by Andrew Busey
“I’m glad you asked,” Stephen said and, with a flourish of his hand, invited Mike to take over.
“We just got it working,” Mike said, “but we plan to undertake a major effort to translate as much as we can. The document you can see now is called the Builder’s Book. It’s their creation story. They have a pretty interesting view with a reasonably well-defined pantheon.”
He drew a diamond on one of the dry-erase boards and put dots in each of the corners and the center of it.
“Think of this as their cross, Star of David, crescent moon,” he said, pointing at it. “They ascribe deities to each of its elements, so there are basically six gods. I say basically because the sixth one is kind of a weird concept. Also, there is a seventh that is not represented here.” He paused. “So the diamond itself represents the Creator. He is their ‘ubergod.’ He, not surprisingly, created everything.”
“Sounds like Thomas,” Jenn said.
Everyone chuckled.
“The diamond represents the constraints or the edges of the world. Remember the stories from the Dark Ages that claimed that the world was flat and that if you went too far out into the ocean, you would fall off the edge? Well, that is basically the idea here.”
“Cool,” Ajay mumbled.
“So their all-powerful Creator made some more gods to do his work for him. I guess he’s lazy or something. He’s kind of an amorphous concept for them. They don’t worship him; they thank him. It’s also possible that the diamond shape is a driver for pyramids, since it could be construed as a pyramid and its shadow.”
Lisa said, “Or a pyramid viewed from above.”
Stephen looked at the drawing again and nodded.
“Though,” Stephen said, “they never see them from above. Only we do.”
Mike cleared his voice and tapped the top dot. “This is the Architect. He designed the world.”
Ajay raised his hand. “Is that me?”
Lisa laughed and smacked him on the back of the head. “No. It’s me, clown.”
Stephen rolled his eyes.
“I’ll add the caveat,” Mike said, moving past the interchange, “that we translate these words to the closest concept in our own language. The concept of an architect—someone who designs complex systems, like buildings or computer software—is ours, but it is the idea that mostly correlates with what we think the Alphans believe.”
Continuing clockwise, Mike tapped the next dot. “These three dots across the center of the diamond are the main gods. The rightmost one,” he said as he again tapped the dot in the three o’clock position. “This one is the Builder.”
“Stephen or Larry?” Jenn asked, turning it into a game.
“Don’t forget Bleys,” Larry added helpfully.
Ajay said, “Can we vote?”
“Not surprisingly,” Mike attempted to bring them back on track, “the Builder built the world.”
“Presumably from the Architect’s plans,” Ajay interrupted with a snicker.
“Right. He made the animals, the people, the rivers, mountains, et cetera, following the Architect’s command. It’s kind of ambiguous what he used to make them. That doesn’t seem to be part of the myth.”
He clicked again, showing the city. Across the river were the five pyramids. Hundreds of workers swarmed over the sixth pyramid. It was nearing completion.
“They take the Architect and the Builder seriously. The pharaoh is supposedly the manifestation of a god on Earth—well, on Alpha, really, but we’ve used the more colloquial translation ‘Earth’ in this usage, for our own familiarity’s sake, and since they don’t call Alpha ‘Alpha.’ Only we do. Anyway, the Pharaoh is basically the ‘Architect’ made man. He designs what he thinks is necessary, and people build it. The ‘builders’ consider the act of building these things to be worship. They work in shifts to construct this pyramid in honor of the gods. And their pharaoh is the all-powerful leader.
“Anyway, to get back on track.” Mike pointed to the middle dot. “The Guide. This is an interesting one. They attribute leading them out of Darkness to the Guide. Again, we aren’t entirely clear on what that means. It could mean bringing them out of the trees to farm or introducing them to the religion or the river. The Guide also represents what we think of as luck.”
“Hey, Jenn, I think that’s you,” Lisa said, continuing the game.
“Or maybe Mike,” Jenn retorted.
Mike tapped the next dot on the opposite side from the Builder’s dot. “The Scribe.”
“Doh. I guess that’s more you,” Jenn said.
Mike shrugged. “The Scribe records the events of the world. Again, we don’t know what that means. I get the feeling it is kind of like the Greek fates. He weaves the fabric of the world and in the process records it. The Scribe takes the blame for any bad stuff that happens.
“So the Builder, the Guide, and the Scribe are the gods they mention most. Common expressions we hear are ‘Builder, give us strength’; ‘Guide, show me the path,’ when they need luck or guidance; and ‘The Scribe has written it,’ when they feel defeated or are facing the inevitable.”
He tapped the final dot, at the bottom. “This is Darkness.”
Lisa laughed. “No one’s going to want to be that.”
“Sometimes they use the Darkness as a curse. ‘Darkness take you’ is kind of like ‘go to hell.’”
“Sweet,” Lisa said. “We can curse in Alphan now.”
Mike frowned and wondered why that was the thing everyone wanted to know in every language.
“The Darkness,” he started again, “represents everything they fear, their lost past, the unknown…” He paused. “…and death.”
***
After the presentation, Stephen went back to check on Nefirti in the SU. It had become an addiction. Every morning and every afternoon before leaving, he would check in, sometimes alone, sometimes with Mike. Even though they didn’t need to monitor her for the language program anymore, he still liked to see how she was doing.
SU-N11 Time: 496 PC [+13,508,915,714 Years]
Nefirti’s house was crowded. Everyone was in a festive mood and dressed in bright colors. In the small outside area facing the river, a small band played reed pipes and beat on a primitive drum as people danced around. It took Stephen a few minutes to actually find her, but when he did, it was obvious the party was for her. Everyone who passed her would speak to her, give her a hug, and then drape a colored string over her shoulders.
If the number of strings draped over her shoulder were a measure of popularity, she was doing well. She wore a scarf that resembled a rainbow.
Stephen guessed it must be her birthday, or maybe some special coming-of-age ceremony, since they hadn’t seen anything like this before.
He watched, in real time, for a half hour or so and then, content, decided to head home and get some rest. It was wonderful to see her so happy, surrounded by family and friends, carefree. He wished he could be there.
***
He had already felt good after the great presentation earlier in the day, and seeing Nefirti’s party had moved Stephen into even more of an exuberant mood. He even whistled as he left the office. Walking out, he passed Mike’s office and saw that he was still diligently working.
“Hey, you want to grab a drink?” Stephen asked.
“That would be great. I think we’ve earned it.”
“Yep. The progress is amazing.”
“I can’t believe how quickly we cracked the language. We make a great team, Stephen.”
“Can’t wait to see what’s next.”
Chapter 35
I worship God as Truth only. I have not yet found Him, but I am seeking after Him. I am prepared to sacrifice the things dearest to me in pursuit of this quest. Even if the sacrifice demanded my very life, I hope I may be prepared to give it.
—Mahatma Gandhi
The man, dressed in typical, nondescript clothes, came running up the main approach to the palace entrance from the
city. By the time he reached the gates, he was breathing so hard he could barely stand.
“They are at the house,” he managed to squeeze out between his gasps for air.
At that, he leaned against the wall, bent nearly halfway over, and drew out his panting into wheezing, long breaths.
One of the guards nodded toward someone inside the palace.
***
Their light armor clanked, and their copper-tipped spears bobbed as the squad of soldiers marched in lockstep down the packed-dirt road. It was rare to see the pharaoh’s soldiers in this area of the city. Far more common were pairs of city guardsmen roving in idle patrols.
What made this squad even more unique was the high priest they followed. His white robe was already hemmed in brown from dust and dirt as it swished about him, marking an eerie cadence with the bouncing of the gold bracelets on his arms. Behind him walked two acolytes, similarly dressed, although without the gold. One carried a clay jar and a brush. The other carried folded cloth of deep red.
The few people on the streets backed out of the way of this strange group and glanced furtively at the sixth pyramid, whose apex was visible from almost anywhere in the city, the pyramid they now knew to be complete. A high priest with a military escort walking in the city’s streets could mean only one thing.
The procession stopped in front of the outer door of one of the affluent houses that lined the riverfront. The high priest turned to the acolyte with the clay jar, who handed the brush to the priest and held out the jar. The priest dipped the brush into the jar, dragged the excess gold-toned paint from the brush at the jar’s lip, and painted the outline of a diamond on the door.
“The Creator bound the world,” he intoned.
And he put a dot at the top of the diamond, just inside the outline.
“The Architect designed our world.”
He put a dot just inside the outline on the right side.
“The Builder brought the world to life.”
He put a dot in the middle of the diamond.
“The Guide brought us out of Darkness.”
He put a dot on the left corner.
“The Scribe records our path.”
He put a final dot in the inside bottom of the diamond.
“The Darkness takes us all.”
Then he knocked on the door. A heartbroken wail escaped from the courtyard as the door opened. A man, his black hair cropped short in the current fashion, looked stoically at the priest.
The priest placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Your daughter has been chosen as the vessel to link our god on Earth, the Pharaoh Altememnor, with the creators through the activation of the sixth holy pyramid.”
The man slowly nodded. His eyes seemed empty, as if their light had been snuffed. He held his wife, who was wailing by his side. Everyone turned and faced the girl.
She was fourteen, in that awkward phase between girl and woman, and stared back with every ounce of defiance she could muster.
The other acolyte stepped into the courtyard and unfolded the piece of cloth. He walked around the girl and placed it across her shoulders like a shawl, covering the rainbow scarf. As his hand touched her shoulder, she screamed.
A black shape shot across the courtyard and slammed the acolyte to the ground before anyone could even register what was happening. A spray of blood from the acolyte’s severed jugular spattered the high priest’s face and painted a diagonal line across his white robe.
In the half second of shocked silence, the cat lunged at the high priest. The priest raised his arm to make a holy sign or to protect his face, and then he was buried beneath the cat.
The other acolyte dropped the jar, and it shattered at his feet. He dove to the floor and covered his head. Gold paint spattered in a giant starburst in a bright mosaic on the tiles that covered the courtyard, adding new yellow spots to the cat and speckling the legs of the girl’s parents. The mother collapsed, sliding down the father’s leg as she fell onto her knees in a kneeling position. She wailed between the girl and the father, at the center of a golden and red starburst of paint and blood.
The cat and the soldiers charged each other. The soldiers were unable to maneuver their spears in the chokepoint of the doorway, and the huge, fast cat batted away shafts as it lunged. The cat attacked blindly again and again, mauling two soldiers while they swung their spears wildly. One soldier finally impaled the cat, and then two more shoved their spears in—killing the large cat.
Around the cat were three dead soldiers, one apparently killed by his own comrade’s spears, and the man and the woman, also speared to death, either out of confusion or spite. The surviving acolyte stood up uncertainly, beneath the glare of the remaining soldiers.
“So much blood,” he said. “This is not how it is supposed to be.”
The girl stood still, in her original spot, except for almost imperceptible shudders that periodically rippled through her body beneath the heavy red cloth, tears running down her cheeks.
Blood was spattered all over the wooden door. It had not broken the diamond, but it had mingled with two of the dots, the Builder and the Darkness. In fact, they were now connected by the blood. He wondered what that might foretell.
The acolyte bent down to the high priest and carefully removed his still bloody vestments. They were required to anoint a new high priest, and that was critical now. This was not the time for hesitation.
He then grabbed the girl’s arm and dragged her deeper into the courtyard but discovered he hadn’t needed to force her. She followed without resistance. He proceeded through the house, the soldiers on his heels leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the tile floors. He walked out the house’s back and made his way past the family’s felucca to a waiting military longboat. The ship’s master looked at him as they boarded, then at the girl, then at the reduced squad of soldiers, and then stared at all blood. He decided not to ask any questions.
He nodded at the coxswain, who shouted, “Row!”
The oarsmen heaved, and the boat moved out of the pier and into the river. The shoulders of the twelve oarsmen rippled as they fought the current, moving upstream toward the sixth pyramid.
Immediately after the boat pulled away, light flared from the top of the sixth pyramid. Its giant braziers had been set afire, the bright light visible to the whole city, announcing the night’s ceremony.
***
They marched, with guards flanking Nefirti, from the dock around the newly completed pyramid. The scorching sun further baked the blood that covered them. They turned around the back of the pyramid, the part invisible from the city, and she was shocked. It was like a carnival. A large, open tent stood at the foot of a giant staircase. The ground was covered with blankets. Servants swarmed about like ants.
A small group relaxing on piles of pillows in the middle of the tent shouted when they saw her. They climbed to their feet, still shouting, and rushed over to them.
When they got close enough to see the blood, they slowed and their shouts waned, ever so slightly, but still they came, most with white robes—similar to the former high priest’s but with fewer gold accoutrements—that flowed about their feet. Four of the group were dressed differently: one in an extravagant purple robe heavily accessorized with gold, two in armor, and one in simple garb highlighted only with a purple sash.
“Where is the high priest,” one white-robed man asked when they got to the group.
“He is dead.”
“Dead?” another asked as if trying to interpret a new word.
“Her cat went berserk defending her. It killed the high priest, an acolyte, and three soldiers.”
The soldiers didn’t pause in their march, and the second white-robed man half-trotted along to keep up.
“The high priest is dead?” he asked again still trying to understand.
Most of the group was now alternating looks between the bloody duo and another man. She looked at him. He was the one in purple. It was a tunic,
and he wore a gold belt, bracelets, rings, and a circlet just above his brow—gold was everywhere. She assumed he was the pharaoh.
She briefly wondered if she could kill him. He looked too strong, and the two armored men, presumably his bodyguards, stayed close to him and looked like they could strike her down before she could so much as scratch him.
“What does this mean?” the pharaoh screamed at the others. “Tell me! What does it mean?”
They fell back from him, clearly in fear of his wrath.
One man, the one with the purple sash, stepped close to the pharaoh, indifferent to the guards. He whispered something.
The pharaoh looked ready to explode. It took him a moment to regain his composure. Then he turned to one of the priests.
“Kneel,” he growled.
The man did.
The pharaoh spit on the man’s head and then turned slightly and grabbed a small knife from the belt of one of his bodyguards. The pharaoh cut a slice into his hand and slapped the kneeling priest so hard that it knocked his head sideways. The impact was loud and left blood on the priest’s cheek in a smeared image of the pharaoh’s hand.
“May my blood and water anoint you and make you strong. For you are the representative of the god on Earth and speaker for the creators. May the Builder make you strong, the Guide lead you forward, the Scribe record your deeds, and the Darkness wait on you. Rise, High Priest.”
The acolyte came forward and placed the old high priest’s vestments, still bloody, onto the new high priest.
The man rose.
“Now what in the name of Darkness does this mean?”
“Nothing, my lord,” the new high priest said. “The girl is here. The ceremony will occur as preordained. The rest doesn’t matter.”
The pharaoh seemed to debate internally whether to believe the new high priest or not and then nodded. “Clean her up.”
***
She was patient as the slaves scrubbed away the blood that covered her. It hurt, especially as they dampened and brushed the blood-clotted kinks from her hair. But soon it was over and she was covered in a blue smock.