Definitions:
Maghrib = prayer at dusk
Deen = "a submission, following and worship by man for the creator, the ruler, the subjugator in a comprehensive system of life with all its belief, intellectual, moral and practical aspects." Source: Imam Mohamed Baianonie.
Abaya = modest dress for muslim women
Eight
Esma watched him leave, witnessing how he miraculously disappeared among the crowd. She could hear her own heart rapidly beating in her chest. Usually, she did not feel this way around men and deep down she knew very well what this meant. She just hated the fact that this particular man had to be a cold-hearted killer.
Distracted, she made her way back to the cloth stand. Naveen had already spotted her before she even arrived. The other girl watched her move through the crowd with a satisfied smile. As Esma joined her friend, she flicked a brief smile at her.
"Sorry for making you wait. Did you find anything you like?"
"Welcome back! Sure I did," Naveen answered, and an unexpected, smug smile adorned her face. "I take it you found something you like as well while you were away?" She nudged Esma in her side knowingly.
Esma looked to her with a light frown. Suddenly it dawned on her that her friend might have seen her together with the Assassin. Her eyes widened for a moment, but she quickly forced a blank expression upon her face.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, you know what I'm talking about! That man who just walked you back." Naveen's smile only seemed to widen.
"He's just a customer I needed to pass a message to." Esma averted her eyes. She could feel her own cheeks glow warmly. By the Lord, she had never been a very good liar.
"You can cut the act, Esma! I've seen you—" Naveen held her breath when she realized she was embarrassing her friend by confronting her in public. She glanced to the seller, whom pretended to be deaf to their conversation, and cleared her throat. "Well, Esma, you should pick a few patterns you like and then we'll be off again." Her voice trembled in excitement. It was obvious that she couldn't wait to question Esma about the mysterious man.
Esma nodded in worry. What should she tell Naveen? She was aware of the Assassin— no wait, Naveen did not know Altair was an Assassin. To outsiders he could pass as a scholar. She should probably hold on to that made-up fact.
Her hands slid over the smooth fabrics. Which pattern could turn into a beautiful dress? Would it make her more appealing to the Assassin? Ah no! What was wrong with her? Was she honestly considering seducingan Assassin? That was just plain idiotic. Why would she want a killing machine to fall for her anyway?
She chose three different patterns, quite moderate fabrics just to prove a point she did not need to seduce anyone with pretty dresses.
"Thank you for your patronage," the seller told her in gratitude, the amusement reflected in his eyes. Surely this was because he had overheard their disgraceful topic.
As soon as they had left the marketplace, Naveen dragged Esma towards a secluded garden; whom it belonged to they didn't know, but it appeared deserted and tranquil.
"Is this alright?" Esma remarked as she looked around her. Weren't they trespassing? The people who lived in these houses could easily look down on the garden from the second story.
"Esma!" Naveen squeaked and grabbed her shoulders. "Of course it's alright! It's not like we're breaking or stealing anything. More importantly: you have to tell me everything about that man!"
Esma grunted in displeasure. By the Lord, how was she going to cover herself up?
"He's just a regular at our saloon. A scholar," she tried to look as oblivious as possible, "but there's nothing going on between him and myself. You must have misinterpreted the situation."
"A scholar? Ooh," Naveen clapped her hands together in excitement, completely ignoring Esma's denial. "This means he has much knowledge, right? You should ask your father to check up on his background!"
By the Lord, no! Only the thought of spending the rest of her life alongside an Assassin made her cringe. She raised her hands in a defensive manner and tried to smile at Naveen, "No thanks, I prefer an... ordinary man." Her heart started to beat louder at the thought of the masculine Assassin.
"You can't kid me, Esma El Mouridi! I know a liar when I see one! Your cheeks are beautifully tainted pink. I think this man actually makes you—"
"Naveen!" Esma interrupted the other girl. "Please stop this nonsense. It's improper to push the matter."
"But I don't understand. You obviously seem to like this man and he is a scholar, which probably means he has a strong deen."
Esma cast her eyes down. He did have noble goals, but an Assassin? Who was she kidding. "Please drop the matter. I do not wish for this man to..." Get to know her? This was not true and she despised herself for that fact.
"Do not wish him to what? Now that I think about it, is this the man who..." Naveen's words trailed when she realized that this was the same man who had caused Esma's anxious behaviour the other day in the saloon. "Are you alright?" she asked in worry and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Did something happen between you two?"
Esma got up from the stone bench, making Naveen's hand slide from her shoulder. "I think the sun is just getting to me," she said nervously, ignoring her friend's concern. "It's probably best for me to go home."
Naveen quickly followed her example. "Should I walk you home?"
"No need. I'll be fine."
"Are you sure? Isn't that man going to stalk you?" As soon as she had voiced her concern, she paused and raised her brows in confusion. "But wait, you went after him today, not the other way around. What was that about?"
Esma hesitated for a moment, but then said: "I hadn't properly thanked him yet for his help". It was not far from the truth, but not entirely a lie, either.
"Helped you with what?"
"He took care of a thief that wanted to steal my pouch." She wiped the sweat from her forehead.
Naveen looked at her in awe. "Why wouldn't you be interested in a scholar who has both medical knowledge and bravery? If you don't want to seek him out, then remember to mention me the next time you or your father see him!"
Esma looked to the other girl, wondering if she was serious or just trying to lighten the mood with her remark. She decided to take it as a joke, as it would make matters less complicated. She slightly smiled, "Shame on you, Naveen".
Naveen laughed. "Why? It's only normal for a woman to find a capable man. To top that, he really wasn't bad looking."
"You haven't even seen his face," Esma said in surprise, not sure whether to laugh or cry over the matter. There was absolutely no chance she was going to introduce Naveen to an Assassin.
Naveen grinned a cheeky smile and waved dismissively, "I've seen enough to form my opinion".
By far not enough yet, Esma thought with a mental headshake. "You don't know someone until you've witnessed how they treat the people around them," Esma said and leaned forward to pull her friend into a brief embrace. "But I am sure a wise girl like yourself will be fine." She gave Naveen a pat on her back. "I really should be leaving now, please take care of yourself. May the Lord's mercy be upon you".
Naveen smiled, "May the Lord's mercy be upon you as well, Esma".
الله أكبر
Altaïr slid through the open roof, his gauntlet grazing over the stone edge in the process, and landed into the back garden of the bureau with a soft thud. He headed straight inside the building.
"Safety and peace, Malik," he called to the one-armed scholar at the counter. In his mind he could already hear the other's sneer resonate, but to his surprise, he was spared the scolding this time.
Malik immediately turned his attention to him and said: "Yes, yes, enough with the formalities already. Al Mualim has an assignment for you in the city. It is something you shouldbe able to handle – whether you blow it with your arrogance again is another thing." He shifted a small pile of sketches from each other so that each one became clearly visible. "Here are you targets: Templars spread throughout the city. Their annihilation will serve as a warning."
Altaïr ignored the other's petulant comments and leaned over the sketches, taking in the positions of his targets.
"It shouldn't prove to be too much trouble," he remarked and straightened his back.
"Sure, let your arrogance lead your way again!" Malik threw his hand in the air in irritation. "Your pretension will be your downfall one day, I swear. If not yourself," his voice lowered to a spiteful growl, "then surely you will take down others with your irresponsible behaviour".
Altaïr glared at the other man. He knew exactly what Malik was referring to, but refused to respond to his accusation.
"If you have nothing else to say I will be taking my leave."
Malik huffed in contempt, "I don't see why you even bother to announce your leave and waste my time. Just get out already".
Altaïr left the bureau without uttering another word.
Even though Malik had an ill temper, his frankness was a personality trait that Altaïr did not detest, despite this trait was not used to his favour. At least Malik's forward attitude left no room for misunderstandings.
He could smell the faint scent of the rain, informing him that the clouds would soon draw over the city. The moist air outside refreshed him. The past few days the city had the prosperity of the rare occurrence of the rainfall. Most people would flee the streets to find shelter, but he had also seen appreciative children play outside, trying to catch the sprinkling in their little hands.
Rain had its way of advantage as it would pose as a curtain of obscurity against the guards, making it easier for him to get away. Even when the slippery surfaces would prove more of a challenge, he trusted his skills to be outstanding enough not to be put back by the changing weather.
Altaïr rolled his shoulders and clenched his fists, crackling a few bones. He was born into the creed, which meant that stealth, assassination, combat and reading were practically the only aspects of life he was brought up with. Not to forget the limitations they were put on when pursuing romance, which was not entirely forbidden – for the creed needed successors after all – but Al Mualim would label romance a waste of time; an emotion that would make them weak.
He flicked the hidden blade from his left hand to test the weapon. In front of him was one of his targets. The apparent red cross on the uniform made the templar stand out from the crowd and a clear target that begged to be taken down. Altaïr picked up the pace until he was so close behind the man that he could hear him breathe. He flicked his gaze around, making sure no one was paying attention and then in one movement buried the blade in the others neck, cutting through cloth and flesh. Immediately he withdrew the blade and strode away like nothing had ever occurred.
Did he feel remorse over his assassinations? This was one of the questions the girl at the saloon had asked him. An Assassin who was highly overcome by regret would at one point start to fear himself if he continued killing. This very fear could eventually paralyze him, and just the slightest hesitation could mean failure –or worse: death.
Yet when Esma had asked him the question, he had hesitated about how to respond. Was he taking into account how she would perceive him based on his answer? No, that was not the case. Lately he had been questioning whether everything was as forward as Al Mualim made it appear.
الله أكبر
Esma ran a cloth over the counter and found herself glancing towards the entree of the saloon too many times. It was almost time for Maghrib, meaning they would close the shop soon. Altaïr still hadn't come by. She despised her anticipation for the Assassin. Even though he had shown a noble heart, he was still a murderer; a type of person she should not get involved with, let alone become enthusiastic for.
"In the name of the Lord," Maghrub called out, "why have there been so few customers today?" He eyed the door opening in expectation, as if just before closing time anyone would still barge in to order something.
Despite the unlikely occurrence, Esma still hoped that the Assassin wouldn't enter now when her father was staring at the entrance. If he would, it would appear as if they both had been desperately anticipating his visit, which would be embarrassing, but even more depressing was the fact that it would be the truth.
"I'm closing up. It's time to go to the mosque," Maghrub said as he shut the door and barricaded it with a wooden bar. "Are you tagging along?"
Esma let out a sigh, "No, I'll pray here today".
"Alright, whatever suits you." Maghrub headed to the washing room to wash himself up.
Esma cleaned the last bits up in the kitchen. Altaïr had said that he would 'perhaps' come by, which gave no guarantee he was coming whatsoever. Still, she couldn't help but strongly hope for his visit. He might have taken up on her offer to meet in the backyard. Once her father would go out, she'd go to the garden to wait for him.
"Will you be careful?" Maghrub said as he walked to the side door.
"Yes, Father. You be careful as well on your way."
"Don't worry about me. If the Lord wills it everything will be fine."
"Praise the Lord," Esma said as she saw her father out and barricaded the door behind him. She always felt more at ease when no one could come inside while she was alone.
Her father usually went to the mosque without her. Sometimes he would leave the shop in her hands when he went out for prayer. She would then close the shop for a few minutes to allow herself the tranquillity for prayer.
Even if her father was very protective of her, he trusted the neighbours enough to leave her alone during these moments. She was grateful for his trust at times like these. It made the situation less suffocating, in contrary to going outside, which she was expected to ask Maher along for every step she would take. To her father's indignation, she didn't always do as she was asked to. This was not to purposely upset her father, but sometimes she just couldn't stand her cousin and his advances.
If her father knew about the incident with the city guards, he would surely ground her to the saloon. By the Lord, if the Assassin hadn't been there at the time she probably would have died right there. Although if he hadn't been there in the first place, the guards probably wouldn't have been so on edge, possibly resulting in overlooking her presence.
She took a deep breath and pulled the ribbon that held her braid together loose and made her way to the washing room. The Lord had willed everything. It was of no use thinking about different outcomes.
Had she thanked the Assassin properly? All she had offered were words in gratitude. Was it enough for saving her life? Even if it wasn't enough, what else could she possibly offer him? He was a deadly warrior and she was just an ordinary girl who knew nothing about smithing or fighting.
She might be worrying about these matters now, but perhaps all Altaïr wanted was another good meal at the saloon. She could allow him to eat for free. There was no need for her father to be aware of it; she'd just pay for him.
With that said, had Altaïr been too busy to visit their saloon today? Perhaps he had changed his mind about the visit. It was not like he'd come especially for her. Even if she deep, deep down secretly hoped he would, that didn't make wishful thinking any more likeable.
She looked to the girl on the other side of the mirror. This exact face had been the one that the dead guard had pinned so harshly in his hands. An expression of disgust drew over her face. Her stomach churned as she remembered how cruelly the man had died by the hands of Altaïr.
She didn't understand how a man striving for noble goals could be so heartless. He killed without mercy, yet he had felt the need to save her and aid her more than once. Even the time that she had cut herself with the knife he had quickly offered an herb. Back then she had doubted his intentions, but the more she learned of him, the more she felt he was a sincere person.
Still, it might be better not to wait for him in the garden. Getting involved with a dangerous person like him just didn't seem like a good idea. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, a little voice in the back of her mind told her to go and wait outside.
"Oh Esma El Mouridi," she said drearily to the girl in the mirror, "what is to become of you?"
After doing her prayers she found herself unable to go to bed without checking the back garden to see if the Assassin was there. Pathetic,she scolded herself with distaste, but it did little to withhold her from straying outside. Dressed in a black abaya she opened the backdoor, the chilly breeze making her hair stand on ends. The sky was a warm, dark blue shade, highlighting the stars subtly.
Contradicting thoughts raced through her mind. She shouldn't be here, but she wanted to learn more about him and The Brotherhood. It was the mysteriousness around him that drew her to him. His creed wanted to oppose all parties in order to gain... peace? Power? Perhaps a society of equality? But why through murder? Was there no less violent way? She ran a hand through her long, soft locks and sighed. Her desire to understand was going to kill her. Literally.
Time crawled by sluggishly as she walked around the garden in anticipation, checking the walls every few moments to see whether he had arrived yet. Finally she seated herself on the cool bench as her lids became heavy with sleep. She decided to lie down for a moment, and folded her hands under her head to use them as a cushion. The stone bench felt cold against her cheek.
Her mouth drew to a thin line in discontent. The thought that Altaïr was not coming depressed her and she hated the feeling, knowing it was stupid of her to let herself dragged into such emotions, but she could not help herself. She reminded herself that he had not made any promises to visit her and that she had absolutely no right to feel disappointed, but her emotions did not always go well with reason.
"Praise the Lord. May He guide me," she muttered, barely being able to hold back a yawn.
Slightly turning her head she watched the wonderful black sky filled with twinkling, crystal stars. The miraculous starry sky reminded her how small the matters she felt at the moment actually were. Some things were out of their reach. Everything would go as the Lord had willed it. Nothing would happen without his consent and thus she shouldn't pain herself about it.
الله أكبر
"Esma!" A strangely familiar man's voice sounded.
Esma slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was a white blur on the wall. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight.
Altaïr!
He was squatted on the garden wall once again. She quickly sat upright and felt her cheeks heat up by his presence. So he had come after all. Looking around her, she noted that the sun had already started to break through, covering the sky in a warm, reddish hue.
"ESMA!" His voice was a harsh whisper.
She frowned in confusion at his impatience as she had heard him the first time. There was no need to raise voices, but perhaps it was because she had not answered him yet. She quickly opened her mouth to respond, but for some odd reason her voice was stuck in her throat and she simply failed to utter even the simplest word.
"Wake up! You need to open the door!"
You're on the wall! You don't need to use the door.The thoughts raced through her head, wanting to be conveyed to the Assassin, but they were still stuck in her throat. In great frustration Esma tried to cough some sound from her lungs, but nothing of the sort happened.
"Esma! Are you awake? Open the door!"
Suddenly she felt the hard surface of the stone bench against her cheek, causing her to instinctively jerk her head up. Leaning on her right arm she looked around her groggily. The sun had not risen yet at all; it was still night. She scratched her head and yawned. She must have fallen asleep and dreamt about him. Would her mind not give her a break from the Assassin?
"Esma!" The voice called her again.
Esma's eyes widened and she turned her head. This voice was not the Assassin's, it was her own father! Had the voice in her dream also belonged to her father? If that was the case, then he had been shouting there for far too long! The poor man!
Esma immediately shot up and rushed inside the house to open the door, revealing a very agitated looking Maghrub.
"Peace upon you, Father! I am so terribly sorry for falling asleep!" Esma bowed her head in apology, feeling ashamed for locking the man outside.
"Peace upon you as well, Esma. I'm glad to see you are doing well! I feared something had happened to you," Maghrub said, heaving a loud sigh in relief. He walked inside the house and barricaded the door. "Don't feel bad about it. Sometimes it's good to test this old man's nerves. As long as you're fine, I have nothing to be upset about."
"So sorry for falling asleep," she muttered again, still feeling stupid over her mess-up.
"It's alright." Maghrub placed a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't miss your prayer due to falling asleep? Don't let the shaytaan get to you."
Esma nodded, "I know, Father." She thought about the fact that keeping the shaytaan away had become harder with the Assassin's existence in her life now. It came together with lies, danger and anxiety.
"Good night, dear. Peace be upon you," Maghrub said and kissed her on the side of her head. Without waiting for her reply, he headed to his bedroom.
"Peace be upon you as well, Father," Esma called after him.
When the door closed behind him, she let her shoulders hunch in exhaustion. Altaïr hadn't come today. What was she expecting anyway? An assassin must have far more important matters to attend to than visiting some girl from the saloon, who even failed to open a simple door for her own father. If anything, she should probably be grateful that a dangerous figure like himself didn't come by today. Still, she could not help but feel disappointed by his absence.
الله أكبر
Altaïr jumped through the bureau roof and landed with a heavy grunt, his hand grasping his left side firmly. The Assassin inhaled deeply through his nose and took a few moments to adjust to the pain. Slowly he rose to his feet again and walked inside the bureau. Peering through the dark room he noticed Malik in the corner on a bedroll, presumably just woken up from sleep.
"It's me," Altaïr said in a low voice and hauled himself in a chair. "Safety and peace, Malik."
Rustling sounded through the quiet and obscured room. Malik had thrown the sheets off and made his way to the other Assassin.
"It seems like safety wasn't a priority on your list, novice," the scholar remarked, eyeing Altaïr in the dark, who was still clutching his side and breathing heavily. "Such a simple task and you still manage to fail. Unbelievable."
"I did not fail," Altaïr immediately corrected, ignoring the too low rank the other referred him to, "All targets have been eliminated."
"You were stabbed," Malik sneered and lit a candle, "What were you doing out there? You were supposed to hide in plain sight, but you made fool out of yourself." He closed their distance to shed light onto the wound. "An amateur like yourself doesn't deserve redemption. What was Al Mualim thinking?"
Altaïr disregarded the other's harsh words and carefully removed his hand from his side. The red sash was coloured darkly by the blood, a bit had seeped through the white robe as well. He looked up as Malik put the candle on the counter with a smack.
"You're a disgrace to The Brotherhood," the Dai muttered under his breath as he rummaged through a chest, pulling out bandages and herbs.
"I was just careless," Altaïr huffed in annoyance. "No one has to know about this." He hesitated for a moment and looked up at the Dai, but the other's focus was on the herbs. "We all make mistakes," he finally said and then unbuckled the leather belt around his waist to pull the robe over his head, groaning at the biting pain caused by the movement.
"There's a difference between a plain mistake and the denial of one's weaknesses," Malik shot back. "You are of the worse kind; stubborn like a donkey and ignorant like a child."
"That is quite enough," Altaïr said and he glared at the one-armed scholar. "Are you going to help me or not?"
"Who else will if I won't?" Malik snarled over his shoulder.
The scholar washed his hand and grabbed a bottle of mixed wine and rose oil to disinfect the wound. Altaïr sucked in the air at the burning sensation and ground his teeth together.
"I will stab you if you cry," Malik growled. "Here, you'll have to tie the suture and the needle together." He gave Altaïr a cloth to wipe his hands with and waited patiently till he had done so before handing him the instruments. Malik turned to bring the candle closer.
Without much thought Altaïr pulled the suture through the needle and handed it back to Malik.
"Push the edges of the wound to each other," Malik commanded.
Altaïr complied without contradiction. He watched the other man inspect the wound intensively. "Thank you," he said gruffly, finding it harder to voice than he had imagined.
The other groaned in response. "Don't think for one moment I am glad to aid you. You have disturbed my sleep with your incompetence." As if to get back at the Assassin he pulled the needle through his flesh without warning.
Altaïr ground his molars together in response. "You are natural light sleeper," he said between gritted teeth, "It's not my fault you wake up to the slightest sound."
"Arrogant andungrateful. Why am I even helping you!" Malik called out and shook his head in disbelief. "I should just let you bleed to death." Despite his threats, he continued stitching the wound.
Altaïr silently stared at the flickering light of the candle and listened to his own heartbeat. He thought of the girl of the saloon and wondered if she was still waiting for him.
"Will you hold still!" Malik snarled, making him snap out of his thoughts.
Altaïr decided against replying and pushed the edges of his wounds a bit further against each other instead, hoping Malik would be encouraged to quickly continue the stitching, which he did.
After a painful while later Malik removed the needle and stood up. He eyed his colleague attentively. "What made you lose your focus?" His voice was harsh, but there was no hostility in it.
Altaïr pushed the herbs against the stitched wound and bandaged himself firmly. Had he been distracted during the fight? No. He had just been overwhelmed and outnumbered. "I didn't lose my focus. The man was just lucky to have found an opening."
Malik made a sound of contempt. "If you really are a Master Assassin you shouldn't have any openings."
Altaïr didn't answer. He knew he had failed himself.
"I have been told you have been visiting a woman."
Amber eyes flicked towards Malik, examining his face intently. "I haven't been visiting anyone," Altaïr said steadily, "Who told you such nonsense?"
"The source is of unimportance. If word gets out you were wounded because your mind was on a woman—"
"There was no such thing," Altaïr cut him off curtly. "If you want to spread lies then do as you see fit."
Malik sighed and stared at the stand with the cushions. "Don't compare me to those likes. I'm only reminding you that romance weakens you."
"Where does this nonsense come from?"
Malik shrugged his shoulders and blew the candle out, causing the room to be instantly engulfed by darkness. "If it's not true than you should concern yourself over your incompetent combat skills instead of lowly gossip." The Dai blindly stalked to his bedroll and tugged himself in.
Altaïr frowned in thought. Incompetent combat skills? He doubted it. Still, Malik had a point. The Templar had been lucky to land a hit on him and one wrong move could be his last. Being more cautious in the future wouldn't hurt.
He stood up from the chair and walked towards the open roof.
The night breeze was chilling against his naked chest. He winced as he turned his torso to grab the pole to close off the fence. The rusty metal scraped across the stone surface loudly, causing Malik to grunt in annoyance in the back.
Had the thought of visiting Maghrub's Saloon distracted him? No, of course not. The mere gossip was even making him consider nonsensical reasons. He threw the pole to the side and headed inside the bureau to call it a night.
Beta reader: Kingsparrow
Author notes: Hi guys, I hope you are all doing well! Thank you very much for reading up to chapter 8. The next update might take a while as I have some resits I have to finish before September – plus I threw out my computer. So at the moment I am at school, editing the last bits and pieces of the chapter – completely confused by the Mac System they have.
Please leave a review! As I have a new beta-reader, I hope that the flow is fine and there are no noticeable inconsistencies in style compared the previous chapters. Though I'm guessing there won't be :P.
Thanks for all the favourites, followings and reviews! They always make my day! *gives you all free hugs*