The Adventure Never Ends | By : A.K.O.Shifting-Shadow Category: +A through F > Assassin's Creed Views: 2269 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. I make no profit posting this fanfiction. |
Chapter Fifteen: Seeking Answers
Desmond ran along the rooftops, his feet as steady as his beating heart. Ezio and Altair’s training was invaluable at moments like this where every footstep counted. Ezio had no clue where he was, fortunately. And although the older man didn’t approve he did not stop Desmond leaving. Desmond was no longer a recruit. He was an assassin and Ezio had no power in this time. Connor had ultimate authority, it seemed, but Connor not knowing of his own authority did not attempt to control Desmond or Ezio’s actions, choosing to submit to Ezio’s experience and Desmond’s charisma.
He was following another lead, part of his own private investigation into the reason why the POE had brought them to this time. He knew now, through the Native American Indian art that there was a major sacrifice coming. Weren’t all stories about sacrifice. Altair gave up his freedom, his finger, his life to the creed and Ezio had lost his entire male side of the family, facing the enemy while still in grief. And Desmond, had he not been forced to give up his normal life as a bartender and to accept fate’s plans for him? So, he knew without a doubt that sacrifice was needed, that everything came at an almost unpayable cost. But Desmond was no-one’s pawn, he’d suffered at the hands of abstergo, used as nothing but a tool to find the POE’s, he’d played by Lucy’s rules to learn to be an assassin because he knew he had no other option and he had faced both his ancestors and obeyed their instructions. But now he was more than a man, he was an assassin and he would ensure that his tutors and lovers would live another day. He would not let them die.
Which is why he was tracking down an individual who could explain Native American Indian art to him. A woman who’d once been married to a warrior of Connor’s clan. She had left due to the mysterious death of her husband, something that suggested foul play but had never been proved. She now lived as a beggar in a more obscure European town, never daring to venture into the forest for more than a few days in case she came across her old clan. Suspicious indeed since Desmond was absolutely certain it meant she was running away from a chequered past or potentially a murderer or would-be-rapist. He had heard of such stories, most of them lies, but all painting indigenous Native American’s as barbarians who murdered white men (and women) and raped their wives and daughters. This seemed unlikely since Connor’s tribe was a peaceful clan and the stories he’d heard where American propaganda to make the European settlers look superior and civilised. Still, it did mean that whoever she was hiding from may well be looking for her to this day and considering she was reaching a ripe old age of sixty that meant whoever it was wanted something badly enough to kill.
Her name was Slinking Fox, or so the man who he’d interrogated had said as much. But Desmond knew the man had not given him her true name, he’d seemed hesitant to say more and had encouraged Desmond to seek her out, his heartrate indicated he was telling Desmond the truth so Desmond had let the man live, a foolish thing perhaps but the man had not seen his face and did not know what Desmond had truly sought. And perhaps the man had thought Desmond would deal with the woman’s enemies.
But that was nothing for Desmond to worry about, he saw no one suspicious and had far more important things to worry about, like Ezio’s survival. He found her after he’d gone from jumping roofs to running along branches. She was berry collecting, her frail looking form hunched over, her long white curtain of hair hiding her sun-worshipped face from the gaze of any wandering hunter. Her fingers were bony and her body thin but she carried an air of wisdom about her, walking with steps that told of her experience in the wilderness.
Since he did not want to frighten her he leapt to the forest floor a short distance away and made some noise to alert her of his approach before he appeared before her. She was wary, that much was true but the moment she realised he wasn’t an indigenous person she relaxed, although Desmond could see a small blade within reach of her hand.
“Peace.” Desmond stated, hands held high to prove he had no ill intent. “I seek knowledge, not pain.”
“Some knowledge requires pain.” She answered. “And I am not certain what knowledge I can offer you.”
“I heard you may be the only one who can answer my questions.”
“And who told you this?”
“I could not repeat his name even if I tried. He is a tribesman who claims to be your friend, called himself Sharp Eyed Eagle, says he is always watching and that you would know why.” Desmond knew he had said the right thing when she relaxed further. “He said you could explain the art within the caves, let behind by the ones who came before.”
She tilted her head. “What is your name, child?”
“Desmond.”
“Desmond.” She repeated. “A name I have heard before, within my dreams. Spoken by tongues that no longer exist.” Desmond blinked, unsure, had she been visited by the precursors? She didn’t seem special in anyway, but then again Desmond himself had thought himself normal despite his birth into the assassin brotherhood and subsequent struggles born from his heritage. She sighed. “I suspected I would one day be called upon to speak of my experiences. Although I had not thought I would do so to such a young lad.”
“I am over twenty years old.” Desmond chided in offence.
“And I am sixty but I still feel as if I have much to learn. I still feel like a child seeking the comfort of my mother when I am faced with the unknown.” She scolded in return. “But I am not one who will argue with the will of the ancestors.” She stated, her voice more a whisper as if she was reluctant to obey. Finally, she sighed and turned, beckoning for Desmond to follow. “I am an old woman; my bones are frail and my stamina all but gone. Indulge me by lighting a fire and helping me make tea.”
Desmond was nothing if not patient, so he did as asked, setting up a stone barrier in an open part of the forest with which to light a fire. Only once the flames were going strong and the herbal tea the woman had mixed was beginning to boil did he sit on a nearby log and wait for her to tell her story. But she said nothing even as she handed him his cup of tea and settled herself down onto the log in achingly slow movements. “Would you prefer somewhere more comfortable?”
She eyed him. “I may have exiled myself from my clan and hid within the cold walls of European society but I am not yet so old and frail that I cannot endure sitting on a log within my forest home.” She scolded. “No, what causes the most aches is the remembrance of what I have lost.” She sighed again. “I have made many a mistake I would gladly take back if I could. I have lost more than I wish to say.”
Again, she fell silent but Desmond felt that she was simply trying to put thought into words within her mind. She wore an expression upon her face, one he saw on Ezio and Altair’s face more than once. It was an expression of loss and Desmond knew then that he would have a hard time listening to the story she had to tell. She felt strongly about what had happened and although the story of loss was universal the tone her voice would take, the expression on her face and in her eyes, would be enough to express the horror and devastation she had felt.
“I was young.” She started. “Barely your age but already married. Running Wolf had fought to prove himself a worthy husband, bringing me much food to eat and supplies to craft clothes, baskets and jewellery. In truth, even if another had vied for my love I would not have noticed them, so in love was I that I only saw Running Wolf.” She did not turn away from the fire but Desmond could see the glimmer in her eyes. “You hear stories like this all the time. Two young lovers so enamoured with each other that they see nothing else. But my story isn’t one of idle fantasy, we were in love, not a moment passed when we did not think of the other. When he was away hunting I wanted him home, when he was home he barely left my side, enduring the teasing of his fellow hunters as he sat and endured my basket weaving and the chatter of my fellow women.”
Desmond knew what she spoke of, a man so in love he would gladly sit with his woman and her friends, performing women tasks at times, simply to be with the woman he loved. Such a thing in the modern world was admired but in times like these that sort of actions could result in mocking and even death. Running Wolf was definitely enamoured with this woman.
“One day he told me of a cave he’d found, with ancient art so filled with magic it glowed like a second sun.” She continued, unaware of his thoughts. “I foolishly thought the idea of visiting the cave was a romantic one. It took much encouragement before he even dared escort me to his discovery and it took even longer before he would let me venture deeper into the cave.” She drank deep from her cup, several long minutes passing by as she stared into the fire/ There was a shadow upon her face not caused by the wrinkles she bore. Desmond would be mocked for saying it, but the sadness on her face seemed deep, as if it came from her very soul, as if her loss was etched into her very being. Perhaps it was if she had loved this man as deeply as she claimed. Finally, another sigh broke through the silence. “The drawings did indeed glow and we studied them as eagerly as a student listens to his teacher and a son listens to his father. There were times we slept within the caves, lying in front of the drawings, sleeping in their light. Perhaps that is when the dreams started. The visions of flames and desperation and the knowledge that something great was coming.”
Flames?
Desperation?
“I knew not what I saw.” She stated softly. “I still do not understand. But I know now that we were not blessed. We were cursed.”
That Desmond could understand. The Precursors and their artefacts had rarely brought him joy. True, they brought him to Ezio and Altair, but they had also taken him away from them and now the Precursor remnants were threatening to kill Ezio. A sacrifice was needed, apparently, and the only thing Desmond loved dearly enough to warrant the term ‘sacrifice’ were the men he loved.
“Running Wolf started speaking strange words. Spending more and more time in the deeper caverns, places I could not reach and was forbidden to go.” She stated. “I heard voices at times, some sounded like his, others were strange ones that spoke unfamiliar languages and were terrifying to hear. I feared for his life. Begged him to listen to me, to come back to me. But he would always go back and the dreams that haunted me each night remained.” She turned to look at Desmond then, her eyes suddenly looking so bright and youthful compared to her wizened skin. “And one name always seemed to repeat.”
“Desmond.”
“Yes.” She confirmed. “It was as if some great spirit was trapped within the art, searching. For you, it seems. But we were too young to understand. Running Wolf started searching for answers, disappearing for days on end. I could not follow, but my dreams would sometimes take his form, showing him running deeper and deeper into the darkness. Most frightening of all, he was being watched, perhaps even followed. A dark spirit taken human form.” She sighed. “I was still a romantic even then, imaging the shadow as a remnant of the one’s who came before. A spirit allowed to walk this Earth once more.”
A precursor still alive? Reincarnated? Desmond would have thought her words mad if he’d not endured a lot of madness already. Hell, if he’d spoken of his experiences to anyone he’d quickly be killed or put into a madhouse depending on what time period he was in.
“One day I had had enough.” She stated. “Running Wolf was my husband, it was my duty to protect him. I followed him, begged him to follow me home.” She turned back to the fire, seemingly unable to keep meeting his gaze. “It was evening very similar to this one. The great sun was beginning to fall and the moon was rising to take its place but the sun’s light was still bright. Running Wolf and I were sat around his campfire, his arms around me when he stiffened with a small cry. I could not move, trapped in his arms as I was, but I knew my husband was suddenly dead. His weight was too heavy and his body too limp. I was terrified, but I struggled to escape his arms.” She gulped then, a small gasp slipping through her teeth sounding more like a sob. “His body fell to the floor before me, a dagger deep in his back and blood staining his clothes red. I heard laughter and saw a face that had haunted my dreams for so long. A man shrouded in blackness with eyes as old as time itself. I saw madness in his gaze and knew I was to be next and…” This time she did stop, sobs shaking her form at the remembered pain. Desmond made to offer her comfort but she shrugged off his hands and in a sudden fury threw her hand-crafted cup away, the last of her drink pouring out to water the soil. “I ran, leaving my husband’s body to the animal.”
“You had no choice. The mad man would have killed you.” Desmond tried to soothe.
Her breaths stilled. “He still could.”
“I’m sorry…” Desmond whispered. “What do you…”
“I see him all the time.” She elaborated. “When I fled back to my village he was always there at the edges, watching, waiting, stalking me as a hunter stalks his prey. And then warriors began to disappear from my tribe, some were found others were not. The ones found always sported one single wound, a dagger to the back. The dagger itself was never found but I knew. By the ancestors, I knew.” She sighed again and slumped in her seat. “He was warning me. Every moment I stayed my family were in danger. So, I ran. Changed my name and hid within the cities of the Europeans so my clan would never find me nor fall at the hands of the Dark Shadow.” She laughed suddenly, frightening Desmond with her sudden humour. “He followed. He still does to this day, always appearing at the edge of my sight and in places he has no right being. One moment he is a hunter within the trees, another he is a business man or sailor passing through town. Each time he passes by un-noticed by anyone but me.”
“Who is he?”
“He is the answer to the questions you seek, Desmond.” She replied. “It is he who told me about the paintings so that I can tell you. And once I tell you he no longer has to continue showing me mercy. I will no doubt die, if not this night than very soon, my purpose over once I explain to you what he has explained to me.”
“Do you choose to tell me?” Desmond asked. “I would not blame you, should you choose not to.”
She smiled. “I am ready to be reunited with my heart.” She stated. “I am tired of running.”
“I am sorry that mine will be the last face you see in this life.” Desmond whispered, glad that she now allowed him to place a hand on her shoulder.
“The paintings are records of the one’s who came before. They died in a great massacre, or so I belief from my dreams although the Dark Shadow will not tell me how or why. He does however explain that the one’s who came before have power we humans could not imagine. The ability to see through time. They died many lifetimes ago, long before my tribe existed and perhaps even further. But they see me as clearly as they would see themselves. They have an awareness that not even the greatest shaman could claim. The paintings are both their link to this time and a message for you, foretelling of a great destiny. A shadow much greater than my own stalker is soon to be upon us and you are the key to the salvation or fall of humanity as a whole.” She sighs once more. “My stalker says that you have heard the voices of those who came before through agents like myself, remnants who only exist so you may take one more step towards your destiny. Your job is to listen to the voices, to learn and if need be obey. But the ancestors made a mistake. They sought to teach you your path and instead you made a new one, one that was unseen by their shamans. You found a love you should not have and broke away from their guidance. You must sacrifice that love for the greater good of humanity. You must obey the ancestors.”
Desmond blinked, horrified. Could it be truth? Was this whole thing engineered as some sort of punishment because he would not obey some long dead precursor race? Was Ezio a pawn to be sacrificed in someone’s sick game?
Old, wrinkled hands suddenly clasped his own. Her eyes full of desperation as she looked deep into his own orbs. “You have found love where you shouldn’t have. But I would not let you lose it like I lost mine. There is a way to save the one you love. I saw within my dreams two ancestors. The dark shadow and a distant light. The light still exists, a mere candle-like glow to its once powerful glare. It has the answers you seek and the power to show you another path, one that will not cost you so severely as the one the Shadow wishes you to take. Travel deep within the mountains, where the snow is so thick no plant can grow. You will find a crack within one of the ancient stone walls, you will know it when you see it. Within lies the light. Find it, save yourself and the one you love so dearly you would defy the ancestors.”
She screamed suddenly, her voice so frail it cracked and failed near the end. He hugged her tight as she slumped forward and saw the dagger imbedded deep within her spine. But she still breathed, a deep stuttering breath that said she did not have long. This dagger had been thrown in desperation, an attempt to silence her but when he looked up he saw nothing. He knew then that she had told truth. She’d been stalked by someone who sought to use her to deliver his message but she had defied him and paid the price. “Thank you, Slinking Fox.”
“You know my name.” She stated, her voice little more than a breath. “But I was once known as something else.”
“What?” He asked as he carefully laid her down, trying to offer her comfort in her last moments.
“Resting Eagle.” She stated. She smiled then, an expression of unbridled joy as she stared over his shoulder. Her breath left her in one long sigh and she was suddenly and permanently limp.
“Find peace, Resting Eagle and know that your story has helped guide me to a better future.” Desmond whispered into her hair. He rose then and searched the woodland. Unlike his other victims he would give her a proper burial. She deserved that much after all she had suffered and it would give Desmond time to think. She may not have realised the importance of her name but Desmond did. He had already worked out some time ago that the eagle played a vital role in the history of his bloodline. Ezio and Altair adored the birds, Altair going as far as to claim they were kin, in the sense that they were tied to his family. Altair was not wrong. The eagle was the symbol of his bloodline and this woman, Resting Eagle, may have been one of his great, great, great… aunts, if not a great, great, great… grandmother. Had she and Running Wolf stumbled upon the ancestor’s art by chance or because they were meant to? And had Resting Eagle truly endured hell so that she would deliver her message to him? But he was not meant to be in this time, the precursors had deliberately manipulated the future through the POE to make sure Desmond got this message and they did not care who suffered in the mean-time. But one thing was clear, Desmond and his bloodline were being used to the precursor’s own ends and he was being punished for being one of the few in his bloodline to defy their will.
It was the only thing that made sense.
And if Resting Wolf was right, not all precursors approved of this scheme and there was another, a weaker entity who could help him defy the precursor’s will. He had to find them.
But one question remained unanswered.
Why were the precursors so intent on using his bloodline? What did they want in the future that required so much manipulation and bloodshed? And what did his bloodline have to do with it?
It seemed once again that he was returning home with more questions than answers.
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