Drawing ever-nearer to the end...
As usual it's taking me so long to finish this — I'm getting there! Thanks to those of you who have stuck around for this long. I know it gets kinda boring waiting for new chapters...I'm sorry! Back to Ziio's POV now...don't forget to review!
P.S. WHO ELSE CAN'T WAIT TO PLAY SYNDICATE?!
ZIIO
In ways, I had waited for this day for years.
This was the day that all the pain, all the injustice brought on me, would be repaid. It was a day of satisfaction. A day of retribution. Today was the day I would kill Charles Lee.
But I felt no excitement; no thrill running through my blood. This was not how I imagined it. The plan the Assassins had devised was too mechanical. Sensible, but I felt restrained, riding the wretched path towards Fort George. I should have felt empowered. The rain dripped from the pines above onto my mare's neck; when she shook her majestic head, all the horses seemed to shake theirs. She led them as I was leading the Assassins into battle. All ten of our finest.
It had taken us less than an hour to formulate a plan. Aveline's spies had found plans of an underground tunnel into the fort; that was our way in. Ratohnhaké:ton's captain-less fleet would strike the fort from the sea front at exactly midday. We had to be swift.
Some of us would pick off the guards by the walls, climbing up and assassinating them stealthily. Three of us (myself, Eva and François) would go through the tunnel. One of us would retrieve the artefacts, while two of us would free Ratohnhaké:ton and Haytham.
It was not meticulously planned; usually the strategies the Assassins did not take time over were the ones which failed. I did not want today to be that day: my stomach shrivelled to a pulp at the slight thought of it. My son and heart were at stake here.
"Ziio," said Eva riding to my right, "there is one concept which still seems queer: why did Haytham take off into the night? When he received that hostage letter, why didn't he wake you to discuss it?"
I gazed off beyond the trees, into the apprehensive eye that was the water. The sea was where – soon – stillness would not be known. Why had Haytham run off without showing me? Was it a spontaneous noble act to protect me? As if I needed protecting. I faced the road and said: "I do not know. I have been asking myself the same over and over. Love, I suppose, is one theory. Haytham could have done it for love."
"Or he knew that you'd proclaim the faults in his plan."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Eva said nasally, "he might have been afraid that you would reveal who the traitor was, and that would discourage him from leaving. Do you think he wanted to ride off before he lost his confidence...before it could have been too late?"
Inside my hood, the faint scent of him lingered from when my robes were our tent. I breathed it – and imagined his heart throbbing to the sound of a horse's hooves. Why did he act so irrationally? The only time when I ever did such was love...and his mind was shaped the same way as mine. "It would not be like him at all," I sighed, as if his rich scent were an opium lulling me into reverie.
"It is unlike Haytham, to abandon all reason. He is the most rational man alive."
"Oh, he is!" I affirmed proudly. "But if the Templars strike him where it pains him...he will lose all logic in the swirl of sentiments. He left to pursue Ratohnhaké:ton because he loves him. He knows I would do the same for our son." To myself now: "And for Haytham."
"You would abandon all reason to save him?"
"Instinctively...yes. In a heartbeat."
Eva's scorn confirmed what I knew: yes, it did sound absurd. I expected her of all people to understand the power of love: after all, she was less cold and impersonal than me.
"What? You of all people know the sensation. If George was going to die, would you think twice about saving him?"
She checked herself quaintly. "Of course not. Ziio...in these circumstances, it's...ethically challenging. When Haytham and the Brotherhood are at stake and you can only spare one, to choose love over life would be your downfall."
Once again, she was right – but, irrational as it was, my love for Haytham overruled my loyalty to the Assassins. So real was the risk that I could lose him today; so great was the emotional weight on my heart, that I could not possibly see past it.
"Why would my greatest source of strength ever be my downfall?"
"Ziio is right," Aveline added huskily from behind. "My duty is to the Assassins, but if I could rescue Gérald, of course I would. Never mind if it was a trap."
From her peppered lips, I saw muttered a phrase in French which I did not hear, and would never understand. François repeated it to himself softly.
"L'amour nous rend de telles imbéciles. Love makes us such fools. Such beauty and such truth, Aveline. Did you invent this phrase?"
"Sadly, no," she giggled, and said no more.
The foot of the fort was now at my eye level. I took a sharp breath in as I approached it; the air filled me not with natural harmony, but with fresh gravity.
Fort George's walls were bare and coarse, like a convict's back whipped to the bone. It surprised me that Charles should choose such a place as his headquarters. When I turned to note this to Eva, she only shrugged.
We dismounted and bound our horses to the trees. We could not stand directly under the fort (for fear of being seen or heard), but the entrance was clear enough. Abel (a freedman) spotted an iron hatch in the ground. Much like a prison cell, it was poorly covered by a fallen branch. He singularly shifted the piece of wood and opened the vertical gate. Beneath was a gradual staircase descending into darkness.
It was at this point when ten of the Assassins systematically approached the walls. All in different directions, Aveline instructed each man and woman to distract or kill every tower guard they found. The last guard would be a diversion for me, Eva and François to enter the fort by. I wondered how we would know when they had eradicated all the guards: we would be underground, after all. This was such a poorly executed plan.
Nonetheless, Eva stood giving last orders to the ten men and women, before hopping down the open hatch. Only myself and François remained at the ground level. While I stood gathering my thoughts, gazing towards the distant sea again, François knelt stroking the metal of the bars.
"Feel it," he urged. "It is so smooth. Of recent erection."
He was right. I bent to his level and did the same, asking: "What does it mean?"
"I wish I could say," he sighed. "I wish I could say. It seems so out of place in this forest."
"Like the fort?"
"Out of place even with the fort. Look again."
Before I had the chance to glance at the walls, Eva called me from a depth underground. "Don't stay there! You'll be seen."
"Sorry," we replied in unison, and jumped the short distance down the hatch.
We were snapped up in darkness' arms. The only light came from the top of the staircase; even though there were thirteen of us inside, the sound was suffocated in the damp humidity.
"No torches," I confirmed. "Do you have a match, François?"
"There is no use," he argued from not far off. "The tunnel can't be too long, in any case."
Accidentally bumping hands with both Eva and François, I ran my fingers along the tunnel wall. It was gritty, like brick, but not so much so that it cut the skin.
As the intense murmur of footsteps drifted further down the tunnel, only myself and one other body remained.
"Again, the brick is all new," François said behind me.
"Well, how old did you expect it to be?"
He clicked his tongue. "No. Something is not right about this. Even the width of it is wrong."
"The width?"
"Ziio? François?" Eva's voice echoed from a distance. "Are you coming?"
We shuffled along the wall to catch up, even if our only eyes were our ears. Somehow I could feel and see every feature of every brick. Haytham had once called this "eagle vision": a gift which, according to legend, few possessed. I wondered if he could somehow sense me approaching; my heart gave a leap of determination. I needed to reach them.
I thought again about what François had said. What did he mean, the width was wrong? I asked him about this again.
"Why build a tunnel this large?" he answered. "If it is only an emergency escape tunnel, surely it would be smaller and better concealed?"
Hmm, true. But this fort seemed centuries old (which begged the question: why was this passage so new?), but I did not dwell on the matter. I had a family to set free. My family.
Ahead of Eva, there was light above: another hatch let some sun rays filter through it. I listened – almost to the walls – to see if I could hear anything. I could not: there was a colourful silence in the dark. Paradox? Yes. It made no sense.
"There is no hatch at this end," François puzzled. "I knew it! This passage was built for something. An emergency evacuation, perhaps?"
"A serious design flaw," I scoffed.
Eva peered up the staircase, her slim outline more apparent now. "This is the issue," she whispered. "We won't know when it is safe to ascend."
"We can fight our way out of it," I argued. "If we do, we have ten Assassins ready to back us up."
I did not think it was wise, but it was our only option. Eva agreed. She whispered: "On the count of three, we sprint for the nearest cover. Understood?"
François and I nodded.
"One...two..."
I took a sharp, nervous breath in. But why?
"Three!"
Every muscle gathered its might and ripped into action. My eyes were blinded as I ran for the light – blades ejected – and kept my head beneath my hood. I did not absorb any detail of what the fort looked like. I did not glance up; I did not listen. All I could do was charge, and hope I was heading for cover. My heart jerked in time with my ears, as blood thrashed wall to wall of my head. There was one sound I heard: the thud of my feet upon the gravel. There was one sound I did not want to hear: I did not want to hear human voices.
This was all that crossed my mind in five seconds of running.
Please. Please...let this awful plan work.
"Halt!"
My heart gave bucked me to a stop; I gasped. Whoever that voice was, it was not familiar. I cursed in a panic. I knew this would happen! I closed my eyes, opened them again...and the scene which unfolded before me brought anger to my every joint.
Eva and François skidded to a halt beside me...and I watched as the horror filled their faces too. At least twelve armed Templars stood in a circle around us. All muskets were loaded; all eyes glinted greedily at us. Some of them I recognised; others not. But they had known.
They had known.
A shock wave ripped down my spine: if they had known we were coming, what else did they know?
"Not so smart now, are we?" one of them yelled brutishly.
I looked up desperately, to see if the others were there. Were they alive? There were no guards on the top levels of the fort, nor on the stairs. But there was no sign of the other ten. My eyes only rested on the top level for a fleeting moment, before I looked at the ground.
Barrels.
Lots of barrels. They were stacked in every single corner; under every single tower. But what did Charles want with all this gunpowder? Right now, I couldn't even think of where Haytham and Ratohnhaké:ton might be. I couldn't look at Eva; I couldn't even face the guards. I had to wait for my senses to unfreeze. I needed to stay calm; to think of a plan...
While the guards snarled insults at the three of us, I kept my eyes level. Any moment now, an Assassin would shoot an arrow; kill one of them, or something. But was that what they expected?
"My my, you Assassins are so predictable," cackled a Scottish-sounding man.
"Ain't they just?"
"Thought we didn' know they were comin'. Thought we didn' know about the fleet."
This came as no shock to me: our mission had failed. But I refused to give up yet; not out of hope, but out of my own pride. I could not accept defeat until I knew I was defeated. I was oblivious to the insults thrown at us by the guards. Any moment now, I almost hummed in my mind. The fact that I was this calm must have meant something was about to happen. Something would save us yet.
Several side glances at Eva later, I looked up into the distance. The fort seemed to go on forever, with guards patrolling every roof of every brick building. But there was one wooden monument, visible behind one of the rooftops: a signal tower.
My face remained impassive, but my heart leapt with adrenalin. Aveline was stood up there: I could see her snake braids lashing around her peaked hat. I quickly diverted my eyes (as not to give her away), but recalled what I saw. She was reaching up; creating sparks against some form of fuel with her blade...or that was what it seemed. Clever woman. Was she starting a signal? A signal for the fleet to attack?
But surely the fleet would not have reached us already? Surely it would still be fighting the Templar ships? Perhaps they had failed; perhaps two hundred of our finest Assassins were...
"General, the fleet has breached our defences!"
I dared not look behind me, but that was the source of the voice. Every soldier turned; the general's arm became slack. He set down his musket. "What? What do you mean, 'breached our defences'?" he demanded.
Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a very young man, breathless and horror-stricken. "Our frigates were no use — there were too many...all sunk...they'll strike any moment now!"
My chest inflated with hope. A distraction could not have been timed better! I swivelled visually to Eva. On the surface her blue eyes remained as calm waters, but I knew. I knew she was formulating a plan. She had now seen Aveline lighting the signal; orbs of the flickering signal flame floated on her eyes. All I had to do was wait for a signal...and we would burst into battle.
The general's face centred; his words came out in fits of spitting. His face was burning; shrivelled. He looked to his evidently troubled men, struggling: "No evacuation...not yet. Continue with the first plan. Could still work...send six more frigates onto the bay. Hurry!"
I could have laughed. Six more frigates? That would never be enough to take down the Aquila's entire fleet. Ratohnhaké:ton was an insightful boy; he had expected something like this. I inwardly glowed with pride...but remained focused.
Boom.
The walls of the crumbling castle seemed to shake. In an instant the soldiers scattered with yells of: "Run!" and: "To your stations, men! Assume battle positions!"; they scrutinised the sky in vain.
"Now!" Eva screamed.
No time to waste. As a mortar shot eclipsed the sun and smashed into one of the walls, I sprinted for the centre of what would be the battlefield. Men were recovering; the cannonball had missed them. The circle of those around us had gone, but I did not wait. Two of the soldiers had their muskets raised towards me; in one smooth manoeuvre I swished my blades into place, charged, jumped, hooked their hearts onto each hand. They gurgled in surprise as blood spurted from their chests, but no time to watch them die.
I turned around. Already seven, eight, nine Assassins had joined us. In the small courtyard alone, every Assassin had at least two opponents. The air was fractured with the crash of muskets. The firing of distant cannons. The crash of brick against brick; brick against bone.
Should I stay and fight, or should I find my family?
Caught in thought, I didn't notice the soldier charging towards me. No, two: one on either side! Reflexively I dived, but their swords both swung at me. I recovered, heart beating, and snatched my pistol to shoot. I didn't even hear myself pull the trigger. The mangled cries of death and shooting all around covered it. Yet another two men fell before me on the battlefield.
Even in the extremity – in the energy of the battlefield – I tried to look for Eva. I couldn't stay here and watch the walls tumble down. What if one of those cannonballs collided with the dungeon? What if Aveline and Eva's efforts to direct the battle away from the shots failed? I had already seen cannonballs impacting the centre of the fort. All they had to do was destroy the tower defences. Why were the Assassins firing where their own men were, and why was Eva doing nothing to stop them?
This is no time to take orders from Eva. She would do the same: find Haytham.
A shout drew my attention to the corner of my eye, where at least forty Templars scurried for the main gate like a swarm of blue ants. A shot whirred over their heads, but it missed, colliding with a wall.
That was enough for me. I ran. I broke free from the battlefield, past the dead and dying, towards the brick buildings. There had to be an entrance somewhere. I had to find them. I had to find them before they were killed, too.
All rage, if I'd had any at all, disappeared. I no longer wanted to kill Charles Lee. Not until I had found my son and Haytham. My ears were deaf to the shattering and shrieking. My heart was only beating for one purpose now. Never mind if it was a trap. Never mind if this would see me dead. Never mind if I failed to have my revenge on Charles.
Find them, Ziio. Find them.