AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This has been the biggest delay ever. I know I say this every time but I'm so sorry...these past two weeks have been possibly the most difficult of school ever. For various reasons, I have not been in a fit frame of mind for writing. But it should get better now!
I also must warn you: my GCSEs (really important exams) start in May, but I will be revising long long before then. Starting from this time, I'll be going on COMPLETE LOCKDOWN to get some studying done. Luckily Everbound is nearly finished now, but if updates will be INCREDIBLY slow – possibly THE slowest ever – at this time. I hope you understand. :)
Ooh you're gonna hate me by the end of this...
YOU'LL SEE! :P
Reviews doubly appreciated this time round – I'm curious to see people's reactions to this. Thank you as ever!
August 1781 (three and a half years later)
INTERMEZZO ONE
"Why would they do this?"
Jasmine's lip was quivering. The smoke was still thick, rancid, in the homestead air. Perhaps that was her imagination: the fire was three days ago now. All the work they'd put towards this – all of the resources and energy – were but ash on a hillside. Her grandfather kicked his boot in the dust, which once housed hundreds of freedmen and women.
"I don't know." Connor stood beside Jasmine, arms folded. "I'm just thankful no-one died."
The now grown woman stared at the ash clinging to her skirt. A stain more permanent than blood. Connor was right: they'd been lucky this time. What if the fire had reached the horizon? "There's something else which surprises me," she hummed. "Why stop at the huts? Why not burn the Davenport homestead as well? If this is between Assassins and Templars then they would want you dead, too. Unless..."
"Unless it wasn't a Templar assault?" her grandfather suggested.
"No. Unless they wanted Connor to witness it happening."
For a moment, the Assassin looked at her as if she were completely bizarre. Then he understood; his arms unfolded. "As a warning?"
Jasmine nodded, shaking her blonde hair slightly loose. It covered the whites in her eyes. She was thankful for that: the tightness in her chest suggested trepidation. She wouldn't let that show on her face. The Templars had left them more or less alone for three years. She voiced her next thought despairingly: "Why now, though? What do they have against us now?"
"Good question." Mister White stroked his silver beard. "Connor, what was the last major offence against the Templars?"
It had to be long ago, for Connor's face creased at the brow thoughtfully. "The last man we killed was Anderson, one of Flood's assistants. That was months ago."
Mister White sighed. "Not much of a lead there, then."
"They obviously shot to kill, otherwise they would burn...the Aquila, maybe," Jasmine stated out of the blue. "They know we're training Assassins here. They must know. That's a large-scale revenge for a seemingly small blow, don't you think?"
"I agree with you," Connor said sincerely, "but I see no reason for the Templars to attack. Since Achilles became ill I have been inactive, but my father –"
His words vanished like dew in this summer air. His round, brown eyes became rounder with understanding. They interlocked with Jasmine's carefully...but it was too late. She was onto him, pale gaze narrowed.
"What about your father?"
"I...I doubt that it relates to this –"
"Say it."
Her voice was deliberate, in way Connor had never heard. This concerned him somewhat: should he be sharing information with an informant's granddaughter? Was it her place to know? He sighed.
"Between them, the Patriots under Charles' control are putting ever more pressure on my people. They want them cleared off the land they have always called home. Lee claims that it is for their own safety, but the Clan Mother knows better. They want the Precursor site."
"Where does Haytham come into this?" Mister White asked.
"After Lee's warnings became more severe, Achilles and my father bought the land on which the village stands...with the Precursor site within their possession. It seemed like the only sensible way to protect the people. We thought it would let Charles know that we were took the matter of the land seriously!" Connor's voice was rising and rising, distressed but defending himself. "We had no idea it would lead to...to this. Two hundred would have lost their lives."
Clearly he'd been expecting Jasmine to react, but she didn't. She regarded her grandfather, the ash on which her blue skirt was trailing and then Connor, with a sad gloss in his eyes. "You wouldn't have known." Her voice was somewhere between a statement and a consolation. "No-one could've predicted this. The Templars always strike in the dark, don't they?"
"It's not the dark which concerns me, Jasmine." Connor flashed a quick smile her way – but it wasn't his usual sort. It was sharp; between admiring and plain cynical. "If I have learned one lesson from joining the Brotherhood, it is that having a good heart alone will not make this world a better place. Some of the crimes the Templars commit will happen. It doesn't matter how careful we are – one day, it'll be the death of us..."
HAYTHAM
Ziio's prediction was right: we were safe.
So much so, that the threatening letters shrivelled in number. So much so, that I was not once followed home again. So much so, that I had a very tranquil three years.
For our safety, Jack put myself and Ziio in a backseat in terms of the Brotherhood. Now we were little more than informants, occasionally spying on Templars and killing some minor troublemakers. Ziio soon grew bored of her work, but did not complain. The children were safe.
How they had grown. They were now approaching sixteen; in fact we barely called them children at all.
Aaron was now considerably taller than Alexa...strewth, he was almost my height already. He would exceed that into adulthood. What a handsome man he had become: dark hair which he tamed, trimmed and swept short. He was lean, and – of course – he had Ziio's eyes. Alexa, too, was growing little by little. She had inherited a naturally petite build from her mother, as well as the eyes. Her hair was much sleeker than her brother's, and jetted down her back almost to the waist.
They were impossibly different...yet inseparably close.
Like they had done as children, Aaron and Alexa went almost everywhere together. Rare were they days when they did not bicker, but I knew that their affection was rooted firm as forest. They loved one another as we loved them.
That was not to say I showed it too well. It wasn't that I lacked the vocabulary, it was that I lacked the heart. It mattered very little: the twins became more and more independent from us. Alexa had begun walking herself to church every Sunday; often they would visit the village alone (Ziio had been against this after previous commotion there, but I knew Aaron and Alexa would remain safe).
All of this gave me and Ziio more time. We would never make up for all those years apart, but we bloody well tried. All those stolen moments were not stolen by us, but from us. As sure as the silver of our hair, we were more openly affectionate around the twins. Aaron would often make sarcastic comments, but that only encouraged us. Often we would spend the time alone. On a few occasions, we would sit by the river with a goblet of wine, and marvel at how much had changed. Just marvel.
Not all the changes were in our favour.
Of late, old age had truly begun to catch up with Achilles. First came the hound-wheezing in his breath, then the veins writhing in his hands when he gripped things. Soon his limbs were all but suffocating him; he was bedridden by June of 1781.
It was inevitable he was dying. Even Connor knew – though whenever someone dared mention it, he'd divert his gaze; shuffle uncomfortably; show any sign of despair. But Connor was so good to Achilles: he would not leave his side, no matter what missions he was called to. Achilles had been the father-figure in the years before we met, and after, to a certain extent. That explained the melancholic look in my son's eyes when he came to dinner. A reflection on his pupils; an inward reflection.
The Brotherhood still thrived without Achilles.
By now we had three main issues: the slave network, the Kanien'kehá:ka land, and the preservation of the Precursor site. The Templars were at the centre of all this...and like poison rain, they corroded the Brotherhood we'd sworn to uphold. Slowly. Managing the slave network was simple enough. With contacts like the Blancs, Jasmine and her grandfather and others, the Virginian Assassins could eliminate any Templar who owned a slaving business. I was scarcely involved with such things.
The land. Yes, that was my primary focus. Charles and other army Templars edged ever closer to the tribe; Ziio and Connor grew increasingly restless. Rightly so: Lee soon commenced his "negotiations" (threats, in other words) for the people to leave the land. "On the grounds of your own safety," his official document stated. Connor tutted in disgust when his grandmother showed him.
"Charles only seeks possession of the Precursor site," he growled. "And the people will have to resist. With force, if they must."
"They're hopelessly outnumbered," I put him down sharply. "We'll have to find more tactical methods."
At his bedside, Achilles and I thought long and hard about this issue. Even while bedridden, the old man put forth some incredibly practical solutions. We made an unusually productive team. We agreed to strike a deal with the people: we would buy the land on which they stood, but leave it completely untouched. Their lives would stay exactly the same, we vowed.
Of course they were scornful at first. This was exactly what Johnson had told the Iroquois Confederacy twenty years ago. They took that as seriously as Prudence Barnes took Toby Collins. In other words, not at all. But we sent Connor to negotiate, and eventually I became the official owner of most of Mohawk Valley.
That meant I was in possession of the Precursor site. In July, the Stirlings held a meeting about it in Philadelphia.
"I'd like to say we have the upper hand," I announced. I spoke to the Assassin Brotherhood in its entirety, amulet resting in my fingertips."Though I cannot be certain. This is but one artefact needed to open the storehouse door. If the Templars possess another, then really, what use is it?"
"The Assassins have no plans to use the Precursor site," Eva pointed out. "Whatever it contains, we know it to be dangerous. Else why would it be contained?"
"No, you're right," Prudence agreed. "If I may express myself freely, I see no point in keeping that amulet. It's an attack symbol for the Templars. Surely if we destroy the thing, the storehouse may never be opened?"
"Not necessarily." Toby shook his head, cocking his brow. "If (and only if) we ever find the other piece to open that door, we could destroy whatever is in that cave. Then the Templars could never use it. I think we should hold on to the amulet."
"My sentiment exactly," I grumbled.
But Ziio and Soyala were having none of this. "What about the people?" they questioned.
"And what are the chances of finding the other wretched key?" said Prudence. "What, with this war, the slaving network..."
As any mortal could imagine, the meeting went round and round in circles. Nothing was achieved at all. But soon, something happened which would make me reconsider. It made everyone reconsider. It was so sudden that no-one had a solid conclusion on why it happened.
Someone burned down the huts at the homestead.
Nobody was killed, but many of the freedmen received severe burns. Connor sent for three particular people after the event: Jasmine, George (to treat the injured), and me. In his letter he spoke of this as a grave situation, though rationally I couldn't associate it with gravity. No-one had died, had they?
The mood was certainly heading that way when I arrived. This time I went alone, at Connor's own request. On horseback I trotted up the steep, lush hills of the homestead. The lush hills which were rich with ash, now. I spotted Connor immediately, his attire comparably smart to his usual Assassin robes. Or it would've been, if his white shirt wasn't trailing on the dust. Beside him stood Jasmine, her grandfather, both of the Stirlings and Soyala.
We stood there discussing the details for a long time. Well...I mostly remained silent, gathering my thoughts and waiting to unleash them heartlessly.
"Remind me: why is this a grave situation, son?"
Connor rolled his eyes and shoulders, like it was obvious. "The land? You know, the land now in your possession?"
"What does this have to do with the slaves?"
"Don't you see?" It was Soyala who spoke from behind me. "It's a warning. The huts were burned at the exact time Connor would begin evening training."
"At this time, he would have been walking across the hills to fetch the people," said Jasmine.
"The attacker only set fire to the outside of one of the huts," Soyala continued. "They expected the rest to catch with time. If it was total destruction they wanted, why not set the whole place alight? Because, Haytham, they wanted to cause a smoke signal. They wanted Connor to see the damage; they wanted to test him."
"The moment the flame appeared was the moment Connor walked past the building. Coincidence? Absolutely not."
"Christ, Jasmine. Did you script this?" I scowled.
"Father..." Sensing conflict, Connor's extinguishing urge cut across me. "The point is, the Templars have nothing else against us. The purchase of the village land must be the only grudge they hold...for now."
"And you're telling me that Charles' solution was to vandalise property which had nothing to do with me? Think, Connor!"
"You still don't understand," he despaired. "By causing just a little smoke signal on the Assassin territory, Charles is sending a different warning. It isn't personal this time – it is about all of the Brotherhood. It means...we are his next target."
Finally, I understood his way of thinking. Admired it, in fact. "I see. But can we be certain it was a Templar who did this?"
Connor nodded. "Eva, what did you do with the object I gave you earlier?"
Eva turned around. Her hair was no longer its glorious ginger – it was now a matt brown, slowly turning grey. "Sorry, I thought I had given it back. Here." From her palm, Eva produced (yet another) Templar ring. The moment I saw it, sunlight veering off its dirty edge, I frowned.
"Really?" I huffed.
"Yes, really." Eva passed the ring to me. As expected, it had the little Assassin symbol etched into it with a slash. Obviously that had been left on purpose. The Templars weren't imbeciles – not even the likes of Thomas Hickey.
We went inside, made two large pots of tea and sat down to discuss. Some of the freedwomen joined in with our meeting. There were a few who had been living inside the homestead (priority was given to the pregnant, the injured and those nursing children – the rest were sleeping in stables, the Aquila, the ships or wherever there was space). The inhabitants were the first point of discussion.
"We will have a different ground on which to build a sanctuary," said Soyala. "Somewhere less...conspicuous."
"We could take some of the people," Mister White suggested. "You have seen for yourselves: we've plenty of space."
"Of course," Jasmine nodded. "How many do you think we could house?"
"Well...safely two dozen. Tell you what, we'll take those who do not wish to join the Brotherhood. I suppose that will be mostly women and children –"
"Grandpa! Don't be unreasonable," Jasmine cut across him fiercely. "Most of the people Connor is training are women."
Baffled by her passion, Mister White puffed his cheeks and sighed. "I know. What I meant was...those with children on their hands could not possibly enrol in training. They will find a sanctuary with us in Virginia."
"That's ideal, actually." George suddenly came to life. "If they do decide that they want the training, they can consult Jack nearby."
"Or you, Eva," I agreed. "They could always come to you for that."
For some reason, the woman looked away at this. When I frowned at her, Soyala rushed to fill in my confusion. "We will tell you later," she whispered.
I shrugged, and we carried on with the meeting. Mister White agreed to take those nursing children, and we'd rebuild the huts as quickly as possible for the rest. The next issue was bringing the culprit to justice; something which bothered Connor very little. Just another Templar underdog, he pointed out. Another radical who had no more power than the officers he worked with. We would keep our eyes peeled, being cautious of the clues left: clearly this man (or woman) wanted to be found. Otherwise, why roll across the homestead grass to Connor?
Perhaps the most important issue was the land. We would double our patrolling of the borders (usually carried out by Ziio). We would warn the Kanien'kehá:ka of the dangers to come. As for the Precursor site, box and amulet, I was to keep them locked in our office. That was a volatile subject, given what our last meeting was about. Begrudgingly, Connor accepted all the terms I put forth.
It was another two hours before I saw daylight again. I had left my horse tied to a tree, since the stables were packed with people. Looking around, everyone on the land seemed restless. Freedmen and women mingled on the doorstep, on the hillsides, by the docks...everywhere. They were more than ready to build new huts; they just lacked the timber.
"It still sounds a little funny to me."
I turned around to see George stood behind me. He stroked his greying moustache to clear it of pollen. "Why burn the huts if they didn't intend to kill? Why not...the stables, for example?"
"It would convey the wrong message," I shrugged. "They must've planned this with precision beyond guard intelligence."
Eva and Soyala made their way across to join us. I smiled at them – then on seeing Eva grin back, I remembered what Soyala had said earlier. "Hold on...what was the news you intended to share, Soyala?"
"Oh!" Eva clapped her hands, then nudged her husband excitedly. "George. I think you should make this announcement."
"Yes," he beamed. "We're moving up to Boston."
"You are? Wow. Excellent! When will this be?"
"This month, actually," George laughed, itching his neck. "It was quite a spontaneous choice we made. But –"
"But we decided it'd be better for everyone," Eva finished. "For starters, the doctors here are paid richly. Nothing like you'd ever find in Philadelphia, is it?"
"No. And of course, we will be nearer to Aaron and Alexa. That was one of our main factors in the decision...we do miss them, you know."
"You see them almost every fortnight!"
"Yes, but not for long," Soyala pointed out. "After only two hours, the visit is over. We would all prefer it if they were closer."
"What about Jack?" I asked. "Has he consented to this?"
"He has no say," Eva laughed with false craftiness. "Yes. I have spoken to him on numerous occasions, and yes. He is fine with the move. We've already found a plot here. It isn't far from yours, in actual fact."
"When do you move? Do you have an exact date?"
"No," George shrugged, "no, not yet. But I'll keep you informed – it should be within this month. Most of the documentation is sorted now."
"Excellent. Ziio will be thrilled to hear this!" I grinned. "Doubtless she will feel obliged to help."
"We would be happy to accept her help," Eva joked. "It'll be a day's work transporting our possessions...but we'll ponder more on that later. Not much later, I hope."
By "not much later", Eva meant within the next three weeks.
It was in late August when the Stirlings were ready. Ziio and I were already waiting eagerly by their new property. It was a beautiful house, painted white with polished stone pillars. It was considerably smaller than their previous residence, but I doubted that they needed too much space since hitherto. Ziio's eyes were fixed in the distance, at the wide open space surrounding the empty house.
"There will be space for training," she observed out loud. "And if George wanted to build an extra grotto for his patients, he could."
We weren't waiting long. In high spirits, three carriages pulled up at around noon. The first two contained mostly furniture and belongings. They were driven by freedmen from the homestead. George had treated all three of them after the fire; feeling like they owed him, they offered to aid with the move. We had offered them payment, but they humbly refused.
Eva stepped down from the first carriage, followed by her husband. Both waved warmly, with Eva rushing to embrace Ziio, but George stayed to close the carriage door.
"Where is Soyala?" I asked.
"Later," George mouthed, coming up to greet us.
I did not question, so began to unload the furniture after five minutes. There were so many old plates, dusty medical books, china ornaments, candles...it seemed to me that everything in the carriage was completely replaceable. I slid the corner of a small cabinet out onto the pathway. My ancient muscles began to twitch; before I knew it, the damned thing was on my foot. Eva must've heard my numerous expletives, because she rushed to take the other edge of the cabinet.
"Why on earth did you bring this?" I called to George.
"Don't ask," Eva joked. "I don't understand George and his silly attachments to trinkets."
"Heirlooms, Eva!" he called, helping Ziio place a grandfather clock by the front door. "They're heirlooms. And be careful with that cabinet – it belonged to my father."
"So?"
George's eyes narrowed playfully, before he tutted through his teeth. "You wouldn't understand. If Soyala were here, it'd be two against one."
"No – three against two. I'm sure Haytham and Ziio both agree that –"
"Where is Soyala?" Ziio asked, stopping on the path. "Did you not say she would be here?"
Like the cabinet in my hand, Eva's grin slipped from her face. "Oh. She...she was called on a mission last minute. I was going to write to you, but I thought that she would be back by now."
"What mission?" I asked. "I vaguely remember Jack writing to me. Did it concern the homestead culprit?"
"Lay this damned thing down, and I'll explain." Eva carefully placed the corner onto the grass, dusting her palms on her pink skirt hem. "Gérald wrote to Jack a few days ago. He said he'd found the man responsible for the fire, and was planning to cause more destruction around New York. There was room for one more on the mission, and Soyala volunteered to take up the position."
Ziio glanced first over to me, then at Eva. "I see," she nodded. "I would have gone, you know. I would like to have brought about the death of him."
"There was no need for your help," she replied, a little too brutally. "They weren't expected to have taken this long. Perhaps they've unveiled something in the process. All Gérald sent them to do was protect the base."
"Who else accompanied Jack?" I asked.
"Prudence and Toby."
At this, Ziio folded her arms and scowled: her two least favourite 'brothers' were given priority. "And François? Why not ask him?"
"He's away," George shrugged. "Attempting to resign from the Continental Army, by the sounds of it. He's finally realised that the entire regiment is run by –"
"Charles," I finished. "The Continental Army is run by Charles. Need I say more?"
Eva nodded, her face relaxing momentarily. "Where are Aaron and Alexa today?" she asked randomly.
"In Boston," I replied. "They were meeting with friends, I think. They would've helped, I'm sure, but...they couldn't change the date."
"Never mind. I expect we will see them later," George replied.
Several pieces of furniture later, we began loading the Stirlings' belongings inside. The freedmen did as much as to put up the beds, then George told them that they could leave. It was admirable of him, but it was no secret that it would take us longer now. My collar became hot under the labour and sheer summer heat. It became more and more difficult to life objects without scraping the white walls. Several hours into the afternoon, we were finished. The house looked far from complete...but George and Eva could sort that in their own time.
We had even set up a four chairs (but no table) in the dining room for us to sit. We broke into the crate of gingerbread biscuits Ziio had bought earlier, sighing in satisfaction.
"Thank you for all your help, you two," George said after swallowing.
"Our pleasure," I replied.
"Why ask us?" Ziio teased. "Our bones are a decade weaker than yours!"
"Older, but not weaker. Though I agree, Ziio: we could have used some extra help. The power of four wasn't quite enough." Eva reached up to check there was no remaining sweat on her brow. "Someone like Connor would've done the world of use."
"He wanted to help when I told him," Ziio said earnestly, "but he was busy. Taking...taking care of Achilles."
Our faces all dropped at this; we made grunts of acknowledgement and bit into the biscuits. No-one dared bring up the topic of Achilles anymore. Not when there were other Assassins around.
There were none, so Eva felt it appropriate: "He's awfully good to Achilles, your son. You deserve to be proud."
I felt a resonant glow on my cheeks, which seemed to lift Ziio's smile too. "We are."
"I do worry about Ratohnhaké:ton," Ziio confessed, looking both Stirlings in the eye. "His own altruism is draining his energy. He is coping – very well – but it does him no good, always answering after Achilles."
What Ziio meant was: It'd be easier for him if Achilles just passed on, but no person with even half a heart would say that. Not even me.
"I tell that to George, oftentimes." Eva nudged her husband, who shook his head resignedly. "I know that a medical employ is what you love, but your patients do lean on you quite heavily."
"It will be different here," he murmured, picking up his glass of water from the floor. "The hours are much shorter. God, how you used to criticise me for those late nights..."
At that moment, I heard a loud knocking on the front door. All of us froze, then exchanged confused glances. We weren't expecting any company. Not on the first day. Unless it was a freedman who had come back having forgotten something.
"Who is that?" Ziio whispered.
"Not entirely sure." George rose to his feet, chewing the last of his gingerbread. "I'll answer it. Wait here."
The door wasn't entirely closed; all three of us listened after George had left. As the front door clicked off its latch, I heard a muffled, yet familiar voice. Well, I thought it was familiar. It was certainly male, American...but the man must've spoken in such low tones that his words were lost. Perhaps I was imagining, but I was certain I heard George say: "Toby?"
No. Not only was my strength leaving me; so was my hearing.
"What do you think will happen?" I asked, changing the subject. "To the Brotherhood?"
"After Achilles has –" Eva stopped herself, swallowing some water. "I don't know. I suppose Virginia will become our main source of orders, after that. All rights of the land will fall in your favour."
"So we'll be the next targets," Ziio muttered spitefully.
"Not necessarily..." She trailed off. "Would they not have targeted you already if that were the case?"
"I appreciate your consolation, Eva...but the danger is very real. How many times was I followed home? All those threatening letters? I was nearly killed, for Christ's sake."
Bollocks. Bollocks!
The room became instantly shocked, white and icy. Eva's sudden rigidity made me inwardly grimace. "When were you nearly killed?" she asked seriously.
I looked to Ziio for help. We agreed that my encounter with Shay three years ago would remain our secret. Even Achilles promised to take it to the grave...or Shay would likely be sent to his (wherever in God's name he was now). Ziio could only bite her lip in trepidation. "Three years ago. I encountered an old friend. I dealt with him swiftly, though I had no weapons on me at the time. It could've been fatal."
"And you neglected to tell us?"
"No need," Ziio dived swiftly to my aid. "I knew."
"The point in having a leader of the Brotherhood," Eva said slowly, "is to collect and distribute information, however minor. I wish you had said something – it could've led us to the man who burned these huts...prevented it, perhaps."
The fact that she didn't sound angry meant that this was just a throwaway comment. I relaxed in my chair, biting into another biscuit. "A mistake, granted. I doubt it had any link to our most recent target. But I am sorry."
"It's alright," she said instantly. "I'm sure you had valid reasons."
Ziio nodded to herself, clicking her tongue. "Where is George? I have not heard him since."
"Neither have I," Eva frowned. "I wonder who it was? The previous houseowner, perhaps? Although I thought he was coming tomorrow."
"He may be outside, of course," I said. "Shall we look for him?"
And so we all stood from our chairs (with no table), passing through into the empty hallway. Surely enough, the front door was open a crack; the setting sunlight trickled through the frame. No sound from outside.
Ziio strode ahead of us and opened the door. Eva and I simply shrugged at one another, before following her down the hallway. But Ziio was already on the edge of the little hill. The garden was seemingly empty. Only the sun spilling her shadow onto the grass, and a small winding pathway where the carriages had been many hours beforehand. Only a slight breeze which tickled the ends of her hair. Only...
Suddenly Ziio's body became stiff. No, not just stiff – catatonic. In an instant her fists shuddered violently. They tried to clench – couldn't – and the shaking spread to her arms. Legs. Something was wrong. Extremely wrong.
"Ziio?" I breathed from the porch.
That was when it happened: the most awful noise I'd ever heard. More horrific than the gunfire of the Welcome. More stirring than the greatest hurricane to grace America. So tragic, in fact, that I felt part of my heart flake away with the wind.
It was Ziio's throat, splitting into a scream.
"No...No!"
And she ran. Like a shot released from a sling, Ziio pelted down the hill and out of sight. The screaming continued, quieter, as incoherent words echoed through the air. I rushed across the grass to find her.
"Ziio?" Eva and I called in unison.
The hill was steep, such that we had to descend a long way to reach her. But when we did, she wasn't alone. It was a scene far more grizzly than we'd anticipated.
At the bottom of the hill was a cart – not a carriage, a cart. Wooden; attached to a ride of two horses. It contained a carefully-placed array of old sheets. One of these rugs was spread across the grass...though I could hardly see, because George was slumped over it. Yes, slumped...like a puppet simply cut from its strings. I couldn't see his face; it was bowed and also shaking. Ziio was very soon beside him, blocking the sheet even more.
Beside the huddle stood Toby Collins. But he didn't look his usual, egotistical self. His head hung low, and his face was paler than I had ever seen it. He'd aged at least five years since I saw him last. Why was he here?
When Eva caught up with me, the fourth wall around the scene was broken. She gasped – mortified – and her trembling hands clasped over her mouth. "Oh," she choked. "Oh...my God...my God..."
Swaddled in a sheet of her own blood was Soyala. Her limbs were delicate, lifeless against the grass. Her torso was twisted; her shoulders cradled in Ziio's lap. I felt my stomach churn, watching her tears drown an already dead body. Ziio's lips breathed incoherent Mohawk words and: "Soyala...no...oh, Soyala..."
I can't believe it...
Eva was still paralysed beside me. She crept forward – weakly – to look at Soyala properly. And when she did, she collapsed onto the grass beside her husband. No tears came from her eyes; no sound from her lips. Only her hands shuddered violently as they retracted from her mouth, stroking Soyala's head.
I stood behind them, my mouth gaping in horror. I was never particularly close with Soyala...but I knew what she meant to them. I knew exactly what they had lost. I knew that – however she'd fought – the woman was too young. She never deserved to die like this.
Eva lifted her head, staring at the other sheets in the cart. By instinct so did I...and it struck me with the force of shock itself: there were more casualties. In that cart, Jack and Prudence must've been lying dead too.
"What happened?" I struggled, not looking Toby in the eye.
"It was so sudden..." The resonance came and went from his voice. "I was lucky to survive. It was...it was awful."
Ziio looked up at me, face wrecked and pale with trauma. All I could do was shake my head in utter despair. "How did this happen?"
Toby cleared his throat feebly. "We went into the base – the Templar base. S-Soyala was to check that it was empty. We were told it would be. But we were wrong. Jesus, we were wrong..." He gave a hysterical sniff – fists clenched in front of him – and continued. "Soyala came out again, but she was stumbling. It was horrible. Blood welling from her back, her eyes looked wild...none of us knew what was the matter with her. But when she collapsed in the street, her lips were still moving. She...Soyala was telling us to run. Her last word was: 'Run.'"
"And the others?" George wept. "Are they...?"
Toby nodded bleakly. "The Templars were everywhere," he cried. "In the buildings, in the alleys, on the rooftops...it was as though they had expected us. So we ran. Oh boy, did we run. One of them chased us from above. He jumped just as I turned the corner and – and – he killed Jack. And I turned to defend him, I really did!" Toby was having trouble suppressing great sobs now. "It was only me and Prudence. We were surrounded in the alleyway. Dead end. Nowhere to run...not even the rooftops. So we fought them."
"And Prudence?" I asked monotonously.
"She went down trying to defend me." His voice began quietly, but grew in anguish. "The woman who seemed to hate me died to save my life!"
"What happened?" I asked.
"There was a blade coming from behind me, and she tried to push me aside. But now she's...no." Suddenly Toby's voice was thunderous: "I still can't believe it. If I knew it would end this way, I would never have treated her so harshly!"
Wordlessly, I edged over to the cart containing the rest of this mess. Both sheets were bloodstained; behind them was a stack of weapons. Their weapons. My fingers were numb as I gripped one sheet and pulled it back.
Prudence looked peaceful under her crimson veil. There was no spite in her eyes – her closed eyes – and the crusty bloodstains down her neck were minimal. They looked at least a day old. Toby must have had a fair deal of trouble retrieving the bodies. I was careful not to stare melancholically for too long. Behind me were four strong people, crashing into a state of doom. It was difficult to ignore.
There will be time to grieve later, I decided quickly. Something more pressing was on my mind. "Toby," I murmured, "what did you say a minute ago? About the Templars...expecting you?"
"I don't know," he replied tearfully. "Why else would they surround us? What were they hiding in that base?"
"Where exactly was this base? Was it a conspicuous building, or...?"
"It-it was hidden. The entrance was a church in New York, but we were told there were steps. Steps leading to the tunnel network, like the one McPhearson took over years ago." He sighed. "We rushed into the task not knowing what to expect. But...but they must have been by the entrance. Or else Soyala...Soyala..."
Wouldn't have made it up the steps, I thought, but did not speak. I stared down at the scene before me, helplessness clawing at my gut. "You know what this means, don't you?"
Nobody replied, so I spoke anyway: "We aren't safe. Not one of us is safe. If two of the most skilled women can be struck down, and the mentor himself..." There were sobs from someone at this, but I ignored them in my agitation. "Then what chance do we have?"
Nobody spoke a word. Nobody was in the right frame of mind for this. I realised that a little too late, seeing Ziio's forehead pressed against Soyala's. Eva knelt at her feet, completely deaf to the rest of the world. George with his arm around Eva, pale as chalk.
They'd lost more than an Assassin. They had lost their family.
I knelt to Ziio's height, wrapping both arms around her shoulders. She barely acknowledged I was there. She just plunged down again, teeth bared in anguish. Fingers digging, trying to claw Soyala back from the dead. It was heartbreaking to see her like this. Of all the times I'd comforted her after a nightmare, I had never seen her in this state. This was what she must've been like through her slavery years. I was glad I did not witness those...but Soyala did. She had been the only continuity in Ziio's life; the only person who remained with her every step of the way.
Now she was gone.
Oh god, what are we going to do?