The Word of God and the Treasures of Wisdom: Chapter Eight.

[communi_kate]

Title: The Word of God and the Treasures of Wisdom (8/9)
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Spoilers: Minor, post-game
Warnings: Language 
Summary: Malik and Altair each receive an unexpected message.

The Word of God and the Treasures of Wisdom

An Assassin’s Creed fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Eight.

"Dead?" Malik said. "How?"

Altaïr shook his head. "They did not say."

Malik reached for the parchment. "It does not make sense," he said. "Why did they bother sending a letter all this way just to tell you-" He paused to read the short message. "Oh. Congratulations."

"Your compliments would sound better if you did not speak in such a tone," Altaïr said sourly.

"I don't know what you mean," Malik said. He folded up the parchment and punched Altaïr gently on the shoulder. "Peace and fortune to you. You will be the next Old Man."

"Old Man? I am younger than you!"

Malik smirked. "Not by much."

Altaïr scowled. He retrieved the letter from Malik and sat back down on his pallet. "This changes things."

"It surely does. It is a pity that when we finally have the fidai'in of Masyaf at our backs rather than our throats, we are too far away to use them."

"This is bad timing." Altaïr shook his head. "We-I-must return as soon as possible. Syria is many weeks' journey from here."

"The Hesperides?"

"Must wait, for now."

Malik was relieved. The thought of spending another year searching for an Eden fragment that he was not sure he particularly wanted to find did not appeal. "So we'll take ship from Sale, as Shindouk suggested," he said. "Return to Masyaf, and –" He hesitated, thought for a moment and said reluctantly. "You have to go, but I do not. I could travel into the Atlas. Find the apple, and return to Syria. It might not take long."

"You would do that?"

Malik gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I do not want to," he confessed. "But it makes sense."

"I will consider it."

"I only offer what is best for the Order. I-" Malik paused as he heard sandals slapping down the corridor outside. Just one man, he thought, moving slowly. "The innkeeper?"

Altaïr nodded. He got up to open the door. The innkeeper's sandals stopped outside the door just as he slid the bolts to reveal the old man's startled face. "Your pardon, sayyid," he said to Altaïr. "I did not see you come in."

Altaïr ignored him. "You have business?" he asked.

The innkeeper looked startled. "I-yes, I do." He looked past Altaïr and caught Malik's eye. "A thousand apologies. I have another message. The two arrived together but I had mislaid this until now."

"Me?" Malik said, surprised. It was a miracle that the first letter had arrived. He had not expected a second, and he had certainly not expected it to be addressed to him. "How?"

The innkeeper held out a letter. It was even more dog-eared than Altaïr's message. "They told me to deliver it to the one-armed man."

Malik scowled. He liked to think that he had more distinguishing features than a missing arm. "Who gave it you?"

The merchant shrugged. "Same people who gave me the other one. Traders bring all of our letters." He paused to spit on the floor. "By the time they arrive, they've passed through so many hands it's a miracle if we can read them." He held up the dirty message in illustration.

Altaïr did not bother to reward the innkeeper with a coin. He took the letter with the smallest of nods and closed the door on the innkeeper as soon as the man had turned away. Wedging the letter in his sash, he bolted the door and sat back down on the pallet opposite Malik.

Malik held out his hand. "Pass it over."

Altaïr examined the creased parchment closely. He did not pass the letter to Malik. "Jerusalem's wealthiest weapons merchant must want you very badly to send a message all this way."

Malik did not understand at first. He was about to tell Altaïr that in that case it was all a horrible mistake when he realised just who the letter was from. "What?"

"That is his seal," Altaïr said, pointing at the ornate insignia of interlocked crossbows graced the parchment. "I'd heard he was dead."

Malik reached over and snatched the letter from Altaïr. He cracked the seal and unfolded the paper, holding it in such a way that Altaïr could not see the contents.

Like Altaïr's message, the letter was short.

Malik, it began.
I have heard of the troubles at Masyaf.
Malik was not surprised. Nusaybah heard of everything. She had been one of his informants during his brief tenure as dai of Jerusalem. For a short time, she had been more.
I am glad to hear that you are alive, the letter continued, if somewhat lacking in manners. It is customary to settle any debts before embarking on a journey and there is one debt you have not paid. Madj Addin's death did not count for all.
I shall be waiting in Jerusalem whenever you care to find me.
Your sister in peace,
Nusaybah.

Nusaybah's signature was large and florid, quite unlike the woman herself. The weapons' merchant's widow was small and manipulative. She had a wicked sense of humour and a taste for politics. Malik mentally cursed. He tried hard to keep his face impassive and thought he had succeeded until Altaïr linked his hands above his head, stretched and said casually. "Who is Nusaybah?"

Malik looked at Altaïr, back at the letter with its large signature, and back at Altaïr. "You have hawk's eyes," he said.

"Do not change the subject."

Malik decided to brazen it out. "She is-was-my informer in Jerusalem," he said.

Altaïr nodded. He seemed to lose all interest in the letter. Malik relaxed. He refolded the message and tucked it sash just as Altaïr looked up from a series of knuckle-cracking finger exercises and said only, "Interesting."

Malik sighed. "What is interesting?"

"The only woman I know in Jerusalem under that name-it is unusual, to be sure- is the weapon-maker's widow."

He looked thoughtful. "That would explain the seal."

Malik had not heard that Nusaybah's husband had died. "Widow?"

"Her husband Rashid ibn Sinan has been dead this last year. Or so I have heard." He cocked his head and fixed Malik with a questioning gaze. "You didn't-"

The pause was unmistakeable. "Kill him? No! I would not do that." Malik paused. "At least, not without good reason. I have never even met the man."

Altaïr shrugged. "So it is her," he said. "I remember. She seemed charming enough."

Malik remembered Nusaybah's rapier wit, her perfume and her teasing smile. "She is."

"So you admit it?"

"I admit nothing." Malik snapped.

"It is not the way of the Brotherhood to dally with informants. She could have betrayed you to the Templars."

Malik had had enough, "I am still here, am I not?" he snapped, "And whatever you think, it is not true."

"Can I read the letter? It may be of value to the Brotherhood."

Malik gritted his teeth. He was wise enough not to protest. In truth, he thought, the letter is innocent enough. He sat motionless as Altaïr read Nusaybah's untidy script and was surprised when the other Assassin handed the letter back without saying more than "Madj Addin?"

Malik shrugged. "She had common cause with the Brotherhood. Coincidence, nothing more."

"Of course," Altaïr said.

If Malik had been surprised before, he was twice as surprised now. "That's all?"

Altaïr nodded. "Yes. Now, let us rest. We should complete this journey quickly, and hurry back. No doubt the woman could use some comfort, with her husband so recently dead."

"Recently? You said it's been a year!"

"Still. No. Do not hit me. Save your strength. You will need it."

Malik scowled. "Take care that my knife does not find your back in the dark, Altaïr."

"You would miss anyway," Altaïr said, unperturbed by the threat. "But I was serious about the risks of dallying with informers. Men-and women-who can be bought once may yet be bought again. A beautiful snake is still a snake."

"It wasn't that. She wanted some favour or other."

"Ah. It is as if you are married already."

Malik ignored Altaïr's sly smile. "If you have finished," he said, "there is work to be done."

"There is still time. We do not meet with Shindouk until midday."

"Then I'm going to sleep."

"I thought you would not sleep?"

Malik was about to point out that nearly anything was preferable to Altaïr's mockery when he realised that the lingering memories of the Eden fragment horrors had very nearly faded. Altaïr's teasing, unintentional or not, had done its work well. "I was wrong."

"Frequently."

Malik did not bother to reply. He left Nusaybah's letter on the bare earth floor and settled down onto his pallet with his hand over his eyes. Through the grilled window he could hear the shouts of street traders and carters as Timbuktu opened for such business as it could muster. It was hot, but not unbearably so.

He had thought that he would never sleep again after the vision of the flaming city, but the next thing he heard was Altaïr's quiet cough and "Malik? We must go."

Malik blinked sleep from his eyes and sat up. His hand reached automatically for the hilt of his dagger. Weapons checked and ready, he poured himself another cup of water, spat out the thin dusty film that floated on the surface and brushed dust from his clothes. Altaïr was already up and fully armed. He looked rested, although Malik doubted he had slept.

They took what remained of their possessions from the dingy room and left a few coins in the middle of the floor as payment for their lodgings.

Altaïr pulled his hood up to cover his head as they walked out into the street. Malik pulled the veil he had used for desert travel up to shroud the lower part of his face. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the third tenet of the Assassins, the taqiyya, which allowed them to deny their heritage and hide in plain sight. And if it gave Assassins the reputation for being devious, then Malik did not think that it was undeserved.

They gave the Sankore a wide berth and arrived at the square Shindouk had indicated without incident. Malik hardly recognised the man, which he guessed was the point. Shindouk had dispensed with his customary clothing and had swathed himself in layers of white robes. He turned as the Assassins approached and grinned. "Welcome!"

Malik and Altaïr nodded.

Shindouk indicated a smaller bundle of white fabric beside him. "Marîd tells me that you got what you came for," he said. Evidently they were not familiar enough that pleasantries could be safely dispensed with, Malik thought. Or perhaps Shindouk was just in too much of a hurry. He nodded, surprised to find that he was glad to see the boy.

Shindouk beamed. "Good!" His cheerful demeanour had hardly altered, despite their dire situation. "We are nearly ready to go." His brow furrowed as he glanced around at the small group of camels."We have little enough to pack."

"No other men?" Altaïr asked.

Shindouk shook his head. "I would not ask it of them. It is a long way to Morocco, and would be dangerous enough even without the Kel Amenar at our heels. But Marîd tells me that you eluded the nomads."

"For now," Altaïr said.

"God wills," Shindouk said. He tightened his camel's saddle-straps and squeezed the water-skin slung under the camel's belly. The skin sloshed. Shindouk withdrew his hand, satisfied. "We are almost ready."

"When we will be ready?" Malik asked. He looked critically around at the assembled camels. All appeared equally unpleasant.

Shindouk shrugged. "Two weeks or thereabouts." His smile widened in direct disproportion to his words. "But we'll be able to go shortly. Have your brought your packs?"

Malik gestured at the small bundles that they carried. "We don't have much left. Still, we'll help, if we can."

"You have blades." Shindouk said. "That is enough."

Malik frowned. They had one sword, a dozen throwing knives and Altaïr's hidden blade between them. He did not think it was nearly enough. Maybe all the weapons they could carry would not be enough. They would have to see.

Shindouk took Malik's silence for agreement. He smiled widely and gestured to Marîd. "Bring the red one and the three-year-old for our guests. Hurry! We must mount!"

Marîd led a pair of camels forwards. Malik approached the nearest beast with trepidation. He tapped it knee and it knelt easily. He swung aboard and shifted his grip as the camel lurched to its feet. Shindouk mounted with considerably more grace. He clicked his tongue, glanced around at the square and laid the camel-stick across his beast's neck. Marîd and Altaïr mounted their own camels, and they were on their way.

They left the walls of Timbuktu behind them and walked away across the sands. There were plenty of nomads, but none with the cross-hilted swords that marked the Kel Amenar.

Of course, Malik thought, they could have just abandoned the swords.

It was an unnerving thought. They were outnumbered by an enemy which they could not easily identify. The Kel Amenar knew the territory and would no doubt recognise Malik and Altair on sight. Maybe, Malik thought, this is what the Templars feel like all the time.

He stared uneasily around as they left the city behind them and trudged up the same steep incline that Malik remembered descending so few days ago. His clothes were already sticky with sweat by the time they reached the top.

Shindouk led them by the best trails he knew. They followed unmapped paths through wild and desolate wastes of sand. As the day wore on they passed a few shepherds, and then not even that. The sands changed colour from yellow to a pale golden-green and then to the colour of dried blood. Malik tried not to think of it as an omen. He failed.

They stopped for a few hours at noon and pushed on as fast as they dared across the blazing plain. They saw other people twice in the distance: herders or travellers, but Shindouk only shook his head and led them in the opposite direction. "We don't want to stop, not even for news," he said. "In this desert, news soon gets around."

On the second day they left the rolling dunes behind and entered a salt-flat which stretched out for miles along the floor of a wide valley. The sands merged into the sky somewhere far ahead. There was no living thing in sight and certainly no Tuareg. The only enemies they met were the heat, the flies and the wind.

By the time they had crossed the salt flats Malik was half-wishing that the Tuareg would attack and put them all out of their misery. He was glad when Shindouk called a halt. Marîd unloaded the camels and took them off in the hope of finding food. The sun was near zenith by the time that he returned. Malik was fiddling with his saddle in the hope of making it a bit more comfortable and failing when Marîd sidled up. "I am sorry," he said before he had come within ten paces of Malik.

Malik was not in the mood for apologies. "Don't waste your time." he said. He wasn't sure himself what the boy was apologising for, but there was an awful lot to pick from.

The boy fidgeted. "I just wanted to ask," he said, digging at the sand with his toes, "Did you mean what you said?"

"What I said when?"

"About never being sure if you were on the right side?"

Malik sighed. He skinned his knuckle on the saddle's frame and shoved it back into place with a curse. "You shouldn't take everything I say seriously."

Marîd bowed. "But you are right," he said. "I was foolish to believe the Templars and-" He paused at the look on Malik's face. "You don't believe me?"

"Why should I? If I were in your shoes-" he paused. Yu are abandoned with the Templars. It makes sense, therefore, to ally yourself with the Assassins. No doubt once we reach Fez, you will crawl back to your Templar masters yet again."

Marîd looked hurt. "No, sidi," he said.

Malik did not believe him. He sighed. "Tell me, how did you escape the Tuareg?"

"I ran. Very fast. Then I hid in a clay pot made for water." The boy looked proud.

"A pot?"

"It was a big pot."

"Foolish, again. Never hide in a place that you cannot escape from."

The boy nodded eagerly, as if Malik was giving a lesson. "I will remember."

"Pray that you will never have to." Malik snapped, hoping that the boy would go away. It worked. Marîd shrugged and sidled off with his camels. They set off again when the day was cool enough to continue, walked into the night, set up camp, slept, rode on, stopped at noon and repeated the whole thing again. It was a simple routine.

They continued like that for two days. On the third day, Malik saw a shepherd's hut far off in the distance. He watched it until it vanished beyond the horizon and thought longingly of a time when seeing a shepherd's goat-hair tent had not been the highlight of his day.

By the fifth day, they had finished half of their water. Malik questioned Shindouk, who seemed unconcerned. "A well is very near. God willing, we shall reach it by nightfall."

"Good," Malik said.

Shindouk was right on both counts but there was nothing good about the well when they reached it. Indeed, Malik would not even have known that it was supposed to be a well. He saw only a shallow depression in the sand. Shindouk frowned at the tangle of dying thorn bushes around the pit.

"Can't we dig down?"

The Tuareg shook his head. "It may be too far. The last time I passed this was a good well. Deep, with a wooden lining. It's been filled in."

"Who would-" Marîd asked, and paused as the three men scowled. "Oh." He tugged the camels towards the dying scrub, but the beasts refused to eat.

Even Shindouk looked concerned. "I know where there is water," he said. "But we will have to make a detour."

"Let me guess-into Kel Amenar territory?" asked Altaïr.

Shindouk looked even more unhappy. "We have been in Kel Amenar territory for the best part of a day. They may attack at any time."

"Do they know of this other well?"

"Of course. Once they realise where we are heading, they shall attack much sooner. There is a spring I know two days' journey from here, beneath a rock. It will not be stopped so easily. We shall find water there, but I fear we shall find trouble much sooner." He shrugged. "It cannot be helped."

"Which way?"

Shindouk pointed to the east. "That way."

They rested for a while and set off in the new direction. Malik tried not to think of running water. It seemed that Altaïr had had the same thought, because after a while he sidled over to Malik and drew him aside. "I could use the Eden fragment," he offered.

Malik's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How?"

"It's not just the visions. It speaks to me of other things. It holds information...old maps. All kinds of-"

Malik cut him off. "Can it make water?"

" No." Altaïr said reluctantly. "But-"

"Then it's useless," Malik said sourly. "I don't-"

He broke off as the dunes all around them sprouted armed men. Malik tried to count them, but he gave up at twenty. Thirty? Too many, anyway.

The Assassins drew their swords.

The Kel Amenar shouted as one and charged.



Author's Note: Yeargh. I have nothing to say for this one. I'm in the middle of a house/job move, and I'm going to bed.
To be continued...

Comments

[nerrianah.livejournal.com]

Aaah, this was another interesting chapter to read! It was a cherry on top of the ice cream that was yesterday hehe ^_^

Once again, I love the exchange between Malik and Altaïr, the teasing, it was adorable and funny :D I also like how Malik in involuntarily taking a liking to Marîd. Im thinking along the lines of Marîd following the assassins back to Masyaf since I have a feeling Marîd likes Malik. I keep getting some sort of brotherly vibe there, ever since the conversation between them at the mosque XD

And another cliffhanger 8D *gasp*

[xahra99.livejournal.com]

Almost done now...*sigh* this has ended being a lot longer than I planned...

[nerrianah.livejournal.com]

I dont mind the length at all XD I hope you enjoy writing it as much as I enjoy reading *grins* ^_^

How did Nasr dead...?

[zoisi.livejournal.com]

Waiting your next chapter

Re: How did Nasr dead...?

[xahra99.livejournal.com]

all will soon be revealed, will update soon, glad you liked it:D