Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Three: Get the Hell Off My Land

Davenport Homestead, 1769

Naomi

"Do not think of your sword as a weapon, but an extension of your arm!"

I duck and roll, narrowly dodging a blow meant for my head. I aim to strike Achilles' torso and not his sword—like how I've been trained—but he predicts my next move and parries swiftly. After a whole day of training, I'm already getting tired, my movements sluggish and unfocused. I know I'll never be able to beat Achilles in sword-fighting; but I am faster than him.

Within a split-second, I round Achilles and engage his sword-hand in a lock, successfully disarming him. His sword drops to the ground, rewarding me with a satisfying clatter.

"That, I believe, would be cheating," Achilles says, a smile playing on his lips. Much to my relief, he limps over to the weapons rack to store the blade, a sign that we're done for the day.

It's almost ten years since I came to Davenport Manor; almost ten years of training in fighting, running, climbing and falling. Achilles said he would train me, and he did it well. Always pushing me to my limits, he never thought I should be any less strong, just because I'm a girl. He believed in me then, when I was lost and broken on the manor's front door, and I know he still does now.

Which is why I like him, despite his more-often-than-not grouchy attitude.

A loud knocking sound from the front door disrupts my thoughts. Achilles arches an eyebrow at me, which I understand as Expecting anyone? I shrug at him over my shoulder, already climbing the stairs out of the underground training room two-by-two.

"Naomi, wait—that could be the bandits!"

I know the visitor could be anyone, but my definition of anyone at this moment certainly doesn't include tall, dark-haired Native boys knocking a little too vigorously on the door.

"Um..." The boy is at a loss for words. I suppose he was expecting someone a little taller and preferably much more masculine.

The sound of Achilles' walking stick thudding against the floor breaks our awkward silence. "What?" he asks the boy, none too kindly. I thought he would be pleased to see that it wasn't the bandits, but apparently the sight of a Native boy was equally unwelcome.

"I...I was told you could train me," the boy replies, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"No." And just like that, Achilles tugs me out of the doorway, and shuts the door in the boy's face.

"What...?" The older man is already hobbling down the hallway. "Achilles, why didn't— "

"Did you think this was a school for aspiring Assassins?" he grumbles. "Or a tavern for lost youths?"

I stare at him in disbelief. "I just think you could have at least— "

The boy's fist pounds on the door again.

"GO AWAY!" Achilles shouts.

"I'M NOT LEAVING!"

Achilles doesn't seem to care, however, and continues up the stairs. "Goodnight, Naomi."

I sigh. Achilles could be so difficult, sometimes. I walk to my own room, wondering why the gentle old man I knew couldn't have treated the boy with a little more kindness.

*

I wake up to the sound of a door being knocked fiercely, much to my annoyance. I was having a good dream, until some blithering idiot who couldn't have come at a better time decided he should wake the whole manor.

I don't exactly remember when I started sleeping well—or have good dreams, for that matter, but the memories of waking up screaming from nightmares seem quite distant. Not distant enough that I can forget—I don't think I would ever forget, but far enough that the agony is reduced to an ache.

"I apologize if I've been unclear—or otherwise confused you with my words—it was never my intention to mislead, so let me try to clarify: GET THE HELL OFF MY LAND!"

Oh, Achilles. I don't know if I should be amused at his sarcasm, or feel sorry for the boy who had been rudely told off.

"I'M COMING UP!"

Already dressed in a shirt and trousers, I peek out a nearby window, just in time to see the boy nimbly scale the mansion walls. He swings himself over the balustrade with ease, landing lightly on his feet. It's something I can do myself, but I can't help envying his agility and grace, both of which are better than mine.

That boy is annoyingly good.

"Just hear me out, what are you so AFRAID of?"

My heart leaps in small celebration when I see Achilles tripping him, making him fall flat on his back.

"AFRAID?" Achilles thunders, and I'm glad I'm not the one facing his wrath. "You think I'm afraid of anything, least of all a self-important little scab like YOU?"

The boy raises both his hands in a sign of defeat. It is a wise move.

"Oh, you might think of riding to rescues, of saving the world—but stay this course, and the only thing you're going to be is dead," Achilles said, jabbing the boy's chest with his walking stick. "The world's moved on, boy, it's best you do too." Then he leaves the balcony and shuts the door without another word.

*

"I don't understand, why are you—treating the boy—like that—gah!"

In my distracted state, Achilles easily disarms me, and I earn myself a nick on the wrist.

"I don't think I taught you to have a lovely chat with your opponent while he's trying to kill you."

"Why show me such kindness, and yet none of the same to him?" I continue, as if he had not spoken. "If it's because you pitied me— "

"I have never pitied you," Achilles says, his voice as firm as concrete. "I showed you such kindness because your father was my friend, and I wish to honor him. And, perhaps," he adds softly, "because you are easy to love."

"What's that?" I tease. "You love me? Then maybe we can call it a day and get some— "

"Not enough to let you off early," Achilles grins. "Pick up your sword!"

"You haven't answered my question," I say, retrieving my weapon. "Why are you so unkind to him?"

The older man exhales slowly. "I wanted to see how long it would take for him to give up."

"And if he doesn't?"

His lips twitch into a small smile. "Then I suppose you will have a new friend."