This story was originally called "TRUTH," but after further story development it has been changed to its present title "IMPULSION".
The description has also been changed as a result.
The Author's Note is included on the end of the chapter this time.
WARNING: For those who have not played or finished Assassin's Creed, beware that this is a story set after the game so there will be spoilers. I mention it again in my author's note, but I just wanted to give you a head's up beforehand.
Enjoy!
Chapter One
Jerusalem, 1192
The warm breeze lilted through the gates of Jerusalem, singing past the city guards that suppressed yawns due to the early hour, through a set of chimes, clanging the hallow wood together. The breeze swept past a group of women as they headed out of their homes, blowing their headscarves like pennants. It blew the smoke from the fireplaces warming the morning meals, and caressed the weathered cheek of the old vendor as he prepared his booth for the business day.
It cooled Aliya's warm skin as she lifted her face to receive its touch, and then finally swept past her, softly passing through her clothing.
She lifted her hand to wipe away the small beads of sweat off her face, as she continued from her employer's home. Draped over her right arm was a large basket, intended to hold the fresh fruit, vegetables, and grains she would purchase for tonight's feast. Her mother, Mehar, was running around the kitchens trying to throw together the banquet her employer had requested just this morning. As Mehar was pushing Aliya out the door, she was complaining of the audacity of the man to tell her now, the morning of the event. Shaking her head, she laughed quietly to herself at the image of Mehar running about the chicken coop trying to catch a fat hen upon hearing the news.
It was an honor, Mehar had proclaimed, to be the first in the city to cook for the new king of Jerusalem, Conrad of Montferrat. She went on and on, her hands moving quickly as she lectured how great they all should feel to have the chance to set their eyes on the man everyone was talking about. Aliya had rolled her eyes, kneading the bread dough, as she listened to Mehar ramble and ramble . . . and ramble. Truthfully, she had been near smacking the rolling pin over her mother's head before Mehar had suggested Aliya head to the marketplace to pick up a 'few' ingredients.
A few ingredients had ended up being a list as long as her arm and a basket big enough to carry a small child. However, whatever Mehar needed, she would get. Besides, the longer the list, the longer it would take to gather them, therefore giving her more time away from Mehar's sermon about the greatness of Conrad of Montferrat.
If Aliya said anything to Mehar about Conrad it would be that the man was a power hungry snake, willing to sell his own children if it meant to gain more land. It wasn't just him. All of the European Crusaders that were claiming the Holy Land for their own 'states,' were constantly talking of their holy war for their god, while they plundered and laid siege on cities where the innocent were slaughtered. It wasn't about their religion anymore—if it ever had been—it was about, and always would be, about land, power, and position. Conrad of Montferrat was just another man moving in to take what others had taken. Thieving from the thieves.
Yet, she felt like a hypocrite for damning the Crusaders when her birth mother had come to the land because of it.
Clearing her head of political thoughts, as she had no control over them as a slave nor as a woman, she focused on the task at hand: gathering the finest produce and grains for Mehar so that she could cook her magnificent feast to remind their employer, the Bishop of Beauvais why he had paid a hefty sum for Mehar and her family. He had always claimed it was Mehar's talent with pastries which constantly satisfied his sweet tooth, but Aliya knew the man was partial to anything that Mehar prepared for him.
The marketplace was a dizzying array of colors, sights, and sounds as the townspeople were crowding around various booths, their voices rising as prices were haggled. Aliya moved in and out of the crowds, choosing her purchases carefully before handing over the coins to the overzealous merchants. Walking further down the roads, her basket was getting heavier and heavier, while her purse was growing lighter.
"You look like you are carrying a child in there by the way you are struggling," a kind voice came from behind her.
Aliya looked over her shoulder, blowing her hair out of her face, to see her friend Rasha. Setting her basket down beside her, Aliya waited for the young woman to push her way through the sea of people.
Rasha peered her dark eyes into the large basket, laughing at the small mountain of food she carried. "Mehar must be nervous to cook for the new king of Jerusalem," she noted, taking up the basket herself.
"Rasha!" Aliya protested. "Let me take that. It's is too heavy for you to carry."
Her friend smacked her hands away. "You were practically crawling when I saw you. I will carry the basket for a few minutes to give your back a rest."
Consenting, Aliya fell in step besides Rasha as they walked by a few more booths.
"So, how are you? I have not seen you in the last week, and usually you are knocking on my door every other day," Rasha complained, her exertion showing through the grimace on her face as she struggled to walk.
"I am fine. I haven't been sleeping well lately," Aliya replied, leaning down to help support the basket.
Rasha looked down at both of their hands holding onto the handle and smiled. "See? This is why my brother needs to marry a woman like you! You are too smart to be a single woman for this long."
Aliya laughed. "Or maybe, I am too smart to become a married woman," she joked.
"Wasim has been telling me all week that your breath catches each time he walks past you," Rasha told her, placing her hand on her heart and pretending to be faint, "and that he suspects you are just making him wait so that he will buy you a gift to sweeten your heart. I told him that there is a jade hair comb that would make you fall at his feet!"
Rolling her eyes, Aliya shot her friend a dubious look. "Rasha, you should not encourage his antics. He had been mistaking my friendliness with desire, and I do not need you to confuse him more."
Rasha opened her mouth to retort, but suddenly a flash of white rushed past them. Rasha was pushed to the ground, taking the basket with her. Aliya fell back, staring as city guards trailed after the white apparition. As soon as the area was cleared, she leaped up to help Rasha to her feet and gather the spilled purchases.
"Are you—" Aliya tried to ask, only to be interrupted by the guards calls.
"Assassin! Catch him!"
The cry turned her head, and she watched as the white figure came running towards her once again with even more guards chasing it. She moved quickly trying to grab Rasha out of the way, but the stranger crashed into her sending them both onto the dusty earth. She grunted as heavy figure landed on her.
Catching her breath, Aliya looked up to see gold brown eyes staring down into hers. His white hood fell heavily around his face, casting a dark shadow to block the sun, allowing her to see him clearly. His face was simply planes and straight edges, nothing rounded or feminine in those harsh lines. His hair was dark, but not black, and although his skin was darker than hers was, it was lighter compared to Rasha's.
"You better not have bruised my oranges," Aliya finally said the first thing that came to mind, narrowing her eyes.
His lips quirked into a crooked smile, bringing her attention to a scar that crossed the right side of his mouth.
"Assassin!" the yells came again.
The spell broke, Aliya quickly felt his weight lift, and the sun's rays blinded her without the protective cover of the assassin's hood. Leaning up on her elbows, Aliya turned to watch his escape. He ran to one of the buildings, and leaped up to grasp one of the broken window ledges. The quickness of his movements had caused his hood to fall on his back, showing his short dark hair. She watched as he crawled up and up until he reached the top of the building. As if he had all the time in the world, he stood on the edge, and studied the crowd for a moment—holding her gaze—before replacing his hood, hiding his features once again. He looked to his right, and so did she, seeing the guards nearing each minute. Aliya returned her gaze to where he stood again, only to see the ends of his robes as he ran.
"Aliya!" Rasha said, picking her friend up from the ground. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine." Aliya told her, brushing the dust off her hijab. She bent over to pick up an onion that had fallen a few inches away from her. "I got up to try and help you out of the way, and then the next thing I knew, I am staring up at—at . . ."
"The assassin?" Rasha finished.
Aliya nodded, turning her attention to the ground.
Rasha helped her gather the pouches and ingredients that had spilled out of the basket. She held out a damaged apple in front of Aliya's face, watching with amusement as Aliya scrutinized the cuts and bruises.
"Gah." Aliya threw the apple into her basket, frustrated at having to walk through the crowds with the heavy basket again. "I sincerely hoped he hurt himself when he crashed into me. Maybe my kneecap hit him somewhere . . . sensitive?" she added, hopefully, her eyebrow arched.
"All for the apple?" Rasha snorted. "Besides, the city guards will catch him soon enough, and while he is in prison, he can think of the damage he has done . . . to your apple."
Aliya grinned at her friend's obvious pleasure at teasing her, as her eyes caught sight of the guards struggling to climb the same building the assassin had scaled so easily. A few that had managed to make their way on up, were looking around as if they didn't know which direction to head in.
"They're not going to catch him," Aliya said quietly, more to herself than to Rasha.
Rasha placed the last missing item in the basket. "What did you say?"
Aliya blinked, her eyes focusing on her friend's face. "Nothing." Aliya shook her head as if she was ridding herself of a daydream. "I said nothing."
"Uh huh," Rasha retorted, unbelieving. "If you ask me, I think you are a little too worked up over this apple incident. Come, we will head over to that booth over there and quickly grab a replacement. Midmorning is coming, and I know Mehar will send out your older brothers if you do not return soon."
Altair jumped nimbly across the heights of the Jerusalem skyline as he placed more and more distance between himself and the city guards. His white robes billowed behind him as he leaped from one roof, across the open space above the streets, landing safely on his feet onto another before taking off once more. The Bureau was not far, and honestly, he looked forward to eating a meal out of the saddle and sleeping on the comfort of plush pillows rather than the hard, cold earth.
It wasn't home, but it would do until he could return to Masayf.
He jumped through the roof entrance, landing easily into the main chamber where the sound of water trickling came from the fountain. The room was empty save for the pillows that were piled about the room.
Walking into the bureau leader's chamber, he noticed Malik was hunched over the counter, his quill moving across a large piece of parchment that displayed the world map the Piece of Eden had produced after the defeat of Al Mualim.
"Malik," Altair greeted, moving forward to see the progress his friend had made.
The dai looked up from his work, to take in the sight of his Grand Master, but also friend. He smiled. "I started working on this map after you left, trying to draw it to a grander scale. Using our older maps, I have filled in much of this area here." His hand gestured toward the large landmasses that were clustered together on the right side. "But these areas here," he now looked to the left that displayed a large amount of land still yet to be discovered, "are completely unknown. It is a mystery, Altair."
Altair studied the map quietly, his hand casually rubbing across his mouth as he compared the parchment to the own image he held within his mind. It was a perfect translation of what the Piece of Eden had displayed that day, at least in his opinion, and trailed his hand across the dry ink to Egypt. "The journey to Giza was unsuccessful," Altair said. "If a Piece of Eden once resided there, it is gone now."
Malik stared at the marking he had made to represent the location, and with a heavy heart, placed a heavy 'x' over it. "So, we know not if what the Apple has shown us is true or not. It could have been just another one of Al Mualim's tricks. Perhaps, knowing that he had lost, he conjured one last illusion and this was it."
"How could my eyes accept the map as truth, while all his other illusions were naught but falsities in my mind?" Altair shook his head. "I believe the Apple had shown us where the Pieces of Eden were located at one time, but through discovery and manipulation, it is possible they have fallen into other hands."
"Then, what do we do next?" Malik asked, looking back at the map to see where the next closest marking was located. "Here is one, far east of us. If you left tomorrow from Jerusalem you might be able to make it there—"
Altair held up his hand to stop the conversation. "I cannot take off for months again. I am Grand Master now, Malik, and while I trust you and my brothers to take care of things in my absence . . . I have a responsibility here."
"You have a responsibility to this," Malik pressed, pointing to the great map that lay in-between them. "If the Templars find the Pieces of Eden before us, Altair . . . I fear for the peace we work so hard to deliver to this land, for what Al Mualim and the Templars wished to accomplish was not peace but an ignorant existence for all of humankind!"
Altair pushed away from the counter, pacing the length of the room in thought. His movements were brisk, paced, and methodical. Arms easily swinging at his side and his eyes distracted as he walked. Finally, he looked back at Malik, studying him from beneath the shadows of his hood.
"Is that not what peace is, my brother? An ignorant existence of the evils that walk past you every day? A false sense of security as you raise your children, believing that nothing bad will ever happen?" Altair returned to his place across from Malik, looking down at the map. "We kill to bring the people security and prosperity, and to ensure that those who hold power, do not do so with corruption in their hearts. We know of the evil and the vendettas that exist in the world, so that they do not have to. We kill so that the innocent do not suffer. They already live in an ignorant existence."
Malik opened his mouth to reply, but found Altair was not finished.
"Yet, I understand the peace you speak of, Malik. The peace we can bring in to the people so that they no longer fear the authority around them." Altair sighed, passing an irritated hand over his eyes. "I have not forgotten our responsibility to the Pieces of Eden, but I cannot forget my place in this world. I have left the brotherhood long enough without a master."
"I will follow you whatever you decide, but we must not forget what has been shown to us," Malik said, as he rolled up the map. "We must not wait long before exploring the next location."
The dai turned to return the parchment to its hiding place among the scrolls and papers that were scattered about the area, before turning his attention to Altair once again. The Grand Master assassin's robes were covered with dust from the roads and terrain that he had traveled. He was leaning heavily against the counters as a sign of his exhaustion, his head resting in the palm of his hand, while his eyes were closed. The man did not even look up when Malik returned.
Malik poked Altair's shoulder, grabbing the man's attention. "I have a lot of news and information to give you, but it can wait until you have cleaned up and slept," he said.
Altair nodded, turning to walk towards the back quarters. "And eaten. I have not eaten since early yesterday morning," he said, hinting in hopes of Malik preparing his breakfast.
Catching on, Malik rolled his eyes. "I might have something in the kitchen worthy of your stomach."
Grinning at his success, Altair stripped off his dusty robes, readily pushing away the monsters that awaited his attention after he was feeling human once again.
Altair hated bells. The sound of their chimes ringing throughout the city as he ran, cutting through the city guards that clambered over each other to be the one to dispatch the dreaded assassin. They mocked him as he soared across the rooftops, and dodged the arrows that sometimes pierced armor or flesh. Ding dong. Ding dong.
A low growl sounded in the back of his throat as he sat up among the pillows to see Malik quickly coming from the leader's chambers. The sound of the bells weren't disappearing as sleep was moving further and further away from his grasp, and he soon realized that the Jerusalem bells were truly being rung.
Ding Dong. Ding Dong.
"Altair," Malik came to stand before him, "glad to see that you are awake. I was afraid I was going to have to dump some cold water onto your face the way you were snoring."
"Well, if you were planning on asking me for a favor, now the answer is no," Altair replied at Malik's comment on his sleeping habits, leaning back to reclaim his slumber.
Ding Dong. Ding Dong.
"Conrad of Montferrat rides into the city to dine with the Bishop of Beauvais," Malik began, but the information did nothing to Altair's relaxed form. The dai's brow furrowed. "And although, he has had claim to the title of king of Jerusalem by his marriage to Isabella, the Crusader's have finally elected him."
With his eyes still closed, Altair replied, "So? The man has done nothing to warrant my interest as of yet. The only thing that comes to mind is that his father called him an 'arse'."
Malik simmered with impatience, kicking Altair in the leg. "The Bishop of Beauvais, Philip of Dreaux, has been a supporter of Conrad, annulling Isabella's marriage to Humphrey. The Bishop has been housing many interesting guests over the past year, but this is the first time that they will all be gathering at his home."
"What do you mean by interesting?" Altair glared up at his friend, rubbing the injured leg.
He listed off a few names of Crusader leaders and wealthy Arabian merchants, "Including Gilbert Horal."
"Gilbert was Robert de Sablé's second-in-command," Altair mused. "You believe their electing their leader tonight, then?"
Malik nodded. "I am still unsure of what Conrad and the Bishop's role is in relation to the Templar's, or if the celebration for the new king of Jerusalem is just a cover for the Templars."
Altair sighed, and glanced longingly at the pillows that lay about him before standing up. "Fine, I will go, and . . . investigate the party and such. Hopefully, I will back before nightfall."
He strapped on his weapons, securing the buckles, and checking his throwing knives. Ready, he moved towards the fountain to leave.
"Altair," Malik stopped him.
He turned to see Malik holding a white feather between his forefinger and thumb. "It seems foolish for me to give this to you, but . . .,"he trailed off, reaching his hand out so that Altair could grab it.
Altair spun it in his fingers, watching it blur in the motion before tucking it into his sash.
"Safety and peace," Malik wished, stepping back as the other assassin lifted himself to the exit. "May you continue to bring us both."
A/N: Hello readers! I just wanted to start off by saying thank you to all that have reviewed or added this story or me to their alerts. I truly appreciate it! Sorry about the title change, but I had not been thrilled with it and finally found something I liked.
So onto some business: I would have had this chapter posted sooner, but this chapter is really important as it is the first time I am introducing my OC as well as writing about Altair and Malik which was of some concern since it is my goal to try and stick as close as to their true personalities. However, since I am writing about a time beyond the game (SPOILERS) I can only try and express how I feel the characters would act as consequence. I welcome arguments or comments about this.
Research: I have been reading a lot trying to figure out what Altair and Malik would have been dealing with after the defeat of Al Mualim in the first Assassin's Creed, trying to get a sense of what the politics were so that I could create a believable plot line. The result has been mentioning real people from history, but I have had to change some facts in order to keep the story flowing. I will mention this in more detail in the next chapter, because I do not want to give away anything as of yet. I just wanted to put that out there if anyone has noticed them so far.
Reviews, comments, or criticisms are welcomed.
PS: Does anyone know how to make Altair's name completely correct (with the double dots over the i)? I have it figured out in Microsoft Word, but it did not convert correctly here. Any help is appreciated.
And as always . . .
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of the characters belonging to the series.
Crystal