The Causality of Time (Book1)
The Causality
Of Time
By
Jonnathan Strawthorne
Dedicated to my wife, children and grandchildren
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PART ONE
COMPROMISED PROMISES
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Chapter 1
A Promise Made
(1221 BC Earth Time)
The caravan moved out with surprisingly organized chaos. Dust filled the air along with the bellowing of the oxen and grunting of the camels. They protested their indignation at being driven along with kicks to their ribs and whips to their rumps.
It was a sweltering day, scorching for even the most hardened Bedouin and Persian alike. Syria was to the west and Babylon to the east with deserts, bandits, and scorpions in the middle. It was a wasteland of antiquity that beckoned only the most intrepid souls looking for riches along the most famous of roads—the silk road of the east. Silks and spices from the Medes, the Persians, the Assyrians, and the Chaldeans converged in Babylon for further transfer to the west via this road, eventually arriving in Tyre.
A man and his wife were traveling with their collected companions, heading toward the seaport of Tyre—the gateway to the west of the Chaldean Empire. Having journeyed for nearly a full moon cycle, they were desperate to reach Tyre and settle down to a stable life of leather-making and raising a family.
Choking on the dust and trying to shield his eyes from the sun, the man strained to look ahead of the oxen to no avail. A cloud of dust obscured his vision to within the length of the lead ox. The noise was deafening, and the stench of sweat and animal dung clung heavily in the air. After wiping the sweat from his brow, the man continued to try to determine what was happening at the head of the column because it seemed the caravan was slowing to a crawl.
Running the length of the column, a cry went up—a cry of warning and despair. People started running for their lives as dark-cloaked men on horses swept in from all sides, cutting down anyone foolish enough to resist them.
The man reached up for his wife’s hand to pull her off the cart and put his arm around her, shielding her from any wild swings of death.
“Lydia, we must leave the wagon now,” Eschkta said, smiling to help Lydia stay calm.
“What is going on? Why have we slowed? There is so much dust, I cannot see,” Lydia said with a tremble on her lips. She extended her hand and grasped Eschkta’s to disembark quickly.
“I think it is raiders. We must run and hide, my love. Please, keep up with me.”
“Yes, yes, I am right behind you.”
Running as fast as they were able, with the fear of death chasing them across the small plain toward the mountains, Eschkta and Lydia went unnoticed for a few moments until three men on horseback began to take up the chase. Eschkta looked over his shoulder and realized the raiders were approaching swiftly. Understanding he and Lydia would not be able to get away, Eschkta stopped running and positioned Lydia behind him.
Dropping to his knees, Eschkta looked skyward and evoked a prayer of promise with trembling lips and deep creases of fear running across his forehead. It was a prayer of such intensity it quietly shouted across entangled dimensions to be heard far beyond his understanding, and answered in ways he could never appreciate or witness. He implored the gods to see to their safety and eventual escape, promising he would devote his firstborn to them; giving his first child in service to them. He lifted his arms up into the air in an emotional appeal as the raiders swiftly approached. As soon as he finished with the prayer, a light of immense intensity blocked out the sun, temporarily blinding the two of them and knocking them to the ground.
Upon reviving, Eschkta groggily opened his eyes to semi-darkness. After letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, he found himself in a cave with stalactites dripping water onto stalagmites and down into a pool of clear water just within his eyesight. Lydia lay next to him, sleeping with the rhythmic breaths of deep sleep, hopefully dreaming of quieter times. After slowly raising himself up to survey his surroundings and quiet his disruptive anxiety, Eschkta moved about the cave, inspecting the enclosure. He walked toward the entrance and discovered they were high up on a cliff overlooking a valley of green trees and meadows. The sun was just rising over a mountain range to his left, casting long strands of light down into the valley spread out in front of him, announcing a new day.
It was here that Eschkta and Lydia lived until five new moons had passed, and it was here the product of their love came into conception. Lydia shone with pleasure, and Eschkta basked in his wife’s happiness; each of them was grateful to the gods for their continued well-being.
Chapter 2
The Promise Fulfilled
Snow blanketed the ground in a pattern of crystals that glimmered in the moonlight. Steamy breaths of air broke the silence to be carried off into the wind. Grasping at a tree with a faint tremble of his hands and legs, Eschkta looked back at Lydia, praying for respite yet knowing it was useless to pray to gods that did not listen to mere mortals. He reached out and took her hand with a tenderness that told a story of many years. He tried to touch through time to the past and strengthen Lydia’s mind through sheer will—the will to live and move on toward another day. She smiled faintly while touching her swollen belly, knowing his intention and clenching his outstretched hand with a resolve that belied her inner worry.
“Lydia, the cold is creeping in, and we must keep moving. Hold my hand. Do not let go lest we become separated. The settlement should not be too far now.” Eschkta looked Lydia in the eyes to impart some sense of confidence.
Turning into the wind and staggering on in a desperate race, they stumbled, fell, and got back up in a seemingly never-ending struggle against time and nature. How long had it been—a day? Two days? Only the gods kept track of the time as the two fugitives pushed on toward the west with their heads hung low to keep the biting cold out of their eyes and faces. Step by laborious step, the two pressed on with the growing howl of the wind as their only companion, tearing at their noses, mouths, and ears to leave the edges of flesh frozen white—the onset of a long, slow death.
Eschkta knew they were doomed if a village did not appear soon. Lydia’s ragged breath of fear flew into his back as he cleared a trail through the knee-high snow. His dogged determination as a man with nothing to lose pushed his tired muscles, forcing him on with growing anger bursting out from the deep recesses of his soul - a passion that lashed out through eyes full of pain and frustration. After rounding a corner of thick pine trees, a flash of light beckoned him for a second, teasing him with probable delusion more than the promise of hope that a village lay ahead. Faith pressed on through the mind, forcing the will to live and moving the body forward even when all was seemingly lost. Another flash appeared in front of Eschkta’s desperate eyes. He shook his head, wondering if it was the glint of the moon on the snow. There it was—a village. Stumbling, pushing, pulling, and proceeding with a strength that only a man at the end of his rope could muster, Eschkta grasped Lydia’s hand harder and pulled her forward toward the light of hope.
As they approached the village, the smell of cooking overwhelmed them, almost pushing them to the ground with delirium. The light from the windows cast bands of illuminated snow, allowing them to move along and look for a place to hide and find some warmth. Eschkta put his arm around Lydia’s shoulders and walked her toward a stable at the end of the street.
“It should be warm in there,” Eschkta said.
Lydia nodded her head in acknowledgment and moved through the hole Eschkta made after pulling a board back from the wall. Eschkta slipped inside to t
he smells of horses and straw, deciding it would do for the night. He pulled the board back into place and commenced looking for an empty stall. He found it hidden in a back corner with plenty of hay to cover them up as they slept. Once settled in, Eschkta pulled out a piece of bread and frozen mutton for them to chew on to lessen the burning emptiness in their stomachs.
A few hours later, after the two of them had fallen asleep, Lydia’s moaning pierced through Eschkta’s consciousness like a knife through butter, pulling him into wakefulness with a start. She moaned again and shook Eschkta with earnestness, indicating panic.
Rubbing his half-asleep eyes, Eschkta asked Lydia, “What is wrong? Is the baby coming now?”
She grunted in pain and whispered, “Yes, it is, but it is struggling, as if in pain. I do not know what to do, Eschkta.”
“Ah okay, okay, let me prop your head up, and I’ll get some water. Keep breathing deeply.” Eschkta said with worry clearly etched across his face.
“Be quick. The pain is—it’s unbearable. The baby is in distress, Eschkta!” Lydia wheezed in renewed agony.
“Absolutely, I will be right back.”
Fear flicked across Lydia’s face and planted itself squarely on her brow. She licked her lips as beads of sweat fell into her eyes. She grunted and convulsed, moaning with the wind, trying not to push with all her might. There was nothing she could do to forestall the baby from coming now. Eschkta placed more straw under her head and quickly fetched some water from the public well. Upon re-entering the stable, he could see Lydia struggling from the intense pain. Eschkta ran up and held her hand for when the expected passing of birth came.
She began involuntarily pushing, again and again, finally succumbing to the inevitable birthing of the new life to come. The child was stubborn, putting up a fight and clinging to the warmth and security of its mother’s womb. However, the natural progression of love, life, and death had its fingers on the pulse of time, enticing the child to leave the security of its mother’s body and come to a world of exploration, interest, loss, fear, and inevitability.
Lydia grunted and convulsed to the waves of contractions being thrust upon her. The baby was being hindered in its delivery, and Eschkta was entirely at a loss as to what to do. He continued to hold Lydia’s hand while his lips moved in a rhythmic motion of fevered prayer.
“Holy father of life, please do not forsake my wife and child. Please deliver them from Enki’s door. I am but a man of your creation. I beg you, please see to the conclusion of this matter.”
With a final scream of such intensity, Lydia delivered the child to Eschkta in one last moment of introduction. Eschkta held onto his son with eyes opened wide in amazement as he looked at this miracle of procreation. The boy was the spitting image of him down to the finest of lines on his chubby face.
“Eschkta…take good care of him, my love. Remember our ancestors and teach him the ways. The pain is stealing my life. I…I do not think I have the strength to c-carry on. Let me hold my son before I slip away,” Lydia whispered as Eschkta slowly handed her the child.
Eschkta wept with trembling lips and a copious amount of tears washing down his face with grief and joy. He sat beside Lydia, holding her head as she slowly traced her index finger along her baby’s face down to his fingers and along with his round belly to the tips of his toes. Her breathing began to come in shallower breaths as she slowly smiled and gently laid a hand on her son’s cheek. Gradually, Lydia put her head back in a graceful death. Eschkta sobbed uncontrollably and tenderly took the baby from Lydia.
Crying with sorrow at Lydia’s death, Eschkta swaddled his son in a blanket and held him close to his chest. He covered Lydia up and placed straw upon her before moving to an empty stall to lay down, still sobbing with joy and tears of heart wrenching pain. The gods were cruel in their desire for appeasement, taking a life while giving life, splintering Eschkta’s heart—caving in his hopes, aspirations, and future plans. All the while the wind roared and screamed its belligerence through the streets of the village with growing ferocity, knowing the dawn of another day was soon to be upon it.
In due course, the morning drove out the howl of the wind, the scream of the snow, and the bone-chilling depth of the deep freeze while stealing into the village with the timeless passage of millennia gone before. Shadows broke up, dispersing before the morning sunlight as thieves before the law; they flew into the corners of various alleyways, taking the night with them and leaving behind a glorious day of diamond-dappled snowflakes blazing in the light.
Gradually the village started to awaken with a sense of purposeful movement, unaware of the events of the previous night that foretold a time of truth. A time when the strength of character, the will of the mind, and the desire for freedom would cause men to rise up and question their purpose and the direction of their lives.
Chapter 3
Father and Son
(1195 BC Earth Time)
“My son, you are my pride. Do not waste your life on the foolishness of this world. Know that I am going to another place soon and will be with your mother shortly. Please, do not disappoint us.”
“Yes…Father. I will work hard,” Talmido said.
“The gods saw fit to bless your mother and me with your arrival. Continue to adhere to the teachings of Ashur. Do not stray from the path set before you,” Talmido’s father gasped, trying to gain his breath while raising his hand to touch Talmido’s.
“Be careful in this world of men, for there are forces at work here we do not understand. You are a man and must determine your passage through life, but it is for the gods to determine your steps. I will no longer be here to guide you. I love you, my son, with all my heart,” Eschkta whispered into Talmido’s ear as he slowly slipped through Hades' door.
Talmido’s father died with a small shudder and a squeeze of his hand, slipping off into the netherworld of the ancestors and gods. Talmido wiped his father’s hair away from his eyes as he shut them forever. The pain shot through him with such ferocity that his chest convulsed with the tears of all sons past and present. Death was never natural—no matter how inevitable it was. Talmido loved his father with all his heart and soul and believed the gods would spare him, but no amount of prayer or belief could stop the eventual outcome. He wept with deep sorrow. The loss fell upon his shoulders and chest with such decisive force it almost knocked the breath out of him. He heaved in choking gasps of emotional collapse and finally bowed his head in acceptance of the reality.
His father had loved him with a devotion that showed his character and strength as a parent and as a man. He mentored and coached Talmido with all the knowledge he had gleaned over the years of his life, trying to impart the wisdom of the ages so his son could live a life of success and happiness without the all-too-often tales of grief and devastation. Eschkta would often share with Talmido, "A man’s will to live and prosper was fundamental to his essence; however, when hope disappeared, the depth of his character and strength were the defining attributes required to fight for the belief of seasons to come."
Talmido knew of his father’s love and desire for him to build his moral character beyond that of the animals. He worked fastidiously with exacting attention to his father’s teachings, holding fast to the reflections of his Chaldean heritage.
The next day, once the initial pain of sorrow had subsided, Talmido buried his father. Eventually, he sold the farm to purchase for himself a horse and embarked on a journey east towards Babylon, then south towards Ur and finally to Lagash, the home of his ancestors. He sought answers to many questions and wanted to find the elusive gods that seemed to have an ironclad hold on life and free will.
Eschkta had explained the promise he had made to the gods to spare his and Lydia’s lives. He related the strange course of events leading up to Talmido’s birth, including his mother’s death upon his deliverance into the world.
Talmido only knew of his mother through his father’s words of tenderness and love, which bespoke a deep upw
elling of loss and regret at not being able to save her. He could not fully understand the feelings his father had; however, he tried to envision his mother as described through his father’s stories. He would often imagine her as a woman of confidence and quiet strength with an unending love for his father—this was the picture he brought to mind as he recounted the words while he pondered the complexity and depth of their relationship.
Soon the sound of his horse stamping its hooves in anticipation and flipping its mane back and forth as if to say, “Let’s move. Time waits for no man,” jolted him out of his memories and back to the harsh reality of the day.
Thumbing his father’s ring, he heeled the horse into a steady walk east, away from Tyre, the only home he had known for the past twenty-five years, heading toward the Sumerian city of Lagash. The sun shone down with its approval, baking the ground hard, making travel pleasant. He quietly rode past rolling hills with trees, full of dates or olives, waving in the breeze and small rivers sparkling in the sunlight while he marveled at its beauty. It was a breathtaking vista—blessed with an abundance of food and water. The people of that area lived life to the fullest, enjoying all their blessings with feasts and festivals dedicated to their plethora of gods. It was a time of peace and thanksgiving.
He slept under the stars, looking up at the heavens in wonder at the enormity of their presence and the brilliance of their lives. Ancient stories of myth and legend said the stars were the souls of his ancestors who were observing the steps of mankind and if he prayed to them for direction, they would provide the way forward. He smiled because he did not believe in this, as he felt life was his to live and walk within. His ancestors had their time, and now it was his.
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