The Word of God and the Treasures of Wisdom

An Assassin's Creed fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Nine.

We're dead, Malik thought.
There was no point in running. There was nowhere to run to. Blue-robed men were everywhere, backed by yellow desert. Malik drew a knife. The blade looked pathetically small in his hand.

Four men against thirty, he thought. No; two men, a boy and an old man. Even an idiot would know that those are not good odds.

He reined his camel back and glanced around for Altaïr. The other Assassin had not moved. Metal glinted in his hand, but it was not a blade. "What are you doing?"

Altaïr cupped the Eden fragment more tightly. "I think I can use it!"
Malik's camel shied. He cursed and yanked it into a tight circle. "So did Al Mualim! Look how he ended up! Draw your damn sword!"
"Would you rather die? How can this get worse?"
Malik opened his mouth to protest. He thought for a moment before he closed it again. Assassin warfare was effectively lethal, but it was useless while outnumbered by well armed men in an area without cover.

Altaïr said nothing else. As the Tuareg galloped towards them he steadied his camel and held the Eden fragment above his head. The metal sphere gleamed in the sun and opened like a flower.

If the gleam of sunlight on its silver case had been bright, then the light inside the globe itself was blinding. Malik cursed. He let go his hold on the camel's reins to shield his eyes. For a moment, he could have sworn that he could see the bones of his hand underneath his skin. The sound of charging men and camels dimmed and the light faded. Malik opened his eyes cautiously. The globe was still bright, but it faded as he watched it. His stomach lurched as he remembered the Tuareg and turned with knife in hand to stare.

The nomads were petrified, as motionless as insects trapped in amber. They were close enough that he could make out the gleam of saliva on the bared teeth of the camels, or the straining tendons in a man's wrist as he lifted his heavy blade.

The Eden fragment clicked closed.

The Tuareg roared and came to life.

Malik flinched despite himself. He gripped his knife so tightly that the metal rivets on the handle dug into his flesh. He had thought that the globe had frozen their enemies for more than a moment. We should have run while we had the chance, he thought, but had barely time to consider the idea before the Kel Amenar screamed like hunting eagles and turned on each other.

The nearest nomad was no more than ten camel-strides away. Eyes rolling, he dropped his reins and swung his sword wildly at something that was not there. The blade bit deeply into the chest of the man next to him. The wounded man roared and stabbed his opponent in the thigh. Both men tumbled from their camels. A moment later they clawed to their feet and continued their fight on the ground. Their camels loped on for a few paces until a stray beast slammed into them. All three camels went down in a tumble of spit and broken legs. They were close enough that the spray of sand should have touched the travellers, but Malik felt nothing. Two of the three camels shook their heads and limped away. They passed one on either side on the small group of travellers, without even seeming to see them. It was as if they were not even there.
Around them, the Tuareg tore each other apart.

Malik looked frantically around. He was relieved to see that the madness did not seem to have spread to the travellers. Altaïr still held the orb high. His face was invisible beneath his hood. Marîd's face was pale and slick with sweat. Shindouk's expression was unreadable. Their camels shifted skittishly but made no attempt to run. Malik thought that they were either more sensible or far more stupid than he had thought.

Shindouk shook his head. "They fight like demons," he muttered.

Malik turned his gaze back to the battle. He could not disagree. Only seven men still stood. The Kel Amenar fought fiercely, without any regard for self-protection. Malik watched a man who had just taken a sword in the gut wrap his hands around his opponent's neck and squeeze until the man's eyes filled with blood. Once the man had sunk to the floor the Tuareg wrapped his bare hands around the sword that impaled him. He yanked out three feet of steel slick with gore and waved it in the air. Another man stabbed him in the back with a long dagger and he went to his knees with a howl. The sand around his feet darkened with blood.

Malik watched it all. The slaughter sickened him. He had killed many men, but this was different. Assassin kills were quick. This was not.

It was a soldier's way to respect suffering, so Malik watched the Kel Amenar murder each other until there were only a few left. He watched as the last nomad left standing held up his left hand and stared at his splayed fingers for a long moment before he severed each digit one after another. When every finger on his hand rolled on the floor he reversed the blade and drove it into his chest up to the hilt. The sword stuck up like a flagpole from his ribs as he tumbled to the floor and Malik turned his gaze away.

A wide circle of clean sand surrounded the caravan. The sand inside the circle was marked only with footprints. The dunes outside the ring were strewn with bloody corpses.

Shindouk sat on his camel and regarded the dead men without a word. Next to him, Marîd emptied his stomach onto the sands. Altaïr had lowered the Eden fragment. He cradled it in his hands as if in prayer; looking like the monk he sometimes pretended to be.

"Altaïr!" Malik snapped.

The other Assassin did not answer. The orb in his hands dimmed. Flecks of light rippled along the engravings that pitted its surface.

Malik cursed. He jabbed his camel in the ribs until it sidled up to Altaïr, reached out and touched Altaïr's arm."Altaïr?"

He only brushed Altaïr's arm lightly, but the other Assassin slumped and toppled to the side. Malik grabbed for his sleeve, but he was half a second too late. His fingers closed on empty air. Altaïr landed on his face in the sand and lay motionlessly. The Eden fragment rolled away.

Malik jumped from his camel without bothering to force it to kneel. His curses increased in both imagination and number as he placed his good hand on Altaïr's shoulder and pulled. Altaïr's body was a dead weight. He had to adjust his grip and try again. This time he succeeded. Once he had Altaïr lying on his back he placed his palm over Altaïr's mouth and felt the movement of air upon his skin.

Malik held out his hand behind him without bothering to look around. "Water."

There was a pause before a water bag sailed over his shoulder and landed with a thud on the sand in front of him. To Malik's surprise it was not Shindouk who had thrown it, but Marîd. The youth's face was olive-pale, but he nodded at Malik as he wiped his hand across his mouth.

Malik nodded back, loosened the stopper on the flask and upended it across Altaïr's face. The other Assassin spluttered. His right hand came up to brush water from his eyes. Malik exhaled. "So," he said. "You're alive."

Altaïr's first words were more gasp than speech. "The Apple?"

Malik sighed and looked around. He saw the Eden fragment half-buried in the sand an arm's length away. All the light had vanished from the globe. It looked dull, and surprisingly ordinary. One of Shindouk's tethered camels lowered its head and sniffed at the orb. The brief touch of its velvet nose seemed to have no effect, but when the camel's long grey tongue curled out to lick the orb a tiny spark alighted on its muzzle and it jerked its head up as if it had been stung.

Malik got to his feet. He pushed the camel away and scooped the globe up in a fold of his robe, thinking all the while that no man was meant to meddle with such things. He would have hurled away into the sands, but he knew from bitter experience that such things had a way of being found. Could it ever be destroyed? Burned, maybe? Buried? He did not know.

He wrapped the Eden fragment in his sash and knelt down beside Altaïr. "What was that?"

Altaïr had pushed himself to a seated position, but his face was pale. Malik handed his the remnants of the bottle of water and he drank before he replied. "I did not mean..."Anguish hissed between his teeth, "I was trying to conceal us."

"You failed." Malik said pitilessly.

"I know."

Malik sighed. "I should not have let you do it."

Altaïr scowled with a touch of his old fire. "It was not your decision to make."

"And I doubt it was yours. That cursed orb-"

"I had thought to make illusions..." Altaïr paused. He wiped a slug of blood from his nose and only succeeded in smearing it more widely across his face. "I-I did not know it could do that."

Malik only shook his head. They stared out across the field of corpses. Flies buzzed in the heat. The blood that stained the sands was already beginning to clot. Exposed flesh and muscle curled and dried in the sun.

"You asked me to remind you what use the orb was," Altaïr said after a while.
Malik shook his head. "Don't remind me. I can remember for myself." The dead were already beginning to smell. He fought the urge to vomit and succeeded. Behind him, Marîd retched again.
"Magic?" Shindouk asked quietly.

"In truth," Altaïr said, "I do not know."

The old Tuareg nodded. He looked like he was considering taking his chances with the remnants of the Kel Amenar. "So this is what you were searching for."

Marîd wiped his mouth. "That was what was hidden in the mosque?"

Malik nodded.

"It is enough to make me wish I had never pointed you to the Sankore," Shindouk said bitterly.

"You were right." Altaïr glanced at the corpses before he turned his gaze back to their travelling companions. "After all, we found it there."
"I do not often regret being right," Shindouk said. He had pulled his veil across his face; now he tucked it beneath his chin so that they could all see his expression. "They would have killed us, but this-"
"Will they chase us now?" Malik asked practically. Gazing round at the slaughtered corpses, he had visions of a blood feud that spread to involve the whole continent.

Shindouk's smile twisted. "Nobody will dare chase us now."

Altaïr nodded slowly. "They would not. Such devastation-" His gaze sharpened and he wrenched his head around to stare at Malik. "The Apple could certainly have caused the holocaust in the vision!"

Malik did not particularly want to remember the vision. He nodded.

Shindouk's eyes flicked to Altaïr and then to Malik. "Visions? As well as all this, the orb...gives you visions?"
Malik nodded. "It shows the future."
The old Tuareg's face sharpened into curiosity. "What did you see?"
"Nothing good," Malik told him.
Shindouk nodded as if he understood. Maybe he even did. "Ah. Then my curiosity comes to an end here. I do not wish to know. "

Malik wished that he did not. "Very wise."

"We are alive. If those others are not it is because God wished it so." The old Tuareg's head swivelled to take in the scene of devastation that surrounded them. "You must have wondrous things to do so that he would spare your lives at the expense of so many others."
"Should we bury them?" Marîd asked uncertainly.

Malik knew the answer, but he left it to Shindouk to reply. Assassins did not bury their kills. Other people did it for them. "No. There are too many and it is too hot. We cannot spare the water. The sand will cover them. Leave them here. There are worse graves." He brushed a fly from his face. "We should leave. It is not wise to linger around dead men."

Malik sighed. He took the water-skin from Altaïr and shook it, but it was empty. His throat was already beginning to burn. "You still wish to travel with us?"

There was a long pause before Shindouk nodded.

"Why?" Altaïr asked bluntly. As Malik cursed under his breath he continued. "Many men would speak of witchcraft. Of magic. I assure you that these orbs are nothing of the sort."

"I care not what it is, only that it saved my life," Shindouk said pragmatically. "I would still travel with you, if you are willing."

"And the orb?"

"Keep it if you like. But I may reconsider my decision to travel with you if you use it again."

"I think we are all agreed on that," Malik said between gritted teeth. "We sought the orbs for protection, not to turn them to our own ends."

"They bear further study," Altaïr protested.

Malik saw both guide and camels walking away in his mind's eye. "Altaïr," he said, "be silent."

The other Assassin's eyes narrowed. "You will see reason."

"I have seen what it can do!" Malik snapped. "And I tell you that you are a fool if you want any part of it!"

"I am your Master." Altaïr said quietly.

"So was Al Mualim, and I went against his wishes. And if you think I will stand by while you meddle with forces you do not understand, you are sorely mistaken. I would kill you myself rather than see you become like the Old Man!"

"You could try-"

"Peace!" Shindouk shouted. Malik looked up through a fence of knobbly camel legs as the Tuareg wheeled his camels. "There will be no more talk of killing. It is a long way to Morocco and our agreement still stands. We will not get far by arguing. Let us find water. Our tempers will all be improved. And let us leave this cursed place."

Malik subsided. He held out the orb, still wrapped in his sash, and Altaïr took it from him and tucked it in his robe. He swung himself aboard his camel and they left the killing field behind.

For days, they saw nothing else. The flies and the heat and the endless plains of gravel or salt or saffron-hued sand blended one into each other. They camped beneath salt-bushes and stumpy acacias and filled their water-skins with brackish water that tasted of gravel and rotting plants.

Shindouk was right. It was a long way to Morocco.

It gave Malik time to think.

The slaughter of the Kel Amenar had done nothing to endear the Eden fragments to him. The sight of the murdered men lying in the sand haunted his mind. The burning city's spires merged with his memories, and the flames cast their lurid light over street over street of corpses.

If Altaïr had caused the deaths of so many people simply by attempting to create an illusion that would allow them to pass in safety, what could somebody do with real malice? Real power? What could de Sable have done? What would the Templars do?

He still had no answers when they reached the oasis of Sijilmasa. Shindouk pitched a tent and they stayed there for a few days to give the camels time to graze. Shindouk scouted around the other caravans camped there, gossiping with the other Tuareg guides while he planned the safest route to Fez. Altaïr haunted the tent restlessly: impatient as a leashed hawk to reach Masyaf. He kept the Apple hidden, and spoke rarely.

Malik wandered besides the narrow irrigation channels of water that the oasis' few farmers had dug to carry water to their date trees. He saw none of it. In his mind's eye he saw the city burning. He saw the pale towers of Masyaf and the stone walls of Jerusalem and the red cross of the Templars spreading over all like a plague. He recalled Nusaybah's dark eyes, and he shifted uncomfortably.

Jerusalem and Masyaf to the east, he thought. Fez to the north. And west lies the Hesperides, and the third Eden fragment... and the Templars.

It was an unsettling thought. Malik tried to conjure up the image of Nusaybah again, without success.

He did not want to search for the third orb. He wanted to return to the company of his brothers in the civilised East. He could watch the Templars from the towers of Masyaf, in safety and comfort.

He knew that he would not.

Malik sighed and returned to the tent. Shindouk had pitched camp a short walk from the centre of the oasis; close enough to see the date-palms but not close enough to annoy the farmers. Camels milled around the black goat-hair awning and left two-toed tracks in the sand. Malik ducked inside. The tent was open to the wind on three sides but the air was close and humid. Altaïr sat with his back against the central tent-pole; cleaning his knives. He looked up as Malik approached. "Shindouk says it's going to rain."

Malik sighed with relief. He was glad to be back in a place where it rained. "We need to talk."

Altaïr set down his knife. "Good," he said. "You've changed your mind?"

Malik nodded. He moved a few daggers and sat down opposite Altaïr. "Yes. The orb-"

"Good," Altaïr interrupted. "We must understand the Apples, Malik. Learn of them so this will never happen again, and-"

"Understand?" Malik frowned. "It is you who does not understand, Altaïr. I speak of the third Eden fragment. I have not changed my mind about that subject. Nor do I wish to."

"The third fragment?"

"The Hesperides." Malik said. "I would go and fetch the orb for you. There are plenty of caravans leaving in that direction. It is the best use of our resources. You return to Masyaf, and I'll bring you the orb."

"It's dangerous."

"Do you think I don't know that? It is my duty."

He watched Altaïr consider the idea. Finally the other Assassins gathered the blades strewn around him and pushed a few of the weapons over to Malik. "Go, if you like. I assume you have something planned."

"Yes," said Malik, who did not.

"You'll return quickly to Masyaf?"

"As quickly as I can." Malik said. He had not expected Altaïr to give his consent that easily. But the other Assassin had seen the same visions, and he doubtless had the same concerns as Malik. The more he knew about the Apple's abilities, the more important it became to keep the Eden Fragments from Templar hands.

"Then I give you leave to go as you desire." Altaïr reached into his robe. "One thing-" He withdrew the orb, still wrapped in Malik's scarlet sash. "Take it."

Malik recoiled from the orb as he could have from a deadly snake. "No."

Altaïr offered the orb again. When Malik did not take it he dropped it on the carpet between them. "You may need it. If we had faced the Kel Amenar alone we would have died. We need every weapon we have to fight the Templars."

"We have no need of weapons such as that!" Malik protested. He thought for a moment. "Besides, what if the Templars murder me and steal it from my corpse? You would wish I had not taken it then."

Altaïr sighed. "You have a talent for thinking the worst of a situation," he said.

"This is because I have known you," Malik retorted.

"You'll go now?"

Malik nodded.

"What of Nusaybah?" Altaïr enquired. It was an innocent enough question, but Malik thought he detected a hint of mockery behind the words. He decided to ignore it. "The order comes first. I'd appreciate if you'd take a message to her, though. Tell her I will return to Jerusalem as soon as I can."

This time there was more than a hint of mockery in Altaïr's voice. "The Order does not exist to deliver correspondence, Malik. Neither does it exist to organise your affairs."

"It was hardly an affair. It-oh, never mind. You are enjoying this."
" Not at all," Altaïr said.

Malik scowled. "I don't doubt that you'll find some way to tell her. Keep the orbs locked up, Altaïr. It is not worth the risk. Where are the others?"

"The boy is off watering the camels. Shindouk has gone down to the oasis."

"Good. I'll meet him there." Malik scooped up the knives and rose to his feet. He picked up his pack from the corner of the tent and tucked the weapons into the sheaths stitched to its straps.

"You'll not wait?" Altaïr's expression was unreadable beneath his heavy hood.

"The trail to the mountains begins here. It's as good a place to leave as any other. I'll not waste time."

"We'll meet again."

"I don't doubt it. I'll meet you at Masyaf in a year." Malik considered the large distances involved and conceded. "Maybe more."

"Safety and peace, then."

"Safety and peace," Malik said, and he left.

He found Shindouk without much difficulty. The terrain was rocky instead of sandy, and springs were frequent in the mountains, so he was spared the embarrassment of asking for a camel or a guide. Shindouk listened to his plan sceptically, but, like Altaïr, he did not try to persuade him out of it. "You'll travel alone? At least let me give you a map."

Malik accepted both map and directions gratefully. When all was done he slung his pack across his shoulders and set off into the hills.

He had travelled for nearly a day before Marîd caught up with him. Malik saw him three hills across. He could have avoided the boy easily, but chose to wait instead. "What are you doing here?" he asked as Marîd came up panting, and wondered why he bothered even as the words left his mouth. It was obvious what the boy was up to.

Marîd smiled, displaying a flash of white teeth. "I thought I would travel with you."

Malik sighed and sat down on a rock at the side of the path. He offered the boy water which he gratefully accepted. "Why? If this is repayment for the poison, you need not."

Marîd shook his head with his mouth full. "I must make amends," he said when he had swallowed.
Malik took back the water bottle. He understood. It was what he would have done at Marîd's age, which was why it was s stupid decision. "Look," he said. "Return to your master. Sell books. Study. Forget all you have learned about Templars and Assassins. Live a normal life."

The boy shrugged. "You don't live a normal life."

"I had no choice," Malik said briefly. "Does your master know that you're here?"

"No," Marîd admitted reluctantly. His face cleared. But he will understand."

"I doubt that." Malik said sourly.

"I'd rather be an Assassin than a bookseller."

"Then you are a fool. Boys like you don't become Assassins."

"Why not?"

"Well, for a start," Malik snapped, "you are not Syrian."

Marîd smiled tentatively. "Altaïr mentioned Assassins in other countries. I could help."

"You will hinder. Or you will only get yourself killed. It is the same thing."
"I did try to kill you," the boy said stubbornly. "That should count for something."

"I would not mention that." Malik said.

"You could teach me."

Malik got up. He turned away, but the boy followed him like a particularly persistent fly. "I have neither the patience nor the inclination."

"I'm a fast learner."

"It's not just killing, you know."

"Then what is it?"

Malik sighed. "Have you heard of something called the Creed?" he said.

Finis.

Author's Note:

Well, it's done. I've some ideas for a sequel too, though to be honest I am shortly leaving on a bus to Australia and will be away from my computer for at least seven months, so it's unlikely to be soon. I think this fic is crying out for a sequel where Malik and Marid have to infiltrate the Atlas Templar stronghold to steal the third orb. The stronghold is probably hidden in a Kasbah, possibly in Ait Benhaddou (google it) or something (thought I think the period might be a little early for that) and there may be mention of the cool system of sunken wells (qanats or khettara) used in that region to irrigate the desert.

Anyway.

The account of the nomads ripping themselves apart was inspired by from a comment on Vidic's email in the first AC: I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING. I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. I SAW HIM. HE HAD A METAL BALL. IT OPENED. THEY WENT CRAZY. SHOOTING. STABBING. TORE EACH OTHER TO PIECES. I KNOW IT WAS YOU PEOPLE. SAW THE LOGO. HEARD THE NAME. I'M GOING TO TELL.

And at the risk of being unbearably pretentious and taking this fanfiction thing way too seriously, I have attached a small bibliography. The T.E Lawrence is good for accounts of camel-charges; the numerous books by de Villiers and Hirtle for evocative descriptions of the area and quotes.

Bibliography

Arabian Sands by Wilfred Thesiger.

Assassins: The Story of Medieval Islam's Secret Sect by W. B Bartlett.

Into Africa: A Journey through the Ancient Empires by Marq de Villiers and Sheila Hirtle.

Sahara: The Life of the Great Desert by Marq de Villiers and Sheila Hirtle.

The Assassin Legends: Myths of the Isma'ilis by Farhaad Daftary.

The Ismaili Assassins: A History of Medieval Murder by James Waterson.

The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T.E Lawrence.

Timbuktu: The Sahara's Fabled City of Gold by Marq de Villiers and Sheila Hirtle.