Now We Are Free

He was gone.

Malik knew deep in his heart, that there was no way his friend was coming back. Knew the instant he saw Altair’s beloved grey stallion standing as if lost in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded, at a respectful distance, by assassins.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

It just seemed impossible. Only the other day they joking about how, by the time he saw his 30th birthday, Altair would be suffering from so many old injuries that he might have to retire. He had survived so many appalling injuries, most of which would have killed any lesser man, that it didn’t seem impossible for him to defy death one more time. He just seemed indestructible. The very notion that he was…dead was preposterous.

Even when he saw Altair’s weapons; his saber, his short blade and, most damning of all, his hidden blade gauntlet, tied securely to the saddle in one final act of honor from some faceless enemy, he couldn’t believe it. None of it seemed real.

Even the thick silence that hung almost tangibly over the fortress seemed surreal. No one could bring themselves to believe that the arrogant master assassin, who, despite all his less than lovable traits, had saved them all and turned the tide of an entire war by himself, was dead. Even the wind blew mournfully, whispering a disbelieving “No” as it went through the gate.

Malik watched as Zauba’a hung his proud head. Even if they all refused to believe Altair was gone, his stallion seemed to be the only one who knew and accepted the truth. Grief showed on every inch of his muscled body, from the way he hung his head, his eyes dull and ears flopping listlessly to the side, to his defeated stance, to the way he tucked his long tail between his hind legs. It seemed that at any moment, tears would slide down his long nose.

Malik was positive that it was grief the horse was feeling. Altair had been the one to tame the restive stallion as a yearling, had been the one to win the big gray’s heart. Only Altair could ride him…in fact, no one even had a semblance of control over him. He was Altair’s, heart and sole. He would have no one else.

Malik reached out and ran his hand down the sleek grey neck, murmuring softly to the big horse. One ear twitched but that was the only reaction he got. What would happen to the horse now, he wondered, with Altair gone? They had had a true bond. Without Altair around, Zauba’a was as wild as the whirlwind demon he was named after.

On a sudden impulse Malik grabbed the bridle and led the suddenly docile stallion out of the courtyard. It hurt to see him so broken, so defeated…he was so much like Altair with his energy, determination and even arrogance. He didn’t deserve this.

The crowd watched curiously as Malik led the horse, not to the barn, but down the road through the village, through the gate and out to the open land beyond.

As the wind picked up and swirled around them, Zauba’a picked his head up a little bit, his ears and nose twitching. Malik smiled a little bit as he watched his reaction as he ran his hand down the sleek gray neck,

“There’s only one thing we can for him now.” he said softly to Zauba’a.

Suddenly Malik reached over and pulled the cinch loose, yanking the saddle off and unceremoniously dumping it on the ground. The bridle quickly followed.

For a moment, Zauba’a stood there; seemingly unaware that he was loose, that he was free. Then a sudden burst of wind made his head snap up, ears pricked and nostrils flared, in the alert eager pose that Malik was so familiar with.

A shrill cry borne on the ever-increasing wind echoed above them. Looking up, Malik saw an eagle circling overhead. In his mind’s eye he could see the proud head with arrogantly cold eyes and the sharp beak. He could see the power and speed as it folded its wings and dove through the air in a perfect Leap of Faith that he had only seen replicated by one person. How aptly he was named, Malik mused, his throat constricting and heart aching with nostalgia, for Altair was so much like the eagle… Malik’s face twisted in anguish as reality set in. He wasn’t coming back. Altair was dead.

Zauba’a suddenly let out a low whinny, the same whinny he used to greet Altair with. Malik glanced up at him. He was watching the eagle…greeting it? No, his grief was getting the better of his mind.

The stallion reared up suddenly, a shrill whinny piercing the air as his front legs pawed at the air. Muscles bunched like liquid steel in his haunches as he sprang forward, long legs gobbling up the ground as he raced the wind as he had so many times before with Altair on his back, urging him forward.

As he ran the eagle swooped through the air above him, riding the warm air currents, screeching out again, seemingly flying with him. Bourne along by the swift winds, he surpassed the stallion easily, long strong strokes of his wings pushing him to greater speeds.

The stallion changed course suddenly, following the graceful bird. He was running with a purpose now, running with the same determination and courage that had borne both him and Altair through so many adventures. He was racing the wind one more time. But this time would be his last. Like Altair, he wasn’t going to come back.

Malik watched the eagle and the stallion fly farther and farther away, Zauba’a long silvery tail seeming to wave good-bye to him. Tears streamed freely down his face, his whole body nearly convulsing as he let out gut-wrenching sobs. But a small part of his heart soared with the eagle and stallion, free as they were, as their spirits were. As the warm wind embraced him once again in its flowing arms he raised his head up towards the heavens and whispered one last thing to his friend,

“Good-bye.”

Far off in the distance, he heard Zauba’a whinny for the final time and the eagle cry out and he smiled through his tears.

Altair had heard him.

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