CH 9
Where am I? Altaïr wondered while floating in and out of consciousness. It took him a moment to realize that he was laying on his side, arms stretched out in front. His right hand was neatly bandaged. Breathing made both his side and his back hurt. He fought with himself to stay in the realm of the real, to no avail.
The bloody face of a featureless guard chased him. He ran through the streets, leaped up buildings, hid inside gardens. But always there was the featureless bloody soldier that materialized in front of him, choking in the most hideous way possible.
He clawed at the apparition, madly kicked it out of the way. It followed him in hot pursuit, moaning a never-ending death gurgle. The assassin stumbled into an alley, to find that the way was blocked by a wall of swords dripping with browned blood. The faceless form appeared behind him, dark and fresh blood oozing from every pore.
His heart had never pounded so fast.
"Altaïr!"
He desperately searched, seeing no way out. Both the figure and the swords closed in.
"Altaïr!!"
Altaïr jerked violently in his restless sleep. His comrade finally decided to try and shake him into consciousness.
"AHHH!" The assassin screamed, reaching for the bloody soldier's throat. The figure caught his wrist easily. Through the narcotic haze he realized his fingers were reaching for the throat of someone he would never hurt on purpose.
Fahra stared at him through tired brown eyes. Judging from the speed his hand had shot up, he would have give her nothing more than a weak punch to the neck (but still enough to topple her from the stool).
"Bad dream?" She finally said.
"Mm." Altaïr grunted, the contents of his dream already half-forgotten. He sank back down into the sheets and noticed the tunic of gauze across his chest. Soft light diffused through the mesh-covered window. He tried to switch positions, causing the world to spin around.
"Don't move, they gave you some strong medicine." Fahra said in monotone, "You are lucky. Had your horse taken longer you would have died."
"Iss thawhy nothin hurts?" He slurred, giving a lopsided grin for the most beautiful girl ever.
Fahra leaned back, frowning. They must have given him something strong. It isn't common to see Altaïr with glazed-over eyes.
"Do not worry my friend, they would hurt a lot more in the days to come." A looming figure said venomously from the opposite end of the bed.
"Malik, brother! I must be in Paradise!" Altaïr snorted loudly, having heard his words but didn't understand the sentence.
"I think hell would suit you more, Altaïr." Malik spat, storming out of the room. Fahra merely shook her head.
"Malik disappeared…" Altaïr lamented with a smile.
"You are…not all here." Fahra sighed, "Go back to sleep, I will be back in a while, and then I shall explain why Malik would like to murder you right now."
He contemplated her words with confusion. "Wha?"
Fahra stood up, her toned figure filling the assassin robes out quite nicely. Altaïr's eyes rested on an inappropriate place.
"Altaïr!" She snapped, causing him to yell in response. She maneuvered him into the correct position for his wounds, then tucked the covers in around him.
"Go to sleep." She said sharply.
His facial expression suddenly twisted, "Water."
Fahra poked her head into the hallway.
"WATER! I need water here!" She called out. A small, fragile looking servant girl answered swiftly with a cup and a pitcher full of cool liquid. Fahra practically snatched the pitcher from her, spilling some of its contents. She hurriedly filled the cup while Altaïr tried futilely to sit up. The scared servant girl pressed back against the wall, watching the two. A bell rang three times in the distance.
"Oh in the name of Allah!" She cursed, "I must leave now. Take good care of him, give him whatever he needs." She commanded, her voiced sharp with natural authority
After she left, the girl sat down against the wall. It was quiet in here compared to the bustle outside. She would sit on the stool but it was too close to him. For the next few minutes she watched him, listening to his rhythmic breathing. After that she slowly stood up, inching her way across the room. Her heartbeat increased with every step, and with every step she expected the door behind her to slam inwards, or for him to wake up. It took her perhaps three minutes to cross the tiny room. Finally, before her, Altaïr laid in a deep sleep, looking every bit as handsome as the girls had gossiped about. Holding her breath, she reached out a hand, and ever so slowly rested it on his chiseled jaw line. Stubble rasped against her palms, and beneath it she could feel his smooth skin. She sighed in amazement. This was Altaïr beneath her fingers!
He sniffed in his sleep, causing her to quickly retract her hand and bolt out the door.
Almira sat staring at her plate, wishing she could be in bed right now. She had spent the majority of last night on watch for one of Ahmed's very pregnant mares and had hardly gotten any sleep. She stifled a yawn, looking apathetically at her plate. The food served to the workers was always much more inferior than those presented to the assassins and because of the extra money she could spend on the market, castle food had become more and more unappealing. The only reason she gets in line is for the opportunity to rest and sit, as those who do not eat lunch were expected to continue their work. She chipped away at the hard, stale bread with her fingers, wondering what Raja might have in stock for the rest of the week.
"Oh Almira! Almira! Allah is the Most Merciful! He has blessed me!" Almira had barely turned her head when the young girl practically crashed into her.
"What ever is the matter with you?" Almira tried to push the overeager youngster away, crumbling the bread in her hand. She gazed across the dining hall looking for a specific trio, but knew she wouldn't find the face she sought.
"Altaïr!" Ikram squealed with glee.
"Altaïr, what about him?" Almira kept her voice indifferent, but she sensed a strange feeling on the inside that made her instantly more awake. She had taken to carrying the knife around, the weapon's weight gave her a strange sense of security. It had occurred to her that Altaïr might want the weapon back, but she couldn't find the time to go see him.
"Did he look at you?" She continued, wondering how in the world can she escape Raja's wrath .
"No!"
"He didn't even look at you? Why so excited?"
"I touched him." Ikram's pitch suddenly lowered, like she was telling an utmost secret.
Almira paused for a moment in painting with her tasteless hummus. "How did you touch, as you've said, the greatest assassin of all time?"
Ikram gathered a great breath, as if preparing for a speech. She recounted the events in great detail, not appearing to notice that Almira's attention wasn't entirely focused on her.
"I touched him!" Ikram repeated, in a shrill yet hushed tone, "I am not going to wash that hand for a week."
"That is disgusting."
"It's Altaïr, you'd do it too." The young girl sighed with a dreamy look. Across the room a familiar figure sat down by himself. He greeted some of his comrades, but otherwise ate alone.
"How is he doing?" Almira asked, her eyes focused on the hooded figure across the room.
"He woke up today, but the medicine they gave him made him a little…crazy." Ikram giggled, before biting into her food. "Don't worry about him, Fahra and Malik and the Healers are tending after him. And all the girls in the fortress are praying that he gets well. And he's Altaïr! He simply cannot die."
"Who is Malik?" Almira asked.
"Who is Malik?" Ikram paused with her hand halfway to her mouth, "He is a good friend of Altaïr's! You see him almost everyday, right around there." She pointed a finger at the lone figure across the room.
"…huhn."
"You think I do not notice? Behold my amazing observational skill!" Ikram said with a grin.
"Amazing it is." Almira responded dryly.
"Do not worry, you are not the most obsessed girl here."
"I am not obsessed!"
"Says she who looks across the room every day. It is not something to be ashamed of. Unless you are married."
Almira sighed. "Do you know if he's guarded? I'd like to go see him sometime. Just to see how he's doing."
"Ha! You are in love with him, just like every girl here!" Ikram exclaimed, "But I do not think you can visit, not unless you have a reason to be in the hospit-"
"Almira. Come with me."
Ikram instantly stopped talking. Almira reluctantly got up, feeling a chill run down her spine. She followed the shorter women into a small corridor adjacent to the dining hall, though oddly enough the noise from within did not carry over.
"Yes Raja?" Her voice echoed around the walls. The older woman looked at her with glistening eyes, her thin lips pursed in a distorted smile.
"You were late to work today."
Almira grimaced inside. There was no getting out of that one. The mare had foaled early this morning, giving birth to a somewhat dummy colt that needed assistance. Given Raja's set face, there's really nothing to do except to face the consequences.
Raja raised her chin. "A servant must earn every last bit of their wage, Almira, especially one so well-paid. I have been assigning you work that was much too easy." She paused, savoring the unhealthy tension she had created.
At that moment, Almira wanted nothing more than to plant a fist in Raja's nose.
"To make up for lost time," The skinny woman continued with a sneer, planting her bony hands on her hips, "For the remainder of this month you shall be attending to the wounded, and I believe you know where to go."
Raja's words puzzled Almira. How can this be a form of punishment? In fact, it sounded more like an award, since it gave her a reason to be in the hospital. Still, she wasn't going to question Raja's decision, lest she conjures up something worse.
"As you wish, Raja." Almira answered, smiling. Her superior eyed her with contempt before pushing past her back into the dining hall. There was something about Raja's gaze that made her intensely uncomfortable. A hand tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
"Uh, are you all right?" Ikram's voice sounded strangely timid. Almira refocused her attention, becoming aware of her tightly bunched fists.
"Yea, yes, I'm fine." She brushed her sweaty palms on her clothes. "I am not sure whether to rejoice or be worried. Raja just assigned me to the hospital."
"Oh that is wonderful!" Ikram exclaimed loudly, "First it's Altaïr, then it's you! We have the same duties! Come, walk with me. Lunch is over soon anyway."
Altaïr woke with an odd feeling, like his innard had been emptied out and replaced with cotton. The earlier events of today flashed back in blurry, disconnected chunks. His wounds were starting to sting.
"How long was I asleep?"
"About three days," Fahra replied, perched on the stool. "You have the most violent sleep I've ever seen. You almost pulled your stitches and Malik tried to hold you down. You were yelling something about not catching you alive and somehow you managed to punch him twice."
"So that is why he was in such a foul mood."
"That would be the reason."
It was then that he noticed the tired redness in her brown eyes.
"How goes the meeting?" He asked, watching her eyelashes flutter.
She shrugged. "I'm afraid I won't be seeing you in a while, perhaps until you are all healed. Informants have turned up an assassin group - knives for hire. Recently they did a string of killings for the Crusaders and for the Templars. The Master is not pleased with their actions."
Altaïr felt a tinge of jealousy. Though freshly injured, he wanted to be out there. Killing.
"Al Mualim wants you to send them a message? Placed a feather on their leader?"
"Three leaders, and I have a feather for each." Fahra tugged at her crimson waistband to reveal three snow white feather tips. "It's total chaos for the citizens there and I hope they are still willing to help us. In any case, this should be an easy mission."
"Sounds typical."
"The easy mission?"
"The chaos part."
Fahra chuckled. Altaïr offered her a grin.
"I leave this evening. I only came to let you know the reason you won't see me around." Fahra stood up, Altaïr looked at her face this time. She proceeded to walk out the door.
"Safety and peace, Fahra."
"Safety and," Fahra smirked, "sleep peacefully, Altaïr."
The hospital was a massive building situated to the side of the fortress, the only place in Masyaf where common peasants can receive medical help for severe injuries or illnesses. For Almira, the first few minutes in the sick bay were nothing short of shock. A thick smell of metallic blood hung in the air, followed by faint groans of pain. Doctors and assistants and servants rushed here and there, some with blood stained tunics. A large, well-lit room greeted them, lined with waiting benches down both sides for common citizens. A long and large hallway containing numerous doors extended down the left side. Ikram explained that these were generally used for the less debilitating injuries. Cases like Altaïr's were taken further back where they're isolated and closer to the medical supplies. Ikram led Almira to a gray haired man writing something in a scroll.
"Healer Halim, Raja just assigned Almira here. Can you place her in the registry?"
"Indeed I can, and let us hope Raja doesn't take her away the next day, it will make my work so much easier." The old man said. "Greetings, what is your full name?"
"Almira al-Dimashqi, Master."
Halim leafed through the pages until he reached the end of the writing, where he inked her name down with an old stylus. He then gave them two yellowish tunics.
"Go on now, I have many things to do." Halim said, dismissing them with a wave.
They walked to a small, cramped room where the workers may don the uniforms with some privacy. Immediately after coming out, people started looking their way.
"Attention grabbers." Almira commented, at the same time noticing the tall form of a female assassin striding out the double doors of the civilian area.
"Yes, and now we work." Ikram responded.
In some ways, Raja's satisfaction was well-justified. The common civilian, especially those with some wealth, was terrified of infection. Thus they hollered at her for medical attention, each believing that their case was the direst. All Almira could really do was direct an assistant their way, who very often sent them home anyway. Sometimes the citizens refused to leave and had to be shooed out by the guards. Most of the Healers had their hand full with wounded assassins, who take priority over civilians.
The sky had already darkened outside, making the hospital a blaze of candlelight and oil lamps. Almira leaned against the railing of the dim second story balcony, resting her head in her hands. Few citizens visited at this hour, making the place relatively quiet.
"Hey, pssst!"
"Ikram?" Against the light, only a silhouette showed.
"Come with me, nobody's at Altaïr's door." Ikram whispered, gesturing madly with her hands.
They walked close to each other as they headed deeper into the building. Every hallway was lined with strong burning oil lamps, and for a brief moment Almira marveled at the efficiency of the ventilation system here. The guards paid them no heed upon seeing their worker's uniform. They turned a corner, where it had oil lamps lining the hallway and two doors to each of the walls. A dark window decorated the opposite end. Ikram walked to the second door on the left, gently putting her ear to the wooden material. She then placed a hand on the door handles, but didn't open it.
"I'll stand guard outside, hide under his bed if I come in." Ikram said quietly.
"How will you not get in trouble if they catch you?"
"Because," the young girl's eyes flashed with joy, "I just got assigned to take the evening shift of his care!" Ikram whispered a squeal, if that was possible.
Now that she was here, Almira felt a tinge of hesitation.
"You wanted to visit, didn't you?" Ikram narrowed her eyes.
"Yes, but…what do I say to him?" Her normally calm heart started beating faster as she started thinking about it.
"He's probably asleep. Just don't harm him, that would be very bad for me." Ikram murmured, softly opening the door, "Remember, you'll never get an opportunity like this again, ever, in your life."
Before Ikram finished, Almira felt herself being shoved into the void.
Notes: Finally my writing muse came back, and now I actually have time to write this. Thanks to all my readers out there!