Fire blazed into the black sky, sparks fusing with the falling rain. The heat was sharp against his face, but there was no space to move back, for the vast crowd was thick and emotions formed the barriers that bodies did.

He swayed, but the hand didn't move from his wrist. The tight hold upon his flesh kept his own tight hold upon reality; the other said nothing, did not look at him, but thoughts were shared between them like spoken words.
It is time to say goodbye.

Hands stretched above the crowd, gripping torches that blazed with blessed fire, symbols of the love for those who fell to ashes. Silence fell and through it, a female voice sang, lyrical and sweet, praying to the afterlife as the spirits of those who had passed ghosted away, leaving this world.

When the moon broke through the clouds and the early hours crept upon them, the thousands among the crowd began to dissipate, many weeping as if they too had lost a parent.
Perhaps they had.

He stood and watched the last embers burn, noting the loss of warmth on his arm. He half-turned, watching the old man escort his brother away, but leave him behind. As if he knew.

He edged toward the dying fire, stopping just close enough to drop his misbaha on to the ashes with a shaky hand, watching the beads slip between the cracks of the logs under which they lay. Together, joined in death.

"Mama. Baba."
He took a deep breath, letting the soft heat hit the back of his throat.
"I miss you."

Footsteps padded behind him and a lithe hand squeezed his shoulder. "Felix?"
Felix turned away from the embers, vision splintering in tears as she took his hand and together they let the ashes of the past reunite with the earth.  


*  *  *  


"I'm ready."
Malik laughed, stroking his peppered beard. "My child, you cannot dress yourself correctly, let alone handle weapons."
Felix scowled, reaching around to yank his sash out of his pants. "How much longer do you intend keeping me shut up in Masyaf? My father told me I should be an assassin. And I shall be."

Malik rose from his chair, hobbling around to the front of the desk, leaning heavily on his gnarled walking stick. "And you shall stay in training, in Masyaf, until I fulfil your father's wishes. He did not give me permission to train you so that you could be sent out to Jerusalem wielding a wooden sword."

He gave a wheezy laugh, but Felix didn't share his mirth. He crossed his arms and began striding away down the stairs, toward the courtyard at the front of the bureau.
"Fine. I'll train."

"Wait," Malik called, making his way after the boy and escorting him down the stairs. "If you insist that you are competent, show me." They reached the front stone balcony and Malik called over his shoulder. "Adlai! My child!"

Adlai strolled from the bureau library, slowly and casually, something that irritated his father no end. Felix watched with nothing short of awe; various deadly weapons hung from the hide belt slung around Adlai's slim hips, and his white robes swept across the dusty floor, shredded and worn from his missions across the Holy Land. He wore his sash across his chest, under the strap for his dagger, and his waist was bound with a tortoiseshell knife belt, embellished with the symbol of the Brotherhood. He was fair of face; a strong jaw and brow matched those of Malik, though his large eyes, almost feline in shape, echoed those of his mother.

"Your bow?"
Adlai wrinkled his nose. "You are going to use my bow? How on earth are you planning on drawing back the arrow? Are you going to use your teeth?"
"No," snapped Malik, snatching the bow from Adlai and thrusting it at Felix. "Enough of that insolence, child. My, far too much of myself has come out in you, my son."

Adlai laughed. "So the young prince is training again. There's a sentence I never thought I'd say."
"Shut up," muttered Felix. "Malik?"
"Ah, yes. My apologies, child. If you can hit that target you can go with Adlai to Jerusalem tomorrow to carry out some most important reconnaissance. You have three tries, and you only have to hit it once."

Adlai smacked Malik's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Baba, you told me I was embarking with Mustafa tomorrow."
"Changes occur in all walks of life."
Adlai shook his head with a devilish grin. "Do you intend to hang on to your other arm?"
"What did I tell you of your insolence, boy? Allah weeps for you. Ah! Felix, accept many more of my hearty apologies. Whenever you are ready, begin."

Felix poked his tongue from his lips, concentrating hard. He stretched back the bow, arms shaking with tension, forehead sprinkled with perspiration as the noonday sun beat down on his unusually pale skin.

The training right was as busy as it ever was. There were a few assassins circling in the dusty ring, clashing swords here and there, while Salim barked insults at them from where he trained them at the edge. A few others willed around nearby, though the area around the stuffed sacks that served as targets was relatively clear.

His gloved hands quivered and a breeze blew back his scruffy white robes. He took a breath, counted to thalaatha, and fired the arrow.

"Ya Allah!"

Felix blinked, noting that there was no arrow piercing the target, and Malik and Adlai were close to rolling on the floor as they screamed with laughter. A slight figure was hunched against the back wall, hands clasped to his white-hooded temples; an arrow pierced the wall just an inch or two from his head.

Adlai collapsed against the railing before him, eyes tearing, face split into a natural grin. "Mustafa! Do you live?"

Mustafa whipped off his hood and stomped over to the balcony, scowling, though it was clear he too was laughing on the inside. He stood upon his toes and clipped Adlai around the head, muttering something that only made Adlai laugh harder.

"Mustafa, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to--oh! I can't believe I almost hit you! I'm sorry!"
Mustafa shook his head, flipping nimbly up onto the balcony without using the stairs, body supple and graceful. Adlai's laughs faded away, but he didn't lose his dark smile as Mustafa took up behind Felix, placing his hands on the box in the correct way.

"Now, Felix. Ah, don't look at them. Ignore them. Focus on the target. Adlai!"
Adlai turned away, large hand covering his face as he stifled laughs.
"Slowly draw back the bowstring," Mustafa said. He kept his hands positioned over Felix's and for a moment, the boy noticed how very unusual his complexion truly was; Mustafa was a dark tan, the colour of a pecan shell, while he was near white like his mother.

"Okay. Now, aim a shade higher than the target. Good boy. Hold it. Now, today the wind is blowing East, so we must position the arrow slightly to the left to give room for error."
"Right. Is that okay?"
"Perfect. Now fire."

Felix fought the urge to flinch as he released the arrow. It shot through the air for a split second, then punched straight through the centre of the target. A perfect shot.

"Wonderful!" breathed Mustafa, deep voice a pillar of reassurance to Felix. "Now try again, without my helping you."
"Mustafa--"
"Ah, ah. You must do this alone. Oh, here. Watch Nahla over there. She is practicing too. Malik, if I may say so, your daughter has a fabulous eye for the bow and arrow. She will make quite the assassin."

Malik gave a proud smile, nodding at Mustafa. "I concur. Felix, Nahla is your age, and a girl. If she can master the bow, then so can you."
Felix gritted his teeth. "My father didn't use a bow."
The old man tapped his stick upon his leather boot, gazing wistfully into the blue sky overhead. "Quite. But why should Altaïr have messed around with a bow when he could shoot with a gun? A marvellous yet terrifying invention of his, I must admit."

Felix turned away, chewing his lip as he focussed on the target. He aimed a little higher, a little to the left, here and there tweaking his hand position, his grip and eyeline.

He shot the arrow; it hit the edge of the target. Just.

Mustafa clapped his hands, and grinning, kicked Adlai in the shin until he clapped too. "Marvellous! Well done, Felix!"
"I didn't hit the target like you did."
"You hit the target, Felix, and that's what matters," smiled Malik. "And I must be true to my word, my boy. You may accompany Adlai on his mission tomorrow."

Malik patted him on the shoulder and turned away, moseying down the stairs and out of the fortress. He regularly took such a walk; down the hill and through the market, perhaps buying a basket or livestock he didn't need.

Adlai leaned against the railing, and winked at Felix. "Meet me here at noon tomorrow. Don't look so horrified, boy! We'll have more fun than you could ever imagine. Am I right, Mustafa?"

Mustafa rolled his eyes. "Adlai is fun, no doubt. Just don't turn your back on him, Felix."
He ruffled Felix's cropped hair, bleached light brown in the sun, and dropped down from the balcony back into the training ring.

"I imagine I'm done for today, boy," yawned Adlai. "I believe Nahla is too."
He nudged Felix with his elbow, took his bow and wandered off into the bureau, probably out into the back garden to lie on his strange sling, a long piece of fabric that he tied between two trees. Many things about Adlai were odd.

Felix stood upon the balcony, as a loss. At times like this he would have listened to his father's stories or helped his mother with whatever intricate piece of home décor she was skilfully making, but those days were gone forever.

He turned on his heel and wandered back into the bureau, a frown stapled to his face.


*  *  *


Nahla watched Felix slip into the darkness within the bureau, and lowered her bow. He seemed down these days, not the cheery kid she had grown up with. The loss of his parents had hit him hard, so much harder than his brother, Salim.

Though Salim was older, so perhaps that made a difference. He was significantly older, in fact--it wouldn't be long until he reached his third decade.

She locked her bow on to her back and wandered back along the battlement, watching the dust puff out at her feet as she walked. The sun was hot on the nape of her neck and she reached up to coil her long, dark hair around her finger, sweeping it off her back.

From the corner of her eye she saw Mustafa wandering across the training ground, frowning at Salim as he scolded his students. He glanced in her direction and she jerked her head away, bobbing over to the far side of the battlements, though she couldn't be sure he'd seen her.

She didn't like Mustafa. There was something strange about him, something intense and dark and tormented. She'd heard so many heated discussions between he and her brother, probably the only incidences when Adlai was ever serious about anything. She did not understand what they argued about, but she knew she didn't want to get mixed up in anything that involved Mustafa.

Dropping down into the first level of the bureau, she moseyed out into the gardens out back, where the wives and courtesans spent their days lounging in the sun. To outsiders it seemed that these humble women did nothing, but her nimble eye quickly darted from assassin to assassin, as she picked out the women who'd trained her and taken her on missions to Damascus, Acre and even Jerusalem.

Brave and noble wives, daughters and sisters, the scorn of the Templars. Until their blades met their throats.

She sat on the edge of the cool pond at the far end of the green, dipping her bare toes into the water. Familiar legs swung down beside her, feet and ankles worn with age. Long flowing skirts adorned with gold trim, swaying in the breeze.

"Mama, why is Felix still so sad? His father and mother are with Allah. I should not be as sad as he is when you join Him, since you have told me yourself that you will be in paradise."

Mama laughed. "Yes, my daughter. I'm glad to hear that you have listened well to what your father and I have taught you."

Mama took down Nahla's hair, spreading it across her shoulders and dividing it into sections. "My, Nahla. Not a day goes by when you don't grow more and more the image of myself. Why, when I was your age, well, you and I could have been the same girl."

Nahla flicked her toe from the water and a wide ripple spread across the sparkling water.
"Mama?"
"Yes?" Mama smiled, smoothing back Nahla's long hair as she began to braid it. "What do you ask, my child?"
"Do you think that Felix shall ever be Grand Master, like his father?"

Mama frowned, her brown eyes narrowed with concern. Just like her husband, Maria had been so sure that Felix would be Grand Master, though herself and Malik were set on securing the title for Salim. Why, Salim was strong, noble, courageous and intelligent, while his brother was watery, cowardly and awkward.

"If he works hard enough, Nahla, then he can be whatever he wants to be. Just like you."

Nahla nodded, and didn't press the matter further. She averted her eyes to the great stretch of empty azure sky before her, watching the dust on the smooth stone paving around her rise into the air and billow out over the open landscape, across hills and rivers, cities and towns, east and west.
Assassins and Templars.