by J. R. Rain
“What do you mean, Sam?” asked Caesar, turning to me.
“Sure, they’re here to mark something historic and sacred within, but mostly....” and now I pushed hard with my hand. The pillar didn’t move at first, but then something rather miraculous happened. The pillar rotated, spinning slowly inward. As the outer section of the pillar turned in, the section behind it appeared. And what appeared...was nothing. “But mostly, it’s just a fancy doorway,” I said, finishing.
Chapter Forty-five
We stepped into a narrow hallway, with smooth granite walls. The walls pulsed with the eerie white light. The ground vibrated again, and behind us the ramp rose like a drawbridge and slammed shut, sealing us in.
Our breaths fogged before us. The torches were unnecessary. I put mine out, and shoved it inside my jacket. The tunnel was very silent, and reminded me of a strange portal in some alien mother ship. The only noises were our breathing and the scrape of our boots. Wally was doing most of the scraping, following behind reluctantly. With each cautious step, the light became increasingly brighter, pouring into the tunnel as if through a rent in heaven. Before us, framed in the light, was another archway. This was our stop.
I looked out through the archway: the brilliance beyond was overwhelming. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, my breath caught in my trachea as if a hand had seized my throat.
“The ice cavern,” whispered Caesar.
And spanning the entire length of the canyon, enshrouded within a veil of ice, was the ghostly image of a massive wooden ship.
* * *
The ship looked sea-worthy to this day, as if caught in a frozen tidal wave, reminiscent of the frozen mastodons found whole and intact in the ice of Siberia, with the undigested food of their last meal still in their bellies.
Professor Caesar Roberts pressed his hands to his chest, lips moving silently, attempting to form words. Wally Krispin caught his breath and said, “Sweet mother of God.”
The cavern was oddly devoid of any sound. A frozen crypt. I sensed that I had stepped into something that was meant to be sealed forever, or found by someone more worthy than I. As if I were trespassing into the Holy of Holies.
There was no reluctance on the part of the professor. He stepped boldly onto the rock shelf, boots crunching on a thick layer of ice that coated the stone like a donut’s glaze. His footfalls echoed within the massive cavern. In fact, everything echoed. Every breath, every swish of clothing. The professor moved determinedly forward, like a thirsty desert horse with the smell of water in its nostrils, heedless of its master.
“Well,” said Wally, moving next to me. “I suppose we should go check it out.”
I nodded absently.
Wally and I stepped out onto the ice. “Where are we?” he asked me.
“This is a rock ledge outside the mountain. Surrounding us is the Abich II glacier, which somehow neglected to fill-in the entire ledge, leaving this cavernous air pocket. Thus the illusion of the ice cavern. A true oddity in nature.”
The sun refracted through the dome of ice. The source of the white light. It was beautiful, pure light.
“I would never have believed it,” he said. “It’s so unreal. I feel like I’m dreaming, or died and gone to Heaven’s Museum.”
I wondered absently how much time we had until our pursuers reached us—if they would reach us, although that dilemma now seemed irrelevant. The fact that Omar could use the very same map that we did was reason enough to error on the side of caution.
Our boots crunched over the ice. It was a very real sound in an unreal setting. The sun was high, but there was no warmth within the cavern. We followed behind the professor, who moved forward quickly and recklessly. Once his foot flew out from under him as if slipping on an invisible banana peal planted by Groucho Marx.
“Where are we?” asked Wally.
“We’re on the north face of Ararat,” I said, and noticed a slight quavering in my voice. I was not used to my voice quavering. “The ice above us is an extension of the Abich Glacier, flowing down the mountain, although neglecting to completely fill-in this rock shelf.”
With each step the structure seemed to grow in size, until it spanned our entire field of vision. Light-headed, I found breathing difficult. Also, I felt a sort of odd detachment, as if I were not truly part of events unfolding before me. As if I were in a dream, to awaken at any moment.
But it’s really here.
The ark rose before us like a Celtic megalith, eternally solid, built for the ages. Built to carry the weight of the world. A thick layer of mostly clear ice, perhaps five or six feet thick, enshrouded the ark. The wooden craft seemed to undulate beneath the ice, like an image in a massive funhouse mirror.
The closer we got, the more detail I could make out. The ark appeared composed of massive hand-worked beams spanning hundreds of feet. The professor stood beneath the prow, looking up. With an unsteady hand, he caressed the ice just outside the hull. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your life?”
“I sense that it’s sleeping,” said Wally. “Like a hibernating dragon, and if we’re not careful, it will awaken.”
I wondered what he meant by that, and had not realized how prophetic his words would be.
* * *
“I think I’m going to have a heart attack,” said the professor grinning, holding a hand to his chest. “But at least I will die happy!”
“How long is it?” asked Wally, rubbing the ice with the flat of his hand. Our three images stared at us from the ice. I could see that we were a motley crew, dirty and torn. But we were all grinning.
Caesar answered, as if speaking a rehearsed verse, “The length was to be 300 cubits, the breadth 50 cubits, and the height 30 cubits; or, roughly, 450 feet long, 75 feet wide, and 45 feet high.” Caesar paused. “If only Faye were here to see this. This would have put an end to her skepticism.”
My thoughts were on Faye as well. “We’ll find her, professor, as soon as we get out of here. I promise you that.”
Chapter Forty-six
Faye and the others were waiting in a narrow tunnel while the lead soldier once again consulted the map. Faye had grown accustomed to the hunger that gnawed at her insides like a slow-moving worm, as normal now as breathing. Faye stood next to Farid, which happened to be as far away from Kazeem as possible.
“How are you faring, Miss Roberts?” Farid asked in a whisper.
She looked up into broad, handsome face. “I would rather be home with a good book and a glass of Chablis.”
He grunted and removed his canteen and opened the lid for her. “It’s not wine,” he said. “But it will have to do.”
She was grateful beyond words. The cool water tasted both wonderful and awful, as if the canteen had never been cleaned. Water streamed down her neck and into her open shirt. Eventually gentle hands pried the canteen away from her. She heard herself thanking him over and over….
* * *
Boots creaked; metal jangled; clothing swished. The stench of old sweat was inescapable. Apparently, the soldiers had neglected to bathe for the occasion. Earlier, Faye had wanted to gag. Now she accepted the stench as an unavoidable part of her immediate future. Omar’s ragged breathing filled the entire tunnel. She secretly hoped he would keel over soon. The emir, however, kept plugging along, keeping pace with the group.
The temperature dropped. Faye’s breath fogged before her. Her legs felt heavy and tired. She rubbed her arms through her jacket, which was torn now in several places. Her mind drifted. She thought of her post at USC, her many students. One of whom she had had coffee with on many occasions. The thought brought a smile to her lips.
She was studying Farid’s massive shoulders and idly wondering if the kingdom of Arabia had any Big and Tall stores, when the bodyguard suddenly stopped. Faye bumped into him. She felt as if she had walked into a parked Volkswagen. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly
But Farid didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he was staring
silently at the two immense objects that had materialized in the tunnel before them. Two stone columns, one on either side of the tunnel. Dust, churned by their many boots, rose up to obscure the columns. To Faye, the artifacts were surprisingly comforting. A touch of humanity in a dismal world of endless tunnels.
The lead soldier quickly consulted the map. Omar stood over him. Kazeem brushed roughly around her and stalked over to the other men, throwing his own beam of light across the map. Kazeem was almost as big as Farid.
“They grow them big in the desert,” she whispered to herself.
Faye moved closer to Farid. The big man sensed her presence and shifted his weight uncomfortably. Using the beam of light, he made slow circles in the dirt before him, illuminating the rounded toes of his massive boots.
“Why are you here, Farid?” she asked in a low voice. She found herself studying his face. Each feature was perfect, she decided. Just on a much larger scale than she was accustomed to. He looked like a warrior from the future. She felt incalculably safe in his presence.
“I do not understand your question,” he said simply, lips unmoving.
“Why do you associate with the emir?”
He was silent. Finally, he said simply, “I am paid to be here. It is an honor to be here.”
“Is it an honor to hunt down three innocent men?” she asked, gazing up into his face. He quickly averted his eyes and swallowed loudly. She continued, lowering her voice and touching his thick forearm with her fingertips. “Is it an honor to hold me captive?”
The circle of light increased in tempo, darting across his scarred boots. Sweat dotted his massive brow. “I do not wish to hold you captive, Miss Roberts.”
“Call me Faye.”
He looked down into her eyes. “It is not my will to hold you captive…Faye.”
“Then help me, Farid.”
“I am but one man.”
“You are quite a man.”
Faye was almost certain he was blushing. The flashlight fell silent, illuminating a small patch of dirt. “I will see what I can do,” he said.
* * *
Once again Faye found herself studying her father’s map with Omar hovering over her like a bird of prey. His breath was hot and wreaked of medicine and alcohol. Farid stood off to the side, hidden in shadows, although she felt his protective gaze.
Omar said, “You will decipher these words and tell us how to proceed. I expect nothing less than immediate results. You are useless to me otherwise.”
“It’s nice to be needed,” she said, stepping over to the right column. Almost immediately she determined that the inscriptions here predated much of the known written languages. The usual excitement of discovery coursed through her, but she reminded herself of her predicament.
She turned and faced Omar Ali. “Do I have your assurance, emir, that my father and the others will not be harmed?”
Omar almost laughed. “Why, of course, madam.”
She didn’t believe him, but she had little other choice. “Then I shall do my best.”
Chapter Forty-seven
Wally leaned in close to the ship, his big schnauzer just inches from the protective ice. “What kind of wood is this? Doesn’t look familiar.”
Caesar said, “The original Hebrew of the Old Testament refers to it as gopherwood; however, no one really knows what gopherwood is. Most scholars believe it to be in reference to cypress wood; or, less probable, oak, cedar or larch—all of which were used by various ancient civilizations for shipbuilding. Rather than a species of wood, gopherwood is also sometimes thought to be a process, one in which tree sap is used to make a plywood, generally considered superior than single lengths of wood. Genesis also states pitch was applied to the wood, both inside and out. It’s often thought to be a bituminous substance, a mixture of tar and petroleum, mixed with straw or reeds to make ships water-tight.”
“Look,” Wally said, pointing to something I had missed: a dark hole in her starboard side. Wally suddenly pressed his face up against the ice. “Do you see that?”
“Not with you in the way,” said Caesar.
Wally stepped away. “There seems to be a glow coming from within. It’s barely perceptible, sort of greenish.”
“A glow?” said the professor incredulously. “What the devil are you talking about, lad?”
Caesar and I stepped forward. We both saw it. A muted glow, the color of new grass, seemed to pulse from within. The pulsing could have been my imagination, but the light was there, nonetheless.
The professor said simply, waving his hand dismissively, “I think we’re seeing light from the upper portholes diffused throughout the ship, perhaps the reflection of moss or lichen.”
The hull of the ship angled gently down to the keel in the shape of a shoe box. Professor Roberts said, “Those who have studied the ark say it’s unsinkable.”
“That’s good,” said Wally. “Because it sure wasn’t designed for looks.”
Caesar ignored him. “You can see the slats for windows on the third deck. Biblical scholars propose that the top two decks were for the animals, and the lower deck was undoubtedly for waste and garbage. The eight crew members, which consists, of course, of Noah and his family, probably had living quarters on the top floor.”
“I see it before me,” said Wally. “But I don’t get it. Where did the animals come from and how did eight people care for them for…how long? Over a year?”
“Those are heated questions among scholars and critics alike; but, as you can see, we have the ultimate answer: we have the ark. Obviously, then, we can discover answers to your questions. Whether or not it’s the biblical ark, and whether or not it was used for the purposes as laid out in many of the world’s great religions, remains to be seen. Further study of the ark will no doubt reveal those answers—”
“Sam! Father!”
I spun around. Faye was at the entrance, struggling with a Kurdish soldier. She had run partially out onto the rock shelf, but now he was bringing her in, kicking and fighting.
“Sam, I’m so sorry!”
“Faye!” I ran forward, but then pulled up, sliding. Omar had appeared, followed by Farid and Kazeem and a half dozen soldiers, all blinking and shielding their eyes from the awesome glare of the white light.
Chapter Forty-eight
Emir Omar Ali looked ready for the grave. The fact that he had endured the long hike through the tunnel systems said much about the man’s constitution—and madness. To his left was Farid Bastian who stood like a huge granite statue, expressionless. He could have been staring at a cottage picture on a bathroom wall, rather than a timeless miracle. To Omar’s right was Kazeem, scowling. Behind, the soldiers had forgotten their military training, breaking ranks, standing on tip toes, trying to get a glimpse of the ark.
Faye was removed from view, although I could hear her struggling in the background—and hear the occasional grunt from a well-placed knee to the groin.
“Congratulations,” said Omar. “The three of you have stumbled across one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of all time. Enjoy it while you can.”
Omar closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath, as if restraining his soul from escaping through his mouth. And when he opened his eyes, he said casually, “Kill them, Farid.”
* * *
The big man leveled his weapon at us. We waited. Farid’s eyebrows knitted together in indecision. He took an impossibly long breath, filling those massive lungs, then lowered the gun. “I will not.”
I exhaled through clenched teeth. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath.
Omar did not immediately respond. The fact that his faithful bodyguard had defied him was unimaginable. “You will kill them, Farid,” he said again.
In response, the bodyguard stared silently forward, the weapon pointed down.
Omar Ali moved quickly, snatching the weapon from Farid’s grasp. “Then I will do the job for you, you ungrateful pig.”
“I saw that one coming
,” whispered Wally from the corner of his mouth.
Omar brought the gun up. The automatic weapon wobbled in his narrow arms, too heavy for him to control.
“Sam…,” whispered the professor.
“Be still,” I said, “The chances of him hitting us are slim.”
“That’s hardly reassuring.”
From here, I could see the emir’s finger tighten around the trigger. I stepped back, regardless, pressed against the ancient hull. As the emir’s finger tightened, curling around the trigger, I saw with some dismay that he did have control over the weapon.
We were sitting ducks.
Omar’s finger tightened around the trigger. He squeezed. But just as he did so, Farid reached out and knocked the weapon up. Flame spat from the barrel of the weapon. Bullets sprayed the ceiling, puncturing the ice. Cracks appeared overhead, zigzagging like bolts of lightening. The ceiling shattered with the sound of a thousand bones cracking in unison.
Ice slashed down from above, cutting through the air like a torrent of steel-bladed daggers, one of which knocked me forward, opening a wound in my shoulder. Another chunk fell beside me, crashing through the floor, which began to crumble away, disappearing into the black unknown.
I scrambled to my feet and moved quickly along the length of the great ship, holding my damaged shoulder. A shock of blue sky appeared in the growing hole above. The afternoon sun angled sharply into my face.
The ark suddenly lurched, its ancient timbers wrenching with the strain of movement, groaning with the sound of an ancient whalesong. The ship had awakened, breaking loose from its frozen moors.
And from the confusion, I heard my name shouted. I looked to my left, and saw the professor hunched over Wally. A sliver of ice, as long as an ice pick, protruded from the boy’s chest, pinning him to the floor.
* * *
Blood bubbled from Wally’s lips. His eyes were wide and wild, like a trapped animal. He threw his head from side to side, screaming. Caesar, at a loss, raised his horrified face up to me for help.
