Author's Note: Oh my God! Has it really been almost a year since I updated this? Oh boy, sorry guys, life got in the way, you know how it is. Not only that I left it on a cliffhanger didn't I? Sorry about that! But now that I'm a high school graduate with plenty of time on my hands I'll be able to work on this even more! Thank God for Summer! Here's a tip, pay attention to the dates, it explains a few things I don't put into words.
-An FYI update-: I'm going to try and finish this story as fast as I can, so that when number 4 Black Flags comes out I can write something for it. But I'm not gonna rush myself, also this chapter might seem a bit rusty, it'll take me a little bit to get back into the swing of things, I apologize for that ahead of time. Also a few events might seem out of place here and there, but I'm doing that on purpose to hurry the plot along. I'm doing this all for you though guys! You're all awesome and I love 'ya! ~Don't go chang'n!~
So here it is, the extremely late, extremely long, Chapter 4.
ENJOY!
Special thanks to: Everyone who's followed, favored, or reviewed since the last time I checked. I haven't been able to keep up, sorry. But I really appreciate all your support! And I REALLY REALLY mean that! None of this would be possible without you guys!
-X-
Revolutionary Tactics
Chapter 4: Kyle And The New York Pitts
New York, New York. Fort George; April 22th, 1775.
Dark.
It was so dark….
I was so hungry….
My shoulder hurt so much….
I took deep breaths as I rose from where I lay. The ground was of cold gray concrete, bloody splotches here and there. I could tell by the feeling of gore and the metallic smelling goo touching my fingers. And it felt wrong, everything felt wrong, like I was floating, numbness shrouding most of my body except for the stinging throbbing pain in my shoulder.
After I set up I tried to get my bearings. My head spun, my brain feeling as if it was floating around in saltwater. I tried to feel of the tips of my fingers, but even when I moved them around in front of my face, I couldn't see them or feel them.
It was so cold that the nerve endings in my body were being affected. I could even feel my own breath ghosting over my naked and bared chest. The only thing I had left on was my pants, and they seemed to be ripped in several different places. At least that's what I guessed from the cold spots I could feel on my legs.
When I stopped caring about my fingers I went to gently touch my shoulder. As my middle finger grazes the wound I feel a strong shot of lightning like pain go through me. I try to ignore the agony as I press my palm across the bloodied bandage on my shoulder. I hiss through my gritted teeth and feel the warm exhale of breath on my legs.
Obviously somebody had bandaged the wound to stop it from bleeding, but didn't care to remove the bullet from inside my shoulder. What a horrible doctor they must be.
At that point I try and remember what had happened to get me here. Slowly, like trying to force my way through sinking sand, recollection of past events comes back to me, like water filling a glass. The information slides into place and I blink hard, wondering if I've gone blind.
When I see movement in the shadows I know I haven't. I realize that it's just so dark wherever I am that I can't see through the blackness. Steadily, I lift my arm to reach out; when I hear a metallic jingle I begin to feel the stirrings of a migraine.
My arms, as I test, pulling against both sets of chains, were shackled to the wall, leaving me bound and immobilized. 'Great, just great, captured by Redcoats and completely helpless.' Not only that, if I didn't get someone to stitch up my gunshot wound soon I'd probably die.
'As if it matters.' I think sourly, as I just allow my body to go completely spread eagle out on the cold, icky, concrete ground. 'They're gonna kill me anyway.' I groan as pain and the horrible horrible thought of my inevitable death begin closing in on my mind.
'Whatever you do just don't think of Isaac.' I bang my head against the floor. "Shit." My voice whispers into the dark, my throat stinging just as badly as my shoulder. Tears slowly begin to form in my eyes, and I feel them trickling down my cheek, to my throat.
The tears are warm, but it's so cold, they bring me no comfort. I try and control myself, my resolve slipping as I feel hunger affecting me again. My gut trembled, my stomach burning like a bon fire.
But why fight it, the pain, the numbness, the tears? I was just going to die anyway, right? So why not face it now, while no one's looking, while I can still die with my dignity intact?
The tears slip further, my sobs getting louder, and the pain grows deeper. It felt like my entire world had crumbled into oblivion. I had failed Connor, getting myself caught by the Redcoats. I had failed Achilles; letting all of his teachings go to waste. I had failed Isaac, having to watch him die in front of me. I failed the Assassin Order, becoming an apprentice just so that I could die two months later. I had failed everyone, even Minerva.
I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse.
But then, it did.
-X-
New York, New York. Fort George; April 23rd, 1775.
About a day later my tears dry up and I feel so weak. I don't have the strength to cry anymore, my body's hit it's limit. My stomach quivers, and I cringe at the burning pain. The outside of my skin just feels like pin pricks as I twitch out onto the ground.
The wound in my shoulder's gotten worse, I can feel it bleeding again, warm thick sludge sliding down my side. Even my breathing has become uneven; I can feel my last hours ticking away slowly but surely.
My eyes sting, my nose dripping, but no more tears come. I feel so cold and numb, even the thought of my family doesn't bring tears to my eyes anymore. Only the thought that I had killed a man makes my heart beat harder. It was in the moment, but now, out of that small bubble of time and space and adrenaline, it feels so wrong.
I twitch again and I can practically hear rats crawling around the cell. I was pretty sure that the movement of shadows in the dark was the rats scurrying about. And as much as I hate rats I really didn't have the energy to even consider them, let alone worry about them.
By now I've cried about everything I can think of, and by now I only have a little time left before my last moments. I can't even bring myself to care anymore. Life. Death. What was the difference? I just wished it would end already. I was so tired; I just wanted to sleep forever.
"Sir!"
There was a sudden movement outside, the sound of a soldier going to attention and saluting. Following that I hear a scuffle, men walking closer to the door. I remain dead silent, listening carefully, and praying that they weren't coming for me.
"The prisoner?" A familiar voice calls, the sounds getting closer and closer.
"The Indian called her his apprentice, sir." A soldier remarks as he marches alongside what sounds like a higher up.
'They heard that? But how? Everyone there at the time was…' I try to think quickly, remembering who all was there at Concord that heard Connor reprimand me. In my head I imagine where the five of us were standing at the tree line, just a few feet from the bridge. There was James Barrett, William Dawes, Connor, Isaac, and me. But none of them were traitors, were they? That would be the only way the Redcoats would know. 'Had someone else listened in?'
"General Gage's men brought her in, sir." They were at the door now, and I began to feel myself tremble in fear.
"Do they know she's still alive?" The familiar voice asked, it sounding even closer than the soldier's.
"No, sir." He answered stiffly.
"Good." I can practically hear him nod. Then there's a jingling sound, most likely keys being handed off to the higher up. "May the father of understanding guide you."
When I hear the familiar voice say this phrase I gulp. They were both Templars, and they knew I was an Assassin in training. So much for a clean quick death. I groan silently and let myself curl up, not that trying to protect my body would do any good.
There is some more scuffling and murmuring outside the door before it's opened. Slowly, the wooden cell door opens with a loud screeching sound. Light flows in like water over a dam. The first thing the light hits is my fellow cell mates; long since dead rotting corpses with rats eating their remains. I would have screamed, if only my lungs still worked. I would have thrown up, if only I had something in my stomach.
The door opens all the way and I'm blinded. As my eyes adjust, pupils dilating slowly, my head begins to throb. My eyelids shut quickly and tightly as my eyes sting from the sudden light. My stomach rolls as my head begins to pound with another migraine. Pain flares up in my body and I hiss through gritted teeth as I try not to whimper.
"Get her on her feet." The familiar voice barks the command, and in a hurry three sets of feet scuffle to follow his lead.
Tightly, and aggressively, two sets of hands pick me up by the arms. The wound on my shoulder stretches, and I yelp out in pain, biting down on my tongue so I don't scream. The shackles around my wrists constrict as I'm pulled to my feet. When standing I waver, but the soldiers hold me up, bruising my arms with their grip.
Gently, I open my eyes. I gap when I see Charles Lee himself standing in front of me. I feel the soldiers' grips tighten on my arms. I bite my tongue and watch Lee carefully as he glowers down at my weakened and pitiful form.
"Three days without food, you must be hungry." Lee's voice is bitter, covered in a false honey sweet tone. It reminded me of a clerk behind the counter, they hate your guts but they want you to buy the crap their selling. The leer in Charles' eyes doesn't match up with the conniving smirk on his face. But, with his hands behind him, he goes on. "I could feed you." He propositions. I wait for the other shoe to drop. "And you could tell me where the Assassins are. How about a trade?" Charles asks, his tone so fake, eyes so dark, it disgusted me.
"No." Was the only answer I gave. My body was weak, I wanted to die from the pain I was feeling, but I'd failed Connor too many times. I wasn't going to fail him again.
Charles tsked, the smirk sliding off his face. He strongly scowled at me as he made a motion at the soldiers. This motion apparently meant kick the crap out of the prisoner, because that's what they did.
Once to my stomach, twice to my legs, and when I was on my knees they hit me in the back. I landed face first on the ground, breath having vanished from my lungs, blood running down my chin.
Lee leaned down and looked me in the eye. "Tongue a little looser now, girl?"
"No." I growled, spitting blood into his face.
He glowered heavily and put his foot down on my hand, slowly crushing it until I screamed.
And that was only day one.
-X-
New York, New York. Fort George; April 24th, 1775.
At the crack of dawn on day two I was re-bandaged, salve put on my shoulder to stop the bleeding. But by then my shoulder had begun to swell with redness. The wound was beginning to get badly infected. When anyone would touch it, which was often during the torture, it would burn and sting so badly I'd lose my vision.
Today, after Lee was sure I wouldn't die on him, they brought a big bucket of water into the cell. As soon as I saw it I nearly fainted. Water torture was one of the main techniques of torture used early on in history, before they had electricity that is. It wasn't painful, it was… grueling, a type of mental and physical torture.
"Food for knowledge. Your choice." Lee begins as he paces the length of the cell. "We can stop at any time." He goes on, that dark leer still so deep down in his black gaze, a true Templar to his very core.
I shake my head sluggishly, my entire body shaking down to its roots. I just wanted him to kill me, to get it over with. I said as much.
"I'll die first." My voice cracks, my lungs burn, as I look up at him. The two soldiers hold me strongly, my body drooping in their grip. Next to the door was the third soldier, keeping an eye out for non-Templars I suspected.
'I'll die first.' I thought far more sourly than I spoke it. That statement was fact, not threat. Lee would kill me long before I'd get any words out, even if I was planning on ever telling him anything. But I wasn't, why die a traitor? Connor and Isaac deserved better, but I was just me, I couldn't change who I was. Might as well try to be as strong as I can be.
For them I could take on my pain threshold. Which was a small amount, how I'd made it so far without breaking was beyond me. Perhaps Minerva was giving me strength?
"We'll see." Lee remarks darkly, nodding to the two holding me.
Suddenly, my head is under water. I can't breath, but my lungs take in breath after breath of H2O. In a moment of total despair I try and force myself to drown. I take in as much water as I can. But before I can go completely under the soldiers pull me back, and I throw up all of the liquid I'd taken in.
All I have to do is shake my head and I'm back under again, taking on water just like before. It's not enough that they try and drown me, but the water is also freezing cold, and dirty. It was most likely water from the river.
Time after time, hour after hour, it almost seemed never ending. But after a long while I began to feel like I was part fish. Before long my lungs felt raw, my throat sore, and oddly enough I needed to pee.
At least I wasn't thirsty anymore…
-X-
New York, New York. Fort George; April 26th, 1775.
Two days worth of the water torture, two nights worth of peeing in the corner and freezing to death in the darkness, and my resolve was beginning to break. Every time my head was dunked down I saw faces. I saw the faces of my family, blood and not blood. All I could keep thinking was: Just one more time, for them. Do it for them. Just this last time.
And every single time my head got dunked under I got that much closer to death. I just kept telling myself to hold on a little bit longer, my resolve could NOT crumble. I had to die first. I just had to! Every time my heart beat hard, every time I felt like relieving myself of the torture, I bit my tongue until it bled.
There was no way… I couldn't give up… I wouldn't! I owed Connor far more than my life; I owed him my silence.
Lee sighed dramatically. "How much longer must we do this girl?"
I took a breath and fainted.
"You're not going to last much longer."
-X-
New York, New York. Fort George; April 27th, 1775.
Today I wasn't kicked awake at the crack of dawn. Today I waited, something dark looming in the air, I could feel it.
Rain pored down onto the roof of the fort. It rained so heavily, in fact, that I could even hear it in my cell.
-Drip… drip…. drip…. drip-
There was a leak in my prison, and all it did was make me feel colder. Even as I wrapped my arms around myself, naked as I was, all I could do was shiver.
I was chained again, my wrists bled from how the soldiers had roughly taken off and put back on my shackles. Today I tugged at them, restlessly, as I waited for the soldiers to come and beat me. Today I waited, but they never came.
New York, New York. Fort George; April 28th, 1775.
When I woke up there was actual food waiting for me at my side. It wasn't gruel like usual, and it wasn't in a pathetic amount. In fact, it was a nice bowl of oatmeal, some bread, and an apple. Greedily, I lapped it all up, even licking the bottom of the bowl until my tongue was raw.
My stomach wasn't full, not by far, but at least now I felt a bit stronger. After an hour, when my stomach had digested the nutrients, I could practically hear my belly purring. Slowly, I could even feel the foods effect on my wounds, knitting skin tightly back together.
I could only wonder why this time I had been feed so well.
Something wasn't right.
I could smell foul play.
And it only occurred to me then that I should have perhaps analyzed the food before eating it.
-X-
New York, New York. Fort George; April 29th, 1775.
I could hear men talking outside my cell.
And what they were saying terrified me.
"I hear the Grand Master's come for a visit."
"What? Really?"
"I heard someone say that he was here talking to General Lee yesterday."
"What about?"
"Don't know."
If it was true, and Haytham was here, then was he the one that told Lee to feed me yesterday? Most likely not, why would Haytham care if I ate or not? He didn't seem to care about killing men when he was looking for Church. Why would that have changed?
Even now I felt fine, so I could safely assume that the food hadn't been poisoned. Maybe they thought I'd die soon without it. And Charles did seem pretty desperate to learn where the Assassins are. Good thing he doesn't know there's just the three of us.
Suddenly, while I was thinking, the door to my cell was kicked open. I jumped back in surprise, but quickly steadied myself. There, beyond the door, was Charles and his usual goon squad. But today there was no bucket of water. Instead, on Lee's face, was a look of severe frustration.
Quickly, in an angry rigid stride, Lee was upon me. He had my hair, pulling it in fistfuls. In one swift tug, he yanked me to my feet. When standing he looked down at me menacingly. I'm proud to admit that he didn't get one single squeak out of me.
"One chance." He snarls, his face inches away from mine. "One chance girl." Charles nearly spits, foaming at the mouth in livid annoyance. His gaze is so dark, yet flaming, so simply terrifying, I nearly say yes.
"No." I lightly whimper and before I can blink I'm thrown to the wall, my head bashed against the cold-gritted bricks. I only have a moment to sit back up and feel the back of my head before my stomach is kicked. As usual, I bite my tongue, and feel the blood on my fingers from where I touch the back of my head.
"Hold her down." Charles snapped, walking away and through the door as the two soldiers quickly stepped into attention to follow his orders.
I can't struggle; I don't have the strength. Instead, I allow the two men to grab me fiercely and throw me back down to the ground. They pin me, holding down my arms and legs as Charles comes back with something in his hands.
There's a smile of absolute maniacal glee on his face as he holds up a brand. On one end of the brand is a burning Templar cross, fresh from the fire. And if you don't know what a brand is, it's a long metal stick with a symbol created at the end of it. Farmers use it to brand, or sign, their cattle, so that they know it's there's. It's a mark of ownership.
It works by taking the shaped end, holding it over the fire for a long time, then burning the mark into the cow's skin. But instead of a cow's skin, right now, it was my skin about to be burned.
Charles Lee was going to brand the Templar's cross onto my back!
I shake my head savagely and my body tremors in anticipation of the agony. All I can do is try and pull my arms back, kick my legs out, but the only thing I receive in return is a near broken nose as my head is punched into the ground. I cry out this time, as one of the soldiers pinning me had punched the concussion I had just received from Charles.
But that pain was nothing compared to what laid ahead.
With every slow steady step Lee took was another moment that my mind took to spiral down. Down, down, into the darkest depths of my fears. Fire, fire began to burn upward and all I saw was death and reality being ripped apart.
I remember the last time I saw my father, reality told me I'd never see him again. I remembered the last time I saw my mother smile, reality told me I'd never see that smile again. Reality told me I'd never hear my brother laugh again, or see my friends hanging out playing video games again.
Reality also told me this was all fictional, just a bad dream.
Reality told me that Connor didn't really exist; yet I had felt his breath on the back of my neck as he taught me to use a bow. Reality said Connor was nothing but a character in a story told by a game, yet I felt him hold my hands as he showed me how to wield a Tomahawk.
Reality says that Assassin's and Templars were nothing but mere myth and legend, yet I was an Assassin's apprentice. Reality says that time travel is impossible, yet I'd lived the last few months of my life in 1775 even though I was born in 1994.
My mind kept spiraling down, deeper and deeper, hitting the heart of my fears.
Was this all real?
Was I dreaming?
But the real question was: Was I so much of a coward that I would reject this world, not just because reality says it can't be, but so that I could escape the pain I was about to endure?
The answer was…
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The brand burned into my back, my mind wide-awake, brain no longer spiraling but snapped back into my skull.
My skin sizzled, fire ripping into my flesh like claws. The pain was so much that I didn't even think to stop myself from screaming. My vision became impaired, white-hot tears streaming down my face. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours, as the red hot metal buried its mark clean into my back. So deeply, in fact, I could feel it reaching to my spine.
I don't even notice when Charles has taken the brand away from my skin, nor do I notice him leave with the other three soldiers, as even hours after he's gone, the pain is still agony. Everything still burns. He could have set me completely on fire, left my body to burn to ashes, and it still would have felt the same.
When I can't scream anymore, darkness fills the edges of my eyes, and all that comes is nightmares.
-X-
New York, New York. Fort George; May3rd, 1775.
I lapse into what feels like an endless sleep.
I dream dark dreams.
I have nightmares.
In those nightmares all I see is fire and all I do is burn.
All I can do is scream.
"Khe'kén:'a!"
Then, after so long, out of the darkness comes a voice; the fire suddenly stops.
In it's place comes a far worse nightmare.
"Khe'kén:'a!"
Slowly, the scene in my unconscious mind changes; piece by piece, part by part. They all slot together like a puzzle steadily solving itself. First, the tree line appears, then the bridge, the water underneath it, and the British soldiers beyond it. Lastly, Concord appears behind us, and I'm laying there, the bullet in my shoulder fresh.
"Khe'kén:'a!"
Connor's there, riding toward me, and going as slowly as physically possible. I hear him calling out to me in his native tongue, but I don't know what he's saying. He hasn't taught me that word yet.
My mind thinks sluggishly, my brain feels swollen and thick. I watch Connor and blink, trying so hard to do something, anything! All I can do is raise my arm up, inch by inch, my hand reaching out to grab him.
"Tsi'a." I rasp out, the word merely a whisper, a whimper on my lips, as that's all I can get out. My lungs burn, my shoulder throbs, and all I want to do is grab his hand.
Inch by inch, I stretch my arm farther and farther, but I know the ending to this dream. I know I'll never reach him, he'll never reach me, and the only thing that will happen is… more nightmares. Nightmares in the waking world.
"I just want to go home tsi'a." Tears sting my eyes, and even though everything hurts so much, I cry. It was nothing but whimpers and whispering sobs, but I cry. I cry until I hear a voice in my ear.
"Then grab my hand khe'kén:'a." It's Connor's voice, strong and there and real, right in my ear. And when I hear this I see a hand, distorted in my blurred vision, reaching out to me. It was so close, close enough for me to grab.
So I reach out, just a few inches farther, stretching my invisible shackles, to grab ahold of the hand in front of me. And to my luck, it really is close enough. I intertwine my fingers with his, grasping his hand as tightly as I can.
I blink again and I'm awake.
I look up and see my hand holding someone else's.
My eyes follow the arm, to the shoulder, through the robes, and up until I see the shrouded gaze. It's warm and longing, rough and edged, worried and conscious. The eyes are dark, but they're not bleak or black in any way.
I know those eyes.
I had had dreams about those eyes… and of my rescue.
"C-conn-conn-or!" I can't even get through his name before I begin to sob harder. My teeth clench, a hot lump in my throat. My vision blurs and I feel hot tears stream down my face.
But for the first time in a long time, they weren't desperate tears, they weren't sad tears or depressed tears. They were tears of joy.
I leapt, not even caring about my shackles, or the fact I was weak from malnourishment and my wounds. I leapt into his arms and embraced him as tightly as my frail body could.
"CONNOR!" I cleared my throat and cried, tears ending up all over his shoulder. But he didn't care; all he did was embrace me gently back. "I thought I'd never see you again. I thought I was gonna die." I speak quickly, my voice excited. I can't help the sobbing and I can't help the volume either, I was just so happy.
I finally had hope!
"Please, Kyle, calm down." Connor steadily puts his hands to my shoulders and pushes me away. I wince and he pulls his hands swiftly back. "You are hurt, and weak. You must stay calm." He says this all so sweetly, so gently, so quietly. "Please." He repeats in a whisper.
And automatically I know exactly the words he leaves out.
'Please come home.'
'Please never do this again.'
'Please don't die.'
All I do is sigh longingly and nod.
"Here." Connor slowly stands and pulls the hooded jacket off of himself. I watch him do so; a little shocked that he would take his Assassin robes off, and all he wears underneath his jacket is a simple white tunic.
Smoothly, he puts the jacket around my shoulders and I pull my arms through. After that I buttoned it up, while I was doing that Connor began to unlock the shackles around my wrist. With each hand that appeared out of the jacket's sleeves, Connor would softly grab the palm and use a stolen key to unlock the chains.
When I was completely covered and freed, Connor tenderly put a hand behind my back and under my knees, lifting me up in his arms. Instantly I felt warm, the cold of being caged for so long vanishing. In his arms I felt safe, in his arms I felt like I was home. And oddly, against my own nature, I didn't even think about how girly and 'damsel in distress' it was for Connor to carry me. Really, to me, that stuff didn't matter anymore.
Gradually, Connor made his way out of the cell and down the corridors. Practically on his tiptoes, he snuck through the hallways of the fort, being as quiet as a mouse. I saw a Redcoat here and there but not half as many as I thought there would be.
As I silently watched Connor's side, my head not wanting to turn from where it was leaning against Connor's shoulder, I saw a room. Something inside it caught my eye and I quickly grabbed at Connor's arm, begging him to stop.
Big brown eyes looked down at me questioningly. I pointed back to the room, and Connor gave me a light glare. I glared back, and all Connor could do was growl in annoyance and turn around.
Two steps back and we were in the room. It was small, but full to the brim of stuff, stolen stuff. Mainly my stolen stuff! Inside there was my hoody, um…. my bra (awkward!), the two flintlock pistols Isaac had given me to give to Putnam, Connor's bow, and….
I had to struggle to get Connor to put me down. He was very reluctant to let me walk on my own, but if I could still do anything it was walk on my own two feet. We argued silently for a few moments before he finally let me down. As soon as he does, I walk further into the room and find a huge wooden chest.
My hand touched something cold and metallic as I pulled thing after thing out of the chest. On the table beside it had been my clothes, inside the chest had been the bow, guns, and…
I touched the heavy object and pulled it out where I could see it. In the light it shined a bright silver, an Abstergo logo on its side, the Templar cross on the other. The edges were smooth, the make of the pistol nothing like from this time. Its clip was long, holding an extra six shots; the make and model were that of mercenary's type and style. A Berretta 92F, equipped even with a laser sight below the barrel.
It was the gun the Templar agent from my time had had! This was the same gun that had shot me in the shoulder…. the same one that had killed Isaac.
Instantly, I knew I needed to get rid of it. The soldiers of this time could not be allowed to get their hands on it, let alone analyze it to see how it works! If I hadn't butterfly-affected history yet then this surely would.
So, while Connor was looking away, I tucked it into my pocket, and then played it off by putting the bow over my shoulder, hooking Pitcairn's gun holsters around me, and carrying my hoody and bra in my arms. After I was done with that I walked back over to Connor, swiftly he picked me back up again, and I groaned, rolling my eyes. All Connor did was ignore my noises of annoyance and keep walking.
In the long run, we made it out without so much as a battle. But from the dead bodies that I saw lying around on our way out, I had a feeling Connor had already picked a fight. It was just one on his way in.
Outside I see Yakohsa:tens waiting for us. The pale horse whines when she sees her master. Connor gracefully carries me over to her, then lifts me up and helps me into the saddle. Quickly, he gets on right behind me.
As he grabs the reins I lean into him. I feel his warmth and the heat of the sun on my skin. The hood gets pulled over my head as Yakohsa:tens starts into a trot. My eyes get covered but I can still feel the sunlight. It had felt like years since I last saw the light of day, but I'd later find out it had only been two weeks.
Just two weeks.
Suddenly, I feel exhausted, and for the first time in two weeks, comfortable. So I lean back and get that much closer to Connor as I close my eyes. Sleepily, I begin to mumble.
"I didn't tell them anything tsi'a. I… stayed strong… for you…. Just like I promised."
Instantly, after that I was asleep…. and I slept all the way home.
-X-
I feel movement but I don't wake up. My world floats and I feel like I'm flying.
"Doctor White."
I hear Connor's voice.
"Ah! Yes, Connor. Come in!"
Then I hear an unfamiliar voice.
"Oh, what's happened to her?"
Connor only mumbles something.
"Oh! Umm, put her over there."
Movement, I'm flying again.
"Lay her out on top of the table."
Then the movement stops and I'm not flying anymore.
"Here, take this…."
I hear a noise, the sound of a grasp.
"Connor, I'm sorry, but I need to see what's wrong."
It's quiet for a moment, then I feel someone begin to tug and pull at my clothes.
My mind is foggy, I'm asleep but I'm not at the same time. I'm just at the edge. I want to stay asleep but the tugging is keeping me floating in-between. I groan and try and swat at the hand messing with my clothes. But I use the wrong arm and my shoulder stretches, the swollen and badly infected wound begins to burn, I react by hissing out in pain.
The pain wakes me up the rest of the way and I slowly open my crusty eyes. When I look up I see Doctor White from the Homestead. He's taking off the jacket I'm wearing, instantly I remember the Berretta inside the pocket and I grab for it. I don't even consider my modesty; all I care is that no one finds that gun. Instead of White trying to pull my hand away though, Connor does. The look in his eye stops me dead and I let go.
After the jacket is gone, bow and holsters already taken from me, Doctor White begins to look at my shoulder.
"Oh my…" Lyle has a startled look on his face as he sees my first wound. I look over at it and all I see is cherry red puffed out skin surrounding a yellow and green scab. The Doctor's gaze darkness as he really sees it for what it is. "Those bastards." He whispers.
"The bullet…" I rasp. Hearing this Lyle's head pops up and his eyes find mine. "The bullet is still in my shoulder." I explain, a crack to my voice, my throat begging for a cold wet drink.
Lyle nods and his expression turns stony, determined. He motions to Connor and goes to grab something from a table. While he and Connor aren't in the room I look around. This was definitely his house in the Homestead, and it was pleasantly nice. But I really wished I wasn't lying on what was obviously the kitchen table.
Connor comes back shortly with a piece of wood. Lyle is right behind him and is holding what looks like a sterilized knife. Already I feel the urge to get up and run away, far far away. I know that THIS is going to HURT.
Lyle puts the knife down and grabs a container of what looks like rubbing alcohol, and then he takes a little glass bottle out of the cabinet not far from where I lay. The little bottle was labeled peroxide. And suddenly I felt like I might just be in good hands.
Lastly, Lyle lays out a roll of bandages and what looks like a sling. When he had all of that ready he nodded to Connor. Connor walked over to me and offered me the piece of wood. I sighed deeply and reluctantly opened my mouth. Didn't take a genius to figure out what the wood was for. Connor lightly slips it into my mouth and I bite down on it.
After I hear Lyle finish washing his hands he walks over and picks back up the knife.
"Ready?" He asks me gently and I roll my eyes in response. "Well then," He replies. "Here we go." Not so slowly, since I thought he would try and be gentle, he digs the blade into my shoulder.
In automatic reflex I bite down on the wood, a muffled groan emerges from my throat. The groan slowly turns into a scream as he digs around in the hole in my shoulder. As he does this I feel blood, and what is most likely puss, stream down my side, to my arm, and into the palm of my hand. I end up screaming for a while, a burning, stinging, and throbbing agony encasing the entire right side of my body.
"Ah! Here we are!" I hear a clank and look over to see Lyle has already put the bullet in a bowl, the knife out of my shoulder. "This… this bullet is… strange. It's not like any bullet I've ever seen before." Doctor White says; putting the bowl down, Connor comes to look at it. The both of them look puzzled.
'Well it's a copper cased, refined metal alloy, made bullet that's in an oblong shape instead of a sphere. It's pretty different.' I think as I take a deep breath and relax my muscles. I spit the piece of wood out of my mouth and inhale as Lyle comes back over to pour alcohol and peroxide into my wound.
The bullet, to my request, is thrown out and never thought of again. The bleeding hole in my shoulder easily distracts both White and Connor from their curiosity. I got lucky on that one, but I know next time, if Connor finds the Berretta, I won't be so lucky.
After applying the very painful disinfectant to my shoulder, Doctor White wraps it up very tightly with at least ten layers of bandage. He says the bandage is to be changed twice a day, and that I'm at least to come over once a day for a disinfectant treatment. Lyle says that the infection isn't as bad as it looks, but that I don't want it to get any worse. He then wraps my wrist in a sling and puts it over my head, Lyle says this will keep my shoulder movement to a minimum and help it heal.
I nod and wince. Hearing this Lyle proceeds to look at my head, seeing how blown my pupils are, he diagnoses that I have a concussion too. He disinfects that next, and then wraps it up just as tightly with bandages. Lastly, and most reluctantly, I turn over and show him the Templar cross that's been burned into my back.
At this I hear Connor take in a breath, and Lyle all out gasps. Out of the corner of my eye I catch Connor leaving, walking outside and slamming the door behind him. A few moments later, as White silently and awkwardly applies what he needs to to the burn, we hear Connor outside. It sounded like he was angrily slamming things around. Hearing this reminds me too much of my brother, who used to lose his temper on a daily basis.
I guessed, back at the fort, Connor hadn't seen the burn on my back. I thought he had, but evidently not.
As White finishes up he asks me if I'd like to put on the hooded coat that Connor had brought in with me. I nod and he gently helps me put it on, adjusting the sling to go over the sleeves.
By the time Lyle is done Connor is back. Before we leave I thank Doctor White for the treatment, and in return he grabs my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. "No need to thank me, just get better."
-X-
Somehow, while Connor was talking to White at his doorstep, I was able to take the Berretta from Connor's Assassin robes jacket pocket and put it in my hoody pocket before anyone noticed. When Connor was done talking to White I handed him back the jacket and he puts it back on. The hood is instantly pulled to cover his face, I feel a bit disappointed when I can't see his eyes anymore though.
As we ride up the hill, towards the manor, I begin to feel sick. My stomach churns, and I feel nervous and extremely anxious all at once. All I could do is worry how angry Achilles will be, how disappointed he will be with me. I was scared that he wouldn't allow me back into his home, that I would become homeless and completely alone.
I feel darkness nip at my heart. Anxieties, depression, loneliness, fear, terror, all hitting me at once, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
And it was all for nothing.
Because when we got to the manor Achilles opened the door as we stepped onto the porch. His expression was unreadable, but instead of shouting, yelling, telling me to leave and never return, he slowly smiled. "Welcome back."
As soon as he said that I fainted.
-X-
Davenport Homestead, Manor; May5th, 1775.
When I wake up I find myself in a room I don't remember existing in the manor. It's got a four-post bed, queen sized, a dresser, a fancy looking rug right in the center of the room, a closet, two couches, a table, a desk, a fireplace, a globe, two bookshelves, and a chest with all of my stuff in it. Come to find out, the day I left, Achilles had had Lance create and move all this stuff into the room across from Connor's while I was out. Some of these things had already been in the room, but had gotten moved around. It had supposed to have been a surprise for when I returned from training, but…
When Achilles told me this some time later, it made me feel even worse about what I did.
The first thing I do when I wake up on day one is grab the side of my hoody. I feel that the Berretta is still there and I exhale. I look around, then try and get up, I have a little trouble at first, but after a while I'm walking like I should. 'Priority one,' I thought. 'Hide the gun from the future with all the other future stuff.' And that's exactly what I did. I put the Berretta in the chest under my bed and locked it up, happy to be done with it.
Afterwards, I slowly go down stairs to the kitchen. There, Connor and Achilles sit, a huge and completely silent tension between them. This scares me and I try and sneak away before they notice me, but before I can my stomach growls, and I end up being caught.
Hearing that, Achilles offers me breakfast, and my first day back just feels tense. No one talks about what happened, or even really talked at all for that matter.
I thought the next day would be better, but it wasn't.
Two days in and nobody has barely said anything.
I feel better after two days of three course meals, stronger, healthier. My stomach stopped hurting and I could finally talk again without a crack to my voice.
At the end of the second day I finally dive head first into dangerous territory and ask the big question.
"When are we gonna talk about what happened?" We're eating supper when I ask, and I'm playing with the meat on my plate. There's a pregnant pause, the already high tension elevates.
Achilles looks at Connor and Connor looks at Achilles. I gulp.
"I know what I did was wrong." I admit, knowing that I needed to take responsibility for my actions. "And I really have no good excuse." 'That I can actually tell you about.' I add in my head as I watch the two carefully, all they do is listen. Now their looking away from each other instead of at, and that only makes me feel worse. "But I think, next time-"
"Who says there will be a next time?"
Surprisingly, this interruption comes from Connor. I turn my gaze to match his and I see the anger in his eyes. His tone is cold as he speaks, his stance rigid as he stands.
I look up at him and feel something inside of me begin to crumble. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice begging, pleading him not to say what I think he's about to say.
"You had no right to be there! It was foolish what you did!" He yells, his dark brown wrathful eyes looking down at my terrified green ones. "And perhaps it too was foolish for you to become an Assassin."
'No! He couldn't be saying what I think he's saying? Could he?' Thoughts began to flash across my mind, multiple voices matched with multiple emotions; so many different responses to choose from. Each emotion carried it's own consequences, and even though I leaned toward desperation I ended up blurting out anger.
"But!" I can't hold back the angry tears that sting my eyes. My hands fist and I rise to my feet as I begin to shout. "But you can't take this away from me!" I plead and demand angrily at the same time, as I began to get more and more upset. "This is all I have! Being an Assassin finally gave me purpose!" I reasoned, taking a step closer to Connor. "You can't take that purpose from me! I made a promise!"
Instantly, all the events that happened at The Battle of Lexington and Concord flashed before my eyes.
I saw all the dead innocents that had been killed by the Redcoat army…
Blood soaked into the ground, three corpses strewn at Shadow's hooves. It was a family, a little girl and her mother and father, dead because they stood with the idea of freedom. Or maybe it was just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The horse stopped before crossing over them, and I felt something…break inside of me.
I saw Isaac and remembered the promise I made him…
"G-give th-these t-to that ba-bastard Putnam. T-tell him…. I win." As soon as the last words leave Isaac's mouth his eyes go completely dull, his hands that I've been holding go lax, and his head lays in the mud, that smile on his face even in death.
I remember what I said to the Templar agent…
"You think you can change anything?" The Agent began to speak, his breathing almost as labored as mine. "You think you can save those Indians? Free the slaves? You think you can be some big Goddamn hero and save the world? That anything will change just 'cause you're here? Well reality check dumbass, you can't change anything! They're always gonna die!" He yells, wiggling underneath my hold, squirming under my gaze, the dagger only digging further and further into his neck.
Sure, he might be right…but…but- "I. Can. Still. Try."
And then I remembered what I did…
I had no choice, I didn't want to kill anyone, I wanted my hands to stay clean. But what was I thinking? This wasn't some cartoon where all you do is reprimand the villain and then they go away. There is no black and white here, no good or evil, this is all gray. This was all about survival. And the only way to survive here was kill or be killed, and call me selfish but I wanted to live.
I slice his neck before I lose my drive to do so. I can only slice so deep and in the end it takes five minutes, his body writhing in pain, desperate gasps of lifeless breaths wheezing out, before he finally dies. If I could have I would have at least ended it quickly for him, but I couldn't, I wasn't strong enough.
I had killed for Connor. I had killed for the Assassin Order. I wasn't clean anymore; I wasn't innocent, or a child. I deserved the right! I earned my choice! And no one could take that away from me!
Connor glared down at me, and this time, I glared right back. For the first time I felt like I was just that much closer to becoming Connor's equal. I had a long way to go, sure, but I had killed for the Assassin Order. A Templar no less! I had taken hit after hit to keep their secrets.
I had that right!
"You nearly died!" Connor shouted, his tone dark yet desperate as his eyes stayed completely linked with mine.
And, before I could stop, I threw myself right out in front of the bus…
"I nearly died for you!" I bellowed; my teeth gritted as I felt the anger overwhelming me. 'Two weeks of torture,' was all I could think, 'I withstood two weeks of torture just for him to treat me like this?'
Connor's eyes widened, he staggered back, a shocked look on his face for nearly a second. In the blink of an eye his expression was cold again, stony, unreadable. He scowled and hid his eyes. He turned heel then and furiously stalked out of the manor, slamming the door behind him again.
As soon as he was gone I realized what I had just said. Ungracefully, I flopped back down on the chair and covered my eyes as they began to sting. I hadn't meant to fight with Connor; I didn't mean to get angry, it all just happened so fast, I couldn't control myself.
I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue as I felt a quick stabbing pain in my shoulder, most likely it's protests against so much aggressive movement.
I didn't even remember Achilles was in the room until he cleared his throat. I nearly fell out of my chair as I heard him. My head whipped around to see him as I settled back down. His face was also dark with deep thought.
"I'm sorry." I apologized, trying to clear my throat as my words came out broken. All I could do was give him my best sorry look, as I truly regretted my actions.
"I am not the one you should be apologizing to." He says simply as he turns around in his chair, grabbing his cane so he can get up.
"I know." I nod and wipe my runny nose off on my sleeve.
Achilles stands and slowly limps over to the window. Beyond the glass I can see Connor dashing out into the woods, obviously upset and very affected by what I had said. In my chest I feel my heart clench, and everything slowly gets darker in my eyes.
"I just…" I shake my head and clear my throat. "I just didn't want to let anyone down. I just wanted to be strong, to help." I pause, and all Achilles does is stand there rigidly, listening as always. "But I guess," I croak and try and cough the lump out of my throat. "I'm still just a big screw up."
My head falls, and even though it hurts like Hell, I let my shoulders go lax as I slump down. I try not to sob; I was really tired of crying, and of feeling like a little girl. I used to cry a lot when I was a kid, especially when I'd screw something up.
When I was just a tyke, as I've said, my dad would take me hunting. But most of the time he'd expect me to be able to do most everything on my own. My dad would tell me to do something and he'd expect it to be done right. I was just a kid though, and I wasn't strong enough, and his drunken commanding attitude never helped stop the tears streaming down my face.
I hated the bastard for all the shit training he put me through; the hunting, the fighting, fishing, guns, everything. But, even after all of that, I still loved him. He was a total dick in my eyes, but all he ever tried to do was raise me.
Thank God he died.
My thoughts are halted, as suddenly there's a gentle hand on my head. I had been so preoccupied by my thoughts that I hadn't heard Achilles walk over. Even though I know I shouldn't, I lean into the touch.
"I just…" I hiccupped. "I didn't know…" I wiped my nose with my sleeve again as I sat up, looking at Achilles as he stood over me.
"Didn't know what?" He asked gently, his eyes calm and kind.
"That there would be someone listening in." I explained, another strong swallow as I tried to clear the lump out of my throat.
Suddenly, Achilles took his hand back and his eyes sharpened. He began to look very interested in what I had just said. "Who was listening in? Where?" He asked as he began to pull out the chair beside me.
"A Templar agent. Did Connor not mention this?" And as Achilles sat down in front of me I began to realize that Connor most likely didn't even know himself. "Oh! Connor probably doesn't even know! Crap!" I shout, but not too loudly, as things and facts began to play connect-the-dots in my head.
"Where?" Achilles asked again, an edge to his voice.
"In Concord." I answered, and shook my head as I compiled a list of everything that I really needed to tell both Achilles and Connor, important facts that I had forgotten. "There must have been a Templar listening in when Connor mentioned I was his apprentice. That's the only way the soldier there at the fort could have known." I wasn't looking at Achilles as I spoke, I knew he was listening; instead I was trying to concentrate very hard on what I was telling him.
"The soldier, there at my cell, told Charles Lee that Gage's men had brought me in, and that Connor had said I was his apprentice. Probably if they hadn't overheard that they would have just killed me instead of torturing me." My brain rattled as my hands moved, exasperation in my voice as I told my sad and unfortunate story to Achilles. I actually looked back up into his eyes as I spoke the last part, worried about what his reaction might be. "But Lee wanted to know where the rest of the Assassins were. Day after day he'd offer me food if I told him, torture if I didn't. And every day I said the same thing… no."
After it was clear that I was done Achilles nodded. He sat there for a while, silently, as he thought over what I had just told him. He was slowly digesting the information, trying to choose what to do next. And I waited, patiently, for him to decide.
"So," He begins, waking me up from where I had begun to doze off. I startle quickly up and looked him directly in the eyes, trying to play off my exhaustion. "They know who you are now." Without him saying so I know he means the Templars, obviously.
"I suppose that gives us no choice."
I look at him sideways when he says this, tilting my head to show him my confusion. "Gives you no choice but to what?" I ask, uncertain of the answer.
"To fully train you of course!" He says this like it was evident, and oddly, contrary to the light insult, my face lights up. A huge weight comes off my shoulders and I almost feel like smiling. "If they expect you to be an Assassin then that is what you shall be. Otherwise they might take advantage of our weakness." He mumbles the last sentence, so I don't quite catch it, but I really didn't care. I was actually going to be an Assassin after all!
"Now…" Achilles turns to look out the window again. "To deal with the boy."
Suddenly I feel queasy again, having almost forgotten about my fight with Connor. "What should I say?"
"Nothing." Achilles replies as he gets up. "Let me speak with Connor. I will explain to him what you have told me." When Achilles is on his feet he looks down at me, his gaze much less harder than before. "You," He points with his cane and I immediately sit up straight as a board. "Should get some rest." Instantly I slump back down again, releasing a sigh.
"Okay."
"What was that?"
"I mean; yes sir!"
-X-
Davenport Homestead, Manor; May6th, 1775.
My sleep the night before was restless. I turned back and forth, to and fro, and never really got comfortable. All night long I kept thinking about how Achilles had gone to talk to Connor the day before. The only thing I could do was hope and pray that everything would turn out all right. I only barely got any sleep.
But everything was a lot less tense when I went down to breakfast that morning. Achilles and Connor sat there, at the table, side by side, with lightened expressions on their faces.
I sat down and ate, and for a while no one said anything. Soon enough though, Achilles broke the silence.
"We've decided." He announced, a light but serious tone to his voice. "That you're training to be an Assassin continue." When he says this I exhale a held breath. "But while you're healing from your injuries, as punishment for your reckless behavior, you're to do all the chores around the manor."
At this my head whips up and my mouth gaps. The two of them smirk evilly at my surprised expression. Before I say something though, I stop myself. It was a fair trade; I had been expecting punishment anyways. Also, as I'm still going to be an Assassin, I get a rather large punishment.
And when I say rather large punishment, I mean HUGE!
I had to sweep up the whole manor, dust the whole manor, do the laundry, air out and clean the rugs, do the dishes, clean out and fix up the secret Assassin bat-cave basement, clean out the stables, wash the horses, groom the horses, find a replacement for Shadow, and the list just went on and on and ON!
I nearly fainted on the spot when Achilles gave me the list.
But fair was fair….
I blamed Minerva.
-X-
It was only later that day, actually, that I got the chance to sort things out with Connor.
I was sweeping the terrace, when, suddenly, Connor climbs up the side of the manor with muddy boots on. He tracks them all over the terrace as nonchalantly as possible, acting as if he wasn't, on purpose, getting his childish revenge on me.
I groan as he gets dirt all over the place that I had nearly finished cleaning. And all he does is stand there smugly.
Instead of bursting out in anger like I wanted to though, I took a deep breath, and calmed down. "I'm sorry." I said seriously, looking up at him, my chin lying on the end of the broom handle. "I didn't mean to cause so much trouble."
Connor didn't say anything for a moment, his hood down again, casting a shadow over his eyes. "You called me tsi'a." He finally responds, not even commenting on the subject at hand.
"Oh." I hadn't even thought about that. I had called him tsi'a, but only when I wasn't really paying attention to what I was saying. Him bringing that up made me feel a little embarrassed.
"Did you mean it?" He asks, his tone questioning, curious as to my answer.
I smile slowly and nod. "Of course, more than anything else."
To this, Connor looks up from where he was hiding his eyes. He looks a little surprised, but not in a bad way, more like in a happy kind of way.
"And you called me khe'kén:'a. What does that mean?" This time it was my turn to ask, and his turn to smile.
"Sister, it means little sister."
"Did you mean it?"
"Of course, more than anything else."
And right there and then I knew everything was going to be just fine.
-X-
Davenport Homestead, Manor; May8th, 1775.
Two more days worth of cleaning and recuperating later and my concussion was completely healed. The bandages got to come off my head permanently and the headaches were all gone. Doctor White said that my shoulder looked a lot better too, and that I'm healing pretty quickly. It'll still be a while before I can stop wearing the sling, even longer still 'till I can stop putting bandages around the wound, but it was a start.
The infection had come down some, and my arm wasn't as stiff anymore. Lyle mentions that the bullet hole will leave a pretty bad scar, so will the burn on my back. But knowing that only motivates me more. Especially in what I decided a few days ago…
I was going to kill Charles Lee.
There was no way I was gonna tell Connor this, as he really had dibs, and more of the right to. I decided though, that I was going to bare that burden. I even imagined exactly how I was going to do it. I was going to take the gun that had killed Isaac and shoot him right between the eyes with it. All he'd see is the laser dot, then nothing.
I had dreams about it, killing the man that did this to me. The darker side of my mind, the side of myself that still had my father's voice, talked me into it. My father's words convinced me that I deserved the revenge I wanted, and that it was my right to take it.
These thoughts alone, the murder of Charles Lee, rocked me into sleep on certain nights. And I really wasn't sure if I should be worried or terrified.
In the end I let it go and just kept cleaning.
-X-
Davenport Homestead, Manor; May9th, 1775.
Achilles told me in the morning, during breakfast, that my lessons with him would begin again soon. He mentions that I don't need an arm to listen, and all I do is groan then swiftly get back to eating.
The day goes by pretty quickly after that. Connor leaves to help out some of the Homestead residents and I stay at the manor, beating rugs. Achilles, as usual, stays inside and reads, or sometimes he writes at his desk.
By the time the sun went down I was covered in the dirt that once filled the centerpiece rugs of each room. The only shirt I owned, at one time Connor's tan colored tunic, was a mess and so were my ripped up blue jeans.
I came back inside when I couldn't see outside anymore. Achilles heard me come in and looked up from his book. Seeing my hair in tangles, my face covered in dirt, and my clothes all dusty, he sneered at the sight and smell.
"For Heaven's sake child, take a bath." The Old Man says, then instantly puts his nose back in his book.
I roll my eyes and go upstairs where I know the tub is. I'd shower in the waterfall like I used to, but the sling prevented me from doing that. So I took buckets of cold water from the well and filled the tub up. Before getting in I dusted off my clothes and put them up.
I washed up as quickly, and gently, as I could. The water ended up being freezing by the time I got in. After I jumped out I covered myself up with the cloth you might classify as a towel. With the water still in the tub, and my sling still dry, I cleaned my clothes off with the remaining water.
After that I hung up my clothes outside and took the tub out and poured the water out of it. My arm was beginning to ache at so much movement and, unfortunately, I couldn't use my other hand.
When that was done, still only covered in the cloth, I snuck back inside and up to my room. I closed the door quickly behind me and lay out on the bed that was twice my size, covered in red velvet and satin covers. I sighed and let my muscles go fully relaxed.
With the cloth I began to dry off my short, thick, curly hair some. It didn't take long to dry that, and after I was completely dry I put on my underwear. Underwear, mind you, that was already clean.
After I was nice and clean, dry, and clothed I took out my sketchbook and pencil from the chest under my bed. Sitting at the desk I had in my room I began to sketch the thing that had been plaguing my mind for quite some time.
I started out with light lines at the shoulders, and then drew the hood pulled up, and the interior of the jacket. When I got the lines how I liked them I went over them and made them darker. Next, I textured certain places that needed texturing. I added notes here and there on the sketch, and then, lastly, I drew the red sash on the middle section with the Assassin symbol in the middle of that.
It was my scheme for my Assassin robes.
Similar to Connor's in it's design yet changed to suit me. I had thought of incorporating a few things into it that Connor hadn't had the liberty to have.
For example, I drew in that the jacket's interior would by layered with a fine black leather material. Not only would it keep me extra warm in the winter but it would also act as a type of armor. I wasn't sure how well it would work against muskets but it would surely work against everything else.
The color design was different too. Instead of being blue and white like Connor's it was black and white. On Connor's robes he wore the long military style coat underneath the first layer, on mine the leather part would button together and act as that coat part did on his.
I would still wear the sash and the Assassin symbol on my robes, but instead of the Eagle symbol on my hood there would be a wolf symbol. Also, I drew in a secret holster, being hidden by the layers, and that was for if I decided to take the Berretta with me after all. Then, on the back, there were two sheath holsters, facing each other instead of just hanging there like Connor's Tomahawk did. And lastly, there was a pouch built in. I planned on either putting smoke bombs or throwing knifes in there. I was thinking about using both.
It was really late when I finished with the sketch and I yawned as I tugged myself into bed. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and that night I dreamt of wearing those robes and of being a capable Assassin like Connor.
-X-
Davenport Homestead, Manor; May10th, 1775.
Achilles announced that morning that I needed new clothes.
"You need something else to wear besides Connor's old shirts." He starts as I chew on my oatmeal, Connor right beside me doing the same. "You are a young lady, and on occasion, should dress like one."
At this I groaned.
"What was that?"
"Yes sir."
'A young lady indeed! Just sentence me to death why don't you?'
-X-
Instead of going to clean at the manor like I normally do after my checkup with Doctor White, I was sent to Ellen's.
Her house was nice, not as big as others, but more homey than probably her place in New York. She actually had me stand outside while she took my measurements. After she was done with that though she had me come inside.
Apparently her daughter was out and about, like always. So it was just the two of us while she began to fit clothes onto me as well as sew a few. Achilles was paying her for the job, which made me feel bad. I swore as soon as I could go back to Boston I'd earn some money of my own, which meant I'd steal some.
"How did you end up wearing men's clothes?" Ellen asked as she fitted, God forbid, a sundress onto my form. "Why don't you have any clothes of your own?"
"Oh, uh." I tried to figure out how to explain my predicament to Ellen. "I ended up homeless after my mother died." It was only a half lie. "So I had to leave there, and I never looked back! Clothes weren't exactly the first things on my mind though."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Ellen stitched another piece onto the dress and I tried to stand as still as possible.
"It's okay. If that hadn't happened I would have never met Achilles or Connor, so it was worth it." I said this sincerely, thinking about how my life might have turned out if I had never met Connor that day about four months ago. Really, I can't even imagine my life before I found the Time Traveling Disco Ball anymore.
"You've gotten close to them I see." She says, finishing up on a white-laced sleeve. Ellen then kneels down and begins to finish the bottom of the dress, which ended at my ankles.
"Yeah." I nodded, taking in a deep relaxed breath.
"Used to be if Connor was around you wouldn't be far behind. Your injuries must keep you from traveling around with him." She mentions, tufting out a piece of cloth that didn't match the rest in length. Ellen cuts it evenly then moves on to the back of the dress.
"Yeah." I look down at my arm hidden in the sling, and I sigh.
"But it won't be much longer now, you'll be all healed up. Then you'll be back to being Connor's little shadow." Ellen chuckles lightly as she finishes with the dress. Gently, she puts the pins and cutting tool back down on the table and walks over to me. "Spin." She commands and I do so. "There, all done."
"Could I…" I pause as I look down at the simple white sundress. "Could I get a pair of pants too? Maybe a shirt?" I asked politely, as I looked back over to her.
Ellen smiles and nods smoothly. "Achilles already requested that I make you a few pairs. Don't worry, you won't have to wear that for long." She pats me on the shoulder tenderly, her tone knowing.
I slowly smile back and thank her. In the end, I liked the dress. It wasn't like the restricting dresses from my time. Really, it felt more like a long nightgown instead of a dress. It was comfortable and I could run in it!
I reach for the knob of the door when I go to leave, but instead of turning the knob in my hand I stop. In my arms I hold my hoody, which was what I wore most mornings when I went for my checkup with Lyle. I feel my sketchbook in my hoody pocket and my mind instantly goes to my Assassin robe design.
Swiftly, I turn back around and catch Ellen by surprise.
"You wouldn't happen to need anything from New York, would you?"
-X-
I ended up making a deal with Ellen.
In exchange for my retrieval services, Ellen would make my Assassin robe design. She mentioned the leather for the design would be hard to come by, as well as extremely expensive. Very reluctantly, I told her that I knew where to get the leather.
I'd have to give her my leather jacket. Parting with it would be hard but very worth it.
The rest of the things she'd need I could get for her. Ellen then gave me the money I'd need to purchase the items, and the rest would be up to me.
Now I just needed an excuse for going to New York.
-X-
Davenport Homestead, Manor; May11th, 1775.
"Maybe I could go get that replacement horse today?"
I begin the conversation as Achilles takes a sip from his glass. He pauses, and so does Connor. Everything goes quiet, and then Achilles puts his cup down and sighs. Connor watches Achilles closely, most likely trying to read the Old Man's mind.
"I suppose so."
'YES!' I mentally yell in celebration.
"On one condition."
Suddenly, I stiffen.
'Don't say Connor has to go with me. Don't say Connor has to go with me. Don't say Connor has to go with me. Don't say Connor has to go with me.' I mantra in my head as I cross my fingers under the table, in hopes that maybe I wouldn't need a babysitter.
"That you take it easy. Take Ari with you, and stay the night somewhere." Achilles stands and pushes the chair in behind him. "Boston is a two day journey, if you don't plan on riding back in the night." Achilles began to explain as he motioned me to follow him. Connor followed behind me as I trailed after Achilles.
'Crap, New York would be three days, better get a plan ready then.'
I was actually a little shocked that Achilles would ask me to take Ari. Ari was Achilles' horse, a tan mustang that he loved to groom and fuss over in his spare time. But Ari was also a swift and reliable horse, one that would follow you around and stick by your side.
I imagined Achilles asked me to take Ari because he knew I wouldn't lose her.
"While you have only one arm to defend yourself, traveling back in the night would be far too dangerous." Achilles shuffles into his study; Connor and I come in right behind him. The Old Man sits at his desk as he pulls out a drawer. He writes something down in his register and hands me some money. "Take this and stay the night at an Inn." He says, pushing the drawer back into the desk.
"Okay." I nod and then listen to Achilles' list of rules for purchasing a horse. I end up having to write the rules down on paper and put them into my black combat boots, as I had no pockets on the white sundress.
Connor helps me saddle Ari up after we all finish breakfast. I put the small bag of money in Ari's saddlebag and turn back to Connor.
"I'll see you in a few days then." I say, a soft but false smile on my face as I say goodbye. Connor nods, his eyes hidden by the hood he's pulled over his face. "Tsi'a," I say, finally getting Connor's full attention. "I'll be back, promise." I could tell by the look on Connor's face that he disagreed with Achilles' decision to let me go.
Yet, before I get on my horse, I still end up getting a bear hug from Connor. He nearly squeezes me to death, but I don't mind.
Moments later I'm passing house after house in the Homestead, and I can only think how much I hope I get to come back.
I really didn't want anything to go wrong.
-X-
New York; May12th, 1775.
I end up having to ride through the night to get to New York. As I do the forest is extremely quiet, and I'm on edge the whole time. But as dawn breaks I make it to New York, and when I do I take a deep breath and find an Inn to rest at.
I sleep 'till noon and then get right back up to find the things I promised Ellen. There was a cloth shop in town, full of things a seamstress could use. I find it easily, and the man that worked there was kind enough to help me find the things I needed as well as help me get them into the saddlebag. I bet he did that because he saw I could only use one arm. At least, that's what I think.
Next, I head to the stables in town, where I was told I could purchase a horse.
As I'm walking, holding the reins as Ari trots along behind me, I hear a voice. There's shouting, some of it in another language, most of it cursing. I ignore it as I get closer and closer to the stables.
Swiftly, I pass an alley. I notice that the commotion was coming from there. Deep inside the alley, where they're shaded from the sun, there are two men. One's beaten and bloody, and the other one stands tall, dark skin, small cape hanging over his right shoulder, not a drop of blood on him.
Instantly, I recognize the latter, and I begin to walk a little faster.
' . . I'm so screwed. I'm so screwed. I'm so screwed.' I start freaking out, completely focused on getting as far away from the alley as possible. I'm so focused; in fact, I don't hear the sound of something falling out of my saddlebag.
"Miss!" I hear that familiar voice, and I pray he's not calling to me. "Miss!" But I know he is, because that's just how bad my luck is.
I stop, trying not to look anymore suspicious than I already do. Ari stops behind me and I turn to see my worst nightmare….
Haytham-Bleeding-Kenway.
-X-
End Notes: Dun dun duh! See, I said you'd get more Haytham in this story than the game has. But don't worry….*smirks evilly* Kyle will be fine.
As I said, and probably as you read, I'm really rusty. This chapter was probably pretty bad compared to other chapters. Sorry, I'm really sorry about that. I also tried to keep everyone as in character as I could! But I've been working on how the plot will develop in this story. I've got some pretty good ideas, at least I think so.
So, if you can, bare with me.
A lot of things are probably all out of order in this story, sorry about that, again. I'm also going to be pushing Kyle's recovery time up so I can write another training chapter, next chapter. I'll try to get it done in the next three weeks, but no promises about the date, I've got a lot of things to manage right now.
And as I said, this chapter was 4,000 words longer than usual. Plus, another cliff hanger!
Also, I just reached 100 pages with this chapter! HOLY CRAP!
Any questions or requests just let me know.
Please R&R!