by Tom Pollack
As she examined the bodies, Amanda noticed a peculiar detail. The figure on the left had what looked like a rectangular pendant dangling from a thick silver chain around his neck. The smaller figure’s left arm extended outward, with its fingers curled behind the object.
What was this strange pendant dangling from the neck of the more powerful-looking wrestler? Upon closer examination with her headlamp, it seemed to be some sort of small ceramic tile. With its colorful red and green markings, it looked rather like the mah-jongg game tiles she had seen in the Far East, only larger. For some strange reason, it was not covered by any of the volcanic flow. Knowing well, as a professional archaeologist, that she should be more circumspect, she still reached out and touched the tile.
Immediately, a painless jolt of energy shot up her arm. Amanda flinched and tried to let go of the tile, but her thumb and forefinger seemed glued to the object. She then became aware of the chamber slowly dissolving around her, replaced by the purple twilight of a clear evening sky. Now standing on a narrow trail, Amanda saw a gently rolling landscape with a dense forest in the distance. Looking up, she noted the Big Dipper in the heavens above. Where was she? What had happened to the chamber? Even the tile that she could not release moments ago had disappeared as well.
Amanda could now hear the footsteps of someone approaching from just over a gentle rise nearby. It sounded like he was running. She could actually hear his breathing! Wait—how did she know it was a man? Was she in danger? She tried to run and hide, but her legs would not move.
She looked down to see why her feet would not respond to her mind’s command, but she couldn’t see her own body! Instinctively, Amanda reached for her face, but her hands didn’t respond either. Yet her physical senses of sight, smell, and hearing were heightened. It seemed she could even taste the aroma of pine needles swirling in the night winds. How was this possible? Almost imperceptibly, she could read the thoughts and emotions of the man as he approached her location. She sensed the fear in him. In fact, he was being driven wild by terror.
Moving with feral grace, the man sprinted at full speed toward her and right past her. No—right through her! He was completely oblivious to her presence. As he passed, Amanda’s mind was dragged along silently in his wake, down the trail and toward the forest like a leaf down a fast flowing stream.
“Wake up, Amanda!” she yelled inwardly. She tried to bite her own tongue to jolt herself out of what she assumed must surely be a hallucination. But she had no teeth, no tongue, and no body.
Against her will, her thoughts became one with the runner’s.
That was how her vision began…
CHAPTER 8
East of Eden
ESCAPE.
He had to escape. To flee the terrifying scene. His parents had not taught him fear. Now he felt it full force. Panic gripped him hard, driving him farther and faster than ever before. Down the dirt path and toward the east. He had to reach the forest before dark. The trees would give him shelter. There were mountains to the north, he knew, and to the south lay the desert. He could not venture westward, for that was the direction of the fiery sword and the garden.
No, he must run east to the forest. He must lose himself.
Thorns riddled the man’s sinewed body. With each stride, they corkscrewed deeper into his flesh. He would have to get them out, but there was no question of stopping now. The pain was wrenching, but not as ghastly as the image that scalded his mind. He would run until he reached the forest.
Here, in the open fields, he was too vulnerable. He feared the gasps of his breathing and the drumbeat of his heart could be heard for miles. The noise of his bare feet slapping the ground would advertise his whereabouts. He would be followed. He would be found.
The tree line was near. The man looked backward over his shoulder. No one was in pursuit. He was alone. Steadily, relentlessly, he ran.
Now he was in the forest. Mixed pine, cedar, and juniper. The tree trunks soared to a blackening sky. He ran through the forest, colliding with branches in the dark. There was, he knew, a pond on this side. He would reach the pond before he stopped running. Silently, he embraced the trees for their protection.
Once at the bank, he plunged half-naked into the water. Despite his exhaustion, he swam to the other side with a vigorous stroke. The cool water was cleansing, perhaps even healing, he thought. It would wash away the blood; it would loosen the grip of the thorns. The pond would gain him some time if they were after him. It would take them a while to pick up his trail again.
On the other side, he listened hard. All he heard was the sound of wind in the trees. Looking upward, he saw the stars. A full moon had risen and shone through the forest. At the water’s edge, he leaned over to drink.
After the ripples calmed, he studied his moonlit reflection. Now in his late twenties, the man had dark brown hair. He was tall and physically fit. Years of farm work had broadened his chest and strengthened his shoulders. Dark stubble on his chin matched the hue of his brown eyes.
The urge to press on returned. Heading toward the moon, he began to run again. He had never explored the distant edge of the forest. He knew that the woods could not stretch on forever. But he had to try to reach the other side. There, perhaps, he would be safe from pursuit. There he might escape.
Two hours later, he could run no more. At the edge of a small clearing, he lay down exhausted, staring up at the sky. Thousands of stars returned his gaze. Silently, he cursed them. Their sharp rays, he thought, were a reproach.
The majority of the thorns had worked themselves loose during his swim. But some remained embedded in his flesh. “No matter,” he thought. He was too tired to tend to his body. Before he could form another thought, darkness closed over him.
***
On the restless border between sleeping and waking, the man heard a voice. Yet the doubt that he might not be alone failed to unnerve him. The voice seemed somehow disembodied.
“You are safe here, Cain.”
How did this voice know his name? Did it know what he had done?
“I will protect you. No one will follow you. No one will harm you.” The voice spoke softly, reassuringly.
“Who are you?” the man asked faintly. “Are you a spirit?”
“I am the master of spirits,” the voice replied.
“You know, then, of my crime?”
“Crime? He challenged you. The fault was your brother’s.”
“But why, then, am I punished?”
“He who cursed you has lied to you! Abel deserved his end.”
“But God has made me a homeless wanderer, and cursed the ground so the work I love has been taken from me. I have lived my life in vain.” Cain’s voice grew bitter.
“Your life doesn’t have to be that way, Cain. But do not expect forgiveness from him. He will never forgive you! You will only live in vain if you believe God. And then, in the afterlife, he will make you a slave. You will endure his torture for eternity.”
“What do you want of me?”
“I will give you my protection. I will ensure your future. All I ask in return is your loyalty. Who else will shelter you?” The voice faded, as if the spirit was departing.
Cain fell silent. In his dream, he was looking again into the pool. He saw a face that was, and yet was not, his own. The water rippled slightly, the color of blood. Then, with a start, he awakened.
The sky was beginning to lighten. A brilliant morning star adorned the eastern horizon. Looking down at his hands, Cain saw with amazement that all the thorns embedded there had fallen out, and any puncture holes they had left behind were completely healed. The same miracle was true on his arms and chest. A gash on his right leg appeared to be much less pronounced than yesterday. Although his sleep had been disturbed by the conversation with the spirit, he felt vigorous and fresh. to
And so, with pain and fatigue at bay, and at least to some extent the guilt as well, he rose travel again. Stepping over a small pile of thorns next to his
grassy bed, he walked rather than ran.
The spirit had said no one would follow him. Perhaps the spirit was right.
***
Cain became a wanderer. He had never traveled far from his parents’ settlement, but he learned to live off the land differently. Once a farmer, he now fashioned rough tools, including spears for hunting and fishing. He gathered nuts and whatever fruit he could find. He built temporary shelters but never stayed long in one place. He studied the animals’ behavior, and learned from it. Life became almost normal again. He could, he felt, become accustomed to almost anything.
Even loneliness.
Periodically, the master of spirits visited Cain in his sleep. The spirit’s voice was always reassuring, always consoling. The message was the same. Cain, the voice said, was a victim. He had been cursed by a tyrant, a being who created only to destroy. The master of spirits knew this tyrant well, he said. That knowledge had been the path to freedom for him. Cain, he suggested, was ready to follow this path as well.
Yet Cain was coming to identify freedom with self-reliance. Without parents, brother, or God, he depended now only on himself. His resources and survivor’s instinct kept him alive. He needed no protectors. He feared no one and nothing. Gradually, a steely confidence grew inside him—a trust that would see him through anything.
So it was that Cain traveled, alone, for decades, growing ever more capable yet isolated. Until the day he found himself in a sunny valley, following the course of a stream that was rich with fish. That was when, at the confluence of the stream with a broad river, he heard something that lit a fire of longing inside him.
It was the sound of human voices.
Around the next bend, the rooftops of a great city hove into view. As he would soon learn, Cain had arrived in the Land of Nod.
CHAPTER 9
The Land of Nod
CAIN SPENT HIS FIRST few months in the city at the house of a grain merchant named Omak. Since he had no money, he offered his services as a laborer, helping his host build a new storage barn. Thankfully, Omak didn’t seem to care about his guest’s past. Cain had no need to use the fable of kidnapping, slavery, and escape that he had concocted just in case. He saw no reason, however, not to use his real name.
Omak seemed to enjoy his new acquaintance’s company. Perhaps he was lonely, Cain thought. The merchant had been married, but his spouse had died many years before. All the children, now grown up, lived on their own and seldom visited their father. Indeed, the social structure of Nod, for all its technological advancement, seemed to lack cohesion. People went where they liked and did as they pleased. There appeared to be no civil government of any sort.
One morning Omak suggested that they put the building work on hold and walk the city and its environs. Cain accepted eagerly. He had already seen and learned enough to know that he would make this city his home.
The two set out toward the great edifice at the city’s center. On the way, Omak explained that the imposing structure had formerly served as a royal palace. Now, after the bloody revolution that had toppled the monarchy of Nod, the circular hall balanced on the flattened apex of the pyramid-shaped building functioned as a temple.
“What gods do the people worship here?” Cain inquired.
“No one really worships gods,” Omak replied. “There are idols of gold and silver in the temple. But no one pays them much attention. People do anything that comes into their heads. The only god anyone takes seriously is Lorac.”
“Lorac?”
“He rules the weather. Or so people think. And the weather makes the difference between good crops and bad.”
When they reached the entrance, Omak encouraged Cain to climb the interior ramp that led to the temple. He himself would remain below, he said.
“I am afraid I am nowhere near as spry as you,” Omak said. “I will wait for you here.”
Curious to see what the idols looked like, Cain briskly ascended the ramp. At the top, he found himself in a ring-shaped corridor lined with gleaming statues. Some were clearly male or female; others seemed androgynous. The hall was protected from the elements by the translucent substance that Omak had referred to as “glass.” The glass wall afforded spectacular views of the city in every direction.
Cain walked slowly around the hall twice—first to inspect the statues, and again facing outward, to appraise the city. What a vast place Nod was! He guessed that the population must be at least one hundred thousand—maybe closer to a quarter of a million. Beyond the city gates—he counted twenty-one—lay a broad expanse of grain and cotton fields on every side. Farther in the distance were vineyards and orchards. On the horizon to the north and south were snow-capped mountains.
Returning down the ramp, Cain realized he had many questions to ask of Omak. Were there other cities like Nod nearby? If so, did the inhabitants of Nod make war? How had they acquired the knowledge to quarry and build their massive, one-piece stone monuments? What inspired their stadiums? Now that the king was gone, who ruled the city? And what was this thing called a “calendar” that he had overheard people talking about?
But he didn’t want to seem too eager. Omak was a taciturn sort, seldom initiating conversations and usually replying to questions tersely. It would take Cain time to establish the contours of Nod, and to appraise the opportunities.
Meanwhile, if he really was to settle here, there was the issue of a mate. Omak raised the subject several months later.
“People here,” he said one evening, “are live and let live. But if you really want to stay and be accepted, you will have to find a wife. You are of the age to marry. You will not grow younger.”
Cain mulled this over for a moment. Then he replied, “And where would I find a wife, Omak?”
The older man grinned wryly. “Here in Nod, you may take any woman you like. No one will object. But I have a better plan. You will meet my old friend Tutok.”
“Tutok? And who is he?”
“I have told you that no one really rules our land, now that the king is no more. But certain people have more influence than others. And the most influential of these is Tutok.”
“Is he also a merchant?”
“Hardly. He is the head of a large clan. And very rich. Perhaps you could describe him as a priest.”
“I thought no one here paid attention to the gods.”
“You forget, young man, that I said there was an exception. Lorac, the weather god. Tutok speaks to Lorac. And that is why he is rich.”
“What can he do to find me a wife?”
“You will see. It will not be a difficulty,” replied Omak enigmatically.
***
And so Omak and Cain found themselves, several weeks later, within the palatial home of Tutok—as close to an authority figure as anyone in Nod. And it was soon clear why Omak had brought his young, handsome guest. Tutok had three daughters, each of marriageable age but still single.
Tutok, Cain thought, was very much Omak’s opposite, and he wondered how the two had become friends. Whereas Omak was uncommunicative, even dour, Tutok was suave and voluble. He spoke to Cain about his priestly “duties.” He recalled the lightning strike that he had survived when he was a child and how Lorac had saved him.
In response, Cain hinted that he, too, had an interest in speaking with spirits. Not with the master of spirits, Cain thought, but he kept that to himself.
The evening banquet was delightful. Entertainment was provided by Tutok’s nephew, who told lighthearted stories accompanied by drummers and dancers. Platters heaped with delicious meats and fruits were presented by a cadre of handsome servants. As the banquet neared its end, Tutok’s daughters sang for the guests. Cain thought that Ushar, the middle child, had an especially lovely voice.
“Why are these daughters still unmarried?” Cain asked as he and Omak retraced their way in the darkness back to Omak’s house.
“This is Tutok’s great sorrow,” Omak answered. “I have told you before that people here are not
religious. But they are superstitious. And envious. Tutok has enemies because of his wealth and reputation. He had no sons, but daughters instead. The soothsayers have foretold that these women will doom the men they marry. No young man in Nod will marry them.”
“How absurd!” Cain blurted out. “Do people here really believe that nonsense?”
“Do not underestimate the average man’s stupidity,” muttered Omak. “The husbands of those girls would be heirs to a fortune.”
***
“Cain, do you sleep?” questioned the familiar voice.
In the mists of slumber, Cain replied, “Why do you come to me?”
“I come to you because I love and care for you,” replied the master of spirits. “It is I who protect you here in the land of Nod.”
“Really? It is Omak who shields me here. What are you in Nod?”
“If only you saw things as they truly are. Who is it that disposes Omak kindly toward you? Do you think he would shield you without my tending?”
“Leave me, spirit!”
“Yes, I will leave you now. But I cannot leave you to die. It is I who keep you alive. You will serve my purpose. Never doubt that you and my purpose are one.”
***
Four months later, Cain and Ushar were united in a marriage ceremony at Tutok’s mansion. The prominence of the bride’s father ensured a large attendance.
As Tutok’s son-in-law, Cain found his reputation in Nod enhanced. He and Ushar moved into a pavilion attached to Tutok’s mansion. Tutok let it be known that Cain assisted him in weekly vision quests with the god Lorac. Six months after the wedding, Ushar became pregnant. Tutok began to speak confidently of a grandson.
Cain had done nothing to deserve his reputation as a shaman, but he did nothing to disclaim it, either. Indeed, feeling as though he had escaped his fate as an outcast and a wanderer, he rather enjoyed his improbable status as a pillar of the establishment. Yet imaginary dialogues with the weather god hardly fulfilled his ambition. His marriage, he felt, was a beginning of a new life, but by no means a final destination.