The Days of Peleg

by Jon Saboe

  Bernifal stepped sharply to the right, twisting the guard’s hand and shattering his wrist bones. The guard screamed in pain as he flipped over backwards, landing immobile on the ground next to the other escorts.

  Bernifal retrieved the sword from the suddenly limp hand and walked over to Shem, whose assailant was still hanging from his outstretched elbow. Bernifal stretched the sword up into the air, placing its tip just below the flailing man’s chin.

  The man suddenly became perfectly still as the tip of the sword pressed slightly up into his neck.

  “You can let him down, now,” Bernifal said to Shem, who nodded.

  Shem released his grip from the other man’s hand, which allowed the man to let go of Shem’s elbow and drop if he wished. However, if he did, he would skewer himself on Bernifal’s raised sword, so he remained motionless. Shem began to slowly lower his arm, allowing the man’s throat to press harder against the sword tip. The man had not understood Bernifal, but it was clear that he was being lowered into a ruptured jugular. He could not let go of Shem’s elbow without landing on the sword, so he performed a one-armed pull-up, swung backwards away from Shem, and then released his grip—landing on the marble street several paces behind Shem.

  Without even looking back at Shem, he jumped up and ran away, in the direction of the Citadel.

  Shem and Bernifal began running towards the Citadel also, but they were intent on getting closer to Peleg. However, the man thought they were chasing him, and darted left at the next corner to evade them.

  Soon Shem and Bernifal were near the Eastern base of the Citadel, looking up at Peleg.

  Peleg was astounded at how quickly Shem and Bernifal had incapacitated their escorts. But as he watched them approach the Citadel, he began to wonder what he was going to do once they came near. They certainly couldn’t rescue him, and he certainly couldn’t make it to the roof and climb down. Somehow, he finally realized, all he wanted was to say “Good-bye”. And “Thank you”.

  Shem had pointed him towards the Creator. A feeling of acceptance, completion, and even happiness filled him unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And it had to be real since it was so inconceivably in contradiction with his current situation. Somehow he could sense that his very spirit was being filled with a new kind of life. Waves of love and care washed over him in ways he would have never imagined or thought possible. He had always wanted to be accepted by the cosmos, and now, here he was, personally accepted by the cosmos’ Creator!

  For a second he felt unworthy, realizing he certainly did not have the perfection that the Creator must certainly demand. But, almost as if in response, the same voice which had said, Turn Right, suddenly said, You have nothing that I have not given you. Take Peace. Rest in your advocate, the coming Zeh-ra.

  He listened as a new man entered the tunnel to retrieve him. Yet, strangely, a great joy filled him, and he began to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

  He suddenly knew what he had to do. He was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude toward Shem, and desperately needed to express it. And he only had one thing to give.

  Shem and Bernifal were now as close to the Citadel as the walls of the edifice would allow, and still be seen by Peleg.

  “I have accepted the Zeh-ra!” he shouted down to them, waving.

  Shem’s face almost split open as a large smile blossomed into a huge laugh—without a hint of its usual annoyance. He turned and said something to Bernifal, who, in turn, smiled as well, waving up to Peleg.

  Peleg collected his chest pack (minus the cross-staff), rolled it up, tied it carefully, and pushed it out past the bars, launching it into the open air. It shot straight out like a fat arrow, and then dropped gracefully down the sides of the Citadel. Shem rushed towards the falling package and caught it expertly, cradling it in his elbow.

  Peleg could now see additional guards from the Citadel rushing toward Shem and Bernifal. Shem looked up one last time, and Peleg was shocked to see his huge grinning face suddenly break into tears. With a final wave, Shem and Bernifal turned and ran from the guards, heading south back into the city.

  The new man in the crawlspace finally arrived, grabbing at Peleg’s feet. But there was no real reason to fight now—and he certainly didn’t want to be left here to starve. This man had brought a rope, already formed into a loop, and placed it over Peleg’s feet, pulling it tight. With a tug, he started pulling Peleg back towards the chamber inside—and Peleg was sure that the rope was long enough to reach the room, and that there were certainly additional men ready to assist in pulling them back in.

  He did everything he could to cooperate, since he didn’t want to be pulled, scraping against the side of the crawlspace. His suit tore as it caught on the walls, threatening to pull it up over his head as he moved.

  His inexplicable joy remained. He hoped he would see his family again, but if not, he knew he could contentedly spend the rest of his life (however long that was) getting to know his Creator—and new friend—Yahweh.

  His final thought, as he emerged feet-first into the chamber, was one of elation:

  If the only purpose for his entire life had been to discover Shem and restore the Founder’s vision, then everything that had ever happened to him was well worth it.

  Shem and Bernifal ran back through the streets, determined to make it to the Southern gate and the Seaport beyond.

  The only path they knew was the winding, indirect one that Peleg had taken them on their way to the Citadel. But Shem remembered it perfectly, playing it backwards in his mind as they tried to outrun the guards behind them. Their strange course actually benefited them, since those who were tracking them were thrown into confusion, never quite sure which way they were going to turn next.

  Eventually, they reached the harbor area where busy street vendors were still plying their trade. The late afternoon crowds were not as dense as those in the morning, and they rushed through them towards the gate—where a handful of armed city officials stood waiting.

  The very authorities who had banished them that morning, now seemed determined to prevent them from leaving. Without slowing, Shem and Bernifal rushed the group, and Shem was somewhat dismayed when he glanced over and saw a slight smile flicker across Bernifal’s face.

  Several damaged kneecaps and twisted wrists later, they emerged from the group of officials now groaning in their wake. They pushed through the crowd that had assembled and exited the southern gate; fleeing towards the docks.

  As they neared the harbor, they could see a group of at least three-dozen officers in the distance approaching from the shipyards. However, two harbor guards appeared suddenly in front of them, armed with spears, forcing them to head west across the open fields. Shem and Bernifal were so intent on running that they did not notice when the guards launched their spears after them.

  Bernifal turned his head just in time to see them descending, and managed to sidestep the one meant for him, deflecting it with his left arm. But in the process, he jumped directly in front of the spear meant for Shem, catching it full in his back just under his right shoulder blade.

  The impact knocked him down on his face as the spear continued through, pinning him to the ground. Shem spun around, stunned, as Bernifal twisted his head and gasped up at him.

  “Run,” he hissed as blood foamed from his lips. “Keep running”.

  Bernifal managed to reach inside of his garments and extract his reed flute, which he handed painfully to Shem. Shem reached down to touch his head, numbly accepting the gift.

  He then looked up at the approaching port officers, running to inspect the spearmen’s target. Unimaginable rage and anguish coursed through Shem as he glared blindly at them. He would have gladly fought them all, killing as many as possible before giving his own life.

  But the Creator would not allow it.

  The two spearmen arrived, and he vented some of his rage on them, leaving them groaning in the dust.

  He bent down and kissed Bernifal’s head—b
ut his small friend was already gone.

  With one final glare at the closing mob, he turned and ran west across the open plains, his three-hundred plus year-old muscles still containing more strength and endurance than those of the men chasing him—most of whom were less than one sixth his age.

  After running for more than an hour, he knew that none of his pursuers remained, yet he continued running, trying to dispel the raging conflicts between the agony at the loss of Bernifal and joy at the conversion of Peleg—whose chest-pack rested against his own chest under his shirt.

  He ran until the sky turned dark and the first stars appeared. He was now more alone than he had ever been, and he could see how easy it was to view the universe as a cruel and meaningless place.

  Yet he knew that the issues of life and death were in the hands of the Creator—and that the life within Bernifal was eternal and would live forever, somewhere.

  He could sense the Creator trying to comfort him, but, for the moment, he was not interested. He knew the Creator never violated His gift of volition, but just this once He could have interfered and prevented that guard from hurling that spear.

  A huge moon rose slowly behind him in the East, casting an ugly orange shadow in front of him. The ghastly shape moved, warping with the contours of the ground, forced to create a dismal caricature of whatever he did.

  He tipped his head back and screamed wordlessly into the night sky, and then listened for an echo which never came.

  His running became automatic, and eventually he stopped thinking. As he approached midnight, a huge thunderstorm appeared overhead, blotting out the moon and stars. Soon sheets of rainwater were slashing at him from all sides, blinding him further, and causing him to choke as he gasped, sucking in filaments of rain runoff from his face. His legs pounded mechanically under him, splashing mud in all directions as he continued running, running, with no purpose or care, into the empty night.

  Part IV

  The Seed

  How can an imperfect man be reconciled with his Creator?

  Only if there be a perfect mediator to lay his hands on each of us.

  Then could we speak, and not fear.

  From the Book of Job, chapter 9

  Chapter 39

  Perseverance

  “The fulfillment of Hope does not require human permission.”

  The subterranean chamber had been constructed soon after Queen Inanna became High Minister, and it served as a meeting and meditation room for those who had achieved the highest ranks in the Sisterhood of Lilith, the once secret order whose disciples served as the Handmaidens of the Queen of Heaven.

  Now, more than a century later, the Sisterhood boasted a membership in the thousands, with chapters in cities and villages throughout the plains. Temples had begun in several cities, including a massive structure in Uruk, larger even than its own Ziggurat, as the handmaidens tirelessly preached the wisdom and revelations of their Queen.

  Formal meetings seldom occurred here. It was a sanctuary where individuals could meditate and small groups could share with one another as they strove to better themselves in the hopes of attaining the same wisdom and spiritual insights as Queen Inanna herself. The last time the full leadership had met here was when the re-incarnate Tammuz had returned to Erset la Tari at the untimely age of thirty-three.

  He was to have been their “god-king”, but throughout his short life his amazing cosmic awareness and mental connection to the spiritual realms had taken a great toll on his physical body. His transcendent revelations were often accompanied by great convulsions and times of prolonged sleeplessness, during which (it was said) he would scream in agony for hours as incomprehensible truths from the universe imposed themselves upon his finite mortal frame. Every woman in this room had heard of his final, violent quickening when jagged pulses of blinding light had ripped apart his body from within, leaving a smoldering pile of charred ash which was wept over for weeks.

  These were the sacrifices he had endured; just as Queen Inanna, the “mother of their god-king” also humbled herself. She became a selfless mediator who imparted his revelations to them—and also shielded them from his moments of wrath and righteous anger when he often would violently (yet understandably) reach the end of his patience with those less enlightened.

  That meeting, so many years ago, had been a time of sadness; yet it had also been a time of sweet rejoicing to know that their king had shed his mortal restraints and was once again ascended—free to rejoin the cosmos and re-claim his rightful place in the universe.

  Today’s gathering, too, was a time of sadness, but there was also an aura of excitement and anticipation, as each one imagined the great transition of which they would soon partake. There were seventy-four women present for this synod. Sixty representatives, the twelve members of the high council, plus two of the Queen’s personal escorts, armed with short copper daggers. These two had served the longest among all of Queen Inanna’s personal bodyguards, attendants, and cosmetologists.

  The room was thick with a somber, uninterrupted silence as each woman reflected on what Queen Inanna had meant to them personally. And how, after inspiring them for so many decades, she had finally left this world to be reunited with her beloved Tammuz—this time permanently.

  The excitement came from their confidence that they would soon join her. There was no speaking, and the silence was enhanced by the soft ostinato of a beautiful golden harp at the far end of the chamber. It was a lovely lyre, crafted over a century earlier, with silver tuning pegs and inlaid with mosaics of lapis lazuli and red limestone carvings. One of the more musically gifted women played the exquisite instrument with her eyes closed, filling the room with positive energy as she emoted through its delicately plucked strings.

  A large, sunken bed of coals glowed in the center of the room, spewing thick, sweet incense into the air, wafting comfortingly around the women before settling and spreading, fog-like, across the floor. The room was sealed, and the two attendants guarded the doors, available to assist anyone who might suddenly become weak or unsure.

  The women all smiled wordlessly to one another, breathing in the fumes and embracing the light-headedness that always accompanied transcendence. But tonight, their transcendence would be made complete as they followed in the path of their Queen.

  The vapors thickened, forming an opaque haze which layered the floor, swirling around their feet. Many got to their knees and bent forward, dipping their heads into the coalescing fog. A few lay on their backs with their arms outstretched as the vapors flowed over them, preparing themselves to embrace their Queen the moment they saw her. As others witnessed this, they, too, stretched out on the floor—although many chose to embrace their neighbor instead.

  The two attendants remained standing; selflessly allowing the others to enjoy the thicker fumes below, thereby delaying their own transition. They would arrive last, only after insuring that everyone else had successfully gone on before them.

  The sweet aromas filled the lungs and hearts of the women with such joy that tears welled up in their eyes. The harpist had long since joined her companions on the floor, but new sounds of weeping and kissing now filled the air.

  The swirling incense reached the thighs of the attendants, and they dropped slowly to their knees to better enjoy the fragrance, confident that their special tasks would not be required.

  Suddenly, a young woman began coughing and rose suddenly, wiping her eyes and rushing towards the door. She stumbled into one of the attendants who gripped her firmly, yet gently, pulling her back down towards the floor. Obviously afraid, she cried out, tears pouring from her eyes, as she pounded on the arms of the attendant, demanding to leave the chamber.

  The others were completely oblivious to her pleas, since they were totally absorbed in their own convulsive experiences. The attendant certainly didn’t want this young woman to arrive in Erset la Tari in such an undignified manner, but the woman continued to beat on her arms, refusing to be comforted or reasoned
with. Finally, with great compassion and dedication, the second attendant temporarily delayed her own journey and came to the young woman’s aid. After a short thrust of her dagger, the young woman finally calmed down, allowing herself to be completely embraced and encompassed by the rising cloud.

  Soon all thoughts and feelings within the chamber dissipated, abandoning this world for the next. Yet, somehow, more than a few of them thought they heard low-pitched laughter just before their final memories evaporated into nothingness.

  Shem received the news of Inanna’s death with great happiness—and was immediately ashamed of himself. No one should celebrate death; not even the death of one who had single-handedly founded the insidious cult which strove to pervert the true message of the coming Seed.

  She was now known throughout the world as the “Queen of Heaven”, and her death would certainly do nothing to slow the spread of her message. In fact, it would most likely accomplish just the opposite as news of her “bodily ascent into the heavens” spread from city to city.

  However, it did mean that now, hopefully, it was safe to return to Ur, and he immediately made plans to set out for that city which had banished him more than a century earlier.

  He had fled Ur in anger and complete despair. His vision to discover the complete lineage of the Zeh-ra had been destroyed. Peleg, his only connection with the line, had been imprisoned and held in isolation under the control of Inanna. And his faithful friend, Bernifal, had been killed in cold blood as they were in the midst of complying with Inanna’s edict.

  Shem had wandered mindlessly for months after leaving, living off the land as he traveled aimlessly through the western grasslands and foothills. Angry and alone, he was certain that the Creator had abandoned him, and although he could sense the Creator’s attempts at comfort, Shem ignored them, preferring instead to blame the Creator for his emptiness.