by D B Nielsen
THE SEVEN SAGES
CHAPTER SEVEN
I stood in front of the photograph, shaking. The room was full of noise – a fast-paced, regular drumming which filled my ears and pounded against my ribcage. My limbs were rooted to the spot, only my eyes could move – involuntarily darting here and there. But it was as if they were newly opened and I could now see things clearly. While my mind processed the relevant bits of information, I saw with an uncomprehending but too alert gaze the way the dipping sun speckled light on the picture frames along the wall, the dust motes gathering in the air, the slightest of tears in the corner of an oil by Rembrandt, expertly restored.
But all I could think about was that Finn had been observing – no, not observing ... spying on – St. John for years. I had no doubt that St. John was the object of his interest. My father’s involvement in the discovery and investigation into the artefact and its origins had only been recent. While Finn was obviously aware of whom or, more precisely, what St. John was, I wasn’t certain that St. John knew that Finn was also a Nephilim.
Yet it made no sense. Why was he now spying on me and not Sage? After all, my discovery of being a Wise One was only recent. I hadn’t even known I had a role to play in all of this until that night a fortnight past and still didn’t know what it all meant.
Finn had saved Sage and me from Louis’ attack in the woods. And he’d saved me again on New Year’s Eve. He’d protected me twice now. While he needed my help, he was also willing to assist me in finding the Scroll. But, of course, for his own reasons – whatever they were...
And then it happened.
The antique French Ormolu clock on the mantelpiece above the open fireplace loudly struck the hour in the stillness of the study making me give a sharp squeal as I leapt with terror. I was galvanised into action, as uncontrollable and irrational as a whirlwind. Dashing round the leather chesterfield, I reached out to the clock’s dull gold gilt case, pierced and embossed with the sun and the moon, in a mad effort to silence its chiming. Grabbing at the antique piece with hands that were shaking so badly that its rectangular base clattered on the polished wooden mantel, my numb fingers couldn’t hold onto its weight and it slipped effortlessly from my loose grip, crashing onto the decorative tiles beneath.
It was as if I could see it happening in slow motion. One moment the clock was intact on the mantelpiece, the next it was in pieces on the now shattered tiles that surrounded the fireplace.
Bloody hell! Oh God!
The room was cast into silence again. And in the echo of the dreadful chiming I could once more hear the thudding of my heart.
I could also hear Gabriel’s approach which was virtually soundless but for the rush of air as the atmosphere shifted in the room.
‘Mon Dieu!’ Gabriel’s normally honeyed voice seemed unnaturally loud and harsh.
I found myself staring down at the broken, wrecked thing at my feet, horrified by what I had done. So stupid and senseless.
‘Tiens! I did not realise that you disliked St. John’s décor quite that much!’
I raised stricken eyes to meet Gabriel’s strangely sympathetic silver-grey gaze as he scrutinised my face and the destruction I had wreaked in my distraught state. Quickly assessing the situation, I found myself pressed up against the smooth silk of his shirt as he took me in his embrace, holding me as carefully and as gently as a bird with a broken wing.
Gabriel’s steady heartbeat thudded away under my eardrum like a syncopated clock within his chest, drowning out the sound of my own heart’s erratic pumping and having an almost soothing effect upon me.
My voice the lowest of murmurs, I managed to say, ‘It just freaked me out. I was trying to make it stop. I just wanted to silence it.’
There was a rumble deep within the cavity of his chest and I could hear the dry amusement in his voice as he stated, ‘I think you achieved your goal, mon petit chou.’
If I was given to blushing in embarrassment at the least little thing like Sage I may have done so at that moment, but instead a deep mortification washed over me and I wished that the ground would open and swallow me up whole at my having overreacted to something so small and silly as the chiming of an antique clock – especially as Gabriel was here to bear witness to my shame.
‘It is understandable that you are anxious about tomorrow’s interview with Interpol,’ Gabriel suggested, soothingly. But I immediately shook my head in denial.
‘No! No, that’s not it!’ I exclaimed. Stumbling over words in my emotional state, I tried to explain to him the reason for my shock. ‘I saw ... I thought ... I mean...’
‘Take your time, Saffron,’ Gabriel advised, ‘Take a deep breath.’
I did as he said, and began again, ‘I can’t explain it. I was just looking at St. John’s photos ... and I thought ... Gabriel, did you ever meet someone ... I mean ... somebody who claimed that they could help you ... and you really wanted to trust them ... but you found out they weren’t to be trusted?’
I felt Gabriel stiffen slightly and hoped that he didn’t think I meant the Anakim, him or St. John. But even if he was offended by my remark, he answered, ‘Bien sûr – in my line of work it is not unusual to come across such individuals. Many people in life will make you false promises, ma mignonne. I believe there is a proverb that is suitable in this situation...?’
‘What goes around comes around?’ I offered, dabbing at the corners of my eyes with the cuff of my denim jacket.
Gabriel’s perfectly sculpted lips twisted in contemptuous amusement. ‘The English have strange sayings, non? Mais si, I meant the proverb about the Greeks bearing gifts. People will say and do anything to benefit themselves.’
‘Oh. Right,’ I responded morosely in monosyllables, feeling even more young and foolish by the second.
Gabriel guided me over to the leather chesterfield in the middle of the room and sat me down on its edge, stroking my shoulder comfortingly.
‘Now, what is this about?’ Gabriel asked, a serious note underneath his usual urbane, cynical tone. ‘If you are not anxious about tomorrow’s interview as you say,’ at this he looked at me rather sceptically, ‘then perhaps you would explain the reason for the destruction of St. John’s antique clock – even though, personally, I have always thought it rather ostentatious and believe you have done my friend a service in getting rid of it.’
His attempt at levity to put me at ease only made me feel worse. But knowing that some explanation was in order, I began by plucking the first errant thought from the turmoil in my mind.
‘Gabriel, what do you know of the Pleiades, the group of seven?’ I asked, my eyes darting to his face briefly and then back to my lap where I clasped my hands together to stop them from shaking.
He exhaled sharply. ‘I assume you are not simply referring to the constellation of seven stars?’
I shook my head in denial. ‘No, not really, I believe that the Seed may have a depiction of the Pleiades amongst its markings which may be important in either finding the Scroll or leading us to the Garden of Eden.’
Gabriel raised an eyebrow at my words, catching my eye as he gracefully levered his elegant frame off the leather settee to cross to the far corner of St. John’s study. To his credit, he didn’t ask why I believed this or how I knew. He merely accepted what I was telling him.
Standing in front of the cherrywood tray table residing next to the leather Wing Back chair, a match for the chesterfield I was sitting on, he poured two glasses from the impressive array of cut crystal decanters which it held. Coming back to where I sat motionless, he thrust one of the brandy-filled crystal snifters into my trembling hands before resuming his position beside me. I cupped its weight in between both palms as I waited for him to speak.
Taking a sip of the amber liquid, he began slowly, considering, in his perfectly modulated French accent, ‘I am not a scholar like St. John, tu vois? I do not know of the significance of the ancient ways and teachings ... and much has been lost to time. But I do kno
w some of the ... how do you say ... tales of the ancient ones? Legends?’
I nodded in agreement, murmuring, ‘Yes, myths and legends.’
‘Oui, oui, oui. Myths and legends. Anak insisted that the members of the brotherhood study such texts, so that the knowledge would not be completely lost,’ Gabriel paused, encouraging me to take a small sip of the brandy, before continuing, ‘There is a myth from the first city, Eridu, the place of creation. The Mesopotamian Eden. It tells of the Seven Sages.’
At Gabriel’s words, I choked on the sip I was taking and found myself coughing and spluttering up St. John’s fine brandy which burnt my throat on its way back down. Gabriel pounded my back as I attempted to apologise for the interruption but he merely dismissed it with a wave of his hand, before resuming his tale.
‘Do you know who the gods of Eridu were? No? From the ancient tales, we are told of the god, Enki, also known in ancient Babylonia as Ea. But, as you know, Anak was worshipped as the Sumerian god, Enki, probably due to his godlike appearance and powers.’
‘Powers?’ I asked, curious, deliberately interrupting Gabriel’s explanation.
‘Oui, oui, oui. We all – all of the Nephilim, I mean – have special powers to varying degrees and abilities. Perhaps St. John has the most power of us all...’ Here Gabriel gave pause, his silver-grey eyes clouding momentarily. ‘But St. John chooses to repress his powers. He is perhaps afraid that they will control him, rather than him controlling them. It has always been the way with the Nephilim. Our powers are a blessing and a curse. Enhanced strength, agility, vision, and hearing – these are but a few of the talents we are endowed with – yet they separate us from humanity. If we do not learn to master them, they overwhelm us. Once that happens, we become corrupted like the Emim and Rephaim. For this reason, many in the brotherhood have renounced their abilities all together.’
Once, in the past, I may have protested at Gabriel’s words. There would have been a time when I thought that having superhuman powers was totally awesome. But now I knew that this was not the case. My own ability to hear strange voices from the past and my ignorance of the languages spoken made me frustrated and angry ... but it also placed me in danger. The trance-like state also rendered me virtually helpless, especially in a crisis, and on more than one occasion I’d needed rescuing by others. Besides, it wasn’t difficult to imagine the corruption of the Anakim. I could name a dozen films or more from The Lord of the Rings to Spiderman that provided similar instances of heroic characters turning bad.
‘So St. John’s powers are even greater than Anak’s?’ I quizzed Gabriel, wanting to find out more.
Gabriel gave a shake of his head, pursing his lips. ‘So it is believed. He is, after all, the son of an angel while the rest of us are the offspring of the Fallen. Whatever abilities he has been given are endowed by the Creator, which makes him the perfect choice for the role he must play as Keeper of the Seed.’
I gave Gabriel a sympathetic smile, feeling for the first time a certain empathy with him.
‘But I digress,’ Gabriel noted, taking another sip of his brandy, ‘To return to what I was saying ... Enki and the other gods and goddesses are linked to the myths of creation. Perhaps someday I will tell you of these other myths, but you have specifically asked about the Seven Sages, so I shall focus on this. The Seven Sages are the original Wise Ones. In the Babylonian tale of Adapa, the Seven Sages were created by Ea as exemplary human beings, serving the god in Eridu as priests – do not forget that the Wise One was always a male during this ancient period.’
‘Did they leave behind their writings? Is that how we know about them?’ I asked.
Gabriel shook his head. ‘I have no idea. I seriously doubt it. The priests were a secretive lot. But there are several copies of this myth still in existence. St. John or your father could tell you more. I only know that they were found at Tell-el-Amarna, the Egyptian capital built by the Eighteenth Dynasty pharaoh, Akhenaton. Another copy of this story comes from the Library of Nineveh, which held the most comprehensive collection of cuneiform texts, according to St. John. I have heard him lecture on this very topic many times. The Amarna version, as it is known, is slightly different from the Assyrian version, but the main plot is essentially the same.’
I clarified, ‘So the Wise One was a priest answerable to Anak?’
‘Not entirely,’ he replied, ‘It is true that Anak had dealings with the Wise One, but it was the Keeper of the Seed who was bound to him.’
I blinked, asking aloud, ‘But, if that’s the case, what happened to them? St. John mentioned that the Nephilim have been searching for the Wise One for centuries.’
‘Si, si, si. History becomes muddied at this point, Saffron,’ he explained patiently, ‘When the Anakim were displaced from Canaan and began wandering the lands, the Keeper of the Seed became separated from the Wise Ones. They may have continued to serve and live in Mesopotamia up until the time of Alexander the Great and his desire to create an empire, conquering the lands which had been previously conquered by Persia. It is reported that they lived in Persia in a city called Saba from where the biblical tale of the Magi came. Perhaps they went into hiding after this. There is much we do not know.’
‘And the myth? What of the Wise One named Adapa?’ I asked, getting back to the tale.
‘In the legend, Adapa would fish in the sacred lagoon which was so calm and still, he needed neither rudder nor oar. One day, however, a strong wind from the south overturned his boat, casting him into the water. The soaked Adapa, on reaching the shore, shouted curses at the wind so that he “should break his wing” and, as a result, so powerful were Adapa’s words that the wind ceased to blow “for seven days”, meaning a very long time. But the failure of the wind to blow led to terrible consequences. There was no cool air upland as the wind was immobilised, and there was terrible heat and drought. This was brought to the attention of Anu, the high god, who demanded that the culprit be brought to him for judgement.’
Gabriel paused at this point in the narrative to cross to the decanters again and refill his glass while, impatiently, I leant forward in the seat, alert now. Urging Gabriel to continue his tale, I prompted, ‘So what happened?’
‘Euf,’ Gabriel again took up the tale, ‘bien sûr, Ea intervened to protect his priest. Knowing “heaven’s way”, Ea decided to prepare Adapa for this important journey, instructing his priest to wear mourning clothes and to tell the two guardians of heaven’s gate that he was lamenting their disappearance from the earth. The two guardians were, in fact, the gods of fertility and vegetation who had indirectly suffered from Adapa’s careless curse. This act of Adapa’s was a show of his devotion and contrition and, as a result, he was allowed to proceed to heaven where the two guardians vouched for him before Anu. At this, Anu’s anger was appeased but he was curious to know how Adapa came to be so wise. When he discovered it was Ea behind Adapa’s actions, he offered the Wise One oil, clothes and the “water and food of life”, which he tells Adapa will allow him to “become like the gods”. But Adapa was prepared for this – Ea had forewarned him that this water and food for mere mortals was the “water and food of death” and so Adapa rejected Anu’s gift. At this apparent human folly, which amused the gods, Anu sent Adapa back to earth.’
‘So, the food offered to Adapa to make him like the gods, was that the fruit from the Tree of Life?’ I questioned, seeing similarities in the creation myths.
‘Perhaps,’ he responded, ‘but we cannot be certain. There are many myths that contain fruit, bread, fish and wine. Who’s to say that the food offered was the fruit from the Tree of Life?’
Bewildered, I looked at Gabriel for answers. ‘So what’s the point of it all? Did Anu intend for Adapa to become divine or immortal? Or was he simply testing Adapa’s wisdom, knowing that he promised death instead of life?’
I must have looked as confused as I felt because Gabriel continued, ‘I think that the purpose of the tale is meant to be ambiguous. It is a warning–
‘
‘–humph!’ I snorted, ‘Tell me something I don’t know!’
‘–a reminder that human beings, even if they are as gifted as Adapa who was one of the Seven Sages, are merely mortal and cannot fathom the “ways of heaven”.’ Silver-grey eyes were filled with a gentle mockery.
I scowled, stating sarcastically. ‘Right! So it’s another riddle! If the Seven Sages weren’t supposed to be able to fathom the “ways of heaven” then why bind them to the Keeper of the Seed? It makes no sense!’
Gabriel laughed, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Bah, Saffron! You are forgetting that the Wise Ones held the knowledge; the knowledge to guide the Keeper of the Seed on the right path in his quest. Perhaps this Adapa was the first of the Wise Ones to make his journey towards Eden. But still, such a man, especially a priest, would not desire to usurp God.’
‘But Eden isn’t heaven!’ I protested hotly.
‘You forget that the Mesopotamian Eden is not a garden but instead a city and that the first building is a temple. Eridu and the great temple of Babylon, Esagila, are created through an act of divine will, formed from a piece of dry land surrounded by water. The gods of Mesopotamia took up residence on earth and lived in cities – that’s why the Mesopotamian cities are always seen as sacred or heavenly,’ Gabriel explained patiently.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that the divine is found in or through the earthly,’ he stated, placing his now empty glass in front of him on the coffee table, ‘Meaning that the Wise One is endowed with sublime wisdom. The Seven Sages were the councillors of the antediluvian kings, also numbering seven, and responsible for the invention and the building of cities which were a product of divine will and intelligence. Perhaps that is why the Garden of Eden is hidden within the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.’
Somehow I felt dreadfully disappointed that this was all the myth held, asking, ‘But what of the other Sages? Who were they? Where did they come from?’
