Roots

Bursa
1473

The other boys may have made fun of him, due to his lack of having a father. It wasn't something you talked about with others; in fact, his mother was often scorned for presumably carrying and giving birth to an illegitimate child. But six-year-old Yusuf Tazim knew he was a boy meant for greater things… He often spent hours dreaming of the heroic adventures his father, whom he had never known, had undoubtedly experienced. And despite her few friends and neighbors strongly stressing otherwise, his mother, Ceren Tazim, encouraged these thoughts and ideas; these throes of imagination. She would often take her young son into her arms before bed, and shared with him tales of her own. His father had been a brave man, never one to back down from a fight, but rarely a person to start one. She told him his father had been tall and impressive, with dark, meaningful eyes, and skin a beautiful olive brown. He commanded an army of ten-thousand eagles, which at his word would swoop down from the sky in droves, destroying their enemies, the oppressors of the people. But he was not a figure to be feared, sevgili oğlum, his mother would remind him. For he fought to free these people. But because the leaders of the people he fought to protect feared him so, that is why he is no longer with us today.

Yusuf would sleep contently those nights, dreaming of his father, a fierce but noble entity with the sharp, watchful eyes of an eagle, and hands resembling talons. He wore robes made of fine dyed wool. And he flew across the sky, leaving trails of fire in his wake.

Ceren smiled and gently stroked her son's soft, black curls as he slept. "Dream sweetly, my son." She murmured. "Dream of your father, the Assassin."  

**

1484
Kostantiniyye

"Thief! Yakalayın! Catch the thief!" An enraged yell sounded in the bazaar, catching the undivided attention of everyone in the vicinity. Yusuf grinned and clutched his newly found prize – a finely woven satchel – tightly in his grip as he zig-zagged through the crowded marketplace. Behind him the shouts of alarm increased in fury and pitch, soon joined by one or two of the young thief's other victims. His grin abruptly disappeared, however, when a strong hand reached down and grabbed the boy by the back of his neck, forcing him up.

"Is this the meretz hırsız??" A powerful, heavy-set man with a booming voice called out. Yusuf grit his teeth, feet kicking wildly against the dirt-covered floor.

"Bırak beni! Let go!" The man broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, listen to how the child howls!" He grinned wildly, giving the boy a hearty shake. "What are you – thirteen? Where is your father?" he demanded to know. Yusuf curled his lip, hands forming into tight fists.

"I am seventeen! Let go!"

"Seventeen?" He arched his brow, smirking. "A bit on the scrawny side, evet? But old enough to be treated as a man." He tightened his grip on the teenager's neck, causing Yusuf to grimace.

"Desturun! Here is your thief!" He announced, holding up the boy as if he were a fish to be haggled over. Yusuf would have none of it. He coiled his legs, and then kicked out at the man's grotesquely large stomach. The man cut off in mid-yell, doubling over. Yusuf grabbed the his arm and bit down. Hard. Suddenly finding himself free, and amidst the pained howls of his former captor, Yusuf made his panicked escape from the bazaar.

Mere minutes later he lay on the low roof of the marketplace, exhausted and panting. He closed his eyes tightly, still gripping the small satchel in his fist. He waited for the blood to stop rushing in his head before slowly rolling over onto his side. He tugged the drawstrings open on the bag and flipped it open, dumping out the contents.

Yusuf's face fell as he stared dejectedly at the two small silver coins that dropped out. He picked them up in one hand. The street-toughened teenager wanted to cry. These wouldn't have paid for the cheap satchel itself, much less any food for him that night. Yusuf swallowed hard, feeling his narrow stomach rumble in protest.

He'd have to steal another four purses to make up for such a disappointing turn-out. But right then, Yusuf only wanted to lie still and let himself sleep. It was a warm night, and he was unlikely to be disturbed, lying there on the roof. Besides, something about it just felt…right. Gibi amacının, as his mother used to tell him. Yusuf sighed and stared up at the slowly darkening sky. Eventually his eyes closed, and the gentle rumbling of his stomach lulled the hungry boy to sleep.

He wasn't entirely sure what time it was, but it was pitch black when Yusuf awoke, his head filled with images of his mother. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, anxious to get the troubled images from his mind.

"You were dreaming of your mother."

Yusuf jerked and sat up, eyes wide. He reeled away from the stranger – a towering man covered head-to-toe in olive green and blue armor. A dark hood covered his eyes.

"Ne yapıyorsun bulunduðunuz? Who are you??" He demanded, heart racing. The stranger regarded him with only the slightest hint of amusement.

"You were dreaming of your mother." He repeated. His voice sounded heavy. "Allah bless her soul… She did her best." Yusuf stared at the stranger in shock.

"You don't know my mother."

"Evet. I did. And dare I say, your father as well." Yusuf stumbled to his feet, glaring at the stranger in fury.

"You mock me as well? And to think I left Bursa to escape from me and my mother's shame!" He spat at the stranger, quick to emphasize his anger. In one sudden movement, the man grabbed Yusuf by the forearm, his fingers digging tightly into flesh. The petty thief let out a yell of surprise and moved to strike the man with his free hand. But the stranger moved in the blink of an eye, extending a strange metal hook out from his wrist and swiping the startled boy off his feet. Yusuf landed hard on his back. Before he could blink, there was a heavy knee digging into his chest, and a sharpened blade at his throat.

Yusuf didn't dare breathe. He barely could even if he wanted to. He stared eye-to-eye with his sub doer. The stranger looked down at him in something akin to disdain. Then the look melted into that of one a little less harsh.

"Yusuf Tazim…" He spoke finally, after a long pause. His voice was firm, but held no anger. "I did know your father. His name was Gökhan Tazim. He married your mother, Ceren, when he was all but nineteen." Yusuf opened his mouth to speak, but the man abruptly cut him off.

"I know you no longer believe the stories she told you, Yusuf. But your father was indeed an Assassin. Just as your mother told you."

"He was not- "

"You often dreamed of eagles, didn't you?" The question caught the young thief so off guard he could only lie there with his mouth open. The stranger took that as an opportunity to continue.

"Of eagles. Of men in long robes and hoods. Soaring through the air." As he spoke he eased his knee out of the teenager's chest. Yusuf felt a thin whine escape his lips before he could stop it. The blade finally retracted, and Yusuf dared himself to start breathing normally once again.

The man straightened up and continued, pacing slowly. "There is a reason you find the rooftops to hold comfort, Yusuf." He spoke softly now. "Your father did as well. As do all of those in our Order."

"Order?..." Yusuf climbed carefully to his feet, wearily eyeing the stranger. He kept his distance, though. "You mean some sort of cult." To his surprise, the stranger actually chuckled.

"It would be, if we all shared the same religious views. Our Order is made up of all different kinds of people, with all different kinds of backgrounds. But we share only one Creed." He regarded the younger man seriously.

"Nothing is True. Everything- "

"Is Permitted." Yusuf finished, looking surprised even at himself. The stranger blinked, then relaxed into a smile.

"Evet… Your mother did tell you." Yusuf nodded slowly, looking mystified.

"Anlamadığım… I don't…" The stranger tilted his head, standing tall.

"I am Ishak Pasha." He said proudly. "Father and Mentor to the Düzeninin Suikastçiler here in Kostantiniyye." He spread his arms and bowed. "Yusuf, I would like for you to join our Order. Continue your father's legacy. I will guide you each and every step of the way." He extended his arm in friendship.

Yusuf's brow furrowed in vague suspicion. He thought of his mother, and felt a painful surge of guilt in his stomach when he realized she had been right all this time…and that while he had believed every word she spoke as a child, with age had come skepticism, and then outright scorn. But now… it was time his life changed. He would not survive much longer on thievery. And perhaps he'd finally learn something about his father.

Yusuf took a slow breath, and likewise put out his arm to meet that of the stranger. His Mentor.

"Teach me."




**




sevgili oğlum – my dear son
yakalayın! – catch him!
meretz hırsız – damned thief
bırak beni! – let me go!
desturun!- excuse me!
evet? – yes?
gibi amacının – like it was meant to be
ne yapıyorsun bulunduðunuz?- what are you doing here?
Anlamadığım – I do not understand
Düzeninin Suikastçiler – Order of the Assassins