Chapter Fourteen:
The journey to Jerusalem was uneventful and long. It took a couple of minutes for Amira to let go of her embrace on Altair and when she finally did let go, he did not utter one word. She did not say a thing either, simply sat back and watched him walk away. Her dreams, though they were usually vivid and bright, have failed to be as real as the one she had the night before. For her to be broken down to such a state that she looked for comfort in a man who was the living opposite of caring, that dream was beyond anything she had experienced. She was embarrassed, if she had to describe her main concern at the time, and he was indifferent, which did nothing to make her anguish vanish. Whatever he thought of her now was on her thoughts as they travel on the brown and dirty road.
She was not really expecting them to spark an insightful conversation as they traveled but she was not expecting him to be completely silent. Not one word did he issue towards her until they reached the city gates of Jerusalem. To add up to her discomfort, the sun had decided to be ruthless that day. Used to very light gowns and fresh gardens to tune down the overbearing heat, Amira was having quite the tough time. The clothes she was now wearing were very different from what she had grown accustomed to – they were heavier, thicker and just a little bit suffocating.
By the time they reached the mighty walls of the city, Amira was sweating and panting, trying to find a way to get off the clothes. She would've thought of complaining if she knew that her partner would care about her complaints but given his nature, she simply kept her mouth shut and tried to keep her composure. It wasn't until they stood outside, confronted by the bastions, that they realized they had one more problem to deal with: how where they going to break in. Sure, Altair could've slipped by, making everybody believe he was a scholar at the least, but Amira could not have it so easily. She stared at the man, hoping it was not his first time smuggling people into another city. He looked at her and then at the guards standing in the way; she could not read minds, but she was certain that whatever solution he might come up with might not be as easy as what she had just thought of.
It was simple, easy and it did not take much effort, but it had one major drawback. She would only have one shot, and if something went wrong she would be in some serious trouble. Her brother and Adnan were not boys who would always play by the rules, when they needed it, they had some dirty tricks in store. They were the ones who, unintentionally, had thought her to be quite the good liar, an ability that made her prouder than she would admit. Like she had managed to make the kind people of that small town to believe her story of being robbed, she convinced the guards to let her in. 'My father is here for business, I was asked to accompany him but I got delayed,' she said to one of them as she took one of his hands in hers, in a pleading gesture. When he pulled his hand away from her grip, he found in his palm a couple of shiny coins to greet him. Amira's face had a sweet smile plastered on it, screaming innocence and naivety. The guard sighed, and moved over to talk with one of his buddies. It was as they discuss whether or not they should send her in without asking for more, that Altair slipped in to the city. His eyes were covered by the shade that the hood casted on his face, but even Amira could tell that he was not happy with what she had just done. The guards return to her after their thirty second deliberation, with a softer look on their eyes, and told her that her access had been granted.
She met with Altair inside, though he was the one who ran into her. "Follow me and stay close," he commanded when he saw her, clearly oblivious to her worn out face. She was very tired, but she did not want to show weakness and simply tried to keep up with his hectic ideas. Though their journey to their destination had begun on the ground, it was quickly moved to the roofs of the many buildings that once surrounded them. She tried to convince him that unlike him, she could not jump from rooftop to rooftop as easily. But, being as stubborn as he was, he ignored her complaints. In the end, it was him who had the hardest time due to the decision he had made for it was he who had to slow down and wait for her to catch up. When they finally reached the bureau they were both beyond angry – Amira on the verge of having a heat stroke and Altair on the verge of striking down anyone who was unlucky enough to glare at him the wrong way. To further worsen his mood, Malik's greeting was not very kind.
"You're late," he spat as if Altair needed to be reminded. "I received word from Al Mualim that you would be bringing someone with you, but it seems there is no one with you. Could it be that you were careless enough to lose a person a well?"
'I'm starting to wish I had lost her somewhere along the way,' he thought as he remembered all the times he had to stop to wait for her. "She's outside," he said coldly, "catching her breath, apparently."
"Oh, so it is a woman," Malik said sounding slightly more amused than before. "You must have enjoyed the journey if that's the case," a smirk was pressed on his lips when he said that but Altair's demeanor remained the same. He did not care what Malik was insinuating, all he cared about was ending his assignment. But, there was one more thing that bothered him, which he hoped Malik would be able to put to ease.
"Did master say why that woman is so important?" Altair asked Malik who chuckled but did not reply immediately. His master had been a little bit too shady about his assignment to escort the girl back to Masyaf. He had not shown that much interest in something since he was ordered to recover that treasure from the Knights Templar, but there was no way those that girl and the treasure were related. Whatever his reasons where, he only hoped he would share them them with him soon for he was not one to enjoy unnecessary company.
"Does he distrust you that badly, Altair?" Malik asked in return, trying to anger him even further, he gave up however, after he saw no obvious response. "He did not say why, but he did ask me to remind you that you must not let anything happen to her."
Altair repressed a sigh as he realized that Malik was not going to be of any assistance. "I was told that as well. But, that matters aside …" he was trying to shift the topic of their conversation to the main reason why he was there at that time but Malik interrupted him once again.
"Would you mind if I check on the girl before I give you the information you've come to look for?"
"As you wish," Altair said through gritted teeth. He had already taken three of the nine lives he had been ordered to end. With six to go, he was nothing but anxious to get it over with. "Her name's Amira Bra'em," he carried on as he met Malik's inquiring gaze.
Seconds after he had muttered her name, she walked into the room where both men stood. Her short hair was messy and tangled and her face was red and flustered which made her look like a simple beggar. Her chose of clothing accentuated the look, for she had removed the uppermost layer of it and had decided to remain with only a thin piece of cloth to cover her body. She was used to wearing thin clothes – though the ones she had at home where much prettier than the plain one she wore at the moment – and no one in her household seemed to mind too much. It was until she noticed the way Malik was staring that her, scanning her body thoroughly, that she realized why her chambermaids had made a fuss about it the first couple of times. She should've known; it was her own fault to assume that every man would react the same way as her dear Adnan. She stared at Altair, hoping that he was not wearing the same look as the man in black.
"This is Malik," Altair said, moving between her and Malik, blocking his view almost entirely when he felt her discomfort. "He is the rafiq here in Jerusalem." Amira nodded and backed away a little bit from them.
Both men started talking but Amira was far from listening. The moment Altair stepped in front of her, her consciousness started fading. She felt as if she was entering a dream like state once again, except she was not asleep and she was not dreaming. She had remained in that same spot while her mind wandered to a dangerous destination. It was not clear; the images in her head were nothing but flashes which would not last longer than ten seconds. But in those ten seconds she managed to see something which ignited a whole different feeling in her. The place was a small and dark room, with stone walls and a wooden door. It was mostly empty, except for some furniture and a bed – a bed which was occupied at the moment of her intrusion. In it, the assassin, who at that point was wearing nothing but pants, was treating himself to some fun with a girl. Their bodies where pressed tightly against each other – his hands on her waist and her arms around his neck – as they kissed rather passionately.
Amira opened her eyes, which she had instinctively shut close, to find herself no longer spying on the lovers. A wave of relief swept to her, for she did not want to witness what they were about to do next, followed by a round of intense blushing. 'What on earth am I doing?' she questioned herself, trying to understand why such images had flashed through her. What she'd seen before could be understandable; she could attribute it to her fear of losing those she cares for or for her intermittent desire to have her life finished. But this, what could she blame it on? It couldn't possibly be that she secretly wanted to have an affair with that man, for that was mistaken. Besides, it wasn't even her who was going to bed with him (A realization which awoke a monster in her – a green eyed monster.) 'I am not jealous,' she told herself, though she was not being convincing. She had no reason to be jealous, she had no reason to even think about feeling jealous. She shoved that thought aside and tried to regain her focus, but no matter what she did, the idea still lingered in her mind.
"I'll be leaving then," Altair said, dragging her attention back from her crazy world.
"Where are you going?" she asked, letting them know of her evident lack of attention so far. Malik looked at her with a raised eye brow and sighed, maybe she should've been more focused.
"I have work to do," Altair replied to her question, "you'll be staying here with –."
"Is it an assassination?" she interrupted him, sounding more eager than before. Though eager was the last thing she thought would be in her mind while contemplating another assassination.
"Yes," he said sharply, letting her know that he was not going to say anything else about it. "You'll stay here." He turned around and walked away decided to not share any more information with her. It was then that she realized that she should've paid attention.
An awkward silence rose for none of the people left in the room knew just what to say to each other. She did not like the feeling of being trapped in a small place, it was even more suffocating than the clothes she had been wearing earlier and the damned silence was making everything worse.
"So, uh, is there anything I can do?" Amira asked Malik, who for one second seemed distraught of the map he had started working on once Altair left. He shook his head, 'No', and Amira sighed, letting herself drop on one of the chairs. Her legs were a little bit sore from their journey but she suddenly got an urge of running. She had been restrained for the past week and she started needing that feeling that running gave her. But, the confined space of the bureau and the unfamiliar streets of Jerusalem did not seem inviting. If only she was home, she thought as she stared at Malik work on his detailed cartography, she would be able to run in the spacious halls and soothing gardens. She was never one to be emotional, but ever since her life turned into a hectic mess her feelings seemed to be perched on the uppermost layer of her being. Now, as she reminisced about her days in Damascus, homesick was added to the list of feelings new to her.
"Hey," she said, trying to maybe start a conversation with Malik, "did you ever meet a man named Ahmed?"
"I've met quite a couple," Malik replied without lifting his eyes from the parchment sheet. "Where is he from?"
"Damascus," she said back quickly. She never thought about asking Altair about her brother, she had never thought about asking anybody about him. It never bothered her to find out the details – 'where', 'when' and 'how' were insignificant matters to her – all she cared about was that her brother was dead and she would never see him again. But, as her master had told her once, learning something unpleasant can be tough, but in the long run it might just be worth it. "He was my brother," she carried on, "he left home for Masyaf when I was a kid, he wanted to work for you people."
Malik's look changed completely, as if he had been hit by a terrible realization. He shook his head, this time showing a small glimpse of regret on his forehead. Amira started freaking out at that point, her mind going wild about just what he could be remembering. Was it that bad?
"He was a good man," Malik said, "very talented for someone as young as him, I must admit. He was a couple of years older than me, I remember. He was promising, that man, reminds me a little bit of Altair. Except that he never had problems with his attitude." Amira laughed lightly at that comment, for it seemed that she was not the only one who found a resemblance between them both and the same major difference.
"It was a shame what happened," Malik proceeded after choosing his words carefully in what Amira guessed, was an attempt to keep her from getting upset. But Amira did not show one break in her behavior, concealing her hurt flawlessly. "But even if you were the greatest out there, the rules hold no exceptions – seems that's another characteristic they share." It was as he spoke that Amira finally showed an expression but poise in her face.
"Brother broke the rules?" she asked, sounding slightly agitated. The man she knew, her brother, would never dare break the rules of something so important to him. He may have been a hassle when he was a kid, ignoring his superior's commands, but he never went against anything his mother or father said. He would always listen and always obey, like an obedient and proper child, for they were important to him. He couldn't have, not after all he went through to get there, just broken the rules. He would not give up on that chance.
"We are ruled by three main tenants," Malik had dropped his utensils and turned to focus solely on the girl who seemed much immersed in what he was saying. "I believe you are familiar with them," he said, not mentioning the fact that he had read the letters that they had exchanged, "He broke the first."
'You must stay your blade from innocent blood,' Amira reviewed in her head. Her face showed clearly a wave of disappointment. It seems that Aldrich was right when he had said that he was no saint. She wouldn't have believed so then, but hearing something similar from the rafiq added a little bit more of credibility to his words. It still felt as something very unlikely – Why would Al Mualim's letter to her be so nice if that was the case. It seemed to her as she read it that such a man held some esteem for her brother which should have evanesced the moment he became a traitor.
"Was he executed?" she asked him hoping he would spare as many details about that as he could. He shook his head, though he still looked as somber as before. "No, he died during battle." He answered but Amira knew, just as she was good at telling lies, she was good at telling when someone lied. A little white lie to keep her at ease, she assumed, she might as well not let his efforts go to waste. She smiled at him, trying to show no emotion.
"I'm so sorry," he added, and Amira laughed.
"It was a long time ago, it doesn't bother me anymore," she said, telling herself that she was being honest.
"It was five years ago, right? It takes most people longer than that to get over the death of a loved one, seems you are stronger than most. But, why did you want to know this now?"
"I don't know, meager curiosity I suppose," she replied. "So, what do you do here all day?" she asked in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. At least, he was more talkative than Altair so her stay in such a place might not be as tedious as she'd expected.
"You should rest," he suggested to her dismay. She did not want to rest; she wanted to have a normal day, one that did not include a silence treatment.
"I am not tired," she lied, "there must be something I can do. You can't expect me to stay here and just watch you work. Anything at all?" she was pleading at that point. She needed to make herself busy. Malik sighed and stopped to ponder about an assignment for the girl.
"What's so wrong about waiting in silence?" he asked her.
"Have you ever traveled with him?" she said referring to Altair, "after five days with that man, silence is the last thing I would enjoy." Mali chuckled, trying to picture the frustration that the girl might have felt at that time.
"Would you like to learn how to trace maps?" he asked her as he ran out of options. Just what could he have asked such a woman to do anyways – ask her to go do some errands? He could not possibly think about doing such a thing for if he let her out she might get lost or worse, try to escape. He had to keep her in that place and apparently had to find a way to keep her busy. She got to her feet eagerly, learning had the same effect as running in her. It had been so long since she'd received lessons others than pottery and weaving that even though cartography was never a subject that interested her, it made her day seem so much brighter.
"Here comes your escort," Malik told Amira as he heard him drop from the rooftop entrance. She let out a soft laugh as the footsteps approached them. It took about five hours for the assassins to return to the bureau, and it was then when he finally showed to be tired. Amira had spent those hours listening to Malik's tales and advice. He had proven to be much nicer company than Altair; he for once would bother to acknowledge her existence.
"You are back already?" Malik asked him as he stepped into sight. It was faint, but there were traces of blood in the man's robes – the reason behind them, Amira did not want to know at the moment.
"Hello assassin," she said with a smile, in an attempt to show him that she had more fun without him. His eyes focused on her for a second but then moved to face Malik, completely disregarding her.
"I've done what you've asked me to do. I know where and when he will be." He said to Malik while Amira eyed him with a disillusioned expression on her face.
"Very well," Malik said to him coldly, "Rest, or do whatever it is you do before you carry on your assignment. You should rest too, lady Amira." His way of addressing the girl was much too different from the way he had addressed Altair earlier. Altair turned around and left, back to the outside of the bureau and Amira, after being gestured by Malik, followed him into what she hoped would be a nice place to rest. What greeted her instead were a couple of cushions and thick rugs, like the improvised bed she had created for Altair during their stay in the barn. She sighed as she contemplated another night sleeping in the cold floor – there was only one stack of pillows, where was she going to sleep?
She walked towards the stack of pillows and took one in her hands, one more than what she had in that barn. The sun was starting to set, and night was about to crawl in. She stared at the sky above her, admiring the transition of blue to black. It would not be long until stars replace clouds and cold replaces hot. It would not be long until she found herself in her favorite time of day, in a place where the night sky was visible and the cold was not kept away. Her circumstance may not be the fairest of them all, but it was moments like that which made her feel like everything was not entirely too bad. It was like those few moments she had with the lieutenant, they were unbelievably pleasant, even though she believed he was taking her to her demise. She knew it would make no sense to the average person just as it made no sense to her. After everything that had happened, she was not feeling overwhelmed nor was she weakened. She had remained relatively composed, relatively poised. And most notoriously, she was enjoying herself even if just slightly. 'What kind of sick person would think about being happy in such a situation?' she asked herself, 'only someone as crazy as me.'
"Aren't you going to rest?" she asked Altair who was sitting across from the stack of pillows. "Your wounds have yet to fully heal. Do you think I should change your bandages again? Because if that's the case I am sure I could get some tomorrow."
"It's fine. You don't need to pretend to be more than you really are. You are exhausted."
"And you are injured." She snapped back, "I am fine, there are no wounds on my body."
"Have you taken a look at yourself? You have more scars than any woman should." He retaliated.
"Haven't we had a conversation like this before?" Amira sighed, frustrated. She threw the cushion she was holding at him who, as she would've thought, caught it effortlessly. She took a seat besides the pillows, and started staring at the first stars that had crept in.
"I don't want to sleep," she admitted after a moment of silence. He, who had been staring at the floor during the entire time, lifted his head to face her sensing the difference in her tone of voice. "As childish as it may sound, yesterday I had a really bad dream – a dream I don't want to ever have again. If I close my eyes and sleep, there's a chance it might come to haunt me one more time, so, I do not want to sleep."
"You are right," he said and she glared at him surprised, "it is childish. If you let such nonsense get to you then you then you are a way bigger wreck than I thought you'd be."
"I'm no wreck," she said but as the words left her mouth she realized that she couldn't have fooled the most naïve person with those words of hers. Maybe she was a wreck, but who cared? She was good at hiding her vulnerability and he had no right to expose it.
"If you say so," he replied. There was something about his growing indifference that was starting to anger her. But if she was a wreck and he knew it, so why not try to comfort her? Wouldn't he do that for that woman he was so avidly touching? Why was she remembering such a thing? In an effort to get it out of her head, she tried to strike up conversation with him again.
"Who is it?" she asked hoping he would know who she was referring to. He did not answer at first, merely stared at the floor as he was doing earlier.
"Majd Addin" he said coldly, "the man is executing people for no apparent reason."
"That's not good," she commented, thinking: 'Isn't that the understatement of the year?' "What was my master convicted for – teaching the wrong material?"
"How old were you when that happened?" Altair asked her in return. The imagery of that day was as carved into him as it was into her though for very different reasons. To him, it was the first real mission he was assigned. His victim was no longer an average man with a hidden agenda or a semi-influent politician; it was a famous scholar from the great city of Damascus. It was a man whose death would have a big impact on the lives of hundreds of people. It was the first sign of trust that Al Mualim showed him, his first moment to shine. To Amira, that moment was not as nice to remember. It was, after all, the day she saw someone very close to her get assassinated. He had meant more to her than anyone would've believed, than he would've thought. Yet, somehow, she did not hold a grudge against him. Not once ounce of animosity did she show towards him or the lieutenant, even after he punched her and shoved her to the ground. She was definitely something special, though he was not sure if it was something good.
"I was twelve years old, a little girl. Thank you for scarring my youth, by the way," she joked, though he did not get the humor in it.
"I'd believed the incident with your mother had done that," he replied to her astonishment. That was a cheap blow, a cheap unnecessary blow. She threw another pillow at him, as if she expected to hurt him – even if she hit him they were much too soft to cause pain in anybody but a child. She sighed, suddenly angered by what he had said.
"You know, I am sure your child hood was as rotten as mine!" she yelled at him, getting to her feet. She hated making a scene, she hated when people did such things but at that moment her anger was a tad out of control. "Why else would you choose to take people's life? No person does such a thing out of ideals only! You are a murderer, an assassin, don't go thinking so highly of yourself!"
"At least I am stronger than you are," he shot at her, with a smirk on his face.
"Well, of course you are! You are a man and you've been train –,"
"That's not what I mean;" he interrupted, "that is obvious. Look at you; you are throwing a tantrum like earlier this morning. What gives you the right to act like a spoiled child? In the end that's all you are, a spoiled little brat who cannot do anything without someone coming to rescue her."
"Shut up!" She said, driving both her hands into a fist. "I am not spoiled and I am not a brat." She got up to walk as far as away from him as possible. "I am much stronger than you think I am!" She sat on the other side of the room, close to the bureau's door. She could no longer see the stars but she no longer cared. How dare he say she was spoiled? How dare he imply that she was useless? How dare he?
Altair did not move his eyes from her, making sure that she would not try something weird, for quite the while. She fell soundly asleep, even though she claimed to not want to, a couple of minutes after she had exiled herself from the country of pillows and sheets. She was probably cold but that was her fault for choosing to wear such revealing clothing. She should really need to start forgetting about her life in that palace of hers, in the busy city of Damascus. Her future did not look too bright. With the Knights Templar after her and his master's interest in her, he did not think she would get the chance to be free again. And she probably knew that. She most probably knew that whoever she was kept with, she would be unable to return to her old life.
It was when he was certain that she had fallen asleep, that he decided to get some sleep himself. He may refuse to parade it, but his wound was aching rather badly. It was not bad enough to make him lose his focus, but it was still an annoying wound. He took off his weapons, and stacked them next to where he was to rest. He laid on the floor, enjoying his well deserved rest and, as he was about to close his eyes to sleep the girl on the cold ground across from him came to his mind. He got back up, picking up one of the pillows she had thrown at him earlier, and walked towards her. He lifted her head, careful not to wake her up, and placed it under her. He looked at her closely for a while. Her arm was, as he had noticed the night before, covered in scars which he could only assume how she'd acquired them. He pushed the thought off his head and returned to his bed. He had done his good deed of the day and was no, finally, going to get some sleep.
Morning came faster than anyone resting in the bureau would've wanted. Altair, left early in the morning, way before Amira had even woken up. Eager to finish his assignment and terminate his stay in that city, he left merely an hour after the break of dawn.
"Wait," Amira whispered as she slept, making Altair's and Malik's head turn in her direction. "Promise me you'll be safe."
"It almost seems as if she's talking to you," Malik said to Altair. He looked at her and then shook his head.
"The marker?" he asked and Malik placed in his hand a white feather, one which by the time he was done with his assignment would be covered in red. He shot one last glance at the sleeping girl. He couldn't help but feel relieved at the moment – a small part of him was so, because she had not decided to jump into a stranger's arms that morning while the other, and bigger part of him was so, because, when he was finally done with the assassination, he would take her to Masyaf and she would no longer be his responsibility.
"Welcome, welcome, to the land of dreams," a stranger spoke in a rather enthusiastic tone of voice. "Would you like to know, would you like to see something no man has heard before? Welcome, welcome, to the land of dreams. What if I said, things aren't always what they seem? What if I said I knew where your brother is? Would you believe me or would you leave? What if I said he was not dead? What if I said he's not just in your head? What, oh, what would you do, if I told you he is near? Would go after him, girly? Or, would you stay right here? What if I told you, you could see him today? What if I said: "Meet him in the market at midday"? What if I told you, he is not dead?"
"I would not believe you," Amira replied confident and once again, the scene faded to nothingness.
Author's Note: Yes, it's taking me forever to update and I am sorry. My computer has been dead for about two weeks now and I finally got it to work! It's been the most awful two weeks in my life. Anyways, next chapter will come out sooner and it will be longer to make up for absence. Peace and love, muffins. Peace and love.