Thirteen

It was past dusk and the stars already started to spread across the sky. The bustling marketplace of Jerusalem had quieted down to an empty plaza with the exception of a few men enjoying each others' company. Further into the city was the Rich District, which held two mosques: the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa, both were situated on the famous Temple Mount, and it was not at all quiet there. The monumental Al-Aqsa had recently been relieved of its religious purposes and was now transformed into the headquarters of a newly established Crusader order. A change none of the Islamic believers was happy with.

Nervous chatter filled the dusky streets as followers of the Islam made their way home from the Temple Mount. The fact that Al-Aqsa had been seized by the Crusaders caused a situation that put most Muslim brothers and sisters on edge when they visited the neighbouring Dome of the Rock. Many of them used to visit Al-Aqsa before it was relieved of its duties and this forceful change caused obvious hostility among the parties. But one man could not be bothered in the slightest as he travelled along the grim roads; he had different matters to brood on.

The evening breeze soothingly caressed Maghrub El Mouridi's frowning face as if to ease the wrinkles out of his tired visage. He heaved a deep sigh and massaged his temple. His heart had been filled with unease ever since the appearance of the Levantine Assassin in their restaurant. His sudden intrusion had left him bathing in his own sweat and caused plenty of sleepless nights as he tried to figure out what message the Assassin wanted to convey. By the third time the Assassin visited him, Maghrub realized by the man's behaviour that he was more likely drawn to his daughter rather than recognizing him.

It was such a stupendous turn of events for the better, until he blew his own cover when he had attacked the young Assassin at Esma's window. How angry it made him only to think of his daughter and the Assassin sneaking around at night. Such inappropriate meetings in every way possible! To top that, he had given both the Assassin and his daughter a reason to become suspicious. Now Esma would attempt to interrogate him at every turn possible; how utterly annoying matters had turned out to be!

As Maghrub walked by an alleyway, he glanced into the darkened street and mused to himself that Esma should never be out on the streets at night. Thinking this, he never expected himself to be a victim of thugs. A powerful shove from behind had him staggering into the alley while tripping over his own feet. Before he was even able to shout or make any sound for that matter, a fist hard as rock buried itself in his stomach, punching all air from his lungs in a wretched wheeze. A strange noise left his lips at the impact. Not only was the punch incredibly painful, but the clawing ache lingered and throbbed as if he was struck anew every following moment. He could not help himself when he doubled forward. It was at this moment that he realized how old he had grown and how ignorant he had been to the passing of time.

A sharp blade pressed against his bare neck and Maghrub was blinded by the reflection of the moonlight on it. When he instinctively narrowed his eyes, he instantly recognized the hidden blade coming from an Assassin's brace. With the blade pushing firmly against his throat, he was forced to straighten up so his assailant could see his face. Maghrub was disgusted to recognize the young Assassin who had visited their saloon so often. Cold sweat unwillingly fell from his forehead onto the cool blade, and glistered in an ironically, serene manner given the situation.

The Assassin carried a hard stare and it was clear that he would not hesitate to slit the older man's throat if he tried anything. In this deadlock, all Maghrub could think of was how ridiculous it was that this Assassin, with his striking, amber-coloured eyes, would secretly visit his daughter in the middle of the night. Shameless! Anger and frustration made him temporarily forget the vulnerable position he was in. It was only when the Assassin started to speak, his voice impatient and snappy, that Maghrub was pulled back to reality and realized his priorities were mixed up in his consternation.

"Speak and your life might be spared," he snarled.

Maghrub's eyes trailed over the leather brace which kept him in a deadlock. A strange feeling of nostalgia overcame him and he felt oddly calm. What did he have to speak about? His involvement with The Brotherhood? Maghrub swallowed slowly and felt the dangerous coolness of the blade press firmer against his moving flesh. If he died without telling, there was a chance that no one would find out the truth. But it would be selfish to leave Esma behind… If he revealed the truth, he would have to leave town, and perhaps, being unrealistically optimistic, they could start a new life somewhere else. Having somewhat made up his mind, Maghrub croaked: "What is it you want to hear, young man?"

"You are a Templar," the young Assassin accused in such manner that Maghrub believed that his assailant found no faults in his claim.

"If you are so sure, then why ask me to speak?" Maghrub replied in a calm voice, despise his collected composure, his forehead was perspiring heavily under the death threat.

The Assassin remained silent for a few moments. Then he concluded: "So you admit to being a Templar."

"I admitted no such thing. I was simply providing you a question," Maghrub hastily said, but then hesitated, suddenly distressed over what to say next as choosing the wrong words could result in his death faster than a heartbeat. When he looked up to check if there were any guards on the rooftops, the sharp blade pushed against his throat with heeding pressure. Maghrub quickly fixed his eyes on the man in front of him again and sighed to release some of his tension. "If you must know…you must promise me you will not strike me down before I have finished my story."

"I will promise no such things," the Assassin immediately replied. "Your story does not interest me. I merely gave you a chance to explain your involvement with The Brotherhood. If you cannot give me a satisfying answer, you will simply die here." The slight movement of the white hood indicated the loss of patience of the young Assassin and Maghrub felt a strange sense of anxiety overcome him for a moment.

"You give me a chance to explain," Maghrub echoed in an attempt to calm his senses. "I will use this chance and explain to you then." The old chef inhaled deeply, his nostrils widening, and fixed his eyes on the silky, black sky where the stars were shrouded by the clouds. Maghrub painfully realized that he could soon disappear from this world too, but unlike the stars, he would not reappear. Accepting his fate, he sighed deeply. How was he to begin?

الله أكبر

The sun was at its highest peak and mercilessly shed its heat on the lone rider on the barren terrain. A place where no human hand had yet touched caused the man to be well aware of his own insignificance in the endless veldt. The dusty grind stones creaked under the heavy hooves of his horse in a rhythmic pace. Multiple times he would swipe the palm of his hand across his forehead to dry his perspiring forehead. The typical Assassin hood was pulled deeply over his eyes and provided well-enough coverage against the scorching sun. Every now and then he would grab the leather bottle at his belt and take a few frugal sips.

When he arrived at Masyaf a few hours later, he was again amazed by the robust build of the rocks that were conveniently integrated as part of the town entrance. The natural charm of the rocks were incomparable to the wooden gate built between them. They simply made the wooden entrance of the town appear pitiful; a helpless object made by man, caught between the undeniable power of nature. Two gatekeepers standing in the shade, provided by the rocks, were slacking off as the rider approached them. The clacking sound of the horse notified them of their presence and they quickly corrected their stances to come greet the man.

"Welcome back, master Al Waqqas! Peace be upon you," cried one of them. His face was as smooth as a girl's and Al Waqqas knew he could not be older than sixteen.

"Why thank you!" Al Waqqas cried with an equally loud voice and he leaped off his horse with such grace that the two boys simply grinned in excitement. The other guard, no older than twenty Al Waqqas noted, walked the horse to the stables. Al Waqqas slapped his hand on the boy's shoulder in front of him to compliment him for his good manners. "May peace be upon you as well. Keep this sharpness up, men!" Crying the term 'men' seemed misplaced, but Al Waqqas hoped he could encourage the youngsters to take themselves serious by appropriately addressing them.

Masyaf consisted of sandy paths where decrepit houses lay inhabited by citizens who were more often than not family members and acquaintances of the brothers of the Assassins' Brotherhood. The town was built on a hill; therefore the posting of the houses would gradually move up as one travelled further into the centre of Masyaf. At the top of the hill lay the Assassins' Fortress, standing out like a trophy of its town. An old woman greeted Al Waqqas with a nod. A gentle look of gratitude passed through her drooping eyes. Al Waqqas smiled and raised his hand in a quick greeting. He continued up the hill towards the fortress without stopping for chit-chat with anyone. Although Al Waqqas was a man who enjoyed chattering, he knew well to prioritize his duties as a Levantine Assassin over his personal wants.

The countless stone steps, carved and set in by locals centuries before, whirled a path to the massive gate of the fortress. The sound of clanking metal and muffled grunts resounded from the training grounds, a field of dusty gravel, encircled by worn-out pillars cut from wood. A burnish scent of iron fluttered through the air. It was an indication that some brothers were working on weapons in the back of the fortress. The majority of their supplies came from shipments, yet almost every Assassin knew how to sharpen and improve their blades on a grindstone. To Al Waqqas the brilliant odour of craft was another confirmation he had returned to his safe haven.

Quickly approaching footsteps had him look up and stop in his tracks. When he recognized the brother beyond his required Assassin's attire, a sincere smile of joviality appeared on his face. "By the Lord, if it isn't Umar!" he cried, savouring the opportunity to raise his voice as much as he desired within these safe walls. Umar, a man tall in height and with eyes sharp as that of an eagle, was not the kind of person to show his emotions as Al Waqqas did. Perhaps it was this difference that made them appreciate each other even more.

"Safety and peace upon you, Saad." Umar smiled and slapped his hand on the other man's strong shoulder. "It is good to see that the Lord has aided you in your mission. Your role within The Brotherhood is a difficult one."

"Difficult is nothing when you have the right mindset, brother," Saad replied with a gentle smile. "How have you been?"

"I've been well," Umar answered, and he seemed genuinely at peace. Then he frowned, realizing he was interrupting his friend and urged: "You should continue to Al Mualim to report your findings. I am not to keep you any longer."

"You are not keeping me at all, friend!" Saad laughed heartily. He returned the pat on Umar's shoulder and decided to ask one final question before leaving. "How is your boy? Is he improving?"

The question brought a curling smile full of pride on Umar's face. "He's full of ambition, just like his mother."

"I've seen his eyes. They are like the eyes of a wolf, always watching his prey." Saad stopped when he realized his comparison might be offensive. Nevertheless, Umar kept an expression that gave no doubt about his sincere like towards his friend. Relieved, Saad continued, "The sharpness he has inherited from you, I am sure. He must also be the kind of person to never let his guard down. Am I right?"

"You give him too much credit," Umar answered with a chuckle. "If he were to hear it he would think the world of himself and stop striving to improve."

"He is not here," Saad refuted with a friendly smile. "It is alright to be praised for remarkable talent, Umar. It will only motivate him to excel." He mumbled the latter to himself, approving the impression the boy had left on him.

الله أكبر

The stillness of the night was interrupted by heavy breathing of two men. The white of Altaïr's attire was as a ghostly appearance in the alleyway. He had the older man pinned down with his hidden blade, but the hostile pressure he had issued on it before had diminished.

"By the Lord," Maghrub panted and his brows knitted together in a highly perturbed frown. In an astounded state his widened eyes searched for familiarities in Altaïr's, where he found, in spite of the man's usual dispassion, a look of astonishment. "You… Don't tell me you are Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad!"

"Shush!" Altaïr bit aggressively, his eyes flared in annoyance. He hesitated for a moment, then withdrew his hidden blade. Keeping a close watch on the older man's movement, he asked: "You are Saad Al Waqqas?"

"I am Saad Al Waqqas," Maghrub confirmed in a low voice. He rubbed his throat gently, feeling the tension leave his body now that he knew who the young Assassin was. He looked up to the sky for a moment and wondered why fate had brought them together. When he looked at Altaïr again he saw that the young man had his side turned to him. Maghrub wondered whether turning a more vulnerable side to him was Altaïr's way of saying that he did not view him as an enemy anymore. Despite the desire to leave the dirty alleyway and go home now that the misunderstanding had been cleared up, Maghrub stayed. "How is Umar doing?" The intensity in his eyes showed how important the answer of the question was going to be for him.

Altaïr's fingers twitched and then clenched into fists. His face was absolutely straight when he spoke: "He was killed fourteen years ago."

Maghrub was shocked and could only stare at Altaïr. Killed? A great man as Umar? This fact struck him hardly possible and he was almost inclined to ask Altaïr if he was certain that Umar was no longer among them. He was having an inner debate whether to ask Altaïr to elaborate on his cause of death or not when the young man spared him the pondering by speaking:

"I have heard about you. Saad Al Waqqas was the famous Master Spy of The Brotherhood." He was quiet for a moment, as if he couldn't quite accept yet that the renowned Saad Al Waqqas was this withered, old man before him. His eyes quickly dropped to Maghrub's fingers, all ten of them. "I think you left one year before he died."

It took Maghrub a second to realize that Altaïr was talking about Umar. Shreds of memories of his life as a spy between the Templars and the Assassins returned to him and he recalled the painful events in his last moments as an Assassin. He suddenly felt light in his head and put a hand to the wall behind him not to stagger. Ashamed by his weak display he cleared his throat and said: "Your father was a very dear friend to me. Even though it pains me to hear he is no longer on this earth, I am not worried for his soul as he was an honourable man."

Altaïr neither agreed nor disagreed. His face was unreadable, almost as if he were uninterested in hearing about his father. Maghrub took this as a cue to leave and he slightly lowered his head in a polite greeting.

"I wish you luck, son of Umar. May the Lord be on your side in your missions." Suddenly he remembered how Umar's son had visited his daughter at her window and he felt a strange sense of responsibility overcome him. Should he support their interest for each other and bring their children together? What would Umar say if he were still alive? Maghrub suddenly felt lonely. Despite that Umar had already been gone for fourteen years, hearing the news only now made it feel like he had just been taken away. He looked at Altaïr once more. It was hard to tell what kind of man his son had become. The most important years of his life he had grown up an orphan…probably under Al Mualim's wings. Then, in a snap he realized how foolish his thoughts were. He couldn't possible let Esma get involved with The Brotherhood after everything her mother had gone through because of him being an Assassin! Was he trying to bring her the same fate as her mother? Maghrub shook his head, cursing his own stupidity. The least he could do to respect wishes was to keep Esma from harm's way.

"Saad Al Waqqas," Altaïr said, surprising Maghrub with his harsh voice yet formal way of addressing him, "are you going to leave Jerusalem?"

Maghrub looked at Altaïr, at his strong shoulders and his scarred lip. The boy from the past had fully grown into a man, he thought warmly and without realizing it, a fulfilled smile appeared on his bearded face. "Yes. I have no choice."

Beta reader: Novoux (- amazing beta-reader. How fortunate I am to have her!)

Author notes: Only 1,5 month to update this time! Yes, yes, I know it's probably not very fast compared to other fics on , but I just didn't have quite as much time to work on it. Slightly shorter chapter than the last 5 chapters where I kept a word count around the 5k.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless. Hope you are all doing well and enjoying the upcoming summer! Even in a rainy country as mine the sun is finally showing itself! The sun supposedly makes people feel better, so if you do feel more upbeat, be sure to share it with people! :D