Wisdom, Sorrow Chapter 7

They arrived in Damascus in the middle of the night, both themselves and their horses worn and weary. They'd run into a fight with a patrol a few hours ago. Luckily neither he nor Malik had sustained serious injury, but the altercation had been long, with more and more soldiers joining the fray. By the time it was done, twenty-one of Saladin's soldiers lay dead. The rest of the ride had been tense as they anticipated more skirmishes, but the darkness proved their ally.

They had stabled the horses at the home of a friend of the Brotherhood located outside the city gates and made their way on foot to the Bureau. It seemed a tremendously long walk, with neither doing much talking due to their tiredness.

Food, water and bedclothes had been left out for them. After they'd eaten, they climbed up to the loft and prepared for blessed sleep.

He propped himself up on an elbow. "Malik, do you remember the painting of the raven on the wall of the initiation chamber?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Does the raven hold something in its beak?"

Malik was quiet for a moment. "I don't think so, but it has been a while since I saw it up close. What makes you think it does?"

"It was in a dream I had."

"The one that-"

He interrupted, anticipating the question. "No, a different one."

"Your dreams are as strange as you are."

He laughed softly. "Good night." He snuffed the candle out and lay down.

"Are you alright, brother?" Malik asked.

"Go to sleep."

"Fine. But you will tell me about these dreams tomorrow. Considering what you carry, it would be foolish for me to ignore."

"Foolish to ignore? What are you talking about?"

Malik sighed. "Look, that thing is a curse. You said so yourself. I want open communication between us, that's all. Strange dreams could mean something. I won't have you isolating yourself."

"Yes, Master," he snapped. He regretted it immediately.

"Damn right," Malik replied haughtily. There was silence for a moment then they both laughed.

"Alright. Now will you please shut up so I can rest?" he said, feigning irritation.

"Good night, brother."

He shook his head, smiling at the exchange and closed his heavy eyelids, part of him grateful for Malik's concern. His friend was no doubt right, but he didn't look forward to the conversation. Things made little enough sense in his head. Trying to explain them would no doubt be even more of a challenge.



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The next morning, Malik was occupied with following up on the latest news to come in from their spies and informants. Al Adil had not departed the city yet, so Malik was hopeful that they could get someone inside the entourage that would accompany him.

Altair decided to go and locate Faruq if possible. The poor district was not that large, and he had his own source of information. "Safety and peace, brother" he said to Malik as he departed.

Malik nodded. "Watch your back."

"Always," he replied as he climbed up the trellis.

The streets were busy with citizens and merchants starting their day, and of course there were the patrols, sentries and archers as always. He headed down a quiet side street and glancing around to be sure no guards were watching, he quickly climbed a two-story building and took to the rooftops. He exhaled, crouching as he surveyed the area.

Given the choice, he preferred to navigate from rooftop to rooftop; to remain unfettered and unseen. It gave him a great sense of freedom, and was far more efficient than street travel. The archers were easy enough to avoid. He had no quarrel with them unless they stood between himself and a target or if they were foolish enough to challenge him.

He made his way over the densely packed buildings, enjoying the movement; the feeling of his lungs and muscles working and stretching themselves as he leapt from one to the next. He heard a shocked gasp from someone on the ground who thought they'd seen something fly over their heads. He'd heard it before. Usually some questioning of their sanity would follow. It made him smile, even after all these years.

His destination came into view. One final leap from two-story to one; a quick roll and he came up into a crouch and paused, listening. There were guards on the east side of the building. Luckily the ladder was on the western side.

"What were you doing on my roof?!"

He finished his descent and faced the man who questioned him. "Short cut," he replied as he crossed the street, leaving the man bewildered.

He approached the door and knocked the code: one, pause, three, pause, one. The door opened a crack.

"I need some information," he said. The door opened wide and he walked inside. He did not know the name of the man he'd come to see, nor he his. The man dealt in information only and asked no questions. He'd proved valuable in the past.

The informant got right to business. "Coin?"

He handed over the currency and waited while the man counted it. He was an unremarkable man, which served his trade well. No one noticed him.

Apparently finding the coin sufficient, the man looked at him. "What information do you need?"

"I'm looking for someone named Faruq, here in the poor district."

"Why?"

The question surprised him a little. Usually he either gave the information or did not. "I cannot tell you that, only that I mean him no harm." He realized after he'd said it that the latter part of that statement may not hold. He did not know yet why he'd been given the name.

"Lower your hood," the informant said.

"Now why would I do that?"

"The shadows make it easy to hide intent."

Impatience crept into his tone. "You have my word and that is enough. Where is he?"

A slight smile curled the man's lips. "You're speaking to him, Altair."

His small finger on his left hand twitched slightly. The man knew his name, which most likely meant he knew what he was. "It is dangerous knowledge that you possess. Tell me why I should not kill you for it."

Faruq's eyes did not register fear as most men's would. "Yes, I now know who you are and I know what you are." He tented his fingers and paced slowly back and forth as he spoke. "I was informed that you would seek me out and that I should assist you; that you were in need of someone well versed in translating symbols."

With a great deal of effort, he did not betray the alarm in his mind. His voice was low and carefully measured when he spoke. "I'm afraid you've been misinformed, then. I am, however, curious as to who it was that wasted your and more importantly, my time."

"Why did you seek me out?" Faruq asked.

"Answer my question," he said sharply.

Faruq ceased his pacing and faced him. "I do not know his name." He shrugged. "I am not even sure the messenger was male. It was difficult to tell from his speech. He handed me a purse and explained the job. He said that I would cooperate or…" Faruq shook his head, his meaning clear.

"Describe the man."

Faruq held his hand up. "Tall, though not as tall as you, and thin. Beyond that I cannot say. He wore a cloak, hood up – black as pitch."

His dismissed the image that appeared in his mind. It cannot be. Figures did not walk out of dreams into reality.

"I am not a religious man, but his presence was altogether disquieting. He had a strangely pleasant laugh, though. Strange indeed."

"When did you receive the message?"

"Three nights ago," Faruq replied. "How did you get my name? For truly I guard it as much as you guard yours."

Three nights – the same. He decided to divulge the information. "I received a written message, left anonymously. It had your name and a vague description of where to find you. I had no idea that it was you. I thought it was related to something else. Is there anything else you can remember about the meeting?"

"No, nothing. Are you sure there is nothing I can help you with? It makes no sense that we would both receive such messages…"

"I will keep you in mind should I need such assistance in the future. Do I need to tell you what will happen should you ever speak my name to anyone?"

Faruq smiled. "I am a very discreet man. I have to be, to do what I do."

He nodded and opened the door. "If the man should reappear, do tell him that I look forward to meeting him face to face if he should find his courage."



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Who could it be? The question vexed him on his way back to the Bureau. The answer that his mind kept turning over was beyond belief. Whoever it was knew about the Piece of Eden, and knew of the symbols etched upon it, almost like they'd seen him transcribe them into his journal. Impossible. It must be some bizarre coincidence.

The only other explanation that he could come up with is that it was someone connected with Robert de Sable; someone who'd seen the treasure first hand before Al Mualim came to possess it.

He pushed hard off one building. In mid-air he spotted a black cloaked figure moving through the streets below. He landed and turned, peering over the edge of the building. No, his eyes had not deceived him, for there he was. It would most likely prove a goose chase; the cloak hiding some merchant or citizen. He looked over at the green dome of the Bureau, a few buildings to the south, then back to the figure, getting farther and farther away. He took a deep breath and followed the mysterious black cloaked man from the rooftops.

The stride marked him as male, and he moved with purpose toward some destination. The man turned right. Altair quickly leapt to the next building and crossed over the street below balanced on a beam linking it to one across the street. A few quick steps and he'd regained the line of sight. The man was heading toward the large courtyard where orators and despots gathered to spread their messages.

Altair headed around to the eastern side of the buildings framing the courtyard. There was someone speaking from the small stage. The black cloaked man paused, apparently listening.

The orator spoke passionately. "We are all prisoners of the great illusion, my friends. We must free ourselves from the burden of dogma; from the tyranny of faith and see the world as it truly is. Only then can we know wisdom and harmony."

The tyranny of faith. Sibrand had used the phrase. Altair remembered the dying man's words well. Who did this orator speak for? His message seemed somewhat akin to the philosophy of the Brotherhood, but it was also one shared by Gnostics and Buddhists. The Templars who had fallen by his blade claimed to believe it, but they would exchange one tyranny for another. It was not a message one would expect to hear in Saladin's stronghold city.

The orator gave a small bow to the man in the cloak. Odd. It seemed more than a polite gesture – more like deference. The man continued on his way north. Altair hung back until he'd left the courtyard, then moved to catch up.

The man turned east, then north again. Altair had to divert to the west to avoid an archer. He spotted a hay cart and jumped off of the roof into it, quickly exiting and dusting himself off. He picked up his pace. There. The man was ahead of him, heading toward the Pasha Mosque.

He trailed him around to the front of the Mosque and was shocked when the man went inside the building. He could certainly not follow. Some boundaries even the Assassins did not cross unless it was the only way to access a target. He found a bench from which he could discreetly monitor the door and sat down to wait. At least it was shaded. He noted the position of the sun relative to the minaret and pulled his hood down further, obscuring his face from the passing guards.

Time passed, around an hour he guessed. He was well past tired of sitting and was sure Malik was wondering where he was. Some street children entered the grounds. Catching the leader's eye, he flashed a coin, luring him over.

The scraggly boy reached for the coin and he pulled it back. "You were going into the Mosque?" he asked.

"Yes. Did you wish to make a donation?" the boy replied, his two compatriots snickering.

He held up the coin. "This and two more, when you return to tell me whether you spot a man in a black cloak inside." He looked the boy in the eye, his gaze hard and cold as he spoke. "And do not think to lie to me, boy. I can smell falsehood. Understand?"

The boy nodded, the cocky spirit suddenly gone out of him. "Wait here. We will return shortly."

A few minutes later, the boy reappeared. "There is no one inside wearing or carrying such a cloak."

"Are you sure?" he asked, sure the boy must be mistaken.

"I swear. I would not lie to someone such as yourself." The boy's eyes lingered on Altair's left hand.

Children were a lot more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. He caught the three boys' eyes in turn. Satisfied there was no deception, he handed over the coins and got up to leave.

"Are you really an-"

He quickly hushed him. "Tsst." He shook his head and glared at the boy.

The boy swallowed hard and nodded. "Th-thank you for the coin, sir." He and his friends turned and ran, nervous laughter breaking out among them.

He stood a moment longer, perplexed. Where had the man gone? He must have exited out of the little used back entrance. That was the only explanation. He should have observed the building from the minaret. He began making his way back to the courtyard where the orator had been. Perhaps he could extract some information from him.

He came into the courtyard and found that the orator had vanished as well. He cursed under his breath. Nothing to do now but head back to the Bureau before Malik sent someone after him.



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He lowered himself and landed softly on the floor of the Bureau, but still the pigeons scattered. The sound caused a novice meditating on the cushions to turn his way.

"Safety and peace, Master," the novice greeted him.

"You did not hear me enter, did you?" he asked the young man.

The novice opened his mouth to protest, no doubt, but he broke into a nervous smile. "You are as silent as a bird of prey, Master."

"Flattery will not save you should the enemy discover the location of our hideout. I could have killed you at least twice." The novice nodded. Altair pointed at the young man as he continued into the main room. "Mind your awareness, even when meditating."

Malik stood talking with Kadeem and an informant. Kadeem acknowledged his arrival with a respectful nod. Malik looked exasperated.

"I was about to send Kadeem out to track you," Malik said. "Did you find him?"

"I did, but the man knew nothing about the mission. What have you discovered?"

"Al Adil leaves tomorrow, which means that we do, too. One of the elite guard detail that will accompany him was seen leaving the home of Abdul-Matin last night."

Abdul-Matin held a high position at court and was a staunch traditionalist. He no doubt did not appreciate Saladin's more liberal interpretation of the law and chivalric attitude toward King Richard. That certainly was reason enough for him to want to disrupt any negotiations with the Crusaders. But would he go so far as to plot to murder the Sultan's own brother? "Perhaps we should send a message to Abdul-Matin and the guard in question," he said. An eagle feather found under one's pillow could be quite convincing, and it would let the recipient know he was being watched.

"I do not think we should show ourselves yet," Malik replied. "Let us wait and see what happens."

Malik was ever-cautious, whereas he often preferred a more direct approach. He chose not to argue the point in front of Kadeem. "Let us take our evening meal together and finalize our departure plans. I am going to meditate for a while."

Malik nodded, probably sensing that he did not agree. "Peaceful journey, brother."



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He stripped down to his pants and began some stretching exercises to bring his body and mind into full alignment. His body was an instrument, a finely gauged tool that he depended on. Yoga taught him to listen to it, to become fully aware of each muscle and its capabilities and limitations. As he moved through the asanas, he focused on the way his body responded to his breath pattern. He inhaled deeply, feeling the influx of air all the way to the bottom of his feet. Exhaling, he released the pose. He rolled his neck a few times then sank down onto the cushion and began his meditation.  

When the mental chatter had fallen away, it was as if he floated; pure awareness without limitation.

An image appeared before him: the painting in the initiation chamber. He observed, ready for any insight that he may be gifted with.

The object in the raven's beak glowed. He looked closer, his inner eye recognizing the Piece of Eden. The glow intensified. Cracks began to appear behind the representations of the eagle and the owl, revealing the glowing light beneath them. He struggled to remain receptive; to not react emotionally. He could hear it now, a subtle ripping noise as the cracks crawled across the image. The light was blinding. There was a popping sound, then an explosion, sending pieces of plaster toward him like shrapnel. When the light dimmed, he opened his eyes to find that the eagle and owl were gone. Only the raven remained.

He inhaled, coming back into ordinary awareness. No truth. No wisdom. Only illusion. He turned the insight over in his mind. What illusions did he cling to? He could think of no obvious ones. He did not value wealth, fame or power. His life was simple. He valued the Creed; its tenants and philosophy and little else. It had been with him almost his entire life. Though he had stumbled on his path, he never wavered in his faithfulness and never really questioned it. Why not? He sat with the question for a moment, his discomfort rapidly increasing as the seconds passed. He felt like a traitor for even allowing the thought to form, but now it echoed, unanswered and unyielding.