AN: Thank you Jesse for pointing out that mess up. Fixed it. :)
The word sore did not cover what Desmond felt as he was waking. It felt like someone had ripped each and every particle in his body slowly and meticulously. He was not sure if he wanted to know if they had put him back together right. The novice assassin could not move for a long time. At points, he was sure he was slipping in and out of consciousness. Gradually, he started feeling things other than pain. For instance, he realized it was very hot. It started at his feet and moved it's way up his body. Smoothly it went, like a paintbrush on canvas. As the heat swept in, the pain flowed away. Desmond had always hated heat as it would remind him of the farm. He wished he could have moved enough to laugh at the irony that he was now finding comfort in it.
Soon, Desmond felt his strength returning to him. He twitched his fingers attentively exploring the movement of his fingers. He was surprised when they did move for him and at what he felt beneath him. His fingers had dug into the ground beneath him with a particular sound. Like grains of sand. Curiously Desmond tried opening his eyes. What he found shocked what was left of the pain out of his system. It was sand that his fingers felt. In fact, as far as he could see was just sand, like he was in a desert. Desmond vaguely wondered if he was just seeing something from the bleeding effect.
But this was not like the other times. It felt… too real. Not like he was living it as someone else or even through. Gradually he lifted himself onto his unsteady feet as he surveyed his surroundings. Desmond did not fully know what the apple did, but one thing he was sure of was that he was not in Kansas anymore. Rolling dunes of sand and dirt as far as the eye could see. Heat shimmered the ground like the waves in the sea. Damn, it was hot. He dreaded the thought of walking through it.
Behind him just a mile away was a line of trees that looked like they can straight out of Eden. Just behind the trees he could see a faint line in the air like a cliff edge. Desmond wanted to think about his situation. To at the very least grasp what was happening and what he needed to do to correct it. First things first, he needed to get out of the heat. Experimentally, he moved his left food forward, worried that it would not stay steady for him enough to walk. Thankfully, it did. Unthankfully, it hit something hard making him fall forward on his face.
Desmond rolled over to his back, covering his eyes in the process. He had a feeling that he was not going to like his life for a good chunk of time. Not that he had been liking it for a while now. The novice really hoped that his feelings were wrong. Really, really hoped. He glanced down to his feet to see what he had tripped over. What he saw made him want to scream in frustration. Damn his feelings! Past his feet was the apple that had caused him to trip. What had made his heart drop was what he saw beyond the apple.
Templars.
The apple glinted in the blaring light as Desmond ran to the trees like a mad-man. At times he stumbled on the patches of sand that were starting to thin out the closer he got to the trees. His muscles screamed at him demanding him to give them a rest from the abuse he was putting them through. Physically, he wanted nothing more than to take a cool shower then curl up in his warm, safe bed and sleep for the next 48 hours. Mentally…Well, he still wanted the same thing but his built in instincts told him there would be death at any option but running. And they refused to just up and die.
So, Desmond kept running the mile he needed to get to the trees and to higher ground behind them. The yelling behind him just spurred him on faster. The templars were gaining on him and he did not like it. Just as he was nearing the first tree, the terrified assassin felt a "whosh" speed past his ear. The arrow that almost killed him hit the tree he just passed with a loud thud. Tossing himself like a football player hitting a touchdown with the apple as the ball, Desmond rolled past the main tree line. It looked really ridiculous to any normal person, to someone running for their life, well. That was a different story. A chorus of thuds could be heard at shoulder height of the trees if Desmond had kept running normally. Faintly, Desmond thought that the time living his ancestors' lives through the animus was just starting to come in handy with the new found instincts.
Thanks to those instincts, he did not dwell on it long. After the first main wave of the arrows hit the trees, he bounced off the ground and continued his panicked run still holding the apple. Letting his feet find the right spots to step, he dodged trees, branches and potholes that would lead him to his death if he let them. Desmond wished he was wearing at least the hidden blade. But no, he did not wear weapons when he was going into the animus. 'This is bull shit,' Desmond mentally swore, 'If I live through this, I'll try harder to become a better assassin. That cage farm be damned!'
Finally hitting the cliff wall, Desmond started running parallel, looking for a way up it. He may have been tired as hell, but he was a lot lighter than the men behind him. If he could just find a quick way up…There! Desmond shoved the apple down the waist band of his pants to free his hands. He grabbed hold of the small foot and hand holds that were protruding from the cliff wall. Using what strength was left in his body, he started hulling himself up.
Desmond could hear the templars yelling a lot clearer now that they were closer. "Kill the assassin!" He heard multiple times. If he had not been dangling himself from a very tall place, Desmond would have laughed at the unoriginality. He was about halfway up from the top before he glanced down. He wished he had not. Below him the templars had fully caught up to him. A few were trying to climb after him. The smarter ones were standing back and reloading their crossbows. 'Oh shit, oh shit.' Desmond repeated the words in his head as his new mantra.
Desperately Desmond wished he could climb faster as he felt the apple starting to slip down his pants and down his right leg. In his growing panic his leg hit the side of the cliff, letting the apple slip down faster. Damn it! He was so close to the top. Just above him the arrow burrowed itself into the rock right where his left hand had been reaching. It was a blessing in disguise as the apple made it past his knee. He grabbed the arrow tightly. Then with a feat of dexterity that Desmond did not realize he still had in him, twisted in the air, bringing his free hand to his right leg in time to catch the apple. Like a beacon, the sun glinted off the apple shinning down to the templars below.
"Hold fire!" Shouted a commanding voice below. From his position in the air, Desmond risked looking down for an other brief moment. Who he saw made his blood run cold, desert aside. Sticking the apple back to the waist band of his pants, Desmond restarted his upward battle. He would have time to think about what was going on after he gets to safety.
With pure bliss, Desmond's hands reached the top of the cliff he had been climbing. Using whatever was left of his upper body strength he hulled himself over the top, rolling over to his side to get away from the ledge quickly. Mentally, he slapped himself for the move. By rolling to the side, he did make himself a smaller target, but with the apple being in the waist band of his pants…It had been a pain filled move for his family jewels.
Cringing and with light tears in his eyes he picked himself back up to keep moving. The templars may have been at the bottom of the cliff now, soon they would find a way up. Thankfully, there was a few more trees to help keep the heat away. Before he turned to the trees he took the apple from his pants to hold normally. For a moment he wanted to chuck it over the cliff edge to help keep the templars off him, but he knew it would not work and that it would just be handing them a win. Though it might have just been his oxygen deprived brain trying to mess with him, Desmond felt a prick of curiosity. He knew what he was about to do is the worst thing he could do in any sort of situation, fictional or non-fictional, but he could not help it. He glanced back down the cliff into the den of templars.
The one that froze his blood and made him shiver was still sitting on his horse staring up at Desmond. Briefly, their eyes met and Desmond knew he just made a double mistake. Like a bat out of hell, the novice turned around and ran into the trees. At times there were clearings and others there were more cliff sides. By the time he started slowing the sun was on it's way down. He was exhausted and needed water, bad. To his left, flowing from a small ledge was a tiny waterfall. His eyes followed the water down until he spotted the small pond it had created over time.
His feet took him directly to the water with out his mind giving them any sort of demands. Not even bothering to use his hands, which were still sore from climbing the cliff, he stuck his head in the cool water and drank. After a few deep drags he came back up for some air. The almost assassin sat back on his heels and leaned back letting the small breeze that just started up to cool his face. He sat like that for a while, as he mentally mused over the situation. His body was done, of that he was sure. He had ran for two hours before whatever this was started, then there had been pain for who knew how long, then heat, then more running, climbing and more running…for hours. No water with only more heat. Fuck, he was tired. And still hot. That thought jerked Desmond out of his trance. He looked at the water in front of him. It was deep enough that he could pretty much take a bath in it. Using his hands this time, he dipped them into the water to clean them off. Dirt, sand and a little bit of blood ran off of them and went to the bottom of the pool. Once they were clean, he made a cup with them and drank a little more. The water ran down his still parched throat to start the process of going through his body. After he drank until he was sure he could drink no more he finally took the time to look around himself.
To his right, there was a small hut that looked tattered and almost broken down. It was built in such a way that it was meant to blend into the trees around it. In fact, if it had not been for the pale red cloth covering the opening, Desmond would not have noticed it. Other than the hut and the pond the only other things around were just trees. Knowing he would need to sleep that night, the novice got up and slowly made his way to the hut. Cautiously he looked inside. There was a small area for someone to sleep and an even smaller area for a fire with an even tinier basket off to the side. One thing was for sure, it looked like it had not been used in a long time. Slowly, Desmond walked back to the apple that the pond. Looking it over he had a moment of pure hate for it. Damn thing started all of this! He wanted to chuck it at the ground, but he knew that would just be self defeating.
Desmond went inside of the hut, tossing the apple to the bed side and bent to open the basket. The smell hit him first. Almost retching he quickly covered his mouth with his left sleeve and waved his right at the basket like it would make the smell go away. The basket must have been food storage at some point years ago. There was nothing but mold and god knows what. Nearly crying, Desmond forced the lid closed and picked the basket up one handed. He walked as quickly as he could out of the hut and away from the small clearing. He walked for about a minute, holding the basket as far away from him as possible, then he dropped the mold infested basket right next to a tree and headed back. The sun was starting to go down faster now.
The bartender new he needed to get the hut cleared up and a fire started soon. He was going to need the protection and warmth once night falls. As he was walking back, he gathered sticks and dry leaves that he placed in a pile next to the entry to the hut. He then looked over the sleeping area to make sure there was no mold or anything that could kill him if he slept there. Thankfully it looked usable and even more amazing, it looked as if there was an extra set of clothes. A pair of brown trousers, a grayish tunic and white half-robe with a hood. Almost want Altair would have been wearing. Shaking the thought from his head, he set to work on getting the fire going. It took him nearly ten minutes of rubbing the sticks together to get a spark. As he saw it come to life, he lifted some of the dead leaves next to it and blew lightly. The ember lit up and flamed onto the leaves. Quickly he set it in the fire pit and added a few sticks. The fire grew and gave light to the hut.
When he was sure the fire would not just go out nor spread to anywhere else in the hut, he left to make get some more firewood. Once he was satisfied with his small stock pile he went back into the hut. The sun had gone completely down while he had been making the fire. He was surprised with how cold it had gotten. Especially after how hot it had been. Taking comfort in the warmth of the fire, he settled into the corner of the hut that was meant as a bed. He fed the fire every once in a while and used the time to fully to think about the events that just happened.
For certain, he fully believed in his feeling earlier that day that he would going to hate his life. It was going to be rough and he did not much like the thought. His mind traveled back to the apple that was sitting next to him. Light from the fire glinted off the gold, highlighting the markings all around the ball. "Not much of an 'apple', is it?" Desmond asked the air. He did not feel pulled to it like he did earlier. He only felt that he would need it if he wanted to get back. He was going to have to use the spare clothes and travel quickly. He had no idea if the templars would still be looking for him. Scratch that, he was certain they were. They saw him with the apple.
Slowly, his mind started drifting away from him. He was content for now to let sleep take over him before he truly thought about how he was going to leave. He was going to need whatever rest he could now. Before he passed out completely, he had one last thought. 'That was Robert de Sablé. How the hell did I go back in time?'
AN: I want criticism. Be brutal if you have to. I need to get better.
Ps: Thanks for the Reviews. Made me happy.