Definitions:
Dunya = the world as we live in now with its worldly desires of which some are forbidden by the Lord.
Twelve
The Assassin informants were the foxes of their Brotherhood; they knew like no other to blend in with the citizens and prove themselves as master spies time and time again. In Damascus there were at least four informants who kept a low profile and watched the city like it was their prey. Altaïr's visit for the rich district was for the weasel of a man, Amjad, nestled within the imported jewels and blood-stained silks of the rich district.
Water sprang from the chiselled spout of the elegant fountain and splashed into the mosaic-laid notch in the middle of the plaza. The sound of streaming water removed itself as a king above his people, watching over them with a reserved elegance. Altaïr used the shade of his hood to observe his surroundings unnoticed and when he made sure that he could reach Amjad without encountering guards, he stepped forward with a confident stride. His worn boots marred the tiled depictions with the haughty insolence of an unworthy peasant.
Amjad had long since seen Altaïr coming: it was ultimately his task to not let anything slip past his attention. Any other would perhaps confuse the Assassin with a scholar, but as one of The Brotherhood, Amjad was able to distinguish the Assassins in a blink of an eye. Despite recognizing Altaïr, the informant kept his head low and rested behind the looming wall standing many feet above him with the nonchalance of a pretended show of resting in cooled shade. That was until Altaïr appeared before him. His fellow Assassin was a broad-shouldered man, standing out from the crowd not only because his physique, but for his closed posture as well.
"Safety and peace, Amjad." Altaïr greeted. He spoke in powerful, short sentences which made it clear that he did not have time for nugatory conversations. "What can you tell me about Abu'l Nuqoud?"
"Safety and peace upon you as well, Altaïr," Amjad responded in ease, in contrary to Altaïr. "The Merchant King is the next on your list?" As soon as the words had left his lips, Amjad already knew that Altaïr was not going to appreciate his superfluous question, but the other Assassin surprised him by giving a brief nod and showing no irritation or change of expression on his stoic face. Amjad cleared his throat to hide his amazement and continued, "Nuqoud is known to seldom make public appearances. I have never seen him in person before, but if we can be so bold to rely on outer sources; he appears to be a poorly built man who even despises his own entity." Amjad paused for effect. "He is said to be different."
Altaïr slightly raised his chin. "Different?"
"It seems he likes to caress his own guards," Amjad said mysteriously, then laughed at the absurdness of the Merchant King's habits. Altaïr's mouth pulled for the briefest moment at this information, whether it would have been a sneer or a smile, Amjad could not tell without seeing the emotion in his eyes and so the informant decided to ask Altaïr straight-out, "Do you find sodomy amusing? I saw a jerk on your lip just now." Amjad grinned widely.
Altaïr stared at Amjad, judging whether the other was mocking him with his care-free attitude, but concluded that sodomy was a severe enough matter to give an answer on. "I do not think sodomy is amusing, but it's rather ironic that Nuqoud despises himself and yet drags his fellow men along with his despicable acts." Amjad's grin dissolved as Altaïr spoke, giving an impression of genuine interest in his words. Altaïr continued, "He calls abomination upon himself."
The informant rubbed his neck and smiled. "Don't you think his character makes your mission easier?"
Altaïr lowered his head again. "In what way?"
Amjad chuckled and quickly glanced out of the corner of his eyes to ensure himself he wasn't drawing unnecessary attention. "You can finish the mission in one evening if you infiltrate Nuqoud's Palace disguised as one of his guards!" Amjad refrained himself from snorting out loud in amusement and made sure to watch Altaïr closely to savour his reaction.
Altaïr didn't say anything, but the slight jerk of his upper lip gave away that he was not pleased to hear the suggestion. "Quit joking around," he snapped, but suddenly wondered whether Amjad had been serious or not. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he enquired, "Why should I go to such lengths if I can also just kill him?"
Amjad shrugged like the whole matter was none of his business. "He seldom makes public appearances; I thought I told you that already." After a short moment he suddenly regained his enthusiasm and quickly added, "To be honest, I thought this would be a very fitting end for someone like Nuqoud! Killed by his own men whom he thought he was going to caress." Amjad chuckled again and despite his effort to hold in his laughter, his shoulders clearly shook in amusement.
"Seldom is enough for me," Altaïr sneered, highly irritated by Amjad's lack of gravity. "Is there a way we can lure him outside?"
Amjad straightened his back and smiled in content even though he was just snapped at. He merrily disregarded Altaïr's glares as he said "That will not be necessary, because Nuqoud shall have a gathering in a week for the noblemen in Damas. You know, those abundant banquets which he pays with the people's taxes."
"Yes," Altaïr answered curtly. "It doesn't sound like his appearances are that rare," he added in contempt and turned around to wrap up the conversation with the informant. With his back towards Amjad, he asked "is the banquet exactly in a week time?"
"Exactly one week," Amjad confirmed, but his serious expression did not last and slowly a wide grin cracked through his pressed poker-face again. Rubbing his beard gleefully, he added in a chuckle, "So you're not going to use yourself to tempt the man?" He was surprised when Altaïr bothered to answer his playful remark.
"He shall caress the blade of death next week." Altaïr said without bothering to turn around.
الله أكبر
Abu'l Nuqoud's palace grounds were open to the citizens whom he thought mattered – their importance equal to their weight in wealth. He had stationed security guards at the gate which diverted the Rich District from the Middle District to make sure not a single citizen of less significant rank could enter.
A mere four intimidating guards were not going to stop a Levatine Assassin from entering the district. Altaïr had made his way inside the district by climbing over one of the high walls. As soon as he had reached the other side, there was little left to withhold him from joining Abu'l Nuqoud's lavish party.
Upbeat music reached Altaïr's ears before he had arrived at the gates of the palace grounds. The massive doors were slightly ajar, narrow enough to keep curious eyes from looking inside, but wide enough to comfortably let visitors through. Ivy plants climbed down the balconies and the walls encircled the garden where the feast was held, like a lover's arms embracing his object of adoration. In the centre of the grounds stood a large fountain with the statue of a nude woman whose only coverage was the mere cloth over her hips; her bare breasts stood proudly on her chest. She carried a pot over her head from which clear water flowed into the sparkling surface below with a rhythmic, running sound. The nudity of the statue was a sneer to the religion of most of the population of the land.
The company of scarcely dressed female dancers and red wine flowing freely from a fountain - built in by beautiful, colourful mosaic tiles – was a good indication that the Merchant King was a man of little faith.
Altaïr made his way through the crowd to get closer to the Merchant King's balcony, pushing the well-dressed citizens aside with a surprisingly gentle shove as he moved. He stopped somewhere in the centre of the crowd and peered past his hood to have a good look at the Merchant King. The rumours of him being 'poorly built' were an understatement: Abu'l Nuqoud's frame resembled that of a slaughterhouse pig. The expensive clothing on him were the only aspect that was somewhat dignifying him. His shimmering velvet robe was untied, revealing his disgustingly, bulging stomach, a cavern to the greed gorged into his gaping maw. The man stepped forward, his heavy physique making it look more like he was wobbling towards the railing of the balcony. Altaïr watched the man greet his dark-skinned male guard by caressing his chest with the gentleness of a lover's touch. A feeling of aversion immediately overcame the Assassin and he slightly jerked his head back at the uncomfortable sight which was performed so openly by Nuqoud.
Abu'l Nuqoud was not bothered in the slightest to publicly show his affections. As if nothing unusual had occurred, he spoke with a clap of his large paws beating together, "Welcome, welcome! Thank you for joining me this evening!" His bellowing voice reached even ears outside the palace walls and instantly lowered the noise of the crowd. The Merchant King showed an unnatural smile as he spoke. "Please eat, drink and enjoy! I trust all the pleasures Ihave offered you are to your satisfaction."
The guests who had not yet touched the offered luxuries were now encouraged to try the abundant fountain of streaming wine. Attractively dressed maids offered men and women jewel-carved goblets in which they could provide themselves with the alcohol. A young maid curiously approached Altaïr as his fit physique was outstanding among the noblemen who lived a far less active lifestyle. When Altaïr noticed her, he promptly turned his back to her.
"Would you like a goblet for a drink, sir?" the girl asked politely, but she was slightly disappointed by his brash attitude.
Abu'l Nuqoud's loud voice beamed over the crowd again and offered Altaïr an opportunity to visibly turn his attention to the man and further ignore the maid. "It pleases me to see you all so happy," Nuqoud announced, "these are dark times, my friends, and we must enjoy this bounty while we still can."
Abu'l Nuqoud speaking did nothing to stop the girl from engaging with the Assassin. She insistently walked around Altaïr to face him and upon sighting his chiselled jaw line, a restrained smile appeared on her face. In the background the Merchant King rambled about how the noblemen had been supporting Salah'Al-Din and how wonderful their unquestionable support was. "Shall I pour you a glass, sir?" the girl tried again.
The afternoon sun fell hotly on the palace grounds and reflected in a dazzling shimmering from the jewels on the goblets; guests toasted to their wealth and well-beings by loudly clanking their valuable goblets together and wastefully spilling red wine over the brim by doing so. Altaïr turned to the girl and watched her for a moment before opening his mouth and pushing out a harsh "No." With his head slightly bowed, accentuating the displeased pull on his mouth from under his hood, his body language quite clearly stated to have her gone. The girl blinked in confusion and seemed taken aback by his unexpected dislike towards her. Her lips moved in a flustered manner, but no sensible words came from them. Altaïr pulled his gaze away from her and saw her hurry off in the corner of his eye.
"May you be given everything you deserve," Abu'l Nuqoud's voice rumbled, causing the crowd to cheer loudly for him. Altaïr looked up at the pig-like merchant who was pacing to and fro on his balcony as he spoke. "Such kindness," Nuqoud exclaimed and spread his large arms. "I didn't think it in you. You, who had been so quick to judge me and so cruel." Altaïr slightly shifted and took a subtle step forward. He could hear the shift of his own boot as the cheering of the crowd had suddenly subsided.
"Cruel?" a man next to the Assassin softly repeated in puzzlement. More whispers followed suit and the confused hum of people quietly filled the palace walls with its tension.
"Oh, do not feign ignorance," Nuqoud said as a response on the lost looks on the guests' faces. "You take me for a fool?" he demurely spoke, "That I have not heard the words you whisper? Well, I have and fear that I can never forget." The way he spoke made Altaïr believe that he harboured no true grudge towards the crowd, at least not because of the reasons he had mentioned.
The Assassin subtly glanced right and left between the crowds; the people watched the unsightly man with clear apprehension.
"But this is not why I called you here tonight, no." Nuqoud swayed his arms as he continued his speech, "I wish to speak more of this war and your part in it. You give up your coin, wicked as be, knowing all too well it causes the deaths of thousands." A woman gasped in bewilderment at the brash accusation, but Nuqoud instantly silenced her by claiming, "You don't even know why we fight! 'The sanctity of the Holy Land' you are saying, or 'the evil inclinations of our enemies', but these are lies you tell yourselves." Nuqoud barked a loud laugh, his voice an unpleasant, low rumble. The mellow flesh of his lower chin shook as he snorted. When he was done, an expression of sheer hatred pulled over his appalling face. "No, all this stuff here is born from fear and hate. It bothers you that they are different, just that it bother you that I am different! Compassion, mercy, tolerance, these words mean nothing to any of you! Mean nothing to those infidel invaders who ravage our lands in search of gold and glory! So I say: enough!" Abu'l Nuqoud screamed, having lost his composure from before in entirety. His fleshy paws clawed around the railings of the balcony tightly. "I pledge myself to another cause, one that will bring about a new world." Slowly, his fingers relaxed their gripping hold. "In which all people may live side by side…in peace."
As Abu'l Nuqoud finished his speech, suffocated chokes suddenly erupted from the crowd. Goblets smashed to the ground with loud clangs and the people who had drank from the fountain immediately dropped to their knees, unable to keep their strengths to stand. Panic overcame them as they howled as if acid burned down their gullets. Clutching their throats and clawing at their own distorted faces did nothing to lessen the tormenting pain.
"A pity none of you will live to see," Abu'l Nuqoud spoke proudly, savouring the sight of suffering. He turned to his guards and ordered indifferently: "Kill anyone who tries to escape." As soon as he had issued the order, the first arrow sizzled through the air sharply and pierced a woman's neck clean, drawing a choked gagging sound from her broken throat. The silk scarf smudged with blood as she collapsed to the ground with inhumane wheezes.
Guests who had been struck by paralysis in their bewilderment instantly snapped out of their stupor and stumbled around to get away from the unconscionable turn of events. Screaming and fleeing for their own lives, they tripped over poisoned bodies spread on the ground and run each other over in their hysteria. Trapped like animals in a cage the noblemen were slaughtered like mere cattle by searing arrows shot from the balcony.
Unseen through the disarray of the grounds Altaïr had already moved himself to the back of the tower. His heart throbbed loudly in his chest at the quick enfolding of the situation and put all his senses on hyper-alert. He favoured neither parties in the rich district, but Abu'l Nuqoud's methods awakened a feeling of clenching resentment within him and he felt a strong urge to get rid of the man. He realized that Al Mualim still had exceptional skill beyond his own despite the fact he had doubted the sincerity in his Master's words a while back; Al Mualim could look past what had been laid out in front of them and understand the bigger picture, which included the death of the Merchant King Abu'l Nuqoud.
Altaïr controlled his breath evenly as he heaved himself upwards, fingers gripping the narrow edges of the building bricks the tower consisted of and soles setting themselves on whatever protrusion he could get a foothold on. Every muscle in his body strained itself to rapidly pull up his massive physique. Low grunts escaped his lips as he climbed the tower. As soon as he had reached the top, he soundlessly hoisted himself up and walked to the edge to peer down on Abu'l Nuqoud's large, unsuspecting frame.
The screaming sounds of struggle and terror kept both his and his guards' attention fixed on the grounds before them. None of them ever considered looking behind them.
الله أكبر
The shutters of the window were slightly ajar, allowing a thin ray of sunlight slip past the wood in which tiny dust particles danced. Esma's eyebrows were set in a concerned frown as she puffed a sigh. Her eyes trailed down to her lap where Altaïr's dagger resided comfortably, the weight of the firm steel weighing down noticeably on her thighs.
He killed people.
She was disgusted by her own excitement over the Assassin. Despite knowing how relentless the man could be, she found herself unable to subdue the fluttering butterflies inside her. How had things come to this? Was it because he had saved her life that her heart could not recognize him other then as a hero? Was the Shaytaan trying to seduce her with the temptations of the dunya?
Her hand hovered above the grip of the dagger, hesitant to pick up the weapon. What does he feel when he takes someone's life? As her face was filled with tension one moment, the next moment air escaped her lungs as if someone had punched it out in one, powerful blow. Here she was daydreaming about the Assassin and his unexplainable motives while her own father was evading her. What in the Lord's name was wrong with her? She would not be seduced by this man called Altaïr! With newfound determination she picked the dagger up and slid it under her bed.
Should she sell it?
Automatically she pulled the dagger out again and stared at it: there was beautiful carving on the guard, truly exquisite craftsmanship. Esma lightly traced the engraving with the tips of her fingers and felt at ease at the smooth texture. This didn't feel deadly. The weapon looked unused. Then again, steel didn't wear out very quickly…
She tucked the perilous instrument to the inner layer of her sash and watched it for a moment. An outsider would never guess that she was carrying a dagger. Altaïr asked her to arm herself with it, although she was sure that nothing good would come of her fighting. But he was right; she couldn't always depend on other people to protect her.
After doing her afternoon prayers, Esma went to the saloon to find her father resting on a chair with his back turned towards her.
"Peace upon you, Father," she greeted and announced her presence in the room with that.
When Maghrub heard his daughter's voice, he immediately pulled the siwaak from his mouth and quickly got up from the chair. "Peace upon you as well, dear," he said with a well-meant nod, although there was an unnatural strain on his face. He must have felt uncomfortable.
Unconsciously, Esma projected a nervous smile. "Are you well, Father? You look…stressed." Her heartbeat accelerated in her chest in unease. Nevertheless, she was determined to ask him about his connections to The Brotherhood, believing that once the truth was out, this façade would rid itself.
"Stressed?" Maghrub blinked nervously. "Oh well, you know… " He suddenly laughed, but it was an empty laugh without humour. As he leaned his hand on the counter he pretended not to see his daughter's increasing frown.
The stark contrast between their expressions caused a stiff atmosphere. Esma's intense glance reverbarted strongly against Maghrub's nervous, smiling face. "You seem tense, Father," Esma said ineptly and refrained herself from rubbing her neck in discomfort. "Is there…something you would like to talk about?" She folded her hands together to hide the cold sweat on her palms. Despite her agitation, she kept a close watch on her father's face to catch even the slightest change of emotion on his visage.
Maghrub kept quiet for a moment. His tired eyes grazed the ground to avoid his daughter's gaze. When he finally looked up, he smiled as if there was no coarseness between them at all. "Everything is fine. What would there be to talk about?" He simply shrugged the topic aside. "Have you washed the clothes already? Maher will be here later on the day. He can accompany you to the lake."
Seeing how Maghrub had avoided her approach on the matter discouraged Esma. Although his fiddling gave away he definitely had something to hide, which is why she, after a quick moment of consideration, pointed out "please don't try to change the subject, Father! I want to ask you—"
"Why don't you go and find Naveen?" Maghrub hastily interrupted her. Not giving Esma a chance to speak he continued "today looks like a quiet day for the saloon. I'm positive I can handle it on my own!"
"What? Find Naveen?" Esma repeated in confusion over the quick change of topic. Suddenly she realized why her father had stopped her from speaking any more. "You want me gone!" she blurted out and looked at Maghrub in disbelief. Her chest suddenly clenched with pain and she felt a lump in her throat. Her eyes must have conveyed all her feelings right at that instant, because Maghrub flinched and distorted his face when she looked at him.
But instead of apologizing for his suggestions, he suddenly scowled. "How dare you imply such a thing!" he bellowed in defense. His face was twisted in ire, but his misty, glass-like eyes and the tight pull of his brows gave away a glimmer of his sorrow. "You…" He stopped talking to swallow, casting his eyes down in the process. "You know I would never want you gone," he continued in a more restrained voice "yet you would accuse me of such dishonourable intention!"
"You speak of accusations?" Esma retorted. "Why then do you suggest me to leave the saloon!"
To this Maghrub had no reasonable answer and in his haste he stubbornly responded "what are you talking about? I would never suggest such a thing!"
Esma unconsciously ground her molars together in anger. Such a blatant lie! She could feel her heavy heartbeat between her ears as the frustration boiled inside her. "Such…" she gasped "such…" her voice went hoarse and she was unable to finish the sentence. Her clenched fists shook and suddenly something wet ran down her cheeks: tears? Esma gasped in surprise and quickly wiped them away with the palm of her hand. All of a sudden she was overwhelmed by a sense of self-pity and a pathetic whimper escaped her. Angry over her own weakness, she bit down harshly on her lower lip and glared at her father. "Lying is a sin, Father," she said sharply "the Lord would never approve of your current methods!"
Maghrub looked at Esma in perplexity for a moment. Then he shook his head as if to clear the daze and barked "watch your mouth, young lady!" Slamming his fist on the counter with a loud thud he added "do not involve the Lord in your accusations! No one may judge me except for the Almighty!
Esma's eyes grew large in bewilderment. "No one may judge you except for the Lord?" she repeated incredulously. "Does that give you the right to do whatever you want? Does that give me the right as well to show disobedience towards you 'since only the Lord may judge me'?" Images of her father finding Altaïr at her window immediately popped into her mind. What right did he have to judge her decisions in that case?
"Esma!" Maghrub roared. "You are being intolerable! Go to your room!"
"No!" she immediately retorted. "I will not listen to you since you may not judge me anyway!" As she blurted out the words she instantly regretted speaking them as there was not a hint of sincerity in them. They were merely products of rage and irrationality. Nevertheless, she was too much entangled in her feelings of exasperation to back down, let alone apologize. I should leave. I should leave. The words repeated in her mind, yet Esma found herself frozen to the spot, unwilling to move before her father had given a satisfying response to her outrage.
At that moment a customer walked inside the saloon. He looked around for a moment and was slightly taken aback by the visible tension between father and daughter. Maghrub immediately broke contact with Esma and quickly walked over to the man. "Peace upon you, brother," he greeted kindly, but failed to convey the usual enthusiasm in his voice.
Esma glared at them both and clutched the edge of the counter tightly, scraping her fingernails along the hard surface. When the man sat down and her father turned to haste back to the counter, Esma promptly left the saloon and withdrew into the washing room. With a frustrated gasp she leaned over the sink and pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the mirror. Slowly, she could feel the rage ebb out of her system. If not for the customer, she would not have been able to leave her father without another outcry. Snapping her eyes up, she looked at her own face and felt a pang of annoyance as she was reminded how much she took after her father. But in reality she should be grateful as her father was a pleasant-looking man. And her mother...she could not recall her mother's face. Her father must have a hard time remembering her as well after all these years. Since she looked so much like him, there was little to remind them of her appearance. Tracing her jaw line with her fingers, Esma thought of the marriage proposals she had declined in the past few years.
Does Altaïr like me?
The sudden thought caused a knot of anxiety in her stomach. What if he did? Her cheeks burnt hotly at the possibility and she quickly beat her expectations down. It wasn't like her father was ever going to agree to them getting together anyway. And if he didn't like her... then that would be fine too. Esma cast her eyes down in defeat and heaved a sigh; it would not be fine and she knew it. She could already feel the envy within her at the thought of the Assassin having a wife or someone he had set his eyes on. What kind of woman would she be? Her head pounded in distress and she angrily closed her eyes. Then she remembered the dagger in her sash and quickly placed her hand on the outlines of the weapon. Almost immediately a smile appeared on her face. Despite not knowing much about him, she could at least conclude that he worried enough for her to personally bring her this...gift. Her heart rapidly beat in her chest and she felt such a strong desire to meet him again that she feared she might not be able to resist the Shaytaan's temptation when it came to the Assassin. Sighing again, she prayed to the Lord to protect and watch over her.
Beta reader: Novoux (: thank you for your amazing work and your wonderful person!)
Author notes: Hello! I hope you are all doing well. Ah, it's been 2,5 months! I've been so incredibly busy, but I'll still apologize for making you all wait for so long: sorry! I sincerely hope my writings managed to entertain you at least a little bit.
At first I had another scene, but in the end they added up to be over the 6k words and I decided to split up the chapter. This is probably also why it took longer. I've also set up a wordpress page for all my prose (and another one for my artworks), but they are still WIP, so I'll let you know when they are worthy to visit. You can however visit my tumblr where I have a sketch of Altaïr (in an attempt to illustrate Little bells ringing):
hjpan . tumblr . com
Or visit my profile where I have a link. Ah, talking about profiles; I have set up a poll to see whether more women than men read this story (because it's romance). So if you feel like it, please cast your vote! Thank you and till next update!