Graham and Astrid stare at the psychologist for a moment. Astrid sighs. “Myth, Doctor. Just myth.”
Astrid then says to Graham, “What I can’t understand is how you’ve managed to uncover so much in such a short period. I was here six months ago—and the promise of finding evidence was still like probing for a clue to Atlantis. There was no excavation happening then.”
Dr. Cremo looks at his hands. “I have done my share of exploring up here, too. And I can’t explain it. It is strange, to be sure. It is almost as if one day it wasn’t here, and the next it was. I’ve walked over this very spot several times—I’ve even shoveled into that soil before, just there several times,” he points to a mound of earth from which a carved column is partially exposed. He sighs, “How I missed it then, I don’t know.”
“So it was you who made the first discovery?”
Graham’s eyes move to Molmer and then back to Astrid. “Too kind, Dr. Finnelly, but it was you that made the first discovery.”
“Say again?”
“Let me explain. As you know, Dr. Molmer has been monitoring your work—and he’s kept me informed of your progress.” Graham lifts a worn book from out of his field bag. Its pages are worn, wrinkled and water damaged. “Recognize this?”
“Of course,” she says, “it’s nice to know someone read one of my books…”
“It’s genius,” his face reddens with nervousness again. He looks down at the cover and says, “And, after all of your work and your sacrifices, I hope it is appropriate that I offer my sympathies—”
Astrid raises her hand, “Please, don’t. It was a long time ago.”
Graham raises his eyes to hers. He is kind. He is genuine. When he nods to her request, a flash of concern drifts through his expression—then it is gone. “My team and I used many of your findings to lead us to the first stones.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?” she asks.
Graham looks to Molmer.
Molmer answers, “I’m afraid, Professor, you’ve been too vocal about Wyn Avuqua in the public forum—a known spokesperson. This dig and what we’ve found must remain a secret for the time being. There are a number of reasons why, but for now suffice it to say that in order for us to carry on, everything you see and learn here must remain confidential.”
Graham says, “Believe me, I—I mean we—that is, the team and I could have made faster work of it had you been involved from the start. We’ve been requesting your guidance since the beginning. But, I don’t hold the keys to the kingdom, as it were.”
“Who does?”
“That will be known in time,” Molmer says.
“Then why am I allowed, now?” Astrid’s voice is terse.
Graham’s grin is cute, she thinks. “I thought you’d never ask—apologies, that’s not very Itonalya of me, is it? Do I seem like I’m rushing—I’m sorry. You see, I’m a trained archeologist. I’ve got the chops and years of experience—and I know a thing or two about this culture, too—but not like you. We’ve arrived at a point that requires expert advice.
“Three days ago we discovered a chamber in the center citadel—”
“Tiris Avu,” Astrid calls it.
“Yes,” he nods. “We’ve uncovered a tomb—the enclosure’s walls are covered in stone carved Elliqui runes. We found weapons, gold—” Astrid begins to sigh, “a veritable treasure trove of artifacts—all in stunningly beautiful condition. In the tomb itself we believe to be what remains of Queen Yafarra—”
“—the final ruler of the Wyn Avuquains on earth,” Astrid completes his sentence. “Though, if the myth matches, her head will be missing.”
“Yes, of course. But also, within her sarcophagus, should be,” he pauses—his smile fades. Graham and Astrid stare silently at one another for a long moment.
“Of course,” Astrid says finally. “Of course.”
Graham takes a deep breath and continues, “If it is there, the discovery will change the way we understand our history.”
“If what is there?” asks Rearden. “What?”
Graham’s whisper is more to himself than to Rearden: “The Prophesy.”
The two turn to Rearden. Astrid notices Rearden’s hand trembling as he raises his tea to his lips. After a sip he says, “Prophecy?”
Astrid says, “According to Itonalya history, Queen Yafera made war upon Thi, the One God, and because of this, Wyn Avuqua was destroyed by Thi’s Godrethion.” She gestures to the ruin of the city surrounding them. Rearden looks out to another toppled stone pillar unearthed a few meters away. “The fighting was bitter—the tales tell. Nearly all of the inhabitants were slaughtered.” Astrid points to the lake to the South. “It was said that one could walk across the water upon the floating heads of the slain.”
Graham adds, “There’s also the legend that the bottom of the lake is a graveyard of skulls.” Astrid shudders at the thought.
“If this city is as great as you’ve claimed it to be, why would Yafarra risk its destruction by going to war with—” Rearden shakes his head as if he doesn’t actually believe what he’s about say—but then he catches himself. Astrid watches him wrestle with a thought, as if he is caught in some internal argument. He picks up, “By going to war with, God? I thought the Immortals were god killers—always at war with gods. Their purpose was to protect humankind from crossing spirits.”
“Crossing spirits, yes, the Godrethion. But, in essence, the immortals of Wyn Avuqua were ultimately Thi’s slaves,” she answers. “And in all tales of slavery, eventually there’s an uprising. And yes, you are correct, the Itonalya’s mission was to keep the crossing spirits, or the Godrethion, or the Oläthion, that is, the great populace of Heaven, from interfering with the greatest of creations: Endale or Ae, or Earth. They were given this edict by the so called One God, Thi. The Itonalya claimed that the One God told the story of existence, and thus, existence came to be. When Endale was made, Endale ruled the One God’s thought—it was the jewel of the night’s sky and every god was drawn to it—and more important, drawn to the doings and dramas of its inhabitants. It’s the Itonalya belief that the fate of the Earth determines the fate of the Universe.”
Graham says, “Even the gods have their shiny thing.”
Molmer adds, “As you’re well aware, Doctor, all mythologies depict deities involving themselves in human affairs. After all, what would the wondrous Greek myths be without the gods playing their part? At some point, several millennia ago, the One God forbad intervention. They were causing the greatest of creations, the Earth, irreversible damage.”
“And so,” Astrid continues, “the Itonalya were placed at the door, here to destroy any god that managed to cross. The Immortals were slaves to the One God. It promised them an immortal life, but It did not grant life after death.”
“It?” Rearden says. “Why do you say It? Doesn’t It have a name or a gender?”
Astrid sighs. Should she have to explain such concepts to a psychologist? She checks her delivery and gentles her voice, “Gender classification for the One God usually makes it to the fairy tale history books depending upon who has the stronger arm at the time. Most human tales put a penis on the maker of all creation. In the last few thousand years, for reasons easily interpreted, stories have an overbalanced, masculine rule. Other, older tales provide the master of the Universe a vagina for a number of reasons. Whatever the reasons for giving God a sex has to do with imagined constructs.
“Immortals, on the other hand (or genital), didn’t give fuck one about the gender of their Creator because they had centuries to discover the brilliant irrelevance of such a thought. Not to mention they celebrated the strong attributes that each sex brought to the feast instead of limiting them.
“A name? Human mythologies have many names for the character. Many you’ve heard, of course. Jehovah, Elohim, Yahweh, Odin, Zeus, Gaia, etcetera, etcetera. The Itonalya called It, Thi.”
Astrid shakes her head, “But never mind all of that. Queen Yafarra was defeated, and
she and her people paid for their hubris. The city was destroyed, the telepathic mode of Elliqui was finally extinguished, the lake was filled with Itonalya heads, and the rebellion was put down by Thi’s Godrethion.
“But in the end, Thi took pity upon the surviving Itonalya, and as a kind of covenant It foretold of two brothers that would break the Itonalya bonds of slavery. Two artists. A Painter and a Poet who would somehow open a door between humankind and the deities. The Godrethion would no longer cross over and interfere. Instead, they would partake of the human condition through the art of the brothers.” She shines out a genuine smile, “Isn’t that where the divine has truly lived, in art? If God or gods truly exist, art must be their home.” A cloud covers the sun. She continues. “But until the Prophecy is fulfilled, Thi demands Itonalya loyalty and their service: to protect humankind by destroying crossing gods on earth.”
“The prophesied brothers—with their coming—only then could the Itonalya cast off their long burden,” Graham says.
“I’ve heard of this prophecy, as you call it.” Rearden says.
Astrid answers, “Yes, there is ancient literature that discusses the prophecy. I’ve researched and written of it, and so have others, though we only have threads to the quilt, I’m afraid. In other words, what I’ve just told you is about all we know. But if we know anything about the mythological motif, for every mythology has prophecies, we might make some predictions of our own.”
“Such as?” Rearden asks.
“Well, for the willing believer, prophecies come true. You know, predictions birth belief—and widespread belief makes it happen.”
“You’re referring to prophecy as self-fulfilling. Psychologically speaking, much like cognitive ease?”
“Cognitive ease?” Graham asks.
Rearden answers, “The idea that if something is repeated over and over, the mind will eventually believe that it is true.”
“Like political propaganda?” Graham smiles.
“Like political propaganda,” Rearden agrees.
Astrid nods, “Aren’t such things the basis for a successful prophecy? Believe hard enough and it will happen? Hear the story enough—and it becomes true.” She wonders at Rearden’s controlled, almost too solemn expression. It is unsettling. “Or at least, perceived as true.”
“True, Professor. Beyond your wildest dreams, true. Though, I much prefer the notion that augury comes to pass by the actions taken to defy it.”
Astrid studies him a moment. “Yes, I agree with that, too.”
“So do you believe in the Itonalya Prophecy?” Rearden asks.
She laughs. “I’m not the type,” Astrid tells him. “Gods exist in stories, not in reality.”
“Really? After all your studies, you don’t believe the people of Wyn Avuqua were actually Immortal—that they were god killers—you don’t believe in gods?”
Astrid says, “Haven’t we covered this, Doctor? Come now, I’m an academic. We both know the power of ancient stories and myth. The Itonalya were a culture filled with metaphor and symbolism. Their war with the gods was a war within themselves and a war with ignorance. Their proclaimed immortality was a reach for a state of mind—an ideal—a harmony with their humanity and the universe. Perhaps the world’s first visionary atheists. Killing gods is killing ignorance. Their city was destroyed by themselves when they allowed their gods to rule their society.”
“So gods equal ignorance?”
“If you like,” Astrid answers.
“The pyramidal portals and all that?”
“Megalithic monuments help the nonbelievers to believe. Come on, religions and belief systems have done stranger things.”
“How very interesting,” Rearden says. “And what of the death of the Wyn Avuquain innocent?”
Astrid studies the gaunt features and the strangely synthetic skin stretched across his face. Who is this guy? she wonders. And how could he know that story? She answers, “You mean the sacrifice that could have stopped the sacking of the city?”
“Yes,” Rearden says. “Another crucifixion yarn no doubt?”
“Well,” Astrid says, “the stories are in conflict. Some say it happened, others make no mention. Who knows. Maybe we’ll find the answer to that question while we are here.”
Rearden nods. “I do hope to learn the outcome of that mystery.”
Blindside
November 11, this year
Upper Priest Lake, Idaho
4:20pm AZOT
Loche unscrews the cap of the aluminum water bottle and takes a sip. He then hands it to Edwin. The little boy takes a mouthful.
Looking down the pyramid’s slope, Loche can see the congregation of immortals watching the climb. Helen is the nearest to the base. Her body is taut, nervous and prepared to vault up the jumbled rocks if Edwin stumbles or trips. The stones are smooth and piled stair-like enough. Edwin is doing well, so far. He doesn’t look down. Instead, he takes another sip and then hands the bottle to his father. Loche wrestles between being proud of his young son, and fearing the god lingering in every word from the boy’s lips—every glance—every gesture. He takes the bottle. Loche feels as if he has heard, Thank you, Dad, but Edwin did not speak. A sparkle of light glitters in the boy’s eyes, and then it is gone. Edwin leans upward and climbs. Loche watches him a moment, then offers water to Julia, a few feet below him.
“I’m good,” she says. “I just had a sip from mine.”
Loche caps the bottle and drops it in his bag. Corey had stocked the bag with a half dozen more energy bars, a billfold of Egyptian pounds, Euros and American dollars, a flashlight, emergency blanket, a small first aid kit, his small olive colored diary and finally, a charged cell phone. Buried at the bottom is the Red Notebook. In an envelope tucked between the notebook’s pages is a single leaf from William Greenhame’s life-giving plant. George insisted that he take at least one. His umbrella is latched to the strap. He nudges the bag behind him and follows behind Edwin. He then pauses a moment and looks down. He finds Leonaie. After considering the contents of his bag, he recalls that she said something about wanting him to have…what was it? Something that her Samuel would want him to have…
“I’ve always wanted to see the Giza Plateau,” Julia says.
Loche shakes off the thought and pushes himself upward, “Me, too.”
“Of course I always counted on a long plane ride, some crazy traffic conditions and the very real possibility of dysentery.”
“Ah,” Loche smiles, “and who would have thought that kidnapping, murder, the fruit of life, and the war of gods versus immortals would happen instead. Just think of your travel companions: the prophesied Poet and a boy god.”
Julia pushes herself higher and expires a laugh. “Dysentery is still possible.”
“That it is,” Loche agrees. “How is the Rathinalya?”
She doesn’t answer at first. “Ugh. The climb is helping to keep my mind off of it.”
Loche lifts Edwin up and over a particularly tall stone. He lurches himself up and then offers Julia his hand.
“But to think,” she says lacing her fingers in his and rising beside him, “that in a few minutes we’ll cross the summit of this pyramid, and in a blink we’ll be atop a pyramid in Egypt—that’s freaking me out.”
“Beats Cairo traffic, I would think.”
“I mean it. Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable?” Loche asks. “Still? Even after all that’s happened?”
Julia shrugs, “I’m getting better with all of it, I must say. I’m harder to surprise.” Her breath smokes in the air.
Loche thinks a moment as he watches Edwin take a few more strides ahead. He calculates the distance to the top. Maybe thirty more meters. The afternoon is pitching quickly to dusk. A light breeze whisks glittery snow. Not far now. But then what? The three Orathom Wis soldiers that went before are to clear the way in Cairo. Once Loche, Julia and Edwin arrive, they are to make their way to the Menkaure Pyramid, climb it and find Basil ther
e. Find Basil there? Between the cryptic clues discovered by Julia in Basil’s studio, and Loche’s account of meeting Basil through the Center and their parting beside a massive pyramid, George and the others decided the best course of action was to pursue the signs. Follow the augury. Loche shakes his head. Omens, signs, absurd, he thinks. Unbelievable.
But George’s worry at the mention of Menkaure is troubling. He refused to elaborate in detail about the pyramid and the Itonalya lost crossing its peak. Named after the 4th dynasty Egyptian pharaoh, it is the smallest of the three, and little was shared with Loche concerning its history. Though the name Menkaure is Egyptian in origin, George had informed Loche that the Itonalya have a word with the same pronunciation: menkor (mĕnkōr). George was reluctant to share the Elliqui meaning. It was the solemn Corey Thomas that whispered into Loche’s ear, “It means forgotten memory. And don’t ask me what I think it means. I’ve no idea.”
Loche looks at Julia and says after a moment, “The unbelievability of it doesn’t get old.”
Then, a cracking sound. The air pops four or five times. Loche looks up at Edwin’s slow but steady pace a few meters above. He turns to see Julia. She is looking down the slope. Below George and the others are now scattering. Around the perimeter of the summit bowl some ten or more figures have perched themselves in firing positions. There are more bursts of gunfire. Shrill whistles tear passed the climbers. Several shots miss and explode stones and dust into the air.
“Go!” Loche shouts. He lunges upward and places his body between the gunmen below and Edwin. “Go! Go! Go!” The air crackles.
Through the reports Loche hears George calling, “Gain the top, Loche! Hurry! Watch to the sides! Watch the blindsides!”
“Loche!” Now it is Julia’s voice. “Behind you!”
Twisting, Loche sees two men appearing from over the side of the pyramid just below. One is leveling a pistol. In Loche’s periphery, the blur of an object streaks. A stone from Julia’s hand bounces off of the man’s cheekbone. Blood mists. He falls back and tumbles down.
As the next man climbs over the slope edge toward him, Loche unsheathes his sword from his umbrella and charges. His legs welcome the horizontal movement and he feels as if he’s flying across the distance. The man draws his gun and brings the barrel up as Loche’s blade strikes it aside. The pistol fires into the air and falls, clatters and rolls. The man stumbles backward. He draws a short sword and angles it.
The Shape of Rain Page 10
