61. Memories are everything that is left
Connor
He didn't know how to describe this feeling when he steered Ori:te' over the main path into the actual heart of the homestead. It was recognition, but also a deep longing. He recognized Davenport because he still clearly remembered the first time he had put a foot onto this land. Seventeen years ago and back then he had been thirteen years old. A boy on the desperate search for a purpose which he had hoped to find with an old man. Davenport had practically not existed. There had been no mill, no inn, no church, no houses at all, except of the manor on the hill. Connor still knew that he had felt doubts if he had been at the right place at all when he had been surrounded by wilderness at first. Exactly this wilderness was surrounding him now as well. The road was familiar, he had come along it so often over the last couple of years, but no matter where he looked, he only saw trees, bushes and tall grass. Although he could tell exactly where which house had to be and expected someone to come from the inn, despite the late hour. But nothing like this happened. In this reality, Davenport was what it had been seventeen years ago: A wild, lonely piece of land which had its best times under the assassins behind itself long since. It hurt Connor to see it like this, because Davenport was his home. Normally all of his friends were living here, so many good memories connected to them. But they weren't here and he didn't dare to think of what had happened to them. Many of them had been through hard times before they had found a home here.
He thought of all of them while they kept following the road. Nobody of them had lost a word since Connor had woken Lillian up, but he didn't need to look at her to know that she felt the same way he did. Her body was under great tension and he could see her head slowly turning from one side to another. She only knew Davenport as a lively homestead and it had become a home for her, too. He could only imagine how shocked Lillian must been to see her home like this. So lifeless. But Connor knew that this wasn't going to be the worst thing for them both. He could clearly remember the condition the manor had been in, when he had come here.
This whole place is ready to come down.
Achilles' words and he hadn't been entirely wrong. It had needed much time, money and effort until the house had been repaired and had become the home which Achilles had entrusted to him after his death and where Connor had started his own family. He had helped Achilles with everything and had also taken care of the reconstruction of the homestead. If he had never met Achilles, if he had to realize that the homestead didn't exist: What had become of the house? What had become of Achilles?
Especially the last question made Connor feel an ache in his chest and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He was staring straight at the manor, that was slowly rising from the darkness and he steered the grey mare to the path, leading directly to the stables. On the first sight, everything appeared to be like always, but it had been the house's inside that had needed a restoration more than anything else. The stables and the barn were still intact as well, but both appeared quite decrepit and Connor checked the stables first, before leaving Ori:te' in one of the stalls and unsaddling her. Unintentionally, he took more time for it than necessary.
Lillian stayed silently in front of the stables and when Connor finally stepped to her, he felt that she was as tensed as he was. When they approached the house, Lillian grabbed his hand, as if she was seeking for something to hold on and he squeezed it gently, hoping to reassure her, although he was glad about her company himself. The thoughts were rushing through his mind, like his heart in his chest. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to have this feeling. He was afraid. Afraid of what he could find here or not. The closer they came to the house, the clearer it got how time had nagged on the building. The stone stairs to the front door were slippery with wet leaves and moss. The paint peeled off the pillars of the canopy, as well as off the door and frames of the windows. There was no light inside, no sound while Connor remembered the day he had stood here for the first time and had knocked. Connor took a deep breath as they stopped in front of the door and by means of her grip around his hand, he could tell that Lillian's nerves were strained to the utmost. He felt like it was on him to make the first move and open the door, but when he put his hand on the doorknob, his body was reluctant to follow his head's orders. He practically clung to the knob, but didn't manage to turn it. Connor didn't feel that he started to shake and that his breath came in short puffs, until Lillian's hand covered his on the knob. She carefully loosened it from the cold metal and embraced it gently.
"I cannot do this", Connor uttered, still staring at the door. "He died three years ago. Alone. Lillian, what if he…?" He couldn't finish this thought. The imagination it was causing was too horrifying. But Lillian had already understood.
"It's alright", she whispered and put a hand on his cheek. Her touch made Connor closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He had to calm down. Lillian's thumb ran gently over his cheekbone until Connor opened his eyes again and looked at her. A small smile flitted across Lillian's lips and once again, Connor was glad she was here. As often as he tried to protect her and give her a feeling of safety when she was afraid, as often she was making him feel safe in her own way and he was glad that she didn't say anything about his hesitation. Instead she was the one who grabbed the knob, took a deep breath and turned it. The door wasn't locked, but cracked loudly before it opened under a squeal of the hinges. Again it was Lillian, who hesitantly took the first steps into the dark hallway. Connor followed her. The boards beneath their feet cracked and it sounded unnaturally loud in Connor's ears. But beside that, it was entirely silent when they walked along the hallway and looked into the adjoining rooms. The furniture, which Achilles hadn't used, was pushed together and covered with white cloths. Like it had been seventeen years ago. Nothing had changed, except of the fact that everything seemed to be far more dreary. The air smelled musty and of wet, rotting wood, but Connor couldn't smell the scent he inwardly feared: The scent of decay.
He didn't know what happened to a dead body in three years, but his biggest fear was to find only the rotting corpse of his mentor. Connor didn't doubt that Achilles was dead. In this reality, everything that had depended on certain events, had changed. There had been nothing he could have done to prevent Achilles' death, because he had died a natural death of old age. But it hadn't made it easier for Connor to get over this loss. Achilles had not only been his mentor and grandmaster. He had been a father to him.
Connor took a deep breath as he was seized by a wave of grief and he stopped for a moment to get a hold of himself again, while Lillian went on and finally stopped in the open doorway to the room which she only knew as the parlour. It used to be Achilles' bedroom until Connor had brought the bed and the rest of the bedroom furniture upstairs for Caleb. At first it hadn't been easy for him, because he had always left the room like it had always been. But he had taken care that all of Achilles' private belongings had got a safe place in the room he used as some sort of room of memories and he knew that Achilles would have told him, not to stay in the past but to open up for the future. A future that didn't exist here. Almost anxiously, Connor kept his eyes on Lillian, expecting a reaction to whatever she found in the room. But Lillian looked at him and shook her head.
"He's not here."
Hesitantly, Connor approached her, stopped beside her and looked into Achilles' room. The furniture was covered with a thick layer of dust but everything looked like it did in Connor's memories. Papers, ink and a feather on the desk. The stuffed hawk sitting enthroned beside a table with an unfinished game of Nine Men's Morris. In front of it the armchair, where Connor had found Achilles' lifeless body three years ago. Not it was empty, but on Achilles' bed lay his hat and his cane. Tidily put next to each other.
"Somebody must have been here", Connor murmured as he took the cane and twisted it between his hands. Achilles certainly hadn't left it here and had gone somewhere else. He hadn't been able to move for long without his cane. But if somebody had been here after Achilles' death, had this person given Achilles the funeral he deserved? Thoughtfully Connor put the cane back onto the bed and wordlessly walked past Lillian to the backdoor. Lillian followed him silently as he left the house and went straight to the spot on the cliff, where Achilles' wife Abigail and his son Connor were buried and where he had buried Achilles as well. He could see the silhouettes of the two grave stones as he slowly approached them. The fear of what could await him was still making him hesitate. He would only be reassured when he finally knew what had happened to his mentor in this reality. To imagine that Achilles was still lying somewhere, or that he had been carelessly buried was unbearable. But when he stepped to the graves, he closed his eyes for a moment when he saw the third one. It was a strange feeling of relief, connected with the well known grief for Achilles that seized him. Connor walked around the narrow pile of soil which was already covered with grass and put a hand on the roughly constructed wooden cross that replaced a gravestone. Achilles' name and the date of his death were carved into it. So somebody had taken care and had done their best to bed Achilles to his final rest next to his family.
"I am sorry that it was not me", Connor whispered. The thought that he had never met Achilles was strange and actually unimaginable. The old man had changed Connor's life and had helped him becoming the man he was today. He had not only taught him his knowledge and skills, but had also kept bringing him back to the right path when he had been close to losing it and himself. Connor didn't want to miss only one of the memories of countless hours of training and also the debates in which Achilles had given him a piece of his mind.
"I am still grateful, old man", Connor murmured.
One last time, Connor ran his hand over the cross before silently bidding farewell and standing up. He hadn't noticed that Lillian had let him go to the grave alone. She stood by the cliff, looking over the bay where the Aquila used to lie at anchor. When he approached her, she turned around to him and nodded at the bay.
"Didn't you say the Aquila was nearly destroyed when you came here?", she asked and when Connor stopped beside her, he didn't need to ask why she wanted to know this. He saw it with his own eyes. When he had come here back then, the damaged Aquila had lied with a broken mast in the water. A wreck of which nobody had ever believed it could cross the seas again. Connor had helped Faulkner with her repair, like he had helped Achilles with the house. But now the Aquila wasn't here. The bay was empty and again Connor asked himself what had happened in all these years in which he hadn't come here. Had Faulkner, who had drowned his sorrow for the Aquila with alcohol, pulled himself together and had repaired her on his own? When Connor thought about it, he didn't doubt that Faulkner must have been here. He had already lived in the small cabin at the bay when Achilles had introduced him to Connor after his arrival. He was the only one who could have buried Achilles. There had been nobody else in Achilles' surroundings. But where was Faulkner?
"Do you think Bobby is in his cabin?", Lillian asked, as if she had read his mind. He shook his head.
"Faulkner never left the Aquila's side. He is wherever she is. The ship has almost meant more to him than any person."
"But where could they be?"
"I do not know." Until now, Connor had no explanation for the Aquila's disappearing but he hoped that Faulkner was well and that the missing ship meant that he was living the life on sea that he loved so much. Maybe he had found a place far away from Washington's territory and lived there in peace. It was a hopeful thought after everything Connor had seen and learned in the last couple of days. But he had to concentrate on what had brought him here and what he planned.
His eyes moved to Lillian, who was standing beside him with her arms crossed and stepping from one foot onto the other. She was freezing. "Come, we will set a camp in the dining room in front of the fireplace", he suggested and pointed at the stable. "I will get our things and check if there is still firewood we can use. Go inside."
Lillian nodded hesitantly as if the thought of entering the house alone was scaring her, but finally she slowly walked to the backdoor while Connor headed for the stables. Next to the stall he had left Ori:te' in, were the bundle of furs and the saddlebags. He took the first and went to the barn. Its roof was damaged but the firewood seemed to be dry enough. Connor put the bundle under his arm, took some pieces of wood and returned to the house. There he dropped the bundle in front of the fireplace and began stacking the wood. Lillian was in the kitchen, apparently checking if the pots were still usable for boiling water, but until now he had only seen her standing in front of the window and looking outside. Her posture alone told him that she didn't feel well and he understood. It was strange to be here, in their own home and finding everything so shabby and lifeless. Entirely unfamiliar. But for tonight, this was the safest place they could find. There were no settlements nearby and no reason for the bluecoats to come here. Davenport had been entirely forgotten before people had moved in again.
It is only for tonight, Connor thought while stoking the newly sparked flames in the fireplace. The wood hissed and cracked, but there wasn't much smoke and it didn't take long until the fire was strong and regular and spread pleasant warmth. Connor heard a sigh of relief behind him and saw that Lillian had stepped to him.
"Finally some light and warmth", she said with a forced smile and bent down to the bundle to take it up and untie it.
"Are you hungry? I could go hunting", Connor asked while watching her thoroughly preparing their bed, but Lillian glanced over her shoulder and shook her head.
"It's in the middle of the night. I will be fine until tomorrow. Besides, you should sleep. You hardly did, in the last couple of nights."
She tugged at the fur underneath her and finally reached out for him with a smile and pulled him to her when he grabbed her hand. He smirked when he let her push him into the soft fur, before she took off his moccasins, slipped out of her own boots and finally spread the blanket over them, as she lied next to him. Lying on her side, Lillian propped herself up on her forearm and tenderly ran her hand through Connor's hair.
"You need to stay strong", she whispered and a concerned expression flitted across her face. "Coming here disturbed you, am I right?"
Connor sighed and turned his eyes away from her to the ceiling. He didn't want to talk about it, especially as long as Lillian was more concerned than necessary. But this was also the reason why he owed her an answer.
"I am fine", he said. "I am just glad Achilles was not entirely alone when he died. It was my greatest fear."
Lillian nodded. "I thought of it, too. But still it makes me sad to see everything like this. You always told me how the house and the homestead looked like back then, but I never really imagined it. Not after everything I know."
She was silent and looked at the dancing flames in the fireplace. Her grey eyes reflected the bright colours, but it seemed like they couldn't take up the warmth. They shimmered treacherously and as Lillian pressed her lips together, Connor knew that she was going to cry. He pulled her into his arms and let her bury her face in his chest, while he rested his chin on her head and caressed her back.
"I am sorry", Lillian whispered with a muffled and shaky voice. "I don't want to cry all the time."
"You are afraid. There is nothing wrong about it."
Lillian shook her head. "It's not about it. Not only. It's just…this place. It somehow feels like home, but somehow doesn't. But I just want to go home."
"I know. I feel the same way", Connor murmured and buried his face in her hair. He knew exactly how she felt. He would also prefer being somewhere, where he wasn't confronted by memories. It felt like he just had to close his eyes and open them again, to be back in the fully furnished dining room where Emily on her short legs could come around the corner in every second to cuddle up to them. He missed her, like Lillian missed her. But this was the reason why he couldn't get distracted from his plan to take the Apple from Washington. The sooner he did, the sooner they were able to embrace Emily again and Lillian didn't need to be afraid. As she didn't need to cry herself into sleep like she did now.
The next day hardly dawned when Connor set off into the forest to return with some berries, roots and two rabbits. Supplies for one day and Connor hoped they were soon going to have the chance to buy enough food with the money they had found in one of the saddle bags. Each time he had to go hunting was time he could use for the realization of his plan and time in which he had to leave Lillian alone. During his absence, she had ignited a fire in the hearth, had boiled water from the well and had top upped their supplies for the journey. Now they stood in front of the door to the cellar which Connor opened after some hesitation. The mechanism stuck for a moment, but gave in after a courageous tug and the door swung open.
"Be careful", Connor warned, as they slowly climbed downstairs. The wood cracked beneath their feet, but luckily carried his and Lillian's weight. Connor stepped to the table on the other side of the room and turned on the lamp on it. The cellar was hardly illuminated and Connor was confronted by this strange familiarity again. The training room seemed to be the only room in the house that hadn't changed. There were only a few weapons on the holders in the rear corner, but except of the layers of dust and spider webs, everything looked like always or rather like back then, when Achilles had led Connor here for the first time. He remembered how curious and thrilled he had been. It had been eerie but also exiting to enter this secret room which had shown him, how important this matter he wanted to turn to was. Especially when he had seen the robes, which had hung over the straw doll. Like they did now. Back then, Connor had wanted to throw them on immediately, but Achilles had made clear to him that he had to be an assassin to do so. These robes had become the symbol of Connor's aims, the visible motivation to entirely turn to his training and he had never been as proud and reverent as he had been, when he had finally been allowed to put them on.
Now Connor stood in front of these robes and felt like they were strange to him. He ran his fingers over the rough and heavy fabric, which he used to wear like a second skin and it didn't feel like it at all. Connor didn't know how to describe this feeling. His eyes moved to his feet and to the wooden box with the hidden blades inside of it. The weapons of an assassin, but when Connor kneeled down, opened the box and looked at these familiar bracers, he felt this strange feeling again. Connor sighed and closed the lid with a shake of his head.
"I cannot do this", he said quietly as he stood up and stepped away from the doll.
"What do you mean?" Lillian had stayed on the staircase and looked at him with a frown. "You said you wanted to equip yourself."
Connor nodded. "I did. But I cannot take the robes and I cannot take the blades either. It feels wrong. I do not deserve them."
"What are you talking about? Of course you do." Lillian pulled away from the shadows and approached him. Her hand slid over the robes' shoulders. "These are your clothes. Your weapons."
"No, they are not. These are the clothes and weapons of an assassin. And I am not an assassin." With his arms crossed, Connor leaned against the table and let his gaze roam through the room where he had spent so much time of his life with training and planning his next moves. All of this had never happened here.
"If I have never met Achilles, he never affiliated me into the brotherhood. So I do not deserve to wear an assassin's robes and weapons. It would be...wrong, you know?"
Lillian's frown deepened as she looked at him. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but she seemed to be struggling with his words. She only knew him as an assassin and although he could remember every detail of his training and could use it, he neither needed the robes, nor the blades to fight. He was not only an assassin, but also a warrior of his tribe after all and maybe this was the time to remember it. To act as an assassin without having Achilles' permission was wrong. Like something else was.
"Probably it would be better if...I do not call myself Connor anymore. At least not as long as we are here. The name neither fits to me as the Mohawk everybody sees in me, nor was I named this way by Achilles. I just do not deserve it, too."
Lillian took an audible breath and abruptly turned away as she returned to the staircase, running a hand through her hair.
"My head's bursting", she murmured. Then she stopped, her hands on her hips, her face turned to the wall and her head leaned back. He didn't know how to interpret this reaction, but he stayed silent and where he was, until Lillian took another deep breath and turned around to him.
"This whole 'what happened and what didn't?' and its consequences are driving me insane. I don't know what to think." She sighed. "But I understand what you mean." Now she approached him and as she stopped in front of him, she put her hands on his arms which were still folded in front of his chest. He loosened them, so that she could take his hands into hers. "I trust you and your decisions. If you find it wrong to take robes and blades, I accept it. Like everything else, Ratonhnhaké:ton." She smiled, but her eyes became serious again and she lightly squeezed his hands. "But whatever happened or didn't happen here, we shouldn't forget that there is another...reality, or whatever you want to call it, where everything is different. That we're standing here together, proves it. Because you met Achilles there and he trained you to be an assassin. So you eventually had to find my uncle and we met. Whatever is going to happen here and whatever we will experience, we have to hold on to the memories we have, although it hurts and we shouldn't concentrate on what is different. Because to be honest: None of these differences were positive until now. Except that your mother was alive, of course."
Connor lowered his eyes after these words and pressed his lips together. That his mother had been alive had certainly been positive. And that his village had still existed as well. Bus his mother had died again and he couldn't return to the village. Lillian was right, until now nothing about this reality had been really positive. Obviously he had lived an entirely different life, because it had never been necessary for him to leave the village to become an assassin. He couldn't say how his life would have been, if there wasn't Washington's reign. But as much as he had enjoyed the thought of still living in his village, he didn't want to think of what else could be different. If he thought of all the memories Lillian was talking about, he liked to look back upon his life. Certainly there had been dark times, but also times full of light. Davenport and all its inhabitants, all the friends he had made over the last years and of course his own, little family.
"You are right", he said and looked at her again. "We should remember. But I still cannot be the assassin Connor here."
Lillian nodded. "I know. I just didn't want you to push him away entirely." She smiled and put a hand on Connor's chest, right over his heart. "But he stays in here. Like everything else we know. Until we are home."
