Space went on and on, as if developing the heart gradually, plucking it from the root, and invoking the idea that sometimes it may not fit all.
“Right there, are you seeing it?” everyone brightened after a while.
A camp, in the form of a horseshoe, was nestled at the foot of some hills. It was described as several kilometers away according to their perceptions.
“This is it.”
They pulled their guns, made quads, and continued there.
But when they came, the lodges were empty.
“What should we do?” the men had asked Tammuz, having searched the still more pill box-like adjacent buildings.
“We will wait. We have passed too much, so we will wait a couple of hours.”
The men picked one dugout and sat down.
The sun climbed some height and hallowed sands of mica, causing the ingredients in them to shine like sea water. Several clouds rolled by like gears, bringing the peace of indulgent thoughts.
The day, full of a monotony that is something we take for granted, dragged on, bowing legs to the haze.
“Well, at least there is a little cooler,” one of the men was saying, while peering through the windows of the building they had occupied.
Bang.
Here and there were some containers. Forgotten outside they were cracking from the unbearable heat, like grinding bones.
The solar disk was relegating to the depths from which it was released and the band was getting ready to leave.
“Let’s wait at least until sunset. This way we will travel in the shade, and those who belong to all may return to rest in the night,” someone offered and all agreed with him.
Light drove its tapered blade, hiding it from the sky. Few creatures—scorpions and other insects—brushed the sand in which they were hidden, and the first stars, the precursors of the awakened worlds appeared in the sky.
“Come on,” said Victor.
“Good,” replied the others.
All hoisted their backpacks and went out of the dugout.
If only they could find the shepherds again. They had given them enough fluids to return alone, but they could still be fooled.
They were walking up the hill, finding their way in the still whitish night.
“What’s this?” called first man, who had already climbed up a dune.
Others strode on, walking toward him.
Lights, due to illumination of cities or approaching armies, were surrounding everything.
“It cannot be. There should be nothing,” Sharukin said.
“Nothing, except that which we seek,” said Tammuz. “Let’s get what we have and hope for the best. That’s all we have left now.”
They did and waited in the gloom.
And as a whip snaps and comes like a sudden illness, second by second in front of them perhaps the strangest sight that man has ever seen was created.
Thousands were riding camels that had almost acquired the traits of a bull. They filled whirlwinds and tornadoes with their radius, led by mutilated elephants.
“What in the name of all that is . . . ?” said one of the men, feeling his cheeks. He shrugged off his unease.
“These are the destroyers, coming down.”
Circling, trapping, the hills narrowed and narrowed.
One short figure descended like a shooting star and flashed at them.
A ship, beloved by everything that is born from the human imagination, descended, spinning its axis as if in flames; it ended as crumbling pieces of wood.
Then ghostly apparitions stepped into the air and went down as four horsemen: white, fiery red, black, and pale. Their robes fluttered as if made from a burning plasma.
Numerous men and beasts suddenly bowed, forming a sea of garments and armor.
“Hey, Tammuz,” the white rider said, his voice picking up the storm as it echoed around the troops. “Finally, we meet each other.”
The horsemen went down on the ground and led the combat formations.
Their flames attacked the legions, interlacing their torches.
“What a view, huh?” said the white horseman, indicating formations that burned like ice statues “This is the result of several years of our work in a not so populated area of the planet. Think what we could have done elsewhere—countless armies throwing even the very providence in the oven. They lack one thing: the purity of nothing, of reincarnation that you, Tammuz, can provide, using your special powers.”
“I do not understand what you mean . . . .”
“Oh, really? The person who takes on foreign defects isn’t finding the meaning of everything.
“Well, we will make it easy for you.
“We must be redeemed, Tammuz. You must take all the evil from us so that when take up our endeavor we will be as clean and empty as deities.”
“You are crazy.”
“Really? Can you tell me how in all the ages religions and societies are created and disappear?
“We can. Because we, through our intervention, we have done that.
“We have given the technologies that were ultimately given to us.
“But that was tiring, especially when dealing with people like you, with your eternal obstacles.
“Enough is enough. It is time to put man in the vault of heaven and each emotion, thereafter, bringing in so much pain eventually so that it can be deleted forever.
“Choose Tammuz, compared with the wisdom that you have gained from journeying in time, we are giving the choice to you.”
“Then I say no. Even if you win here, even if you unleash hell, somehow, somewhere, someone will stop you. Because, though full of unworthiness, the world has one big advantage that you did not mention: it can always be different.”
“And your friends, those that you bring from the mud? Surely they are unwilling to die for works that they don’t understand.”
“While together everyone has a separate track in destiny. Their decision does not matter to me.”
“If you are deciding so then the rest of you kill him. You can be spared as long as you aren’t resisting,” said the horseman and the many warriors directed their tasseled spears like diving fish.
They ran like a descending avalanche, and during that time Tammuz rolled up his sleeves.
Height, like the collapsed rock, climbed from their sets.
At this moment, when the end of this confused story closes in a feast of colors, stronger than the rising dawn, a flaming beacon shone.
Thousands of shadows, woven in shades of gray and black, descended from Tammuz’s sleeves, sounding like croaking ravens.
People were screaming.
A black wave swept everything.
And there was only silence like a scorched fireplace.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The cuts in the cupboard recesses were highlighted by the candles aligning the corridors.
Here and there in rooms consisting of low writing tables that they could catch a glimpse of, there increased the feeling of repetitiveness and perhaps an ominous sense of a religious school (mistress in Arabic). Perhaps it was the courtroom in which people were taught or imposed justice with something that came out of the darkness itself.
Scattered papers, interspersed with Arabic inscriptions and drawn tughra rained on them, immersed in pools of spilled ink, while the pens themselves were stuck into the wood by some malicious, childish strength.
The paintings complemented the ripped mats. Hooks for hanging clothes protruded from the walls as part of the figures were repeated and repeated in almost snail-like dimensions. They were in an underground building.
“Keep the lanterns higher!” could be heard from several voices that came from behind one of the elliptical curves.
And after a few moments, preceded by a soft, navy blue neon light, Victor Drake, Amos Oz, and the others came into view.
“How much is left?” said one of the men.
“If the builders of this place have followed a hierarc
hy, hardly much,” Drake said.
“I just hope you manage to read what we are looking for.”
“Don’t worry about it, we have only to find him.”
The premises were magnifying, turning the rooms into something frightening; they were now deaf and empty, waiting in every moment for the dust like a squeezing vise to again absorb everything.
The corridors were shrinking, locked at a certain distance by heavy lead doors. Fortunately, or perhaps not, there were still keys tucked into them, so they could be opened. The feelings intensified after each of their practices with a buzz, preparing them for a religious trance.
The men made it to the more compressed snail meanders and prepared their weapons, pointing them into the cave-like darkness.
“Bang!” despite the spotlight, they clashed into a curved, arching door.
Noise-encrusted, polyphonic singing arias f were coming through it despite its obvious thickness.
“Let’s go,” Victor said, clutching his sword, which looked like it was doused in lightning.
They pressed their shoulders to the vault-like door and it gave a wheezing scraped.
Stream of light burst through and the opposite room was revealed to them.
Piles and piles of thrones, trays, bowls, plates, spoons, forks, and ablution pitchers created by massive bars of gold were ornamented with curving vines of gems. They glittered while stacked alongside the simpler jugs of Venetian glass. Heaps and heaps of coins from almost every continent created the impression that they were coming from the Earth, but to them, among other things, everywhere, countless gems sparkled like dew drops sticking on leaves.
All of this was supported by a range of statues, each of which had a torch, also cast of solid glass, representing human figures without human traits. They were on the chairs upon which sat creatures with reticulated suits. One creature was watching over the others who were covered in cloaks and were singing a song from a book.
“Welcome,” answered the creature, speaking softly, as if from behind the established pattern of the numbers six or eight, their masks.
Underneath them the others stopped, creating a silence that could be felt through the flicking, crawling spiders and mice, which upon closer scrutiny could already be seen between the wealth.
“What’s this?” Victor asked.
“That’s my friend. Actually maybe the end of it all when you help us—the Apollyon.”
“What are they saying?” Amos said.
The creatures stood, shielding the torches that then cast shadows across the room.
“What? Everyone, once and a while, has asked this question of himself and the generations. Even we cannot tell you everything that has led us here because the passing was not only of space and time. We can say that we did not see, but why not just say it? We did not want to be anywhere near a God.
“The people you see here, and others elsewhere, are prepared with one purpose—to kill those that history will eventually recognize as the forerunner of all faiths.
“No flames, no birds, no phoenixes, only the deep that lead to and created a new, clearly different world.”
The men looked at each other.
“You are crazy.”
“Yes, you can also say that. But a grain of truth in this world is a few hopes, nothing more. Each pursued his own way in life.
“We need you, Victor, or your ability to surrender knowledge. Let’s use it. At least you should know the meaninglessness of each word when death comes and love goes.
“They are stones, and several have souls living in them souls. Let’s not confuse them by giving them some illusory existence because they will not help them when they are burned.”
“You are wrong. God, hope, or love, if you will, are particles in our souls, capable of being born again and again.”
“Really? Not bad words, but aren’t they? Imagine a world in which there will be only one god: men. This is possible.
“Individuals like you, Victor, who hold the power in your hands, will eventually be building a perfect world with dozens of other debris.
“Even if you do not want it, just think, this region will happen in any era. The project will be carried out.
“We know that you feel it.
“It only remains for you to join us,” they said and pointed at the riches. “And all of this, and much, much more will follow.”
“Will you give us that?
“In everyone’s life, there are moments where he can get more than he is dreaming, depending on the chances given to him. But this is not important.
“Memories are like mirror images that can only remind us that the important thing is happiness. That is not procured as a few coins. It comes with the people with which we are connected forever.
“And that’s a ‘No way’ to helping you.”
“Even if you know that, you cannot beat us era by era.”
“That will be tipped into the flames, the crematorium for phoenixes. The others, endlessly forever, will perform it.
“That leaves only one solution.”
The whole room rocked.
Piles of coins minted, slide down like a whirlpool at the bottom.
Massive statues were thrown down, spinning like pieces of icebergs in the maelstrom.
And below, showing like lake guardians came, limb by limb, scorpion-like beings.
Students who, incidentally, also had disappeared into the elements, also showed themselves mounted through the bisected bodies of slimy, hairy creatures.
The scorpions had human heads that struggled with fallen metal, trying to reach the men as they were guided by the vision of the aliens who stood among the decayed dimension.
“Forward!” cried Victor Drake, descending toward them.
“Forward!” replied the others.
Sword met flesh, blood spattered and sagged along with the metal flows.
The roof dissolved as the matrix cracked, sprinkling over everything.
Only a few bodies shone in the resultant caved-in space.
Daylight spilled in. Its life-giving powers and deadly heat were such as any other.
The fire phoenix never shows how strong it is.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The huge stones were dragged by ropes onto the scaffolding.
Hundreds of weary people were pulling, straining with all their might.
“Faster,” the guards were screaming. “Aren’t you aware how the masters are watching you from above?”
And right there, on top of the new building, there was a hooded figure. Beyond that they could not distinguish anything.
“Work, damn it, earn the bread that we have given to you,” cried even more supervisors. There were too few of them to put brute force into action.
The monsoon heat rose in slivers and slivers of steam wreaths from the pools to the trail, which, though incomplete, were indescribably beautiful—there was a pagoda with statues combining the proportions of the human body and geometric symmetry; everything was white-headed as if cast in silver.
The top functioned as an observatory, as we have said. There were several tents for rest and somebody occupied one of them.
“I feel them. They are nearby,” a voice said from there.
From the hood was revealed a costume-wearing man who had aged, just as a collection of countless years would have done.
“Let’s wait a little longer,” he said to the old men lying in the hammocks.
“The lords are here. Bend you. The lords are looking. Avert your eyes,” the guards began to call.
“Like hell, you! We beg only to our altars at home,” muttered the workers, but they still crouched in tribute.
The man gestured, and the top guard announced, “Take a rest. Let everyone go home and satisfy his body before the work starts again.”
The troops were spooking the scaffolding. Hundreds of men were leaving trays with weighted lime pulleys. They were going home to the nearby plantations where there were shelters for
them.
The huge building, resembling a marble mausoleum remained empty, awaiting only the echo that is worthy of it.
“I hope that they will come,” said the elders. “Otherwise, everything we have done will be as pointless as a plant in the jungle.”
“They will do it,” said one who apparently was their leader. “I told you to have a little patience.”
And astute or not, really just down below, maneuvering to the left of a pile of blocks and the building materials, were a few people who had not scattered like the others.
“How many stones?” said one of them. “I have not seen such quantities. In Japan, our buildings are made almost entirely of wood.”
“That’s why we’re here,” answered none other than Takeshi.
The group started to climb the complicated structure made of bamboo rods and ramps.
The woody vegetation dwindled, building itself in the pools and drained by the river. The weeping of the birds was taken up by the wind like butterflies, giving the feeling of a disappearing season or lifetime.
The giants, such as the unfinished puzzle of a man, were looking in their empty eyes with derision. They were like a frozen colossus, guarding the gate to another world.
In them, in the support systems, were hanging the pulleys. They fueled this assembly, waiting to be completed and for someone to liven up the structure.
Finally, squeezing between the thousands of carved motifs in the tile, the group climbed the roof and the jungle of Chenla, a copper-colored, red carpet stretched out before them.
“Is anybody here?” Takeshi shouted, squinting from the light and looking at the rustling canopy.
“Yes, we are expecting you, Takeshi,” replied someone.
From the tent came a few old men; they leaned on each other.
Once the light flooded onto their scabs, it was easy to see that they were clear as if made of snake skin that was sliding down.
Sores, which could be seen, almost fidgeted like maggots and were covering their faces. They were covered with masks that were trembling with the effort to breathe.
“Yeah, that’s us,” they said, noting the discus in the fellowship. “That’s why you must help us, Takeshi.”
Crematorium for Phoenixes Page 14
