Crematorium for Phoenixes

by Nikola Yanchovichin

  This somewhat reassured the otherwise suspicious elders. Several promises to do extensive commercial endeavors with them melted the final cool and here is what the men were able to add to their information: the cult followers really spoke abominations, but did not stop at that. They supplemented it by further proclaiming they were not taking such actions for saints, but for egregious new prophets; they talked about false gods.

  These words relayed from numerous calls were enough to clarify everything—aliens and their project, Apollyon, were here.

  After inquiring about, the men took the receptacle on, as if wishing to answer the eternal human question about the desert.

  Countless valleys were illuminated in front of them as swooning ships kindled fires. They looked to be covered in sprinkled stardust or acted like they were at dancing balls with the way they raised and lowered.

  Shepherds, borrowed shofars from the Semitic tribes of the north, echoed songs in their quiet voices and told stories almost as old as the local land.

  Disputed well robbers who imposed racketeering for bottles of milk and skin bags of cheese were overtaken by more recent events that the shepherds stirred, much as they did the camp fire with gnarled sticks, chewing and chewing with their minds. But even then they still could not find a rational decision.

  Goats had been lost.

  Maybe it would have seemed insignificant to the reader’s mind but these were not little flocks. Everything became more significant because the circumstances in which, so to speak, the lost goods were discovered.

  Valleys were being found covered in animal blood. Plucked hairs and skins looked as if they had been torn with nails and used as garb.

  And these views had recently become more frequent. The cattlemen were anxious even though they were used to their little harsh lives because they could not rely on an army made halfway of mercenaries, troops from the coasts. They took the law into their own hands given the uncertainty surrounding the new enemy; it was a risky move.

  And in view of these facts one night, Victor Drake, Amos Oz, and the others came to these camps that were twisted at the foot of the ridges.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Sands collapsed like bleeding coals. Several bushes dropped their prickly stems as if cracking under the intense heat, while between them, stretched across the desert plateau, a caravan was moving.

  Hundreds of camels loaded with cloth bundles were sweltering at the grueling pace. Their drivers were swarthy and fused shadows in the haze. They shouted at them with exhausted chants that were characteristic of the sister of the great Arabian Desert: the Sinai.

  Coming from Africa, the branches are the lifeblood, flowing into the confines of Asia Minor; they wore the refreshed elements of trade that relived these otherwise lifeless and uninhabited parts.

  Dozens of nations owe their existence to this supposedly primitive transporting system, providing drivers, security, and food to the passing caravans since time immemorial.

  Indeed, proving the correctness of this statement, the flow was stopping to take water and supplies in the most extreme places in advance of waiting nomadic traders.

  So, from time to time, a large column made passage to the ways of Sumer and Akkad. Sometimes even another column would be coming from the mines of Cyprus and the Hittite country, bringing balance to the constant flow that rattled and rattled in the rocky terrain.

  All sorts of people were here. There were slave owners who drove wooden-collared slaves from the side of Kush, traders from the newly founded Carthage, mercenaries by the Libyan oases, camel drivers from south Arabia, and random passengers who had agreed with the occasional silver coin to be translators in deserts of Sinai.

  Thus, among them, wearing cloaks, were some white people riding several visible and cheaply bought camels.

  Not that there were conversations in the caravan. Everyone was looking out for his own safety, but it seemed common practice to have conversations combined in dozens of accents and dialects.

  From time to time they checked the status of their goods, which accounted for the cheap products of coppersmith who out of much irony made products of metal that had been mined in the local areas.

  For all of their troubles, they were attributed as small traders who risked their lives in the retail resale, doomed forever to wander between Egypt and Asia, never growing up into something more.

  But, as they say, sometimes the truth is far different, and these traders were none other than Tammuz, Sharukin, and the others, disguised as such.

  They were using only the carriage. They had abandoned the airship, returning to the places from which they came: Canaan and Phoenicia.

  No doubt there had been no sign of their speed in the previous days, but they were still approaching. In fact, only God knew where.

  They were at the focal point of all the caravan routes, wandering as pilgrims, and following their God in the sands.

  They had walked a lot. Even so they had to go forward as if they had melted into the sands of the Semitic peoples.

  Here and there some oasis gushed according to the legends of recent times. It was said they did so to alleviate the liberated tribes of Israel on their way to their promised land. The area was crawling with snakes in the stones, which were scattered like the defeated skeletal army strewn across the ground.

  The caravan stopped near them before re-stretching out into the haze.

  Another time the nomads came to their camps, waiting as agreed to give the faint walking traders some of their milk and softened dates. Perhaps this happened every day, merging as time does when repeated, as we said, weeks upon weeks.

  Every day was like a dissolving and unfamiliar but still to the eyes it looked the same every day.

  Many avoided the blooming lands of the north, although they had realize that once in Gaza, Hebron, and elsewhere, they would go back. The older among them spoke of how everything would become a desert wind that has no past and future.

  Well, some people were settled among the red hills of Israel, Samaria, and Judea. Others, nudged by the sword from the eternal human pilgrimage, had walked deeper into Mesopotamia.

  And maybe the truth thought that the desert was the first and last abode of the planet. It was the only place that although much lower than God man also difficult to name.

  But even the desert eventually ended and where it did, gracious, coastal land dug into emerald hillocks.

  Here the climate felt a little softer, although this artificial greenery was rather loose and languished on the arms of the surrounding land. The caravan rested a little more than usual, shielded beside the palms.

  Even the mood, broken from the long transition, improved and strong optimism flowed into the men’s veins.

  Israel was already close and the small commercial factories (which were barely even self-sustained) that they encountered were a sign of approaching civilization.

  Thus came the first camps of brown canvas tents. They lived and farmed animals ready and holding, of course, their hands on the knives in their bosoms to give smoky meat, crushed grain, and very strong local wines.

  Along with these sites came much more comfortable roads shaded with sails, with dug wells in loose soil, and with plants that could partly rejuvenate the horses and small villages of adobe. The caravan remained at one of those.

  Here far more practical works such as oil, Egyptian cotton, and wax tapered honey were valued, but that did not mean that the majority of the goods trade was done in jewelry, bronze implements, and some of the essential oils. Sometimes those could not be given. They would be exchanged for silver and more often for sheep, donkeys, and camels, which the itinerant traders particularly valued.

  And the outputs and the local places of Israel proper with its olive groves, vineyards, dairies and curd, and its small workshops were coveted. From the workshops the fine fleece of Canaan sheep was manipulated. Part of them were here before the Israelites had crossed Mesopotamia and then gone on into Egypt. Others,
on the contrary, were set upon during their return as a result of the wars that they had to keep.

  Anyway, the recently acquired lands were administered in a way that astonished people with its rationality. Taxes had been collected, militias were gathered, the population had been counted. In general, there was a pretty lean part of the organization at time that we would consider to be archaic.

  The only negative that we should not forget to add a reminder about is that this community of tribal alliances was surrounded by others: the children of Ammon, Ashdod, the Philistines, and so forth. They were constantly fighting each other.

  So it is not surprising that the Jews exercised control over them since they were open to trade relations and had the accompanying material prosperity.

  Seemingly a small fee, it resulted in one-eighth shekels of silver, which were imposed when walking a short distance and perhaps more importantly, called for sanitary supervision, which was a progressive idea to deter and quarantine those individuals who were dangerously sick among travelers.

  And the leper colonies, perhaps comparable to those encountered previously were separated into dank, lifeless gorges. They also appeared like burst cracks within a grave, pointing out that this world is nothing but a big broken heart.

  With the advent of more and more to the north, these views became more frequent, and the number of workshops for leather, saddlery, and paint developed along with the other parts of everyday life.

  Newcomer nations to this complex entity, which was a worshiper of God, were brought in as cults. There was the god Refan and the cults of Molloh and Astarta that had been founded within. The same word was stoned or on the contrary rendered to have a positive reception. Therefore, it was a complicated task of maneuvering to strike a balance among all.

  There was a place where it was common to see people calling themselves–—right or not—prophets. Their separation was undoubtedly difficult, as we find in modern Biblical texts, for example. Everybody in their own way was manipulating the masses, and it was difficult to maneuver between these preachers in the desert, council in cities, aliens in space, the judges, and so many more.

  Almost every piece of gossip that took them to different towns in Judea proved false, but the crew chopped these off one by one like the threads of the Gordian knot. They gradually narrowed the circle and went through a Canaanite settlements in a concentric crawl, gradually getting to information that stood out in this background.

  It was said that near the Judean Desert there was a place built upon attenuated fertility. Children disappeared and adolescents were almost always orphans. This, of course, went unnoticed by the locals because many families emigrated to emerging cities, like Syria and Edom.

  The problem was that these children were being attracted by new teachers and then nothing had been heard of them.

  This trace, albeit vague, was sufficient enough to follow.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The shepherds roasted directly on the burned firebrand. A kettle and a hanging pot were singing on the burning resin wood that was emitting sparks that danced like fireflies before decomposing into the twilight.

  Several dogs buried their snouts in their paws. They were sleeping but were still willing to protect the herds and the tinkle of their collars confirmed this.

  Occasionally, sipping from simmering dishes, one of the pastors took portions to bring into the guarding posts where others were watching over the rest.

  The night, woven with the fibers of forgetting, was matted with the ink carbon clouds. They quivered in a shroud of beating stars.

  “Hakim, hand me the woolen cloak. The desert is cool to my old bones,” said one of the older shepherds to one of the younger ones who supported the fireplace.

  “Sure, Baba. You will need something warm to rest. We have a lot a walking before we reach the valley.”

  “The valley? How many times have I told you that we are going to plateau?”

  “The plateau? That place has become a den.”

  “Hakim, Hakim, how many times can I say that when God created this world, He provided several times the stupidity in it.

  “We can go where we feel comfortable, and you will see that everything will be all right.”

  “Okay, Baba, I just hope you’re right.”

  At that moment, one of the sleeping dogs trembled and began to snarl. Waking up, others followed his actions.

  “Hey Bab, Ulima, Howrah, what happened to you, boys?” said the people who were now jumping up.

  From the tops of the sand, Chinese dragons in a festival lights from torches could be seen clambering up the humps.

  “Must be foolish people. No one besides us comes to this part of the desert,” said the old Hakim armed with a scimitar in its scabbard. “Guys, go help them. It is still our duty as good people.”

  The other shepherds listened to him and left.

  Folds of the dune lit like the back of a diving sea creature.

  After a few minutes, the whistle was heard, which meant that everything was fine and the shepherds returned to the campfire with the newcomers.

  “Before you say who you are, drink some milk, even if we find you malefactors we can’t leave you thirsty,” urged the old men.

  The new ones did as he bid.

  “So now you can tell us what brought you here.”

  One of the newcomers took off his cloak and the flickering flame illuminated his deep, slightly yellowish face.

  “We were looking for the El Mouth plateau, but we lost the way.”

  “Well, obviously there is a great reason to have looked for it. You almost committed suicide on the road.”

  All fell silent and the bursting fire seemed to be preparing the atmosphere for a story that nobody wanted or needed to hear.

  “As it sounds pompous, the truth is that we are going through many lands.

  “For reasons that we do not fully understand, we are trying to find some people in this plateau and as life beautifies a few words of hope, we will withhold what has happened in the meantime.”

  “Wanderer, the desert, unlike humans and Allah, does not divide people into good and bad ones. For the desert it is indifferent whether to leave bones here. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it is that a man should go away from such a place, from the evil and death as much as possible.

  “But let’s put away that thought. You said that you are searching for specific people. We are guessing who. Allah with all his might allows some things to happen because it defines something for everyone and all of this puzzle is finally fitting together like desert sand.

  “We are people, which for morsels in the mouth every day, more or less, are risking our lives.

  “And we will not be involved in the way of others, even if you ask us about it.

  “Anyone who has seen at least as much as us during the nights in Arabia would understand me.

  “We’ll give you a few bellows with milk because conscience and interest require it.

  “I’ll tell you the way to the last area, amidst the desert town of Hareth, and from there you can take your camels.

  “If you can.

  “Because this is the city of the exiled.

  “This will happen, of course, after my sons and the others have their word.”

  There was a conversation in which the following could be heard: “But, my lord,” “Do not know what,” “Evil or good, the desert will give them enough trails to find what they deserve,” “Yes, but if they are in partnership with them,” and “Have faith, it will suffice you to see my wisdom.”

  Then there was silence, and the old man announced, “My servants will send you to show you the way and make sure that you don’t harm us.

  “Let conscience and God watch over you. This, no matter what, will show that you are on the right direction.”

  The wanderers obeyed and became silent again.

  The fire died down and all returned to their tents. And the darkness like an army of shadows spre
ad in all directions.

  ***

  Although the sun had not long risen, it was quite warm.

  Sand as fine as flour was burning, even within leather-wrapped shoes.

  Several people, carrying backpacks of shouldered bottles with liquid, moved among the dunes, trying to use their shadows as shade.

  “How much is left?” asked one of them.

  “If I understood from what they were saying, not much,” said the one who was in the front. “And yet we have to save the milk.”

  The group fell silent again, and the shadows in the morning gradually dwindled like retractable raptor limbs in a nest.

  Gray wrapped the baked desert hills; they were as tremulous as the smoke of a candle.

  The adventurers had climbed one, expanding on it in the form of a spiral.

  Reaching its peak a sandy expanse spread out before them, and tucked between its folds a white city had swooned; because of its shape, they could not determine whether or not it was a mirage.

  “Is this Hareth?” said one of the men.

  “Yes, and there is hardly more than two or three miles to it. But let’s drink less and within an hour we are there.”

  The group took down the leather begs and the heavy Arab cloaks were also spread out.

  The light shone upon them. The men were Victor Drake, Amos Oz, and the others.

  After drinking, they started down the top; they did not rush despite the rapidly rising temperatures.

  The slope of the hill almost carved a ravine that flowed into the vast plain.

  Time broke down the steps of thousands of feet, replaying them in the horizon in which there was truly nothing.

  Several corpses of camels drifted away from the strong heat. Their strapped hearts had met the inevitable end—that end in which evil throws a loop around the soul itself.

  The first line of Hareth consisted of half-buried tents in the sand. They were like pleated and stretched crepes. They’d been stuck empty and had darkened, extinct eyes.