The Weight Of Secrets

Chapter 7: The Weight of Secrets

The alley was suffocatingly narrow, the torchlight from the main street barely reaching the edges of the shadows where they stood. Mehri's wrist was still trapped in the man's iron grip, her muscles tense, but her eyes betrayed no fear—only calculation.

Sayid's heart pounded as he met the cold gaze of the stranger before them. The man was lean but strong, his face partially hidden behind a cloth mask, only his sharp, piercing eyes visible. Behind him, two more figures blocked the alley's exit, their hands resting casually on the hilts of their blades.

They weren't ordinary thugs. Their stillness was practiced, their presence radiated control. The Order of the Black Flame never acted without purpose.

Sayid swallowed hard, keeping his grip firm on the strap of his satchel. He could feel the manuscript's weight against his chest—centuries of knowledge, secrets that men had killed for, and now… secrets that could cost him his life.

"Hand it over, scholar," the masked man repeated. "You are carrying something that does not belong to you."

Mehri's lips curled into something resembling a smirk. "That's a funny way to say 'we're here to kill you.'"

The man barely reacted. "You are mistaken. We do not kill for pleasure, nor for coin. We only remove obstacles."

Sayid exhaled slowly, his mind racing. Were they sent by the Empire? By the Mongols? Or was someone else pulling the strings?

His instincts screamed at him—stall. Find a way out.

"You claim this manuscript does not belong to me," Sayid said, shifting his posture slightly, "but do you know what's inside? Have you read the words written within its pages?"

The man tilted his head, studying him. "Knowledge is a double-edged sword. Those who wield it unwisely often do not live long enough to regret their folly."

Sayid let out a humorless chuckle. "That is the excuse of men who fear wisdom."

A flicker of something—amusement?—passed through the stranger's eyes.

Mehri moved fast. In a single heartbeat, she twisted her wrist free, slamming her knee into the man's stomach. He staggered back, but not far—he was trained. He recovered quickly, raising his arm to block the follow-up strike from her dagger.

The other two assassins lunged forward.

Sayid ducked just as one of them swung a short, curved blade toward him. His mind screamed at him to run, but he knew better—turning his back now meant death.

Think, Sayid. You are not a fighter, but you are not helpless.

His hands darted to his belt, grabbing the small vial of sand and ground glass he had carried since leaving the caravan. In one swift motion, he flung it into the assassin's face.

The man let out a choked cry as the mixture burned his eyes.

Sayid didn't wait. He ran.

Mehri was already moving. She grabbed Sayid's wrist as they dodged between the remaining two assassins, pushing deeper into the alleyway. The city streets were close—if they could just reach the crowd—

A hand clamped onto Sayid's shoulder.

He gasped as he was yanked backward, nearly losing his footing. The masked leader was faster than he expected.

Mehri spun, raising her dagger—but the man didn't attack.

Instead, his grip tightened as he whispered:

"You do not understand what you are carrying, scholar. But you will."

Then, before Mehri's blade could strike, he let go.

Sayid stumbled forward, catching himself just as Mehri pulled him into the open street.

The city of Al-Qadira roared around them—markets still bustling, traders shouting, music echoing from distant courtyards. The assassins would not strike in the open.

Sayid and Mehri didn't slow down until they had put several winding streets between them and the alleyway. Only then did Mehri grab his arm, pulling him into a quiet corner beneath a worn tapestry hanging over a vendor's stall.

Both of them were breathing hard.

"What… was that?" Sayid managed between breaths.

Mehri shot him a glare. "You tell me, scholar. Who did you steal that book from?"

Sayid felt a pang of exhaustion. "I didn't steal it."

Mehri folded her arms. "Then what makes it worth dying for?"

Sayid hesitated. He had asked himself the same question many times.

The manuscript wasn't just ink and parchment. It was a history buried beneath centuries of conquest and bloodshed. Within its pages were truths that men had tried to erase.

And yet…

"I don't know," he admitted.

Mehri's expression darkened. "Then you should decide quickly whether it's worth your life."

Sayid exhaled, pressing his back against the rough stone wall. He knew she was right. A secret, once learned, could never be forgotten. And the deeper one dug into history, the more dangerous the truth became.

The words of the masked assassin still echoed in his mind.

"You do not understand what you are carrying, scholar. But you will."

Sayid closed his eyes for a brief moment, gripping the satchel strap.

Whatever was in these pages, it was no longer just a mystery.

It was a warning.