the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

glowing on the marble. Waiting.
‘You held fire in your hand, old man,’ said Altaïr. ‘It should have been
destroyed.’
‘Destroy the only thing capable of ending the Crusades and creating
true peace?’ laughed Al Mualim. ‘Never.’
‘Then I will,’ said Altaïr.
‘We’ll see about that,’ chuckled Al Mualim.
Altaïr was staring at it, finding it difficult to drag his gaze away.
Gently he rested Al Mualim’s head on the stone, the old man fading fast
now, stood up and walked towards it.
He picked it up.
It was as if it came alive in his hand. As though a huge bolt of energy
flowed from it that lit the Apple and travelled up his arm, right into his
chest. He felt a great swelling that was uncomfortable at first, then felt
life-giving, washing away the pain of battle, filling him with power. The
Apple throbbed and seemed to pulse and Altaïr began to see images.
Incredible, incomprehensible images. He saw what looked like cities,
vast, glittering cities, with towers and fortresses, as though from
thousands of years ago. Next he saw machines and tools, strange
contraptions. He understood that they belonged in a future not yet
written, where some of the devices brought people great joy while others
meant only death and destruction. The rate and intensity of the images
left him gasping for breath. Then the Apple was enveloped by a corona
of light that spread outwards until Altaïr saw that he was looking at a
globe, a huge globe, that hung in the still air of the garden, slowly
spinning and radiating warm, golden light.
He was entranced by it. Enchanted. It was a map, he saw, with