Oliver Bowden - Assassin's Creed - Renaissance

'There will be a time for questions soon,' said Machiavelli.

'Much remains to be done before we can see our loved ones again, and celebrate,' said Mario. 'And it may be that we never will. We made Rodrigo abandon his box but he will not rest until it is back in his possession, so we must guard it with our lives.'

Ezio looked around the circle of Assassins, and noticed for the first time that each of them had a brand around the base of his or her left ring finger. But there was clearly no time for further questions now. Mario said to his associates, 'I think it is time.' Gravely, they nodded their assent, and Antonio took out a map and unfolded it, showing Ezio a point marked on it.

'Meet us here at sunset,' he said, in a tone of solemn command.

'Come,' said Mario to the others.

Machiavelli took charge of the box with its precious, mysterious contents, and the Assassins filed silently out into the street and departed, leaving Ezio alone.

Venice was eerily empty that evening and the great square in front of the basilica was silent and unoccupied save for the pigeons which were its permanent denizens. The bell tower rose to a giddying height above Ezio's head as he began to climb it, but he did not hesitate. The meeting to which he'd been summoned would surely provide him with the answers to some of his questions, and though he knew in his heart of hearts that he would find some of the answers frightening, he also knew that he could not turn his back on them.

As he approached the top he could hear muted voices. At last he reached the stonework at the very top of the tower and swung himself into the bell-loft. A circular space had been cleared and the seven Assassins, all wearing cowls, were ranged around its perimeter, while a fire in a small brazier burned at its centre.

Paola took him by the hand and led him to the centre as Mario began to utter an incantation:

'Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale koulon moumkine. These are the words, spoken by our ancestors, that lie at the heart of our Creed.'

Machiavelli stepped forward and looked hard at Ezio. 'Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember -'

And Ezio picked up the rest of the words as if he had known them all his life: '- Nothing is true.'

'Where other men are limited by morality or law,' continued Machiavelli, 'remember -'

'- Everything is permitted.'

Machiavelli said, 'We work in the dark, to serve the light. We are Assassins.'

And the others joined in, intoning in unison: 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Nothing is true, everything is permitted.'

When they had finished, Mario took Ezio's left hand. 'It is time,' he told him. 'In this modern age, we are not so literal as our ancestors. We do not demand the sacrifice of a finger. But the seal we mark ourselves with is permanent.' He drew in his breath. 'Are you ready to join us?'

Ezio, as if in a dream, but somehow knowing what to do and what was to come, extended his hand unhesitatingly. 'I am,' he said.

Antonio moved to the brazier and from it drew a red-hot branding-iron ending in two small semi-circles which could be brought together by means of a lever in the handle. Then he took Ezio's hand and isolated the ring finger. 'This only hurts for a while, brother,' he said. 'Like so many things.'

He inserted the branding-iron over the finger and squeezed the red-hot metal semi-circles together around its base. It seared the flesh and there was a burning smell but Ezio did not flinch. Antonio quickly removed the branding-iron and put it safely to one side. Then the Assassins removed their hoods and gathered round him. Uncle Mario clapped him proudly on the back. Teodora produced a little glass phial containing a clear, thick liquid, which she delicately rubbed on the ring burnt for ever on to Ezio's finger. 'This will soothe it,' she said. 'We are proud of you.'

Then Machiavelli stood in front of him and gave him a meaningful nod. 'Benvenuto, Ezio. You are one of us now. It only remains to conclude your initiation ceremony, and then - then, my friend, we have serious work to do!'

With that, he glanced over the edge of the bell-tower. Far below, a number of bales of hay had been stacked a short distance away in various locations around the campanile - horse-fodder destined for the Ducal Palace. It seemed impossible to Ezio that from this height anyone could direct their fall accurately enough to land on one of those tiny targets, but that is what Machiavelli now did, his cloak flying in the wind as he leapt. His companions followed suit, and Ezio watched with a mixture of horror and admiration as each made perfect landings and then gathered, looking up at him with what he hoped were encouraging expressions on their faces.

Used as he was to bounding over rooftops, he had never faced a leap of faith from such a height as this. The hay-bales seemed the size of slices of polenta, but he knew that there was no other way for him to reach the ground again but this; and that the longer he hesitated, the harder it would be. He took two or three deep breaths and then cast himself outwards and downwards into the night, arms aloft in a perfect swallow dive.

The fall seemed to take hours and the wind whistled past his ears, ruffling and shaking his clothing and his hair. Then the hay-bales rushed up to meet him. At the last moment, he shut his eyes...

... And crashed down into the hay! All the breath was knocked from his body, but as he got shakily to his feet he found that nothing was broken, and that he was, in fact, elated.

Mario came up to him, Teodora at his side. 'I think he'll do, don't you?' Mario asked Teodora. The middle of that evening found Mario, Machiavelli and Ezio sitting around the big trestle table in Leonardo's workshop. The peculiar artefact which Rodrigo Borgia had set so much store by lay before them, and they all regarded it with curiosity and awe.

'It's fascinating,' Leonardo was saying. 'Absolutely fascinating.'

'What is it, Leonardo?' asked Ezio. 'What does it do?'

Leonardo said, 'Well, so far, I'm stumped. It contains dark secrets, and its design is unlike anything, I would guess, ever seen on earth before - I've certainly never seen such sophisticated design. And I could no more explain this than explain to you why the earth goes round the sun.'

'Surely you mean, "the sun goes round the earth"?' said Mario, giving Leonardo an odd look. But Leonardo continued to examine the machine, carefully turning it in his hands, and as he did so, it started to glow in response, with a ghostly, inner, self-generated light.

'It's made of materials that really shouldn't, in all logic, exist,' Leonardo went on, wonderingly. 'And yet this is clearly a very ancient device.'

'It's certainly referred to in the Codex pages we have,' put in Mario. 'I recognize it from its description there. The Codex calls it "a Piece of Eden".'

'And Rodrigo called it "the Apple",' added Ezio.

Leonardo looked at him sharply. 'As in the apple from the Tree of Knowledge? The apple Eve gave to Adam?'

They all turned to look at the object again. It had begun to glow more brightly, and with a hypnotic effect. Ezio felt increasingly impelled, for reasons which he couldn't fathom, to reach out and touch it. He could feel no heat coming from it, and yet along with the fascination there came a sense of inherent danger, as if to touch it might send bolts of lightning through him. He was unaware of the others; it seemed as if the world around him had grown dark and cold, and nothing existed any more outside himself and this. thing.

He watched as his hand moved forwards, as if it were no longer a part of him, as if he had no control over it, and at last it placed itself firmly on the artefact's smooth side.

The first reaction he had was one of shock. The Apple looked metallic, but to the touch it was warm and soft, like a woman's skin, as if it were alive! But there was no time to ponder that, for his hand was thrown free, and the following instant the glow from within the device, which had been steadily getting brighter, suddenly burst into a blinding kaleidoscope of light and colour, within whose whirling chaos Ezio could make out forms. For a moment he wrenched his eyes from it to look at his companions. Mario and Machiavelli had turned away, their eyes screwed up, their hands covering their heads in fear or pain. Leonardo stood transfixed, eyes wide, mouth open in awe. Looking back, Ezio saw the forms begin to coalesce. A great garden appeared, filled with monstrous creatures; there was a dark city on fire, huge clouds in the shape of mushrooms and bigger than cathedrals or palaces; an army on the march, but an army unlike any Ezio had ever seen or even imagined could exist; starving people in striped uniforms driven into brick buildings by men with whips and dogs; tall chimneys belching smoke; spiralling stars and planets; men in weird armour rolling in the blackness of space - and there, too, was another Ezio, another Leonardo, and Mario and Machiavelli, and more and more of them, the dupes of Time itself, tumbling helplessly over and over in the air, the playthings of a mighty wind, which now indeed seemed to roar around the room they were in.