by Jon Saboe
Mentor Inanna did nothing to dissuade their hopes. She knew of their faith in Dumuzi’s return, and she herself occasionally harbored similar desires. Besides, she told herself, anything was possible.
The baby boy now rested quietly, suckling beside his mother. Outside on the streets, Winter Solstice activities were coming to a close as the astronomers ritually announced that the sun was again returning from its southern passage.
She had named him Tammuz, which, in the new language of her father, was the equivalent of Dumuzi. It would honor Sargon, who would be arriving soon. And if it happened to increase speculations of the late High Minister’s incarnate return, so be it.
Chapter 28
Eternity
“More inconceivable than life after death is nothingness after life.”
Long twisting shadows arched away from the sun as it progressed around the horizon. In this bitter, cold land of perpetual twilight, depth and color perception were often suspect, and it was becoming more and more difficult for their tired eyes to judge distances accurately.
Cold silver spray mixed with the shadows to turn everything gray in the small dinghy. Untash flipped Serug over on his stomach and smacked him hard in the back, dislodging water and phlegm. He then turned him on his back and pressed his lips to Serug’s mouth and began forcing small amounts of air into his unconscious lungs.
After three short puffs, he tipped his head to examine Serug’s chest. After determining there was no motion, he repeated the procedure. He placed his pinky just under Serug’s nose to feel for breath, then tried again.
He filled Serug’s lungs, and waited to allow them time to expel. He repeated this over and over again, until the others in the boat thought he had gone far beyond futility and should give up.
Untash massaged the last exhalation from Serug’s blue-white form and sat back on his bench, exhausted.
A horrible gurgling sound escaped from Serug’s throat, reminding all those present of punctured air pockets found in a gutted fish. It was a sound which should have signaled the end, except that it grew louder.
Suddenly, the gurgling crescendoed into a soggy thunderclap. It took a few seconds before they realized what had happened.
Serug had just sneezed!
Untash bent over him and saw his chest moving ever so slightly. He pressed his ear close and could hear the faint taps of a quick heartbeat.
He was in shock and unconscious, but he was still alive!
Untash bundled him back up in his wet clothes and soon they were all hoisted back aboard the Urbat.
As the ship’s Chief Chemist, Thaxad was also the man responsible for the crew’s health and well-being. Usually this entailed little more than setting minor fractures or helping someone regurgitate the remains of poisonous berries which had looked much prettier than they tasted.
Now Thaxad was faced with something entirely new. They wrapped Serug in dry blankets and placed him on a table in the galley where the only real warmth on the ship existed.
“How did you know what to do?” Thaxad asked Untash. For someone who seemed to always have the answers, this question was quite intriguing to the surrounding men.
Untash shrugged his large shoulders.
“There are certain small cults in the Indus region that practice various ‘mind-over-body’ disciplines. There are those who can concentrate their mental abilities to slow their heartbeat, change their body temperature, and even reduce their breathing to a few short breaths per minute.”
He frowned.
“I guess they were experimenting to find how close they could get to death without actually dying.” He laughed slightly. “Or perhaps they were hoping to get a glimpse of what’s on the other side.”
Others joined in smiling at such superstitious thoughts.
“Either way, there were occasions where some stopped breathing altogether—or in some case, they chose to enforce their objectives by practicing underwater. I was among those who revived them and restored their air. Sometimes men and women who had gone for long periods without air told of fantastic spiritual visions or apparitions. I once tried to tell them that they were just hallucinations from passing out, but they informed me that I was too enslaved by the ‘illusory material world’.”
He shrugged again.
“Perhaps Master Serug will have a great tale to tell when he revives.”
The cold, pale form with its thick mop of blond hair showed no signs of reviving. He was, however, breathing peaceably.
The shores were now completely covered with šeg—several meters thick in places. Huge chunks of the material floated in the waters as the Urbat continued its southerly plunge. The oarsmen were constantly on the lookout for collisions.
This was increasingly difficult in the reduced light. Peleg was sure, now, that the sun’s path was much lower along the horizon, and it glowed a deep, dark orange. Strangely, the zenith was the darkest region of the sky, and one could usually make out some stars in its twilight. However, it was not enough to confirm any compass readings. Peleg shivered thinking about how much colder it would be when the Sun made its perpetual path below the horizon.
Thaxad claimed that within two or three thousand years, this entire place would be covered with thick layers of šeg—and that it would solidify all the way down to the ocean floor. Since the white surface reflected the sun’s heat, he said, it would never melt, and simply accumulate until the entire pole was covered.
“If mankind wishes to take advantage of this polar route, they’ll have to do it soon,” he said.
“He’s awake!”
Untash rushed out of the galley to tell whoever was listening. Even though Thaxad had been caring for Serug, Untash had never left his side.
Peleg and others rushed in to his tableside, and soon Untash was warming him with grain broth and other dried rations. He was not well enough to talk at length, but he had enough presence to express concern about his birds.
Captain Phaxâd joined them to welcome Serug back, and then took Peleg aside.
“I just took a look at the compass, and I think you might want to check your readings.”
Peleg left for his instruments and saw that his compass was now pointing directly north. Either they had passed the southernmost portion of their journey, or his compass had reversed itself again. He was certain they had not crossed any literal global axis, but he felt much more optimistic about Captain Phaxâd’s polar route.
This news re-energized the men who saw it as a psychological halfway point. Soon they were predicting how long it would be before they saw warmer climates, and those who had doubted the captain were now looking forward to rewards for discovering this new passage.
The only thing troubling them now was the far shore which seemed to be getting closer and closer. If this strait became too narrow for passage, they would be forced to return the way they had come—and no one was really sure how they had got to this land in the first place.
“Kiri-TEEN!”
Ever since Serug had returned to his cabin, he was plagued with bouts of sneezing. There didn’t seem to be any irritants in the air, but his periodic sessions could be heard throughout the ship.
Peleg had brought him some food, and his blond friend seemed in good spirits.
“This isn’t fair,” Serug complained. “You bring me dried fish and water while the rest of you are enjoying lamb and wine in the galley.” He knew full well that no one on board was enjoying lavish meals.
“Sorry,” offered Peleg. “Only boring, healthy food for you.”
Aside from his sneezing bouts, Serug seemed fully recovered from his ordeal, and was remarkably energetic.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
They wrapped themselves in additional blankets and headed outside. They passed by his remaining tum coops which had been moved below-decks. Fortunately they didn’t smell as bad in the cold air.
Soft flakes of šeg were falling on deck, and the sky was almost black, save for the rim of o
range fire behind them which ran along the (presumably) southern horizon. Soon it appeared that the sun would eventually go down for the first time in weeks, and finally they would be able to measure proper days again.
Serug sneezed again.
“Are you all right?” asked Peleg.
“Of course,” said Serug. “I can’t understand what would be making me sneeze. I’m sure there is no pollen around here.”
Peleg shrugged and they continued to watch the šeg accumulate. Eventually the sun went down, and the gray clouds blackened. They decided to wait until sunrise, (which Peleg predicted would be in about half an hour), and stood there shivering until the red orb peered through the clouds over the mountains a few degrees east of where it had descended.
Šeg had accumulated to over a twelfth of a meter, and both men had to keep brushing it from their blankets.
In the early morning light, Peleg saw that mucus was coming from Serug’s nose, and mentioned it to him.
“It’s nothing,” said Serug as he wiped it away
“You don’t look well,” said Peleg. “I think you need to get back down to your cabin.”
Serug offered no resistance, as Peleg steered him down the steps. At the landing, Serug fell into a fit of coughing which lasted for several minutes. Peleg entered his cabin, placed him in his bunk, and put an extra blanket on him. He was breathing laboriously, but Peleg could see no reason for it.
“You’d better get some sleep,” he said with concern. “I’ll talk to you later.”
The channel became so narrow, that they were only able to traverse it safely during high tide. Fortunately, according to their soundings, there was ample depth for clearance, as the two shores apparently were separated by an enormous chasm.
The sails were now completely rolled-up, and they were moving entirely by manpower. The cold was beginning to take its toll, and the fact that the nights were now starting to last more than an hour did not help. During the times of darkness—which were lasting longer each night—the bitter cold seeped into everything, and the ship was forced to anchor to avoid running aground.
Thaxad, Untash, and Peleg took turns caring for Serug and trying to keep him warm and fed.
None of them had ever seen such symptoms before. Untash, who claimed to have witnessed his share of poisonings, thought it appeared similar to certain asphyxiatic drugs he had encountered. Thaxad had once encountered a hallucinogenic honey made by bees who foraged among rhododendrons, but no one could recall any insect bites or other possible sources of toxin. Peleg simply stared at his friend’s deteriorating visage.
Serug’s nose was swollen and red, while voluminous amount of mucus continued to be manufactured from within. He was unable to speak without breaking into spasms of wracking coughs, and if he did try to sit up, his white face would become even whiter as his blood drained and he became dizzy.
Untash insisted that he be covered with extra blankets while Thaxad continued to ply him with various warm broths. They took turns escorting him to the head, and during one of these trips, he managed to quip, “I promise to do the same for you when you’re dying.”
All three were now standing around Serug, who had been returned to his cabin where a fish-oil lamp was attempting to keep the temperature up. Their patient was breathing with heavy rasps, and he shivered violently when exhaling. He seemed on the verge of sleep, when he suddenly looked up at them and spoke faintly.
“I’m scared,” he stated simply, but the effort to speak caused a new wave of coughing. When he recovered, his eyes stared through them with a bottomless fear that focused on a place far away from the Urbat.
The men looked at each other, hoping that someone would have something to say. This was so far outside of anyone’s experience, that it bordered on the incomprehensible.
“Please leave us,” Thaxad suddenly ordered, quietly.
Peleg and Untash realized they had been dismissed, but before they could protest, Thaxad gave one of his High Order of Buzur glares, and they left.
As they left, Peleg turned to Untash.
“What does he have in mind?” he asked.
Untash only shrugged his large shoulders and turned to walk away. Peleg caught a glimpse of his face before he turned away and saw his eyes began to tear up. Peleg realized that he had never really noticed, until that moment, how much Untash really cared for Serug.
Suddenly Peleg appreciated how much Serug meant to him, also, and rushed to his cabin where his eyes began to suffer the same fate.
The next day, their narrow channel suddenly opened up into an ocean that spread out before them as far as the eye could see. On either side, white beaches with layers of šeg that draped over the surface of the water stretched to the east and west, and Captain Phaxâd was convinced they had succeeded in navigating a transpolar route—which, of course, was quickly named Phaxâd’s Passage.
Peleg could not assemble a definitive map, yet, since much of his measurements and drawings would have to be adjusted with new calculations if and when he became sure of their position. He had been functioning without reference points for some time, now, and all of his records and measurements were relative to each other. Only when he had a fixed position would he be able to re-calculate backwards and start to create precise maps. The only thing he was reasonably sure of right now was their northerly direction. This was also supported by the nights which continued to get longer, and the men were now quite confident that their cold days would soon be behind them.
Throughout the day, Peleg had neither seen nor heard anything concerning Serug, and Thaxad forbade anyone from visiting him.
“Either he will survive, or he will not,” was all he would say.
But when the entire day had passed, and it was almost time for the sun to make its midnight dip into the horizon, Peleg could wait no more.
He entered Serug’s cabin amidst the smell of burnt fish-oil and unwashed clothing. Beneath the stack of woolen blankets, he saw Serug’s still form, but before he could say anything, he knew that something was terribly wrong.
He reached for the covers around his neck and felt for Serug’s throat. His hand touched silent coldness, and he jerked away involuntarily as the unthinkable hit him in the stomach. Forcing his hand back down, he felt for breath, sensed none, and then ran from the cabin.
“Untash!” he shouted. “Untash!”
He dashed out onto the main deck and jumped down the stair-shaft, grasping the ladder rails as he slid down to the mid-deck.
Untash was about to replace an oarsman, and looked up. Wordlessly, he knew it concerned Serug, and immediately they climbed the stair and raced to Serug’s cabin.
“He’s not breathing, again,” gasped Peleg as he led him into the room. “You helped him breathe before…”
Untash bent over the still blond head, and touched his cheek. He placed his ear over Serug’s mouth, then slowly straightened and shook his head.
“There is nothing to be done,” he stated wearily.
“But you did it before! I saw you!”
“He has been too long like this. There is no way to make that which is dead to live.” He shook his head; his long braids spilling over his shoulders.
“Or live again.”
At the word ‘dead’ Peleg’s stomach seized inside. How was such a thing possible? Lying before him was the same young man who had lain here the night before. The same flesh and bones; the same chemicals and systems. And he was younger than all of them. If there was an end to the body’s repair and replacement processes, it should certainly have continued far beyond the fifty years his friend would have soon celebrated.
An irrational anger burned in him, and for the second time in his life he demanded an answer from the cosmos.
“Where have you taken him?”
His mind screamed outward; but fortunately Untash could not hear what he was thinking.
Of course, neither could the cosmos. It was a stupid question, because the answer that bounced off of the u
ncaring ceiling was, “Nowhere. He’s right there in front of you.”
All of the unique attributes which had defined Serug came rushing into his mind, and it rebelled at the notion that all of them had suddenly disappeared, as if they had never existed. There must be some kind of law of conservation of personality.
He glared at Untash.
“I thought Thaxad was going to help him,” he said tersely.
He pushed past him and headed for the Mentor’s quarters.
Without announcing himself, he barged in through the doors of the lab.
“Serug is gone,” he demanded. “What did you do to him?”
Thaxad looked up startled from his reading, shaken by the news.
“I did nothing, other than attempt to make him more comfortable.”
“Well, he’s dead,” Peleg stated flatly. Suddenly, when the words escaped his lips, the despair and finality hit him. He sagged to the floor, shaking his head.
Strong arms grabbed his shoulders and lifted him. Suddenly he was looking into Thaxad’s eyes which were brimming with tears.
Peleg forgot his personal grief momentarily at the sight of the big Mentor crying. It suddenly occurred to him that Thaxad might be hurting as much as he was. Perhaps even more so, since Serug had become almost like a son to him.
“I felt that the end was near for him,” Thaxad said, more solemnly than usual. “I gave him some comforting words, and after that, I knew that either his body would repair itself, or it wouldn’t.”
He looked past Peleg and at Untash who stood silently in the doorway.
“I did all that could be done for him. We’ll probably never know what kind of malady could take such a young life for no apparent reason.”
Peleg stared at the Elder Castor, unable to speak. Finally he spun around and pushed past Untash to see Serug’s body one last time.
