Chapter 58
The journey to the Psamathia District, toward the residence of Konstantinos Dalassenos, Doux of the Fleet, resumed with heightened vigilance, with eyes that never ceased scanning both sky and land, with ears that caught every suspicious sound, with hearts that remained alert even though their bodies had begun to feel weary from the battle and tension they had just endured.
Jerusalem, July 15, 1099, the End of the First Crusade.
In the midst of the endless desert stretching beyond the walls of Jerusalem, beneath a sky beginning to redden with the approach of dusk, the Temporal Cross-Police's flying ship landed smoothly without sound, without vibration, without leaving the slightest trace upon the golden sand.
Its concealed wheels touched the ground with an absurd gentleness for an object of such size, and within seconds, the ship stood perfectly still in its place, hidden behind low sand dunes that shielded it from the sight of anyone who might happen to pass by.
There was no crash, no impact, no additional damage other than what had already been caused by Nirma's missiles several hours earlier.
The units inside exhaled in relief, even though they were beings who did not truly require breath, grateful that the emergency landing system still functioned flawlessly despite the severe damage to their outer reactor.
From inside the ship, through small windows nearly invisible from the outside, the units could see into the distance, toward the walls of Jerusalem fading in the dim light of dusk.
They knew exactly what would soon occur in this place, knew that thousands of Crusader forces were drawing near, knew that within days or weeks this holy city would fall, and blood would flow in every corner.
Yet they did not care.
It was not their concern, not their mandate.
Their mandate was Nirma and Arya, two fugitives who had damaged their ship, two fugitives who had humiliated them before the entire Temporal Cross-Police, two fugitives they had to capture no matter what.
A unit bearing a commander's insignia on his chest stood in the center of the control room, still filled with thin smoke from the earlier explosion, his cold eyes watching the screens that were lighting up one by one.
"Damage report," he said briefly, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
Another unit immediately replied in the same tone.
"The outer reactor has sustained severe damage from two missile strikes.
The main balance pillars are cracked at three points.
The intertemporal propulsion system is completely disabled.
Estimated minimum repair time: seven days with available resources."
The commander nodded slightly, showing neither disappointment nor anger, merely accepting the facts as they were.
"Then we will remain here, in the year 1099, until repairs are complete.
Find a secure hiding place, far from Crusader routes, far from settlements, far from anyone who might see us.
And while waiting, gather any evidence that may have been left behind, any trace that might indicate where the two fugitives will go next.
We have not surrendered, we never surrender.
We are only delayed, and delay is not defeat."
The units moved at once, executing the order with high efficiency, while outside the ship dusk continued to descend and Jerusalem prepared for another chapter in its long and bloody history.
At first, nothing seemed unusual in the desert as it grew covered by evening, only the faint creaking sounds of repair tools beginning to work around the ship's outer reactor, only the brief exchanges of technicians busy handling the damage caused by Nirma's missiles, only the desert wind carrying fine grains of sand dancing in the air.
The technician units worked with great efficiency, their mechanical hands moving swiftly to mend the cracked balance pillars, replace scorched components, inspect every joint that might have loosened.
Captain Marcus and several of his members stood not far from the ship, their eyes vigilant as they scanned the surroundings, ensuring no threat approached, no Crusader patrol happened to pass by, no one saw their presence in this Jerusalem desert.
But as dusk deepened, as the sky shifted from orange to purple to black, something happened.
A burst of green light suddenly appeared not far from the ship's landing position, about fifty meters to the west, behind the low sand dune that had served as their natural shield.
The light was not too bright, not too conspicuous, yet sufficient to draw the attention of anyone looking in that direction.
Captain Marcus immediately raised his hand in signal, and within seconds he and five of his members were running toward the source of the light, their advanced weapons raised and ready, their cold eyes scanning for any suspicious movement.
When they reached the crest of the sand dune, when they looked down toward the source of the light, they stopped, frozen, witnessing a sight they had never expected to see in the Jerusalem desert of 1099.
Five lights, each a different color, spun above the surface of the sand, forming intricate geometric patterns, and within each light were symbols they recognized, symbols of the five major religions of the world.
The first light was pale blue, revealing a slowly rotating cross.
The second was emerald green, bearing a crescent that shimmered softly.
The third burned red, displaying the Om symbol pulsating like a beating heart.
The fourth glowed golden yellow, with a Dharma wheel spinning endlessly.
The fifth shone pure white, with a yin-yang moving in perfect harmony.
They spun for dozens of seconds, faster and faster, until the boundaries between one light and another blurred, merged, fused into a single unified whole.
And when the rotation finally ceased, when the lights fused into one colossal pillar of radiance towering into the night sky, five lines of verses appeared, floating in the air with letters ablaze in spiritual fire.
Captain Marcus read each line, his cold eyes widening slightly, for he knew these verses, recognized them from the historical database stored in his memory.
Yet something was wrong, something was altered, twisted in a most sinister way.
"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven, and I am the one who determines that time."
The first line from Ecclesiastes 3:1, yet with a dreadful addition at the end.
The second line from Qur'an 57:5, "He gives life and causes death, and He is over all things competent, and I am He."
The third line from Bhagavad Gita 11:32, "Kālo'smi lokakṣayakṛtpravṛddho..." which should mean "I am Time, the destroyer of worlds," yet here written with the addition, "...and I am the one who twists time according to My will."
The fourth line distorted the teaching of pratītyasamutpāda, "All things arise and cease because of conditions, and I am the one who creates those conditions."
The fifth line from the doctrine of Tianming, "All things occur according to the Mandate of Heaven, and I am the one who holds that mandate."
The luminous writings remained in the night sky of Jerusalem for several seconds that felt like eternity, the five twisted verses continuing to glow with diminishing intensity, until one by one they faded, swallowed by the darkness that once again enveloped the desert.
To be continued…