Chapter Five
"Promise me you'll come back."
I look over my shoulder and back at Khara's concerned expression. Her eyes plead at me, hoping that I'll rethink my actions and decide to not leave at all, but I stay focused.
"I promise. It won't take too long."
I squeeze Khara's hand softly as a flood of relief washes through her face. However, I can still see small waves of doubt lingering and I realise that something tucked away in her past must've made her this way. Just like how being an Assassin had turned me detached and expressionless. Until now.
I put my hood back on and get back into character. I know that I'm going to start to regret my decision soon if I keep procrastinating so I cast my eyes away from Khara's anxious appearance. With a small flourish of my hand I farewell her and blend quickly into the bustling morning crowds of Acre. An unwelcome lump forms in my throat as I walk further and further away from Khara and closer to the Assassin's Bureau. Although going to the Acre Rafiq to fully complete my task was my idea, I still hopelessly start to worry about the how safe Khara actually is in her home. But I have to do this. Soon enough the Rafiq was going to notice my absence. On normal occasions I would return almost straight away.
I scale a high wall and instantly whispers jump through the crowd as I climb onto the rooftop. The last thing I hear is the hushed mutter of "what is that man doing?" before I drop into the cool confines of the Assassin's Bureau. Before walking into the familiar room where the Rafiq dwells I take a deep breath, hoping that I don't blow my cover. I don't want to share the news about Khara just yet.
"Altaïr! Why are you so late?"
I unwillingly enter the room, knowing that trying to stay hidden would be useless. The Rafiq waits uneasily and I realise that he's waiting for me to explain myself.
"I lost the feather," I say emotionlessly, hoping that it's enough of an explanation. But the Rafiq knows better.
"Altaïr! I know you wouldn't spend more than an hour searching for a piece of plumage!"
The old man looks sternly back at me and questions me further.
"So what was it? What did you see? Who did you meet? "
I sigh impatiently as paranoia creeps into my mind and worries about Khara's safety arise once more.
"It doesn't matter," I say, but I feel my voice crack slightly.
Unfortunately he Rafiq notices too and his eyes light up with curiosity. Before he can continue I cut him off, desperate to return to Khara.
"I should discuss this with Al Mualim," I lie. In fact I don't want to return to Al Mualim at all, at least for a while. He wouldn't understand my situation.
The Rafiq thinks for a moment and then retreats, nodding.
"Yes. Make haste for Masyaf."
Relieved, I make my way out of the room. Just as I'm about to climb out of the Bureau the Rafiq calls my name.
"Altaïr?"
Despite my reluctance to hesitate further I reply.
"Yes?"
There's a slight pause as the Rafiq collects his thoughts.
"Never compromise the brotherhood."
A chill runs down my spine as I ascend the wall of the Bureau. Even as I walk further and further away from the Rafiq I feel far too exposed. He knows. I'm sure of it. I had underestimated his ability to detect lies.
I start running, eager to get away from the Rafiq and closer to Khara even though the damage has been done. Soon enough I'm sprinting as my heart beats loudly in my chest and a sudden fear overwhelms me. As I turn the final corner to Khara's small house, I can feel an uncomfortable anxiety flowing through my veins. I burst through the door as the feeling overtakes all my other emotions. But as I see the scene before me, my heart sinks.
The whole house is a mess. Tables are turned over and papers are strewn everywhere as if a small tornado recently passed through. I walk cautiously past open books flipped to random pages and shattered ornaments, trying my best not to make any noise in case someone is still lurking around. Taking a deep breath, I barge through each door of the other adjoining rooms, but all with the same result. Abandoned, cluttered, and most importantly, empty rooms.
A small breeze dances almost merrily through a window despite the scene before me and stirs up a pile of ripped pages. As I run back to the living room I notice a piece of cloth lying on the floor, discarded by the flowing gust of wind. I bend over and examine the material, etched with the familiar design of a simple red emblem shaped in a cross. My eyes search through the broken goods around it and my heart stops as I turn over a piece of a shattered vase. As my fingers make contact with a crimson red liquid I draw back, my mind reeling. Hastily I piece everything together and realise far too late that Khara is not here at all.
She's gone. Taken away.
Khara. My Khara.