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"Come." She gasped for air. Her body felt like fire and ice, all at once. Fitz's body made itself sit in the dust for a moment. I did it. I-me- I did it. I'm here. She pulled herself to her feet and surveyed the area. The wind whipped around her, whistling through the sparse trees. Masyaf. She was on the outskirts, so she began walking toward the citadel.
Her mind raced. Will he really look like what we think he looks like? What if he won't see me? What if I get captured or killed? I am a member. Maybe that will be enough? What am I supposed to say?
It took her about an hour to get to the village. She adjusted her headscarf and began her mission. She walked through. Observing life as she never would have dreamed. The Animus just recalled nucleotides and synaptic responses. These were real people with lives. They would live and die footnotes. If she lived through this, posterity would watch this through their Animus. They'd live her time travel. What's the plural of Animus? Animi? Animuses?
Her musing was cut short as a patrol marched its way through the crowd. Fitz stood aside with the others as five of the Order passed. Amazing. She looked up the cliffs to the fortress. This where it all started and where it was reborn. She had heard that somewhere, but she couldn't remember.
She made her way toward the road from where the patrol had come. A few stood guard, but several villagers walked past unimpeded. The Order was not self sufficient. They relied on trade with the village and the further cities. She lowered her head, took a breath, and jumped in with the next crowd. She could feel eyes on her as she passed. Did they know? This was probably the worst place to stage an assassination.
Fitz passed by without incident and took a few moments to inspect her surroundings. The walls were crumbling, surely after centuries of disrepair. The final entry from Auditore's account remarked on the dilapidated state, but that wouldn't be for another 300 years. The tall banners of the Guild fluttered in the strong breeze. As she stood in a macabre reverie for a bit, a man approached her.
"Woman, what business do you have here?"
Syrian. I know Syrian.
"Sir, I bear a message for Master ibn-La'Ahad." She displayed her left hand and removed her ring. The guard peered down at her.
"And what is that to me, woman?" He displayed his own left hand, ring finger gone. She had forgotten. "Go back to you husband." He turned away.
"Wait!" she stammered. "I know this place! I stand in the Fortress of the Assassin's Guild. The current Master slayed the previous only in the last year."
"Anyone in the village knows that."
"Look at me and know I am not of your village." Quickly, she lifted her headscarf and removed the cloth from her face. "I am a member of the Order, from across the sea and sand. They do not cut the fingers of women to help us better hide. Please, I must speak to the Master. I have an important message that concerns the Order." She replaced her coverings and stood silent. The guard hemmed and hawed for a minute, looking her over, unsure.
"Here, take my ring to him. Put me in a cell. I invite no calamity, nor do I will I do harm. I wish only to deliver my message and be on my way."
"Very well, woman." He said at length. "Stay ahead of me." He pushed her forward and kept a hand on her shoulder, steering her toward a portcullis. A table with a couple of watchmen had been watching the scene and stood at their approach. The guard dug his fingers in, signaling a stop.
"She says she has words for the Master. She claims to be one of us. Put her in a cell and remove her weapons." The other guards gave her the same odd look, but did as commanded.
"Wait!" she commanded. "You're forgetting..." She removed her ring and tossed it to him. "I'll be waiting." SHe hoped her bravado would mask how badly she shaking.
The two others grabbed her by the shoulders and marched her down a corridor of cells. Only a few were occupied, by men who seemed too wrapped up in their own heads to look up. She was taken to one at the end of the corridor, away from prying eyes and ears. The door swung open. Nothing in there but dust and a tiny window high overhead.
"Weapons." The younger barked. She nodded politely and began to remove her coverings. One by one, the dagger, the needles, the holster (which they spent a lot of time investigating) came off and were set on the floor. She stood in a loose shirt and her underwear. She suddenly realized she was wearing a huge anachronism, but tried very hard not to draw anymore attention. She slowly lifted her arms, showing she had nothing else and backed away from the door, not breaking eye contact with the older of the two. He shut the door.
She heard them speaking but couldn't make anything out. All she could hear was her own heartbeat pounding behind her ears. She was finally going to do this. How much time had she spent already? Surely not all of it. She sat away from the door and waited anxiously, like when she was a child at Christmas. Her legs twitched and bounced with nervous energy.
After what seemed like hours, she could hear footsteps. Five sets, heading her direction. She spread out her robe on the floor as to sit off the dirt and offer him a place. As the door opened she tried to quickly fix her hair and sat back down. The younger member swung the door open.
"Stand." She did, brushing off her legs. She lowered her head out of respect. He looked behind him, bowed, and stepped into the cell sideways to let another in. It was him.
Altair. The Altair. The Master. She tried to lift her head just the tiniest bit to get a better look. He was an old man, ancient by their standards, ancient by the Order's standards. His tunic, well worn and stained, hung off of him. She could smell the telltale copper of blood that still clung in his hair. Several fingers were missing. He motioned for her to stand straight. Fitz did as commanded, but kept her eyes down turned.
"Why do you smile so, woman?" he croaked.
She looked at him. "Forgive me, Master. It is an honor to be in your presence. I forget myself."
He faintly smiled. "It has been a great while since anyone was glad to see me. I do not remember when the last was." He looked to his guards and nodded. They stepped back and into the corridor, except the one in the room. Altair gazed at her, inspecting her, measuring her worth. Was he watching her with the eagle's eyes?
"Child, you have traveled a long way to see me. You bear a ring and a message." He held the ring, pinched between two gnarled fingers. "You are a wise messenger to bring proof of your Order, but do not bear the most telling mark." He shook his left hand at her.
"Master, we do not sever the finger where I am from. It marks women as untrustworthy and we have lost many because of its significance."
"Women are untrustworthy."
She bristled. Now was not the time to get into an argument of equality. "Some are, but the same could be said of some men, no? Even those who have taken the Oath." Okay. Maybe a little.
He breathed a moment and then nodded his assent. "You speak truth. There are many paradoxes by which we live. Our own Creed is example and proof." He held the ring up to his failing eyes. The circumscribed words on the inside in his own language were the Oath of the Order. "How did you come to possess this?"
"When I joined the Order and received my mark." She held her hand out for him. Again, he held it close to his face. His hand felt strange. His skin was thin, she could see. Faint liver spots were already forming. His breath was hot, but slightly labored. He had only a few years left, she remembered. She studied his face. He was gaunt, but not frail. He did after all, wrest control of the Guild back just this last year. A thought occurred to her. Do the Apples prolong life?
While she was musing over this odd hypothesis, he was dissecting her with his eyes. The branding scar. He turned her hand over several times, watching the callous disappear between her fingers and come around the other side in an unbroken circle. "We wear the ring to hide it and as a symbol of marriage to the Order. We remain faithful to the tenets as we do our vows."
"Then I return your ring, Assassin. Give me your message in return."
"Yes, Master." She turned her attention to the guard. "Can you scribe?"
"He is my son and knows his letters."
"You may wish to write this down, exactly as I will say it." He looked to his father who frowned and nodded. She backed away from the old man as the guard's hand went for his sword. He called for quill and paper, which were brought in quickly. A small desk was brought in. He stood over it, smoothing out the roll. He looked up and awaited her words.
"This will sound strange, but I assure you all is true as we can see." She paused and heard quill scratching against parchment. "Far ahead, into the future of the Order, there will come a light from the Heavens. In a land far away, God's hand will extend from the firmament and place upon the Earth a city that will become his throne. Man will govern his Law from this throne and will be looked to all over the far country for God's glory.
"Hundreds of years from now, God will send a messenger to bring True Guidance. The throne will be sat by Men who care for their own gain and not for those who look to them. The messenger will call upon the secret and the secret shall free the flock. The secret will strike like lightning from the hidden places and remind the Men of their heresy. The secret will restore God's balance and watch over the affairs of Kings and throne."
It became eerily quiet. She had stopped speaking and the two men stared at her. Fitz lowered her eyes solemnly as she could. Her heart beat in her throat. Had she remembered everything Burke had written?
"I have delivered my message. I will take my leave."
"Your words are cryptic, Assassin, and I haven't the time or patience for riddles these days. Be plain in your speech."
"Master, I cannot, for I little understand them myself."
"Then how did you come by them?"
"They were passed to me by another, a seer."
Altair's son scoffed. "A seer. Charlatan and heretic, most likely."
She shook her head. "Sir, I assure you. He said he had bitten the apple and the knowledge must be passed. To you."
She carefully gauged the old man's reaction. He understood what she meant now. The Apple.
"These words are not meant for us. They are meant for those long after. As I have relayed them to you, they must be protected here, in Masyaf, until those chosen may find it." This had to work.
The old man stood silently for a moment and raised his eyes toward the tiny skylight in the cell. Sunlight splashed across his face and his craggy face seemed like stone. The three in this room felt time pass all at once and not at all.
"Messenger." She bowed. Altair motioned for his son to move from the desk. He scribbled something and handed it to her.
"Take this. You are dismissed." The Master held the parchment in his hand. He wore the same expression she had seen from the Miles files when he dealt with the Apple. The weight of the world was upon his shoulders once again.
"Master," She whispered. "Please forgive me." He did not turn toward her or meet her gaze. He waited for the door to be opened and stepped out into the corridor. She and his son watched him leave. The dragging of sandaled feet drifted away.
"Dress and then you may leave. Your weapons will be returned at the road." With that, he left the room, with the desk..
Fitz resumed breathing. She had done it. Her hands were shaking, everything was. The seed had been planted, but would it take root? There was the question. She dressed quickly, covering her head and face. Time to go home.
The assassins standing watch waited for her. One carried her weapons. She looked him in the eye and he wrapped them in his tunic. She nodded and was led down the corridor. She tried so hard to remember what she saw, how things smelled, how they sounded. Nothing would stick in her memory as strong as this would.
The detail passed the portcullis and out on the main thoroughfare. She walked between the two guards silently all the way down the road into the village. She turned toward the one concealing her weapons, who presented them to her.
"What is your name?" He asked her.
"My name is the same as yours, Brother. Assassin of the Order." Fitz secured her weapons. She knew this would break social taboos of the time, but wanted to make an impression. She extended her left hand to him. His compatriot drew back slightly at the scene. He smiled tightly and held onto her wrist as she did his.
"Safe travels to you, Assassin." She nodded, took one more look at the fortress, and walked away.
Her mind was racing and completely blank. Everything seemed to be slowing down around her. Please, don't tell me I'm dreaming. She picked up the pace to make it to the jump point. A cart being pulled by a man went ahead of her. The road leading away stretched out ahead of her. She thought of something. Posterity piloting me? I'm assuming I'm going to live long enough.
Sometime later (she walked slower out than she did into the village), she made it to the jump point. The road was almost deserted. A couple of merchants were set up a little further down, selling something. She couldn't make it out from this distance. No one was coming up the road, either. She had been passed several times on the way here. She reached for her holster that housed the element. She input the numbers Grant had so graciously written on tape on the side. The thing buzzed and blinked. She kept watching around her, but no one was there to notice. She counted down from ten slowly and -click- everything went white once again.
How will the team's action ripple through the timeline? Stay tuned!