Quest for the Ark

by Taggart Rehnn

  So…perhaps she wasn’t even summoned. We don’t understand her, anymore than an amoeba or a tapeworm could be expected to understand a supercomputer. However, if those stones in the cylinder can be used to invoke her, she might be our salvation…”

  “…Or the agent of our destruction, for all we know,” ventured Tony. “Perhaps if Odessatron is so desperate to have this cylinder, the best course of action would be to destroy it. Silver and gold can be melted, even alloyed to become electrum, can they not? Stone can be ground, turned to dust—no matter if those splinters are what the writings say. If all that is gone…”

  “What would give you the right to destroy splinters of the Tables of the Law?” said Haim, his face red, masticating his words, fists clenched. Shocked seeing his friend incensed for the first time, indignant himself, David shook his head.

  Before he could say anything, Tony continued: “Calm down! Calm down!” hands open, fanning the air ahead. “Hear me out! If we did, whoever killed Father Lajos would walk with impunity into the sunset; and we still would have no clue what could happen to those whirlwinds, and to the souls someone or something is trying to ‘herd’ into Auschwitz, perhaps to provoke a new, even more monstrous slaughter—perhaps to end Humankind altogether.

  “What if those stone splinters remain as ‘promise of marriage’, as a sign of a Covenant that might come undone by destroying them?” said Haim, visibly distressed. “I have spend my life trying to build a moral code based on what my family—my immediate, blood family; and my extended family, ‘my Biblical people’—have taught me: the distinction between right, wrong, and ambiguous. To find ‘equilibrium’, balance, I have reached out to science, to History, even to legends. And now, I’m not sure either your faith, or my faith, or our common beliefs, or science, can explain the things we have seen of late.

  To act on a whim, in panic, unsure of the consequences, would be reckless, maybe even criminal. True, our people at one point trusted prudence too much, obeyed the elders, and some elders were clearly wrong, but…”

  “…But we were also deceived,” jumped in David. “People were told they would be showering to prevent epidemics. Now as then, deception might be the whole point. What if Jews in good faith and good standing are essential ingredients to make this infernal machination work? What if someone or something—not you Tony, of course— is trying to use us, to manipulate us, to unleash some evil thing?”

  “Sorry to say, but if you’re implying that in this world there are no Jews capable of evil, that is simply ridiculous. Truth be told: no religion in this world can claim that, by simply acting the part or knowing the script, people become incapable of evil. That would be true as well for atheists. Humans are humans. Popes blessed carnage during the Crusades, torture during the Inquisition. The IDF knew about some of the atrocities of Sabra and Shatilla, in Western Beirut, and didn’t stop the Christian Phalanges in 1982, did they? No need to talk about terrorists blowing up people from the Twin Towers in 2001 to people eating pizza in Marseilles; or Nazis shooting people in a synagogue in Pittsburgh last year, or a mosque in Christchurch in March; or all sorts of religious intolerance, lynchings with burning crosses and the like,” said Siegfried. “All that aside, these odd cylinder and its contents might be as valuable as the Qumran manuscripts of the Dead Sea scrolls; and I, as an archaeologist, think destroying them out of fear be pure sickening, barbaric cowardice.”

  “Well,” interjected the Countess, “also, this thing had been a gift from a monster—a manipulator of the Romanian church, who used the church as his own instrument to control people; someone that had priests who denounced abuses to the church defrocked, or sent into exile, or killed—to one the greatest statespersons in Israel’s history. Golda didn’t accept it, for reasons all her own. Ceaușescu was a indeed monster—but the Romanian Orthodox church waited until his fall to call him “a new child-murdering Herod”. So, this cylinder, this ‘thing’ was both in the hands of a horrible non-Jew, and those of a luminary of Judaism and also a feminist, a really powerful woman. And neither one was forced, or coaxed, or deceived, to do anything, for the simple expedient of possessing it.

  Think about it: if souls eventually depart, in those days of still very open wounds, the souls could not have been in any more distress than they should be now, seeing this new wave of anti-Semitism raise from the ghosts of Nürnberg, from the ashes of your executioners, carrying racism—and all manner of hatred, phobias, and bigotry—as flotsam. In short, simple logic dictates ‘we’ are probably not being deceived into doing anything that Golda could not have done. And, this being a gift, Golda could have kept it, and destroyed it, or buried it or preserved it for posterity, if it’s true it was ever given to her. Ultimately, for whatever reason, she didn’t. So, who are we to do otherwise?” she finished.

  “I tend to agree with Chloé,” added a bit timidly Sól. “I presume Severian, being from Romania, and having followed what happened before to it first hand, has probably a more clear idea of what this could have meant to those who found it—and kept it for who knows how long. I certainly have discovered no warning, no curses, no anathema pronounced on anyone who might destroy the cylinder or its contents—something that would have made me suspect an elaborate deception. So, I propose we follow Severian’s suggestion.”

  “If I were cynical, I would say Tony might find suspect that Countess Chloé, and Sól, and Siegfried, and I, all agree. And you, Tony, and Haim, and David have misgivings about actually using this thing, this object we crisscrossed the Atlantic and risked death to find. Now we have a chance to use it to prevent a disaster, if we properly understand it.

  Logic aside, you all know I can be very persuasive—as I was when I convinced the guards in Long Beach, if you recall, Haim—but I promise you, I will not try to sway anyone. This needs not be a democracy—after all, democracy is dying all around us—even if absolutism has one advantage I value: expediency. In any case, for now, it seems we are three for and three against keeping the cylinder and what’s in it.

  Here’s my take: should we keep trying, we might discover knowledge that has lain dormant for centuries; and I, for one, would love to try anything to stop those who murdered Father Lajos, and tried to kill Endre’s family, and maybe were going to blow up your congregation’s members baking ‘borekas’ to buy more solar panels. They might be one and the same people. Also, we yet don’t know if they realize what we’re trying to do, or even what whoever etches the stickman on cemeteries is trying to do. If we had time, we could try to find their leaders and try to investigate if they’re not being deceived as well.

  Now, since we don’t have forever, I would let you all decide; and when you arrive to a consensus or diktat, we shall discuss it. With this Romanian cylinder—that Itzák’s Romanian son gave me to protect; and I travelled insanely, protecting you three, to get; and I brought you here to be able to decipher without destroying it—we shall then do what’s best. Now I have to go to nearby town, for half and hour or so. Then I will be back to see what you have decided. See you soon!” And saying that, he was gone.

  Severian had just left when David asked Tony, making no effort for the others not to hear: “Was that a threat or an order?”

  “No!” replied Tony. “He wouldn’t need to threaten or order us. Much as he saved us, he could kill us. Much as they wine and dined us, our hosts could drug us. He simply shamed us for our lack of trust. And I, for one, am truly ashamed. Indeed, after all this effort, destroying this artifact would be, at the very least, archaeological savagery. To preserve it under lock and key would invite disaster. And to ignore it, would make a mockery of us risking our lives to find it. It would also be an insult to Sól and Siegfried’s efforts to understand it.”

  “I tend to agree with Tony,” said Haim. “We have no clue what is this madness, this witchcraft, this demon spell, whatever this artifact might be.

  In part because of that, we need as many allies as we can find. And, if Lilith really exists, and she
can help us understand this gold scroll and this cylinder to ‘attain equilibrium’, I’m willing to try contacting her.”

  “What do you say, David?” asked Sól, looking hopeful.

  “I am a scientist. I try to understand things. We have a plausible model to enlist Lilith, so I’d say…let’s try it!”

  “Should we start, then?” asked Siegfried.

  “Your manners, son, your manners. Severian has as much right as—and, it seems, more understanding of it than—any of us to be present when we do it. He said he would be back soon—and, for as long as I can recall, he might be eccentric, but he’s a man of his word. Let’s go have a drink on the veranda instead. The aroma of lavender is soothing to the soul, as they say; and this time of the year, our lavender fields are in all their blooming glory.”

  So it was done. And hardly fifteen minutes later, reinvigorated by the sweet breeze of a beautiful summerly Provençale night, they were all back at the lab.

  And about ten minutes after that, Severian was back.

  Suddenly, before anyone could hear him utter a word, Tony, Haim and David heard his voice, very clearly, speaking to their minds: “I am glad you have agreed to proceed. In front of our hosts I wouldn’t want to say it, but, given that Lilith is the First Mother of all of us vampires, I would very much think it is also my ‘birthright’ to be the one who should first reach out to her and ask for her help. She almost certainly knows what we’re dealing with. Whether she would answer our entreaty or not, is another matter altogether. All the same, I would like to try.”

  “So, ladies and gentlemen, have we reached an agreement?” Severian then asked aloud, as he sauntered into the room, seconds after his last mind-word had reached the three men.

  “Yes!” replied David, nodding. “Let’s do it! Let’s try to summon Lilith!”

  17—Invoking Lilith

  “So, how does one conjure up Lilith?” asked Tony.

  “According to this,” said Sól, “in a place of blood, where the innocent congregate; or in a place of darkness, wherefrom her children call on her for protection or enlightenment; or when her sacred name is uttered by those who regularly sacrifice to her; or where ‘pieces of her essence are ‘unified’ (I guess, assembled into one thing) by someone ‘unblemished by malice’ she would ‘often visit, even if serendipitously summoned’,” said Sól, “but…” she quickly added “should ‘an attempt be faulty’, she ‘will instead, swift- and brutally, punish the offenders’, taking an expiatory sacrifice commensurate with their transgression.”

  “A ‘place of blood where the innocent congregate’ could be the survivors of a massacre, or something of the sort. Not this place. Among us, is there anyone who regularly sacrifices to Her?” asked Severian, rather snarkily. “Of course none of us qualifies. ‘Pieces of Her essence ‘unified’, i.e. put together, by someone ‘unblemished by malice’ probably means one of Izsák’s grandchildren played with, or, for whatever reason, cradled the bottle, possibly because his or her father told him or her to hold on to it, and, ‘serendipitously’, made it rotate and the slivers coalesce, by sheer accident, long enough for Lilith to arise, saving the innocent from the Wotanist hordes. Then She probably left, as fast as she had appeared, unnoticed even by those she had saved.”

  “Makes sense, even if the last explanation is sheer conjecture. Plausible, but a hypothesis nonetheless,” pronounced the Countess, “hypothesis nonetheless! However, you seem to have forgotten one… What was it Sól? A place of darkness…”

  “A place of darkness, wherefrom her children call on her for protection or enlightenment,” Sól repeated.

  “So, guess you forgot that one, mon cher Severian,” almost whispered, intrigued the Countess.

  “Not really,” he answered, “I was studying the other alternatives carefully, considering another possibility. Your maid, Irène, she has lived most of her life…”

  “…rather loosely,” added the Countess, “admittedly. But she has a good heart, and is a hard-working maid. I sometimes wonder if she would one day marry Pierre. But I don’t see how that is of any relevance to us. We do not care about loose manners if our employees execute faithfully and proficiently their jobs. What was your point, then, Severian?”

  “I agree she is quite the nymphomaniac. But that would not be relevant. At first, I assumed she was not animated by any malice…but her sister’s husband is rough and she helped her get rid of him…by convincing him to go to a forest where the two…ended the problem…The killing might be illegal, justified or not…but the deception required malice, so she is now useless to us in ‘putting together the pieces of’ Lilith’s ‘essence’. None of us is devoid of malice either, so none of us could either,” pronounced him, splaying his hands very much French style.

  “Then…we’re back to square one…One of her children would be a ‘demon’ of some sort…wouldn’t it?” said David, almost suspecting what was coming.

  “How should her children ‘call for protection or enlightenment’?” Severian asked Sól.

  Siegfried answer: “We had some trouble with that one; but, if our translation is correct, ‘by writing with their own blood the question of origin’, whatever that might mean.”

  “Where…? Write it where…?” asked Severian again.

  “On the golden sheet, in an empty part that was left there precisely for Lilith’s children to do just that…like stamping and sending one of those self-addressed envelopes of old…”

  “But the gold sheet, for one, is inside the argon chamber to prevent deterioration…” said Haim. “However, oxygen will not attack gold, would it?”

  “No; as far as I know, gold does not attack oxygen at any temperature. Gold can even withstand ozone up to 100ºC. But oxygen would oxidize the silver bottle. It won’t do anything to the stones either: they’re a form of granite, even if they are supposedly…rather unusual stone splinters,” pointed out Siegfried.

  “Using the septum, your bottle could be left inside the glove box, allowing the gold sheet to be extracted…but where are Lilith’s children to ‘write with their own blood the question of origin’?” hinted Sól.

  “We don’t even know what that…‘question of origin’ might be…or even if it has to be written in cuneiform or in which language even…” sighed the Countess, shaking her head.

  “There, chère Comtesse de Foehn de Groslac, is where you are mistaken,” admitted Severian. “I know exactly what that question is…because I am one of Lilith’s children…”

  “You are a demon?” asked the Countess, not altogether shocked, but trying to appear so, fighting, it might seem, letting the joy of a long-held suspicion confirmed show through.

  “No!” said Tony. “He is a vampire, a real vampire, like Dracula…”

  After a long moment of glacial silence, David cleared his throat: “Yes, he is, a real one…”

  “This is a joke, isn’t it?” asked Sól, by now almost convinced it wasn’t.

  “No, it isn’t, dear Sól,” confessed Severian. “I am almost six hundred years old. In fact, I was born a human, in 1427. I’m not going to go through circus, extend my fangs, or go over questions related to crucifixes, silver, holy water, stakes through the heart, becoming fog or piles of rats, sleeping upside down or my abilities to charm, hypnotize, or otherwise telepathically communicate or influence humans now. Since it’s getting late, you could get all required confirmatory evidence from our friends while I do what’s necessary. Now, if we are going through with this, I’d you to do two things for me: please extract the gold sheet from the argon hood, and then, all of you, please leave and do not come back until I call you.

  Also, before you leave, Sól, please show me where exactly should I write the question of origin. Then I should be fine—I hope. One last thing: much as Jewish people do not call on the name of G-d in vain, we are not supposed to write this question lightly. When I do, if the Mother considers me unworthy of Her, I will die. If the building shakes, as during an earthquake, you’
d know I have died. Then, you shall be on your own, and proceed as you see fit. In that case, it has been my privilege to know you all.

  Now, let’s do this!”

  Sól then did as Severian had requested and prepared to leave, last of all, since the others had gradually been exiting. As she was leaving, Severian briefly stopped her to explain they should not rely too much on what cameras would now show happening in the laboratory: “Unless we choose to move very slowly, human technology is very ineffective at capturing the displacement of preternatural beings,” he told her. She nodded, wished him luck, and left to join the others, who by then were anxiously crammed around monitors on the corridor, surveying that section of the laboratory.

  From the corridor they saw Severian roll his left sleeve, extend his right index’s nail until it became a claw half the length of the entire finger, pierce his left arm with it, and, using it like a quill dipped in an inkwell, trace symbols with his own blood. Despite their extensive pool of philological knowledge, not one of the observers could even guess what type of signs such finger movements were tracing on a gold sheet they could only observe from the sides. Sól’s most educated guess: those might have been complex pictograms, not unlike Chinese ideograms—quite imprecise, and of little use, in any case.

  Then Severian picked a paper towel, absorbed a tiny trickle of blood still pouring from the wound, now fast healing, threw the towel on the stone floor, rolled down his left sleeve, knelt on the floor facing the golden sheet, lowered his head, and waited.

  The wait at the corridor, at times distressing, dragged on, and on, interrupted only by deep breathings, coughs, and an occasional sign for silence among those staring at the monitors. Quite visibly, a few of the observers were losing patience—and hope—when, all of the sudden, lights flickered, inside the laboratory, then in the corridor, and, eventually, everywhere at the castle; and then, as inexplicably as they had gone out, lights came back. When security cameras started working again, from the corridor, the others discovered Severian was no longer alone in the laboratory.