November 19, 1187
Outside that holiest of cities...
'Our first week in the medieval days has been an interesting one,' I scribble out on my new-found means of entertainment; keeping a journal... a log really... of what Thomas and I have endured thus far. 'We will be leaving Jeruselem in three days,' I continue, 'To head for the lands Antioch, hopefully we can get aboard a ship and sail to Constaninople, there we are free to move about the continent... I hope.'
"Nick!" Thomas cried from the other room. I get up hastely a walk over to where a small ball is spinning as two jets of steam propell it. It spins a small magnet the is surounded by copper coils. A small glass bowl as been made for use as a bulb.
"What is wrong?" I ask, not really seeing the answer before me...
"Templars have entered the building, they are coming!" He looked at me and I wondered why he had waited to tell me this sort of thing. I ran back into the other room, grabbed our stuff (which I had been leaving in backpacks for this very reason) and ran back to Thomas. I handed him his bag the kicked the window out. I jumped out through it (it was only a good thirty feet with a soft bed of wool to land on) Thomas followed with the steam ball still spinning. We raced toward the nearest gate and it had dawned on me that our journey had started pre-maturely.
"Which way is north?" I ask.
"We are headed north..." Thomas said, but it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. "No, this is north, the sun is setting over there... on our left... this is north, I am sure!" I nodded and began to daze out, like any soldier would when he knows he will be marching until the sun dies down.
"You saved the Heron ball," I dully noted.
"Yeah, I thought if we had already spent that much money on it, we might as well keep it..."
"We are going to die," there I said it, and I didn't feel any better, but I felt no worse.
"That's the way to be optimistic!"
"Thomas, optimism is for pot-heads; realism is the real philosophy."
"There is a fine line between realism and pessimism..."
"Just as there is a fine line be between optimism and delusions of grandeur."
The trek north was a quiet one, and a long one... it wasn't nearly as late as Thomas had thought, instead we walked for several hours before it was dark and the cold of night closed in around us. I pitched our tent and Thomas tried to prepare dinner... but with no fire, we ate cold meat that night. A few miles off, in the distance, we could see the fire of the Templar camp; they were hunting us.
"Thomas, what do we have that can burn?"
"Extra clothing... that's it..."
"I stole Andy's lighter; he was being stupid with it again... freak doesn't even smoke... light the clothing, big fire... then we move again... quickly..."
"Why?" Thomas asked.
"Our friends the Templars have followed us... we march!" Be stacked all but the clothes on our backs into a heap and lit it, then we ran.
"Why didn't we do that for our food?" Thomas asked, I shrughged it off... but it started not to make sense.
The desert was cold, and even after another hour or two of running I could still see our fire in the barren desert. Another fire loomed in the distance ahead of us, was it friend or foe? I couldn't tell.
"How far do you think they are willing to chase us?" Thomas asked.
"As far as they need," I replied.
"Maybe we could head for a muslim country?"
"I doubt it will make a difference..."
"I guess, but it is where we are heading anyway..."
"I guess you're right, Thomas, just head north until we find life again. Too bad I don't speak Turkish..."
"Right..."
"We need to find Teutons, and go to a place where we speak the language..." I held the lighter under the Heron ball and watched it spin. I started to get the feeling we weren't alone any more... I looked around, Thomas had noticed it too. Slowly we stood up and saw that we were surrounded by muslim troops.
"Out of the frying pan..."
"And into the fire."