Assassin's Creed: Alis Aquilae
Tenth
Altair was a little startled as he realized he could see nothing, save for a slice of a lavish sitting room lit by a narrow stretch of reflected fire filtering through the entranceway behind him, the polished lacquer and silk chairs seeming out of place in the otherwise simple wood building. He took a careful step to one side and quietly shut the door, closing out the blinding band of firelight. Dark eyes narrowed as he searched for Ezio, wondering how the other Assassin had disappeared from sight and sense so quickly.
He dared not speak and give away his position, feeling the aura of both enemy and ally nearby, but unable to pinpoint either of them. The silence was unnerving, broken only by quiet creaks of wood that could just as easily have been a lowered footstep as a natural shift of the water-bloated planks. Altair brushed against one of the thickly woven curtains and began to consider pulling it away to let in just enough light, when a spark flared somewhere overhead and he found he did not need to.
The Apple's rather flamboyant golden glow leaked out from somewhere above him, briefly illuminating the square room and showing it was little more than an open space, encircled by a high balcony in place of a second floor. He was reminded somewhat of the slaver Talal's warehouse, and felt its same oppressive air. As the light gentled somewhat, allowing deep shadows to encroach upon the sides of the room, the Master Assassin finally caught sight of Ezio several steps ahead of him and followed his heated gaze to the brightest lit section of the second floor.
"Still alive I see, Auditore," a familiar voice called down lightly, its shallowly masked agitation evident despite the steadiness of the tone. The black-hooded face turned to Altair next and Borgia approached the terrace railing, the Apple clutched protectively in one hand. "And the famed Master Assassin as well. It's really too bad you did not follow your master's orders; I was trying to make this easier for you."
The Masyaf eagle scowled in response but was silent, shaded eyes flicking about the smooth pillars of the wood railing and searching for a seemingly nonexistent path to the higher tier.
"Come down here and face me, Borgia," the Florentine Assassin barked out, his stance rigid and unmoving, but Altair could tell from the livid resolution in his voice that he was determined to reach the Templar commander, even should he need to tear down the terrace to do so. "Fight me like a man, though it's more than you deserve."
"Perhaps later. But for now, I am not your opponent," the Spaniard said with a smirk, lifting the artifact and allowing the ethereal light to spread across the two Assassins, but casting the edges of the room under the balcony into deeper shadow. The Master Assassin at first wondered why, until he caught the sound of movement all around them, lurking shapes growing visible in the darkness surrounding them on all sides. He retreated into the middle of the open space amongst the furniture, his back brushing against Ezio's as he too instinctively distanced himself from the unseen enemies.
"A funny thing about illusions," Borgia continued calmly, eying both eagles as they each carefully drew a weapon. "Even if I tell you that these enemies are not real, even if you know that what you see is not possible, it only takes the slightest doubt to shatter your resolve."
Altair heard the other Assassin give an impatient snarl, looking up at the hooded figure and biting out, "What kind of fool tells his opponents his tricks? I don't care what these figments are— my instincts can at least tell that you are no mirage, and that these can do little to stop me from killing you."
Ezio rushed forward without waiting for a response, skillfully dodging one of the many closing-in figures that were still unintelligible in the darkness, and readying to leap for the bottom of the balcony's trellis. The Masyaf eagle covered him, emptying his scabbard of throwing knives into the shadows around them and quite easily driving back the scattering of enemies, felling them even before they could step into the narrow splash of light still pulsing from the Apple.
However, Borgia did not seem threatened even as the Florentine eagle drew near, never a good sign. Sure enough, just short of him reaching the wooden railing, a figure that had managed to evade the flurry of knives blocked his way, stepping abruptly from the shades and lashing forward with a long sword. The blow was neither particularly quick nor skillful, but Ezio completely froze, stumbling back to dodge the blow almost too late and recoiling instead of pushing past or retaliating.
The Master Assassin was rather taken aback as he watched Ezio quickly lose ground, only narrowly deflecting the barrage of strikes, his spirit flapping distraught wings and his usually adept form completely staggered. Altair glanced around at him irritably as his fellow eagle nearly backed right into him, hastily retreated under the advance of the enemy—a longhaired, middle-aged man in a noble's clothes, who honestly did not look like much of a threat.
"What are you doing?" Altair snapped over his shoulder, stabbing out with his saber to drive back one of the two figures attempting to flank him. "Concentrate! These are just illusions, remember?"
However, even as he spoke, he looked back forward and his eyes locked with the grey ones of the second man attacking him. Altair blinked, the name catching in his throat, and a second later, Malik's sword hilt drove into the side of his head. He staggered and just managed to catch himself on one hand before he hit the ground, his startled gaze fixing upon the rafiq's impassive face.
There was a laugh from overhead that brought the Masyaf eagle to his senses, and he growled, flying to his feet just in time to dodge a second sword slash.
"Just look at both of you," Borgia mocked, thoroughly enjoying their struggle. "It only takes a few phantoms for you to barely be able to lift your blades."
"Borgia, you pezzo di merda," the Florentine Assassin cursed harshly, attempting to lash out defensively with his rapier, but his strikes were distracted, lacking conviction, and were thus easily countered. One particularly overwhelming blow to his guard threw him back towards Altair, who was having equal difficulty holding his stance.
"Come now, Auditore, what's wrong? After all, it was your failure that caused your father's death all those years ago—surely you have no problem killing him again?"
Ezio's only reply was a snarl more like a cornered beast's than a man's, and the Master Assassin finally knew why he was having so much difficulty with his supposed opponent. At this realization, he also noticed, just as abruptly, an easy way to surpass this accursed illusion that was leaving them so imbalanced.
"Ezio, switch," Altair ordered swiftly, twisting and whirling around the other Assassin, rather dangerously turning his back on his opponent just as Malik lifted his sword for a cleaving strike. The Florentine eagle caught on in the split second that both apparitions swept blades towards their targets and mirrored his comrade's movement, tearing his gaze from his father's face.
Their exchange was quick and seamless, a flashed movement of white that could have easily been missed with a blink. In the space of the next breath, two hidden blades sprang forward from their cradles, burying into unfamiliar blood and driving two bodies into the floor.
The Master Assassin shook off the bolt of pain from his still aching shoulder as he extracted his wrist blade, glancing down with a little curiosity into his enemy's unseeing eyes, the exact shade of Ezio's. He took a moment, more out of habit than concern, to brush a hand over the now still face, shuttering the blank gaze.
He stood and calmly sheathed his long sword as scarlet life dripped from his fingers, hearing the Florentine Assassin doing the same behind him. As he watched, lines of gold light began to spill out from both the unmoving corpses before them, and the still indeterminable shapes in the darkness, until each of them vanished, the illusion broken. Altair could not help but smirk as he realized that the arrogant scoffs and laughter overhead had silenced.
"Enough, Borgia," Ezio spoke out with eerie calm, a piercing glare seeking out the black-cloaked man who had also grown motionless at his position on the balcony. "The Apple's petty tricks can no longer protect you."
"Hm. If you are so confident about that, you are free to attack me whenever you like," the Templar replied tightly, but both Assassins could sense, practically taste, the hesitation.
The Florentine Assassin gave his comrade a significant look, his eagle warning the other away from his prey, before jumping easily for the balcony and pulling himself onto the ledge adjacent from Borgia with little difficulty. Altair circled slowly towards the opposite edge of the room, ready to cut off the Templar in case he attempted to escape. His eyes were still narrowed, his stance tense, despite knowing that the enemy could not leave. There was still the danger of the golden manacles that could restrict the other Assassin's strike, but he knew at least that he would not fall to the same attack twice.
Ezio took his time to approach, watching his enemy's hand for a lifted weapon or any response from the Apple, but Borgia made no move, simply watching the Florentine eagle's advance.
"…Altair."
The Master Assassin cocked his head, almost amused at the Templar's last attempts to salvage his life. Obligingly, he sneered, "What is it?"
A dark hooded face flicked towards him, outwardly impassive but the anxiety only shallowly masked. "If you allow Auditore to kill me, you will not find out how to return to your own time, to your precious fortress."
Altair gave a quiet snarl. "And why should I believe you?"
"Because the method for your return would benefit me and my brothers as well."
Ezio frowned as his revenge was evidently interrupted, but he paused agreeably, meeting the Master Assassin's calmly questioning gaze. "I have waited years for this," he said resignedly in answer to the unspoken question, his tone clipped. "I suppose I can stay my blade for a few more minutes."
"Speak then, Templar," he said evenly, glaring at Borgia. "If you really wish to linger in this world a bit longer."
The commander straightened, glancing carefully between both Assassins and seeming to regain his confidence despite being cornered. "The two of you are extraordinarily alike. Did you ever notice that?" he asked calmly, apparently attempting to recover a sense of control. He was met only with stony silence and thus continued nevertheless. "You share the same blood and features, and the same… special ability, shall we say. I have heard that you Assassins once boasted of it, referring to it as Eagle's Vision, correct?"
Even Ezio looked curious at this point, slowly lowering his blade arm and asking cautiously, "Where are you going with this, Borgia?"
"Atavism," the Templar responded shortly, a small smirk visible when he realized that he was successfully holding their attention. "A recurring coincidence of genetics. I would not be surprised if a few years from now, your line will have another descendant who looks similar to both of you."
"Yes, but what is your point?" Altair cut in impatiently, gaze flickering constantly to the Apple in case this monologue was simply an attempted distraction as Borgia used the artifact to ensnare them.
"This Apple of Eden is known as the master of illusions, however, that is not its only capability—the past and the future are easily within its bounds, as time in itself is but an illusion. After all, what is this world but a collection of lies we take as truth?" the Spaniard continued easily, unhampered, pacing slowly to the edge of the banister to look at the Master Assassin more clearly. "However, even this treasure does not have the power to unconditionally bring into one illusion a figure who only exists in another. An anchor of sorts is needed, someone similar enough to hold the anomaly."
Dark eyes narrowed dangerously as the answer sank in, but Altair said nothing.
The arrogant tone had returned to Borgia's voice at this point. "It is not mere chance that you were sent here, Altair, where a convenient fellow Assassin exists, a descendant of yours no less. I tried to explain it to you in the guise of your master to make it easier for you to accept, but you did not take to it. What I spoke was no deceit—Auditore is the only reason you are still here, the 'key' to allow you to return to your Masyaf."
Inversely to the Master Assassin's rigid silence, the Florentine one scoffed and easily brushed off the accusation, casually releasing one of his hidden blades again as he resumed his advance. "Have you heard enough lies, Altair? I'm not sure if his words even gave you any sense of closure, but I think I've had enough. Every breath he draws is quite a waste."
Borgia took a slow step away, his expression hard. "Go ahead, Auditore. But we shall see how long it takes until you follow me. The seeds of doubt are stronger than you think."
Altair looked away as the kill was felled, unwilling to admit it, but realizing that he heard truth in the Templar's words. A sudden disturbance of air caught his attention and he looked up sharply, realizing a little belatedly that Borgia's last act had been to throw the Apple down towards him, possibly in a vain attempt to keep it from Ezio a little bit longer. He reached up easily and caught it, the warm, silvered metal fitting comfortably against his glove.
He lifted the artifact to eye level as the gold light continued to swirl passively, providing only just enough light to see by.
"…You do not believe him, do you?" the Florentine Assassin asked slowly, interrupting his thoughts as he jumped lightly back down to the first floor and approached, flicking his arm free of blood with an evident, though silent, air of satisfaction.
"It would make sense," Altair responded carefully, dodging the question. "It explains why our Vision does not work on each other—we are too similar, it would be like facing a mirror into a mirror."
"So, what, are you going to try killing me again?" Ezio questioned, his tone flat as he idly lifted his still drawn hidden blade in a thinly veiled threat.
The Master Assassin frowned as he dropped the Templar treasure to his side. "No," he sighed patiently. "I am not a blind fool."
"But Borgia said that I am what's keeping you here. Your 'anchor,' as he termed it," the Florentine eagle reminded him as he folded his arms, his expression outwardly dubious. "That is the only lead we have. I'd like you to get back to your own time for more reasons than I can name, but there's no telling how much of what he said was actual fact."
"That Templar was merely a tool," Altair said quietly, turning the silver orb between his fingers. "Just as al Mualim was, just as the Apple wishes me to be. All the answers, the reason I was sent here, and the method for me to return, is known only to this artifact."
"And something tells me it's not exactly willing to divulge anything," Ezio said a little irritably, coming closer to inspect the Templar treasure with a rather suspicious eye. "Can't you just control it? Just convince it to bring you back?"
"I don't think I can. The illusion has changed," the Master Assassin spoke rather cryptically, the gold of the light reflecting in his eyes as he looked thoughtfully down at the orb.
The other Assassin raised a questioning brow, and Altair expounded a little impatiently. "I have spoken to you and Leonardo, gained knowledge of things concerning this supposed 'future.' If Borgia is to be believed, the powers of the Apple are extremely limited, bound by specific conditions and specifications. It cannot easily bring to one time, to one 'illusion,' what does not belong there. As I am now, I do not even belong to my own time. Killing you here would lead to nothing."
Ezio tilted his head at him, evidently thinking that the Master Assassin was overcomplicating the situation. "Do you want me to give you amnesia then?" he asked with a small smirk. "If you can just pretend that none of this happened, maybe you can go back to your old life."
Altair did not spare him a glance, ignoring him as he thought hard on it, until he realized that the Florentine Assassin's suggestion was—surprisingly—along the right track.
"…If none of this happened?" he repeated slowly, reflectively, glancing at the Apple still lying dormant in his hand. "That may be quite easy to arrange. An altered past can just as greatly affect the future after all."
It would be risky, he knew, for the Apple was unpredictable, even to its chosen wielders. But avoiding the attempt would be worse than failing it—it was difficult to say what his continued stay in this assumed future would cause.
The Masyaf eagle met Ezio's eyes as the other blinked at him, still a little lost in what he was saying. "I thank you for your help, brother," he spoke steadily, tone wrought with a sense of finality, tightening his hold on the artifact but offering the Assassin's salute with his left.
The golden light flared around him, twining across his senses and causing his eagle to flutter agitatedly, the Apple both eager and a little curious as to why Altair was so willingly opening himself to it. He said nothing, probing at it instead with spirit and mind, asking it to listen—not demanding, but almost humbly requesting. He stilled, stance impassive and calm, even as the bright, rather sickening flashes once again started to overwhelm him.
He was unsure if he would ever wake again after this, however he was honestly quite resigned to the fact. His vision was fading, but the last image he saw was the Florentine Assassin's honestly alarmed expression, his brown gaze not leaving Altair as the artifact consumed him. The Masyaf eagle heard a word, regrettably in Italian, but he held onto it, remembering, and wondered dully if it was a last insult thrown to him as he left.
"Fratello-!"
Author's Note: I apologize if there was a surplus of dialogue in this last one, but I was eager to discuss the atavism theory—no real evidence to support it (and I'm not quite sure if the term is correct), but there really needs to be a reason why the main Assassins (particularly Altair and Desmond) look so much alike.
Also, time travel and such has always been a confusing topic, thus feel free to ask if you did not understand any part of the chapter. Anyway, you can call this the end already I suppose, with just an (extremely short) epilogue after this. Thus, thanks to you all for reading and reviewing, I appreciate the support.