Ediciones JavIsa23
Guardians of Holy Land
Act of faith
Ediciones JavIsa23
Original title: Acto de Fe (Guardianes de Tierra Santa I) Original editor: Ediciones JavIsa23 Original Language: Spanish ISBN of the original edition in Spanish: 978-84-939087-7-5
Title: Act of faith Guardians of Holy Land © of the text: Ximo Soler Navarro www.ximosoler.com © of this edition: Ediciones JavIsa23 www.edicionesjavisa23.com E-mail. info@edicionesjavisa23.com Tel. (+34) 964454451 © of the cover: Gustavo Raga Pasqual (Gabo) © of the illustrations inside: Alberto Soler Penadés © of the translation: Raul Gisbert Cantó Layout: Javier Garrit Hernández First Edition August of 2013 ISBN: 978-84-940915-7-5 Legal Deposit: CS 258-2013 Printed in Spain ‒ Impreso en España Printer: Publidisa www.publidisa.com All rights reserved. Is prohibited under the laws established in this area, the total or partial reproduction of this work, in any form, graphic or visual, without the previous permission in writing from the copyright owners, except citations in journals, newspapers, books, radio, television and / or Internet always attesting to its origin and author.
Ximo Soler Navarro Guardians of Holy Land
Act of faith
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE The quotes that appear at the beginning of each chapter have not been translated, for the majority of them are not originally in the English language. That is a way of keeping both their essence and the message they want to convey.
INDEX REFLECTIONS.................................................................... 9 A PERSONAL MATTER...................................................... 13 DISAPPOINTMENT AND RESPECT..................................27 THE STEEL MAN.................................................................... 37 THE BOY WHO LOOKED AT THE PLANES......................... 51 WE WERE GOD SOLDIERS................................................69 DESINGS OF A LESSER GOD..............................................87 THE RESPONSABILITY OF BEING GOD.......................... 113 NIGHTLY HUNTING............................................................ 135 THE DAY OF REDEMPTION.............................................147 THE PEACE OF ELEPHANTS.............................................. 173 EPILOGUE.............................................................................. 183
I REFLECTIONS ÂĄResulta que si uno no se apura a cambiar el mundo, despuĂŠs es el mundo el que lo cambia a uno! Mafalda (Quino)
History often mercilessly swallows its darker passages, being usual that some facts fall into oblivion, forever, which, in other way, would have been remembered in astonishment. However, with the appropriate means, even the most important events can be silenced. The Caesars arranged great gladiator games when they wanted to distract the people from their hunger. Thus, they diverted people’s attention towards their interests, giving them more time to solve every arising problem. In this particular case, there is nothing to solve. There is only the will of obscuring and sullying facts which, being taken into account, would change the world. I will not anticipate events, for everything will be related in due course. For the moment, I will simply say I am an active -9-
character in this story, and that now, at least, I can tell it as faithfully as possible. As I was a supporting actor of this story, I have had to do a small research task in order to know what happened when I was not present. This has not been easy, believe me; for the person who had more information is elusive and reserved. If it was difficult to track him down, it was even more difficult to convince him to tell me about everything which took place before, during and after the appearance of the new ÂŤMessiahÂť. Yes, you have read correctly, the Messiah. It fleetingly appeared in the media; but, unfortunately, the same media were silenced by a power that currently, thanks to God, is irremediably falling apart. That enigmatic character that I had to find in order to obtain all the answers is called Lucas. Now you will forgive me if I cannot remember his surname, although it would not be the real one. Thinking about it now, it is possible that even Lucas is not the name in which he was baptised. Nobody knows for sure his origin. He vaguely told it to me, for, in order to understand this story, firstly we have to understand him. However, all these memories have enough dark angles to be the whole story. For the moment, we have to be content with what I have, which is more than what we need to know about this man and imagine the dark paths he is used to walk on. He was a former paid hired assassin of the Vatican, devoted to unaware matters to the rest of people, unless he was involved in them, as unfortunately I and the kid -10-
I loved as a son were. When he came to us, he was no longer working for the Holy See for several years, but as we will see, he is still the best of all hunters —title given to the best assassins of the brotherhood— that this organisation has kept paid. And if he was not the best one, what the hell, he was our guardian angel. The responsible for keeping me alive in order to remind the world what it should had never been forgotten. This story shows how really rare the life is and how sterile our existence is, for in the end, come what may, the world will constantly keep on turning. So, all that remains is for us to get angry, to kick and, lastly, to stoically resign as it is the only way to withstand the events when they overwhelm us. However, moments of calm lucidity come, as this one, in which the electric light of the reading lamp and the silent night, broken uniquely by the systematic typing of my fingers on the typewriter, give you a sweet tranquillity, which makes you feel you do not care about the bluntest truth. I think I am beating around the bush, so it will be better to start the narration of the story, for I run the risk of deviating of the topic and not catching your attention. I only ask of you one single thing before starting: the facts you are going to know may seem madness, or senile ravings from an old codger who yearns for old times or makes it up, in order to survive to the old age without dying of tediousness. Nevertheless, I swear to God that everything I am telling you is faithful and, being that way, it is logic -11-
to think that we live in a darker and terrifying world than we could imagine from our well lit cities. That said, it only remains to start narrating the story about a fact that changed the world, without anyone taking any notice.
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II A PERSONAL MATTER Aquellos que anuncian que luchan a favor de Dios son siempre los hombres menos pacíficos de la Tierra. Como creen percibir mensajes celestiales, tienen sordos los oídos para toda palabra de humanidad. Stefan Zweig
Our story begins at midnight, when Lucas, our protagonist, wandered through the streets of Madrid. His footsteps clacked along the concrete pavement, going beyond the silence as a sharp cutting edge. He walked along this old city’s narrow streets, specifically, through Toledo Street. That happened some days before our paths crossed, so I carefully heard his words as he spoke in his dimly lit room, behind the screen of cigarette smoke, which he consumed while telling the story. The point is that he walked slowly, thoughtful and taciturn. He thought he could remember some people standing in his way, but he could not say exactly. He -13-
had been tracking one person, or, to be precise, one being and, having lost it at around half past nine, he decided to go for a walk before returning to the hotel in which he stayed. His thoughts rumbled at about the same rate as his steps and, when he thought about heading towards his accommodation, he suddenly noticed something. Before continuing, I think I should clear up one small point. Firstly, about the dark character that Lucas is, who is also known as ÂŤThe HunterÂť. Lucas in not a normal man; he cannot be part of this anonym mass forming the humanity, even though he wants to be confused with them, or better said, with us. Just as there are frequently children with higher intellectual coefficient, or stand out in some field, such as music or maths, there are also, being a lower number, some of them who had a tendency to relate themselves with the paranormal; the existing underside behind the thin veil of rationality. Most of them are known as sensitives or mediums, but there are others who had their skills overdeveloped and excel among them. Lucas belonged to those children. For the moment I will not anticipate anything else, but the explanation was needed in order to understand why he was wandering through the streets of Madrid and what his intentions in this city were. As I have already said above, he was tracking a supernatural being. It was not just anyone; to him it was -14-
personal. He spent some years tracking it without success, for it escaped at the last minute, when he believed he had it. Indeed, he did not know why he was looking for it, but he needed to find it; he needed answers to unasked questions; to those which, maybe, he doesn’t dare to ask. When he told me his first meeting with this being, a fallen angel wandering aimlessly along the world —one of the demons who fight for Lucifer when he revealed—, Lucas’ eyes lit up and his gaze got lost into the vacuum, far away from his bedroom and the tobacco smoke; a place only he could see. He perfectly remembered the metallic fence surrounding the old cathedral, the autumn leaves sliding on the floor, hurled by the breeze. Suddenly, at the door of the temple, his silhouette was outlined. Anyone would have realised about their presence, but they immediately recognised each other. A demon leaving the church and a hunter entering in there. The looked at each other for long seconds and then the fallen angel spoke. —I’ve done nothing and I have nothing against you; let me leave —the demon had undeniably guts. —You know I will not. —I’m tired; I don’t want to fight this time. It was too late. The huge silver gun started to appear from the raincoat. Within a fraction of a second the demon dodged bullets of forty-five mm. with a speed difficult to follow. But -15-
Lucas was used to it and rapidly shot him on one side and then on one foot. Dumb figures of the building architectural ensemble showed themselves with a silent approval; full of expectation, as in a Roman circus, to see the final movement. Lucas approached the being and aimed at him with the cannon of the gun. —Before killing you, tell me: what were you doing in there? —he received a quite sound as an answer, almost imperceptible, like a guffaw. —Good question —he said with an almost imperceptible voice. He extended his hand next to hunter’s head with an unbelievable speed. He tightened it against his forehead and Lucas saw what no-one could have ever seen, what no-one must know. Blurred images appeared in front of his eyes, shadows of grey and then lights. There were no words, but he understood everything: soldiers and a war, the defeated side and the winning side; a barren and rocky land around him and then, people; thousands of people and, among them, dark individuals; with their heads up to the sky, melancholic and sad, remembering better times and waiting for something, they did not what, but they still kept looking at the sky, the place their home once was. Poor sad souls, scapegoats of an unfair God, unable to forgive. Not even to those who were faithful to him, without asking, until the end. -16-
The hunter woke up. He was lying on the floor, in front of the cathedral. The demon was not by his side; he had left. It was curious; he thought they were incapable of showing mercy. For some reason, as he stood up achy, he knew for sure the demon did not hold rancour against him. Inside, they were similar: faithful soldiers to a faceless lord, sides of the same coin. He lit a cigarette and started to walk, to move away from that sacred place. Half a packet and two hours later, the hunter was at the edge of the sea, feeling the rain on his face and with the certitude on his heart that a demon is not who lives in hell, but who behaves as such. From that moment, he swore to the sky and hell that he will not serve anyone; that he will no longer obey anyone but the voice of his conscience and be held accountable to it, no more. He left to a place, unknown for him, but a place where he could atone for his sins. Those sins committed in God’s name. When he walked through Madrid, looking for this familiar foe, he realised that a few years had already passed since their meeting. I asked him where he had been all this time, if he succeeded in finding peace. As an answer I received a quiet and cold glance, lacking nuances, lacking feelings. The fact is that, as I have said, he felt something out of place among the streets of the old Madrid. He felt a change in the air or maybe a chill walked up and down -18-
his bone marrow, whatever the case, this was his gift. Hence he was so dangerous; no demon could escape his quest. The track guided him to the most crowded part of the city and there he took a taxi. He guided the surprised taxi driver, turning left and right and when he was sure he was close he asked him to stop the vehicle. When the taxi driver left, asking himself who this weird person who guided him should be, looking to his feet, as he was carefully listening to something, Lucas started to walk. He walked with his head up, observing the dark masses of the polygon industrial warehouses where he was. He tracked his prey, as a hunting dog would have made, as the Vatican assassins had taught him. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a storage area, jumped the fence and slipped into. The demon was in there for sure. The silence, that until that moment had been an invisible canvas, began to disappear because of a faint murmur rising from somewhere from this maze full of wooden and cardboard boxes. The moment came when the sound was unmistakeable and, even the words were incomprehensible, Lucas identified the impersonal tone adopted in a telephone conversation. Then the murmur ceased. The creature had detected him, for sure, for he could feel how the demon suddenly became alert. The following silence was tense, as the fishing line in the mouth of the fish, and the hunter took the gun out of his raincoat. From somewhere, the sound of other weapon slowly cocked arrived. Lucas closed his eyes, raised his -19-
head and he himself undertook to move among the boxes. His steps were slowly and stealthy moving, as he tried to listen to any noise the demon could make, whom he felt intensely. In that moment he knew it for sure; that kind of intuitions that the hunting years have taught him to obey. He turned and looked to the box situated on his right side, placed the silver cannon of his gun on it and shot up. The explosion stabbed the silence with an almost painful brutality and seven metres away, a cry of pain was heard. Several shots arrived from the same direction where the cry was heard and then the sound of steps moving away in haste. Lucas ran off and saw a path of blood drops leading to that maze and decided to follow it. He walked with his gun raised and his entire senses ready; fleeing is for cowards —he was once told—. When he turned round the corner, two shots blasted with bad faith whistling in front of his face making him to step back. He quickly loomed and observed that his prey took cover behind a concrete pillar blocking. He smiled when he realised that the beast was cornered. Not even the calibre of his gun could go through the concrete blocking, but the demon was at a dead-end, or better said, to go out, the beast had to retrace his steps and pass in front of his persecutor. Lucas knew that this fact might take some time, so he rummaged in his raincoat and took a packet of cigarettes. He placed a cigarette on his mouth, holding the packet with one hand, while with the other he shot on sight -20-
in order to frighten his prey. He put the little cardboard box away and looked for his lighter. He did not find it. He rummaged in his pockets. Nothing. He looked into his raincoat. Neither. He started to feel nervous when a scream showed that the demon was decided to sell high his existence in this world. When Lucas looked, he hoped to see him running towards him or maybe trying to find cover while being shot. To his great surprise he saw him running in the opposite direction, towards the grey smooth wall. His bewilderment became anger when he realised that the wide pillar, where the demon entrenched, prevented him from seeing a tiny rusty window, placed too high for a human being; but not for this creature, for it climbed the wall, using the most insignificant cracks, as a professional climber would have done, but faster. Two bullets exploded out of the Lucas’ gun and reached the concrete whipping up a white dust cloud, just behind his objective. His prey was running away, but it seems that it had problems to break the crystal. So he pointed with his eyes focused on the head of his victim and pulled the trigger. Within a fraction of a second, which seemed everlasting, the bullet covered, as an arrow, the space between the hunter and the prey. So, at the last moment, the bullet dodged with a quick movement and reached the unbreakable window spraying the crystal. The output was opened and the Lucas’ finger was ready to shoot his last two bullets when the gun jam-21-
med. The hunter’s astonished glance was reflected on the crossing smile in the demon’s face, who, by the way, had just half a left ear undoubtedly due to the first shot. This gun had never jammed and now, with no apparent reason, it did. A cold air filtered through the hole opened thanks to his last bullet. There was no trace of the demon; it fled. He unjammed the gun and put it in his raincoat as he walked away. A silent dark wrath dominated him, caused by the frustration. He could not believe the way his prey fled, when he thought he had it well-tightened; but it was not just that, for his gun failed and, for some reason, it worried him. «You are getting old», a mocking voice whispered from somewhere inside. He abandoned that frightening idea with the cigarette forgotten in his mouth and moved away. He walked until his steps leaded him to a store which opened 24 hours where he bought a lighter. He went out into the street as he lighted up a crumpled cigarette and he came back to the hotel. He asked for his room keys at reception. —Good night, Lucas The hunter had befriended the young receptionist in charge of the night watch of the hotel and, every time he arrived late in the night, he stopped to talk to him in order to make him the night more enjoyable. Therefore, that young man remembered him to a world full of new smells and hopes, which he had forgotten or he wished to. Indeed, to think about it obliged him to re-22-
mind everything lost on those times and it was, at those heights, something he did not feel like to recall. —Good night Nacho. How is your guard going? —Well, well… —It’s quite extraordinary to have to endure a bunch of idiots like me, who arrive late in the night. There would be more profit to be made if you close the stand at a certain time… A tired smile appeared in the boy’s face. —At least to me. Although work is work. —Good night —that night Lucas was not in a talkative mood, so he said goodbye to him and moved away with a slight gesture interpreted as a smile. —Good night. And rest! Your face shows you’ve had an uncomfortable night. Lucas was already climbing the stairs towards his room, and the receptionist did not expect an answer, and, suddenly, he heard how the hunter, at the top of the stairs, told to himself: —If you knew… The first thing Lucas saw when he entered to the room was the lighter. It was standing, perfectly placed to the side of the TV. After a quick shower, he lay on the bed and, as he was not sleepy, turned on the TV. He did not expect to see anything, just do anything around and the TV will make him company. A news summary presenter appeared on the screen but Lucas did not pay attention to him. He changed the channel. -23-
Another presenter dressed in grey, talking about an unbelievable images «blah blah blah». The next one: another news summary. Lucas started to feel curiosity; something really big was happening for it appeared in all the channels. Suddenly, the presenter gave way to a video, as she carried on explaining the news. On the images, a crowd of people could be seen in the square of a city. At the bottom of the screen, a sign with white letters showed that the images were taken in Jerusalem, at half past twelve the day before. Approximately, in the centre of the image, it could be seen a small circle; on it, a boy and a priest were talking with a woman wearing a veil. The camcorder, which undoubtedly belonged to one of the attendees of the event, increased the zoom to show the woman facial features. She had half of his face disfigured, probably as a cause of an accident. Then, the boy put his hands upon the disfigured part; few seconds passed and when he removed them, the facial features of the disfigured face were in perfect conditions. The woman started to touch her face, among the attendees’ shouts of joy and tried to embrace the boy, but there were more people attempting to ask the boy for a healing. Another imaged showed the presenter saying that the boy was called Abrahim and, despite his name, he was the assistant of the Catholic Church priest, who appeared by his side; the father Imre. The images could be a result of computerised tampering, so, for the moment, the Holy See had still not acted, possibly because it was waiting for the specialists’ verdict. -24-
When Lucas turned off the TV, he had already seen so many times the same images, for they had showed them there and in other channels. He did not know what it was, but he hoped it was a trick, otherwise… he did not know what would happen; not even how the representatives of some interests would react. He glanced through the window and observed how the premature morning appeared. A feminine voice talked to him when he picked up the phone. —Mr. Lucas? —It’s me. Is everything alright? —A man has called to the hotel telephone and has asked about you. He said he was the father Lorenzo and he has asked me to inform you that he has called due to an important matter. Do you want me to put the call on hold for you? —Yes, please —Alright —Lucas heard a click and the father Lorenzo’s voice resounded deeply into his eardrums. —Good morning Lucas. We have to talk. The hunter’s mouth could not repress a wide smile when he answered: —So the Church is about to speak.
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Cover of the original edition in Spanish, 2012
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