the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Templars had to die.’ He sighed. ‘But the truth is, I did try. In my study,
when I showed you the Treasure … But you are not like the others. You
saw through the illusion.’
Altaïr’s mind returned to the afternoon when Al Mualim had shown
him the Treasure. He had felt its lure then, that was true, but he had
resisted temptation. He wondered if he would be able to do so
indefinitely. Its insidious powers seemed to work on all who came into
contact with it. Even Al Mualim, whom once he had idolized, who had
been a father to him, and had been a good man then, fair and just and
temperate, concerned only with the well-being of the Order and those
who served it – but he had been corrupted. The glow of the Apple cast
his face in a ghastly hue. It had done the same to his soul.
‘Illusion?’ said Altaïr, still thinking of that afternoon.
Al Mualim laughed. ‘That’s all anything’s ever been. This Templar
Treasure. This Piece of Eden. This Word of God. Do you understand
now? The Red Sea was never parted. Water never turned to wine. It was
not the machinations of Eris that spawned the Trojan War, but this …’
He held up the Apple. ‘Illusions – all of them.’
‘What you plan is no less an illusion,’ insisted Altaïr. ‘To force men to
follow you against their will.’
‘Is it any less real than the phantoms the Saracens and Crusaders
follow now? Those craven gods who retreat from this world that men
might slaughter one another in their names? They live among an illusion
already. I’m simply giving them another. One that demands less blood.’
‘At least they choose these phantoms,’ argued Altaïr.
‘Do they? Aside from the occasional convert or heretic?’
‘It isn’t right,’ snapped Altaïr.