Bonjour, tout le monde!
I know I said I had mock exams starting today but here's an update before things get heavy!
So as requested by the lovely the-sass-grand-master, I have included Shay Cormac in this chapter. Only as a one-off – and I haven't done this to fulfil my fangirl whims. This was a plot hole I'd been meaning to fix for a long time, then this wonderful person suggested "ooh what about Shay?" And it just fitted so beautifully. So there's my explanation!
No AC Rogue spoilers, apart from the Precursor box. Yeah, that's it really.
FINALLY, on the subject of Aveline/Gérald. Lots of people have complained about the whole "Aveline should be with Connor" thing. I ship both Blancpré and Connorline, but Blancpré is the ship I have chosen to include in Everbound. I'm not annoyed that people prefer Aveline/Connor over Aveline/Gérald – that's personal preference.
To see my reasons, you'll have to look at the post on my tumblr blog (Aveline/Gérald vs Aveline/Connor: let's be realistic).
Also, thank you for all the birthday messages on tumblr! Much appreciated :D
Sorry about such a long note. Let's begin!
January 1778 (five months later)
HAYTHAM
Fourteen months. That had to be permanent, surely?
That was how long Aaron and Alexa had been living with me. A year in its entirety since we first met the Blancs. A year since the expansion of the Assassin Order. Now – and only now – did the Stirlings renounce their responsibility of the children.
The responsibility, not the love. Eva, George and even Soyala were frequent visitors. In a way it was a form of relief for Ziio; a stage in the twins' development. For me, it was the distinct, fresh feeling of being Father. Though I rarely showed my affection for them. I didn't need to. They knew.
That would never dishearten Aaron from being less-than-helpful, or Alexa proving me wrong whenever she could. Often I'd raise my hands in surrender, claiming that I was being encouraged out of my own home. Sometimes, Ziio would use the threat of: "I'll sell you at the market", which never failed to amuse.
Finally – with barely any Brotherhood interruptions – we were a normal family.
"Sir..." Robert was behind me on the upstairs landing. "I believe there is an unmade bed upon this floor."
I rolled my eyes humorously. "Dare I hazard a guess? A certain Aaron?"
Robert nodded, chuckling. "Shall I...fix that for him?"
"No, leave it. It'll teach him a lesson about cleanliness."
The butler nodded, clutching his bundle of bedsheets loosely. "It certainly is quieter without them here. Where did they go again, the usual? Did Ziio finally take them to market?"
"That'd be pleasant," I joked. "No. Ziio has taken them to see their grandmother. In the village."
"I see. Well, erm...as they aren't here to help me with the horses, shall I work in the garden instead? That way, Aaron could wash the sheets before dinner."
"Good plan. Thank you, Robert. I could begin filling in some documents if you do that."
Separately, the two of us descended the staircase and set to work. While I walked, I wondered just how much work had piled up on my study desk. I said we'd been undisturbed by the Assassins. Well, that didn't stop Jack writing to us. Or Achilles. Even Connor had taken to writing letters.
Unenthusiastically, I reached for the first envelope and sat down. I peeled off the seal; the scrawl inside resembled Hamish Wolf's hand. What did he want? Probably yet another report on Templar activity in Virginia. The words on the page cross-faded before me; I began to lose focus. Paperwork was not what I'd been trained in. Part of me wanted a more exciting role in the Brotherhood – I thought less able men like Gérald were meant to do this form of work.
That was when I heard – believe it or not – a knock on the door.
Yes, again. It always seemed to be the case: I'd settled down with something, then swiftly be interrupted. Like a stone-filled serpent, my backbone cracked as it uncoiled. What now? Had Robert forgotten something he needed for the horses?
Better open the door for him. I stood begrudgingly, striding into the hallway. Somehow – even while I made my way there – I could sense it wasn't Robert. Hardly an unusual occurrence for the Kenway homestead, for a stranger to arrive. Quite how the tension lingered like vapour, I couldn't explain.
It was no stranger. Not quite.
It was a face absent from my life for almost two years. His face itself hadn't changed, either. It was bitten from bygone days; aged slightly soon from his work. Despite this, there wasn't as much as a grey strand in his hair (tied back). The only such colour about him was his long robes...and even they sported vibrant red here and there.
The lodge in my throat dried; grew to twice the size. My jaw ached with the effort not to gape. The surprise raced around me, urging me to say something. His name was all I could think of.
"Shay...Shay Cormac."
"Master Kenway..." His once sonorous Irish voice was now a softer tone.
Two years previously, I'd sent Shay Cormac (Assassin-turned-Templar) to retrieve a Precursor artefact from France. I was amazed it had taken him this long to return, such that I almost forgot about him. And that was no small matter.
How could I have forgotten? When once I disliked all my comrades, Shay was my only true friend. Why? Because he was a good man. Unlike Charles and the rest, he had a genuine concern for the wellbeing of others, civilians included. He was a Templar, yes. He strove for order, yes. Did that make him my enemy now? I wasn't sure.
He obviously seemed oblivious to the fact I was not a Templar now. I would have to play along – and luckily, composure was one of my strengths.
"I...why, a year and a half it's been!"
"Sorry I took so long to return," he smiled warmly. "Turned out there was more to France than I thought."
"No matter. No matter at all," I winced, hoping I didn't appear false. "Well, come in! I believe we've plenty to discuss."
It almost seemed surreal as Shay slipped past me into the hallway. A shock to a perfectly clear system. Assassins were comrades; Templars were enemies. But I hadn't even stopped to consider him. The absolutism surrounding this war melted away.
Still, I had to act. While I rattled off instinctive small talk, I hoped there was no Assassin evidence around. Thank God Ziio wasn't here to witness this. Not that Shay had been involved in her kidnap. Most likely he'd have strongly opposed it, perhaps even set her free if he knew. But what would Ziio say? What would Eva say?
"Have a seat," I offered mildly, on reaching the drawing room.
"Thank you."
As soon as we were both seated, I tried not to seem on edge. "Well," I sighed, leaning back into my chair, "it's certainly a pleasant surprise to see you. Although...is there a reason why you did not write in advance?"
"Oh, I know it's unusual of me. Only I...thought it would be unsafe. Far as I know, the Assassins are growing in number. I didn't want to take that risk."
"Very well...wait. Whence did you hear that?"
"France," he replied swiftly. "Well, that may be overshadowed by the fact that...I did as you asked."
"You found –"
"The artefact? Aye, I did."
From a pouch on his belt, Shay's produced it. A small wooden box, which – to the untrained eye – seemed rustic. There were few in the world who knew its significance; I was one of them. The Templars had sought after it for years. Possibly, possibly, it was what we needed to open the storehouse on this land.
"It's a little more scratched than I remember it," Shay hastened to say, as I took the box from his hand. "But...well, we have it in our possession. Coupled with the amulet you have...this may be all we need to open the Precursor site."
I turned the cold wooden box in my palm. It was nothing special, come to think of it. According to legend, it was able of interpreting First Civilisation language, revealing the entrance to the Precursor site.
The Templars always lacked a piece to open the cave door. Could this be it?
"I can never doubt your devotion to our Order," I smiled. "Well done, Shay."
For a fraction of a second, he diverted his gaze to the gun on his belt. "Thank you. But...my work is not over. I came to you with a request."
"Go on."
"May I take the amulet with me to the Precursor site? See what more I can find?"
Because it was Shay, I almost agreed for a moment. Then realism jabbed me sharply: I couldn't let a Templar take the artefact, not matter what sort of person he was. Then again, no more could I afford to blow my cover. What should I say?
"Hm...tell you what: I'll come with you."
"Are you sure?"
"Perfectly. Well..." I glanced at the sun outside; it cowered behind the clouds. Ziio and the children would be home within the hour. "We'll have to move quickly. I am expecting...visitors soon."
"No...really, Haytham. I can go alone. And if I fail, Charles could have the amulet in his care –"
"No," I interrupted abruptly. "Wait here. I'll fetch the amulet."
Thank God Robert wasn't in the house to see Shay. How would I keep his presence a secret if I had an eyewitness? Silencing Robert would only make him suspicious as well. I left a note on the porch, telling him I had gone out briefly, then made my way to the stable. It took me barely any time to tack my horse (I was rushing, after all).
I took an alternate route, just in case Ziio happened to be walking back from the village. Although that was unlikely, and she had no clue who Shay was, I wasn't gambling with fate in any way.
I supposed I'd missed this cave.
It hadn't changed. Not even slightly; the strange cyan light flowed like an upward stream. The drips of water on the ceiling were hollow, yet my breath rose as a frosty mist. Not a soul had breathed in here for years. I rubbed my hands together (bare) and paused at the cave mouth.
"After you," Shay indicated.
His eyes looked not at me, but at the walls of the cave. The crystal-cold stones which emanated a supernatural glow; the loud echo of our breath and the skid of our footsteps; all this seemed to amaze him. Anyone would've thought this was Shay's first glimpse of this wonderful sight.
"Intrigued?" I simpered.
"I had almost forgotten what it looked like," he marvelled. "It's really something else."
We carried on walking until we reached it. The door, soldered to the ground like the cave wall itself, covered in tribal images. Ziio said it told the story of a goddess before our time, weakened by her suffering but symbolised great strength. Only fitting that she should kiss me thereafter.
"Here we are," I sighed into the near-darkness. "Now...how to use this box?"
Shay produced it from his leather pouch again. "From what I have learned, it needs some sort of shock to open it. Like lightning."
"And you chose to withhold this information before we left?" I said crossly.
"But," Shay was quick to add, "that was only away from the Precursor site. My theory is that while we are here, it might...react with its surroundings."
My nerves were already frayed: Ziio could be back at home by now. Certainly (despite Shay's sincerity), I had no patience for this. "I must say, I'm not wholly convinced."
"Try it," he urged, placing the box on the ground. "We'll see."
I reached into my coat pocket for the amulet. Holding the stone by my fingertips, I approached the hole in the wall and pressed the two together. I waited. Inwardly I prayed that nothing would happen: what if I was revealing these secrets to the Templars? What if Shay told Charles of the Precursor site? Moreover, would I be excluded from the Brotherhood for this? I knew I was wrong. What stopped me refusing?
Luckily, I didn't need to worry, because nothing happened. Contrary to the first time this outcome occurred, I wasn't filled with disappointment...but relief. I feigned despondency – rather well, dare I say: "As I feared. Nothing."
Shay began pacing the cave, fingers drumming on his gun. "What now?"
"We still lack another piece..." And it lies in Ziio's village, I thought.
"Not another one," he despaired.
For the sake of distraction, I looked at the cave muriel once more. I once thought the pictures held a clue; the Templars discovered otherwise years ago. I ran my fingers over the paintings, the amulet slot and the light.
Perhaps I should tell Shay to go back.
"I hear that Charles has been researching such artefacts," Shay said close behind me. "Would I have your permission to take the Precursor box to Charles?"
"No – not yet."
"Why not?" he demanded.
"Because...the knowledge should come from you, primarily." I turned back to face the wall, pensive. What did I say now? "Have you any clue where the last artefact lies? Within this region? Elsewhere?"
"No. No, I don't." Something changed in Shay's voice. It was aggressive. Growling. "But I think you do."
I turned around...slowly. My confusion subsided into alarm. Like a stallion whipped across the back, my heart began racing. Shay stared at me with cold intent...through the barrel of his long wooden gun.
"Shay –" I breathed.
"Don't think I haven't heard of what you did. You left our cause. Everything we built!" He paused for several seconds, eyes pulsing with emotion. "You praise me for my devotion to the Templars. But what about you? You were meant to be the font of our work, you traitor!"
Shay shook the gun vehemently, as if he were talking to it and not me. I should've suspected this. Something was not quite right from the start. I thought he was being polite – looking away when I mentioned the Templars; letting me walk in front of him. But no: it was so he could back me against the wall. Clever tactics, I gave him that. But I had to remain calm: I could outfight him easily. I had no intention to. Just seeing him so livid choked my throat.
"Shay," I tried. "I think we both know you don't want to fight me."
"Orders are orders," he snarled. "Charles said that if you don't surrender the amulet, I have no choice. We are not the ones endangering civilians – it's the Assassins! And for what? Freedom from what force?"
"If it's the location of the other artefact you require, I cannot tell you." I swallowed discreetly; my alleged rival pressed the barrel right to my chest. "To search for it would be to stir an uprising among such civilians."
"Liar!" As he pressed the icy metal against me, I could feel his hands trembling. "Give me the truth, or I'll shoot and look for myself!"
By this point I was relatively calm: Shay never liked killing anyone, let alone old friends. He didn't need to shoot my chest to shatter my heart. I'd have to fight him – that was enough.
In one swift movement, I wrenched the gun from his hand and kicked him back. In the time when I recovered, he charged back at me...and I was against the wall once more. The pressure rose in my lungs; this was tug of war for the gun. Without much effort I shoved Shay back. Harder this time. It gave me time to point the weapon at him.
As a reflex, Shay's next option was to draw his sword. The drips of water were like cold sweat of the cave. How had we come to this?
The skilled swordsman charged – swiped at my eye – and missed. Blocked by that gun of his. Panting, he tried again. Again, more violently. He was pushing me back against the wall of the cave; I kept lashing out to defend myself. I didn't want to shoot. At this rate, would I have to? Could I afford to be defeated?
No. I won't be defeated.
You cannot kill Shay, Haytham. He was your friend!
What should I do?
Escape was not an option: we were in a cave. I would have to disarm him.
Tricky.
"Are you aware of what your comrades are responsible for?" I panted. "Treachery. The murder of natives. The enslavement of the woman I loved, all behind my back! This is why I abandoned them. To save my conscience before it ceased to prevail!"
"Your efforts were wasted, Haytham!" he yelled. "It's men like you who start wars. Earthquakes. Anguish for the world! Men like you are why I left the Assassins!"
Again, Shay hurled himself at me, swinging his sword straight at my chest. I dodged nimbly, blood crashing against my skull. Another swipe at me. Another block – it made a sickening crack, steel against wood. I grabbed Shay by the elbow, and – clenching my teeth – twisted it out of place. Shay let out a startled moan, still clutching his sword. I knocked it from him; in what felt like a slowing of time I wrestled my former brother to the ground.
"Agh!" he cried, as his head smacked the stone floor. He tried to get up; I was already pushing him down by the neck. Next came his hidden blades. Swiftly I stood on both his wrists, like Church had done to me before Ziio killed him.
Silence was almost restored. The alarm; the aggressive energy seeped back into the walls. I watched my old comrade – defenceless on the ground – and felt a sinking feeling in my soul. I had won the duel, but I had lost the fight.
"Listen to me, Shay Cormac," I struggled. "You – of all Templars – are a good man. You were my friend. My brother. Your aims are noble; your morals honest."
What had been a heated chill in his eyes now opened out in surprise. He had expected a threat – but that was not what I wanted. In fact, all I truly wanted was his repentance. But this was the real world, and if anyone discovered our meeting, we would both be killed.
"And so I plead to you now: leave. Leave Boston at the earliest opportunity. You have arrived in the middle of an uprising – one which if the Templars antagonise, they will start a war within this war." The pitch of my voice was hysterical, like my efforts to hold back tears. "I may spare you today...yet I know plenty who will not. You aren't safe here, no matter what Charles tells you. Or in Virginia."
He stopped struggling and became limp, still listening.
"Please, Shay. I don't want you to die."
Ears ringing, I let go of his wrists and ankles. I had never shown such sentiment to a Templar...but now, it came seeping through like the small bloodstain on Shay's forehead. I backed away slowly, expecting him to move. But he did not. His body was locked in a silent stupor. His eyes welled with not hatred, but the slow realisation of what I meant.
Gingerly, I bent to retrieve his gun and sword. The heat of our anger had faded from them: both were cold. I looked at them briefly, then up at Shay. He was sitting upright now, unmoving. His gaze didn't quite meet me.
As soon as he recovered, so did I. We were enemies, and nothing could change that now. I had broken my code of conduct.
"What are you waiting for?" I barked. "Go. Quickly!"
Shay Cormac, Assassin-turned-Templar, scrambled to his feet and ran. Ran from me; ran from the very memory of our friendship. As his echoed footsteps trickled down the cave walls, all seemed numb. That was the last I ever saw of Shay.
The cave dripped and weeped around me, but it was no pathetic fallacy. What I felt was not sadness; I was unsure what to feel at this stage. Embittered. Heavy. Guilty – yes, guilty.
What had I done?
I'd betrayed the Assassins to the enemy. Helping a Templar was a contradiction; a betrayal. But why did I have to see it as such? Shay was a good man, not a nemesis.
That was when I remembered something Connor told me on the Aquila: Assassin and Templar morals were the same, only the Templars have love removed from their moral compass. But what about Shay? He aimed for exactly the same as me: order. Purpose. Direction. No more than that. Was his heart benumbed? No. If anything, he cared more for the wellbeing of innocents than he did for his comrades. Did that make him an Assassin? No. Was he some sort of...special exception?
I used to believe that there was a divide between us. A strict segregation between Assassin and Templar, that knife edge being compassion, and those who lacked it. Now I was beginning to understand: the divide was not clear as night and day, but different levels of light. So where was the end point; the surface between air and water? Why did so many have to drown in this elusive war?
By doubting the creed which I am sworn to uphold...am I doubting myself?
I stood catatonic in the cave for a few minutes' more. Shay's sword in my left hand, his gun in my right. Two weapons of the same master had clashed, but why? After all we had achieved together...but was I to be ashamed of that now?
The paintings on the cave wall glimpsed at me sadly. In them I saw the memory which had changed my – my first kiss with Ziio – then the destruction of everything I'd ever valued. And so I placed the weapons against the wall – a shrine of what I'd lost – picked up the Precursor box and left.
My family would never know of this, since I left all evidence behind. But there was one memory I could not shake. It was a strong Irish voice, crying out to me passionately.
"It's men like you who start wars. Earthquakes. Anguish for the world! Men like you are why I left the Assassins!"