“If it’s about what happened with T’Q—with Mother Pyra—I’m not sure I understand it any better than you who watched. I feel awful about it.”
“Not knowings on that, but maybe what I know might help.”
Yapheth shook the weariness from his eyes, and sighed, “I need all the help I can get, Palqui.”
Palqui told him what had happened just before their escape from White Rock; how Qe’Nani, seized by a demon, had said evil things to Mother Pyrrha, planting hurtful suggestions into both Palqui’s mind and hers that they were hardly aware of at the time. Then he told of how the Divine Wordspeaker met him in bodily form by the campfire, healed him, told him of the war, and warned him to watch over Mother Pyrrha.
Palqui continued, “She was so sure that Melchi Shemi would return, but she was also less sure of herself. The demon’s voice in her mind twisted good truths into horrible lies that only had the outer skins of the truths…”
“Half-truths,” Yapheth said.
“Yes, that. I know, because the Monster did it to me, too, about my son, and grandson. When the Wordspeaker healed me, everything became clear. The Monster has left its mind-voice like a broken blade tip in her festering mind-wound. It used the words of good teaching falsely to accuse her in her own heart, as if another lived her life, not she. Teachings be still good, but the Monster’s sting misuses what is good for an evil purpose; to kill the Mother Pyrrha we know and love, from the inside, while crushing her under burdens the good teaching words were not meant to make.”
Yapheth said, “You knew that my brothers would both die, yet you didn’t tell her?”
Palqui shuddered. “Divine One commands not to—otherwise I would have said and done more. Please don’t be angry with us.”
Yapheth poked the fire. “I’m not angry with you. You did right. It all makes sense, now—or at least as much sense as it can.”
“Stay near us, Father Yapheth, even after we find Arrata’s fate. Mother Pyrrha hurts, and sees not clearly her true heart, but only sees herself as the evil ones see her, colored by the dark places of her childhood.” Palqui handed Yapheth a bowl of tea, hoping the pungent aroma would refresh the Elder’s senses, and the words would refresh the Elder’s spirit.
Yapheth said, “I’ve always believed the best of her, and I always will, no matter what. I’ll stay close, but I won’t stay where I’m ultimately not wanted, or if I think my presence is hurtful to her.”
Palqui said, “Your presence could never hurt Mother Pyrrha; only the false picture of herself the demon torments her with by mimicking the voice of the Holy One to her hurting heart. But the Holy One also speaks to her heart. He will win her by kindnesses that be bigger than all of us. The sifting of voices takes much time and testing—this I know very well.”
Yapheth the Elder arched his brow, and smiled. “Of that, Palqui, I now have no doubt.”
189
Suinne was almost certain he would freeze to death, as one of his eunuchs already had, squeezing through the narrow ice canyons up onto the great plateau. The Mound of Arrata now loomed ahead, with the misty mass of Anchor Mountain farther off, slightly to the west of north, and Mount Lubar in the east. All three of the Sacred Cities of Arrata seemed long deserted; at least from the distance of the old South Caravan Route that Suinne’s expedition used to circle the three cities eastward, to the Treasure Cave mouth at S’Eduku-tal-ebab. No chimney smoke rose from the ruined cities.
Appearances deceived the eye, however, and in this case, Suinne knew better than to trust his eyes.
The skeletal old man, who stepped from the ruined gatehouse of S’Eduku-tal-ebab, was as much a relic as the empty castle over the Treasure Cave’s mouth. Both seemed like skulls picked clean by vultures. Where once layered festoons of flowers dressed the city’s seven levels, withered trees and naked shrubs, like angry claws, grabbed at the frigid skies. The bone man’s cobweb hair fluttered in the icy breeze over rheumy eyes and yellowed skin.
The Watchman droned his weary litany, “Welcome to S’Eduku-tal-ebab, named for she who is the Dawn-sayer of Knowledge at the House of the Holy Mound. Come in peace, and find the treasuries of wisdom entrusted to the M’El-Ki by the Zhui’Sudra, Father of Us All—may the days of his life be prolonged. Enter in the name of E’Yahavah A’Nu, E’Yahavah El-N’Lil, and the sacred Wordspeaker of E’Yahavah, who comes as a man.”
Suinne cackled from his sedan chair. “You speak with such bold conviction, Usalaq, as always. The time has come to move the Ancient Wisdom to the new civilization. I have built Ur of the Khaldini to receive the contents of the Treasure Cave. A tiny portion of the Power of the Ancients already dwells there. I have constructed quickfire cells according to the directions that P’Tah-Tahut brought south a century and a half ago. They are extremely low-power vessels—capable only of transmuting thin layers of silver and gold from the surfaces of lesser materials…”
Usalaq scowled. “It is not transmutation of base metals, you arrogant fool, but quickfire plating—the gold and silver is in the solution; and the low-power charm simply separates a patina of pure metal from the solution compound at the particle level, and deposits it onto the base metal! You don’t even know what you want, or what you will get, even if you take it!”
Suinne ignored the effrontery. “That is why we need you, Lord Usalaq, to accompany the Treasures. Surely, you did not think I would leave you and the tiny remnant that still cling to this place to languish alone in a frigid wasteland. I have warm palaces for you, and a large academy such as the old Khaldini had never dreamed. Over a hundred students await your wise instruction. Is that not what Kush and Nimurta once promised you?”
Usalaq did not hang his head in shame, which Suinne had expected.
That was the moon god’s first hint that something was wrong.
190
T’Qinna shivered under her hooded cloak. The pass between the sources of the Ufratsis and those of the river that U’Sumi had named for her was clear of glaciers. A couple weeks of relative early autumn warmth shone on them as they followed the lowering course of the River T’Qinna, north, around Anchor Mountain. Then Iyapeti finally turned the caravan south. They climbed uphill again into the cold, for the final leg of the journey to whatever remained of the Sacred Cities of Arrata. After circling two-hundred and seventy degrees around the mountain’s base, it now sat behind them, in far off mists to the northwest.
Soon she would be in sight of the Mound of Arrata. The thought of seeing the city her husband had named for that ridiculous title the Khaldini had given her filled her with dread. Much as she hated it, she rode her onager up by Iyapeti’s horse. He made her feel better somehow; better, but for all the wrong reasons, no doubt. She did not plan to talk to him, just to feel a little less miserable for a bit, even if she despised her own weakness.
Malaq galloped over the rolling steppe toward them, a squad of his mounted Amurru scouts in tow. Behind them, warriors lined one of the many low hills, long spears glinting in the feeble sun. They did not seem hostile, nor were they dressed as any Kengiru fighters from Uruk she had ever seen, but she could not quite tell if they were friendly, either.
T’Qinna turned her onager, not wanting to get in the way of whatever was happening. That was when she saw the flash of yellow flame that arced halfway up Anchor Mountain, with a mushroom of steam roiling overhead. It seemed strange that there was no sound.
That strangeness did not last more than ten long seconds.
T’Qinna had heard Anchor Mountain erupt once, from much closer than the caravan was now. This thunder hit many times louder. The rolling blast of hot air that followed blew her from her mount onto the ground, which writhed and screeched as if the Earth were a woman being tortured.
But I will spare you, so that no one can credit me with something beyond what he sees in me or hears from me, especially because of the extraordinary revelations. Therefore, so that I would not exalt myself, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to t
orment me so I would not exalt myself. Concerning this, I pleaded with the Lord three times to take it away from me. But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness. Therefore, I will most gladly boast all the more about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may reside in me. So I take pleasure in weaknesses, insults, catastrophes, persecutions, and in pressures, because of Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
—2 Corinthians 12:6b-10
(HCSB)
30
Testament
191
T’Qinna’s head spun as she felt a pair of huge arms lift her from the swaying ground. The Earth had stopped its convulsions, but still rocked gently back and forth like the deck of some vast ship at sea. Her eyes focused, and saw that Iyapeti held her steady. She pulled away from him, instantly remembering sea legs she had not used in over five hundred years.
A howling geyser of orange lava flared skyward in streaming arcs, from just below Anchor Mountain’s highest summit. It came out of a caldera on the opposite side from that which hid what remained, if anything, of the Boat of a Million Years. Steam from the melting icecap intertwined with black smoke from the Earth’s tormented innards. Violent cyclones spread from the mountain to blot out the sun.
Malaq and his scouts had reached the main caravan. He had to raise his voice over the volcano to give his report. “The spearmen belong to the tribes of Yoqtani, whose combined foot and mounted forces number about a hundred. Yoqtani and his captains wish to meet with us. They spotted an army of Kengiru camped by S’Eduku-tal-ebab, on the far side of the Mound. The Captain said they looked to have just arrived. He’s got scouts watching the place. Yoqtani himself is riding out to meet us.”
A rider with two flanking guards approached the caravan as Malaq spoke. It had been over a century since T’Qinna had seen Palqui’s brother, when he was little older than a boy. The approaching figure on the cream-colored horse still had the hatchet face and hawk-like eyes of his youth, but silver hair and beard now highlighted a dark face pitted with scars from battle, old skin lesions, or both. Palqui and Haviri ran out to meet their kinsman, with Haviri’s wife and Lomina following. They led Yoqtani to Iyapeti, Malaq, and T’Qinna, who had quietly taken a place next to Malaq.
The earth’s deck-like swaying eased, just as Yoqtani bowed before T’Qinna, Malaq, and Iyapeti.
“My sorrows are multiplied to hear of the M’El-Ki’s passing,” Yoqtani said. “Mother Pyrrha, your firstborn, Arrafu, still lives among my tribes as a faithful priest, in the hills north of Elam, though he is advanced in years, and no longer travels. It is good that you are here, for he somehow knew that you would be along soon, and he hoped it would be before his passing. He gave me a message to give to you if I should see you. I’m not sure what he meant by it, but he said to me that you would understand.”
T’Qinna touched Yoqtani’s face with her hand. “It is good to know his faith remains, and yours. What does my son say?”
Yoqtani stood. “He says that you and Pahpi Nu understood the larger tapestry of things, and he asks your forgiveness. He also said, ‘A people who have abandoned their history—even a history with many evils—cannot expect to have a future of any good.’ He told me you would understand.”
A fog began to clear from T’Qinna’s heart. The light of Arrafu’s words shone into the cavern of her self-doubt, which in this case, was actually doubt in someone infinitely greater than she was. A kind of rippling effect washed through her that would not finish its work immediately, but which introduced a ray of hope.
Tears ran down her face. “Thank you, Yoqtani. When you see Arrafu’Kzaddi again, tell him I do understand, and I forgive, and ask he do likewise for any of my words that seemed immoderate to him in the past.”
“This I will do, my Mother.”
Iyapeti said, “What can you tell me about the numbers of that Kengiru force camped at Arrata?”
Yoqtani’s eyes narrowed, like those of some lean bird-of-prey ready to dive on creatures threatening the nest. “They number about equal to my forces, with fewer mounted fighters. With your force, we can take them down. My scouts just reported to me, not an hour before our paths crossed, that Suinne is with them.”
Iyapeti said, “Then let us see if this would-be ‘moon god’ is as good a straticon as he is a star-gazer.” All but Haviri and T’Qinna had quizzical faces at the use of this ancient word for a high war captain. ‘Peti added, “One other thing; does anyone still dwell in the Sacred Cities?”
Yoqtani grinned. “That is the most interesting thing of all.” He then explained why.
192
Suinne hobbled into the Treasure Cave’s main gallery next to Usalaq. The moon god leaned on his silver-capped staff, which had a sharpened crescent moon fused to its top that doubled as a pike-blade. He kept glancing up at the arching stone overhead to check for damage after the eruption quake. Their footsteps echoed off the stone floor that reflected the dim, watery glow of the enchanted quickfire pearls above. Only two went dark during the tremors. Hours had since passed, and despite continual eruption, the volcano seemed distant enough not to pose an immediate danger. Finding little harm to the caves, the scribes and soldier-workmen had returned to their labors, albeit with frightened eyes.
Suinne said to Usalaq, “We are inventorying everything before the wagons arrive. We left them at Ninuwa Outpost, until we knew the condition of the passes onto the plateau, through the Mountains of Weeping Stone.” Suinne spoke as matter-of-factly as he could with a flaming mountain just a few days journey to the north. “My couriers should get there in about a week. I hope to get this done before winter sets in. If that mountain keeps blowing, we’ll have to.”
Usalaq’s skeletal face droned, “I suggest you start with the stores of detonating clay. Everything else will fall into place quickly if you do that.”
“What is this detonating clay? I am not familiar with it; it is not in any of the tablets I’ve read. I have not been to Academy, but Kush educated me well with tablets. He even let me read a couple ancient papyrex rolls from the World-that-Was, borrowed by P’Tah-Tahut, back when he was a student. Clay is basic, but I’ve never heard of the word, detonating.”
“To appreciate the value of detonating clay to high civilization, Lord Suinne, we must return to the city gate. I have arranged a tiny demonstration for you. Once you see it for yourself, you’ll understand why it must be carried first, better than if I made you listen to one of my long, dull lectures.”
“My scribes have already started to inventory the inner treasuries; should I call them out too?”
Usalaq’s bland monotone almost put the moon god to sleep. “If you wish, but there is no need. Their work will go more quickly if they remain inside—it will take many weeks to catalogue it all, even with the soldiers you assigned to assist them.”
“Yes, yes, now what of this detoning clay?”
Usalaq nattered, a peevish hairsplitter, as he led them outside, and then down the levels of ruins; “That’s detonating, not detoning. The use of detonating clay is sublime in its simplicity, yet requires the technical intricacy of the Ancients to master. Except for me, only you read well enough to perceive things through my humble display. Otherwise, it would take years of study. My grandfather and I were first to be schooled in its functions by the M’El-Ki. Now, I am the only one left who grasps it, unless any remain who rode the Boat of a Million Years. All the others lost their memory of it in the Madness Plague, even my grandfather.”
“Yes, yes, but what does it do? How do we find it?”
Usalaq softly prattled, “I was just getting to that. Detonating clay enables us to build cities thousands of times faster, and with fewer men, than would otherwise be possible—and that is just one of its many uses.”
Suinne’s entire body throbbed with excitement. After waiting and planning for so long, Kush and Nimurta’s dream of cities powered by the sorcery of the Ancients was about to come to pass, and it would be Sui
nne that made it happen! Divine Suinne; whom all of future history would remember as the Father of Civilization, long after the Deluge, the Madness, and even E’Yahavah himself vanished into the dust of the forgotten!
They reached the bottom tier of the city ruins, and stood by the stone posts of the broken gatehouse.
Usalaq pulled a small silver box out of his ragged cloak. A single raised glyph adorned its face that Suinne, though exceptionally well read, did not recognize. It resembled a sun rosette, but with an unknown ideogram.
Usalaq mumbled, “If you want to hold some detonation clay in your hands, I placed a piece inside the gatehouse, so you could experience it.”
Suinne hobbled inside the broken-down niche, and found a cube of what looked like common red clay, except that it had an odd oily sheen to it. He picked it up, and it left a slight amount of colorless oil on his fingers.
“I would be careful not to drop that, Lord Suinne; it has a lot of energy locked up inside it.”
Suinne held the cube with both hands. “What is that silver box with the strange glyph?”
“That’s an oracle transmitter; a command sender, so to speak.”
Suinne’s hovering apprehension grew as he squeezed the detonation clay more tightly. “What commands does it send?”
Usalaq’s bleary eyes gave no expression, his voice, no hint of emotion. “Well, you don’t think the Fathers tunneled out the Treasure Cave by hand, do you? They didn’t have nearly as many workmen as you.”
“What has that to do with the sending of oracle commands?”
Usalaq stood outside the gateposts, and held up the silver box. He said, “Precisely this,” and pressed the sun-glyph.
A massive concussion hammered the ground, shooting up through Suinne’s arthritic knees. The yellow-hot inferno flowered from the Treasure Cave opening, roiling skyward, much as Anchor Mountain had a few hours before, except without lava. Secondary explosions rattled through the earth as the top of Arrata Mound slumped under its own weight. The imploding Treasure Cave vaporized everything and everyone inside.
Gate of the Gods: Book 5 of The Windows of Heaven Page 57