by Jon Saboe
Already several men were standing around the cabin door, but none dared to enter. Peleg pushed past them into the cabin and slammed the door in their faces.
Alone in the room again, he saw Serug’s still form and for a brief moment, he was certain that Serug would suddenly sit up and smile—undoing all their grief. But the moment passed and he knew that Serug would never speak again.
Peleg was suddenly taken by the expression of total peace and contentment on Serug’s face. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed it before, but he had been preoccupied with his own fears and anger. In all of his years of friendship, he had never witnessed such serenity on Serug’s countenance.
Peleg glanced around the room for the first time, and spotted a small folded piece of parchment on the floor, next to a writing stylus which had apparently fallen from Serug’s lifeless hands.
He bent to pick it up and saw that his name had been written along the folded edge. He unfolded it and saw a short note which Serug had written in his last moments.
My dear friend Peleg,
I want to thank you for your tutorage and friendship.
No one could ask for a better companion on life’s journey.
I had to share this one thing with you, even though Thaxad swore me to secrecy.
I’ve discovered The Source!! Thaxad explained it to me—one of the mysteries of his Order. But you must not ever tell him I told you.
(I sure hope he doesn’t find this note first.)
I have had a wonderful journey through this universe, and I am confident that all of my questions shall be answered soon.
Please greet my wife and children when you return.
Forever your ally,
Serug
PS I guess Thaxad DID finally tell me where to go!
Peleg’s mind whirled as he read and reread these last small vestiges of Serug’s thoughts. What did Serug mean that his questions would be answered soon? What good were answers if the questioner was gone? And how could the mysticism from some secret Stonecastor society offer a satisfactory answer to Serug’s perennial question?
The door burst open, and Captain Phaxâd entered, and with a quick look at Peleg he went to Serug’s side.
Tipping his head, and checking for breath, he slowly made the official announcement.
“He is gone.”
He looked up into Peleg’s face with eyes full of regret.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ve lost a good friend.”
Peleg looked into Phaxâd’s eyes and saw the anguish and guilt that only a captain can experience when one of his own has died.
“It’s not your fault,” said Peleg.
“My men are my responsibility,” said Phaxâd. “I’ve only lost one man before when he was attacked by an ušum. It attacked him from behind some boulders.” He closed his eyes briefly in apparent remembrance.
He looked at the men congregated outside the door and motioned to two of them.
“Carry young Master Serug up to the Main Deck where we can decide how best to honor him.”
A new chill now encompassed the Urbat which could not be attributed to the cold climate. Fortunately, there were signs that the weather was warming, but the thought that life could simply cease without warning sent shivers into the depths of everyone. None of the men had ever contemplated his own death, but, as everyone was uncomfortably aware, neither had Serug. Now each man tried hard, albeit unsuccessfully, to shake off the thoughts of his own demise. How does one anticipate the advent of non-existence?
Serug’s body had been wrapped in a blanket along with the few personal possessions he had. Although the Citadel had sought to eradicate superstitious thought from the masses, the crew was aware that most origin myths taught that the gods had fashioned man out of the oceans. There was no official protocol for such an event, so Captain Phaxâd had decided on a ‘burial at sea’. Strangely enough, there was some nostalgic comfort in paying homage to these stories.
The body had been placed on a small platform on the main deck while Captain Phaxâd stood behind, trying to think of something to say. Finally, he started.
“When we all agreed to become part of the Great Discovery, we knew there would be potential dangers and great unknowns. I’m sure most of us would prefer to die in a heroic battle or for a mighty cause, but I wish to assure all of you that Serug’s death was more noble than any, for his youth, vitality, and exuberance for life and Knowledge surpassed all of us.”
Murmurs of assent moved among the men as each one thought of Serug’s high-pitched laugh, his unending and indiscriminate appetite, his passion for his annoying birds, and his zest for learning. Peleg felt a pain go through his chest as he realized he would never hear his friend’s voice again.
Utebbibassu stood behind her husband, who was struggling for words. She whispered something in his ear, and he continued.
“Let us never forget his great contributions and friendship. Perhaps Serug will continue to live on in our memories, as we continue to meditate on his personality and uniqueness.”
For some reason this last comment angered Peleg. He thought, “How does that benefit Serug?”
Phaxâd finished his eulogy. “We now return Serug to the sea from which all life arose. May his Lifeforce be reunited with all Lifeforce.”
He gave a small shrug as if to say, “I don’t know what else to do.” He motioned to Thaxad and Peleg who each grabbed a side of the blanket next to Serug’s head. Untash and Lugalkitun lifted his feet, and they proceeded to the edge of the deck.
Šeg was falling softly around them, and they walked carefully to avoid slipping. Below, the sea was churning in the reddish glow of perpetual twilight, and they could feel the cold spray washing over their faces.
They swung his body out over the edge, and let go. It tipped and plunged headfirst into the cold waves, and soon the froth from its entrance moved behind them as Serug finalized his departure.
Back in his cabin, Peleg sat in a stupor.
If this fate awaits all of us, how can anything have purpose?
The re-established King of Heaven and Earth turned his gaze to the south. He had accumulated an army of over six hundred men, and they would soon begin their march towards Ur.
His daughter was now High Minister of the famous Citadel, and she had promised that this annexation would be bloodless. The people would welcome his troops with open arms, while Inanna would praise the great ‘Unifier of the Plains’ and become his regional governor.
At least that is what she had promised.
Hopefully there would be a handful of isolated rebels with misguided thoughts of sovereignty. It just didn’t seem right to take a city and not kill a few people.
He would miss engaging in full-scale battle, but as long as his tribute flowed, it really didn’t matter.
Chapter 29
Endurance
“Humans’ ability to invent new things almost always exceeds their capacity to make them function correctly.”
“In every known language, it is still called ‘The Dog Star’, or at least a variation of that,” stated Peleg.
They were gazing at Mul-lik-ud which was blazing far above in all of its reddish-white glory. It was in the constellation, Sa-kin-kin, and the brightest star in the sky by far. Also, there were some who claimed it had a discernible, oval shape.
“Apparently these meanings were all somehow preserved during the Great Awakening,” he continued.
“Or perhaps they were preserved simply by collective memory,” said Thaxad.
They were standing with Untash near the bow of the Urbat, looking ahead into the crystal clear, moonless night sky. The starry expanse was so brilliant that one could almost perceive a black abyss in which the stars floated at varying depths. Although the surrounding wind was calm, they twinkled violently indicating active air currents far above.
“There’s the ‘Dog Star of the Sun’, ‘Star of the Dog’, ‘The Dog Star that Leads’, and even ‘The Heavenly Wol
f’.” Peleg looked at Thaxad in the starlight, pleased with himself.
“In the Minoan ports, the sailors simply called it ‘The Barker’,” Thaxad said, unimpressed.
“There’s always a concept of leading,” said Untash. “Dogs are always used to lead hunters and explorers. In the Indus colonies, some believed that Mul-lik-ud was some kind of portal through which souls were led to their new life.”
He looked sharply at them.
“Of course, in Indus, the stranger the idea, the more popular the originator.”
“In Kemet, the only thing Mul-lik-ud led was the Shomu or the Inundation season of the river-flooding,” said Thaxad. “Of course, their sidereal calendar begins at the first full moon after Mul-lik-ud’s heliacal rising.”
“Speaking of strange ideas,” Untash, who apparently wasn’t paying attention, continued his own topic of conversation. “When I was traveling the valley regions, there were researchers who thought they could create new life forms by breeding incompatible species. I saw attempts to cross goats with dogs, leopards with rhinoceroses, and other even more disparate extra-breeding. Some of these offspring actually survived for a short time, and there were always plenty of sculptors to commemorate these endeavors—or to portray speculations about unsuccessful blendings.”
Neither Peleg nor Thaxad had considered such research before, and something about it made them very uneasy and even a little revolted. Peleg noticed that Untash seemed to be enjoying their discomfort. Untash gave him a quick wink and continued.
“I even heard of attempts to try and create improved humans, in an attempt to bring the old demigods of legends to reality. They would take a large durga …”
“Untash!” a voice yelled from below. “It’s leaking again!”
Untash grunted with fatigue.
“I’ll be right down,” he shouted.
“It’s time to put another patch on the patches,” he said, shaking his head and heading down the steps.
The Urbat was in terrible shape.
The surge towards the South Pole on the tsunami-driven crests had propelled her at speeds far beyond those for optimum hull and keel integrity. The resulting weaknesses had not manifested themselves during the weeks of traveling through the bitter polar waters. However, it was now almost six months since they had left the cold behind them, and as the ship thawed, planks and seams began to separate, and soon Untash and other Builders were scavenging wood and resin from other parts of the ship and creating patches and seals with leather, cloth, or whatever else they could find. In fact, one of the oar-boxes was being held together by a length of rope which was lashed around the entire mounting.
The sails were again unfurled and in use, but they were full of cracks and tears from both the cold and their more than three years of service. New sails had been made from supplies after leaving Kupé’s island, and restored while waiting for the four men to return from their expedition, but there was very little life left in them now.
However, the greatest threat facing the crew of the Urbat was starvation.
When they had left the šeg-covered shores, their holds had been full with the required six-month rations, but unfortunately it was mostly wild wheat and some dried roots and leaves—the only plant life to be found in that cold land. Captain Phaxâd had ordered the ship to head due north with as much speed as possible to escape the cold and also to attempt to reach a point where they could again determine their position with some degree of accuracy.
The climate had soon warmed, but it wasn’t until they reached the Tropic of Suhurmashû that Peleg was able to make some rough estimates as to their longitude. However, it was only enough to determine that they were somewhere in a vast ocean between the land of Manco Chavin and the continent of Kemet. There was still no way to ascertain which was closest, so Captain Phaxâd ordered that the ship head northeast. The idea was that they would either run into the Southern Continent, or, once they reached the correct latitude, they could find their way into the Great Western Sea. He had also tried to establish a small celebration when they crossed the equator, but the intended morale boost was very short-lived.
Finally, two months ago, Captain Phaxâd had initiated a strict rationing program. Their fresh water from the cold lands was almost gone, and their supplies of dried fruit were completely exhausted.Also, fresh fish would no longer keep now that the climate was warmer.
Twice a day, each man was given a small cup of water and a hard wheat roll. Serug’s birds had long since given the ultimate sacrifice as the argument to save them for their eggs eventually was lost in favor of immediate hunger. It had been a wonderful, final feast, however!
They had all lost over twenty percent of their body weight, and only the hope that each new hour might bring sight of land kept them from dwelling on their skeletal appearance.
Now, Peleg looked at the brown tear-shaped tattoo on Thaxad’s long gaunt face shining in the starlight. He had never mentioned Serug’s note to him, and had not initiated any conversation which might bring up such foolish topics such as source or afterlife. However, now that Untash had mentioned it, however peripherally, he broached the subject.
“You know,” he began. “It seems like no matter how enlightened we try to be, there is always some group or culture that insists on creating some kind of afterlife. Like the Soul Portal that Untash just mentioned.”
He looked at Thaxad for a response, but the tall Mentor simply stood there, waiting for Peleg to continue, which he eventually did.
“What is it about our minds that simply rebels at the idea of mortality? I’ve spent my life learning and incorporating the catechisms of the Citadel, doing my best to rid myself (and others) of superstitious thinking, and to base my life and research on rational and enlightened Knowledge. I mean, we can’t build a society and culture on that which is not empirical or verifiable, can we?”
He stopped and waited for Thaxad to answer, and although it appeared he would remain silent, Peleg refused to say any more. The silence would hopefully force Thaxad to say something.
Eventually he did, as he continued to stare at the stars.
“There are other ways of looking at life besides those advocated by your Citadel,” he said slowly, not looking at Peleg. “And you are correct. All men assume that they will live forever.”
He turned to Peleg.
“That is an empirical observation. Your Citadel would say that our own great intelligence allows us to perceive the unending nature of time itself, and that we impose this on our own lives. However, all life dies. That is empirical, too.”
“But you didn’t study at the Citadel,” Peleg countered cautiously. “What did your Order teach about such things?”
There. He had finally asked the question that had been bottled up inside ever since Serug had died.
Thaxad stared at him intently, and after several moments, opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it again, apparently unable or unwilling to convert his thoughts into words, and looked away.
He pointed up to Mul-lik-ud.
“It is a shame you lost the other refraction disc,” he said finally, with the relief of someone who has avoided a difficult subject.
“If you still had it, I could show you that the ‘Dog Star’ is really two stars, close together. One very bright white star, and another larger, yet fainter, red star. They move together, and in fact, they pass slightly in front each other every twenty-five years. That is why there are always arguments over whether Mul-lik-ud is red or white. The color changes depending on their cycle and, of course, their proximity to the horizon.”
He lowered his arm.
“And on rare occasion, such as tonight, it appears to be almost oblong in shape, since the two stars are currently side by side.”
He looked back to Peleg and almost smiled.
“Empirically, of course, it is just one star.”
Peleg stared back at him, imploring him silently to return to the larger question at hand.
Thaxad finally shook his head and lowered his eyes with an expression that looked, to Peleg, strangely like defeat.
The tall Castor turned his eyes back to the stars, swallowed hard, and eventually spoke in a hoarse voice.
“I am sorry, Chief Peleg. I, too, miss Serug.”
Lugalkitun handed out the last of the rations. A few dried roots were the only items on board, and they were graciously offered to Utebbibassu.
However, hunger is a very powerful force, and the crew which had tried hard to remain hopeful now became desperate. Men tried to boil wood or leather in seawater to eat, and some tore strips of canvas and ate them to try and fill their stomachs.
Eleven of the crew also began to develop small black and blue lesions on their skin, mostly in the areas surrounding hair follicles. These same men also were losing skin tone and complained of aches in their joints.
The concept of poor health had never occurred to most of the crew since good health was the norm. The only maladies within their frame of reference were fatigue and hunger.
There were only a few days of fresh water left, and Thaxad was busy trying to extract fresh water from his distilling apparatus, but it would never fulfill the needs of an entire ship. The occasional fish offered a few bites of raw meat, and some attempts were made to squeeze fresh water from their eyeballs.
The oarsman reduced their shifts, and most simply retired to their hammocks in an attempt to sleep off the ache within their abdomens.
In a few days, the greatest fear which they had carried since the inception of the Great Discovery would be realized.
The Urbat would soon be a floating collection of warped wood and rotting corpses.
That night Peleg dreamed that all humanity had died from an affliction similar to the one which had claimed Serug—but much worse. Somehow he found himself soaring over the different cities and settlements that he knew about—including those he had just visited. In each, the people were lying dead in the streets—struck down in various activities and pursuits. However, none of them had the look of peace that had been on Serug’s face. Instead, looks of fear and bewilderment filled their countenances, as if asking the question, “What good is life if it always ends up like this?”
