The wanderor

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The self reflection and conflicts of an ex-crusader.

Submitted: March 09, 2013

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Submitted: March 09, 2013



Arthur Quill The Wanderer 2/13/12

My name is Marias, and I am writing this because I would like at least one other living soul to understand what I have done. I am a wanderer, or at least that is what they call me. I walk, and walk, and walk. Until I must wait, then I walk again. To where, I cannot say. Simply said I mean to walk across the face of this world if that is what is it takes for me to understand. This, in many ways is like a pilgrimage, my journey to understand who I am. Now I will be brief, as I cannot fit all that will happen inside this simple journal that you read from now. I shall start with this, I was a boy, then I became a man, and then I entrusted my soul to the benevolent and righteous and all knowing God. I became a holy servant of our Lord, and in his name I did terrible things, things no man should ever do, yet when my soul was shaken with grief and I sought the guidance of those that speak to god, they told me it was the lord's will. I knew then, that it was no God that I had entrusted my soul to, but the will of a tyrant. The will of a man who could lie to thousands and do so with the brazenness to say that it was gods will, that it was for the greater good, and that our souls will be brought to heaven because of it.  I left that day, with a promise to truly find god and myself.

Date, unknown. I can say that it has been four weeks since I retook my soul, and I have been traveling upon the least traveled roads to wherever they go. I dare not look upon another man, for fear that my shame will show. If only they knew what I had done, so willingly. It disgusts me to remember, and so I am going, and going, doing what I believe the true God would have wanted. I came upon a single hovel today, a small desolate field to its side. I had walked for the whole of a day, and now my stomach ached and my mouth was parched,  so I reluctantly approaching the small structure, painfully aware of the daily hardships these people must have, and the strain I was bringing. I knocked upon their door, and waited. It was a long moment before the door cracked open and an old lady peered out, her scraggly hair dangling as she stared cautiously.  “What do you want?” Her voice was dry, almost as dry and cracked as her lips. “I have walked far, and have not eaten or had anything to drink, would you have anything to spare?” The ladies head dropped slightly.

“We have none for ourselves, as our well has dried up, and my husband is far too ill to make the journey to the lake. I am sorry sir, but you must continue on.” She started to close the door, but I held it for a moment. “Miss, if I could borrow a bucket or two, and maybe something to eat when I return, I will bring back water for you and your husband.” The old woman just looked at me for a moment, then a smile came to her lips and she thanked me, promising she would find what she could to fill my stomach upon my return. That day I brought back two buckets of water and shared with them as they fed me with what they had. I also gave the little medicine I had to help the woman's husband, who would hopefully return to good health and work the field again. Such, was a small act of what I believed the true God would find righteous.

Date unknown, I have lost track of how long I have gone, but I believe I am coming to an end now. I grow tired, weak, my mind slowing, yet I came upon a small wagon today, its contents scattered across the road. What looked to be its owners, a young man and his wife, kneeling on the ground before it. The man was nearly a boy, his face bloodied as he clung to his wife. Three armed men were there, picking through what they could use or sell. I had seen such men before, they would be branded evil men, yet I knew what desperation could do. I approached the armed men, holding out what coin and food I had, but before they could take any the boy yelled out, “don't give it to them, they're worth nothing.” The men froze, then one stepped forward and dragged the boy by his hair to the center of the road. He then raised his blade, poised above his head with its steel gleaming dully in the afternoon light.  Most of my life I had killed because others did not believe in the same Holy Book as I did. Now, I did so for another reason, one that will never make what I intend to do righteous. Lunging in I pulled the long bladed knife from the man closest to me and sliced across his hands, causing him drop his weapon to the ground and fall to his knees in pain. Hefting his sword from the earth I severed the hand that held the weapon  poised above the boy.  He gasped in surprise, and shuffled away. Then the last man charged, battle axe raised and eyes alight. In a smooth fluid motion I knelt under his blow and brought my blade across his knees, forcing him to stumble to the ground. I stood and pivoted, my blade now poised above the man. His hate was gone now, leaving fear in its place as he gazed up at me in pain. I remembered the many moments similar to this one, and the  righteous fury that I used to have that brought the blade down one final time. I no longer hold that fury. I hushed  the couple away from the bloody scene and returned to find the men had lost their lives, and so I prayed for them.  I prayed to the true Lord, and told him that these men were not at fault, and of the hardships that drove them to their deeds. Then I left again, and to where I cannot say. I end this journal here however, because I am unsure of what I have done, and of what I shall do. So with this I say goodbye to whomever finds this, and that I pray for your soul, as I pray for mine.


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