Ficbit/story: Stone, Ground. Mountain, River, for caroline

[communi_kate]

Title: Stone, Ground, Mountain. River.
Fandom: Assassin's Creed.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: No.
Warnings: Innuendo.
Summary: This fic started out as a AC ficbit written for caroline for the prompt: A ficbit from the pov of one of the first female Assassin recruits. Should feature the recruit wondering why the guy with one arm keeps hanging around her teacher and have Marid appearing at some point.

I have no idea how I ended up writing a 3500 word short story based around a dick joke. 

Stone, Ground, Mountain, River.

An Assassin's Creed fan fiction by xahra99

"Stone, ground, mountain, river; each has a secret way of being with the mystery, unique and not to be judged."

-Jalal-al-Din Muhammad Rumi.

 

"The trouble with you girls," Nusaybah said without looking up from the tea that she was pouring, "is that you can't think for yourself."

Asma watched the tea splash into the engraved glass. She blushed and spoke quickly to cover the shame that flushed her cheeks. "Forgive me, but I was reckoned one of the best students at Masyaf. That's why they sent me to you."

Nusaybah nodded as she passed Asma a drink. She pushed her hair back from her face and regarded the younger woman with dark and sympathetic eyes. "That's why you're here, yes, but that's not all. Independent thought is not something they teach at Masyaf. That is the real reason why you're here." She smiled. "It's something you can learn."

Asma took a sip. The tea was sweet but she was no wiser. "So that's what you're teaching me? How to think?"

Nusaybah smiled. "Yes. No doubt you think me a little odd."

Asma shook her head politely. She had spent a week with Nusaybah in the house near Jerusalem's Bab Ourika Gate. In this time she had learned many things; most of them random and all of them puzzling. Nusaybah had asked Asma to identify the one true diamond in a handful of glass beads. She had taken her up on the roof to observe the stars and down into the market to estimate the value of the clothes of every man that passed them by. Asma had thrown knives into a painted target. She had memorised the order of objects on a carved Chinese tray and picked the heavy lock on Nusaybah's front door.

Asma knew that her training with Nusaybah was not going as well as she had hoped. What she could not guess was how on earth the older woman's teachings would possibly make her a better Assassin.

It was a far cry from the relentless routine of Masyaf.

Nusaybah held out the silver pot. "More tea?"

Asma shook her head.

Nusaybah smiled and poured herself another glass. "Don't look so worried. You girls are special. You'll do things Altaïr's fidai'in could never hope to dream of. Besides," she added, "you might as well throw pebbles in a well as teach a man subtlety. The new Master is trying to improve that but he has a long way to go. Diving on a man in full view of spectators and stabbing him in the throat may well be dramatic, but it is not exactly subtle."

 Asma looked up in surprise. "Isn't it traditional?" she suggested.

Nusaybah snorted. "It may be. But the Templars know what to expect of us by now-or they think that they do. We must act in ways our enemies do not expect. I have every intention of seeing that they do not expect you."

Asma nodded, but she didn't understand. She wanted with all her heart to succeed, but she had no idea what Nusaybah expected of her in return. She bowed her head, staring at the intricate designs on the carpet as she tried to blink back tears.

Nusaybah held out a china dish filled with saffron sugar wafers. "Try a sweet," she invited. "They're quite delicious."

Asma timidly took a wafer and laid it on her tongue. It burst in her mouth like sunlight, cheering her for a moment. Nusaybah sighed, put the bowl down and held out a hand to Asma. "I'll explain," she said again. "Follow me."

Together they walked over to the window. Nusaybah knelt on the window cushions and wrapped her long fingers around the carved wooden mashrabiya grille. She pointed through the mashrabiya at the bustling market-day crowds and turned to Asma. "Look down there," she commanded. "What do you see?"

Asma gazed out over the streets. She saw nothing but the crowds of shoppers on their way to and from the bazaar. Children screamed and men shouted hoarse commands as their wives fingered piles of plump oranges and discussed the latest gossip with their friends. It was the same view Asma saw every day. She mentioned this to Nusaybah, who shook her head impatiently and jabbed one bejewelled finger at the cobbles. "Do you see that woman over there?"

Asma squinted through the mashrabiya at the beggar woman who sat in a nest of crumbled rags wedged into the base of a long-disused doorway. "Of course. She's there every day."

Nusaybah nodded. "Half of Jerusalem walks past that lady every day. How many stop to give her coins?"

Asma hesitated. She had never seen anybody give the woman any money. "Very few."

"Sadly for her," "Nusaybah said, "you're right. Many people pass her by, but few stop to look. That's what I want you to learn, Asma."  

Asma stared at Nusaybah incredulously. Her family scraped a humble existence in the hills above Masyaf, but even Asma's clan had been far above this lowly beggar woman. "You're training me to beg?"

Nusaybah shook her head so violently that her earrings tinkled in a sudden blizzard of sound. "Of course not. You'll mix with the highest rulers of this land. You might play the part of a poetess, a serving girl or a noble yourself. Whatever happens, though, you can't rely on brute strength to save your life like the fidai'in do. You'll have only your wits and your charm to assist you."She shrugged, causing another cascade of tinkling music. "And your blade."

Asma stole another glance at the ragged beggar woman through the window grille. Nusaybah followed her gaze. She pulled a silver coin from a pouch at her belt, snaked her slender hand through the mashrabiya and tossed the coin down to the beggar. The woman caught the coin with an agility that belied her ragged and aged appearance and instantly glanced around for its source. Her thin face lifted towards the window like a flower seeking the sun. Asma drew back even though she knew she could not be seen behind the mashrabiya. She watched as the woman bit the coin's edge to test its purity and slipped it into the grimy folds of her cloak.

"The beggar girl's a good example, but she's not exactly what I have in mind for you," Nusaybah said. "She's a crow. You'll be a beautiful parrot-one that hides the heart and talons of a falcon beneath your bright feathers and honeyed tongue." She looked critically at Asma's plain white tunic and plucked disapprovingly at the red sash that marked her as one of the Assassin order. "This reminds me. We'll have to find you some suitable clothes. What were they thinking?"

Asma looked down at her white robes. They were nearly identical to the ones worn by the male Assassin novices. "They're the best clothes I've ever had," she said truthfully, not mentioning that   they were the only new clothes she had ever owned-every other item of clothing in her family being passed through the hands of two elder sisters before Asma had ever got the chance to wear it.

"You'll have better," Nusaybah said dismissively. "Of course, that's men for you. They-"

But whatever gem of wisdom she had been about to impart to Asma was forgotten as they both heard quiet footsteps in the corridor outside. The footsteps were followed by a soft knock on the door.

"Lady?" called Munya, Nusaybah's maid. "Your teacher's here."

Nusaybah turned her head gracefully in the direction of the shuttered door. "Show him in," she called "I'll meet him in the courtyard." She turned back to Asma. "My apologies. I have an appointment which I must not break. I trust that you will be comfortable here until my return. I don't think I will be long."

Asma bowed deeply in reply, slightly surprised that Nusaybah had bothered to explain herself to a novice and even more surprised that there was anything left for Nusaybah to learn. "But you-" she blushed. "You don't need to learn, surely."

Nusaybah smiled. "Every teacher must study themselves. Or they should," she added, almost as an afterthought. She stopped Asma with a gesture as the younger woman began to clear the tea glasses. "Don't do that. You're not a servant. I'll send Munya up to keep you company. We will continue your lessons when I return. Ma'asalaama. "

Asma bowed again. "Ma'asalaama." She held the pose until Nusaybah had left the chamber, then straightened up and looked around the room for entertainment. A backgammon set lay discarded in one corner -learning backgammon had been one of Asma's earlier lessons-and an embroidered copy of the Qur'an on a small table by the door. Both seemed odd pastimes for an Assassin.

She heard voices drifting up from the courtyard, followed by a familiar thudding sound that Asma recognised as a knife hitting heavy wood. She tensed instinctively, expecting a fight, but Nusaybah's voice, though indistinct, seemed pleasant and relaxed. 

Her curiosity provoked, Asma tried the door and found that it was unlocked. She left both backgammon board and Qur'an where they lay and pushed the door gently open. The well-oiled hinges did not make a sound.

Asma slipped her sandals off and left them inside the door. She crept barefoot out into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind her.

Nusaybah's house was built upon traditional lines; three storeys arranged around a central courtyard. The rooms were connected by a balconied stairwell that wound around the inner walls of the old building like a snake carved from cedar wood. Nusaybah's study was on the second floor. The door opened directly onto the balcony and a low grille, carved from the same polished wood as the mashrabiya window grilles, shielded Asma from sight of the courtyard. She heard the sound of a weighted knife thudding into a wooden target as she crept to the railing and peered down.

A man's voice floated up to her; sharp and slightly impatient. "There are four things to concentrate upon when you throw a knife."

"I find that I have forgotten these four points." Nusaybah's voice was quiet and throaty. "Do remind me."

"I have told you many times." The male voice grew a little more impatient. "I cannot understand-"

"I do apologise," Nusaybah replied. Her tone did not sound in the least apologetic. "Please show me again. I fear I have forgotten what it means to wield a blade."

"Look!" Asma heard the sound of steps on the tiled courtyard below her. She craned her neck to see and caught a blurred glimpse of Nusaybah's robes. "There are four elements to a good throw. The first is grip; the second wrist action. The third element is finger action and the fourth is the release itself. I have no idea why this is so complicated."

Asma heard another thud. The balcony vibrated beneath her with the force of the throw. She inhaled sharply under the cover of her teacher's reply. "I really don't know why it's so hard." Nusaybah said, and snickered.

"It should not be so! I-" The man paused. "You know that there is someone up there." The brief sentence was framed as a question but Asma knew that it wasn't.

Nusaybah's voice was as bland as rice porridge. "Is there?"

Asma's skin prickled. She knew she hadn't made a sound, unless you counted that indrawn breath. But she had learned that there was no use hiding once you were discovered. She got up slowly, brushed the dust of the floor from her robe and leant over the balcony.

The mingled scent of jasmine and fresh cedar shavings drifted up from the courtyard. Nusaybah smiled up at Asma from below. Despite her recent exertions, she looked as flawless as ever. Not one hair was out of place.

The man was right below Asma, his single arm raised in the action of pulling a short-bladed throwing knife from one of the staircase's supporting pillars. He looked up at her with dark serious eyes and yanked the blade from the wood with one smooth gesture.   "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"She's one of Altair's new recruits," Nusaybah interjected with a smile.

The man did not smile. "I know what she is. I did not ask that. What is she doing here?"

The long silence that followed stretched out around Asma like a desert. The words stuck in her throat.

"Why, I imagine that she is spying, Malik." Nusaybah said lightly. "What else?"

Asma could have melted into a small puddle of water at the mention of the name. She recognised the man now. All of the novices had heard of Malik al-Sayf, and several of the lazier students wished they hadn't. Despite her embarrassment, she found the time to be slightly impressed that her teacher was receiving lessons from the second-in-command of Masyaf himself.

"You should teach her better." Malik wiped the throwing knife on his robe and laid it down in a line of identical throwing knives set out ready for use on the rim of the fountain. "I thought that you were teaching her how to pass unnoticed. That I noticed her reflects badly on you."

Asma blushed in shame. She had not meant to fail Nusaybah so early in her training.

Nusaybah looked unruffled. She laughed.  "Maybe. But we each have different ways of teaching. She is curious, which is not a bad thing, and I did not order her to stay within the room. She is free to watch if she wishes. She may even learn a thing or two."

"That," Malik said precisely, "is your job. What are you teaching her?"

Nusaybah shrugged. "Oh, this and that. She is a good student, even if she thinks my lesson plans rather unorthodox."

"She is not the only one," the man murmured. His voice sharpened. "If she is a good student, then you would do well to learn from her."

"A poor teacher always blames his student," Nusaybah retorted, with a sweet smile which seemed to catch the man by surprise. He snorted but said nothing, and Asma realised that their argument was nothing to do with her, that it was a discussion that they'd had many times before.

The realisation came with a dizzying rush of relief. She clutched the balcony with both hands to keep from toppling. Nusaybah did not think her hopeless! She had actually praised Asma, and to no less a person than the right hand man of Altaïr himself. She wondered what her fellow novices would think of that, and wondered so hard that she did not hear Nusaybah's next comment until it was nearly over.

"Asma, come down here. I want to show Malik how my girls compare with his fidai'in."

Asma swallowed past the lump in her throat. She nodded to Nusaybah and descended the stairs to the courtyard in her stocking feet, her heart growing heavier with each step. Nusaybah met her at the bottom and handed her a knife. "Try for the pillar," she commanded.

The familiar feel of the wooden handle in her hand steadied Asma. She walked softly across the courtyard to the fountain, tapped the hilt of the knife against her thumb for a second, turned and threw. The knife hissed through the air like a steel serpent and buried itself two fingers' deep in the pillar next to Malik. He did not move an inch. "Impressive," he said. 

Nusaybah pushed the line of knives out of the way and sat down upon the rim of the fountain. "Your fidai’in could do no better," she said. "Shall I suggest a match?"

Malik shook his head. He wrenched the knife from the pillar and slid it into his red Assassin's sash. "My fidai'in are not coming near your girls until they have been better trained," he said.

"Why not?" Nusaybah asked.

"They need no distractions," Malik snarled with a vehemence that Asma did not feel was justified given the situation. She looked back at Nusaybah, who just smiled. "What sort of a distraction could we be?" she asked.

"I have no idea," Nusaybah said swiftly, before Malik could answer.

"You know exactly what sort of distraction," Malik said from the other side of the courtyard.

Nusaybah tilted her head. "Do I? I have no idea why they would be so easily distracted." Her voice, which had been more or less serious throughout the whole counter, turned teasing. Her posture, which even to Asma's eyes had been ruthlessly businesslike throughout the whole encounter, became rather more fluid. Flirtatious, Asma thought.

Malik coughed and looked away. Asma looked from the Assassin to Nusaybah and then back to Malik. Neither of them said anything. As the silence stretched out between then Asma felt an idea burst into her head like the rising sun.

Asma swallowed as a great deal of the previous conversation began to make sense. She turned to Nusaybah. "Are you-?" 

For the second time that day a conversation was interrupted by an abrupt knock at the door.  

Nobody moved to answer the knock. It came again, this time with more force. Asma moved towards the door instinctively.

"Don't answer it," Nusaybah said. "Munya will be here in a moment. You're not a servant, girl."

Asma ignored her mistress. She was the closest and the most junior and it made sense to her that she should answer the door. The metal was cold against her hand as she slipped the bolt and swung the front door wide.

Outside she saw a scruffy boy of her own age in the white robes of a fidai'i, his hand already raised to knock again as she eased the door open. He was looking down as if he did not expect to be answered so soon. His hand, as he straightened, nearly touched Asma's breast. Asma stepped back just in time and the boy swallowed.

She was exactly the same height as him; she realised, and as the sun caught his face, a year or two older, too.  

"Hello," she said. "I'm Asma. And you are?"

"Nobody of importance," Malik said from behind her as he materialised from the cool depths of the courtyard as soundlessly as a sand-demon and so suddenly that he made Asma jump. "As-salaam, Marîd. What do you want?"

"Marîd!" Nusaybah exclaimed from behind Asma. "We're having a lesson. Care to join in?" 

The boy blinked and looked up at Asma through lashes as long as a camel's. "Yes. Of course. I mean-"

"No," Malik said instantly. "Wait outside. I will be along in a moment."

Nusaybah pouted. "Your Creed does not forbid you to mix with women," she said reprovingly. "What's the harm-?"

"Where do I start?" Malik snapped as the boy slunk off. "I can think of more than a dozen reasons why it would be a very bad idea."

"Really?" Nusaybah looked interested. "Pray tell."

"I am not getting into this discussion now!"

"That's a pity," Nusaybah said, and sounded like she meant it. "Are you leaving so soon? There's nothing that I enjoy more than a good-" She paused and ran her tongue around lips that were tinged suspiciously red despite the Prophet's ban on cosmetics. "Debate."

Malik, who was already half-out of the door, turned."Rest assured," he said dryly. "I will be back."

"Oh, I know it," Nusaybah said calmly. "Be gone, then. Doubtless there is some small Assassin task waiting."

The other Assassin looked at her for a long moment before he shook his head. Asma could have sworn that she saw a small smile fighting around the corners of his mouth. She thought he would speak but he just shook his head again and closed the door firmly behind him.

Nusaybah clicked her tongue- whether in irritation or amusement Asma couldn't tell-and led Asma back to the centre of the courtyard and the ring of throwing knives. "Well done," she said when they reached the fountain.

Asma shook her head. "I don't understand," she confessed.

"You held your own," Nusaybah began to roll up the knives. "I love dearly to see Malik disconcerted, and you accomplished that with ease. I would love to see you when you're older. You'll be one of the first female Assassins, and the most respected. I will see to that, "Nusaybah smiled, "I guarantee it. After all, don't we exist to open the minds of men?" She sighed. "It's just a pity that they can be so dense. But don't worry. I have plans for you. We'll take steps the Templars don't expect-and maybe the Assassins as well."  

"Will we?" Asma asked eagerly.

Nusaybah's smile widened. "I guarantee it," she said.