“Yes, finally,” said Amon. “For years we have only spoken on the phone and via e-mail. Crazy, this world isn’t it?”
“Indeed. Your first time in England, right?”
“Yes, and that too with much difficulty. If it hadn’t been for Wolfgang working the visas, I would not have made it here, yet again.”
“Wolfgang is a miracle worker when it comes to immigration issues,” Alejandro agreed. “How do you do it? What is your secret?” he asked the German. Nirmala smiled in obvious agreement.
“Oh, Wolfgang has many secrets. Very powerful ones. He shares them with no one, unfortunately. But our organization would have come to naught without him and his secrets,” said Wanda with a sly grin.
Wolfgang responded with a smirk but said nothing. He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat hanger next to the front door. He then proceeded to take off his boots.
“Let me put on some tea,” said Wanda as the visitors settled in. “I am afraid, I don’t have any coffee for you today, Wolfgang. Do you fancy a beer, perhaps?”
“No, I will have half a glass of water with some ice if you have it and if not just the water please.”
Wanda left for the kitchen and the guests arranged themselves in various seats around the coffee table. Dr. Müller was in an armchair to Alejandro’s right. Alejandro sat in the three-seater sofa with Amon seated to his left. Nirmala was sprawled on the floor, crouching over the pages of a book that lay open on the coffee table, studying it between the lines and occasionally typing words and phrases into her laptop.
Wolfgang put his feet up on a footstool in front of him. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, blue eyes and a greying French-cut beard. Behind his hardened, battle-worn expression, was a handsome face that had toughened over the years. He was not very expressive and it was often difficult to gauge his thoughts and feelings. A very handy trait this was given the delicately risky projects he frequently involved himself in. He pulled out a small packet from the pocket of his jeans and looked at Alejandro.
“Cigarette?” he asked.
“If no one minds,” Alejandro said hesitantly.
“I am fine, my father was a heavy smoker,” replied Nirmala but Wolfgang seemed to ignore her completely and looked at Amon instead.
“Go ahead,” Amon said.
Alejandro took a cigarette and Wolfgang gave him a light.
“I thought you quit.” Alejandro said, taking in a drag. Amon quickly extended an empty glass in their direction to serve as an ashtray.
“Albert is a bad influence,” said Wolfgang with a rare chuckle.
“I see,” said Alejandro. “So, what’s the latest on Chris and Zoya?”
“Tomorrow. They get here tomorrow. The ash is clear now.”
“What is this about this Zoya? What is happening?” asked Amon who was too busy planning his own escape to London and his family and Abu’s safety during his absence, to stay on top of the latest news elsewhere.
“I did not tell you?”
“No. On the way here, you told me what happened in Iceland and that Chris was there and nothing else. I thought he was alone and that he’s back already.”
“That was the plan, but Zoya followed him to Iceland and to Aifra’s den, and now they are both stranded in Canada.”
“You will have to explain that one.”
“Last week when we were planning your escape, the Oraefajokull erupted after many centuries.”
“Yes, I saw that on the news. But I thought Chris had left Iceland by then.”
“They were about to when the mountain suddenly started to spew smoke. There was a strong wind blowing that was carrying the smoke to the south. So, the pilot turned their flight around and went northwest to Northern Canada. They have set up a camp there for the evacuees. That is where Chris and Zoya are right now. Tomorrow they will be sending them back. It is taking time because of all the chaos resulting from this situation.”
“I see. So, we’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow to hear the Aifra story from them in the firsthand.”
“Yes. But I already gave you the gist and it is grave, to say the least.”
Wanda arrived with four steaming cups of tea on a tray and a glass half-filled with water and ice for Wolfgang. Wolfgang reached for his glass, nodded graciously, walked up to the coat-hanger and pulled out a little flask from his jacket pocket. He poured a generous portion of its contents into the glass and returned the flask to his jacket before walking back to take a seat.
“Rum?” asked Alejandro, looking at the glass of clear liquid.
“Vodka,” replied Wanda. “It’s either beer or vodka, Wolfgang drinks nothing else.”
“You know me too well. But you missed one, coffee.”
“I was listing the spirits, my friend. Coffee, as I understand, would not fall in that category.” Wanda plunged two cubes of sugar into her cup of fragrant chamomile tea.
Amon took a large swallow from his cup, draining half of it with one gulp.
“So, you think our enemy evacuated?” he asked, setting his cup down.
“I don’t think so. They wouldn’t need to. It is too far out in the east to affect them,” said Wolfgang.
“Do you think they have the means to evacuate if they had to, though?”
“Quite sure they do.”
“How would they do it and where would they go?”
“I am still working on that part. I have a hunch that they have other much larger bases but I am yet to locate them.”
“I see. So, the end is near, isn’t it? It was all useless, everything we did. We underestimated them.”
“Like they say, ‘it ain’t over ‘til it’s over’. Am I right?” Alejandro finally chimed-in, turning to look at Wolfgang.
“I don’t get it,” said Amon.
“Alejandro seems to have stumbled upon something that offers a small glimmer of hope,” Wanda offered.
“Oh, what is it?”
“A prophecy it seems,” said Alejandro, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Amon.
Amon read the verse aloud:
“To the West and North in brilliant light
A cosmic force will near
Death will loom, and fear will reign
And the earth will shed a tear
Tall and fair will the tower gleam
Monument to my grace
A beacon in a desert land
Not far from my embrace
At the hour of my ninth birth
Must ye seek the tomb
So shall I be summoned yet
Rendered from earth’s womb
In thy rear the lord of death
Jackal-headed, wise and slant
An incantation old and rare
Must ye seekers chant
All thy race shall fall to ruin
Hence darkness shall prevail
At such hour lest ye shall not
Make seven voices wail.”
His eyes widened as he read each line. “Oh!” he said at last. “It talks about Egypt!” he exclaimed, as recognition dawned. “Jackal-headed lord of death. That is Anubis! He is there in the tombs of the pharaohs, guarding the burial chambers and at other monuments.”
“Yes, so we figured.”
“How did you find it?”
“It was chanted by a priest at an ancient temple of the Indian God, Krishna when I was in India this time. The priest went into a trance, uttered these words in a woman’s voice and collapsed.”
“A possession,” Amon concluded. “But what do the verses mean?”
“Ever since Wanda found me and introduced me into the Hekameses, she put me on a mission to understand the meaning of the papyrus scrolls that predicted our births by delving into the history of my ancestors, the Mayans. This was because she was convinced that somewhere there was a link between these civilizations, their knowledge and their predictions, and by understanding the philosophies of the one, we could understand the other.”
&nbs
p; “Precisely,” said Wanda. “These civilizations had access to advanced astronomical concepts and built pyramids and monoliths with mathematical precision. They tapped into the pulse of the universe in a way that we can no longer comprehend. They possibly had access to a knowledge that never got passed down through the generations, and today we are grappling to figure out the very same things that were once as clear as daylight to our ancestors. That is why I tasked Alejandro with studying the ancients; to help us understand better what they were trying to tell us, what the papyrus of Faiyum really meant and what other legacies like it have been handed down that we are failing to utilize.”
“Yes,” said Alejandro, “and in my search, I was led to another ancient civilization, the Indian civilization. It seems that the Indians, Mayans and Egyptians agreed on at least a couple of things.”
“And what were they?” asked Amon.
“Astronomy and the cyclical progression of time.”
“More precisely, the precession of the equinoxes,” Nirmala chimed in.
“I do not know what that is,” said Amon.
“I didn’t either, but I have been researching it lately to help Alejandro. What I have learned so far is that, as the earth rotates on its axis, it wobbles like a top. As a result, each year, the sun’s position in the sky with respect to the constellations changes by a small amount. For example, in current times, during the vernal equinox, the sun rises within the constellation of Pisces. The specific point of its rising, slips by about one degree in roughly 72 years, thus going through all the constellations from Pisces through Aries in a span of about 26,000 years. So, approximately every 26,000 years we return to exactly where we started and the cycle repeats itself. This complete cycle is known as the Great Year or the Platonic Year.”
“Interesting but how is this relevant?” asked Amon.
“Well, it appears that the Indians, Egyptians and Mayans all understood this concept, as evidenced by the measurements of the pyramids in accordance with the divisions of the Great Year as well as the Mayan calendar that draws on this principle and the Indian concept of the Yugas.
What is interesting here is that the Indians took the idea of the Great Year one step further and opined that the Great Year was in fact, divided into four different ages. The first of these ages, the Golden Age, was the brightest of them all and signified the heightening of human consciousness and sociological advancement. As time progressed, the successive ages got darker and darker with human spiritual awareness declining and death and destruction prevailing around the globe, until the lowest point of the Dark Ages was reached where a struggle for power dominated over all other human pursuits.”
“A transition from a matriarchy to a patriarchy,” muttered Amon, almost inaudibly. “Please continue,” he then said out loud.
“Based on what Nirmala and I have found out so far, we believe that currently we are going through a period of time that the ancient Indians considered to be the end of the darkest age or somewhere in the vicinity of this end.”
“A cusp age,” Amon hissed.
“So, the only direction to go from here is forward and into an age of gradually increasing enlightenment,” said Nirmala.
“Unless of course, the world ends before that,” Alejandro added.
“What do you mean?” asked Amon.
“Well, the Indians foretold that there would be a great battle at the end of the darkest age, the Kali Yuga, which is modern times. This battle would leave a massive trail of carnage in its wake. If the world survives, then the dark age will pass and a new age will dawn.”
“If there is any wisdom in this prediction, then that would mean there is still hope,” said Amon.
“Yes, but there is a catch.”
“What?”
“The Indians believed that a saviour will come to redeem mankind at its darkest hour. According to them, this individual will be a reincarnation or avatar, of a legendary Hindu God, Vishnu. The name of this avatar is Kalki. When the battles of the Kali Yuga are at its worst, they say that it is the arrival of this all-powerful Kalki, that can save our world.”
“And you believe this is true?” asked Amon. “It sounds like mere legend.”
“You know that I do not believe in God.”
“If you didn’t think the prophecy had some substance, you wouldn’t have brought it up. Tell us what you’re thinking,” Amon urged.
“Although I don’t believe in God or magic, I do believe in science and the powers of the Hekameses.”
“You think this Kalki person could be one of us? A Hekameses?”
“It is possible, or another form of mutant but certainly mortal. Mind you, that is also what the Indians predicted. They said that Kalki will be an incarnation of God in his mortal form. You see my point?”
“Yes. But he is not here or we would have found him already,” Amon’s eyes darkened.
“Who knows. We know that we haven’t been able to find all of our kind. Look here,” said Alejandro snatching the piece of paper containing the poem from Amon’s hand and placing it on the coffee table. “It was pointed out to me that this poem is an acrostic.”
“What on earth—” Amon began when Wolfgang interrupted:
“It means that the first letters of each line combine to form a word or phrase or sentence.” He peered over Amon’s shoulder to get a better view. “tadatmanamsrijamaham, now that’s plain gibberish,” he growled.
“Haha. So, it would seem if you didn’t speak Sanskrit,” said Alejandro.
“And you do?” asked Amon with amazement in his eyes.
“No, but a Sanskrit scholar in India, Dr. Sinha, figured this out and explained it to me. The words read ‘Tadatmanam Srijam Aham’, it means, ‘it is then that I will manifest myself.’”
“These are the words of the Bhagavad Gita, the holy book of the Indians. The lines are uttered by Krishna, a previous incarnation of Lord Vishnu where he claims that he will return to earth at its darkest hour,” Nirmala chimed in, barely able to contain her excitement.
“I do not get it,” Amon admitted.
“Let me summarize,” Dr. Müller volunteered. “In India, Alejandro heard a prophecy, or so it seems, that predicts the doom of the world on a certain day unless an incantation is chanted by seven people. If the chant is successful, then an ancient Indian God will suddenly materialize from the middle of nowhere to save us from a looming threat of annihilation, which in this case appears to be the electromagnetic pulse attack, apparently. I do not buy this explanation, if you ask me!”
“Not a God, Wolfgang,” Alejandro objected, “Perhaps a Hekameses.”
Dr. Müller looked neither convinced nor assured, but Amon’s face was lighting up with every revelation.
“I think it would be unwise to dismiss this prophecy so quickly, Wolfgang. I believe there might be something here. And the timing, it is uncanny given what Wanda and I stumbled upon at Faiyum,” he said after some consideration.
“If it is what you think it is,” Wolfgang grumbled.
“What better time for us to test it out, than now?”
“By risking the end of the world?”
“Look, Wolfgang, do you have a better idea? If not, then the end of the world is near, whether or not we like it. We might as well try out the weapons that have miraculously landed on our laps.”
“What weapons? Are you talking about the script you and Wanda found at the ruins in Faiyum?” Alejandro interrupted.
“The script of Horus, yes,” Amon confirmed.
“What makes you think that it will be of any help here?’
“Didn’t you read the poem? Here look…” Amon straightened the piece of paper containing the poem on the coffee table. “It says here, ‘An incantation old and rare, must ye seekers chant’. If my knowledge of ancient history is any good, there are few incantations older and rarer than the script of Horus. It is the only one of its kind and for centuries archaeologists have been wondering whether it is merely a mythical docum
ent that does not really exist.”
“Interesting,” said Alejandro. “It certainly appears likely that the script of Horus is indeed the incantation referenced in the prophecy, but how can we be sure? There are plenty of old and rare incantations out there from around the globe. I am inclined to agree with Wolfgang here and err on the side of caution.”
“I would like to add some input here, if I may,” Wanda offered. “There is another reason why Amon probably thinks that the prophecy refers to the script of Horus and none other. There is an age-old Egyptian legend associated with this document that might explain why we found it when we did and in turn why this finding might turn out to be so very pivotal to our success. But I will let Amon do the explaining because he is the expert on this topic.”
“Thank you, Wanda,” said Amon and then turning to the others continued in a serious voice, “According to the legend Wanda just mentioned, the script of Horus is useless unless it is chanted in the proper way. It is believed that when the times comes, a prophecy will be heard by a chosen individual or group of individuals. In this prophecy, there will be instructions regarding the correct way to chant this text in order to activate its powers. Furthermore, some Egyptians believe that the script of Horus will never be found until such a time comes that the prophecy for its activation has been pronounced.”
“Is that so?” said Alejandro rhetorically. “It could mean that the hearing of the prophecy and the finding of the script, at around the same time, are not isolated events but connected somehow by an ancient prediction.”
“Exactly,” Amon concurred.
“Then our chanting of the script of Horus at the location and time indicated in this prophecy might in fact, activate its power and save the world, after all. Now, all that remains for us to do is try and figure out the rest of the poem to determine the where and when part…”
“This idea still sounds pretty bogus to me and I refuse to stand behind it,” Wolfgang objected.
“Why?” asked Amon.
“Wolfgang always needs a scientific rationale for decisions such as these,” Alejandro jumped in to explain.
The Coming of Kalki Page 22