Note ~ Sorry for the delay, guys. Chapter got a little bipolar on me. You know what they say about thirteen... :P
Jess Ishtar ~ I appreciate the encouragement! I'm glad you find it realistic because I was having my doubts. And I'm not entirely sure about the whole AltairxOC yet...^.^
DeathtoBella ~ It's so exciting to see how you perceive it, but I won't say anymore than that. ;P
Althay ~ ^.^ Your review made me smile, and I think your English is darn good if you can read all my jumbles of nonsense. :D
Thanks again for reading and happy April Fish Day! You guys rock!
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
It was too much. All of it was. Never in my life had I seen so much violence…nor so much blood. Zafar's words echoed through my head like an endless cavern; a horrible, beaten cavern that was about to come down on top of itself.
She's gone.
Altair stared distantly at Laleh's cold frame, "Nak'la bihaj at'hida muhada eht el'badina."
Had I been less on the brink of insanity, I probably would have been startled by this sudden stream of Arabic. It hadn't even occurred to me that everyone had been speaking in mostly English since I arrived. I had just gone along with it like it was completely normal.
It wasn't.
I blinked in a futile attempt to pull myself back to my senses, but I couldn't. My mind refused to go back, for fear of my heart dropping out of my chest and spilling out on the floor beneath me. My consciousness had holed itself into the very back of my blood, teetering around on a blank white canvas. It was in total and absolute denial.
And yet my rational side had to keep poking at it, trying to drag it back to the reality that fumed before me. But I could't face it. I just couldn't.
"It's all my fault!" I sobbed dreamily, gazing into nothing.
Altair turned to look at me, stunned. "Mal'hu a'heltaj macre?"
"She doesn't need to be here, Altair," I heard Zafar caution.
"Well, she can't exactly go roaming around in the streets," Altair snapped.
His voice was tense, as was Zafar's. Both of them seemed to be trying to cope with the foul stench that polluted the room; the stench of death.
"It's all my f-fault," I repeated, shrinking to my knees on the musty floor.
Zafar kneeled next to me but I could barely see him. My vision was stuck in time, looping Laleh's last breath over and over again in an old black and white motion. She would never leave Damascus. She would never marry Faruq. And it was all my fault. None of it would have ever happened had I not appeared in this rotten world. Life would have gone on as it should. Laleh would have gotten the happiness she deserved, not the cruel fate she was delivered.
"I think she might be in shock," the old man stated, his own composure trembling.
Altair sighed, "Is there something you can give her?"
"I can put her to sleep, but it won't lessen the burn. She doesn't have much experience with this kind of thing, does she?"
"I had hoped to keep it that way," Altair muttered indignantly.
"Get that tin from the shelf," Zafar directed. "No, the other one."
Altair retrieved a small metal box from behind a glut of bottles and handed it to the doctor. I watched his movements with the utmost emptiness. There was a little voice in the back of my mind that kept telling me to snap out of it, to get on my feet and keep moving. But on I sat, rocking back and forth in my memories.
"Right," Zafar began, opening the tin and pulling several dry leaves from its base. He aimed them at my lips. "This will make you feel better, helwa."
I stared at him blankly. What was it he said? Make me feel better? That's exactly what I wanted. I nodded quickly and offered him my open palm with subconscious swiftness. In it he dropped the crackled leaves, which I stuffed into my mouth accordingly.
"Sleep well, habiti," he lulled.
Slowly, the sight of Laleh's pallor eyes started to diminish in my thoughts as it was swallowed by a welcoming darkness. It was like sweet, sweet honey on my shattering brain.
"Mhmm…" I mumbled, toppling over into Zafar's arms.
~.~.~.~.~
"Her neural pathways are under tremendous stress."
"Is it serious?"
"Not yet, but if anything happens..."
"Relax, she looks fine to me."
"Fine? Her cells are multiplying sporadically and her stomach digested something that didn't even exist! Her body is going to collapse if she doesn't snap out of this trauma we've put her through."
"We didn't put her through anything. She did it to herself."
"What? She didn't have anything to do with it!"
"She's been making choices since the very beginning."
"But she never chose to endanger herself like this! I thought you said she was valuable!"
"She is."
"Then why are you trying so hard to get her killed?"
"Nonsense. She's going to be fine."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Altair glanced at the sleeping girl on the other side of the room, then back at Zafar as he pulled a coarse blanket over Laleh's body.
"How long will she be unconscious?" he asked, nodding his head towards Sarah.
Zafar thought for a moment as he let the fabric drop over Laleh's head, "She should be out for a few more hours."
"Good. I will return then."
"Where are you going?" Zafar questioned, only slightly interested.
Altair ignored his inquiry, "Thank you, taheeb. I will see you at sundown."
Outside of the stagnant room, Altair breathed in a fulfilling gust of the sandy desert air. Anything was better than the fetor of rotting flesh. He gazed up at the failing noontide sun, which served as a reminder that he had only a few hours to do what had to be done.
As much as he dreaded it, he had to be the one to tell Faruq what had transpired. But more so, he had to find a way out of the city, and the rafiq was the perfect person to plan with. Altair was far from naive, and he knew that the Templars behaved like animals, chasing after violence like starved wolves. It was safe to assume that someone in the bazaar had told a Templar informant about the trouble in the alley. Thus, they were without a doubt blockading the city in hopes of finding the Assassin with a pale girl.
Altair cringed. The rafiq had to know another way out. He wasn't exactly in the mood to barge through the gates of Damascus with two impeding injuries.
After spending the better part of an hour hiding from patrolling Templars, he finally reached the bureau.
"Ah, Altair. I was beginning to wonder when you would return."
The rafiq bowed modestly as Altair walked into the secure space of the hideout. At this time of day, the light in the bureau was at its peak, projecting ornate shadows on the walls that seemed to turn the place into a carnival of black and gold. Slumped in a pile of pillows on the far side of the room was Faruq, wavering sideways somnambulantly.
"Rafiq, there was some trouble at the in the Eastern district," Altair began, pulling back his hood to wipe sweat from his neck.
"What kind of trouble?"
The rafiq of Damascus was a curious, withered man. He had large, round eyes and a flat mouth that always seemed to ask where you'd been even if he'd seen you only seconds before. It was this same question that his expression asked Altair as the tired, strained Assassin paced along the length of the room.
"The Templars have arrived at the city earlier than we anticipated," Altair continued. He winced as his overused shoulder teased him with pain.
"And?" the rafiq asked, puzzled.
"And they are now scouring the city for me."
The rafiq stared humorously at Altair, "What did you do to make them so upset?"
"They're Templars, Rafiq. Do they need a reason?"
"I suppose not. Still, one rarely sees you this anxious, Brother."
"It's not just me they're after," Altair admitted after a minute of silence.
"Oh?"
"They want the girl too."
The rafiq closed the book he was studying, his interest peaked. "They don't know about the-"
"No, they don't. At least not yet."
"Then why else would they be after her?"
Altair waved the air impatiently, distorting the royal sunlight. "We were attacked in the bazaar."
"How did you fend them off with your injuries, Brother? I mean no offense, but you're hardly in a position to fight."
The Assassin hesitated. "We had some help." He looked over at Faruq, half-awake and still partially delirious. "Faruq, can you hear me?"
Faruq's head snapped up, his eyes coated over with a blurry film. "Y-Yes, Brother…"
Altair sighed. It didn't seem right to break the news of Laleh's death to him while he wasn't fully intact. He turned back to the rafiq. "Rafiq, have one of our informants take Faruq back to Masyaf when he is well."
"You will not be doing it?"
"I must leave the city as soon as possible." He stopped pacing and snagged a quill and parchment from the rafiq's desk. "Be sure to give this to him when he's back to his senses."
On this parchment, Altair wrote the words he could not bring himself to say to Faruq. He tried to make the letter positive, choosing to highlight Laleh's bravery rather than dwell on her fate, but nothing helped to ease the tension that twisted his stomach. Sometimes it seemed that death only touched those who deserved it the least, those who loved and laughed and dreamed, those who had the most to live for.
"Altair," the rafiq said excitedly, interrupting his thoughts. "I've got an idea."
Altair left the letter without a signature and lay it neatly on the rafiq's desk. "About what, Rafiq?"
"About leaving the city undetected."
"Very well."
"You could go through the gates in disguise."
Altair raised an eyebrow. "In disguise? Rafiq…"
"I know," the old man defended, holding up his hands. "Assassins don't need a disguise to hide in plain sight. But Altair, you're injured. And that girl is no Assassin. It would be wise to do this the safest way possible, Brother."
Altair stared at the softening sunlight for a moment, considering the proposal that lay before him. Disguise. It made him sick to think of himself in anything other than his familiar robes, but the rafiq was right. If he wanted to leave the city smoothly, he would have to walk the most practical path.
"Point taken, Rafiq. Give me whatever robes you have to spare."
The aged Assassin smiled proudly. "Of course! I have plenty around here somewhere."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Helwa? Are you alright?"
I blinked up at the familiar voice that breathed over me. It looked like Zafar, then Faruq, then Malik, and in all of one second it had morphed into dozens of faces, some of which I had never seen in my life. Finally, it blurred into the soft cheeks of my mother, staring at me with a worried look in her eyes. I cried out and tried to reach for her, but my hands were caught by those of an elderly doctor. My mother's face faded away, replaced by Zafar's leathery expression.
"Z-Zafar?" I whispered, trying to sit up.
"I think you'd better rest a while longer, habiti," he answered worriedly.
I was so confused. It seemed as though the world around me was…malfunctioning. I couldn't focus on anything for too long without it morphing into something else. Then, Altair had been speaking Arabic earlier, which made perfect sense. What didn't make sense was that everyone had been speaking mostly English since I arrived. I thought back to Assassins Creed. In the game, there had been translation software in the Animus. But that was just a game. It couldn't possibly relate to my being in this place. And yet…
Before I could come up with any clever conclusions, Zafar's voice cut through the stale air. "Did you hear me?"
"Huh?" I gazed at him blankly, my mind still slightly preoccupied.
"Thought I lost you there for a second," he sighed. "I said I think you could use a little more rest."
"Rest from what?"
"From Laleh…"
At the sound of her name, I felt the steel claws of guilt puncture my heart anew. I lapsed back into my previous depression, dwelling on the truths that I had settled upon.
"It's my fault, Zafar," I whimpered.
He pursed his brow, bemused. "There was nothing you could have done, helwa. It is nobody's fault but the Templar who killed her and as I hear it, he has already expired. You have to let it go."
"Let it go? How can you say that? She was your friend!"
"What friend would want the people who care about her to shut down and dry up when she's gone? She didn't give her life for you to do this to yourself."
"But she barely knew me…"
"Sarah," he began, his voice soaked with sincerity.
It was strange to hear my name again. It seemed as though I no longer had one and soon, this alias would whither in the wind.
"Let her go."
Suddenly, there was an impatient knock at the door. Zafar gave me one last thoughtful glance before turning for the other side of the room.
"Who's there?" he called, hands propped on the door's wooden lever.
"Open up, old man," a familiar voice answered.
My head snapped up at Altair's harsh tone. I had not even realized that he was gone. Zafar grinned a little and heaved his wooden mechanism until it gave way, leaving space for the door to groan ajar. I was expecting a white-robed Assassin to cross the threshold. I was expecting to see his leather waist belt and frayed red flag. I was assuming his tanned arms to be free and unoccupied…
This was not the case.
A deep blue robe replaced his customary white. He wore no hood over his head, but a plain turban that intruded upon the air around it. His usually empty arms were encumbered by a pile of garments, under which lay his old gear.
"A-Altair?" I asked, beginning to doubt that it was really him. There was no way he would wear anything but his Assassin robes. At least, that's what I had thought. What was he up to?
Zafar's expression mirrored mine as Altair dumped his strange baggage on the floor.
"We're leaving the city, Shabah," he said simply.
"What?" I choked. "We're leaving? What ever happened to waiting until Faruq-"
"They're looking for us," he interrupted, his breath etched with urgency. "If you want to make it home alive, we have to leave before they find us."
He didn't have to tell me who exactly was looking for us. Who else would it be but the Templars? They were slimy creatures, always lusting after violence like pigs. I shuddered. If they truly were trying to find us, then Altair was right. As much as I tried to deny it, we would have to leave.
But I was a firm believer in things happening for a reason. Of course, I could see no reason behind my delivery to this realm, but I was convinced there was one. So maybe leaving the city would lead us to clues or…some glowing portal back to my time. I didn't really want to think about it. In fact, I didn't want to ponder anything at the moment. My sanity had been strained enough.
"We're going to pass through the gates in disguise," Altair continued in a matter-of-fact way.
I stared at him drearily. "I guess that explains your new outfit."
He ignored me and nudged the pile of clothing on the floor with his foot. "I brought you a robe to wear…and a veil."
"A veil?"
"Yes. It might also be wise for us to smear some dirt on your face."
I scowled at him. "Why?"
"Because they are looking for a pale girl. If you don't look pale, we won't be stopped and interrogated."
"Are they doing that to people?" I asked, disgusted.
Altair wiped a palm along his forehead. "Get dressed. We don't have much time."