by Jon Saboe
Inmaquo called out and his three companions emerged instantly from the undergrowth at the beach’s edge. They ran towards them asPeleg held out his hand to stop Serug’s advance.
“Serug,” he called out. “You’re going to ruin everything!”
Serug had stopped a short distance away. “Captain Phaxâd says its time to go.”
It was getting dark. Inmaquo had risen quickly and hidden the scroll beneath his clothing, as if its existence was not to be known, even by his own men.
The four men stood side by side as they faced Peleg and Serug, who was still standing back. Suddenly, the hunters pressed their palms together, fingertips pointing upward, bowed at the waist, then turned and fled into the trees.
“Serug!” Peleg was beside himself. “Don’t ever interrupt a contact like that again! I was just starting to understand a little about them!”
“Sorry,” Serug shrugged. “Captain Phaxâd said to come and get you. I didn’t mean to make them leave.”
Peleg looked into the woods after the vanished men. “Well, I don’t think we can do any more now.”
He walked toward Serug, gave him a rough push and walked past him towards the waiting dinghy. Then he reached back and gave him a pat on the shoulder to show there were no hard feelings, and the two friends continued the walk together.
Peleg had no way of knowing the age of Inmaquo, but a strange thought occurred to him.
What if he was an original survivor of the Great Calamity?
Inmaquo and Tañqin watched from the trees as the stranger’s large sea-vessel left the following morning.
The Clan-guide pondered the extraordinary encounter. Somehow these strange mutated men with damaged speech had crossed the waters and conquered a distance that had taken the clans over a thousand moons of travel. Yet he felt a strange kinship with the one called Bay-lek and felt a sense of hope and joy that these strange travelers were fulfilling the goals of Mèsha—even if unwittingly. This must mean that the fears of leaving the cities had been overcome.
“What are you thinking about, father?” The young Tañqin was staring at his stepfather intently.
He looked at his stepson with a sudden burst of love and compassion.
“I’m contemplating how the will of the Great Spirit is ultimately accomplished.”
Tañqin looked at him with respectful questioning in his eyes.
Inmaquo reached under his garment for the canister.
“I have something to show you.”
The speech had ended, and High Minister Dumuzi was absorbing the thunderous ovations to which he was now accustomed.
He was much more than High Minister—he was a genuine celebrity, and this evening his speech had taken place in the public Amphitheater of Kadingir in the Central Park where lavish hanging gardens surrounded a stage usually utilized by musicians and thespians.
Such exciting, ancient mysteries! He had captivated his listeners with tales and enlightenment of past ages.
He told of the days hundreds of millennia ago when the gods formed ancient men who were little more than dumb brutes. He told of the arrival of the Anunnaki—inhabitants of Nibiru—in their ships from the stars powered by gold dust, who uplifted humanity and gave them longevity, wisdom, and the sciences of metallurgy, chemistry, and mathematics. They had endowed humanity with the mysteries of astronomy, space, and time.
Most importantly, they had grafted their heredity into humanity’s own, so that the legacy of intelligence and spirit would always remain.
But even the Anunnaki could not prevent the terrible Great Calamity, so they had rescued a remnant, and taken them to Nibiru as it passed.
The effects of their gift of longevity were diminishing, however, but as humanity communed with their distant spirits, they would be sustained until the return of Nibiru some 3,400 years hence.
As he stepped down from the stage, people pressed forward to touch his hand, or convey their adorations with words or a brief intense look.
A man in a fashionable hood approached and pushed through to stand next to him.
A knife flashed. Those standing near screamed as a cloud of blood sprayed over them.
Horror struck in their hearts as they saw that the throat of their High Minister had been slit from side to side before the blade was plunged in to the hilt—and was now protruding from his neck, pulsing slightly with Dumuzi’s final heartbeats.
The eyes of Dumuzi glowed fiercely with anger and shock, but very quickly faded as if a wick was being trimmed from within.
He collapsed amid cries from the crowd of “High Minister!” and “Lord Dumuzi!”
Before the onlookers could restrain the attacker, he had retrieved the knife and thrown back his hood, revealing Reu-Nathor.
“Thus always to those who would pervert science!” he shouted. “Death to liars and frauds who betray our future and sell it for fantasy! Knowledge is Eternal!”
There was a moment of stunned silence as the people recognized the deposed, ex-High Minister of Knowledge!
The moment ended, and a sudden rush of bodies piled onto Reu-Nathor in a frenzied orgy of violent pummeling, punching, and kicking; mindlessly generating as much pain and damage as possible. Long after he was dead, the wrath of the crowd continued as more people took turns avenging the assassination. Only when the possessed crowd was exhausted, did the beating subside.
Later, it was a matter of controversy whether Reu-Nathor or Dumuzi had died first.
Chapter 20
Death
“Ancient myths claim we are made of dust. What amazing organization this dust must have!”
There was no precedent for this strange situation. As the Inner Thirteen, the priests of Apu Inti were responsible for funeral rites in Tiwanaku and throughout the surrounding mountains. They had gathered today, from the communities where they ruled, to assist High Priest Manco Cachi with his dilemma.
Whenever someone died, the local priest was summoned, and an appropriate ceremony was created for the deceased. Such an event happened rarely, but it was usually a simple matter to determine the cause of death, and then celebrate the gifts of Apu Inti. The damaged limb or organ was removed, dissected, and analyzed, after which it was burned and its ashes returned to the sun. Sometimes a bronze or golden figurine was formed in honor of the defective part. But there was always a ceremony—and a celebration, based on the revealed design, in honor of the sun, Apu Inti, the giver of life.
If one of the artists who carved the giant sculptures into the mountainsides fell to their death from the great cliffs, a broken neck or punctured lung would be the obvious cause, and the priest could then praise Apu Inti for his great skill in designing the damaged anatomy. Then family and friends would express remorse for their neglect and carelessness, and, of course, the priests would then collect the appropriate penance.
A drowning in the waters of Lake Puma would similarly allow the priests a chance to dissect and examine the lungs—all for the glory of Apu Inti. Such tragedies allowed for detailed anatomical studies, and the priests had recorded many charts and diagrams which were useful in medicine—and also as a source of ideas for their own engineering and technical innovations.
The first true man and woman, Pacha Tata and Pacha Mama, had been formed from the ashes of the Great Fire which Apu Inti, the sun god, had used to consume the original earth when Viracocha, the Great Serpent and Creator of all, had demanded that his original creation be purged. Viracocha had created a previous race before that time, but they had been docile and obtuse, oversized brutes with little regard for adventure—or for the excitement and power which Viracocha wished to impart.
The fires of Apu Inti (who was the most powerful of all Viracocha’s creations) had blazed down upon them, and he had remade mankind from the ashes—according to Viracocha’s specifications. Humanity now possessed the inner fire which gave them ambition, ingenuity, and above all, a passion to become more and more like the gods—which honored Viracocha above all else.
Manco Cachi and his fellow priests were now gathered around this inanimate form, which was the reason for their hurried gathering. The body showed no indication as to why his life had ceased. He was a respected subject of Tiwanaku, and was an original Survivor. Now he lay before them; a strong, muscular man with a full head of long, flowing silver hair, a regal nose, and a powerful forehead. A splendid example of perfect health—aside from the fact that he had ceased to live. A cold, shadowy reminder of what he had once been.
The Inner Thirteen continued to stare in silence at this scene which was completely outside of their experience. There was no clue as to why this life had ended. Death only occurred when something in the body had malfunctioned or been damaged beyond repair. Even when a man succumbed to poison, there was still evidence of disrupted chemistry or acid burns. From all appearances, this man should simply sit up—and, in the minds of the assembled priests, it was easy to imagine.
Finally Manco Chavin spoke. He was a younger, soft-spoken man from the eastern districts, near the coast—and not one of the original Inner Nine. It was a simple sentence, yet it clarified the situation completely.
“The power of life is in the blood.”
The priests nodded their assent, and Manco Cachi shook his head slightly as he realized the answer to their dilemma had been obvious.
“It is the heart,” he stated. “Once the heart stops, the bloodforce can no longer spread throughout the body, and there is no more motion.”
“Yes,” said another priest. “And when motion ceases, the breathing ceases; and when breathing ceases, so ceases the mind.”
Another thoughtful moment passed, and then a third priest added, “It is the blood itself which has ceased to function, and it is the blood which must be returned to Apu Inti.”
The body had been brought to a side chamber of the Acapana, the central pyramid which was still under construction. Ultimately it would serve as a giant water tower which, in turn, would power the community’s hydraulic celestial calendar and timekeeper. The lower levels were covered with smooth sheets of andesite, which shone with a deep purple hue that sparkled in the sunlight.
“We will extract the blood,” Manco Cachi said, “and study it to give honor to Apu Inti before we return it to ashes.”
“I disagree,” said Manco Chavin. The others turned to look with surprise and a little trepidation at the youngster who so casually disagreed with their Prime. But they let him speak.
“The blood is intertwined with every aspect of the body. My studies show that blood can be found even in the bones, and we must conclude that this death is the result of a complete failure of the entire body.” He looked around, and was pleased to see that no one discouraged him from continuing.
“Therefore, we must return the entire body to Apu Inti. It is the entire body which failed, and although he was a great man, we must return all of that which is damaged.”
Manco Cachi nodded. “I agree with young Manco Chavin. However, we will remove the heart to study and honor the great work of Apu Inti. Then we shall place his body on the pyre and allow the fire to consume him so his ashes may be returned from whence they came.”
The others were pleased with this final announcement, but they sincerely hoped there would be no more cases like this where there was no discernible cause of death.
The Urbat was slowly making its way back to the southern point where it had first encountered the wall of mountains and began its northern survey of this continent halfway around the world.
They had reached the equator two months ago, and, although there was no basis for it, the crew felt they had reached a halfway point in their Great Discovery. Also, they were swiftly approaching their sixth year of this twelve-year expedition.
They had hoped to see signs of the Kibrat Erbettim, since their paths would have met at the equator, but they found nothing.
After a brief celebration, they had reversed their travels and headed back to the south, following the coastline they had just mapped. This time they kept a greater distance from the shore than on their first pass, which reduced the strong side winds from the mountains. This allowed Peleg a few opportunities to launch Zini.
Several of the crew had voiced fears that this landmass would continue to the south, perhaps even curving back like the maps of the hunters and preventing any passage to the east—and home; but Peleg had reassured them with the outline that Kupé had given him. It showed the southern end of this continent narrowing to a point, and seemed to indicate another ocean on the far side.
They all kept an eye out for signs of the city that Kupé and the islanders claimed had banished them, but there was no hint of any civilization or human habitation.
Across from the Acapana was the Kalasasaya, where monuments to Survivors had been built. The outer wall was decorated with relief stone carvings of the faces of children and grandchildren—the offspring of Survivors—with more being added all the time. Seven massive stone steps, which were over ten meters wide, rose up the center of the courtyard and led directly to the Gate of Apu Inti.
The deceased Survivor had been named Manno Capak, and had instructed the first generation in agriculture, irrigation engineering, and the manufacture of farming tools. His sister, Mama Ocllo, had instructed the females (the lower caste) in the skills of textile production and garment making.
A large crowd of over two hundred had gathered for this spectacle. They had traveled from the surrounding mountains, and some had even come from the northern plains. Manno Capak wasn’t the first Survivor to die, but it was the first time one had breathed his last breath in such inexplicable circumstances. Imagine—dying for no reason!
Manno Capak’s body lay naked on a large altar of wood, completely exposed to the intense beams of Apu Inti. If left long enough, the heat would begin breaking down his body and removing his water. Soon he would begin to stink and Apu Inti would have his revenge on the one who had so carelessly allowed his life to end.
It was much better to make an offering to Apu Inti of the damaged or offending organ by burning it with the fires of the sun, returning the ashes to their creator, and then embalming and mummifying the remainder of the body speedily. By appeasing Apu Inti quickly, he showed mercy and did not send the stench and sickness that would otherwise follow.
Today they would see an entire body burned all at one time! There were rumors as to what sort of evil Manno Capak might have done to bring about the complete shutdown of his entire being.
Manco Cachi rose to preside over the funeral. He was dressed in the long black robes and tight leather helmet of his office, and was the Prime over all the servants of Apu Inti. He had positioned the pyre so that the seven-meter tall sculpture which had been built to honor the now dead Survivor could be seen behind him. Scaffolding for the Kalasasaya towered to his right, and just behind him to the left was a small gate to the temple of Mama Quilla, the goddess of the moon.
Some forty years earlier, a group of rebels and usurpers had been banished for claiming the Mama Quilla was the equal to Apu Inti. It was a distant memory, but their temple was now governed by women to prevent such a debacle from ever happening again.
There was a large red hole in the chest of Manno Capak where his failed heart had been surgically removed. It had been carefully dissected and its inner chambers diagrammed with great accuracy. The designing ingenuity of Apu Inti never ceased to amaze the priests, and they had reverently reassembled the damp portions and placed them in a wooden bowl trimmed with fiery gold bands.
Manco Cachi strode to a large dais behind the pyre and lifted the wooden bowl in his hands. The surrounding crowd quieted, and he kept his hand raised as he spoke.
“Viracocha once judged all of mankind—the descendants of Pacha Tata and Pacha Mama—with a great flood which destroyed the entire earth. He ripped apart the moons in the heavens and flung their remnants into the seas causing great earthquakes and volcanoes; forging islands from the oceans and mountains from the plains.
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“In his mercy, he selected the Survivors, nine families, who arrived on the shores of this land in a barge with livestock and grain. The fortress of mountains rose to greet us, and we swore to build our lives on the summits to honor Viracocha and live as close to him as possible. Should the floods come again, we would be safely above them in his care.”
The High Priest paused for a moment of inner reflection. He remembered the Crossing, and the desire to flee any future deluges. All life and civilization had been destroyed in their former land. At least, this was the story which the original Survivors had decided upon—and the catechism which the new priests were all taught—for the glory of Viracocha.
The gold trim of the bowl caught the sunlight as he lowered the silent, re-assembled heart and placed it into the chest cavity of Manno Capak. When Pacha Kama formed the Earth, she had filled her veins with the blood of Apu Inti which had cooled into the large deposits of gold that were now found within the mountains.
“From ashes did Apu Inti form man, and to ashes, the body of Survivor Manno Capak shall return.”
Manco Chavin and three other priests approached the pyre with flaming torches and touched the corners. The pyre had been stacked with plenty of space for airflow, and tinder made with wood shavings and bits of lime were scattered throughout the small structure. Finally, tiny porcelain containers filled with carbon disulfide were placed in critical points throughout the kindling and would crack open as the heat assaulted them.
The wooden structure was immediately engulfed with flames that erupted skyward and licked around Manno Capak. His skin bubbled and smoldered while the crowd cheered as they witnessed this token representation of the true fires of Apu Inti. The intoxicating smoke made them all giddy and they were ecstatic that the sun god had honored their priests with such a ferocious fire.
