HOME | DD

Description
The figure moved slowly but steadily away from him, and it began to feel like he was chasing the moon. He'd had quite enough of phantoms and disturbing dreams. It was time to end this – whatever this was, so he followed.

Ahead was a small river, where the figure stopped beneath a tree on its bank. It either could not cross, or it was waiting for him, at long last.

He stopped a few feet away, staring at the back of the cloak. "What do you want from me?" He hated himself for asking it; hated the helpless feeling that swallowed him. He waited, but no reply came. He thought of drawing his sword, but dismissed the idea, his first dream still fresh in his mind.

It turned to face him. He stared, trying to glimpse beneath the voluminous hood that obscured the face.

"Altair Ibn La-Ahad; the Flying One, the Son of None." It was the same androgynous, mellifluous voice that he remembered from his dream.

"Tell me what you are. The spirit of the treasure? Angel? Demon?"

That peculiar laughter followed. Delicate hands appeared from the folds of the cloak, then reached toward the hood. "Angel?"

His breath was sucked out of him when he heard the voice. It had changed.

The hood slid back from the face like a dream; so familiar, so dear. She smiled.

"It is not her," he whispered under his breath. He willed himself to move as she came toward him, but could not. "Stop," he protested, his voice much smaller than he'd intended. He caught the scent of sandalwood in her hair and could not resist the urge to reach out and touch it. His heart sighed at the silken feel of it; just as he remembered.

She stepped even closer. "You are shaking."

"This is an illusion."

She leaned up and brushed her lips ever so lightly against his cheek. "The world is illusion. You could have had this one."

"Get away from me," he said through clenched teeth. The realness of her… His cheek burned from it.

She moved around him, circling him and whispering in that voice that should not be. "Your dream, remember? We were happy."

It flashed through his consciousness – the sweetness of her face as she looked up at him, the touch of her hand, the faces of the children; his children… his world was complete. He was husband and father, happy in the bliss of ignorance. His thoughts abided there a few more moments, wondering at the choices he'd made. I could have walked away from everything for her. He glanced down at his left hand. At one time, perhaps, but it was far too late to entertain such notions at this point in his life. There is no turning away from some things; from some knowledge.

"You could still have it," she said, facing him again. "I can make it so."

This is some kind of sick, perverted test! It sickened him. "I am not interested in living a lie!" With incredible effort, he pushed her away from him. "For something with the power to manipulate my dreams, you do not seem to know very much about me. If you did, you would know that it is truth that I seek in all things."

She pointed at him. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, taken aback by the question. He tried to still his chaotic thoughts as he searched for the answer.

"It is a simple question."

"No, it is not." He shook his head, looking down at his hands because looking at her made it hard to think. "It is a question from which all suffering is born. It is definitely not a simple question."

"Then why would a man such as yourself ask it? What drives you to seek the answer, to seek truth?"

"Because there is mystery in this world, something greater than us," he answered, impassioned. "I want to know it! Because I hope that one day all men may know it."

"Your precious Creed," she said without inflection. "Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. What does it mean?"

"You mean you do not know?" he asked, with no small amount of impatient sarcasm. "If there is some message you wish to impart, be out with it, for truly I am well past tired of these games." He waved his hand toward her to indicate the visage she had assumed that even now, tempted him to give in to the illusion.

She stared at him for a moment. He thought he saw anger flash over her features, but she quickly composed herself. "Very well. Here is your message: everything man clings to - love, greed, war, religion, all of these things are inventions of the mind. Even truth… and even the Creed."

He knew this, and well, save the last part. "No. The Creed is untainted. As long as the Brotherhood-"

"In your case, especially the Creed," she interrupted. "Even as you question it, you still think the Creed inviolable. You think that the Brotherhood will endure as its guardians? I will show you your folly, Altair. Behold the fruit of all your endeavors."

A violent wind whipped up, forcing him to cover his eyes against the sand that stung his skin wherever it struck, like countless tiny pins. When the roaring gale subsided, the scent of death assaulted his nostrils, strong and nauseating. He opened his eyes and what he saw caused his mouth to gape in shock.

He stood, quite alone, in the courtyard of the fortress at Masyaf. No… His eyes took in the unbelievable scene, for all around him lay dead bodies; the aftermath of some great battle. But how? When? He looked down, his hand covering his mouth. His brothers. All dead! He scanned their faces, but found no familiar ones. I do not recognize any of them! And the invaders… He knelt beside one of them, examining the man's weapons and face. Mongols? His mind reeled in confusion as he stood.

His eyes rose to the fortress itself. Besides the damage to the walls he thought impenetrable, it looked somehow different - older. He made his way to the steps, his pace picking up as he climbed.

His heart dropped as he stood in the doorway of the library. The only sound was a gentle flapping caused by the breeze ruffling the pages from books and scrolls that had been scattered across the floor – the few books that remained, for most were simply gone. A collection that rivaled that of Alexandria when it came to obscure and arcane volumes, now vanished or stolen. The shelves were empty, some knocked over completely, some leaning against their neighbor.

As he headed up the stairs, his mind pictured Al Mualim or Malik waiting at the top, but there was no one. The desk that had occupied the same spot for his entire life with the Brotherhood was gone. He looked out the paneless window. The sight that greeted his eyes filled him with despair.

His feet feeling like stone, he walked though the Garden gate and down the middle path, looking around in horrified disbelief. Gone was the paradise: the fountains, flowers, the elaborate topiaries, gazebos and beautiful arches. He jumped down to the middle terrace. All around him was scorched, toppled, destroyed. How many hours had he spent enjoying the peaceful solitude here? Or the blissful distractions of Serena or another companion? At the edge of the terrace, he looked down and saw the bodies of the women of the Garden. Though he recognized none of their faces, so horrific was their state that he fell to his knees and retched.

When at last the dry heaving had ceased, he collapsed forward, tears blinding him as he clawed at the ground. He could make no sense out of what had happened. Here was his entire world, ruined. He struck the ground with his fist. This cannot be! It must not be!

He struggled to his feet. He had known fear in his life, but it had never bested him. The raw panic that flooded through him now subjugated anything he'd felt before. Illusion or no, he had to leave this place; leave or he would surely go insane. He stumbled through the library and back out into the courtyard, his hand covering his nose to block the stench.

As he descended the stairs, the bodies began to change before his eyes, the flesh decaying; falling away, leaving only skeletons. Soon the skeletons themselves disintegrated into dust, the wind blowing them away. He heard a cracking sound and looked over his left shoulder. A fissure had appeared in the wall of the tower, the large stones of the rampart crumbling and falling.

It was like he was witnessing a quickening of time itself, and it was having its way with everything he held dear. He looked back toward the library, suddenly remembering what lay beneath it. As much as he wanted to - needed to be far away from this nightmare, he turned back. I have to know.

He pulled and pushed the dislocated bookshelves out of the way until the small door was uncovered. He was surprised to find that it appeared unmolested; the lock remained. He stepped back and kicked with all his might. The wood cracked but held. Again he kicked, a shooting pain traveling up his leg from the impact. Finally the door fell away, split down the middle.

He peered down the stairway, into the pitch black below. He carefully began the long descent toward the initiation chamber, feeling his way along the wall.

At the end of the long hallway at the bottom of the stairs, the door was open. He could see the chamber beyond, a fact that sent a shiver up his spine. What illumines it? His fingers instinctively reached for the comfort of his hidden blade. He looked down at his arm and was shocked to realize that he had no weapons whatsoever. He hissed a sigh, cursing his failure to notice that before now. He moved down the hallway toward the door.

Stepping inside the chamber, every sense was heightened as he approached his goal - the painting. The eagle and the owl were but flakes of plaster littering the ground. He stared at the lone survivor: the raven, for it did hold the Piece of Eden in its beak, as it had in his meditation. That was the source of the illumination, and it glowed unearthly. The impossibility of it; of everything that had happened screamed through his mind as he searched for some clue, some morsel of order or reason.

Everything we've worked for… in vain! He felt a great weariness settle over him. Unable to stand a moment longer, he sank down to the ground. He stared at the painting and fought his mind as it tried to sink into despair, drowning in an echoed refrain. Nothing is true. Nothing is true. Nothing is true…

"And now you understand," she said quietly from behind him.

"This is the future?" His voice sounded hollow.

"Yes."

"How do I know that this is not just another illusion?"

"What does your heart tell you – your instinct?"

His heart felt like a leaden weight in his chest, and his instinct offered only confusion. It was his mind that answered. "The future is unknowable. Every thought, word and deed constantly shape and change it."

"So it is. There are exceptions to every rule under the heavens, however, and it is that which I offer you."

He closed his eyes, smiling bitterly. So there it is. He thought of Al Mualim, who had been faced with this moment – this temptation. Peace had been his former Master's goal, in the beginning.

Thinking of Al Mualim reminded him of a question that had perplexed him. "I was immune to the effects of the thrall. Why?"

"Because you are destined to wield that which I serve."

And just like that, he saw it in his mind. Peace was a lofty goal. His was smaller in scope, but no less fervently desired. It was horrible, this realization. He laughed - softly at first, then louder, until it became hard to distinguish whether he was laughing or sobbing. I can save the Brotherhood. The weight of it crushed him.

                                               * * *

"Altair!"

He blinked and looked around, dazed.

"Altair!" Malik yelled.

"Here," he answered, getting to his feet. He looked in the direction Malik's voice had come from and spotted him approaching. Horrible images flashed through his mind. He struggled to suppress the barrage that threatened. It was too much to think about, and he sensed that trying would immobilize him. There was still the mission. The mission...

Malik trotted up, saving him from his thoughts. "Did you find it?"

"Find what?"

"Find what," Malik replied impatiently. "Noah's Ark! What do you think?"

Malik fell in step with him as he started walking back to the camp, gathering his wits as best he could. He'd left because he spotted her – it. "No. It must have been a trick of the light."

Malik eyed him, his brow furrowed in that characteristic way that meant he was not convinced. Altair prayed that his tenuous facade of calm held up in the face of his friend's scrutiny. He could feel the muscles in his face twitch subtly with the effort.

"Well... I am glad to hear it," Malik said at last. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his tone caused a wave of emotion to ripple dangerously close to the surface. He choked it down; hid it behind anger. "This little excursion has left me in a foul mood."

Malik dropped his stare, knowing him and his dark moods all too well. "Everything is calm at the camp," he said, changing the subject.

"Good. Hopefully the rest of our journey will be uneventful."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Description
The figure moved slowly but steadily away from him, and it began to feel like he was chasing the moon. He'd had quite enough of phantoms and disturbing dreams. It was time to end this – whatever this was, so he followed.

Ahead was a small river, where the figure stopped beneath a tree on its bank. It either could not cross, or it was waiting for him, at long last.

He stopped a few feet away, staring at the back of the cloak. "What do you want from me?" He hated himself for asking it; hated the helpless feeling that swallowed him. He waited, but no reply came. He thought of drawing his sword, but dismissed the idea, his first dream still fresh in his mind.

It turned to face him. He stared, trying to glimpse beneath the voluminous hood that obscured the face.

"Altair Ibn La-Ahad; the Flying One, the Son of None." It was the same androgynous, mellifluous voice that he remembered from his dream.

"Tell me what you are. The spirit of the treasure? Angel? Demon?"

That peculiar laughter followed. Delicate hands appeared from the folds of the cloak, then reached toward the hood. "Angel?"

His breath was sucked out of him when he heard the voice. It had changed.

The hood slid back from the face like a dream; so familiar, so dear. She smiled.

"It is not her," he whispered under his breath. He willed himself to move as she came toward him, but could not. "Stop," he protested, his voice much smaller than he'd intended. He caught the scent of sandalwood in her hair and could not resist the urge to reach out and touch it. His heart sighed at the silken feel of it; just as he remembered.

She stepped even closer. "You are shaking."

"This is an illusion."

She leaned up and brushed her lips ever so lightly against his cheek. "The world is illusion. You could have had this one."

"Get away from me," he said through clenched teeth. The realness of her… His cheek burned from it.

She moved around him, circling him and whispering in that voice that should not be. "Your dream, remember? We were happy."

It flashed through his consciousness – the sweetness of her face as she looked up at him, the touch of her hand, the faces of the children; his children… his world was complete. He was husband and father, happy in the bliss of ignorance. His thoughts abided there a few more moments, wondering at the choices he'd made. I could have walked away from everything for her. He glanced down at his left hand. At one time, perhaps, but it was far too late to entertain such notions at this point in his life. There is no turning away from some things; from some knowledge.

"You could still have it," she said, facing him again. "I can make it so."

This is some kind of sick, perverted test! It sickened him. "I am not interested in living a lie!" With incredible effort, he pushed her away from him. "For something with the power to manipulate my dreams, you do not seem to know very much about me. If you did, you would know that it is truth that I seek in all things."

She pointed at him. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, taken aback by the question. He tried to still his chaotic thoughts as he searched for the answer.

"It is a simple question."

"No, it is not." He shook his head, looking down at his hands because looking at her made it hard to think. "It is a question from which all suffering is born. It is definitely not a simple question."

"Then why would a man such as yourself ask it? What drives you to seek the answer, to seek truth?"

"Because there is mystery in this world, something greater than us," he answered, impassioned. "I want to know it! Because I hope that one day all men may know it."

"Your precious Creed," she said without inflection. "Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. What does it mean?"

"You mean you do not know?" he asked, with no small amount of impatient sarcasm. "If there is some message you wish to impart, be out with it, for truly I am well past tired of these games." He waved his hand toward her to indicate the visage she had assumed that even now, tempted him to give in to the illusion.

She stared at him for a moment. He thought he saw anger flash over her features, but she quickly composed herself. "Very well. Here is your message: everything man clings to - love, greed, war, religion, all of these things are inventions of the mind. Even truth… and even the Creed."

He knew this, and well, save the last part. "No. The Creed is untainted. As long as the Brotherhood-"

"In your case, especially the Creed," she interrupted. "Even as you question it, you still think the Creed inviolable. You think that the Brotherhood will endure as its guardians? I will show you your folly, Altair. Behold the fruit of all your endeavors."

A violent wind whipped up, forcing him to cover his eyes against the sand that stung his skin wherever it struck, like countless tiny pins. When the roaring gale subsided, the scent of death assaulted his nostrils, strong and nauseating. He opened his eyes and what he saw caused his mouth to gape in shock.

He stood, quite alone, in the courtyard of the fortress at Masyaf. No… His eyes took in the unbelievable scene, for all around him lay dead bodies; the aftermath of some great battle. But how? When? He looked down, his hand covering his mouth. His brothers. All dead! He scanned their faces, but found no familiar ones. I do not recognize any of them! And the invaders… He knelt beside one of them, examining the man's weapons and face. Mongols? His mind reeled in confusion as he stood.

His eyes rose to the fortress itself. Besides the damage to the walls he thought impenetrable, it looked somehow different - older. He made his way to the steps, his pace picking up as he climbed.

His heart dropped as he stood in the doorway of the library. The only sound was a gentle flapping caused by the breeze ruffling the pages from books and scrolls that had been scattered across the floor – the few books that remained, for most were simply gone. A collection that rivaled that of Alexandria when it came to obscure and arcane volumes, now vanished or stolen. The shelves were empty, some knocked over completely, some leaning against their neighbor.

As he headed up the stairs, his mind pictured Al Mualim or Malik waiting at the top, but there was no one. The desk that had occupied the same spot for his entire life with the Brotherhood was gone. He looked out the paneless window. The sight that greeted his eyes filled him with despair.

His feet feeling like stone, he walked though the Garden gate and down the middle path, looking around in horrified disbelief. Gone was the paradise: the fountains, flowers, the elaborate topiaries, gazebos and beautiful arches. He jumped down to the middle terrace. All around him was scorched, toppled, destroyed. How many hours had he spent enjoying the peaceful solitude here? Or the blissful distractions of Serena or another companion? At the edge of the terrace, he looked down and saw the bodies of the women of the Garden. Though he recognized none of their faces, so horrific was their state that he fell to his knees and retched.

When at last the dry heaving had ceased, he collapsed forward, tears blinding him as he clawed at the ground. He could make no sense out of what had happened. Here was his entire world, ruined. He struck the ground with his fist. This cannot be! It must not be!

He struggled to his feet. He had known fear in his life, but it had never bested him. The raw panic that flooded through him now subjugated anything he'd felt before. Illusion or no, he had to leave this place; leave or he would surely go insane. He stumbled through the library and back out into the courtyard, his hand covering his nose to block the stench.

As he descended the stairs, the bodies began to change before his eyes, the flesh decaying; falling away, leaving only skeletons. Soon the skeletons themselves disintegrated into dust, the wind blowing them away. He heard a cracking sound and looked over his left shoulder. A fissure had appeared in the wall of the tower, the large stones of the rampart crumbling and falling.

It was like he was witnessing a quickening of time itself, and it was having its way with everything he held dear. He looked back toward the library, suddenly remembering what lay beneath it. As much as he wanted to - needed to be far away from this nightmare, he turned back. I have to know.

He pulled and pushed the dislocated bookshelves out of the way until the small door was uncovered. He was surprised to find that it appeared unmolested; the lock remained. He stepped back and kicked with all his might. The wood cracked but held. Again he kicked, a shooting pain traveling up his leg from the impact. Finally the door fell away, split down the middle.

He peered down the stairway, into the pitch black below. He carefully began the long descent toward the initiation chamber, feeling his way along the wall.

At the end of the long hallway at the bottom of the stairs, the door was open. He could see the chamber beyond, a fact that sent a shiver up his spine. What illumines it? His fingers instinctively reached for the comfort of his hidden blade. He looked down at his arm and was shocked to realize that he had no weapons whatsoever. He hissed a sigh, cursing his failure to notice that before now. He moved down the hallway toward the door.

Stepping inside the chamber, every sense was heightened as he approached his goal - the painting. The eagle and the owl were but flakes of plaster littering the ground. He stared at the lone survivor: the raven, for it did hold the Piece of Eden in its beak, as it had in his meditation. That was the source of the illumination, and it glowed unearthly. The impossibility of it; of everything that had happened screamed through his mind as he searched for some clue, some morsel of order or reason.

Everything we've worked for… in vain! He felt a great weariness settle over him. Unable to stand a moment longer, he sank down to the ground. He stared at the painting and fought his mind as it tried to sink into despair, drowning in an echoed refrain. Nothing is true. Nothing is true. Nothing is true…

"And now you understand," she said quietly from behind him.

"This is the future?" His voice sounded hollow.

"Yes."

"How do I know that this is not just another illusion?"

"What does your heart tell you – your instinct?"

His heart felt like a leaden weight in his chest, and his instinct offered only confusion. It was his mind that answered. "The future is unknowable. Every thought, word and deed constantly shape and change it."

"So it is. There are exceptions to every rule under the heavens, however, and it is that which I offer you."

He closed his eyes, smiling bitterly. So there it is. He thought of Al Mualim, who had been faced with this moment – this temptation. Peace had been his former Master's goal, in the beginning.

Thinking of Al Mualim reminded him of a question that had perplexed him. "I was immune to the effects of the thrall. Why?"

"Because you are destined to wield that which I serve."

And just like that, he saw it in his mind. Peace was a lofty goal. His was smaller in scope, but no less fervently desired. It was horrible, this realization. He laughed - softly at first, then louder, until it became hard to distinguish whether he was laughing or sobbing. I can save the Brotherhood. The weight of it crushed him.

                                               * * *

"Altair!"

He blinked and looked around, dazed.

"Altair!" Malik yelled.

"Here," he answered, getting to his feet. He looked in the direction Malik's voice had come from and spotted him approaching. Horrible images flashed through his mind. He struggled to suppress the barrage that threatened. It was too much to think about, and he sensed that trying would immobilize him. There was still the mission. The mission...

Malik trotted up, saving him from his thoughts. "Did you find it?"

"Find what?"

"Find what," Malik replied impatiently. "Noah's Ark! What do you think?"

Malik fell in step with him as he started walking back to the camp, gathering his wits as best he could. He'd left because he spotted her – it. "No. It must have been a trick of the light."

Malik eyed him, his brow furrowed in that characteristic way that meant he was not convinced. Altair prayed that his tenuous facade of calm held up in the face of his friend's scrutiny. He could feel the muscles in his face twitch subtly with the effort.

"Well... I am glad to hear it," Malik said at last. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his tone caused a wave of emotion to ripple dangerously close to the surface. He choked it down; hid it behind anger. "This little excursion has left me in a foul mood."

Malik dropped his stare, knowing him and his dark moods all too well. "Everything is calm at the camp," he said, changing the subject.

"Good. Hopefully the rest of our journey will be uneventful."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.