ZIIO
"How do you feel?"
Soyala perched on the edge of the bed, cradling Imala in her arms. My daughter's face was starlit; innocent...but more powerful than love itself. Ohitekah gazed up at me with glossy eyes, which – I knew at once – would turn brown like mine. I held him closer, trying to answer to Soyala's question. How did I feel? Nothing that words could rationally represent.
"Exhausted." That would have to do.
Soyala exhaled shortly, resembling a laugh. "I wish I could have numbed the pain for you. I wish I'd helped."
"You did everything you could," I smiled. "You stayed by my side. That is all a woman could ask of you. Besides...I've had a child before."
"Did it...did it hurt?"
"Very much so. I collapsed one morning, and it took me all day, through the night and into the next morning to deliver Ratohnhaké:ton."
Ratohnhaké:ton. Your name was a sting in the moment; a reminder that time had not halted. For some reason I wanted to keep my first son out of this picture. It was unfair on these two new children.
"Are all labours that long?" Soyala's horrified gasp distracted me.
I couldn't help but laugh. "No! No, not all. Some women are lucky, others not. It was easier this time."
Soyala nodded, though her doubt was clear as crystal. None of the pregnancy had been easy. The only comfort was the financial security the Stirlings promised Ohitekah and Imala. In fact, it was the least easy experience I'd ever endured. But the blemish inside me became these beautiful creations. And they truly were beautiful.
"What if they look like the father?" Soyala asked. "You'll bear the scars of his crime every day!"
"I bear many scars already," I groaned softly. "Just another."
"You say that like it is no pain."
I looked down at Ohitekah, falling asleep in my arms. I studied my son: the clock-like complexity of his eyes. And with a wisdom that didn't sound like my voice, I spoke. "One day, Soyala, I hope you are given the gift of children. Not like this, of course. But you will learn that a mother's love is blind. She cares unconditionally, and forever." I stroked Ohitekah's cheek, then smiled across at her. "Why should I bring judgement upon them? If they resemble their father, that is simply fate. I remain their mother, and I will never see them as wounds from a man's crime. They are gifts – gifts that nature intended for me."
"'A mother's love is blind'." Even Soyala was surprised by my sagacious outburst. "Your words inspire me, Ziio. All love should be like this."
It should, I thought, but how realistic is that? When we live in a world judging by the language we speak? The coins in our purse? The colour of our skin? Not that I voiced any of this. I was drained in every sense, and too engrossed in this elation.
Three days later, the twins were christened. Aaron George Stirling, and Alexa May Stirling. It suited them well; I was glad to have let Eva choose their Christian names. Not that she disliked the ones I'd chosen (Ohitekah meaning 'brave'; Imala being 'spiritual discipline'), but it would keep their reputation at bay. The twins had enough white blood that they could pass as respectable. That would get them far: education, a name...and much more. Unfortunately, they resembled neither Eva nor George, but as George quite rightly said: "To question their heritage would hardly be...Christian, would it?"
They will always be Ohitekah and Imala to me. I still remember George trying to pronounce their Mohawk names. "His poor English tongue," Ohitekah still says to this day. But while George wasn't adept with names, he was their only father figure. Without him, I doubt they would be the children they are today. Yes, I did have Eva and Soyala to help me. But George gave the twins what Ratohnhaké:ton lacked.
That would come into play much later.
Yes, my nights were often sleepless – but I was not one to sleep, at any rate. The twins' hungry wailing often woke me from nightmares. Images I'd rather not relive. But never once was I unable to face my children. Nurturing them was not a way of remembering – but forgetting. About the past, about the future...about all that had pained me. I could look at my son and daughter at any given moment, and think: I will stay in this moment. Not the last, or the next...but now. Just as they do.
That was never to say I forgot everything. Somewhere – miles from Philadelphia – mine and Haytham's son was growing up. He'd be eight, by now, having lived half his life without me. Like any mother estranged from her child, the tears I wept were salted with bitterness – not pride.
Luckily, the twins' upbringing was extremely different to Ratohnhaké:ton's. Before they could walk or talk, I spent all my time on them. Soyala returned to her training in the woods; Eva alternated between mentoring her and helping me. When the two of them came in from training each evening, Eva would watch Ohitekah and Imala. This gave me the opportunity to go hunting once more. Slowly, I built my adeptness with a bow and arrow. Even in winter I would bring back enough game for a fortnight. Soyala would take over childminding as I cooked (despite cooking being her strong point, I felt it unfair on Soyala to leave it to her after training). I did everything I could to contribute – as not to sink back into cold despair.
To speak of cold, winter had never struck so harshly.
There were no raging blizzards (which had seized the land last year, according to George). But even in my village, the snow had rarely reached our shins. Here, it almost came up to Soyala's kneecaps. It was a beautiful sight: as the first snowflakes began to fell, I was sat feeding Ohitekah and Imala in the drawing room. Alone, I took them out to watch the crystals fall. I still remember Imala's smile, as the tiny white swans settled on her nose. Ohitekah seemed confused – almost traumatised by these frozen gunpowder clumps – and I swiftly took them inside.
The winter did mean that Eva and George celebrated Christmas. They even took the twins to church on Christmas Morning, just to receive a blessing. The Stirlings weren't too religious; they suspected – due to infusion of Mohawk culture – the twins wouldn't grow to be, either.
When Imala began babbling her first words, Ohitekah found his feet. I would help him on his steps; tell him to crawl to Soyala. I did speak to my children in Mohawk, purely so they'd have the additional language. Imala spoke a few words from me; a few from Soyala and the Stirlings. Often she'd speak two languages in a phrase: something which amused George in particular.
George became steadily busier throughout 1765. Despite this, he always found time for the twins. I cannot express how much I commended him for that. They weren't even his children, and me living here was certainly not his decision. What kind of person could harbour such compassion? I was – still am today – eternally grateful.
Eva also became busy at night. Recently, more Templar activity drifted into the picture. They were merely officers most of the time, who had committed some form of injustice. Often there were freedmen who approached Eva – supposedly heard of her through rumours – and asked her to pick off troublesome officials. For a while, there were no critical Templar crimes. There were, however, rumours of a Brotherhood in New Orleans.
A freedwoman had informed Eva of an Assassin who worked to free slaves. Eva, Jack and James tried everything to find them...but couldn't. Jack sent James to pick up any fluff he could find. But there was none. Perhaps it was a mistake – or just that the New Orleans Brotherhood was so underground, not even we had heard of it.
Perhaps they'd heard of us? Was that why Templar activity was dwindling, after a sudden eruption earlier?
That was not to say the Templars disappeared. I still remember Soyala's first mission: to pursue and kill a corrupt Templar. You'd have thought it'd be an ordeal for angelic Soyala, killing a person – but she submitted to the task with all guns blazing.
"I did not want him to suffer," she explained, tickling Ohitekah's stomach. "I wanted him to stop."
On that solo mission, Soyala learned something. Something that would motivate Eva.
The Templar in question – Soyala uncovered – was responsible for dealing prostitutes to brothels. Most of them were escaped slaves, although he did take the odd Indian or European girl. For every girl he found a "home", the man was given a share of the money. But he did not act alone.
This modestly-named "business" extended as far as Britain. Shares of money were given to a web of English Templars, who in return, kept trouble at bay. By trouble, he meant Assassins. But there was more, listed in a letter Soyala uncovered.
Dear Michael,
I write to you with an urgent request on behalf of the Order. Though it was Xavier who offered me a place in this Order (in exchange for my contribution through human cargo), I feel I must turn to you.
I notice a decrease in the shares circulating the Order. Although as many ship's worth of cargo have reached the colonies, many of my English associates have not been receiving the money I have addressed to them privately. Once put under further investigation, we found that much of our funding has been stolen, with officers dying under mysterious circumstances. I conclude that there is Assassin activity bound to re-emerge.
My band of mercenaries – so I am led to believe – picked off the Assassins before the French and Indian War. But my associates reportedly spotted one former member alive: Sebastian Barnes. Recently he re-married to the deputy mayor's daughter. I ask of you the permission to give my mercenaries the word. By your command I may have this potential threat eliminated before he grows to levy a new Brotherhood. I have enclosed below the Barnes' address, should you have any further knowledge on this man. I will send word when Barnes is confirmed deceased, and monitor both Assassin and Templar activity. Hopefully, the two should coalesce.
If, for any reason, my men do not hear from you, I have ordered them to attack the Barnes' mansion – should there be no evidence of other, more prominent Assassins. We cannot afford to take any risks.
Yours sincerely,
Sir Emmanuel Waters.
The plates Eva was carrying fell through her fingers. As they smashed on the floor, I had to help her to a seat. Her father. He was a Templar? And he, too, was involved in this network of slaving business? The puzzle pieces clicked into place, like the barrel of a gun. He had sold her to Xavier – a subordinate of this Templar – in return for gold. He'd disguised this trafficking as a marriage proposal. What manner of evil did that take? As far as fathers went, Emmanuel was worse than Ohitekah and Imala's.
But what about this Sebastian Barnes? Could there truly be Assassin activity in Britain? The letter said former Assassin, and he could have already been murdered by now. But if he had not acted alone...Eva could try to find this English Brotherhood. Perhaps she'd be able to convince them to stay.
That was not Eva's only reason for wanting to go to England. The most important objective was killing her father. George was initially resistant, but soon realised just how important this was. It would give his wife closure, as well as cutting down the tongue in the Templar bell. Eva would have to take a ship soon. Of course...she would need Jack's permission. But now that Soyala was advancing in her training, the Assassins would cope without Eva for a few months.
Eva boarded a ship alone in October 1765, shortly after the twins' first birthday. It was unusual, adapting to life without her...but I still had Soyala and George. As her training ground to a temporary halt, Soyala spent more time with me. We discussed the Brotherhood; its implications on Philadelphia...and whether we could ever expand it again.
"Would you ever join the Brotherhood?" she asked me one day.
"I would if I could. The Assassins saved me on more than one occasion. But..." I indicated the twins, crawling along the floor. "I have children to care for. Until they can attend a schoolhouse, I must stay by their side."
Soyala nodded. "You certainly have the conviction. More so than me."
"No. With all the dedication you have given to your training? I think you hold the conviction. Since you became an Assassin –"
"I am not an Assassin," she interrupted. "My training has only begun."
I sighed, rephrasing my sentence. "Since you began striving for the title, you have grown. You are not that little child in the slaves' quarters...you are a woman now. And I am proud of you."
Soyala smiled, embracing me fondly. "You've turned into a poet."
"Oh, goodness...I must mean it."
As the conversation moved to the Templars, a thought struck me. If Emmanuel wanted a share of this slave-brothel business, he'd have used it to fund the Templar Order. Did Haytham know of this? I don't know why I even feared the thought. There were many things in the Templar Order that happened behind his back: my kidnap, for example. And who was to say that the British Templars worked with the Colonial Templars? It was the same as us and the New Orleans Assassins (if they even existed).
Eva would have doubted my reason, but she wasn't here. We did host a meeting in her absence. As it was dangerous for Soyala to travel alone, Jack and James came to us from Virginia.
James Gould was a sweet young man. It is a shame you could never meet him – but he adored the infant twins. I remember Imala tugging on his long, blonde queue as she sat in his lap. He laughed, holding her up to his face. He wanted to have children of his own; it saddens me that James never did.
"So if there are Templars in England," Soyala mused, "are there Assassins too?"
"Oh! Surely. The Assassins and Templars are everywhere," Jack replied. "I have heard of them in the most desolate places, even Saint-Dominigue."
"Then why have you not contacted them?" I asked.
"Ask yourself this, Ziio: if your people gave you a calling, would you fight in their name?"
I frowned. There could only be one answer to that, surely? "Of course."
"If your land was in pieces – even after a disaster from long ago – would you stay to fix it?"
"I – yes. Of course I would."
"Well, now you understand why the Haitian Assassins do not aid us. Slavery is the French's most powerful weapon – and they use it on all the people. Even after the earthquake of 1751, the island is in pieces. We send fighters to them – the freedmen and women, disguised as slaves. They do what we do: cut down any French guards who cause grief. One day, we hope they will put an end to the injustice."
"And not one of these freedmen would stay in the colonies? Fight for their saviours?" Soyala challenged.
James sighed, perching a giggling Imala on the table. "Alas not. We give them the option: flee to Haiti, or face potential recapture here. What would you choose?"
"I was never given that choice," Soyala said curtly. "But I would stay here. With Ziio. With Eva and George."
Jack sipped his drink, and exhaled. "Well, that makes you the first former slave to stay. Thank you."
She would not be the first for long. In February 1766, Eva returned to England. Soyala and I were waiting as George collected her. We spent hours trying to clean the house – though we both knew Eva cared little for appearances, and there was very little to clean. I hoped she had succeeded. She deserved to have the closure of Emmanuel's death. As the horse cart approached the homestead, I noticed that she wasn't alone.
Yes, there was George, driving the horses forth. But there was another woman sat beside Eva: a woman slightly older than me. She was very beautiful, with honeyed silk tresses for hair. Her lips were bold; her dress, a vibrant blue, with lace and roses embroidered. Clearly she had dressed up for the occasion. I squinted harder...and saw she looked uptight; nervous, yet still somehow held herself tall.
Who is she?
Either way, seeing Eva's face was a relief. I had missed her sorely: she was – apart from Soyala – my closest friend. I sprinted up to her on the path, throwing my arms around her. She laughed my name, overwhelmed by my joy. The blonde woman stood awkwardly, lips squeezed together like triggers. Eva retracted from the embrace, and turned to her.
"This is Prudence," she explained. "She has come to join the Brotherhood."
Soyala and I looked at each other. She was hardly appropriately dressed for training, but looks could be deceiving. Prudence's small eyes looked me up and down – forming a defined opinion – then smiled tremulously. She shook our hands.
"A pleasure. I have heard much about you both."
Soyala led us inside; we sat in the dining room with tea and the twins. Prudence did not take to them – which almost offended me, as every other visitor adored "Aaron" and "Alexa". When Eva explained the reason for this, I felt a deep remorse for my prejudice.
When Eva arrived in Portsmouth, she set about finding Sebastian Barnes. She had the address; that was the easy part. But she was unsure of what to expect. Was this man still alive? Was he even involved in the alleged Brotherhood?
Of course, the door was answered by Prudence Barnes: Sebastian's wife. The woman was a great deal older than Eva; perhaps a decade or so. When she inquired about her husband, Prudence had winced.
"My husband...he was killed only days ago."
Eva's heart sank: in the time that she'd been travelling, it was too late. She showed Prudence the letter – which only made her tearful. Eva let her grieve for a while, before focusing on details of the letter. Perhaps Prudence knew about the Brotherhood?
"Come inside," she offered reluctantly, "and I will share what I know."
As it turned out, this was very little.
Prudence raided her husband's documents, bringing them to the table for Eva to look at. From clues in the letters – code words which Eva recognised – she knew she had found the right man. Unbeknownst to his wife, Sebastian had been a member of the Brotherhood, but left to settle down with his first wife. She sadly died; Sebastian eventually met and married the wealthy Prudence. His high status gave him access to financial knowledge; he knew how the officials' money was distributed. He always noticed a gap in the money's shares. But who was this gold going to?
Somehow, Sebastian had uncovered that it was the Templars. He told Prudence he was away on "business trips" – when in reality – he was finding and killing the Templar targets.
"Being a shoemaker, I always doubted Sebastian's true motive," Prudence said thoughtfully.
Whether he acted alone or with others; whether he knew about the slave-brothel business her father funded, Eva didn't know. What she did know was that Eva had returned from the market one Sunday to find Sebastian, swimming in a crimson lake. Eva was reluctant, but showed Prudence the letter containing orders to kill him.
There were many tears, that afternoon. At least Prudence had a name behind her husband's murder. But it would not end there. Eva then went on to explain who she was; why she was in England; how she was part of the Brotherhood. She was here to kill Emmanuel Waters.
"I will avenge everyone responsible," she promised. "But I will need your aid in tracking the mercenaries. Is...Sir...Waters still living under this address?"
"Ah. Yes, I believe so," Prudence said, squinting at the letter. "Is there any other assistance I can provide?"
Eva thought for a moment. Was it wise to ask Prudence to accompany her? She was a stranger; one who knew nothing about the Assassins until now. On the other hand, she would find closure in the death of Emmanuel: the man who wronged them both. Prudence had nothing better to do; she may well watch justice be served. So Eva offered her the choice to accompany her.
Prudence agreed instantly.
She led Eva to the Waters' mansion. It was a much larger estate to the one where Eva grew up. Clearly, her father had made his profits on these innocent slave girls. And what of her mother? Was she also involved in this dealership? Should she even be considering killing her father like this?
Yes. She had to.
She knocked on her father's door. Waiting for a response was the longest moment of her life. Her heart raced, as if she were fighting already. But when it was opened by a maidservant, Eva pushed straight past the woman. Prudence followed, baffled as the maid.
The deed was done. As quickly as the women burst through the door, Emmanuel stood at a desk. He saw the grown face of his daughter – and stumbled onto the chair. He managed a single, astounded word.
"E-evang-geli-na?"
"Eva," she snarled. Like a hunting dog released from captivity, Eva charged at her father, whipped him off the chair and onto the floor. She released her anger – punch by punch – holding Emmanuel down by the throat.
She began questioning her father on what he had done; why he had sold her. Who were his accomplices? Why had they killed Sebastian (that being Prudence's demand). He only answered some of her questions: he was too baffled by his daughter being in England – and moreover – being an Assassin. Eva answered all of these, no doubt by unleashing her terrible wrath.
From Eva's telling, Emmanuel was offered a place in the Templar Order long ago. His daughter was only twelve years old – it is no wonder she never knew of her father's business. The man who offered him this "honour" was a slaver (and coincidentally Templar) named Xavier McPhearson. Though Xavier was just twenty-four, he was a manipulative man. He disguised Emmanuel's "induction" (Eva had snorted disgustedly at this) as a thanks for expanding his slave market to the colonies. Together, Xavier and Emmanuel's business thrived.
But one day, Xavier offered him a larger share in the business. Emmanuel would have to compensate, of course, by contributing to this Order. "White women fetch a high price," he hinted. "If you could find a woman – just one would do – it will be the last I ask of you."
You know what unfolded next, my son.
However, there was more to the story than Eva's trafficking. According to the (dying) Emmanuel, Xavier was still alive. He operated under a different name, mind, but was alive nonetheless.
"What is his name?" Eva demanded, as the life ebbed from him. "Who is he? What is his name?"
Too late. Emmanuel Waters was gone; Prudence and Eva had to leave. Quickly – before her mother Grace returned to the house.
Once in the safety of Prudence's mansion, Eva cursed. Her once-fiancé – the one who shattered her in countless ways – was out there. Selling slaves. Abducting young girls...and possibly assaulting them, being the twisted criminal he was. Why had Eva never heard about this?
"What will you do now?" Prudence asked, wiping the blood from her shoes.
"After we've killed Emmanuel's rogues? I return to the colonies. I find Xavier...and I end his schemes one and for all."
"I see."
Eva thought for a moment. Prudence had been nothing but helpful on this mission – and she had shown much conviction. Yes, there she stood, disgusted at the sight of Emmanuel's blood in her immaculate home, but she was more than house-proud. She held a pride stronger than Eva's determination.
"If...if you so wish, I would find great comfort if you would come with me."
Prudence's eyes widened, even beneath their sleeplessness. Was it too soon to ask of her in this way? Her husband had only just died this week. What she truly needed was space to grieve; to let it sink in, that she might continue with an ordinary life. On the other hand, she had nothing better to do now. She was selling hers and Sebastian's mansion – doubtless it held far too many memories of the past.
"To find the accomplices? Or to Philadelphia?"
"I leave the decision in your hands," Eva hastened to add. "I would hate to pressure you."
Prudence only had to think for a moment. "I would like nothing more."
Together, Eva and Prudence tracked those who had killed Sebastian. On the final occasion, Eva let Prudence "do the honours" and strike the final blow. There were four mercenaries; one of them had fled to the northern border. That, more than anything, was what took Eva so long to return home.
It was fortunate she returned when she did. News was spreading like plague that Sir Waters was dead. Despite all the maidservants and butlers on the premises, nobody could give a detailed account of what had happened. The maid had reportedly spoken of two hooded figures – both with meshed faces – entering the house. People had begun to suspect Prudence, although she pretended not to notice.
Having returned from the North, Eva helped Prudence to sell her mansion and prepare her for the move. She had decided to make a fresh start in Philadelphia, far from anything she'd ever known. She planned to train under Jack (to avenge her husband, yes, but also to find conviction). Just before the two women left, Prudence suggested they look for any other Assassin activity about the place. From the knowledge they had gathered, where would they most likely be?
Eva and Prudence searched for two weeks. They travelled to every corner of the country, but they were completely in the dark. It was a shame that Eva had not found any Assassins – but she had at least found one new recruit. It was Prudence Barnes – above all – that gave the Brotherhood a new hope.
I remember that Eva and Prudence worked for years to find this Xavier. To this day, they have still had no luck. I have aided them in my search – not that I was allowed to leave Philadelphia – to no avail. Prudence is fierce with determination to find him – a passion which I admire still.
That was never to say that Prudence was perfect.
As you know, Ratohnhaké:ton, the Brotherhood did come to expand one day. But of all the Assassins there are on this ship, it is Prudence I struggle to be compatible with. Yes, I understood that the love of her life had been murdered. Yes, I deeply honoured her conviction. I respected her, coping with a sudden change so well.
If only she would do the same.
Whenever Soyala spoke, Prudence would come to say (or think) the exact opposite. Soyala's capability to read between the lines, it was something Prudence "could not fathom", as Eva so rightly put. Prudence had little patience for anyone but Eva and Jack – not least for Soyala. Yet she was not discriminant or judging for her colour. It was that she believed Soyala too young to understand anything about the Assassins. I found that ironic (hypocritical even) since Soyala had twice the training of the much older woman. Perhaps it was in her privileged upbringing that Prudence was judgemental. Perhaps she was just cold and unforgiving, like me. She also had little time for children; Soyala was still – at seventeen – a child.
Fortunately, she and Prudence were not to be trained side by side. As soon as Jack and James visited for a meeting, Jack offered to take Prudence under his wing. And so she moved to Virginia; set up home there. I was grateful to see her gone; not because I held a strong disliking for her (which I did not), but I was glad of Eva's undivided company.
Well, I say undivided. It appeared that Eva had missed Ohitekah and Imala, almost as much as she'd missed me and Soyala. She made an excellent guardian to them both – not in the mothering sense, but as a family member. It was in the same way that Soyala acted not as their sister; moreover a protective figure in their lives.
That would come into play, even as the twins grew and attended the schoolhouse.
After the Christmas of 1768, Ohitekah and Imala were old enough to leave me for the day. It had been a painful process, watching them grow – not only because the time passed, but that they did not have a regular upbringing. That, and the fact that I had another child, somewhere. He would've been twelve years old: older than Soyala when I first met her. How much my life had changed in these past few years.
I had nurtured their separate characters, the twins. Though they were a collective, Ohitekah was always the bold one. He was different to my firstborn son: he would cry even at the most minor injuries. After some reassurance, he would be back on his feet as if nothing happened. He was also the more sociable of the two, adoring attention from new faces. One of George's dearest friends came to stay (though Soyala and I had to pretend we were slaves). The moment Ohitekah saw George's friend, he bounded towards him and clung to his leg like moss to a tree.
Imala was also bold, but not on the same scale as her brother. She was less susceptible to change; she would stubbornly refuse to do anything if she deemed it unworthy. She always had an incredible perception of the world around her. Not in the way that she focused on a bigger picture, but in the way that she analysed every detail – however minor – about everything she was told. Imala was one to question – but carefully. Once, while I braided her hair, she asked me why she had no father.
Because of her maturity, I told her the truth. Not the whole truth – only that she had no father.
Even then, five-year-old Imala tried to calculate how that was possible. She understood the difference between reputation (how to behave around outsiders) and loyalty (who her family truly was). It was an instinct she could shine and fade, even at a young age. She spoke only in English when others were around; called Eva 'Mother' and Ohitekah 'Aaron'. But on the inside, I knew she would defend all of us to the death.
Ohitekah never left his sister's side. Perhaps it was a mutual protection. Do all twins feel the same way? I know my brothers were inseparably close – they even died side by side. When playing a game or climbing a tree, Ohitekah would bravely offer to lead, while Imala shrank back, afraid of making a mess. That said, I remember seeing her in hysterical laughter, when – in my absence – Ohitekah had hung upside down from a low branch, but torn his shirt. I dressed his wounds and – despite my inward amusement – scolded Imala for ordering her brother around.
But there were always pieces missing of our family.
This was magnified when my children were carted to school every morning. I'd sit alone, listening to the demanding silence. Eva soon noticed my discomfort; she sat down beside me one morning.
"You will grow to like the quiet," she reassured. "It is...comforting. It gives you time to reflect."
I sighed. What had I to reflect on, but the nightmares that haunted me daily? The ghost of my distant son? The crashing waves of pain, of insecurity? Now – more than ever – the empty time was filled with agony. One moment, I'd be short of breath. The next day I was angry at the world, for throwing me out to sea time and time again. Then came a hopelessness – one which drowned me in the past. My children had a future. But what about me? What was my purpose, but to receive abuse and live with the scars?
That was when she did it. She asked me to join the Brotherhood.
Soyala was now a fully-trained Assassin, she said, and Eva's time would be dedicated to me. I was a skilled fighter anyhow; I had Templar knowledge. I had the initiative. But would I agree?
It took me an afternoon to make my decision. On this particular day, I happened to be thinking of Haytham. Would joining the Assassins be a betrayal? When once I'd accused him of stabbing me in the back, here I was, possibly to join the enemies of his Order. Was that right, to oppose Haytham's principles?
Haytham's principles?
In the short time I'd spent in his company, I'd uncovered something. The Templar morals, which were engraved in his mind, were not the ones he believed. He only lived by the Templar Order. I – of all people – knew how much trouble it truly meant to be in their Order. It meant betrayal. The only ones truly betraying Haytham were the likes of Church. Lee. Johnson...and all the rest.
He would think I was doing the right thing. He'd support whatever decision I made.
In that year – 1770 – I began my training. Eva started with the basics: mindset, agility, and so on. Though I was considerably less active, now a mother, I still hunted in the woods. My body was younger than most women my age; for that I was fortunate. However, as soon as it came to weapons, I had used a knife wrong throughout my life.
The Kanien'kehá'ka fought with their knives pointing upwards, when it was better to hold them like a claw. It took some considerable adapting – especially as the knife was my weapon of choice – but I was grateful to learn. I also trained in the art of melee: swords and and longer blades. Haytham was astounding; it was his art, the sword was his brush. It was not my favourite way to kill, but it would do.
When we moved on to pistols much later, we were to proceed with caution. Although the woods were unnervingly undisturbed, the land was not owned by George. He had inherited the house from his grandfather – and the house alone. Too much noise would provoke suspicion from surrounding landmarks, though there was no reason for anyone to think were doing anything other than hunting. I enjoyed using the pistols: they were different from anything I had ever experienced, and they were humane. Assassins had to have some aspect of humanity.
My training taught me much about humanity, but also about security. Once I came in from a long day, my children would bound up to me and Eva, hug us and fill me with satisfaction. It was possible to be an Assassin and a mother. I could love and be loved, yet still help – what rich men would call – a "noble cause". And though visions of my horrific experience played with my mind daily, I felt safe.
I began suggesting ideas in Assassin meetings. It was at this time when the Brotherhood truly began expanding, and I wanted to contribute in any way I could. George would always sit silently – sometimes reinforcing the practicality of a plan – but never speaking for or against an idea. I admired him in that way.
In a regular meeting, Jack and Eva would be constantly debating. It was strange, how a collision of fervour and fact could lead an organisation so well. Eva would always focus on the ideals; the way she envisioned the Brotherhood in five, ten, twenty years' time. Jack would focus on individual points, and the present. He knew every general fact about the Templars, about anything rational. Prudence would never be one to put forth ideas, but always the first to agree with (and defend) Eva. James would jump to Jack's ideas, though listen coolly while anyone spoke. Soyala would question both sides – she still does to this day – and I'd bring in suggestions of my own.
It was forbidden to mention my name outside of meetings, for safety's sake. Johnson was still out there; he thought I was on a plantation under Flood's hawkish watch. Just an utter of 'Ziio', and the Templars could attack. You see, my son? This was why I never went looking for you. Eva and Jack were paranoid that I'd be re-captured, or that other members of my family were sought after. Repeatedly I begged Eva to go to Mohawk Valley; to tell them where I was. But she refused: either there were more practical pursuits to focus on, or she was afraid of a hostile greeting.
The bitter truth was, she would receive a hostile greeting. After all that people had done to my village? They were unlikely to trust her at all.
James did travel to Boston, however. He recruited both Toby and François in 1770: The Boston Massacre. Were you there, my son? Perhaps they saw you. Perhaps they did not. But François moved his family up to Virginia – him, Rose, their children (Hector and Hazel) and the third child, whom Rose was expecting. When I met François, bells of recognition sang instantly. Rose had often spoken of her fiancé. Could this be the same man? I asked him...and he was.
After little Louis Matieu was born, all of them came to visit. Even though Rose was forbidden from mentioning me outside of the Stirling's house, she remembered me.
There was a poignant, emotional reunion. Rose was the first white woman to ever show me compassion – and for that, I would thank her for years to come. She had barely aged a day; something I envied secretly. She was shocked at my predicament (François had explained how I came to be with the Stirlings), but when she wished to write informing Haytham, Eva urged against it. The risks were far too great.
Despite this restriction, the Matieu family were regular visitors. Young Hazel was the same age as the twins; she became a close friend of them both. Hector always seemed on the edge of the friendship – but he was still a valued companion of Aaron and Alexa's. It was good for them to have company, as we rarely had their friends visit the Stirlings' house.
Toby – ah, Toby – he was the most unusual character to join the Brotherhood. Like François, he was indescribably passionate about his cause...but he neglected to show it. For this, Prudence absolutely despised him. I am unsure what difference it makes, but he was of a much lower class than Prudence. Their cultures were different as mine and any Englishman's. Toby Collins, not much older than Soyala, was the joker of the Brotherhood. He was also a notorious womaniser; sometimes Eva doubted his focus. But Toby wanted freedom, just like François. He was prepared to fight for it.
It would often be the case that Eva would doubt his focus on the Assassins. He only ever spoke in meetings when making remarks, or irritating Prudence. But reportedly (on the mission that James was killed), it was Toby who saved everyone else. Soyala and I stayed at home for this mission: someone had to look after the twins. I was deeply saddened to hear of James' demise – and Toby continued to blame himself for it. After constant reassurance that it was no fault of his, Toby was not his brash self for many months.
Despite his immaturity, he did do one thing well: he loved my children. The first thing Toby would do when he stepped in the door was greet Ohitekah and Imala; shower them in embraces. He was not a bad influence, either. He certainly instilled his strong belief in freedom of choice on them. I think that Toby may have been the reason that Ohitekah converted.
When I say 'converted', I refer to religion. Naturally I told my children all about my Mohawk culture. While Imala would sit and question the ancient spiritual stories, then mock them for their 'falseness', Ohitekah would drink this in quietly. One day, aged eight, he declared that he no longer believed in Christianity. He had chosen to follow my way of life; celebrate his Mohawk roots. That was the first time that he ever made a decision for himself. George and Eva were immediately accepting (though I expected nothing less). After a while, Eva stopped taking him to church. Instead he stayed home with me, listening to the stories of the spiritual world.
"The spirits have given us a good life, Ista," he said to me one day.
I sighed happily to myself. Despite all I had been through, my son was right. I was surrounded by people who protected me. The Stirlings. Soyala. My children. Jack. François, and all his family. Toby. Prudence. Though so often I felt helpless and alone, I had a family – within the Brotherhood.
But even the safe moat we created could not protect our family. I knew it would be too good to last. Like a fortress in a long, long war, they would break through the walls. They'd crush my family to dust – if I took no action. Though I live to tell the story, something happened which would affect everyone's way of life. I had been running from trouble for too long.
One day, it found me.
Boo!
Hello! Another super-long update, and a brief overview of like 8 years, at that! Was it OK to follow? There's a lot of gaps in this chapter, and I promise they will be filled later on.
I'm thinking of changing my username to tomatoegeek (same as my tumblr) or QuiteFrankie (same as my wattpad)...hmm, what do you reckon? It's just that 3zioand5ofia makes it hard for people to link me on the internet. I need opinions!
Thank you so much for sticking with this story, despite the huge gaps between updates! I'm back to school now :'( and a lot of my free time has been reserved for something really exciting, but it means I have less time all the same. I'll try my best!
So yeah, I'm rambling now. Thank you for reading! Reviews ALWAYS appreciated :D