CH 8
Almira heaved the load onto her back. It was Friday, one of the most depressing days of the week. If she had the strength, she would laugh at the irony, since she used to look forward to Fridays. She could feel Raja's eyes boring into her back, straight through the sack of potatoes. The old woman's lips turned up in a slight hint of a sneer when their eyes met. After she turned away, Almira silently cursed the miserable wench to Hell and back. Raja suddenly stepped away, yelling at a young newcomer to pick up the pace. Almira sighed, bowing forward, feeling the sack weigh down on her back. The other workers passed by wordlessly, either going into the castle or coming down to the long caravan for this month's provisions.
One foot in front of the other. Then come the other foot. Repeat. One in front of the other. One in front of the other. Must be careful on the steep slope up to the castle, don't want any food rolling over the cliff…or have people slip on them like ball bearings.
Now that would be funny.
Beneath the stifling robes, a trickle of sweat rolled onto her belly, making her press the fabric against her skin to soak it up. Mechanically she stepped aside to allow two laughing Apprentices to pass through the massive gates, before going through herself. She allowed the sack to fall in a heap when she stopped at the huge pile in the storage room. A familiar frame approached her when she made her way down the steps of the room, which was right behind the kitchen.
"Water?" Ikram asked, handing her a clay goblet. She had a broom for sweeping the kitchen in the other hand.
Almira only nodded, accepting the cup and downing the chilled liquid inside. She thought about emptying it over her head, but decided against it.
"Ikram, what did I do wrong?" Almira sighed.
Ikram only shrugged, taking back her cup. "Nothing. I believe Raja is picking on you because you only work under her for three days now. But at least it's only three days."
"She assigns me duties that she won't assign any other women," Almira said lowly. "The looks the men give me...they think me a whore." She shot daggers into the lingering eyes of another servant.
The younger girl sighed, "Almira...I think you are just being paranoid."
"No, I just do not wish to be murdered in some back alleyway."
"Women, get back to work. Time is wasting," a voice said sternly. Almira threw a glance in that general direction and saw a face she recognized. Ikram seemed quite shaken, and immediately walked away.
Where have I seen him? He looked so familiar. Bushy eyebrows, sharp eyes, strong nose, and a sharp jaw line. Almira followed him all the way out of the castle until he turned off the main road. The face intrigued and occupied her for the rest of the day until she was simply too tired to care.
Rhythmic hoof beats echoed through the valley. A blood-red Arabian with strong, slender legs galloped like her life depended on it. Her rider was slumped against her neck, staining her mane and shoulders with dried blood. Altaïr flowed in and out of consciousness, curiously aware of the chill in the sun-starved valley.
How long has it been? He knew there were valleys, but didn't know how close it would put him towards Masyaf. He did remember being hit by something, likely an arrow from an elite archer. Reem's breathing was rhythmic and steady, fitting for a horse of such a caliber. He coughed weakly, noticing that his hand still had a death grip on the horse's golden mane. That was unnecessary, he realized grimly, because if he should fall such a grip would not save him anyway.
A hazy figure clad in white waved a sword angrily. Altaïr narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out why a brother-in-arms of his would do such a thing, when Reem pinned her ears, sensing the intentions in this horseless warrior. It wasn't until they passed the soldier did Altaïr realize that he wasn't shouting in Arabic, but rather in some foreign language. He gazed backwards, watching the angry form become smaller, sinking into oblivion with every passing stride.
The merchants setting up shop made Almira's eyes flutter open. They weren't loud, but every morning when the merchants started setting up their stalls, she woke up. She sat still for a while before a sense of elated urgency hit her.
Monday, she thought happily, as she got ready and headed out the door. She had survived the three days of being an overworked zombie. The time spent under Raja was growing more and more intolerable, especially since the old woman had started putting her on men's duties, as well as demanding that she show up early and leave late.
The skies were still dark when she arrived at the stables. She gazed towards the eastern mountains that rose like dark sentinels against the black-azure sky. A young assassin rode up, the bloody feather clearly visible in his leather belt. He seemed not to notice her as he literally jumped off his mount and bounded into Masyaf. After a while, it was easy to spot those who had just made their first kill. Some came back crushed by guilt, while others were thrilled with the deed. Almost all were careless enough to allow the blood feather to hang out in the open.
She caught the horse, a jittery mare still chomping on the bit, walking her around to cool her down. She had a large splatter of fresh blood, probably from the slashed throat of a careless guard. The blood had mixed with horse sweat, running down in red gullies on her shoulder and chest. The smell was incredible, of daring and death, with a little conviction mixed in. Almira glanced at the mountains a second time.
What's it like to be an assassin? She shook her head. Time to wash that mare.
Ahmed seemed strangely uneasy at the stables. He, too, kept looking off to the desert mountains while advising a middle-aged horse trainer. Nearby, Almira listened intently, tacking up the horses scheduled for today. For a man of his age, Ahmed had staved off the effects of aging quite well, though his search for Yasmin now required him to use a cane. He abhorred it, believing it to be a symbol of feebleness. The walking stick rested abandoned in his room while the horseman accepted his awkward, slow gait. He leaned against the wooden rail, watching the young colt half-heartedly.
By now, the sun had just peeked over the edges of the mountains, casting a soft orange glow on the stable. Almira paused in mid-buckling, taking a moment for the desert sunrise. She would love to gallop across the desert terrain with the fine Arabian in front of her, right at sunrise when the air seemed to stimulate life within the body. A gust blew loose hay and sand into her face, bringing her attention back to the matters at hand. She went back to adjusting the noseband, while the wind carried to her the faint clomps of tired hooves.
"What the…" the stable girl whispered, squinting again. A dark horse had emerged from the bend that overlooked the wide river. Almira quickly tightened the second saddle girth, before using a hand to block the stinging sunlight. Her expressions fell, to be replaced by one of fear and alarm.
"Ahmed!" she called out, running towards the approaching figure. The horse was none other than Reem, covered in a ghostly white lather. A shiver ran down Almira's spine when she saw a shaft stick up from the red mare's back.
Altaïr.
"Reem!" Ahmed cried as if his own children were being sacrificed. The elderly horseman half stumbled, half ran towards his prized mare. Almira caught the limp reins of the Arabian as she stumbled to a halt, blowing like she'd never ran so hard in her life.
"Don't let her lay down!" Ahmed yelled, running as fast as he could, forgetting all about the pain in his back.
"No, no, no, stay on your feet," Almira said firmly when the mare started leaning forward. She knew if Reem succeeded in going down to her knees, she might never get up again. In a moment, Ahmed was at her side, snatching the reins from her and coaxing his beloved to continue walking. The mare's sides heaved terribly with every shuddering breath. Her limp rider finally slid off and landed with a "thud" on the dusty ground.
"Altaïr! Oh my…" Almira shouted, feeling sick to her stomach. The trainer and several stable hands showed up at her side. A long, dark arrow shaft protruded from where his heart ought to be.
"Altaïr..." Please be alive. She placed two shaking fingers at his neck.
There was a pulse – weak, but there. What scared her more was the coldness of his skin.
"He's still alive," she whispered to the circle surrounding them.
"Get him to the castle!" The trainer commanded, shoving Almira out of the way. He carefully snapped the feather fletching off, having seen many assassins come back with arrow wounds. Two stable hands placed the unconscious figure gently in a straw-padded cart designed for such emergencies. Without another word, one of them leaped into the driver's seat, whipping the horses into a gallop while the other sat next to the body. In a moment, they were gone, leaving only a trail of flying dust.
Almira watched as the dust quickly dissipated in the morning wind. After a while, she realized her hand was clutched into a tight fist, and relaxed it to discover Altaïr's coagulated blood smeared all over her palms. She bent down, grabbing a fistful of desert sand and grinding it into her hands in an attempt to "wash" the stains off. It's not as if she hadn't seen blood before, just never on her own two hands. The blood made her palms look incredibly dark.
"Still, Reem, stay still," Ahmed cooed gently. By now, the mare's breathing had calmed to deep, steady puffs. Her ribs showed through the sweat soaked hide with every breath. Almira nudged her way to the front of the group now gathered around the elderly horseman and the war mare.
Ahmed seemed not to notice the small audience. He had covered the mare's eyes with a shirt and one of the older stable boys had Reem's reins, stroking her head gently whenever she showed signs of resistance. Ahmed was at her rump, where two nasty arrows were buried deep within the mare's haunches. Small rivulets of fresh blood trailed from the injuries all the way down to her hooves. Continuous galloping made the wounds bleed profusely, and the fresh blood covering the partially dried blood made a sickening scarlet rainbow down the hind leg of the mare.
Ahmed furrowed his brows, making his frown lines even deeper. He studied the projectiles, before quickly grabbing both of them and twisting them out. Reem screamed and lashed a blind kick into the air. She whinnied and snorted, blowing indignantly at the pain and the tug on her mouth. It was then that Ahmed noticed the spectators.
"What are you lot doing?" he barked. The anger in his voice didn't quite match the old man's wizened appearance. "Back to work or I'll have it doubled!"
The crowd quickly dissipated. Two assassins were milling around the horses when Almira arrived at her post. She handed them their charges, warned them about their mounts' tempers, and then went inside to tack up two more horses. All through the rest of the day, she found herself looking to the castle and unable to concentrate. Whenever she stared off into space, she would see the pale image of him.
Altaïr, one of the greatest Assassins, laying helpless and dying on the ground.
Almira shifted the old, repaired bridle with her hands, using the moonlight to adjust the rusty buckles. The moon was nice and full, providing excellent visibility. She led the gelding out, and was about to enter the corral, when something caught her eye. The moonlight reflected off an object in the dirt. She walked over, picking it up.
It was a knife of some sort, with an elaborately crafted handle and glinting edges. The weapon must have fallen out of Altaïr's belt, and repeated trampling had concealed it in the dirt. She fingered the blade, noting the deadly sharpness.
"Altaïr is hurt, I should go see him. But what would I say to him?" she whispered to her horse.
The sleek, masculine head of the gelding lowered, his brown eyes peeking out from beneath the long black forelocks. He studied the glinting blade with interest for a moment before the black horse stretched his neck out, and then shook his mane, having not a care for the one named Altaïr.
Note: Yay update! I want to give a big thank you to Blue Sigma, for beta-ing and editing this chapter. Go read her story Zuleika's Creed, I know it's long but trust me it's worth it.
Thanks for continuing to read! You guys are like one of the main forces moving me.