HAYTHAM

Assassin.

That word had several meanings to me: past, present, love, hatred, life, death...it was hard to know which to focus on first. The list could go on and on.

But the primary thought of the word was guilt: they were my past Order and present (but dormant) enemy. It was not that I'd left the Assassins which made me feel guilty. It was the fact that I lied.

The blades on my wrists: an iconic symbol of my past. Was I still worthy of wearing them? The Assassins had instilled a lot on the way I thought and moved. But to use their own emblematic weapons against them...it was unheard of. The worst part was that anyone with background knowledge on both orders could be mislead. One could think I was still an Assassin.

Ziio was the worst example.

It must've been the blades, I thought. She must think that I am one of them. How could I have lied? How could I have told the woman I love such a terrible, disgusting lie?

But I had to lie. Somehow, I had a feeling that it would tear us apart. Forever. Thin were the threads that bound us together; the barriers between us countless. Maybe Ziio was a close friend of the Assassins. No. Otherwise, she would have mentioned the Templars too. Just in case, I decided I would not mention the Templars in front of her. It took me so long to build up her trust in the first place. What if I lost it all again?

ZIIO

I spent far too long sat on the hill, listening to the orchestra of the forest. I became almost...engulfed in it all. Sometimes, a woman needs her space. Especially after what I'd experienced that morning.

Perhaps I should go back, I thought. The villagers will be looking for me. No! Why would I return to the rumours?

That was another concept that bothered me: how did the news pass around so quickly? Who was it listening in that night? My insides squirmed in hatred and rage. I would make their life a living hell. That was what they had done to me. But it was too late to worry about who did it. The word had passed from ear to ear, and now it was the talk of the tribe.

But I needn't worry about that here. I am at peace.

This was the first time I felt safe since Haytham visited one week ago. Such strain on the mind and body meant I needed some relaxation. It was pleasant, not needing to think. I wished I could stay for longer.

Why not?

HAYTHAM

"Can you hear something?" Charles muttered.

At his voice, I halted. We were making our way to our usual spot, equipment strapped to our saddles. The tossed ground lay outstretched before us. An unsightly addition to the once-beautiful riverbank.

"That'd be the Natives," Benjamin confirmed from behind me.

Thomas snorted, almost in unison with one of the horses. "Why 'ere? They blind or sumfin'? Can' they see we're working 'ere?"

"The most likely reason is that there is plenty of prey here," I replied coolly. "We cannot disrupt their daily routine, as they are not affecting ours."

Hickey's eyes narrowed to slits, shooting flames through me momentarily. What is the boy's problem? Why hate the Mohawks with such a passion? At last he shrugged and looked away.

"Yes, I can see them on the hill," said William, straining to look.

I also twisted in the saddle. From the topmost point of the hill I could make out Koshisigre and another two young men. However, something was different this time. His other companions were unlikely ones: a frail old woman with thick plaits like Ziio's, using the support of a stick to walk. The other was a less frail (yet still elderly) lady with loose, whiter hair. She seemed vaguely familiar.

But as they approached, I could sense that something was wrong. Usually Koshisigre and his allies would greet us diplomatically (not too amicably) on seeing us. But not today. Furthermore, the parade's faces were ashen and rather concerned. I squinted to look closer. The two elders in particular were shaking slightly. It did not take a genius to know that it was not because of age. Why did they seem so worried?

"Come on. We ought to start digging," urged Charles. When I faced him he had already dismounted and was working on the leather saddle straps. I glanced round at the Mohawks (who still had not looked at us) one more time before doing the same.

And so we set to work. I risked another look at the Native patrol when all were focused. Koshisigre had ventured down the hill, while the others stayed at the top. He dodged a couple of trees narrowly, like he wasn't even aware of them.

This was unusual for him. I had become used to the Natives staying as one; cutting across our path and swiftly claiming any wildlife. But not today.

Was it my imagination, or was Koshisigre heading straight for me? No. Surely not. But as soon as our eyes met, he whispered my name.

Everyone looked up. I nodded to him, taken aback. The other Templars shot perplexed expressions at me, that said: What the hell is he doing?

"Haytham!" Koshisigre repeated, panting.

"Um, hello," I said in false civility. "Are you looking for food? I saw a plump raccoon scurry past not too far away."

"No!" he replied, his eyes urgent.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Has something happened?"

"We cannot find Ziio!"

Now my men were truly cynical. They left their work stations and came closer. Charles and Thomas in particular almost closed in on the poor young lad. I too was stunned by this.

"Pardon?"

"Ziio is gone! We cannot find her anywhere!"

I glanced around at my confused accomplices. "An ally from the Braddock Expedition," I muttered in answer to them. "When did you last see her?"

"This morning!" he replied. "She ran away and has not come back! Have you seen her, by any chance?"

"No – I-I'm afraid not. W-why would she come to me...?"

"Please," he cut my sentence short. "Help us."

If the Templars were not stood around me, I'd have agreed right away. My mouth opened and closed as I searched for an answer. I looked at my men. They all shrugged.

"We can help, I suppose..." said Benjamin sheepishly.

Phew.

Koshisigre's uptight shoulders relaxed. "Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you so!"

He led us to join the group he came with. One I remembered as his mother. The other seemed largely unfamiliar. I had never spoken to the woman. I must've seen her wandering around the village at times; people bowed their heads when she passed. Perhaps she was some sort of chief. Oh, what do I know?

As we began our search, spreading out and calling her name, a very obvious awkwardness hung in the air. The other male (around Ziio's age) kept eyeing Charles and William with a look of utter mistrust. Each time they spoke he would grimace, look at the ground or walk in a different direction. What on earth did he have against them? Why them and not me?

As the Mohawks knew the forest back-to-front, they led us all the way through some unexplored patches of land. The 'chief' woman in particular ambled around effortlessly, despite the notched staff she walked with.

"Ziio?" I called, for the umpteenth time.

"How do you remember their names?" Charles muttered.

I shrugged. "Well, Ziio is easy enough. Some of them can get a little…"

"Incomprehensible?"

"Yes, exactly."

All this time the nondescript male stared with eyes colder and darker than stone. I suppressed a shiver.

"Ziio?"

"Ziio?" Charles joined in with a hint of exasperation.

I heard the male Mohawk plod behind us with disinterest. His attitude was grouchy enough, but what happened next made Charles snap: he cut across the grass and barged between the two of us.

"Well, that's rather rude," Charles remarked under his breath. "Bloody Natives."

I know the man did not hear, but those words affected even me. Bloody Natives. That pretty much concluded the Templar attitude to the Mohawks.

"When will their filthy civilization learn some decorum?" he added.

"I'm sure he is not like this normally." I chose my words carefully: as if Charles had ever bothered to befriend the Mohawks. Let alone to the extent that I had.

He snorted. "I cannot see that boy as the duplicitous type."

"And you are in the position to judge?" I challenged coolly.

"I am just implying," he spat impatiently, "that I doubt a savage would change his behaviour in order to seem polite. This attitude sums up all the Native scum, and what they think of us."

Savage. What kind of barbaric word was that? What in god's name had the Mohawks done to Charles to deserve this judgment? I felt my blood boiling, my heartbeat rising. He just said that they were all 'Native scum'. Including Ziio. My Ziio.

"For the record, Charles, I cannot think of any ways at all that these people are 'savages'. And you wonder why they treat you so. How can they approach you diplomatically when you come out with such insults?"

He scoffed. "And how should you know, Haytham?" he snapped. "Oh, I recall: your Indian lover. You are such an expert of their people because you've spent far more time absconding with her than at work with us."

My fists clenched in a heartbeat. "How dare you!" I snarled. "How dare you say such a thing to your Master, when –"

"Over here!" Koshisigre hissed. "Look!

Before I joined him, I shot Charles a thunderous last look for good measure. How dare he have the audacity to offend me so! How dare he question my personal life! How dare he even bring up the subject of Ziio!

But under all the boiling rage, I knew that he was right. The late summer air grew a little colder. It was then when it dawned on me just how obvious my absences were.

Agreeing to help the Natives was a very bad idea.

DADADAAHHH!

So it's clear that Charles isn't exactly a fan of the Mohawks. Well, we already know that from the game but...well, there ya go! Sorry for the long wait – I've been away somewhere where there's not much service. I have, however, written the next chapter! I will post it if I have any service!

Thanks for reading guys :)