Hama, Syria 2012
Lucy found a set of stairs tucked away in a corner, nearly hidden completely by a half crumbled wall. They made their way down cautiously for the light was getting bad. In fact, it was pitch black at the bottom, so dark they couldn't see their hands in front of their faces, but they kept going down what appeared to be a hallway, keeping a hand on the rough walls for guidance. Lucy, feeling a little disoriented, grabbed Desmond's hand, smiling a little when he gave it a little squeeze of reassurance.
Suddenly something grabbed her. At first she thought it was Desmond teasing her in the dark, but then she heard him grunt and his hand was yanked out of hers.
"Who might you be?" a deep voice whispered in her ear, something sharp and cold tickling her neck, "Friend or foe?"
"Safety and Peace to you, brother." Lucy answered, recognizing the request, as well as the voice, "Safety and Peace. Now, let me go, Gerson."
"You came in rather late, Lucy." The voice whispered, the blade moving away from her neck, "Your friend is a little jumpy, aint he?"
"Oh no!" Lucy whispered in dread, "Let him go, hurry! Don't…oh no, Desmond, stop! Don't hurt them, they are not Templars!"
It was too late. Desmond had heard Lucy's startled intake of breath an instant before two rough pairs of hands grabbed him, pulling him away from her. Before he could call out to her, a hand was clamped over his mouth. He struggled against it, but whoever had him was much stronger. It never crossed his mind that they might be assassin allies; to him, allies don't accost each other like this. Suddenly he kicked out low, connecting with something that gave with a pained grunt. He yanked his right arm free of the now loosened grip and turned his attention to the other person. The other was, as Lucy already found out, a well-trained assassin, but he wasn't expecting Desmond to react the way he did. He suddenly found himself doubled over, completely winded, after being rammed in the gut by Desmond's elbow and knew that a blow to the head was going to follow, knew also that it would be very painful at best and deadly at worst. But it didn't come.
Luckily for him, Desmond heard Lucy's pleas for him to stop and, slowly, his mind returned, pushing back that of the high-strung and deadly assassin. In the utter darkness, the man couldn't see what happened next, but he heard a sharp thud and a low groan, followed by another, heavier one.
"Couldn't you have found another way other than knocking him out?" he heard Lucy ask, "I'd rather not have him suffer anymore brain damage."
XxXxXx
Acre 1191
When a horse has become attached to a person, they generally view them as part of their 'herd'. Testosterone charged stallions, like Zauba'a, tend to get very protective of their herd, willingly attacking any threat to it. So, it goes without saying that, when the big grey stallion saw his 'herd mate' go down and was slowly being surrounded by soldiers, he felt the natural instinct of a herd stallion to protect his herd.
With a shriek that sent the birds flying away in terror, the big horse charged down into the middle of them, living up to his name, like a demonic whirlwind. Soldiers cried out in panic and pain as they were either trampled or kicked. Pretty soon, none of them wanted anything to do with the big grey as he stood protectively over Altair.
The assassin, on the other hand, was just starting to make sense of what was going on. He was dangerously close to passing out, but the sudden presence of Zauba'a, coupled with the sharp comforting smell of leather and horse, pulled him back to consciousness enough to reach up and grab the saddle, somehow pulling himself up onto the horse's back. He picked the reins up purely on the reason so they wouldn't flap around and confuse Zauba'a and twisted his fingers into the thick dark mane.
"Home." He choked out, "Go, Zauba'a, go home."
The horse snorted, understanding the command "home". He gave another shrieking whinny before spinning and taking off at a dead run, scattering people and soldiers along the way. He needed no guidance from Altair for they had gone back and forth from Acre enough to where he knew how to get home, but the poor horse was very confused as to why Altair didn't comfort him or encourage him to a faster pace. He always did something while on his back and the sudden absence of that only served to scare him.
He ran the whole way home, slowing only when exhaustion settled in, but resuming his fast pace when he could. Somehow or another, Altair managed to stay mounted, though he was slumped in the saddle without either of his feet in the stirrups. A small part of his mind registered that, every time he started to slip off, Zauba'a moved a little to stay under him.
Needless to say, both horse and rider were utterly exhausted by the time they reached Masyaf. Altair had come to enough to slow Zauba'a to a walk for a while but was out by the time the city gates came into view. Suddenly feeling the over-whelming urge to run, despite his exhaustion, the horse broke into a gallop and flew through the gates, startling the guards. Fortunately it was night so the streets were virtually empty as the horse pounded up the twisting roads to the fortress.
Two guards on duty up on the walls noticed them and watched in mild interest as they approached, recognizing both of them.
"Altair seems to be in a hurry." One of them, Djmal, commented.
"I don't know, something seems a little off." Karim noted. Karim was several years older than Djmal and was well known throughout the fortress as being a rock of good sense. "Zauba'a seems to be running a little wild."
"So?"
"Altair loves that horse, he wouldn't run him ragged right up to the fortress, no matter how important the news he carries is." Karim explained patiently, "And further more, the reins are really loose, like Altair's not even holding onto them."
"You scare me sometimes." Djmal said, curiosity getting the better of him as he took a closer look. "You're too observant. I'll be with my woman and continuously looking over my shoulder for you."
"Good, it'll keep your lazy ass more alert."
Before Djmal could come up with a retort Zauba'a slid to a stop right below them, snorting and dripping with sweat.
"Demons chasing you, Altair?" Djmal asked casually.
Instead of any usual sarcastic replies, Altair graced them by finally falling off Zauba'a, causing the horse to whinny loudly again and rear up.
"Told you something was wrong!" Karim shot before dashing down from the wall, calling out orders as he ran, causing an uproar.
Djmal looked down at Altair's still form again, feeling slightly worried but not for Altair. The man was tough as nails, nothing could keep him down for very long and he would soon be back in action, but Djmal was worried for everyone else. He had never believed that anything could actually injure the master assassin, let alone catch him. If something, or someone, had injured him that badly, what would that mean for the rest of them?
XxXxXx
Assassin stronghold, Hama, Syria 2012
The first thing Desmond was aware of was a splitting headache. That and he was sitting on something cold and hard. His eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly, only to instantly regret it as the bright lights stung his eyes and his head was sent reeling.
"Whoa, easy there tiger." A soothing voice said, "Let that hard head of yours recover a bit. That was a nasty blow you took."
Desmond slitted one eye open and saw a tall woman with long dark brown hair bound in a braid sitting across the table form him, big blue eyes watching him.
"Who…where am I?" Desmond stuttered, his aching head unwilling to cooperate.
"The last assassin stronghold." The woman said, "A bureau, if that helps you out any."
"Ah." Desmond said, all the events of last night coming back to him, "How long have I been out?"
"Just an hour or so." The woman said, smiling gently, "Gerson hits hard when he feels he needs to. You shook them up pretty badly."
"Not nearly as much as they did me." Desmond said sourly, "Who are you anyway?"
"Oh, dear me, I'm so sorry, I forgot!" her blue eyes widened, "My name is Sura. Oh, and don't worry, this isn't an interrogation room. We only put you here so that in case you were still…um…pugnacious, shall we say, no one would get hurt."
"Yeah, about that." Desmond winced, "Sorry, but your guys scared the shit outta me. I thought we had been caught by Templars."
"Well considering our front door doesn't work so well and given the fact that what you see here is all that is left of the assassins, we are kinda paranoid." Sura said wryly, "Lucy had already given the correct password but you reacted before anyone else could."
"So Lucy is alright then I take it."
"She's perfectly alright. A little worried about you, but alright." Sura stood suddenly, "Well, you seem much better now and in a more stable mind set. Come on, I'll give you the grand tour of our little shelter."
The compound, as it turned out, was situated underground, accessible only by a hidden trap door in the hallway Lucy and Desmond had been in earlier. It wasn't very big but it didn't really need to be considering it held only 50 people, less than half of them fully trained assassins, the other half were trainees or allies that chose to go into hiding with them. Still, it was rather cozy, as much as a hole in the ground could be, and it was very well equipped. In fact, it reminded Desmond a lot of the fortress in Masyaf during Altair's time.
About halfway through the "tour" they ran into Lucy who, taking Desmond completely by surprise, gave him a big hug. Behind her was Gerson, who was a lot bigger than Desmond had expected, standing several inches over Desmond's 6 ft. frame and quite a few pounds heavier, but the lump on his head insisted otherwise. Gerson was not the type to hold grudges, fortunately, and was friendly enough as he shook hands with Desmond, showing sincere admiration for the way he had quickly taken out 2 well-trained assassins. Desmond simply nodded, prudently withholding his comment on how it was Altair, not him, who had done it.
"Admit it Gerson." Sura teased the larger man, "You're jealous. You haven't been beaten in a hand-to-hand combat in years and then this skinny kid shows up and knocks two of your men around like rag dolls. Admit it, little brother; he just might get you next!"
Gerson laughed, "I'm not putting anything past you, kid." He told Desmond, "but I seriously doubt you can beat me."
Desmond just nodded forcing a smile on his face, but in truth, his mind was reeling. Sura's teasing words had rang so painfully familiar in his mind. Where? Where had he heard that before?
"Desmond? You ok?" he heard Lucy ask.
"Did she, did Sura just say 'little brother'?" he asked Lucy.
"Yeah, she…oh, I see now." Lucy smiled and turned to Sura, who was watching them curiously. "Sura, remember I told about the Animus?"
Sura nodded, "the machine that reads your ancestor's memories? Yeah, I remember. Sounds pretty cool, though in Templar hands in scares me."
"Well, Desmond was in it for some time and you two have an interwoven past. Sura, tell him who your ancestor was; the assassin back during the crusade."
"Before the Mongols came?" Sura asked, "Of course. My family took great pride in it and kept passing down the story throughout the generations. My ancestor was the only female assassin at the time. Her name was-"
"Badoura." Desmond finished for her, causing her to raise her eyebrows, "Your ancestor was Badoura."
XxXxXx
1191 Masyaf
"This would be the, what, eighth time?" Malik asked in amusement, leaning against the wall in Badoura's rooms, "Eight times. It has got to be a new record."
"No, he has a ways to go from what I heard." Badoura said, "Altair apparently was nothing compared to some assassin, I forget his name, about forty years ago. He was able to set the whole fortress into utter chaos a grand total of fifteen times in his career. Besides, I'm not counting this one. Altair wasn't exactly trying to set everyone off. It was just his grand entrance, complete with an overprotective, belligerent stallion, that did it."
Altair, for his part, was still out cold, though this time it was due to Badoura having drugged him. He wasn't aware of how perfectly had he had upset the entire fortress, and apparently half of Masyaf as well, by simply falling off his horse.
"Alright, now that I don't have to listen to his whining, let's see if this was all worth it." Badoura deftly stripped off Altair's clothing, revealing his well-muscled torso. "Ok, maybe all that fuss was a little justified."
Malik let out a low hiss when he saw his friend's chest; several ribs stuck out in odd angles while a spectacular bruise ran parallel along his diaphragm. The broken ribs seemed to be moving in the wrong direction with every breath Altair took, making a sickening crunchy noise when Badoura gently prodded them.
"These will definitely keep him still for a few weeks." She mumbled, "But for the life of me I can't tell what caused this. It's like he got hit with something, but the area is too narrow, too straight. Ugh, trust Altair to get bizarre injuries."
Suddenly, she stopped and put her hand on Altair's forehead, frowning, "What on earth…why is he feverish?"
"Feverish? Since when do a couple of broken bones cause a fever?" Malik asked, "I'm no healer but I've never heard of that."
"That's because they don't." Badoura sighed, her eyes running over Altair's body, "But open wounds do. Come here, I'm going to need your help pulling his boot off."
"Before I do, tell me, what makes you think I want to help pull that nasty thing off?" Malik asked.
"Oh for the love of God, you're the one who started the whole shoe throwing war years ago, little brother!" Badoura exclaimed, "And you have absolutely no right to talk about smelly boots! That one time you left your boots in my room? It took days for the stench to air out, even with incense. No, get over here. I need you to pull his boot off while I make sure it doesn't pull the arrow stuck in his leg and make a possibly bad wound worse."
"Now that…that would cause a fever." Malik said, after he tossed Altair's boot off.
The arrow had gone completely through his leg, managing to miss all the important veins and tendons but leaving his leg open to infection. Considering Altair hadn't been able to pay any attention to the wound, let alone even take the arrow out, it had become infected rather quickly, resulting in the fever he currently had. The wound itself was rather ugly; red and swollen, with pus oozing out of it and, rather worrisome, blue streaks leading from the site.
"Pretty colors. And with accessories as well." Badoura said dryly, prodding the arrowhead where it poked out of Altair's calf muscle, "Fortunately this isn't really as bad as it looks. Get that arrow out, clear it out, clean it up, let it heal and he'll be none the worse for wear save a scar to add to his already impressive collection. Hold his leg still for me, please, while I pull this out."
"And those streaks?"
"Just the wound bitching that it's infected. If they had been red streaks and snaking down half his leg then we would have a serious problem. But by then, the wound would be stinking worse than your boots and turning green." Badoura said, easily sliding the arrow out and starting to clean the wound, "If anything could smell worse than your boots, that is."
"Leave my boots out of this."
"And out of my room as well."
"Enough. I'm changing the subject now." Malik said, glaring, "For how long have you knocked him out?"
"Just for an hour or so. But given his ability to sleep like a damn rock when he wants to, that can easily be stretched to several hours." Badoura said wryly, "Better he stay asleep however. There's nothing worse than a sick or injured man. They can whine like no other and Altair is at the top of that class."
"Good. I have something I need to discuss with you." Malik said, his voice turning deadly serious, "Something that is going to affect us all."
XxXxXx
2012 Hama, Syria
"Desmond?"
Desmond spun around when he heard his name, a voice he hadn't heard in nine years.
"Mom."
Gerson, Sura and Lucy discreetly disappeared, allowing them some privacy.
Really he was startled to see her. She had aged in the nine years he had been away. Several strands of grey hair now marred her dark hair and her face was pale with small wrinkles appearing around her dark eyes and mouth. Still her beauty remained and the hopeful smile she put on only enhanced that. Suddenly, tears streamed from her eyes.
"Oh thank God!" she cried, throwing her arms around him, "I was so worried about you!"
For a split second Desmond was too stunned to do anything but then he hesitantly returned the hug, not denying the rush of affection that went through him, but still rather uncomfortable. After all, what do you say or do after nine years?
"I…I'm sorry." He said sheepishly, not really sure what to say.
"I am too." His mother said, taking him back on his heels, "Everyday you were gone I blamed myself, thinking that, had we not kept you in the dark, you would have never left."
"But you found out first hand what that was, didn't you?"
Desmond winced slightly as he slowly turned to face his father. It was slightly ridiculous; he had been bold enough to run away, live on his own for nine years without a problem, get kidnapped by Templars, forced to relive his ancestors memories (though he had no complaint against that), basically been shown how the world was going to end, been told he was going to be killed, performed a mad escape by hitch hiking on a cargo plane and running away to Syria, all the while making cynical and sarcastic remarks and just generally being a pain in the ass as much as possible. But he could barely stand facing his father.
"Seems to run in the family then." His father said, taking poor Desmond back even more on his heels, "Being as stubborn as an ass. I take it you learned something from this?"
"Yeah." Desmond said slowly, unable to resist just one stab at humor, "Just how far back that stubbornness runs."
His father, a tall solid man who also had dark hair starting to grey but lighter eyes, just shook his head. "That Animus thing, huh?"
"Despite the fact that it was in the hands of a bunch of Templars and being used to find the keys to taking over the world, that was the coolest thing I have ever done." Desmond said in all honesty, "Although getting off the thing after a full day on it was rather painful."
"Tell us about it."
Desmond launched into his tale, embellishing it a little…ok, embellishing it a lot, but realizing, in the back of his mind, that asking about it was his father's way of both apologizing and forgiving him. And by telling, Desmond was accepting it. For some reason, that meant a lot to him when it hadn't in the past. But, for some reason Desmond couldn't really explain, he refrained from mentioning names, especially Altair's. Now just wasn't the right time to admit that his, and consequently his father's, ancestor was the greatest assassin during the twelfth century, not to mention slightly to blame for the mess they were in now by not destroying the stupid Piece of Eden. He also didn't mention the Bleed Effect. He didn't want to worry his mother after only seeing her for ten minutes but also because that would include needing to tell about Altair.
"So they still can't find that damn Piece of Eden, huh?" his father said rhetorically, "They can't hold onto the things. They get one then destroy it through strokes of brilliant stupidity. Good thing Lucy managed to scramble that memory then. The Templars might actually get smart and keep one or two intact."
"Yeah, but we don't know where they are either so its back to square one." Desmond pointed out, "Don't we want to find them before they do?"
"We do, but there are not many of us left." His mother put in, "All you see here is all we have. If Abstergo is as big as you say it is then they have an advantage over us."
"Maybe. I think…I think I have an idea." Desmond said, his eyes widening, "Quick, get Sura, Lucy and Gerson! I have a really good idea!"
"Desmond, you do realize that the library was destroyed when the Mongols invaded right?" Lucy asked, after hearing Desmond's idea, "Most of the records were destroyed. People have already searched the fortress over hundreds of times. If there was anything to be found, it's gone already."
"Oh come on, Lucy." Desmond said, dropping his head in his hands, "You were watching those memories as well! Think! Remember, there was another area where they kept records…he woke up there after the master-"
"OH!" Lucy stood up as she remembered, "Oh my God…I can't believe I forgot that."
Sura and Gerson glanced wide-eyed from Desmond to Lucy and back again, totally lost.
"The main library might have been destroyed…but that wasn't the only place they kept records." Desmond explained excitedly, "I know of another spot, one a bit more secluded than the library. There's a chance that something might have survived there."
"So I take it we're going on a field trip to Masyaf?" Gerson asked, "To go look for a secluded room in the ruins of a fortress that might contain records of something, you have yet to tell us what, and hope that the Templars haven't figured this out earlier or we'll get the whole Templar welcome committee. In other words; potentially fruitless, dangerous, exciting, suicidal and did I mention dangerous? Great! What time are we heading out?"
The sad thing was, he actually sounded genuinely eager.
XxXxXx
A/N: Nice long chappy for everyone. I have to go back to school on Mon. and, after a week off, I'm nervous about the make-up load. Don't know if I'm going to have time to type this up after Mon. but I'll try my best (and work like crazy over the weekend). Who knows, maybe my history teacher (who, I swear, is old enough to probably have witnessed the crusades, all of them, and have dated the hashishan assassin master) will not notice me typing up stories in the back of the classroom. Lol, she doesn't notice much else, let alone the attention level of her class (which, that is, asleep and snoring)….
...You know, that would be kinda cool if she had dated an assassin…not Altair because that would be creepy and totally burst my fantasy bubble and all surrounding daydreams that accompany it. Yikes, early morning ramblings.
Safety and Peace, my friends. REVIEW!! (it keeps me happy and keeps my plot bunny from biting me, damn little fur ball. I don't think hurricanes sit well with her.)
-Vanillathunder215