Memoirs of a Crusader

By Andrew William Rodriguez

Come with me on a journey, of bravery, love, honor, faith, hope, loss, despair, and treachery; from a mile above Rome to the shores of the Holy land, come with me though I warn you this is not a tale for the faint of heart. Let me tell you of the dreams, battles, and sorrow of Andres de Roma, a man fated to have hope within reach for a long time, yet fortune is never his friend, still he can-not afford to give up hope for all of our sakes. He shall be taken to the edge of the abyss, here he shall dwell for a long time, and near constantly at risk of Damnation. He shall not find anything comes easily, for what worthy having is easy to gain, yet through all of this he shall not be alone, as powerful forces move both with and against him. Both his faith and his soul shall be tested in ways he never would have seen coming, come with me to heart of darkness, to the place the eye does not see, to the edge of the palace of light, and the edge of salvation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499069310

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Copyright © 2014 by Andrew William Rodriguez.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014915803

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4990-6932-7

                Softcover        978-1-4990-6933-4

                eBook             978-1-4990-6931-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/09/2014

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CONTENTS

Prologue:    Assassination Prevention

Part 1:   Journey to the Holy Land

Part 2:   A Change of Plans

Part 3: Years Is a Very Long Time

Part 4:   The Gates of Hell Are Open

Part 5:   Can I Win? Is My Soul All but Damned? What Do I Have Left?

Epilogue:   Who I Am

PROLOGUE

ASSASSINATION PREVENTION

N arrator: Hello, reader. This is a personal story, so it shall be told only from the first-person perspective since the thoughts of others can only really be the opinion of someone else. No one can hear everything said and done, so I hope you are happy with the way it is told. Throughout the whole story I shall leave out some things, assuming that you already know them. Should you not understand a reference (to something such as the Bible) and I do not elaborate further, I do encourage you to do your own research on the topic to dispel any ignorance of which you may be guilty. From here on, the narrator role shall be referred to as memory , for this is a tale told from the memory of someone who would like to forget much of the subject matter, but alas, such a fate would be too easy. And his destiny has never been as simple as he would wish it to be. Please try to forget this little disclaimer. Read, and hopefully, at the end of this story, you will find something of worth in the resolution and take away some ideal of which you can apply to your own life, making the world a better place. From now on, there shall be no further mention of this paragraph; the story shall really begin, and may God watch over you and your loved ones and help you in the pursuit of your dr eams.

M emory: Hello, reader. I am a Crusader. My sovereign master is God. Above all other loyalties have I followed and shall I follow him now and forever. My task at present is to tell a tale that should be told despite any reservations I may have on the issues. I shall endeavor to tell it all no matter how much pain it may cause me to think of (let alone tell) certain parts of it. Before we continue, you, the reader, should know that I am indeed what you probably expect (from the cover, if there’s no other source)—a pious Roman Catholic. However, I shall endeavor to tell this story as unbiased as I can. If I should, in your eyes, fail, then please know I have tried. My tale starts off rather ordinary, yet it becomes extraordinary. There are many beginnings yet no real end (yet). To give you a taste of what is to come, I shall start this story on an airplane in the present day.

The plane was flying peacefully toward Rome, the eternal city (from Paris, if you were wondering), yet all was not well for eight terrorist were on board. They were going to let the plane fly 90 percent of the way to Rome before hijacking it. Once they had the plane, they would keep the crew alive long enough to communicate with the control tower. They knew the pope was in Rome on September 11, 2014 giving a speech of tolerance, virtue, and peace. They sought to let the world know that no one was beyond their reach. On the same day, other people were targets for assassination attempts. These attacks were sadly motivated more by a desire for revenge, rather than the honor of martyrdom they aspire. The wrath in their souls was the reason I had come, for while it was true that I was sworn to the protection of His Excellency the pope under normal times, I sadly would have had to let them take his life. Yet these were not ordinary times, and I would have to let him die. However, these were sadly very troubling times (but more on why later). As such I needed his council in addition to the council of my peers, which was just one of the reasons why things were so troubling for I felt that perhaps I could do the Lord’s work in spite of breaking oaths I had long obeyed.

With all my heart I wished that they would not act, instead choosing the path of peace, yet I knew far too well how much they had planned for this day. And so it began. Three of them were part of the crew. They pulled the curtain so no one outside first class could see their next acts. The other five were scattered throughout the cabin, dressed in normal clothing. The traitor crew had given them their guns as they had come aboard. Once the cockpit was secured, they turned off the No Smoking light. This was the sign that the new pilot and copilot were to come to the cockpit to take over the flight. Once the flight crew was tied up and the new flight crew was in place, one of the traitor crew became their navigator while another kept a gun trained upon the regular crew. Finally, the third traitor crewman ran from the cockpit and began a long monologue (you may find it hard to believe, but at this point, they had not killed anyone yet). He spoke in my native tongue, Italian. I stood and began to walk toward the front of the plane as he spoke. Meanwhile, as you can expect, the other three crew members tried to stop me by pointing their weapons at me, yet as before, they did not fire. And though one of them put his 9 mm pistol against my head, I knew that he would not fire upon me, for in spite of everything, he was not a murderer.

Muhammad: Stop and sit back down!

Me, still walking and speaking in Greek since I knew he spoke it because he was from Istanbul: For once in your life, do not give in to peer pressure. Muhammad, look into your soul, look into the eyes of the many innocent on board this plane. Your comrades are filled with revenge while you are motivated by a combination of blind faith, wrath, pride, and if we are both honest, lust.

Muhammad: No! No, there is no lust on my mind! Lust has not influenced my decision to become a martyr. You are a liar, sir! Now I demand that you get down!

Memory: He raised his pistol to hit me with it, yet before his pistol came into contact with my head, it turned to liquid in his hand. A second man stood and fired seven rounds at me. They all fell harmlessly into my left hand, yet I kept walking forward. The third man in the cabin tried to kill me in a similar way; only this time, he was to shoot at my back, yet before he could fire, his pistol became a gray mist. He looked upon it in disbelief. It then took on the shape of leg cuffs and handcuffs. Finally, I walked stooping and gave a wave of my hand. The other two had their guns turned into the same thing, and I used my power to gently place them into their seats. The hijacker in first class had heard the sound of gunfire and had understandably become very nervous. She was calling to his friends in Arabic, yet out of fear, they did not answer.

Yasmin: What has become of Samir, Sa’id, and Muhammad?

Me, switching to Arabic: They will be fine, milady. They are sitting comfortably in their chairs, which I shall now ask you to do as well, if you would be so kind.

Yasmin: Why? Why would I do that?

Me: We both know you worked extremely hard to get to this moment in time, and while I find many aspects of your pious nature respectable, I shall not let this plane crash. I shall not let these people die needlessly.

Yasmin: This is not needless!

Me: This shall not give you the bliss of heaven as you desire. (That last part was spoken softly.) If you seek paradise, you shall lower the gun and sit down for I mean you no harm.

Memory: Once more I walked toward her, yet to my surprise, she was startled by my movement. She then grabbed a passenger to her left and pointed a gun at his head. With great sadness, I simply dematerialized the gun in her hand and chained her to her chair, like the others. My attention was then turned to the cockpit, where the plane was controlled, so I destroyed the door, walked in, and disassembled the seven weapons they had. Then I untied the crew and shoved the remaining terrorist in the closet they used for the crew, but after a few moments, I took them to some seats, leaving those who had been part of the crew. Then I sealed the door so no one would bother them. Then I let the crew land the plane. Then I sat down in my chair. I was well aware of how everyone who could was looking at me, unsure whether to thank me or be terrified of me, for they had no idea where my power began, where the plane was going, and what my real motives were. Yet what they could not know was that I was erasing any proof of this terrorist attack. By changing the computer files, changing any recorded images, one by one I was gradually changing their memories of what had happened, substituting what had actually happened with a memory of just sitting back and relaxing while the plane flew peacefully toward Rome. By the time we landed, everyone had no idea of what had happened in the plane. The landing was very close to perfect, yet when the plane landed, I vanished with the would-be terrorist, erasing any proof we had ever been on the plane. With great speed, I chose to take us to a little stream I had once known northwest of Rome. It was night, and I knew no one would notice us.

Sa’id, after leaving the plane: Who or what are you? Where did you get this power? Why did you choose to spare our lives?

Yasmin: Where are we?

Muhammad: Why did you bring us here?

Me: Well, now! One at a time in the order of how you asked. My name does not matter. Not even my siblings call me by what it was, so for all purposes, my name is no more. If you wish to call me anything, call me by my profession, call me Crusader. We are on a farm in Italy. This power is the means of how I protect you and everyone else. That is all you need to know of its origins. Fourthly, no one will bother us here. We all knew I could have killed you, as I can still kill you, and in the short term, that probably would have been the best choice to make. Yet that would have been reckless.

(All gasp at the word crusader.)

Sa’id: Well then, what was on your mind for the long term? Have you kept us alive only to be your would-be pawns in some grand scheme? And just what do you mean that your profession is being a crusader?

Me: Well, sir, a war has been raging, though if we can, I hope no one else will get involved. Yet if it does, this war will be all consuming. All will be needed, every man, every woman, and every being in creation! This war will see this world turned to dust. All will fall to darkness should we fail, for I go now to the gates of hell itself. There shall it begin. There we shall either set free untold quadrillions or begin the end for freedom. If this battle goes to plan, our foe shall be beaten beyond the point of revenge, yet humility would have me acknowledge that to my great regret, we have failed more times than I wish to reflect upon. But such is war—

Yasmin: Tell us.

Me: No! (Silence.) Sorry, I mean no, I shall not.

Yasmin: Please forgive my outburst, but I meant tell us how we could help you should your plan go ill.

Me: Though you would never admit it were you to be interrogated, you were being both supplied and encouraged by terrorist organizations, including the nation of Iran. (Several gave signs of confusion for they had not known.) Is that not correct, Sa’id?

Sa’id: No, I ha-av-av … have no idea what you are talking about, sir.

Me: Please do not lie to me. I mean, you are the leader. You were born in Iran, though none of your friends here would know this, would they? They all think you were born in eastern Iraq.

Muhammad: Is this true?

Sa’id: Does it matter?

Yasmin: It matters since it means you lied to us! That is their way. Our way is one of truth and honor!

Sa’id: Fine. He speaks the truth! But do you not see? He seeks to turn us into pawns! He must be destroyed!

Tariq: How! How would we even try to destroy him?

Zain: He purposely chose not to kill us. I for one wonder at him, for if we are to be his pawns, then what role could we fill that he cannot?

Yasmin: Personally, I see no malice behind his actions. If we are to see the daylight, I suggest we listen close and try not to offend him.

Me: Well, now that, that has been decided, you should know that I kept you all alive to be messengers of forgiveness. (They all gave me confused stares at this notion.) This war shall not just be physical violence. If it comes, every man shall be tempted. Sadly, many who you call ally shall have filled their hearts with so much hatred that they will not be able to resist these temptations. They shall actively fight against me and the order of which I am part of. If this is the case, they shall all die. Yet I have hope that many of them, if not all of them, can be reached and saved from this fate.

Tariq: Why choose us? Is it because you would not blend in with an Iranian marketplace?

Memory: This did irritate me more than I would like to admit, yet I changed my skin pigmentation from a Mediterranean olive to a Scandinavian pale, then the deep darkness of a runner from the Congo. Then I changed it to the even tan of a person born to the beaches of Honolulu before arriving on the skin pigmentation most common to Tehran marketplaces. All this had caused many to gasp. Others let their jaws drop while others let out profanity, and Sa’id passed out from surprise. It should be noted that as my skin changed, so did my face change to the generic characteristics of people in whatever region I sought to emulate. This also caused me to take off my dark shades so I could show them the change in my eye pigmentation—from a milky white (providing the appearance of blindness) to blue, then hazel, then dark brown. Finally, my eyes became emerald green.

Me: That is not a problem. As you see, I can become whatever I want, yet I cannot reach every ear, mind, or every heart. I wish you to seek out those who are filled with hate. Give them your friendship, give them your love, help them to let go of the past and have the ability to start anew, this time working to make the world a better place. If the situation seems untenable, either I or any of my siblings shall come to evacuate you and all you have saved from damnation.

Sa’id: Damnation! What do you know of damnation?

Me: My powers are to hold the darkness at bay. As such, I have fought within hell itself! Sa’id, I have not killed you because you are the most radical of all here. You have been in their shoes. As such, if any can sway the most hardened of hearts, it would be you. Yet if you wish death so bad, then I can give it to you if you choose it, but I would prefer you did not and instead embrace me as a brother.

Sa’id: No, not death but salvation! Martyrdom!

Memory: He then threw a punch at me that I caught. I then put the blade of a dagger to his throat. He then gulped, and for a moment, I saw fear cross his eyes.

Me: This may be a form of martyrdom, but this is not the way to heaven. Furthermore, you must realize that there is a better, more meaningful way to gain the glory of heaven. Join them in this cause and help them to finally have peace, but not like this.

Zain: What are you?

Me: Once long ago, I was just an Italian man that sought glory, honor, and like you, martyrdom, if I felt it was necessary. I fought at Acre, Jaffa, Arsuf, and a dozen other battles long since forgotten by history, yet that was long ago.

Tariq: How did you become what you are if you started out as a man?

Me: With all due respect, Tariq, you fired upon me not seven minutes ago. And while I have spared your lives, this does not mean I trust any of you with that knowledge.

Yasmin: Please, please do tell us that we may understand for we are all very confused. Please.

Me: The answer is as it was before—no. There is no time for discussion on this. My answer will not change. I must speak with His Excellency the pope, and work must be done if you are to start new lives in the Middle East.

Sa’id: Very well. We shall help you.

Memory: Sa’id’s words surprised me since I thought it would take more convincing to get him to help, yet I saw no lie within his eyes. I wondered if he might well expect the truth, yet I would do nothing about it either way. Thus, I took them to the places they could do the most good, created new computer files to help them start their new lives, then left them to start anew. If they needed me, I would come if I am able. However, the coming battle was looming heavily upon my mind, for while I had all but lost track of the many battles, I would never describe myself as foolhardy, for far too many of my loved ones had fallen in battles far smaller than this promised to become. And complacency was a factor in many of these situations. Still, I needed the pope’s guidance before I went any further toward possibly ending everything I held dear. Thus after seeing them safe at their new homes, I went to Rome and awoke His Excellency Pope Francis. He was tired, but I showed him my spear-sword, and he recognized me for who I was, so I had his complete attention.

Francis: Why have you come to me in the dead of night?

Me: The herald himself told me to start it. I confess I want to open it, yet not for the reason you would expect.

Francis: Oh really?

Me: There is a woman—

Francis: Here I was of the impression that all of you were—

Me: Sir, I am the only exception.

Francis: Well now, please explain to me what makes this woman so important, for to say these words of yours is very troubling.

Me: Well, I think she is my soul mate, sir, yet she is set to die if I do not open the gateway. And the herald came at my request far too easily. I cannot help but feel unease at these events.

Francis: What makes you feel she is your soul mate?

Me: Well, within her eyes I see her soul. Her soul seems exactly the same as Christina’s soul.

Francis: Are you sure?

Me: Well, that is the thing about souls. They are very hard to read. Even with my training, it is hard to be completely positive about anything, though I have never experienced it before. However, in