Tree of Life

by J. F. Penn

  Occasionally, Martin stopped and pushed his glasses up or ran his fingers through his shock of blonde hair, pulling it into spikes. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the lines of code on the screen, some programmed by his own hand, still more generated by the extension of his genius, the computer itself.

  While Morgan was confident of her place in the physical world, sure of her ability to find the objects they sought, her brain could only fathom so much, while Martin’s world stretched into places far beyond human knowing.

  She thought of her father, a Kabbalist scholar, murdered as one of the Remnant and avenged at the Gates of Hell. Leon Sierra had worn this same concentrated expression as he studied the words of the Torah, as the letters spun themselves into meaning that gave him an insight into his impenetrable God. Did Martin feel the same way as understanding clicked into place and new perceptions surfaced? Perhaps one day she would ask him, but for now, Morgan sat in silence as her friend conducted a symphony of code.

  The clicking of keys marked the passing of time until Martin finally stopped. His screen changed to show a map of the Middle East with the dominant lines of the rivers Tigris and Euphrates, and next to it, the scan of the fragments with the translated text.

  He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “The hidden text was the key to understanding where the rivers intersect.” He zoomed into the map. “A document chronicling the Islamic invasion of the Caucasus in the eighth century mentions a River Gaihun, later renamed Araxes and then Aras. Some early Victorian biblical commentaries have it as Gihon-Aras.”

  Martin pointed to the screen. “It rises in the mountains to the north of Lake Van in south-eastern Turkey and runs to the Caspian Sea across northern Iran.”

  “So where is the Pishon?” Morgan asked.

  He zoomed the display closer. “The database pulled from various linguistic models and determined that the Hebrew was likely conflated with ancient Iranian. The Pishon is actually the Qizil Üzan, a tributary which also runs into the Caspian Sea.”

  Martin superimposed the proposed rivers over the map, and Morgan took a step back in surprise. The four lines clearly outlined a region that crossed from eastern Turkey through Armenia and Azerbaijan, circling down through northern Iran.

  “So if that region is Eden, then where’s the Garden?”

  Martin zoomed in to Lake Urmia and followed a line of blue east through Tabriz, the fourth largest city in Iran, in the north-western corner of the country near the borders of Turkey, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. “This is the Ari Chay River, once known as the Meidan, Persian for walled garden.”

  Morgan nodded. “OK, but that’s still a vast area.”

  Martin zoomed in once more to the peak of Sahand Mountain, a dormant volcano to the south of Tabriz.

  “Ezekiel, chapter 28. ‘You were in Eden, the garden of God… You were on the holy mount of God; you walked among the fiery stones.’”

  “Fiery stones,” repeated Morgan in wonder. “It could be the place. God is often found on a mountain-top.”

  “It’s known as the bride of Iran’s mountains because of its abundant and beautiful landscape.” Martin pointed to the eastern slopes. “There’s a ski resort on one flank, but there’s a Protected Area on the opposite side. There are no maps I can find of it, which is unusual, even for that part of the world, and Professor Mbaye had a dig site in the area before it was abruptly shut down.”

  Morgan gazed at the contours of the mountain. “Then that’s where we’ll go next.”

  19

  Tabriz, Iran

  The taxi sped past the industrial outskirts of the city, and as dusk fell, Morgan thought about the last time she and Jake were in Tabriz together. They had found the Pentecost stone of Thaddeus the Apostle in the church of St Mary, considered by some to be the second oldest church in the world after Bethlehem in Israel.

  Although their mission was successful, they had not left the chapel quietly. ARKANE cleaned up after their agents and smoothed a path with diplomatic relationships maintained over centuries, but it was possible that her face and Jake’s were on some Iranian hit list. Given her Israeli heritage, Morgan did not want to end up in prison here. The possibility made her more nervous than usual, but their passports were clean and they were officially here to hike Kamal Daghi, the highest peak of Sahand Mountain. Aurelia had arranged exploration permits through her business contacts, and there was no real reason for concern, but Morgan couldn’t shake the foreboding that twisted her guts. She gazed out the window, trying to distract herself.

  This area of Iran was an archaeological paradise, but few could visit due to centuries of invasion, war and neglect. Tabriz was a mix of architecture from millennia ago to skyscrapers of the industrial age: the fifteenth-century Blue Mosque with its exquisite decorative tiles; the historic souk with its vaulted brick archways; and even the Mausoleum of Poets with a thousand years of venerated writers entombed within. But all these things lay behind them as they drove south-east from the city.

  Jake leaned in close enough that Morgan could smell the pine forest of his aftershave. “You’re quiet,” he said.

  “Just thinking about what might be ahead.”

  Aurelia looked up from her phone at their words, scowling a little as she tried to get a signal. They were an unexpected trio and Morgan still didn’t trust the heiress, but she also knew that the woman was deeply committed to finding Eden. Until they saw the Garden or its walls, they had the same mission. Then all bets were off.

  It started to rain by the time they left the highway and headed into the mountainous Sahand Protected Area. As the car wove its way up the steep side of a gorge, a dense mist descended, shrouding the cliffs in grey shadow. The driver seemed oblivious to the precipitous drop as he swerved around a sharp corner. Morgan clutched the door handle with white knuckles and was perversely satisfied to see Aurelia do the same, her face almost green with nausea as they rose higher into the forbidding landscape.

  Just as Morgan was about ready to throw up, the taxi rounded a final corner and the mist cleared a little to reveal the unusual landscape of Kandovan village. It lay in the foothills of Sahand Mountain and looked more like a collection of giant termite mounds than a dwelling place for humans. The villagers had lived within these structures made from volcanic material for generations, with some estimates of the area being inhabited over six thousand years ago. The locals had expanded their houses by carving out new caves and adding stone and brick to link the little town together.

  “I hope our guide is here already,” Aurelia muttered, as they emerged from the taxi into freezing rain and a cold wind. “I am not going to wait around in this.”

  The tone of entitlement in her voice made Morgan smile, but she agreed with the sentiment.

  The three of them grabbed their packs from the back of the car and turned to face the village. Handmade wooden doors remained shut to keep out the rain, and Morgan felt like a true outsider in this faraway place. If Aurelia’s contact did not come through, the trip would be over before it even started.

  A light flickered from further up a stone staircase that wound between two of the structures.

  “Come up, come up. Be welcome!” The sound of footsteps came from the stairwell, and a young Iranian man emerged from the shadows. He had the close-cropped dark hair and neat beard of many locals, but with light blue eyes that indicated a mixed ancestry from the north. “I’m Darius, your guide. Come inside and rest by the fire.”

  Darius insisted on transporting Morgan and Aurelia’s packs, while Jake carried his own up the stairs. They reached a tiny wooden entrance to one of the volcanic houses and went inside, closing the door against the rising storm.

  It was warm and cozy within the naturally insulated structure, made even more welcoming by woven rugs that lay on the floor and hung on the walls. Three low couches heaped with cushions and blankets sat around a central wooden table laden with a generous platter of Sangak flatbread and local honey alongside dried apricots and fig
s. The smell of mint tea hung in the air from a steaming samovar.

  Now they were further from the city, Morgan was able to relax and the sweet taste of honey with figs helped bring her into the present moment. The dark sense of foreboding still lingered, but she pushed it away as they ate.

  Darius explained how they would summit the mountain. “We leave two hours before dawn. I’ll guide you up the old paths my family has walked for generations. The weather is due to clear, but we’ll probably walk in the rain for a while.” He waved his hand as if swatting away a fly. “No matter. The views will be worth it from the top and I’ll show you where you can camp while you do your sampling.”

  Morgan nodded in agreement. Their cover story was a survey of ancient volcanos in the region, and they were here to take rock samples — at least that’s what Darius had been told. He would come up after two days and help them back down the mountain again, but hopefully, they wouldn’t need that long to find their goal.

  “The Sahand Protected Area is a rich ecological domain,” Darius explained. “You need to watch out for some animals, like wild cats and brown bears, but it’s more likely that you’ll only see some Armenian mouflon.” He made spirals in the air with his fingers. “Rams with huge curved horns.”

  Morgan recalled the biblical story of Abraham taking his son Isaac to the summit of Mount Moriah. On the verge of sacrificing his only child as a burnt offering, God sent an angel to stay his hand and a ram to offer in place of his son. There were so many echoes of Genesis here, and despite the warmth of the room, Morgan shivered. The first book of the Bible was a tale of murder, betrayal, destruction and ecological catastrophe. She could only hope that their fate would be better in the coming days.

  After they had eaten, Darius turned down the lamps and indicated the couches. “Rest here. I’ll knock when it’s time to set out.”

  Aurelia curled up and tugged several blankets over her thin form. The covering dwarfed her, and Morgan wondered how a woman with such oversized drive and passion could be sustained by so little physical presence. The heiress both fascinated and repelled her at the same time. There was so much she could not understand about the woman, but pondering it would have to wait. She lay down on her back and tried to clear her mind.

  Jake rested against the cushions, his head close to hers. “What do you think we’ll find tomorrow?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I really don’t know. It could be pointless, but we’ve seen so many unexpected things together. Anything is possible.”

  Jake sighed. “You make anything possible.”

  He spoke so softly that Morgan didn’t know whether she really heard the words at all.

  A sharp rap on the door woke Morgan from strange dreams woven from mist and shadow. Jake was already up and opened the door to let Darius in.

  The sound of a donkey braying came from outside. It wasn’t luxury travel, but it was the best they would get in this area and suited their academic cover.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee helped encourage Morgan out of her nest of cushions. Darius set a flask on the table and gathered some small glasses.

  “Here, drink this quickly and then we’ll get going.”

  Morgan took her shot of thick, strong coffee like medicine. Jake followed suit with a shake of his head at the bitter aftertaste. Aurelia couldn’t help the revulsion on her face as she tasted it, but she drank it down anyway, all of them needing the extra caffeine after only a few hours of sleep.

  The sound of rain hammered on the stone outside, but there was no time to wait for finer weather. They pulled on waterproof gear and head-torches and stepped out into the darkness.

  Darius slung tents and provisions into panniers either side of a donkey held steady by a teenage boy. “My nephew,” he explained. “He’ll follow behind. Now, we climb.”

  Darius led the small group up a winding rocky path away from the village, the ground slippery from the rain. They walked in silence and Morgan relaxed into the strenuous ascent, her breathing settling into a rhythm as she found her stride. Nowhere else to be but here, nothing else to do but walk. There was a kind of meditation in that.

  The sky lightened as the hours passed and the rain grew softer until it was just a fine drizzle. The terrain emerged from the gloom, scrubland and rocky slopes with a smattering of snow higher up, with deep ravines either side of the path. Morgan noticed some shy purple wildflowers peeking out from under the scree, a tasty morsel for the mountain goats endemic to the area.

  Darius finally stopped in the shelter of three enormous boulders, thrust out of the volcano at some point in history and now forming a natural protection against the unpredictable weather.

  “We’ll set up your camp here, and you can go in any of these directions to take your samples.” He put his hands out to either side and brought them together to show the arc of exploration.

  “But do not go behind the volcano. That is restricted.” He frowned and shook his head. “Some say it’s mined and patrolled by the military. Others say it’s cursed. We don’t know what is true, but several villagers have disappeared with no trace of them found. So please, do not go there.”

  Darius and his nephew unpacked the panniers while Jake and Aurelia set up camp.

  Morgan stood silently, her face turned toward the dormant volcano. Could Eden really lie beyond those slopes? There was only one way to find out.

  Deep under the volcano, the Abbot turned as a young Brother ran into the sanctuary, his breath ragged from the swift journey, his eyes wide with panic.

  “What is it, my son?”

  “A new camp.” The Brother panted as he struggled to catch his breath. “They’ve set up tents on the eastern side within walking distance of the entrance. They came with a man from the village.”

  “How many?”

  The Brother shrugged a little. “Perhaps three who will remain when the villager and his boy leave.” He stood tall and clenched his fists. “Shall I take some of the others over there tonight? Their camp is near a ravine. It wouldn’t take much.”

  The Abbot turned to look at the woman bound with spiked vines to a wooden chair in front of the great carved door. Blood dripped from tiny wounds caused by the sharp thorns and her head hung on her chest, defeated by his interrogation. There was nothing left to learn from the professor, and the Garden needed a sacrifice. But perhaps he could give Her more than just one body to devour this time.

  He spoke softly. “Let them come.”

  20

  After Darius and his nephew headed back down the mountain, Morgan helped Jake finish setting up camp. They pitched three separate tents and organized gear for an exploratory hike. Aurelia sat on a rock, watching them work, her face pale, her thin frame weak from the morning’s exertion.

  “Is she going to make it any further?” Jake said under his breath as they packed up some climbing gear.

  Morgan glanced over at the heiress. Beneath her fragile exterior, Aurelia had a steel resolve that could overcome any physical weakness if the goal was in sight. But were they really close to the Garden? It was hard to tell what was myth and what was reality. Perhaps this was merely a place that had taken on an ancient name for a purpose lost in time.

  It didn’t matter at this point. Morgan was determined to find Eden. Not for any reason of faith, but to find the professor and bring her home. After the tragic end of their last mission on the island of Alcatraz, and the undeserving death of Ines, Morgan could not leave anyone behind and she knew that Jake felt the same way. Aurelia had her reasons to be here, and the Garden — or lack of it — would determine her next steps, but Morgan had no doubt the heiress would make it to the end.

  “She’ll be fine. Let’s go find Paradise.”

  They assembled appropriate backpacks with scientific equipment and permits proving their reason for being on the mountain. It was doubtful that the Iranian government had a base out here, but they had to be ready just in case. If caught trespassing, they would pretend to be bumbling academi
cs who had lost their way and hopefully, ARKANE’s contacts and Aurelia’s wealth would get them out. Whatever the possibilities, they had to take the risk.

  Martin Klein had identified an area of the volcano’s far slope inside the Protected Zone that looked like a possible area to explore. Multi-spectral satellite imaging used for archaeological research indicated a series of chambers underground and ancient tunnels hollowed out under the mountain, buried over time by the shifting of tectonic plates.

  After adjusting her pack so it sat comfortably on her frame, Morgan held a map out in front of her and orientated the area against visible landmarks. The terrain was similar to areas she had hiked with packs far heavier than this during her time with the Israel Defense Force, and she had navigated under fire many times, but something about this place made her uneasy.

  She found a route on the map and pointed to a faint path that headed around the southern slope of the volcano along the ridge of the ravine. “We’ll go that way. The path looks like it winds around and down.”

  Jake hefted on his pack and helped Aurelia with her much smaller one, and they set off along the track with Morgan leading the way. She tried to modulate her natural walking pace so that the heiress could keep up. It was clear that she and Jake would make much faster progress without her, but they had made a deal, and Morgan intended to see it through.

  Aurelia’s clarity of purpose fascinated her, a genuine faith that the Garden held an answer to the Earth’s renewal. Morgan’s own faith had never been so certain. It oscillated between skepticism on the one hand, a desire to show that history, science and archaeology could explain that which others called faith. On the other hand, she specialized in the psychology of religion and researched why people did things in the name of God. She had joined ARKANE to help find answers to the questions that lay deep inside as well as for academic curiosity — and the addictive adrenalin of their missions. Morgan had witnessed the faith of so many, including her father’s unwavering trust in Kabbalah wisdom, but she had never found her own enduring belief. Would she find it here at the fabled Garden, or would she be cast out once more in an echo of the Fall?