Blinding sunlight flashed into his eyes. Altaïr found himself staring straight up for a moment, wondering how it was that the sun had appeared in the middle of the night. He heard a gasp of surprise and brought his gaze twisting back to the source. He expected to see the terrified face of his target looking back at him, but instead of looking upon the visage of a traitor, he was gazing at a woman. The handle of the short knife was sticking out from between her ribs. He simply stared at it, confusion slowing the time around him as his brain tried to process all that had just happened.
She screamed.
It turned into a weak hissing sound as her lungs filled with blood, and she soon collapsed. Altaïr scrambled to retrieve his knife from her fallen body as his instincts caught up with him. He soon found himself surrounded by guards and wasted no time in striking out with the knife, trying to buy enough time to retrieve his sword. After he easily felled two of the armor-clad men, Altaïr noticed that the others began to defend more than attack. He returned the knife to its holder and pulled the sword from its sheath, prepared to take out his new enemies one at a time.
Half-reclining against a wall and stretched out over the full length of a bench, Ezio inhaled a full breath of the air, allowing smells of baking bread and fresh fruit to play with his senses. A short smile worked its way onto his face as he allowed his fingers to dance across the strings of a mandolin. Soft breezes fluttered through the air and ruffled the loose shirt that lay partially open against his skin. A wave of sighs met his ears, released from the pretty lips of ten or so girls standing around him, and he smiled further. Leaves rustled overhead and caused dapples of light to shift over the cream-colored fabric of his hood.
He had heard the scream, just as everyone else in the market had heard it, but he paid it little heed. Probably just another scruffy child stealing a scrap of bread, he guessed. He glanced up as a smattering of guards ran past him to the source of the trouble, and after watching two of them fall to their deaths in quick succession just before a throng of people hid the battle from view, he decided it had to be something less ordinary.
"Interessante," he murmured to himself, letting his smile widen as he heard the gentle sighs of several girls on the verge of fainting at the sound of his voice. He carefully lay the mandolin aside and stood, calmly approaching the scene of the disturbance while pulling people out of his way. He tilted his head forward a little to make sure his face remained hidden as he surveyed the scene. He wondered if the guards had managed to corner a few thieves or some such thing. He instinctively placed a hand near the hilt of his sword, imagining any one of a thousand scenarios where he would need to jump into the middle of the scuffle and help his friends, if they were, in fact, his friends.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of a single man warding off the guards with clearly practiced ease. He realized with a start that their outfits looked strikingly similar. The man's white robe was of a simpler design, but the crimson sash and set of knives attached to his waist were quite familiar. The stranger buried his sword in the final guard's heart with a sickening piercing sound, then as if he suddenly realized there was a crowd of onlookers around him, he shoved his way past a few people, throwing them to the ground, and darted up a wall. Ezio's eyes flashed. He wouldn't let the man get away.
Altaïr hadn't bothered to look back over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. He had been in similar situations so many times that he simply assumed no one would be conscious enough to follow him. When he heard footsteps resounding on the rooftops' tiles behind him, however, he quickly whipped his head around to see what fool could be chasing him. In the split second view he caught of his pursuer, he was able to determine three things. One, the person was a man; two, he was someone not much younger than Altaïr; three, he was an Assassin. His train of thought was stuck on the man's appearance. Never before had he seen a member of the Brotherhood dress so flamboyantly.
Ezio was surprised by the man's swiftness on the uneven surface of Venice's rooftops. A normal person would have tripped at least twice and given him enough time to catch up easily. He knew the city, though, and the ghost of a grin appeared on his face. If the man continued in the direction he was going, he would soon reach a gap too wide to jump across with no discernible path to freedom, and it was there that Ezio would catch and interrogate him.
Altaïr could see a looming shadow ahead. He grimaced and began glancing to either side, hoping there was somewhere else that he could escape. Seeing no alternative, he continued running and fearlessly leapt from the surface of the roof, instantly regretting the move after he was unable to reverse it. He landed in the wide canal below with a powerful splash.
Ezio skidded to a halt at the edge of the roof and looked down. The water bubbled and hissed from the recent impact. When several seconds passed without the man's resurfacing, Ezio began to debate whether he should follow. He reluctantly admitted to himself that the man could be a fellow Assassin, and so he backed up a few steps, then expertly dove off the edge of the roof and plunged into the murky waters of a Venice canal. He spied the man's arm as the rest of him disappeared into a shadow and grasped the gloved fingers in his own. The motion seemed to jerk the man awake, and Ezio found it was quite a struggle to pull both of them to the surface.
Altaïr began coughing almost immediately and found himself flailing wildly in the uncomfortable environment of water threatening to swallow him back into its depths. He found himself being pulled over the edge of something and was soon sprawled out on a flat surface that was rocking violently back and forth. He lay on his stomach and let a series of sharp coughs grip his chest as his body expelled the water.
Ezio steadied the gondola and waited until the man had heaved up a sufficient amount of water to allow air to fill his lungs once again. Once the man's breathing had steadied, Ezio pulled the sword from his belt and placed the tip of the blade beneath the man's chin.
"Parla," Ezio said sharply. "Chi è lei?"
Altaïr wanted to glare at the strangely dressed man, but instead he allowed complete confusion to show on his face. He assumed the question had been about his name, so he opened his mouth to speak, coughing up another few drops of water in the process. "Altaïr," he said with a gravelly tone, "and I do not speak this tongue." From such a low angle, Altaïr was able to easily see the man's face. He was certainly young, but there was a harshness to his features that Altaïr recognized quickly. This was the face of a man who had seen something terrible in his few years on earth.
Ezio mulled over the words for a moment before returning the sword to its place on the side of his waist. "I am Ezio Auditore da Firenze," he said proudly, letting a little more flair slip into his tongue than was necessary. "What are you doing here?"
Altaïr was about to answer, but he heard running footsteps. Ezio wasted no time and took the cape off of his shoulder, throwing it unceremoniously over Altaïr's form. "Don't move," he growled under his breath. He grabbed the oar and pushed the gondola away from the dock, casually turning his back to the guards in the process, and slowly rowed down the canal. He even began to whistle an old, familiar tune, hoping it would be discreet enough to keep from attracting the guards' attention. The narrow boat rounded a corner with agonizing slowness, and the guards finally disappeared from view. Ezio picked up his cape and reattached it to his shoulder.
"Let's go."
Still recovering from his fight with the water, Altaïr found it much more difficult to follow Ezio up the walls and nearly lost his footing on the slippery surface more than once, but they finally reached the safety of the rooftops and were able to breathe sighs of relief.
Altaïr had come to the conclusion that he was no longer in Masyaf, let alone anywhere within a decently-sized radius. The buildings looked different. The people wore strange clothing. The sun glowed differently through the much more humid air. Even the air tasted different on his tongue, weak and watery compared to the sharp dryness of the atmosphere he was accustomed to. He took to the shade of a clock tower protruding through the roof and simply stood, thinking.
"I believe you have some things to explain," Ezio said, also merging with the shadowed space and studying Altaïr curiously. When the man did not respond to his words, he bent slightly closer and met Altaïr's eyes. "Assassino?"
"What place is this?" Altaïr asked roughly. His English was not as strong as he thought.
"Venice," Ezio said, frowning in confusion. "Italy."
Altaïr blinked. He had heard of the city, at least, but he had never expected it to look so colorful, and he certainly had never planned to travel to it. Ezio clapped him on the shoulder.
"It is alright, my friend," he said warmly. "We will return to Florence by nightfall. It is a finer city than any other in the world."
"What year is it?" Altaïr asked, eyeing Ezio warily. Ezio returned the look with incredulity.
"1486, of course."
Altaïr could only stare at him, swimming in the impossibility of it all. Nearly three hundred years had passed in less than a second, and he was in a different country, albeit one that still had Assassins running around. Ezio noted his grim expression and sighed.
"We should speak to my friend, Leonardo," he said. Despite the shock overwhelming his head at the moment, Altaïr was coherent enough to know that the way words seemed to roll out of Ezio's mouth was beginning to heavily annoy him. "Perhaps he will know what has happened to you."