Revelations ac-4

by Oliver Bowden

When the dust had settled completely, Ezio was able to get his bearings. The startled villagers stood a little way off, eyeing each other uncertainly at the scene of the crash. Ezio’s baleful glare was enough to keep them at bay, but he knew he’d have to work fast. It wouldn’t be long before the Ottoman troops left in their wake would regroup and follow.

  He surveyed the scene. Ahmet lay on his back some dozen feet from the wreck. He was groaning, clearly in great pain. The satchel containing the keys lay nearby. Then, to Ezio’s intense relief, Sofia appeared from behind a patch of shrubbery. She was bruised and shaken but otherwise unhurt. They exchanged a reassuring look, as Ahmet, with an effort, rolled himself onto his stomach and pushed himself up.

  Ezio scooped up the satchel and opened it. The keys were undamaged.

  Ezio looked at the fallen prince.

  “So-what now, Ezio? How does this end?” Ahmet said, catching his breath in pain as he spoke.

  Sofia came up behind Ezio and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I am wondering that myself,” Ezio told Ahmet.

  Ahmet began to laugh, and couldn’t stop, even though it clearly hurt him to do so. He managed to struggle to his knees. “Well, if you happen to find the answer…”

  Out of nowhere, half a dozen Byzantine troops appeared. They were heavily armed and took up protective positions around the prince.

  “… do let us know!”

  Ezio grimaced, drawing his sword and signaling Sofia to step back.

  “You are a fool, Ezio. Did you really think I’d travel without backup?”

  Ahmet was about to laugh again but he was cut off by a hail of arrows, seemingly coming from nowhere, which struck down all the Byzantines in a moment. One arrow struck Ahmet in the thigh, and he fell back, howling in pain.

  Ezio was equally taken aback. He knew no Assassins were in the vicinity, and there was no way that another Dilara could have arrived to rescue him.

  He whipped round to see, a short distance away, a dozen Janissary cavalry, fitting fresh arrows to their bows. At their head was a regal-looking man of about forty-five, dressed in black and red, with a fur cape and a luxuriant mustache. He held up his hand.

  “Hold!” he commanded.

  The Janissaries lowered their bows.

  The leader and two captains dismounted and made their way toward Ahmet, still writhing on the ground. They paid little heed to Ezio, who watched warily, unsure of his next move. He exchanged another glance with Sofia, who drew close to him again.

  With a superhuman effort, Ahmet struggled to his feet, seizing a broken branch to support himself. He drew himself up, but at the same time gave ground to the new arrival.

  Noticing the family resemblance between the two men, Ezio began to put two and two together. At the same time, Ahmet began to speak, addressing the Janissaries in a voice he struggled to keep firm and commanding: “Soldiers! Selim is not your master! You serve the sultan! You carry out his command alone! Where is he? Where is our sultan?”

  Ahmet had backed his way to a fence on the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea, and there, unable to go any farther, he collapsed against it. The other man had followed and stood over him.

  “Your sultan stands before you, brother,” said the man. He put his hands on Ahmet’s shoulders and leaned in close, speaking quietly. “Our father made his choice. Before he abdicated. It was the best thing.”

  “What are you going to do, Selim?” Ahmet babbled, noticing the expression in his brother’s eyes.

  “I think it will be best to remove all possibility of further dissent, don’t you?”

  Selim’s hands leapt to Ahmet’s throat, forcing him back against the fence.

  “Selim! Stop! Please!” Ahmet cried. Then he started to choke.

  Sultan Selim Osman was indifferent to his brother’s cries. In fact, they seemed to urge him on. Ezio saw that he was pressing down on Ahmet with far more force than was really necessary. Ahmet scrabbled at his brother’s face in a vain attempt to beat him off, and as he did so, the fence, which had been buckling alarmingly under his weight, finally cracked and gave. Selim released his grip at the very moment that Ahmet, with a hollow scream of fear, fell backward over the cliff and down to the black rocks two hundred feet below.

  Selim stood looking over the edge for a moment, his face impassive. Then he turned back, and walked over, at an easy pace, to where Ezio remained standing.

  “You must be the Assassin, Ezio Auditore.”

  Ezio nodded.

  “I am Selim, Suleiman’s father. He speaks quite highly of you.”

  “He is a remarkable boy, Ekselanslari, with a magnificent mind.”

  But Selim’s cordiality had come to an end. His affability had vanished as his eyes narrowed, and his face grew dark. Ezio got a strong sense of the ruthlessness that had got this man to the position of power he now held. “Let us be clear,” said Selim, his face close to Ezio’s. “Were it not for my son’s endorsement, I would have you killed where you stand. We do not need the influence of foreigners here. Leave this land and do not return.”

  Unable to restrain himself, Ezio felt rage rise in him at this insult. He clenched his fists, something that did not go unnoticed by Selim, but in that moment Sofia saved his life by putting a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Ezio,” she whispered. “Let it go. This is not your fight.”

  Selim looked him in the eye once more-challengingly. Then he turned and walked back to where his captains and his troop of cavalry were waiting for him.

  Moments later, they had mounted and ridden off in the direction of Constantinople. Ezio and Sofia were left with the dead, and with the gaggle of gawping locals.

  “No, it is not my fight,” Ezio agreed. “But where does one end, and the next begin?”

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Ezio stood once again at the foot of the great fortress of Masyaf.

  Much had happened since he had last been there, and, in the wake of Ottoman conquests in the region, the castle was deserted. A solitary eagle flew overhead, but there was no sign of any human activity. The castle stood alone and silent, guarding its secrets.

  He started up the long, steep path that followed the escarpment sloping up to the outer gates. After he had been walking for some time, he stopped and turned, concerned for his companion, who had fallen a little way behind, out of breath. He waited for her in the shade of an ancient, scarred tamarind.

  “Such a climb!” panted Sofia, catching up.

  Ezio smiled. “Just imagine if you were a soldier, burdened by a suit of armor, laden with supplies.”

  “This is tiring enough. But it’s more fun than sitting in a bookshop. I just hope Azize is managing OK back there.”

  “Have no fear. Here.” He passed her his water canteen.

  She drank, gratefully, then said: “Has it been deserted long?”

  “The Templars came and tried to break into its secret places, but they failed. Just as they failed-in the end-to secure the keys which, together, would have given them access. And now…”

  They were silent for a moment as Sofia took in the grandeur of her surroundings. “It is so beautiful here,” she said at last. “And this is where your Brotherhood began?”

  Ezio sighed. “The Order began thousands of years ago, but here, it was reborn.”

  “And its levatrice was the man you mentioned-Altair?”

  Ezio nodded. “Altair Ibn-La’Ahad. He built us up, then set us free.” He paused. “But he saw the folly of keeping a castle like this. It had become a symbol of arrogance, and a beacon for all our enemies. In the end, he came to understand that the best way to serve justice was to live a just life. Not above the people we protect but with them.”

  Sofia nodded, then said, lightly, “And the mandate for the menacing hoods-was that Altair’s idea as well?”

  Ezio laughed softly.

  “You mentioned a Creed, earlier,” Sofia went on. “What is it?”

  Ezio paused. “Altair made a great�
� study, throughout the latter years of his long life, of certain… codes, which were vouchsafed him. I remember one passage of his writings by heart. Shall I tell you it?”

  “Please.”

  “Altair wrote: Over time, any sentence uttered long and loud enough, becomes fixed. Provided, of course, that you can outlast the dissent and silence your opponents. But should you succeed, and remove all challengers, then what remains? Truth! Is it truth in some objective sense? No. But how does one ever achieve an objective point of view? The answer is that one doesn’t. It’s literally, physically impossible. Too many variables. Too many fields and formulae to consider. The Socratic method understood this. It provided for an asymptotic approach to truth. The line never meets the curve at any finite point. But the very definition of the asymptote implies an infinite struggle. We inch closer and closer to a revelation, but never reach it. Not ever… And so I have realized that, as long as the Templars exist, they will attempt to bend reality to their will. They recognize that there is no such thing as an absolute truth, or, if there is, we are hopelessly underequipped to recognize it. And so, in its place, they seek to create their own explanation. It is the guiding principle of what they call their New World Order: to reshape existence in their ‘own’ image. It’s not about artifacts. It’s not about men. These are merely tools. It’s about concepts. Clever of them, for how does one wage war against a concept? It is the perfect weapon. It lacks a physical form yet can alter the world around us in numerous, often violent, ways. You cannot kill a Creed. Even if you kill all its adherents, destroy all its writings-that provides a reprieve at best. Someday, someday, we shall rediscover it. Reinvent it. I believe that even we, the Assassins, have simply rediscovered an Order that predates the Old Man of the Mountain… All knowledge is a chimera. It all comes back to time. Infinite. Unstoppable. It begs the question, what hope is there? My answer is this: We must reach a place where that question is no longer relevant. The struggle itself is asymptotic. Always approaching a resolution but never reaching it. The best we can hope for is to smooth the line a bit. Bring about stability and peace, however temporary. And understand, Reader, it will always and forever be only temporary. For as long as we continue to reproduce, we will give rise to doubters and challengers. Men who will rise up against the status quo for no other reason, sometimes, than that they have nothing better to do. It is Man’s nature to disagree. War is but one of the many ways in which we do so. I think many have yet to understand our Creed. But such is the process. To be mystified. To be frustrated. To be educated. To be enlightened. And then at last, to understand. To be at peace.”

  Ezio fell silent. Then he said: “Does that make sense?”

  “ Grazie. Yes, it does.” She gazed at him as he stood, lost in thought, his eyes on the fortress. “Do you regret your decision? To live as an Assassin for so long?”

  He sighed. “I do not remember making any decision. This life-it chose me.”

  “I see,” she replied, dropping her eyes to the ground.

  “For three decades I have served the memory of my father and my brothers, and fought for those who have suffered the pain of injustice. I do not regret those years, but now-” He took a deep breath, as if some force greater than himself had released him from its grip, and he moved his gaze from the castle to the eagle, still soaring, soaring. “Now it is time to live for myself, and let them go. To let go of all of this.”

  She took his hand. “Then let go, Ezio. Let go. You will not fall far.”

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  It was late in the afternoon when they arrived at the outer bailey gate. It stood open, and already, climbing plants were weaving their way around its pillars. The winch mechanisms above were festooned with creepers. They crossed to the inner bailey and there, too, the gates were open, and within, the courtyard showed signs of a hasty departure. A half-laden, abandoned supply wagon stood near a huge, dead plane tree under which a broken stone bench rested.

  Ezio led the way into the keep and down a staircase into the bowels of the castle, carrying a torch to light them as he led the way down a series of dismal corridors, until, at last, they stood before a massive stone door made of some smooth, green stone. Its surface was broken by five slots, arranged in a semicircle at shoulder height.

  Ezio put down his pack and from it produced the five keys.

  He weighed the first one in his hand. “The end of the road,” he said, as much to himself as to Sofia.

  “Not quite,” said Sofia. “First, we have to discover how to open the door.”

  Ezio studied the keys and the slots into which they must fit. Symbols surrounding the slots gave him his first clue.

  “They must-somehow-match the symbols on the keys,” he said, thoughtfully. “I know that Altair would have taken every precaution to safeguard this archive-there must be a sequence. If I fail to get that right, I fear the door may remain locked forever.”

  “What do you hope to find behind it?” Sofia sounded breathless, almost-awed.

  Ezio’s own voice had sunk to a whisper, though there was no one but her to hear him. “Knowledge, above all else. Altair was a profound man and a prolific writer. He built this place as a repository for all his wisdom.” He looked at her. “I know that he saw many things in his life and learned many secrets, both troubling and deep. He acquired such knowledge as would drive lesser men to despair.”

  “Then is it wise to tap into it?”

  “I am worried, it is true. But then”-he cracked a smile-“I am not, as you should know by now, a lesser man.”

  “Ezio-always the joker.” Sofia smiled back, relieved that the tension had been broken.

  He placed the torch he held in a sconce, where it gave them both enough illumination to read by. But he noticed that the symbols on the door had begun to glow with an indefinable light, scarcely perceptible, but clear, and that the keys themselves glowed, seemingly in response. “Have a careful look at the symbols on these keys with me. Try to describe them out loud as I look at the symbols on the door.”

  She put on her glasses and took the first of the keys he gave her. As she spoke, he studied the markings on the door closely.

  Then he gave a gasp of recognition. “Of course. Altair spent much time in the East, and gained much wisdom there.” He paused. “The Chaldeans!”

  “You mean-this might have something to do with the stars?”

  “Yes-the constellations. Altair traveled in Mesopotamia, where the Chaldeans lived-”

  “Yes, but they lived two thousand years ago. We have books-Herodotus, Diodoros Siculus-that tell us they were great astronomers, but no detailed knowledge of their work.”

  “Altair had-and he has passed it on here, encoded. We must apply our weak knowledge of the stars to theirs.”

  “That is impossible! We all know that they managed to calculate the length of a solar year to within four minutes, and that’s pretty accurate, but how they did it is another matter.”

  “They cared about the constellations and the movement of the heavenly bodies through the sky. They thought, by them, they could predict the future. They built great observatories-”

  “That is pure hearsay!”

  “It’s all we have to go on, and look-look here. Don’t you recognize that?”

  She looked at a symbol engraved on one of the keys.

  “He’s made it deliberately obscure-but isn’t that”-Ezio pointed-“the constellation of Leo?”

  She peered at what he had shown her. “I believe it is!” she said, looking up, excited.

  “And here”-Ezio turned to the door and looked at the markings near the slot he had just been examining-“here, if I am not mistaken, is a diagram of the constellation of Cancer.”

  “But that is the constellation next to Leo, isn’t it? And isn’t it also the sign which precedes Leo in the Zodiac?”

  “Which was invented by-”

  “The Chaldeans!”

  “Let’s see if this theory holds water,” said Ezio, looking
at the next slot. “Here is Aquarius.”

  “How apt,” Sofia joked, but she looked seriously at the keys. At last she held one up. “Aquarius is flanked by Pisces and Capricorn,” she said. “But the one that comes after Aquarius is Pisces. And here-I think-it is!”

  “Let’s see if the others work out in a similar way.”

  They worked busily and found, after only a matter of ten minutes more, that their supposition seemed to work. Each key bore the symbol of a constellation corresponding to a sign of the Zodiac, and each key sign corresponded to a slot identified with a constellation immediately preceding it in the Zodiac cycle.

  “Quite a man, your Altair,” said Sofia.

  “We’re not there yet,” Ezio replied. But, carefully, he put the first key into what he hoped was its corresponding slot-and it fit.

  As did the other four.

  And then-it was almost an anticlimax-slowly, smoothly, and soundlessly, the green door slid down into the stone floor.

  Ezio stood in the entrance. A long hallway yawned before him, and, as he looked, two torches within, simultaneously and spontaneously, flared into life.

  He took one from its sconce and stepped forward. Then he hesitated, and turned back to Sofia.

  “You had better come back out of there alive,” she said.

  Ezio gave her a mischievous smile and squeezed her hand tightly. “I plan to,” he said.

  He made his way forward.

  As he did so, the door to the vault slid closed again, so fast that Sofia hardly had time to react.

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  Ezio walked slowly down the hallway, which sloped ever downward and broadened out as he progressed. He scarcely had need of his torch since the walls were lined with them, and they flared alight, by some mysterious process, as he passed them. But he had no sense of unease, or trepidation. In a curious way, he felt as if he were coming home. As if something was nearing its completion.

  At length, the hallway debouched into a vast, round chamber, 150 feet across and 150 feet high to the top of its dome, like the circular nave of some wondrous basilica. In the body of the room there were cases that must once have contained artifacts; but they were empty. The multiple galleries that ran round it were lined with bookshelf upon bookshelf-every inch of every wall was covered with them.