Malik washes up on shore, coughing and thrashing. The air is too light and comes in too quickly to fill in his new lungs, only to rush out again when he tries to stifle his sobs. He cannot wipe his tears because his single hand is gripping on a sword—Altair’s—and how he manages to keep it, when he cannot even keep his brother, is nearly laughable if it isn’t for the pain.
His legs are bare, scraped raw and bleeding from when he drags himself over the sand, which feels unnatural and sharp against the skin. Malik knows he should stand, or at least try to, but he’s hurting all over.
“Hey, that’s my sword.”
Altair is there, suddenly, towering over him with a scowl. His movements are precise and forceful, using the heel of his boot to nudge Malik over. This isn’t the same man who has spent hours talking to the sea, though Malik can smell the spices from the pouch at Altair’s hip—and maybe he had been on his way to the pier, or was coming back from it, disappointed and angry that the sea spirit did not show up.
Malik tries to explain, but his throat closes and he gags, just like the Apple promises.
“Oh,” Altair says, sounding surprised. “Did your ship sink? Or did you fall off it?” Even his worried expression looks condescending.
Malik wants nothing more than to punch him and blame him for everything.
“You,” he cries, and swings the sword at the man’s throat, but, as always on land, his aim is off and Malik can’t keep to his feet on the uneven sand. He wobbles, and the sword buries itself into the ground.
“Are you insane?” Altair asks, unimpressed. He hasn’t moved from his spot, and that enrages Malik even further.
He’s helpless and everything just hurts so much. Malik tries to attack him again, but Altair moves with a grace that Malik has only seen underwater, flowing and smooth, and twists his arm so that the sword falls from his hand.
“I should kill you,” Altair growls, placing his palm under Malik’s chin—it is only later that Malik realizes the hidden blade at his forearm—and pushes forward. “But you are lucky my master does not allow me to kill an innocent, if you are indeed innocent, and… what are you doing?”
Malik is not yet used to his new legs, so he grips Altair’s shoulder with his arm and leans against him, propping his chin on Altair’s palm.
“I can’t stand,” he hisses, hating this weakness, however new it is to him.
Altair’s hand twitches, his fingers brushing over Malik’s cheek, before it draws away. There’s pity in his eyes. Malik stumbles, but Altair brings himself closer, cautious, and puts Malik’s arm over his shoulders to hold him up.
“Where did you come from?” he demands, kneeling to retrieve his sword.
The quick movement makes Malik dizzy, and he realizes how tired he is. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is an incoherent gurgle until he coughs and says, “I can’t tell you.”
Altair frowns, but he starts to walk; Malik watches his feet, observing how they move. The first step they take together, Malik nearly trips and Altair has to pull him back up.
“Are you injured?” he asks, but when he checks Malik’s legs he only finds tiny cuts and bruises.
“I can’t walk,” Malik says, exasperated that he has to repeat himself, and that he can’t explain why. “But I will learn.”
Altair throws him an odd look.
“What’s your name?”
“Malik,” he says, and is surprised that he can.
“I am Altair.”
I know, Malik wants to say, but walking is difficult and Altair doesn’t seem to mind the silence.
He doesn’t ask where they are going, but he looks over his shoulder to see the ocean until it disappears from sight, and the world of humans and air and fire starts to spread out before him.
The Moon and the Tide [4/?]
His legs are bare, scraped raw and bleeding from when he drags himself over the sand, which feels unnatural and sharp against the skin. Malik knows he should stand, or at least try to, but he’s hurting all over.
“Hey, that’s my sword.”
Altair is there, suddenly, towering over him with a scowl. His movements are precise and forceful, using the heel of his boot to nudge Malik over. This isn’t the same man who has spent hours talking to the sea, though Malik can smell the spices from the pouch at Altair’s hip—and maybe he had been on his way to the pier, or was coming back from it, disappointed and angry that the sea spirit did not show up.
Malik tries to explain, but his throat closes and he gags, just like the Apple promises.
“Oh,” Altair says, sounding surprised. “Did your ship sink? Or did you fall off it?” Even his worried expression looks condescending.
Malik wants nothing more than to punch him and blame him for everything.
“You,” he cries, and swings the sword at the man’s throat, but, as always on land, his aim is off and Malik can’t keep to his feet on the uneven sand. He wobbles, and the sword buries itself into the ground.
“Are you insane?” Altair asks, unimpressed. He hasn’t moved from his spot, and that enrages Malik even further.
He’s helpless and everything just hurts so much. Malik tries to attack him again, but Altair moves with a grace that Malik has only seen underwater, flowing and smooth, and twists his arm so that the sword falls from his hand.
“I should kill you,” Altair growls, placing his palm under Malik’s chin—it is only later that Malik realizes the hidden blade at his forearm—and pushes forward. “But you are lucky my master does not allow me to kill an innocent, if you are indeed innocent, and… what are you doing?”
Malik is not yet used to his new legs, so he grips Altair’s shoulder with his arm and leans against him, propping his chin on Altair’s palm.
“I can’t stand,” he hisses, hating this weakness, however new it is to him.
Altair’s hand twitches, his fingers brushing over Malik’s cheek, before it draws away. There’s pity in his eyes. Malik stumbles, but Altair brings himself closer, cautious, and puts Malik’s arm over his shoulders to hold him up.
“Where did you come from?” he demands, kneeling to retrieve his sword.
The quick movement makes Malik dizzy, and he realizes how tired he is. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is an incoherent gurgle until he coughs and says, “I can’t tell you.”
Altair frowns, but he starts to walk; Malik watches his feet, observing how they move. The first step they take together, Malik nearly trips and Altair has to pull him back up.
“Are you injured?” he asks, but when he checks Malik’s legs he only finds tiny cuts and bruises.
“I can’t walk,” Malik says, exasperated that he has to repeat himself, and that he can’t explain why. “But I will learn.”
Altair throws him an odd look.
“What’s your name?”
“Malik,” he says, and is surprised that he can.
“I am Altair.”
I know, Malik wants to say, but walking is difficult and Altair doesn’t seem to mind the silence.
He doesn’t ask where they are going, but he looks over his shoulder to see the ocean until it disappears from sight, and the world of humans and air and fire starts to spread out before him.
---