Fatih District, Constantinople
The Golden Horn, Byzantine Empire
Local time 17:35, May 877
A beam of light split the sky asunder over a burning city as the hordes amassed at the gates. Basim could only watch as it plowed into the largest, most elegant dome of the Hagia Sophia, the interior of which flashed a brilliant crimson and violently imploded.
"Yukarıdaki Tanrı!" Zeki, without a doubt the most religious of their otherwise mostly secular brotherhood, exclaimed despite himself, stumbling to his knees for a moment as the mighty church's death tremors resonated throughout the earth. "The Northmen call upon the powers of Creation itself to bring ruin to our city!"
"Not our city," Basim replied gravely, "but our Brotherhood itself. The Lawbringer comes chasing his own vengeance, blaming the Gizli Olanlar for his own failings. He will not stop until the Brotherhood is dissolved and its members slain to a man."
A low, feminine voice scoffed. "Impossible. This has happened to us before and it will again. As before, we will fall back, scatter ourselves throughout the known world, regroup where these . . . these monsters dare not tread, and come back stronger than we were before. We have survived worse, and we'll-"
"INCOMING!" a nearby Hidden One of usta rank cried as a rain of arrows came arcing through the sky, following up on the comparatively much more impressive beam that had taken out the Hagia Sophia's dome. Everyone scrambled for cover. Basim ibn Ishaq, however, just stood there atop the city's walls, unflinching, barely even blinking as the deadly projectiles peppered the fortifications.
"Somehow, Mahsa, I do not believe that's the case in this instance," he replied, gazing South, towards the Sea of Marmara.
It was utterly choked with hostile watercrafts, ice-blue sails and flags snapping in the wind off the sea. Hundreds of distinctive longship prows, all carved in elegant, ominous shapes of dragons, ravens, wolves and other unsavory beasts of the Northern wilds, reared up like legion upon legion of evil spirits. The burning hulks of trading vessels from all corners of the Eurasian world drifted aimlessly between the longships, occasionally collapsing in on themselves and sending up miniature firestorms even as Northern marines leapt from their decks back to their own ships with armloads of gold, silver, and spices. Far to the West, barely visible in the glare of the setting sun, Basim could just make out the shapes of worse things - the bluish-white running lights of ancient warcrafts that he once knew well, great black objects moving about just beneath the choppy waves, a host of tentacles breaching the surface here and there to writhe in bloodlust and anticipation.
The Vikings had arrived. And they were bringing terror with them.
In all, it was a scene that did not belong in this era, in this world. Basim knew that because he'd been alive before, in a different time and a different place, seen things these poor, limited souls around him couldn't have possibly comprehended, and he could draw direct comparisons between what he saw now and what he saw then.
Another Hidden One rose shakily to her feet. "This will be the death of Konstantinyye," she murmured in rapt terror.
"The Northmen have reached the city gates!" a voice sounded from below. As one, the Hidden Ones prepared to do battle, swords clearing sheaths and warriors taking to the roofs. The city guards rushed to defend their home, either unwilling or unable to acknowledge the secret society that they would shortly share a battlefield with.
"İmparatorluk için!" came the call from the soldiers and citizens of Constantinople. The Hidden Ones had no such battle cry, as befitting of their Creed, but nevertheless, they quickly began to go about their duties - taking down the first of the Northern invaders with throwing knives and well-placed arrow shots, escorting women and children away from the site of the upcoming battle, taking positions on the walls to guard against the incoming onslaught. They'd already spent the last night and the day that succeeded it evacuating the local Bureau, moved the critically important documents and records to a secure location, and burned whatever they no longer needed. This, thought Basim, was one of the biggest tragedies that would take place this day. Human lives could always be replaced with more of the same, the impressive buildings that mankind managed to make despite their technological constraints could be rebuilt, but once knowledge was lost, it was gone forever.
And, unlike the race that he'd ran in so many centuries before, these poor, disabled creatures lacked even the basest capacity to record such little knowledge they could amass in any lasting manner . . .
For his part, Basim raised his hood and began a rigorous course that would take him East through the crowded streets of this port city, up atop its rooftops, and through the hordes of barbarians and repulsive mutants that the former party had been able to recruit since his last clash with the Northmen. His ultimate goal was the church on the hill, now in ruins, where he would once again meet his foe in combat. His only foe, now.
The time to run from destiny was over.
The Lawgiver, or possibly one of his lieutenants, had the one object that Basim wanted more than anything else in the universe. The one face that he wished to see, out of millions available at his disposal.
And as he strode through the chaos of a city on the brink of destruction, Basim ibn Ishaq reflected on the broken, overgrown path of lies and misfortune that had led him and everyone else to this conclusion . . .
: Good morning, ! I'm pleased to report that I will be continuing this story until we learn how we got to the events depicted in this chapter. I'm sure that as the story unfolds, many of your questions will be answered. Thank you for reading!