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This work of fiction was inspired by historical events and characters. Furthermore, the purpose of this work is to entertain and not to discriminate any social or racial groups.

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 A scene from a story in-progres.

Assassin, by AnniePad

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Some nights, I would wake up drenched in sweat, hands desperately grabbing the bed sheets. I wouldn't know where I am, my mind too focused on the nightmare that plagued me just moments before. I would stare at the ceiling, desperately gasping for air. This one was not different.

It was just a dream.

I repeated this mantra in my mind as I took steady breaths. The calming technique I learned slowed my ragging breathing and I could think clearly once again. It is just a job, I know this. If I don't do it, someone would. Masyaf is the stronghold of two hundred assassins, one will accept the mission. What's the difference, then? It's not like I would save lives saying no. The Old man of the Mountain will just have to find another assassin willing to end the life of the man marked for death. Their screams don't bother me, I got used to them. My eyes are always cold, not letting their pain flow through me, make my regret my decisions. I have been doing it since I was fifteen, and never have my victims visited me in my dreams. I have never regreted anything. Well, not since I killed that man in front of his little son. But, back then, I still hadn't learned how to control my feelings. I was still young and inexperienced, and the death of his father reminded me of my own, how I lost him without saying goodbye.

I was so young then, maybe six years of age when an middle - aged assassin came to our quarters in the Al-Kahf castle.

I was with Fatma then. She was my nanny, a retired assassin with an opened hearth and a sincere smile. She would take care of me when father was on a mission out of the village. She was with me since my birth, she was like a mother to me. We played with wooden horses my uncle crawled out of wood for me, when a knock sounded on the door. Fatma casted me a quick smile and headed for the door. I saw the assassin only for a moment before he led my nanny onto the hallway. It was quiet for a few minutes, then I heard a loud sob. I peaked out of the doorway. Fatma was criing and the old assassin was trying to calm her down his back turned toward me.

I didn't know what was happening, so I asked in a small, innocent voice "Miss Fatma, why are You criing?"

She looked at the assassin and he noded. The assassin turned toward me and I could see a fresh wound on his check. He slowly moved towards me and put a hand on my shoulder. "I am truly sorry, AltaÏr. I did everything I could, but I was too late." Your father-"

"No!", I cried and before anybody could stop me, I locked myself in my room. I cried for hours without stopping. It was getting dark when I finally got out of the room, Fatma was sitting on the sofa and the assassin was talking in the corner with Sinan.
​
"AltaÏr." Sinan said in a gentle voice.

"Master." I said in a hoarse voice, I was dehidrated from all that crying, "I apologize for my reaction, it will not happen again." And with that I left the room and headed for the small kitchen.

The elders must have seen I won't talk with them so the two assassins left and only Fatma stayed.

While I was in my room I made a decision. I will never feel any of those horrible emotions like today.Never again.

Getting out of my bed, I move to the open veranda. I stand there, letting the cold breeze wash out my thoughts.

I don't feel fear, sadness or anger. I don't feel anything toward my targets. But, sometimes I would dream about them.

Sometimes, I would wake up to the feel of blood on my hands. Blood would be everywhere, so cold and at the same time warm. I know the smell of burnt flesh, and the sound a knife makes as it slices into flesh. I know how their eyes stare at me as they realize who I am, sometimes it's worse when they are unfazed, when they now I am coming, when they know their fate. They look so broken, like there is nothing more to live for. Do they belive in Heaven? Hell? When I end their lives on this world, do they believe they are going somewhere better or worse?

I close my eyes.

These are the questions, I ask myself everytime I woke up to the sound of my victims screams. And everytime, I cannot find an answer. Sometimes, I wonder how it would feel like to die, to be on the reciving end of someone's blade. How would it feel like, when a blade slides into my chest. Would I be afraid? Angry? Would I scream? Cry? Would I feel the blood flow out of my wound, or would I be too shocked to even notice anything?

No, I wouldn't. I'm an assassin and I'm trained not to feel fear. I would be unfazed, and die a proud death like many assassins before me, and those that will come after me.

Did it even matter? I killed so many already, that I didn't care anymore. I would die someday. Will it be a fail assassination attempt, a dissease, or just of age?

When I went to my final sleep, will I be at peace with myself? Will I have a family? Will I have somebody that will love me, no matter of my past?

Only time could tell.

opening my eyes, I stare into the distance. Miles and miles of craggy terrain, rivers like veins making their ways in the mountains. The sun started waking up, making peaceful trails of light on the mountains, green fields below, and clusters of settlements.

Every assassin, when he joins our cause, is send to a paradise, a place full of beautiful women and landscape, where wine flows in rivers. A place without war and death. A place where only peace and serenity could exist. And then, when he realizes he could stay there forever, without a care in the word, he is brought back, to the real world. A word full of war and bloodshed, fear and pain. But, with the promise of return if he plagues his life to the Assassin's Order.

I move to the stone staircase, which led me to vast gardens. The garden is massive and looks like that of an European nobleman, boasting a plethora of different trees, plants and foliages. There are flowers in so many shapes and colors, which cannot be found in Syria. They were delivered to Masyaf by many travelers who came and left the village. Despite all the beauty of the various plants that resident in the garden, the crowning glory of the garden is the cascade that lies on the farthest end of it, and the crystal blue lake that sits in front of it, reflecting the golden rays of the sun in a grand display.

I move to sit on a stone bench, that overlooks the castle and the river that lies below it. It's perfectly quiet, except the sound of waves crashing onto the stone walls.

I spend years traveling from village to village, from one city to the other, from region to region, every one more beautiful that the other in it's unique way, completing every mission Sinan gave me without protest, all in hope of seeing Paradise again.

Now, while I sit here and gaze upon the citadel which loomed darkly in front of me, as if it had been hewn from the very limestone itself, I realize that I have been blind the whole time. I have seen more that most man my age and seen more bloodshed an ordinary man could in his whle lifetime, I realize that the Paradise I spend years searching for, was the whole time in front my eyes, I was just too blind in my want to find it, to actually see it.

It's the place I long for on long missions, the place I spend my childhood in., the place I feel safe inside its tall, stone walls. It's home, Masyaf. From the imposing castle of many turrets, surrounded by shimmering rivers, to the buildings and markets of the sprawling village below, the wooden stockade of the outer curtain and stabling, to the miles and miles of craggy terrain, rivers like veins, and clusters of settlements that decorate the Orontes Valley.

It's an oasis of peace.

A paradise.