Unknown

Shouts. Gunfire. Explosions.

"Go!"

Deaf ears. Blood. Death.

"All of Czechoslovakia is with us."

Screams. Pain. Suffering.

"The Germans are surrounding the church!"

With a jolt, Jan woke up. He felt like he had been falling endlessly into a deep, dark abyss and that he had in an instant been lifted up from deep down below and back into the light. His throat was dry, and he felt lethargic. But most of all, his muscles ached, and his sides hurt like hell. He put his hand to it, and found cloth drenched in his sweat. He brought his arms into view, and they too had bandages wrapped around them. He brought himself up and took a good look around.

He had no idea where he was. It was a simple room. The upper half of the walls were white, and the bottom half was dark brown wood. The floor was similarly wooden and when Jan brought out his legs – with pain in his muscles – and took a step, they creaked and felt rough to his feet. There was a table next to his simple bed. Besides that, the room was filled with dusty bookshelves and cabinets. There were no decorations, except for a painting of the Virgin Mary hanging on the wall across from Jan's bed.

A church?

He got up, and the pain in his sides flared up and forced him back down. Taking his breath, he tried it again. This time, he was more successful. He got up and began to limp his way to the door. The pain reminded him of his robe and blades.

When he opened the door, it led to a sunlit hallway that opened to the main hall. There was no one there, but there was no mistaking it: he was in a church. Right to the side of the door was the altar, with all the decorations and tools for Mass. In front of it were the empty pews where the churchgoers would sit and listen to the sermon. Off to the side was a piano, for music during the service. There was no one there, but there were children laughing in the distance outside of the church. He limped his way to the open main doors and found himself in the hot, summer sun.

What he saw before him was a small village in the countryside. There were several children running around the village. Simple white houses with thatched roofs were the only buildings he could see as far as the horizon. Villagers in simple clothing were going about their work – carrying, cutting, cleaning. A door flung open, and two young boys ran outside. A middle-aged woman in a dark green dress and an apron appeared in the doorway, shouting something after the children. The boys shouted back something before disappearing behind some houses.

Next, Jan turned his attention to the building he had just come out of. It was a simple wooden church, bereft of any decorations. White walls of wooden boards, while the doorframes and the windowsills were painted in dark green. It showed signs of age too, with some damage on some parts of the wall. It had a simple tower at the start of the roof, and Jan could just see the bell within that would call the villagers to Mass on Sundays.

On the side, there was a small garden filled with growing vegetables – potatoes, carrots, tomatoes. Hard at work in between the plants was a priest, clad in his black robes with a light brown hat to ward off the hot sun. He had gloves and thick boots on and was watering a tomato plant. Jan limped towards him. When he was at the edge of the garden, he tried saying something in his best Czech pronunciation.

"Excuse me," he said.

The priest looked up from the plant and looked at him, slightly surprised.

"So, you're awake," he said, in the most native-sounding German accent Jan could ever have imagined.

"Yes," Jan replied, in German this time. "How long was I out?"

"Several weeks," he said, turning his attention back to the plants. "You had me worried there. You woke up only intermittently. You barely ate, barely drank. Didn't think you'd pull through for a moment."

"I don't remember anything…"

"Well, that's not surprising. Considering what you've been through."

The priest raised the watering can and stopped the shower of water falling onto the tomato plant. He walked to the edge of the garden where Jan was standing and put it down. Then he grabbed Jan's arm and led him back into the church.

"Come now, I need to make sure you're okay. Let's get you checked up."

They went back inside the room, and the priest made Jan lie on the bed again.

"Are you a doctor?" Jan asked.

"No, not really. There are no doctors in this village. But we know how to get by."

The priest pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. He opened some of Jan's bandages and took a look at the wounds.

"I heard it was quite the fight in Prague."

"Are you a member of the Resistance?"

"No. I'm just a parish priest. But I do help them from time to time."

He reapplied the bandages as he spoke.

"They brought you here maybe two weeks ago. You were in quite bad shape. Unconscious for most of the time. When you did wake up, you were delirious. Rambling about this and that, didn't make a drop of sense. It took all I had just to try to get some food and drink into you."

"I don't remember any of that…"

"Well, it doesn't matter. Seems like you've woken up completely this time."

The priest stood up and went to a table in front of the wall to Jan's right. He took a jug and poured some water into a cup. Jan looked around the room.

"Trying to find your things?"

"Yeah."

"I took the liberty of cleaning your clothes. I hope you don't mind. They were, after all, drenched in blood."

He offered Jan the cup, which he took as he nodded his head in thanks. The priest went back to the table, his back to Jan.

"And your hidden blades."

Jan was bringing the cup to his lips when he heard it mentioned, and his hand stopped moving.

"Don't worry," the priest said. "They are well hidden. Quite the distinctive weapon. Blades, in this day and age."

"Yes," Jan said warily.

"Where'd you get them?"

Jan did not answer.

"I see the Brotherhood's craftsmanship has not decreased in quality."

Jan's mouth went agape. His head looked around, trying to find some weapon he could use to defend himself.

"How did you know…?"

"Oh, I know a lot."

"How?"

"That's a long story."

The priest took something out of drawers next to the table. A dusty wooden box. He patted it and blew on it to clear the dust, and brought it to Jan.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

Cautiously, Jan took the box from him. It was an old nondescript wooden box, quite heavy in Jan's hands. There was only a simple, golden-coloured latch that held it closed. He opened the latch and pulled the lid up. Inside was something wrapped up in a cloth. He looked at the priest, who nodded in reply. He pulled open the cloth to reveal what was inside.

And what he found was a pair of hidden blades. Similar to his, but older in make. But the symbol of the Assassins was still prominently displayed on the gauntlet.

He looked up at the priest in surprise.

In reply, the priest only said four words.

"I was an Assassin."