim's effortless triumph.
"If you try once more, you may get lucky and be paired with a decent fighter," Gadiel joked, slapping Tazim on the back.
It was only just starting to annoy him.
As they walked among the crowd, awaiting a new match, Tazim proposed a change in plans. They were there to prove themselves among the best of the best, not wrestle like hogs in the mud. They were men, and they should treat themselves as such.
"Swords," he speaks, almost demandingly.
"Swords?" Nahir repeats.
"We enter in swordsmanship," Tazim explains sternly, "How do you expect we make our mark if all we do is fight in the slums with the boys?"
"True enough. You're right."
Of course he was right.
Though Tazim may have requested this fight specifically, he never asked for his audience. It's impossible to keep his attention on the fight when Basilio's gaze burns through his body.
His opponent is hardly any older, a rugged and loose combatant. One who holds his sword far too delicately. Even so, his speed is what ruins Tazim the most. It was almost ridiculous, evading each swipe through the air, and being forced to the ground too many times to count. Tazim had sparred with many of the best swordsmen before. He is one of the best. Then why was he so close to losing when he only just began?
Fight back, idiot.
The shouts surrounding him do nothing to inspire, only anger Tazim further. He can feel Basilio nearby, right across the ring. Smiling that ridiculous smile. It should not have bothered him as much as it did. He was only Basilio. Lonely Basilio.
A sudden hit to his temple sends Tazim barreling back, shaking his head to stay focused. He feels the warmth of blood dripping beside his eye. Next, a swipe across his shoulder, which Tazim barely misses. If it weren't for his own speed and skill, he would have lost right when he began.
Be nimble.
Be fast.
He's too low to the ground, too low for comfort. The voices surrounding him echo through his mind, demanding him to take action.
With a growl, Tazim bounds forward, cutting into the air with all his might. No matter his rage, his power, Tazim succeeds in hitting nothing but his opponent's sword. Each swipe and jab is skillfully blocked. Every hit with his elbow or fist after his sword brings him no closer to victory.
If only he could just disappear, Tazim thought.
Just leave.
He's able to kick his opponent, sending him backwards and giving Tazim just enough time to catch his breath. He wipes at the blood and sweat from his face, partially blinded by it. Yet not blind enough that he can't make out a single idiot in the crowd.
Smiling. Tazim swears, he's smiling.
The crowd cries out for him, a gift of serenity to Tazim's own ears. Had his father ever experienced such intense supremacy during his time? Tazim was filled with as much vigor and fury alike. With each chant from the men, Tazim could almost swear Basilio chanted along with them.
¡Defiéndete!
"Shut up!" Tazim finds himself yelling back at the crowd, though they pay him no attention.
His opponent is back on his feet, charging toward Tazim. He sees none of this, still blind from the sweat running down his face. Still so caught up in the commotion from the men circled around them. His chants becoming louder and louder.
Shut. Up.
Another hit to his shoulder, a clean slice of blood is visible on his robes. It hurts, or it should have, but Tazim feels nothing but wrath engulf him. Just like his first spar with Tarek, almost three years ago, there was no denying that Tazim was being beaten. Distracted by that runt.
Focus, fool.
It comes as no surprise when Tazim finally loses. Stained in embarrassment and blood. He reeks of disappointment which only further annoys him.
"Does the mutt distract you?" Nahir asks after the fight, genuinely concerned as he looks over the wound on Tazim's temple and shoulder.
Gazing directly at Basilio, comfortably leaning against the railing of the practice ring with no care in the world, Tazim grew sickened. His jaw tightened, eager to stop this foolishness.
"No," he growls, swatting the boys hand before stomping away.
He shouldn't have. Heaven's above, Tazim himself knew he should never have gone in search of the Spanish boy. There was no good to come from provoking Basilio. Only, Tazim cared very little. If anything, he was pleading for some kind of challenge from the other.
"You." Tazim snapped, grabbing Basilio's robes and pulling him along.
Some Assassin's glanced in their direction, laughing, while others couldn't be bothered. Two novices having a tussle in comparison to two grown Assassin's in the practice ring? They would much rather the fight with a bloodier outcome.
"Let go, idiot!" Basilio barks out once they are far enough from the crowd.
"Why do you watch me?" Tazim demands, releasing him harshly. Without his cowl, his hair is damp and drips with sweat, "Leave. Now."
Basilio takes a step back, dusting off his robes and mumbling under his breath in annoyance. He keeps his attention on himself, fixing his clothing and Tazim can't help but notice the blatant bump on his nose from where it never fully healed. Along with a few more subtle scratches, Basilio doesn't seem too bothered by his companion's anger.
Though when he speaks next, his voice tells a different story. "Leave? Please, novicio. This has gone far enough. You need to leave them."
Not again. Would he ever just give up? Tazim almost wants to laugh in his face for demanding such a thing. Instead, he merely waves his hand in irritation, "You could never understand."
Basilio scoffed, "I understand enough. You are stubborn, Tazim. Blinded by the urge to be the best.
Please, just shut up.
"I am the best," Tazim recalls sharply. His hands feel heavy, and only then does he feel the pain of how tight he holds his fists, but ignores the sensation, "I've beaten them all, even before today. You have seen me!"
"You are no better than them," the Spanish boy remarks, calmy. His face twists in a horrid way, disgusted by the boy in front of him, throwing a tantrum, "Traitors. You are worse if you continue down this path."
Traitor? It was an interesting word to speak, Tazim thought. One of which he so often heard coming from the mouths of Assassin's and common folk alike. Tazim had worked his way up the ranks to be as skilled as he currently was. To fulfill a goal he set off to complete ever since he was a child.
Basilio was wrong. He was weak.
And that was not Tazim's fault.
"No," he chuckles, suddenly calm. Basilio was never particularly talented. A fact of which Tazim never spoke aloud. He takes a step back, smiling in mockery over the realization which abruptly set in his mind, "You're tormenting me..."
"Tormenting?"
Tazim nods his head, thinking mainly to himself. Finally connecting the dots. Everything suddenly made sense, "I understand, Basilio. As a runt, you have no one else but me..."
"Blinded!" Basilio cried out mercilessly, his fists clenched tightly to his sides, as the young man took a step back, pacing to and from in an almost agonizing state. He can hardly contain his breathing, bounding into Tazim's face with his finger pointed, "You are blinded, Tazim!"
For the first time since they met, Basilio held something hidden behind his eyes. A light, settled in the deepest confines of his mind. Just for a moment. Had he not witnessed it himself, Tazim would never believe it existed. He found it difficult to look away. It was something of which Tazim was certain he could feed on.
Rage and pain, they looked good on him. Both revolving within, battling for control.
Leave it. Let it consume you.
But he knew Basilio would never fully let it. Not without a push. If only he could see what he could become. Feel, much like Tazim had. If that were the case, they could be so much more. Side by side.
No.
He was nothing but a weakling.
"They want me. They trust me." Tazim presses, his arms opening as if to prove a point, "Fight me."
Basilio scoffs, eyeing the other boy up and down. He's calmed down, but only barely. Scanning Tazim's face for something, anything to relay and prove this was nothing but a silly prank gone too far, "Stop being so childish-"
"Hit me, coward!" Tazim pushes him harshly, only causing Basilio to grow angrier. The other boy immediately holds his fists up and for a second, Tazim thinks Basilio may just hit him.
Yes. Just one hit. One hit is all that is needed.
Basilio brings his hands down, his entire demeanor suddenly sinking. He can hardly bring himself to look Tazim in the eye. He keeps his head low, with his hands kept closely at his sides. The storm Tazim had witnessed in Gadiel's eyes the night before, it seemed, lived within the Spanish boy too, buried far deeper inside.
He masked it well.
"I don't want to fight you." Basilio is almost begging. Tazim would not have been surprised if the other boy was currently close to tears. He could never fully mask himself. Not to Tazim, he knew the boy far too well. Basilio's eyes immediately darken, somber and desperate as he looks up, the rage dominating once more, "Enough. Go! Be with them! I am finished wasting my energy with you."
Maybe in another life, he and Basilio had a solid friendship. A bond of brothers, impossible to break. They may possibly have grown as old men together. With no stress of their faith or beliefs of the future, they might have brought peace to their Order. Together.
As he returned to his comrades, Tazim questioned if that future ever held a chance of blossoming.
The sparring has yet to end for the night. It is still early, Tazim notices. A few men, in the crowds surrounding the fights, have begun a fixation with drinking. If it weren't for his current commitments, Tazim thinks he may have even joined them.
Instead, he and Nahir watch Gadiel fight in the ring below. Encouraging him from afar. It's enough to keep his mind occupied on something other than his prior argument, and Tazim is glad that Nahir does not dig into where he had disappeared to.
"Gadiel is strong," Nahir comments as they watch the match. Tazim only nods beside him, not particularly interested but nonetheless listening to his friend talk, "Some are using old swords. I heard Ibrahim found the traitors wife's weapon. I'll need to see for myself."
Tazim perks up at the mention, "Traitor's wife?"
Beside him, Nahir smiles, half intent on his talking and half on Gadiel's fight. He waves his hand, slapping Tazim's uninjured shoulder, "Altair and Maria, fool."
Maria. Basilio had mentioned the name that afternoon. So, it seemed she was the wife of the 'Great Altair'. Not so great if he ceased from existing, thought Tazim.
If Basilio wouldn't inform him of her story, Nahir surely would, "Who had she killed before?"
Nahir observes him curiously, his attention still only vaguely on their present conversation. He breaths a heavy sigh, long and tired, "Many. She was a Templar after all. It surprises me she didn't kill the old man herself, like she did his close friend for their son's death. Come now, you've heard the stories, Tazim."
A Templar? A traitor. Had she murdered his father in cold blood?
"Malik was often left in charge during his absence..."
How true had his mother's words been? Could there possibly be any hidden realities which Tazim was never told of as a child?
No. No, it couldn't have been true. Altair had many friends amongst the Brotherhood. Though, the possibility lurked within Tazim, like poison slowly spreading. When he speaks next, his voice is softened, almost afraid to speak, "Malik?"
Nahir only nods, his attention having returned to the match below, he awaits the victor, "Yes. Though, killing her son, he deserved what he got. They both did. Traitors."
For a moment, Tazim is unable to breath. His heart shatters into the confusion of what truly happened to his father. Had he been a traitor, as many claimed him to be? No.
Impossible.
No matter the truth, there was no denying the resentment budding in his chest. His blood boiled underneath his skin, ready to tear him apart if needed. He refused to let this get the best of him. Tazim kept his chin high, and his demeanor straight and unfaltering. What happened in the past would not touch his current state.
Even as Gadiel rejoined them, the bloodiest, proudest of smiles displayed across his features, Tazim welcomed him with open arms.
A victor among men. Nothing less was expected. They were the rising kings of a new era.
"Better men," Nahir reminds them, his arms around Tazim and Gadiel, "We will be better men than those before us."
We will prove to be better.
As the crowd dispersed, the three boys clung to one another victoriously. Nahir continuing his praise of their growing skill, Gadiel firmly supporting him, and Tazim glad to have an encouraging distraction.
They would be better than their fathers before them.
Only, it was easier to speak when curious ears were not snooping nearby. Basilio walks past them, his body firm, straight and radiating a new sense of potency. His lips curl upward in a disgusted manner. Boasting sarcastically, he spat at their feet, "Of course. Better offspring than mud in the dirt. What a big challenge."
Nahir perks up, releasing his companions, instantly ready for conflict to arise, "Mutt, what of your father. Or will you run away just the same?"'
Whether Nahir spoke of Zamir, or Basilio's true father, it made no difference. It seemed Tazim was the only one who caught the slight twitch of the Spanish boy's fingers, clearly bothered by the words but holding it back.
Quickly folding his arms, Basilio observes each one of them carefully, as though he were memorizing their very presence. When he gazes at Tazim, Basilio rolls his eyes, scoffing in disbelief and drawing back to Nahir, "I have nothing to prove to any of you."
He keeps his head high, bidding each of them a healthy match as he leaves them to their own. At last, when he's close enough, he speaks softly yet firm, only for Tazim to hear, "Would your father be proud of the bastard you've become?"
Tazim resists the urge to punch him that very moment. Instead, he watches Basilio leave, disappearing into the crowd of men. If he were any smarter, he would have gone after the boy.
No, he thinks, Basilio's time will come.
The trio stay for the next few fights. Watching men brawl with nothing but their fists prove to be quite the pass-time, much to Tazim's surprise. It's only after the second fight, that they each are shocked further. Stunned, and frozen in place.
Gadiel can hardly keep the smile from his face, and Nahir is no less amused as they watch Basilio enter the ring below. His cowl is lowered, exposing his unruly hair. The faint cuts scattered across his tanned face suddenly seem so much more prominent.
Basilio is paired with a man, slightly older than them. He's rugged and filthy, his thick beard making his demeanor look far more unkept. If he were to have had this man as his opponent, Tazim would have kept his worry to himself. Perhaps Basilio was doing the same.
Except, when the fight begins, it is no longer Basilio in the ring. A part of Tazim hopes he is just imagining things. It's nothing but an illusion before him. His former friend was nothing but a harmless flower. A child. Yet before him, the monster roamed free.
It filled Tazim with equal parts of fear and anger.
The way Basilio kicked his opponent square in the chest, heaving himself on top of the other man like a dog. When being tossed to a distance, Basilio never faltered. He never stumbled or slipped. His movements were precise and fluid. Practiced. The slap of a fist beating against a rugged cheek, or the sudden stench of blood, it was nothing like Tazim had ever seen before.
When they sparred together before, Basilio was nothing but calm. Collected, with his familiar smile never far behind. The only times he became vulgar were when Tazim misplaced his footing or landed a poor hit. But even then, it was never anything more than a scolding remark or crude comment from his partner. The complete opposite to what Tazim now lay witness to.
If Nahir were not so close, Tazim may not have heard his next words. His gaze remained planted on the match below, he muttered out loosely, "He fights like you."
No, I fight like him.
It's enough to make him spit out in disgust.
Was everything a lie?
Tazim needed to get away. He needed breathing space. He doesn't bother staying for the end of the match. Even when Nahir and Gadiel yell after him, Tazim doesn't look back, and they don't go after him. They at least have the decency to leave him to his own. Let him sort himself out.
He hadn't particularly been paying attention where he was going until he found himself at the foot of his father's grave.
What a joke, Tazim thought.
The weeks had not been kind, weeds and dry patches of grass decorated the poor tombstone. Tazim had been busy as of late, his father should understand. He kneels, cleaning the area as best he can, plucking the few dried wildflowers and removing unwanted pebbles.
He would have thought having his father's company would make him feel better. Only, Tazim has never felt more alone than in that moment. He felt so betrayed.
Betrayed by his own bastard friend. Betrayed by the Order. Betrayed by his hidden beliefs, planted by his mother in his youth.
Betrayed by his own father. A traitor?
The young boy sighs heavily, tired from the nights' activities, but no less eager to speak his mind, "I only ask for the truth. Except... who am I to beg a ghost for answers?"
There was no knowing who was responsible for who's death. Basilio told one tale, Nahir a different kind. In the end, it was still nothing but death. There was nothing there except the idea of a life unlived with his family.
"Whatever reason for your death, it no longer matters," he explained bitterly, standing to his full height once more, tossing aside the weeds from his hands, "You are dead. I am still alone."
At least I am fighting. I am alive. What have you done?
Had his mother's stories all been lies? No. No, she could never lie to her son. Wherever the truth stopped and the lies began, there was still no denying the resentment growing in his heart. The anger and bitterness dancing together like falling snow, deep inside his core.
"I held you in such high regard," Tazim mutters, disillusioned, "Was I right in doing so, or only made to look like a fool?"
Traitor or loyalist, what difference would it make?
His father may once have been his entire world. But now, all Malik was, was a dead man. Not a father, not a husband, not even an Assassin, only a corpse buried on a hillside. A ghost, lingering on 'what could have been'. Tazim refused to be drowned in the same seas of desperation any longer.
Would your father be proud of the bastard you've become?
"You are proud," Tazim speaks sternly, demanding almost, "You will be."
When he returns to his friends, they are huddled closely to the sparring ring, right where Tazim had left them. They make no comment of his absence, nor do they question his prior whereabouts, which Tazim is thankful for. They didn't need to know everything about him.
The majority of the men had either gone in search of drink, or in search of a more favorable match. Gadiel and Nahir were the only two among a small handful of men surrounding the current trial.
Basilio danced around the ring, a novice landing hit after hit. It was nothing like the match Tazim had left during. He refused to fight this time around. Why wouldn't he hit back?
"He's been at it for some time now." Gadiel explains, having found a half empty bottle of wine on the ground, he takes a slow sip. His attention returns to the fight below. Even Nahir seems sympathetic to an extent.
Tazim's brows furrow, "At what?"
"Your friend," Gadiel teases, prodding Tazim on his side and having his hand slapped in return. He only chuckles, "It is his third trial."
Nahir finally perks up, his hands waving in the air in confusion, "An idiot. His first fight was quite the scene. But now? Purposely losing against the weak novices, why?"
Tazim takes Nahir's words with a grain of salt. He merely nods, his gaze wandering to the fight. He watches intently. Searching.
It's there that Tazim recognizes the familiar behavior of Basilio. His calm demeanor once again making its appearance. Just like their first lessons together, years ago, Basilio lets the Novice have the upper hand. He was teaching the younger man, even without speaking. Without him fully realizing.
But no, that couldn't be it. There was more, Tazim felt it.
There.
Had it been anyone else, Tazim would never have caught it. The sudden glint of his eye, his posture and the way he danced with his opponent. That ridiculous, annoying smile meant only for Tazim. Only for that night.
Tazim had seen this before, not so long ago. He had been a part of this act alongside Basilio. When they grew bored during their secret sparring sessions with the other loyalists, Tazim and Basilio often liked to put on a show, at the other boy's insistence.
A display of their skill, for the sake of proving they were skillful, never to hurt one another. Only ever to pass the time.
In front of him, Basilio played a single role in a two-person performance.
"They aren't his concern," Tazim explains. It's almost enough to make him laugh. Basilio, always such a mother hen. He observes in wonder. Basilio glances in their direction for just a second, and that's all Tazim needs. He knows exactly what the other boy plans, "He's on a hunt."
Nahir and Gadiel both eye him curiously, "Hunt for what?"
Tazim smiles in return, "A hunt for us."
I am deceased. Had tons of fun writing this chapter, I'd been waiting such a long time for it and here it is!
Hope you enjoy!