Land of Nod, The Artifact

by Gary Hoover

  14. The Child and the land are one. As long as the Child suffers, so will the land.

  Artimus watched Jeff’s face as he read and waited expectantly as he was finishing.

  Jeff wasn’t sure what to say. It all seemed like a lot of crap to him, but he didn’t want to insult Artimus’ faith. It seemed that he took all the nonsense very seriously.

  So that’s it? He thinks I’m the ‘Raja’ because I ‘fell from the sky’? These prophecies are just broad, vague generalizations, like fortune cookies, horoscopes . . . or a Nostradamus ‘prediction’.

  Artimus seemed to be trying to calculate the best way of explaining it all. “If you can bear with me, I’ll try to explain . . . starting from the beginning.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. Artimus’ discomfort was making Jeff uncomfortable. He wondered if he was supposed to be saying something or asking something . . . but he had no idea what.

  “Our . . . recorded . . . history starts a little over 500 years ago. We were . . . uncivilized . . . at that point. It’s not clear if we had any methods of communication. That has been a point of debate among historians. It’s also not clear where we came from. That’s also been widely debated . . . though more theologically than historically.

  “There was a . . . man . . . The Elder . . . who taught us. He taught us our language. He taught us to read and write. He taught us about mathematics and materials, manufacturing etc. We learned and advanced and developed and became a much more advanced society, and as we advanced, The Elder became less active in his guidance.

  “The nature of The Elder is another topic that is debated. The Elder, himself, claimed to simply be a knowledgeable man with some special abilities, though some people want to elevate him to the level of a god. We, in the church, believe that idea to be sacrilegious. The elder taught us that it was for us to find the nature of God ourselves. But we, in the church, do feel the elder is a very important figure, just not directly associated with God. Some of us think he may have been a visitor from another world.”

  Artimus looked at Jeff, before continuing.

  “It’s unclear how much of what we know about the Elder is myth and how much is fact. According to some sources, he lived for more than 200 years without any physical signs of aging. Some claim that the records are incomplete and exaggerated. In fact, there are no photographs, recordings, video or any other firm evidence that The Elder existed, just stories that have passed from generation to generation.

  “Most agree that he existed, but many think he was simply a man - though certainly a very wise man- who added to our knowledge but didn’t have any special powers. There are no records of The Elder beyond about the year 200.”

  Artimus stopped to try to see how all this was being received. “Are you following me so far?”

  Jeff nodded, “Very interesting.” He was getting increasingly uncomfortable. He felt Artimus was assuming far too much and contorting Jeff to fit some mythology of their culture. It explained Artimus’ behavior since Jeff had told them who he was, but the whole situation put Jeff in an uncomfortable situation.

  I know I’m not this ‘Raja’, but Artimus seems convinced I am. How can I get him to see the truth? Will it crush him after he has gotten his hopes up? I can’t continue to let him think this. I don’t have any special abilities or insight. . .

  Artimus gestured to the ovals all around the room. “Do you recognize these?”

  “Sure,” Jeff shrugged. “I noticed they seem to be common in your art-work.”

  “We call them ‘Numinos’.” Artimus explained. “Do they remind you of anything?”

  Jeff shrugged again. “Decorated eggs . . . I don’t know.”

  “May I . . . see your locket?” Artimus pointed at the chain around Jeff’s neck.

  Jeff pulled it out and handed it to him.

  Artimus paused and looked intently at it. He seemed to be acting very strangely . . . he seemed afraid he might break it. He slowly lifted it and held it in front of a two-foot tall wooden oval that was hanging on the wall

  . . . And then Jeff saw it.

  The shapes and designs of these ovals that were all around the house looked similar to the design that was engraved in his locket. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he saw it, the similarities were a little eerie.

  Artimus gave the locket back to Jeff, and the two of them stood silently for a few minutes.

  It was as if Artimus had something else he wanted to say, but he was having trouble finding the words.

  He put his hands on the large wooden oval which had a split down the middle. Artimus paused he seemed unsure what do next. After a few awkward moments he swung the two halves – which were like doors on a cabinet – open.

  Jeff stared.

  Inside the ‘cabinet’ was a sketch . . . that looked similar to the photo of Jeff’s father that was in his locket . . . similar but not exact. It was almost like a police sketch.

  Jeff was confused. “Why did you draw that?” He asked.

  Artimus looked at him and seemed to also be confused for a moment. “I didn’t draw it . . . The Prophet drew it.”

  “The Prophet?” Jeff looked at him as if he had just announced that he was ‘Zarthur, queen of the newts’.

  Why’d he have someone draw the photo? And if he wanted a sketch, I could have lent the locket to him so he could have drawn it more exact.

  “The Prophet drew this,” Artimus pointed at the sketch, “approximately 65 years ago. According to the prophet, this is an image of The Elder.”

  Now Jeff started to get it.

  He pointed at the sketch and words failed him for a minute. “Are . . . are you saying this was drawn before you saw the locket?!”

  Artimus nodded. “LONG before I saw it, that’s right.”

  Jeff opened the locket, examined the photo and then squinted at the sketch. It was close, but not exact.

  Could the resemblance just be coincidence?

  Jeff remembered seeing an amusing photo in which a newscaster looked very similar to the police artist sketch that was being shown behind him.

  And what about the other patterns that seemed similar to the locket? That is an odd combination of coincidences.

  . . . But unusual things do happen.

  The locket probably isn’t even 65 years old and my father certainly isn’t. . .

  “What’s this all mean?” Jeff asked. He turned and looked at Artimus. He tried to read his face.

  Artimus looked back at him. Again, he seemed to be measuring his words. “I . . . and I need to say, there are obviously far more things that I don’t know than I do know . . . but I think your father may be The Elder and you may be the Raja.”

  Jeff shook his head and looked back at the sketch. “That’s impossible. My father only disappeared a little over a year ago. . . How long are your ‘years’ here, anyway?”

  “375 days” Artimus answered.

  “So there’s no way my father could have been here 500 years ago or even 65 years ago.”

  Artimus put his hand on his shoulder. “I can’t even pretend to have all the answers. There are things you and I can’t fully understand and may never fully understand, but I think you’re very special. Maybe your father isn’t The Elder, but the prophet drew this image.” He pointed at the sketch. “Maybe you . . . and maybe your father are important for reasons we don’t understand. Maybe . . .” He stopped at that point and seemed to be thinking.

  “What?” Jeff asked.

  “Well . . . are you sure what you remember of your home world is real?”

  That seemed a strange question to ask. If it was possible any world wasn’t real, Jeff felt it was the one he was in now. “How could my world not be real?”

  Artimus shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m afraid I don’t have the answers I’d like to have. I was just wondering if maybe you were born from the stars . . . and those memories you have are just something . . . I don’t know.”

  At that point, Je
ff couldn’t resist laughing. “You know, all this is starting to sound a little. . .”

  “Silly?” Artimus flushed. “Yeah, I guess it all could seem a little silly. I’m sorry. I wish I could offer more. I just think . . . I think there’s something very important about you. Nahima thinks so, and she has always had a very good sense for these things.”

  The two of them stood in silence for several minutes.

  Jeff had somewhat mixed feelings. He thought all of it sounded very strange. Most likely just some odd coincidence . . . still . . . could this have something to do with his father? His father may not be The Elder, but maybe The Prophet was . . . somehow . . . able to predict that Jeff’s father would arrive at some point. Was it at least a clue that he would be able to find his father?

  Jeff was sure he wasn’t as important as Artimus thought he was, but there was at least something unusual going on.

  Considering how improbable the past few days had been, was it really so amazing that a drawing from some ‘prophet’ would look similar – not identical, but similar – to Jeff’s father?

  “Well. I don’t know if it’s important that you believe it. As long as you can keep an open mind, let’s see what happens. No matter what, I’m glad you’re here.” He grabbed Jeff and hugged him, and Jeff endured it somewhat awkwardly.

  Chapter 30:

  “We have a saying,” Artimus said as he led Jeff, Baldwin and Nahima down into a basement that Jeff had never seen, “always come to the peace table well armed.”

  Artimus flipped a few switches and, bright lights illuminated what Jeff inferred to be a shooting range.

  “I’m not a big fan of guns.” As Artimus spoke, he flipped another switch and a panel lifted revealing an enormous assortment of all shapes and sizes of guns.

  Jeff almost laughed out loud at the irony of Artimus’ claim combined with the collection he had just revealed. It would be like walking into someone’s wine cellar, observing thousands of bottles of wine and hearing them say: “I don’t drink.” or being led to a basement full of dead bodies and hearing: “I don’t really enjoy killing and hearing gasping screams for help accompanied by the sounds of tendons ripping and bones snapping . . .”

  “But around here, they’re something of a necessary evil.” Artimus finished his thought.

  He selected a large hand-gun - roughly the size of a .357 magnum with a 10 inch barrel, though it was much more futuristic looking. Artimus examined one side then the other before leading the others to a shelf set up in firing position about 30 feet from a row of targets.

  “Do you have guns where you’re from?” Artimus asked.

  Jeff nodded. His grandfather was something of a collector and Jeff had a good bit of experience handling and firing guns . . . though this was very different from anything with which he was familiar.

  Artimus gripped the pistol grip with his right hand and flipped a small sliding switch between its two positions with his thumb. “This is the safety. Off . . . on . . . off . . . on.” He watched Jeff’s face to make sure he was following. “The weapon won’t discharge when the safety’s on. . .and the safety will be on at all times unless you have immediate plans to discharge. Are you right-handed?”

  Jeff nodded.

  Artimus pushed a button with his thumb and the battery dropped out of the hand grip into his left hand which he had positioned beneath the hand-grip prior to pushing the button. He handed the gun to Jeff and seemed pleased with the way Jeff handled it. “Good, GOOD, always keep it pointed away from anyone you don’t intend to shoot. You have some experience, don’t you?”

  Jeff nodded. “Not with anything like this though.”

  “Switch the safety off and on a few times. Get the feel for it.”

  Jeff complied and looked over some of the other details as he switched the safety between positions.

  Artimus showed him the battery. “This is the power-supply.” He handed it to Jeff. “Is the safety off or on?”

  “On.” Jeff answered.

  Artimus nodded. “Good. Now did you see how I took the battery out?”

  Jeff nodded.

  “It slides up and snaps into place, then you can release it, and drop it out to replace it with a fresh one using this thumb switch.” Artimus pointed to the button he had pushed to drop the battery. “Put it in and take it out a few times.”

  Jeff snapped the battery in, then pushed the button and dropped it into his hand. He snapped it back up and the dropped it again, getting a little more comfortable each time.

  “Good, very good. Okay, put the battery in and leave it.”

  Jeff snapped the battery into place.

  “This,” Artimus pointed to a small needle in the area where the hammer of a more traditional gun would have been. “Is your power level. All the way right is ‘full’, all the way left is ‘empty’.”

  Jeff noted that it was approximately 80% full.

  “You can illuminate the charge indicator,” Artimus clicked a switch near the needle and a dim light came on. “But it’s not a good idea to keep the light on. In the dark, you can be spotted by any light you might be giving off. This dial here,” Artimus pointed to a round dial that had settings numbered 1-10. “Is the power setting.” He clicked it through a number of settings. “Setting 1,” Artimus clicked the dial to ‘1’. “Is the lowest setting and enough to stun and disorient most people. If you hit a small child with a ‘1’ setting, you’ll likely kill him or her.”

  Jeff was a little uncomfortable with that bit of bluntness, and he looked at Artimus who seemed different than Jeff had seen him before. Jeff suspected he was seeing ‘soldier Artimus’ for the first time.

  Artimus met Jeff’s eyes. He seemed to know that Jeff was a little uncomfortable, but plowed ahead. “Setting 3,” he said as he clicked it into position ‘3’, “will kill most humans, but if you’re shooting at humans and intending on killing them, use 5,” He clicked the dial two more positions. “To make sure.”

  Again their eyes met, and again Artimus looked back at Jeff with a detached stoicism.

  “Setting 3 will stun a pheerion, and setting 8 should be enough to kill one, but use 10 . . .” Artimus clicked it to the maximum setting.

  “. . . To make sure.” Jeff finished his thought for him.

  “Right,” Artimus allowed himself a brief smile.

  Jeff wasn’t sure which made him more uncomfortable - the thought of shooting to kill humans, or the thought that he might actually have to face down a pheerion.

  “Each full battery will give you approximately fifty shots at power ‘10’ or five-hundred shots at power ‘1’. Those are the basics. Do you think you have all that?” Artimus asked.

  Jeff nodded.

  Artimus looked him in the eye. He had no doubt that Jeff was very bright and seemed satisfied, after reading his face, that he really did have it. “Good. Let’s do some shooting. Baldwin? Start us out.”

  He handed Baldwin the gun and Baldwin clicked the power knob down to ‘1’.

  “Now,” Artimus addressed Jeff, “watch what Baldwin does. He’s going to have a firm grip, he wants to control the gun, but he wants to be careful to not grip too firmly.” Artimus clenched his fists tightly around an imaginary gun. “If you clench too tightly, your tense muscles can cause vibration. He’s going to take a deep breath, let some of that out and then pause timed to when he’s ready to shoot. At the point when he pulls the trigger, he won’t be breathing either in or out. Everything should be as relaxed as possible. You want to try not to flinch as you shoot, and continue aiming even after you’ve pulled the trigger for a few moments. People sometimes anticipate the shot and pull the gun back before the shot has actually left the gun. Okay Baldwin, go ahead.”

  Baldwin aimed at the first target on the left. The gun flashed and the target - 30 feet away - flashed seemingly simultaneous with the shot. A ‘7’ lit above the target.

  “Good,” Artimus said. “The target has ten zones. Ten is the center and one is the out
er ring. At this distance, a ‘7’ is very good.”

  Baldwin grinned. Then he lined up and shot at the second target: Another ‘7’, then a ‘6’, then an ‘8’.

  “Very nice,” Artimus looked impressed. “That’s a . . . twenty-eight.”

  Baldwin clicked the safety into the ‘on’ position and handed the gun - butt first - to Artimus who had extended his hand.

  Artimus stepped into position and pushed a button on the table that cleared all Baldwin’s scores before raising the gun. He registered an ‘8’, then ‘9’, then ‘8’, then ‘7’. He clicked the safety and did some quick addition. “Let’s see . . . that’s thirty-two.”

  Nahima stepped up and took the gun from Artimus. She winked at Jeff and said: “Now if the boys are done playing, I’ll show you how this is really done.”

  For a brief moment, Nahima appeared to Jeff to be one of the sexiest women he had ever seen, and - while a 14 year old boy might find an overweight, toothless middle-aged woman sexy under the right conditions - Nahima’s appeal went beyond pure adolescent hormones.

  . . . But Jeff had other things on his mind, and the feeling quickly passed.

  Nahima took a stance, and, taking much less time than either Baldwin or Artimus, she squeezed off a ‘9’ then ‘10’, then ‘9’ and ‘9’.

  Artimus nodded approvingly. “Thirty-seven, excellent as always. You feel ready, Jeff.”

  Jeff nodded and stepped tentatively forward. He took the gun from Nahima, clicked the safety ‘off’ and raised the gun. It felt odd in his hand. Compared to similarly sized guns he had handled before, it was much lighter. He gripped it tightly, and then, remembering Artimus’ instruction, he tried to relax.

  He focused on his breathing as he sighted in the target. Out, in, out, in . . . let some out and hold.

  He pulled the trigger, and, from behind the gun, he could see the shot all the way from the gun to the target, and then he saw a ‘9’ light above the target. He fought to hold back a grin. He didn’t want to look cocky, and he realized it was likely beginner’s luck.

  He repeated the procedure with the next target, and this time got a ‘10’, then a ‘9’, then another ‘10’. After that, he couldn’t hold back the grin anymore, and it split his face, straining the muscles that were trying to hold it back.