Gods of Atlantis

by David J. L. Gibbins

  Noah saw his brother clearly now, heaving on the cord that lashed the two boats together, compressing the floating weeds in between. Enlil stopped, panting and coughing a terrible dry cough, and then tottered upright with a club in one hand and a spear in the other. He was unrecognizable as the muscle-bound giant who had once guarded the holy of holies, the chamber in Atlantis where they had kept their most sacred objects. Now he looked like one of the scarecrows they had made together in their father’s fields, naked except for the tattered remnants of his lionskin cloak. Like Noah’s, his skin was peeling off in blistered layers, his face a puffed mass of sores surrounded by matted hair and a beard. He stared across, trying to lick his lips, and then shook his spear. ‘Noah Uta-napishtim,’ he croaked again.

  ‘Enlil, my brother,’ Noah replied, his voice cracking.

  ‘If you cal me that, I wil cal you by your shaman name, Gilgamesh, “he who would stand above men”.’

  Enlil slapped the club, then dropped it and stumbled, trying to stand upright, holding himself with the spear. His boat tilted, revealing the repairs they had made after the last storm: thick bul s’ skins taut over the wooden frame, hemp rope sewn through the planks and lashed around the hul . Enlil had taken care of his boat. Noah saw the other matted and blistered bodies inside, men whose skin was grey beneath the sunburn, whose eyebal s had shrunk into their sockets, whether dead or alive he could not tel .

  Enlil went down on his knees against a thwart, stil holding the spear. ‘My brother,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Your animals are al gone.’

  Noah turned to look at his own boat. Enlil was right.

  They had left with breeding pairs of animals: goats, sheep, boar and aurochs, the giant cattle that had lived in the marshland near the shore where they had grown up, animals he and Enlil had corral ed as boys and fattened for the blood sacrifice. But now the animals had al died, and they had devoured the flesh.

  The bul had been the last, kil ed as it lay on the thwarts bel owing with thirst and hunger. Noah had plunged the knife into its chest and drawn out the heart as he had done with bul s many times before, on the altar of their ancestors outside the spirit cave. Its hooves were stil tied to the cross-beams, and the skul lay in the scuppers of the boat beside him, stripped of every morsel of flesh, the bone plastered over and painted in red ochre with the horns facing the bow. They had fed on the bul in a great feast after they had passed through the storms, and had drunk its blood in huge gulps. But that had been half a cycle of the moon ago. Since then there had been nothing more to eat. Only a few of those who had feasted then were stil alive now.

  ‘My brother,’ Enlil croaked again. ‘You seek strength in the spirit world of our ancestors.’ He shook his head, then rattled the spear. ‘This is my strength, the metal that made this spear strong, the spear that has given us food.’

  Noah squinted at the copper spearhead glinting in the sun. He remembered that day in the volcano as boys when they had searched for the obsidian. Enlil had gone further than any among the shamans had dared to go before, into the deepest chamber where the red-hot molten rock seeped out of the underworld.

  He had seen a golden stream flow among the molten red, and had watched it blend with silvery rock and form a hard metal. He had sworn Noah to secrecy, had not even told their father; only Enlil knew where it was to be found. And then, years later, as a man, he had emerged one day from the volcano and stood in front of the people, brandishing weapons of metal that made his shaman name seem like a prophecy: Gilgamesh, he who would stand above men, he who would be a god. Now, on this voyage, the spear had brought down a great bird, its wingspan three times a man’s reach, and had jabbed and kil ed a turtle. And then a whale had circled them, one bigger than they had ever seen before, blowing spray high into the sky.

  The fishy smel from the whale’s blow had left them ravenous. The old man Naher in Haran’s boat had slipped into the water with a spear tied to a pig’s bladder, and had used al his strength to drive it into the whale’s head. Haran had lashed his boat to the carcass, and Noah as shaman had been given the first strip of oily skin. But then the blood in the water had attracted the sharks, more numerous and fearsome than they had seen before. The sharks had gorged themselves in a frenzy, ripping the whale to pieces, and then the great monster had reared up from the depths, leaping out of the water with its teeth bared. It had crushed Haran’s boat and consumed them al , Haran and the old man and the others, dragging them down into the underworld, to the blackness Noah had seen in the depths below. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. That was what spears of metal had done for them.

  Enlil swayed, leaning on his spear. ‘And we have no women.’ Noah felt his chest tighten. No women. It had been a week since sweet-voiced Ishtar had died a terrible, rasping death in the bottom of the boat, taken by the malevolence that now stalked them. The sea had seethed and sparkled, and then a vast welter of bubbles had erupted on the surface, swal owing Ishtar’s boat and leaving her floating unconscious, wrapped around with the thin, glistening tentacles of the blue jel yfish that infested these waters, filaments that tingled to the touch and sent agonizing jolts through the body. They had hauled her into Noah’s boat stil alive, and after she had died he covered her in red ochre and laid her on a raft of seaweed. She had worn her boar’s tusk necklace, and held her wooden staff with the vulture skul on top, its eyes made from the sacred blue rock the hunters had brought from the mountains far to the east. Ishtar was to have been their mother’s successor, trained as a shaman, but then she had been swayed from the old ways by Enlil and his fol owers, those who had set up idols in the shape of men, gods they fashioned after themselves. Noah had stared at her body in the knowledge that he was now the last shaman of Atlantis, the last who knew the rapture of the spirit journeys and how to spil blood on the altar of sacrifice.

  He had watched the birds swoop down, tearing off strips of flesh from Ishtar’s body, just as the vultures had done in Atlantis where the dead had been exposed in the stone circle above the city. After two days he had severed her head, fil ed her eye sockets and covered the sinews of her face with plaster he kept in a pot in the bow, placing cowrie shel s in the hol ows where her eyes had been pecked out. Her skul was there now, embedded in plaster below the prow, half in and half out of the spirit world. Noah had told his brother that the birds were the spirits of their ancestors taking her amongst them. Enlil had replied that the birds were hungry. Enlil had lost touch with the spirit world, spending al of his days in Atlantis inside the citadel. Noah had stil walked past the fields their fathers had learned to cultivate, and had lived in the forest where their grandfathers had hunted, at one with the animal spirits. He had only ever entered the citadel to mount the steps up the volcano and perform his duty as sacrificing shaman, a duty that Enlil and the others had come to scorn.

  Noah remembered the monster of the deep, lurking below, what it had done to Haran’s boat, how it enslaved them with fear. Out here, the spirits of the beasts stil ruled, not the gods that Enlil and the others thought they themselves had become, wielding their spears of metal.

  Enlil banged the thwart again. ‘There is no land ahead.’

  Noah raised his arm to the west, pointing. ‘But my brother, I saw it. Through a gap in the storm clouds before the great calm. Twin peaks on the horizon, exactly as our mother Nisir prophesied, the mountain she cal ed Dû-Re. I saw distant breakers, and I felt a change in the rhythm of the waves. We wil go there if we summon al our reserves and paddle west. We wil find new animals, new pasture. We wil find women.’

  ‘Your visions are mere dreams. The flat sea is like the desert. The sun reflects off it and blinds you to reality, creating phantasms on the horizon. And for half a cycle of the moon, since the storms ended, we have seen nothing.’

  But Noah knew what he had seen. And two nights before, there had been another sign. He had succumbed to hunger, and had devoured the strip of whale skin that had been given to him when they had cut into the carcass
. Eating it had given him terrible sickness, as if the spirit of the whale were punishing him. But when he awoke, the sickness had passed and the torpor had lifted. His mouth had stopped bleeding, and the swel ing of his gums had receded. It had been a sign of what he must do next. Now he squinted at Enlil. ‘I must offer blood to the spirits.’

  Enlil waved his arm dismissively. ‘If you pour blood into the sea, the great shark wil come for you. He is hungry, like those gul s.’

  ‘Then you can kil him with your spear of metal.’

  Enlil snorted. ‘I would not waste it. This spear and others like it wil make us gods amongst men. When they escaped the deluge, our cousins Adad and Nergal and Ninurta and Annunaki set forth south over land to the great rivers beyond the mountains, and Ishmael and Sethi and Minos sailed through the islands south from Troy, towards the far shore where the great river rises through the desert and waters the oases along its banks. They wil found new citadels in those places. But I am the only one with the secret of the new metal, of the al oy that creates the strong copper.’

  ‘You swore that you would never reveal it. I warned you of its dangers. Men wil use it to kil each other.’

  ‘As long as I alone have the knowledge of the metal, others wil bow towards me. I wil use that strength to keep peace among men.’

  Noah looked at Enlil. He remembered how his brother had seemed a pil ar of strength in his lionskin, its torn head and tattered mane now hanging over his shoulders. Herakleos, the Ladies of the West had cal ed him, after the great rock that marked the edge of the Middle Sea, as they showered him with adulation that Noah feared would go to his head. For al Enlil’s bravado, Noah knew that his brother was afraid of what might lie before them, afraid because he had spurned the ways of the shamans who saw the ocean in their spirit journeys, for whom the unending horizon brought not terror as it seemed to bring Enlil and his fol owers, but instead the rapture Noah felt in the journeys of the mind he took in the spirit cave, journeys where he floated towards the world of their ancestors. ‘We are close,’ Noah said. ‘Look to your own signs. The crystal lights the way forward. The pal adion has become heavier, just as our mother prophesied. When the spirit bird flies out from Dû-Re towards us, when the pal adion becomes as heavy as it felt in the spirit cave in the volcano, there we wil find our new Atlantis.’

  Enlil put down his spear and lifted a package from the floor of his boat, swaddled in a bearskin. He struggled to hold it, then raised one leg on the thwarts and rested the object on his knee. He pul ed a lump of quartz out of a pouch on his belt and held it up, averting his eyes from the glare. ‘The crystal shines because it draws in the sun’s rays through the clouds, and when the sun is setting in the west the crystal shines on that side,’ he said, shoving it back in the pouch. He pointed at the swaddled package. ‘The pal adion fel from the sky and was brought from the snows of the north by our ancestors. It becomes heavier now because we are approaching the edge of the world, where the earth meets the heavens.

  Soon it wil become so heavy that it wil sink my boat.’

  Noah remembered what his mother had told him about the days of their ancestors when the glaciers had reached down almost to the shore of their sea.

  The pal adion was the most sacred of the ironstones they had found on the surface of the ice. Noah remembered seeing Enlil disappear with it into the secret place in the volcano where he had learned to work metal, emerging with it days later in a shape that seemed to copy the circle of stone pil ars with lintels that he and his fol owers had forced the old shamans to erect outside the spirit cave. Enlil had taken the most sacred artefact of their ancestors and made it his own. Now he unwrapped the skin, and Noah saw the crooked cross, its surface smooth and polished.

  Enlil raised it into the air. ‘I wil meld the ironstone with gold to lock the strength within. Then the others wil know that I am destined to hold its power.’ He nodded towards Ishtar’s severed head in the front of Noah’s boat. ‘You have your own idols. And you believe your destination is just beyond the horizon. If you know the way, you no longer need the crystal or the pal adion to guide you.’

  ‘Throw the pal adion into the sea, my brother. It belongs with the shades of our ancestors, not in your new world. Placate their spirits, and we may yet fulfil our mother’s prophecy.’

  ‘I wil tel your story far and wide, Noah Uta-napishtim, the story of one who had no animals because he had sacrificed them al , and no women.’

  Enlil wrapped the pal adion back in the bearskin and placed it out of sight, then stood up again with his spear. ‘I wil tel how a star of heaven fel from the sky, but it was too heavy for you, and only I could lift it and use its power; and how I wandered through the wilderness in the skin of a lion and crossed the waters of death, how with my own strength I lifted the vault of the sky that covers the abyss. I wil tel how the heavens roared and the earth roared too, how daylight failed and darkness fel , lightning flashed, the clouds lowered and rained down death. I wil cal the great fish Humbaba, “toothed monster”, but I wil make him a bul -man of the mountains; when he roars, it wil be like the fury of the storms we have sailed through, his breath wil be like the fire of the volcano and his jaws wil be death itself. I wil tel how I, Enlil Gilgamesh, slew the beast and rid the world of the spirit demons that your kind had nurtured for so long.’

  He stomped the spear. ‘And as for you, my brother, I wil tel how I led you to the ends of the earth, the last of the shamans, how I cast you away in darkness, to the place from which none who enter ever return, down the road from which there is no coming back. I wil cal your mountain not Dû-Re, but Nisir, after our mother, as it is for her memory that I have kept you alive and brought you this far, and because this mythical mountain is her creation.’

  Noah realized with a sudden empty feeling that his brother had been intending to leave him al along. Enlil had saved him from Atlantis, from horror and death, and had brought him far from the reaches of his vengeful fol owers who would extinguish al of his kind.

  ‘On our voyage from Atlantis,’ Enlil continued, ‘I let you carve the old symbol of Atlantis on my pil ars, set up where we landed; but when I return, I wil topple them, and they wil be buried in the earth, and new statues wil arise, gods ful y formed in the shape of men.’ He heaved up the skin containing the pal adion and unwrapped it again. ‘The old symbol wil die, but the new one I have fashioned in the pal adion wil endure through the ages to signify the coming of the gods.’

  Noah looked at Enlil. ‘These are brave words, my brother, but perhaps in your story you wil come back to seek me again, and I wil tel you from my new spirit cave in the mountain the truth about what you have become, that believing you have become a god does not save you from the certainty of death and the spirit journey we al must take.’

  Suddenly there was a white flash in the sky. Noah looked down at the water between the clumps of weed. Something was different. He could no longer see into the depths. It was as if the cusp of the underworld had risen up, as if they were now floating on it. He glanced at the sky. A darkness had come, a strange pal , as if they had been cast into shadow.

  Perhaps Enlil was right; perhaps they had reached the end of the world. Then he looked to the western horizon and saw a towering bank of cloud, bil owing and shadowy, streaked with black. The surface of the sea, dead calm for so long, began to shimmer. He felt something they had not felt for days, something coming from the west, ruffling the water. It was wind.

  A flash lit the sky again, and a whiteness sped across from a central point like an expanding corona.

  Noah watched in astonishment as the pal adion seemed to catch the light and burn at the edges, a flickering blue aura that pulsed around the ironstone.

  Enlil swayed back, then gripped the pal adion with both hands as the phantasm disappeared. ‘That must be my sign,’ he shouted hoarsely. ‘I wil go.’ He put the pal adion out of sight in the scuppers and quickly cast off the rope that held the two boats together. He staggered over to the bipod ma
st lying on the thwarts and heaved it up on its rope. One of the other men crawled over to help him. The mast came upright, and the tattered deerskin sail bil owed out. The wind had already strengthened and the boat wal owed away, leaving the mat of weed behind. The sail cracked, taut and ful . Enlil shouted across at Noah. ‘We wil be blown back to Lixus, and to the pil ar at the edge of the Middle Sea. I wil topple the stone we left at Lixus to show your passing from the world of men. You have no sail, and you cannot fol ow. You wil remain forever outcast here at the edge of existence, Noah Uta-napishtim. Farewel , my brother.’

  Noah watched the boat recede. Low black clouds advanced towards him, constricting the horizon, the spindrift shimmering in tendrils of white over the waves. The wind raised the stiffened mass of his hair, and tugged at his beard. This was not like the dry wind that had come off the desert weeks before. This wind was moist. There would be rain. He lurched over to a basket in the centre of the boat and drew a bleached animal skin over it, pressing it down to catch any rain that fel . As he did so, he saw the faded colours of a painting he had made on the skin: a mass of buildings, joined together with ladders on the rooftops, and behind them the triangular form of the pyramid his father had built; above that was the long-feathered figure of the bird spirit, and behind it the peaks of the volcano shaped like a bul ’s horns, the place where Enlil and the others had wal ed up the spirit cave of their ancestors. He remembered his vision of twin peaks on the horizon ahead. He felt his cracked lips with his tongue, then drew his thumb again over the obsidian blade, bringing the wetness of blood to his lips. He looked at the emaciated body of Lamesh tied down in the front of the boat. Soon there would be more blood in the offing.

  A violent gust tilted the boat, whining and howling over the sea, flattening the wave crests and streaking the water with foam. Lightning forked on the horizon, and he heard the dul rumble of thunder. Enlil’s boat was already far to the east, a speck on a foaming crest beneath racing clouds, and beyond that was the same wal of blackness. Noah twisted around. The blackness was on every side. His heart pounded.