by Jon Saboe
“Darling Tammuz,” she said, her exceedingly polite voice now starting to annoy Peleg. “You must really try and be more kind to Peleg. His upbringing was not his fault.”
She turned to Peleg, her eyes shining with decisiveness as she made her declaration concerning him.
“You will remain within the confines of the Citadel where we can inspect whatever you may have for us. You must understand that no one can ever know of your return, not even your family—at least for now. You may decide to work with us, or you may not. Either way, we envision a future where …”
She paused suddenly; closing her eyes as an internal excitement slowly began to build. Her head turned from side to side in ecstatic anticipation of her forthcoming words. She looked upward suddenly and raised her arms; a rapturous look of pure bliss flooding her face. Her eyes flashed with intense excitement, and when she spoke again, her words rang with unrestrained joy and anticipation.
“We envision a future where the most enlightened of us may become as gods. We shall determine our own course through the cosmos; mandating for ourselves that which is good and that which is evil!”
Peleg stepped back instinctively, shocked at the sudden, unexpected outburst. But he was suddenly reminded of a verse from Shem’s Amar which told of the lie that motivated the first ones to rebel against the Creator.
… then your eyes shall be opened and you shall become as gods, knowing good and evil.
It was clear to Peleg, now. This was the crime of insanity—the crime of equating oneself with the Creator. A sense of amazement, with a touch of sympathy, came over him, and he found himself suddenly unconcerned for his own welfare. As Inanna’s arms lowered and her eyes return from the ceiling, she looked at Peleg, expecting to find an impressed (and intimidated) “subject”, cowed by her exuberance.
Instead Peleg made a simple comment which abruptly caused the gleaming smile on her face to vanish.
“I’ve heard that before.”
Her eyes snapped in disbelief, but before she could say anything, Tammuz responded.
“Where have you heard that?” he demanded angrily.
Peleg remained silent, suddenly realizing that Tammuz was very upset and intensely anxious for an answer. Peleg waited a few more moments, watching the child’s impatient rage mount with a silent hysteria until it seemed it would not be contained. Finally, he responded to Tammuz’s question with his own calm, yet probing query.
“Have you heard of Yahweh?” he asked with feigned innocence.
What happened next was the last thing that Peleg expected. A loud roar, pitched lower than any five-year-old could produce, emanated violently from little Tammuz’s throat and echoed around the Hall of Spheres. Before Peleg realized what was happening, the little boy stood up on his cushions, leapt from his chair, and flew directly at the startled Peleg. Tammuz caught himself by wrapping his little arms tightly around Peleg’s neck, and as he hung there, he attacked as only a five-year-old can. He flailed his legs, kicking Peleg in the stomach and groin, while smashing Peleg’s face repeatedly with his little pre-Mentor forehead; pulling with his arms to increase the severity of his blows.
Peleg began to sag under the assault, trying to push the boy away without hurting him. Immediately, Inanna jumped up and began to pull Tammuz off. She tugged at his arms and waist, lifting him upward, and eventually her son began to give in to her superior strength—although his flailing kicks were now striking Peleg’s ribs. Before his little arms relinquished their hold, Tammuz dug his fingernails into the sides of Peleg’s neck, frantically pressing his little thumbs with surprising power into Peleg’s windpipe, choking Peleg.
Eventually Inanna succeeded in peeling Tammuz off of Peleg, suspending her apoplectic child in the air. Peleg coughed a few times to re-open his throat and wiped the moisture from his eyes. He tenderly touched his nose where the boy’s forehead had battered him and discovered a trickle of blood flowing over his lower lip.
Little Tammuz was kicking wildly, screaming repeatedly at his Mother.
“I told you he was dangerous! I told you, I told you, I told you!”
Inanna ignored him, placing him back on his cushions. It was clear that Tammuz considered himself the superior, and that only Inanna’s physical superiority prevented him from exercising his rightful place. It would be interesting to observe their future power struggle as it evolved in the coming years.
Finally Tammuz was quiet, angrily sulking in silence—but it was obvious that this battle was far from over.
Inanna turned to Peleg, who was carefully removing pieces of torn skin from his neck, but her smile had not returned.
“You really should not make him angry,” she said sincerely. “He can be very difficult to control. Even as my husband, there were times when I had to assume control and protect him from his own rash and headstrong actions.”
Tammuz remained seated, glaring at her with the same look he had reserved for Peleg moments before. As Peleg watched from the side, he could see intense plotting and scheming churning just beneath the surface of the boy’s eyes—but Inanna seemed not to notice or care, and continue to speak to Peleg.
“I am sorry this happened,” she said, “but I should explain to you that you will remain sequestered here within the Citadel until we have decided your fate. Perhaps you may be returned to your home, once we are convinced that you will never speak of your travels or discoveries to anyone—save those we approve. All vestiges of Reu-Nathor’s Citadel, and its deadly, stagnant thinking, must be obliterated from the minds and memories of everyone—never to be considered again.”
Peleg nodded, accepting his fate. As he realized with finality that his world would never return, he somehow recalled Shem’s final comments which had been surprisingly personal. At the time, he had felt alone, but now they somehow gave him great comfort.
The coming Seed will be your human advocate, representing you to the Creator. His perfection will supersede your imperfection, allowing the Creator to commune with you.
Peleg was certain now. The Creator was real. He had to be. How else could this five-year-old boy—or the creature within—possibly recognize the name of Yahweh? And the only way that Peleg was ever going to find peace—and sanity—was for this Creator to restore his mind just as Shem had promised. None of his possible futures had any real hope, and any semblance of personal control was certainly an illusion.
He realized that throughout his entire life—all one hundred and seventeen years—his primary purpose for living had always been to impress people. Either to convince others that he was better than them, or to convince himself that he wasn’t as bad as others. He had never been cruel or condescending, but he was now suddenly aware that his primary focus had never been on anyone but himself.
This was the insanity that Shem had spoken of. Placing one’s self above another. Placing aspirations, success, and even Knowledge itself above the Creator.
He remembered Shem’s instructions, and began his mental request. This plea was not to the empty air or the uncaring cosmos, as the other unanswered questions in his life had been. This time he was addressing his Creator. He closed his eyes.
Yahweh, he began, I acknowledge you as my Creator, believe in the coming Zeh-ra, and ask that you would indwell my Volition. accept the guidance of your Seed into my life and entrust my future decisions to you.
He waited for a powerful sign that something monumental had occurred—much like the deafening explosion of white light that had “rescued” him from his nightmare that morning in the cave of Haganah. But there was nothing. He opened his eyes in disappointment, trying to reassure himself that an all-knowing Creator truly could read his thoughts from afar.
But Inanna was speaking again, oblivious to Peleg’s inner activities. She had returned to her chair, and seemed to be talking mostly to herself.
“As our society evolves, we begin to see the levels of humanity more clearly. One hundred years from now, almost all who saw the Great Awakening will p
ass on. Those of us who remain will be those who are not subject to the average.”
She turned towards Peleg.
“Look at yourself,” she commanded.
Peleg glanced down, suddenly self-conscious of his disheveled, unwashed (and bloodied) appearance, and also acutely aware of his aging face and graying head.
“Already old age is striking you down. It is unlikely that you will even reach two hundred. Yet while the masses die younger and younger, it will be us Mentors who will have the opportunity—and the time—to develop our potential. While you are dead and buried, we shall become as gods, ruling over cities and nations, steering humanity according to our dictates. Our life expectancy will be three, even four times the average generation. And people will revere us and call us immortal—in their ignorance.”
For a moment, Peleg almost fell into the trap of believing he was somehow inferior; somehow less worthy to be called human. He noted that the Nephilim had leveled the same accusations at him, but suddenly Shem’s words, about the equality of all who were made in the Creator’s image, rang out, unexpectedly, in his mind. All humanity was equal in value—and equal in their ultimate dependence on their Creator.
But she had returned to speaking to herself.
“We shall institute selective breeding within the Mentor race,” she said, almost whimsically. “As we identify those lineages which show the greatest ages, we shall merge them and slowly improve our longevity so that someday humans will once again live for thousands of years, and perhaps, eventually our descendants will truly be immortal.”
She turned back to Peleg with a gleeful, frenzied gleam in her eye.
“We shall regain the longevity of the ancients, and more,” she declared. “Someday, we too, shall become Anunnaki!”
In spite of her ravings, Peleg’s mind was somehow becoming increasingly clear, and he found himself unconcerned with her opinions. It was certain that she did not include him in her epochal vision. He suddenly remembered a sentence that Serug had told him many years ago (when his young friend had been obsessed with botany and cross-pollination) and, with a perverse desire to see how she would react, he repeated it to her.
“You can’t breed traits into a species that aren’t already there.”
Her eyes snapped lightning and she rose suddenly, moving towards him until she towered over him. Her earlier pretense of sweetness and caring had vanished, and she spoke angrily to him as one would scold a misbehaving pet.
“You no-heads are the most simplistic, close-minded of creatures, who somehow mimic true human thought, yet are truly unable to expand your thinking above the pedantic!”
Inanna continued to stare down at Peleg with a mixture of pity and revulsion until she apparently decided he wasn’t worth the effort, and with a sigh and a shake of her head, she returned to her chair. It was obvious that she expected her words to crush Peleg, and she made a deliberate point of turning away from him, apparently ignoring him so that he would be forced to dwell more fully on her words.
But instead, Peleg found himself overcome with astonishment. Not because she had lashed out at him with more anger than Peleg had ever seen from her, but because he was completely unaffected by her words! He simply had not been intimidated. He knew himself well enough to know that, normally, he would have been greatly shaken by such a verbal assault, yet he found himself breathing calmly and even slightly amused by Inanna’s confidence to intimidate.
Peleg remained silent, simply because he had nothing to prove to Inanna. But he also wondered where this strange, new calm was coming from. More of Shem’s words came to his mind.
Your Spirit is a region within your Volition where the Creator himself is meant to reside, guiding your decisions, giving you peace, and assuring you that you are cared for.
Something had happened to him! He could feel that his face was relaxed, and he even had to prevent himself from allowing a slight smile to form.
Her back was still to Peleg, but little Tammuz had been observing Peleg during their exchange very closely. He had been glaring at him throughout his mother’s tirade, but now he watched Peleg’s unexpected non-reaction with growing interest—and hostility.
Peleg felt the boy’s gaze and turned to Tammuz where they locked eyes. The ancient hatred which had been radiating from those five-year-old eyes was gradually being replaced by cold, angry calculations as Tammuz seemed to arrive at an assessment of what had just happened. Finally, a low-pitched growl came from the boy’s lips, and he hissed at Peleg.
“What have you done!”
Peleg wasn’t sure what he had done, but he was sure, now more than ever, that he had done the right thing. He stared calmly past the child-like eyes and into their aged depths where an intelligence far older than his was thrashing about in hysterical desperation, as if it were trying to undo something that could never be undone; raging against an inevitability which it understood far better than any human ever could.
Tammuz spun to face his mother, angry hysteria pouring from his brow.
“Mother,” he spat. “This one must die. You must kill him—now!”
Inanna looked wearily at her son.
“Really, Tammuz,” she said. “There is no need to be rash. Peleg is harmless, and I’m sure we can glean something from his travels.”
“But you don’t understand, you don’t understand!” insisted Tammuz, his appeals beginning to sound more like a small child arguing with his parent.
Inanna rose and walked towards her son.
“I understand completely,” she said. “But you must remember that I am High Minister, and such decisions are mine to make. You may have access to advanced wisdom, but you will always need me to protect you from your impulsive, emotional nature.”
She looked down on Tammuz with an almost gloating derision. She had always controlled her husband, and there was no reason for anything to change now.
She bent over and scooped him up effortlessly, gripping his shoulders with her hands. She hoisted him out of his chair and placed him on her hip, shifting her left arm to support his back.
“I will always decide what is best for us,” she said, suddenly pleasant, as if she were counseling a young student. “You do understand that I will always love you, do you not?”
She waited for little Tammuz to nod, which he grudgingly did. Suddenly Inanna smiled warmly and kissed him fully on the lips in a manner which was decidedly not maternal. Her eyes were closed as Tammuz returned her kiss in the same manner while his little hands reached out to stroke her hair.
Peleg turned away in revulsion, but before he did, he caught a glimpse of Tammuz’s eyes which were wide open and clearly indicated that this battle was far from over.
Inanna had apparently forgotten that Peleg was still there, but she suddenly remembered, released her lips from her son’s, and looked out over the hall.
“Guards!” she shouted, waving her free right arm. She looked down at Peleg.
“I will decide how you may best serve our needs,” she said without too much enmity.
Four men appeared from black archways on either side of the stage. They surrounded Peleg and clasped his arms behind his back, but without inflicting any pain.
“Return him to his room,” she instructed them. “And make sure to bring him a decent meal.”
She looked down at Peleg.
“I truly do not wish you to be unhappy,” she said. “But you will remain here for now.”
She dismissed Peleg and his escorts with a wave of her hand. She then turned back to Tammuz and cuddled him in her arms, closing her eyes.
The guards pulled Peleg towards the same doorway through which he had entered the Hall of Spheres earlier. Peleg twisted a couple of times to look back at Inanna and her son, but offered no real resistance.
During his last glance, little Tammuz was still glaring after him, but just before Peleg turned away, the little boy lifted his pinky finger and looked directly into Peleg’s eyes while making a slicing motion
across his little throat.
With a shiver, Peleg entered the hallway, led by the Citadel guards. He began to think, almost with pity, about Tammuz, and wondered what hideous cruelty could possibly deign to possess such a small child.
An answer came instantly, unbidden, into his mind.
“The Serpent.”
Shem and Bernifal looked up as new “escorts” entered their holding room. Apparently it had finally been decided which guards would accompany them to the city gates where their exile would officially begin.
They rose to follow the first two guards (armed with swords), as four more (unarmed) fell in behind them. Again their elbows were restrained as each of the four rear guards held an arm. Soon they were exiting the Citadel.
They were steered down the main southern steps and into the streets where it soon became apparent that they were being led to the Eastern gate. Shem was surprised, but (he speculated) since the closest settlements were to the north and west, it was meant to reinforce, symbolically, the demand that they never return. Or, he suddenly realized as he saw the gate in the distance, it was simply because it was so close to the Citadel—hence the closest walk for the guards.
It was just past noon, and Shem wondered again what was happening to Peleg. It would be amazing to discover how they would soon be reunited—as promised. He looked back towards the Citadel, which was just beginning to silhouette itself against the descending afternoon sun. A quick push from his rear guards returned his attention to the approaching gate—and away from the receding ziggurat where Peleg was still being held.
Shem had been so excited when Peleg had entered his life. Peleg had rescued his faith—and his primary purpose in life. He tried to reassure himself that everything would occur as the Creator willed, but each step away from Peleg made his heart heavier.
Naturally, he and Bernifal could have easily “handled” their escorts, but they would certainly have no hope in storming the Citadel and somehow rescuing Peleg.
They continued plodding eastward towards the gate.
