Desert Oath: The Official Prequel to Assassin’s Creed Origins

by Oliver Bowden

  Moments of disorientation followed, and then a searing pain from my arm and my stomach, each painful twinge reminding me of his blade, flashing in the sun. I thought of his kohl-blackened eyes, dead; the scars on his face that seemed to glow like white worms. I thought of the red scarf and I tried to pull myself upright, only to be sent back, speared by agony that seemed to lance through me.

  The thought of Aya stayed with me, anchored to the base of my skull, while I fought the dizziness that prevented my ability to think clearly and make sense of my surroundings. And then, with a delayed reaction that I was almost shameful of, I remembered my father. I saw again the vision that had followed me as I was swept, bleeding, along the river away from the scene of battle: a sword that rose, glittering almost prettily in the sunshine, and then fell, plunged downward into my father.

  He had his worries about me, which he’d expressed as doubts as to my suitability as a Medjay. I knew it was fatherly concern he’d never been able to articulate, but it had also created the distance between us. One I had struggled to cross these past years. In the end, I suppose for that reason as much as any other we’d never really got to know one another as friends, but we in a fashion finally became father and son, and he had taught me to become a Medjay. We had intended to return to Siwa together, where I would eventually take up the mantle of town protector, so perhaps friendship would have developed in time. Who knows? Maybe not.

  One thing was certain, I would never find out now.

  Where was it, the medallion he had given me? I wasn’t sure, but I knew that for now it didn’t matter. Unless I was very much mistaken, I was the last Medjay.

  Whatever Medjay would be, from now on, was up to me. Even with the grief haunting me, it was a grounding, sobering thought.

  After some time I became aware of another presence in … well, I wouldn’t call it a room, it was more of a space. But either way I realized I was not alone. Raising my head to peer towards the end of the sleeping mat, I could see a man who now spoke. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  He stepped into the light and to my relief it was not my father’s killer. This man was much, much older, and stood slightly stooped, the way that I suppose is usual when you make a boat your home. He wore a white tunic, and his hair was held back by a band across his forehead. Standing just to the left was a woman I correctly took to be his wife. She looked fretful and concerned, and as I watched she gave him a nudge with her elbow so that he stepped forward and introduced them as Nehi and Ana, man and wife, owners and residents of the boat in which I lay, which they used to fish and to transport goods up and down the river.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’ asked the woman. Like her husband, her voice was gentle and reassuring. It reminded me of my own mother at her most comforting, and the thought alone sent a pang of homesickness through me that was sharper and more painful than any of my wounds.

  ‘Where am I?’ I said.

  And so they told me. They told me that they lived on the boat and that we were travelling north, which, of course, I knew meant home, and that they had found me in the water grievously wounded.

  ‘You looked like you’d really been in the wars, young man,’ said Nehi.

  ‘We thought you were dead for sure,’ agreed Ana.

  ‘We tended you as best we could,’ said Nehi, quickly clarifying, ‘not that you owe us anything, of course, we wouldn’t hear of it.’

  ‘Then I can’t thank you enough.’

  Next came the question how long I had been there, and they looked at each other, pulling faces, shrugging. ‘Not that long,’ said Nehi. ‘Only four nights.’

  I tried to think. That meant that the killer, whoever he was, had four nights’ head start on me. ‘If you take me north with you, then I think I would stay.’

  ‘What is there?’

  ‘My home town. And the woman I love.’ I paused, not willing to endanger them by mentioning the Medjay. ‘My life.’

  I hoped that these answers were not contradictory. Either way, I knew I needed to be in Siwa.

  64

  ‘I just wanted to return your scarf,’ Bion had said when Aya awoke to find him standing over her. ‘You fell.’

  She had taken a moment or so to focus, unnerved by a man being in her house without her inviting him in, careful as any woman would be. The strange smell was gone, at least, but she remembered it nonetheless.

  ‘Your neighbour said you’d be returning soon,’ he was saying. ‘She kindly suggested I wait for you here.’

  By now she had got to her feet slowly, testing her steadiness, not wanting to feel at a disadvantage. ‘My aunt …’ She began.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, nodding to acknowledge the point, ‘I’ve been speaking to Nefru.’ He smiled faintly, though his eyes never changed. ‘I told her about our encounter in the oasis. She’s told me everything.’

  Aya smiled carefully, falling back on a more serene persona, hiding her inner turmoil as thoroughly as she could.

  Why? Why would she want to avoid this man’s company? That was a good question and one she couldn’t quite answer. After all, she knew she had nothing to fear from him. And yet, on the other hand, maybe she did, because there was something about him. Definitely something about him. Something that put her ill at ease. She could not help but wonder if the horse thieves in the oasis had perhaps found her because someone had told them she’d been there. Someone who had followed her to the oasis. And then to Siwa.

  ‘How long was I …?’

  ‘Moments,’ he said. ‘I caught you and laid you down to give you water.’ He indicated a beaker set upon a stool. ‘You revived before it became necessary to seek further assistance from next door.’

  Nothing had been disturbed, she noted, glancing casually at the beaker and the room beyond. She took another breath, as though trying to clear her senses – still no smell. Keep things normal, small and familiar, she reminded herself. Let him think her unawares. She might be wrong. But she might be right.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t go there. I wouldn’t like to worry my aunt or Nefru. But wait, when did you speak to Nefru?’

  ‘Oh, well that was when you were away, seeing …’ He looked as though he were thinking, although to Aya it looked as though he were pretending to think, ‘somebody’s mother. Was it Bayek’s mother?’

  ‘Something like that,’ she said cagily, and then went to move past him. He had no reason to bring up Bayek. None, save perhaps his own interests. Aya forced herself to remain calm, calculating the possibilities. He was trouble. But was he the killer? ‘I ought to go next door, to check on my aunt.’

  He had now stood too, and moved across, almost blocking her way. As though a coincidence. ‘Do you think you should be going next door if you don’t feel well? I’ve heard medical men say the demons of ill health can feed off one another.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine,’ she said casually, manoeuvring past him in the way anyone might if facing a random stranger, not feeling threatened. ‘I need to check she’s all right.’

  He looked uncomfortable. Had she not been already paying attention, it would have looked normal. ‘In that case, perhaps I should leave.’

  Yes. Yes I would prefer you to leave.

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ she said quickly. If he was trouble, if he was the killer or one of his agents, then she wanted to know where he was. She wanted him in her sights. ‘Please stay. I was very grateful for your support when those men tried to attack me and you can stay as long as you like. Now, I’m going to check on my aunt. I’ll be but a moment. Perhaps we can eat after that? I’m very keen to know more about you.’

  A strange look flitted over his features, one she would have been sure she’d imagined had she not been looking for any clue, anything at all. ‘Thank you,’ was all he said.

  She bobbed her head to escape her aunt’s house, gulping in the air of the street outside, blinking in the sunlight that bounced off bleached stone, her eyes going to the temple as though somehow drawn there. She w
ished for the presence of Bayek. Right now she would have settled for the presence of his father, even. She went to her right and was about to duck into Nefru’s house when she stopped herself. What if her aunt was in danger? Then again, he’d already spoken to Nefru. If he was the danger, then it was too late to stay away.

  ‘Nefru,’ she spoke softly at the door, ‘are you there?’

  The old woman appeared. ‘You’ve got a guest,’ she said meaningfully. Aya gently backed her into the house, away from open windows nearby, and possible listeners.

  ‘You spoke to him.’

  Nefru nodded. ‘Well, he seemed nice enough. And you didn’t tell me about what happened with those thieves,’ she fussed gently over Aya, looking her over as though invisible injuries might suddenly come to light.

  ‘What did he ask you?’ pressed Aya.

  Nefru nodded again and rolled her eyes. ‘Well, he certainly was inquisitive. He wanted to know everything there was to know about you and Bayek, your aunt, Bayek’s father …’

  ‘Everything, then?’ interrupted Aya.

  ‘Oh yes, pretty much everything.’

  And you told him, didn’t you? Aya took a short breath, funnelling her frustration into as tight a ball as possible, setting it aside with all her determination.

  Standing there, she felt aware of him somehow, almost as though he might be listening through the walls, even though that was a fanciful idea.

  Of course, you told him everything. You have no idea.

  She checked in on Herit then left. As she did so, she came upon Bion in the street, just leaving the house next door, making her jump a little. She turned her startlement into that of any woman, hand on her heart, a breathy chuckle of recognition.

  ‘Hello,’ he said with a smile. The more she looked at him, the more it felt as though he were empty. He tilted his chin, looking over her shoulder, and she turned to see Nefru turning back inside the house with a wave. ‘Did you find out everything you needed to know?’ he asked her. His smile was fixed and practised, in no danger of reaching his eyes.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She allowed herself a slight weave, the memory of her earlier anxiousness easy to recall. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to have another little lie down.’ She passed a hand across her forehead. ‘I’m still feeling a little weak from earlier. Perhaps we could have something to eat later on.’

  ‘I would like that,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, I think I’ll have a wander around the village.’ He indicated upwards. ‘Your temples are renowned.’

  With that, they parted ways.

  As she turned he leaned in towards her and she fought an impulse to flinch. ‘You didn’t mention either to Nefru or to your aunt that you’re not feeling well, I take it?’ he asked.

  She shook her head but found herself puzzling on why he wanted her to stay silent, and then, as she went into her home, some instinct made her look out of the door again. Her eyes went to where Bion was walking up the street, although he was not heading towards the temple. If anything, she decided, he was going in the direction of Bayek’s house.

  65

  I was sad to leave Nehi and Ana. Just being with them felt like being cocooned in a shawl, and not just any shawl, but one belonging to my mother. I’d got used to the night-time rhythms of the boat. During the day when I had felt better I had gone up on deck, sitting to watch the business of the Nile, enjoying again all those aspects of the river that had enchanted me when I first clapped eyes on it so many years ago, a callow youth setting out on a journey to find my father. I trained as well, subtly so, the boat an interesting challenge to my balance. Nehi and Ana taught me more than they ever realized during those times when the waves were choppy, and I struggled to maintain my footing on the wet wood.

  But then the time came and I had to take my leave. I would miss them, but I was eager to get going. I bade them a fond farewell, thanked them for nursing me back to health and assured them that there would always be a place for them in Siwa, and that on arrival they should ask for me, the town protector.

  ‘We will look forward to meeting this Aya we’ve heard so much about,’ said Ana.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and hoped my face did not betray my fear that Aya had fallen victim to the killer.

  I traded for a horse from a local caravan at the first opportunity, spending most of my remaining coin. As I began my trek across the desert towards Siwa, my thoughts turned to the killer who wore her scarf. My thoughts were dark. They tortured me at night. Had he killed Aya?

  At a settlement I asked a merchant, ‘Have you been here long?’

  ‘Day and night for over seven summers.’

  ‘You must see most people who go through here.’

  ‘That I do.’

  ‘Have you seen a girl, a woman? One who would have been travelling for many days. She wears her hair in braids, scarves gathered at the belt, wrist guards, very beautiful.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve seen a girl who looks like that. She bought bread from me.’

  ‘She didn’t happen to mention that she was on her way to Siwa?’

  ‘That she did.’

  Relief had flooded over me and I made to leave, but then something, some instinct, made me turn back. ‘Can I just ask, about a second person?’

  I described the killer. And then a chill ran through me when the trader told me that this man had also passed through the settlement, also on his way to Siwa. In the next moment I was on my horse, redoubling my efforts to get home.

  66

  Bion had returned, and now sat cross-legged on a mat on the floor, tunic stretched across his lap and a beaker of wine cradled in his hands. By his side lay a plate, on it crumbs of bread. Sitting opposite, Aya had watched him eat intently, with his head down, eating habits that were, she decided, the result of a lifetime spent either in the army or as a nomad. Only through her training with Bayek could she see the small signs of a man economical with his motions, could she spot the calluses specific to someone who wielded a sword, used a bow.

  She knew very little about the scar-faced stranger who was now her guest. He seemed to have discovered everything about her, yet given away nothing in return. That in itself, though, told her so much. She was now certain he was the killer. Lying in wait for Bayek, having found her.

  She crossed, picked up his plate and then poured a little more wine into his cup. Next, she dragged a stool to the opposite end of the room, wanting to put a bit of distance between them, then taking a seat and reaching for her own wine. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what’s your story? Why have you never settled?’ The question of any young woman in a small town such as Siwa, intent on acquiring gossip. Nefru’s habits were easy to adopt, to hide under while she watched intently.

  ‘Who can say? Years spent in the Royal Guard, I suppose. As a young man I lived and worked in Alexandria, my job was to protect the rich and powerful.’

  She perked up a little at the mention of the great city. ‘My parents live there, in Alexandria,’ she said, and let the happiness at the thought of them swim through the worry she’d kept hidden away, another layer of misdirection. ‘I spent my very early years there before coming here to live with my aunt.’

  She was thinking, But you probably already know that. And, indeed, he was nodding. It felt more like acknowledgement than the casual assent one might give a story heard for the first time. ‘I’d like to go back there one day,’ she ended. He asked no questions. Did not pursue the topic.

  ‘Well, that is something I never want to do,’ he said. ‘It is a life I am more than happy to leave behind.’

  ‘We’re very different, you and I,’ she said, wondering at his composure, knowing she trod a dangerous line in pointing that out.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, indeed we are. Except in one important respect.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ she said cautiously. ‘And what respect is that?’

  She didn’t like the look she saw in his eyes. There it was again. It was as though there were a hollow space behind them. Nothing
there.

  ‘You remember that day at the watering hole, when you complimented me on my skills with a bow and pointed out that my bow looked new?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I told a lie when I said that I was the best with a bow in my company.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. Her eyes flicked to the doorway, wondering whether she needed to make a run for it, whether she could reach the doorway before he could stop her. ‘I suppose the question is why you felt the need to lie to me?’

  He chewed a lip. ‘I was never very good with a bow. My commander, Raia, would often mock me for my lack of bowmanship.’

  ‘You were ashamed?’

  ‘It was not something to be proud of as a member of the Machairophoroi.’

  She felt a crawling sensation in her belly, knowing he knew she knew. Their words were knives now, and any moment blood might be drawn. Nonetheless, she kept still. If he wished to harm her, he would have done so by now.

  She’d been right earlier. Bait.

  ‘I think that was it,’ he was saying. ‘You see, I am only a recent convert to the bow. I think for that reason – embarrassment, vanity – I preferred to keep that fact secret.’

  ‘There is no shame in that,’ she told him, still wondering what point he was trying to make but also not really caring. As long as he was talking, not moving, he was not trying to kill her. As long as he was talking, whoever approached might hear him and know. ‘Nobody, least of all me, would have judged you on something so trivial. Your appearance at the waterhole that day was most welcome.’

  ‘You hardly needed help from me. I could see that you were proficient in combat. I wondered then as I wonder now where you learned such skills.’

  ‘My …’ She paused. ‘My friend, Bayek, was keen that I should be able to defend myself on my travels. It was he who taught me.’

  ‘You put them into action magnificently. And where is he now, this Bayek?’

  ‘You asked that same question of Nefru. You know the answer. I wonder why you ask it again of me now.’