by Jon Saboe
As Peleg was escorted down to the level where his “classroom” was, he felt strange, inexplicable waves of empathy flooding through his mind. He had relinquished anxiety for his own well-being, but instead of despair, his thoughts kept shifting in a myriad of perspectives that were not his own.
Instead of viewing Inanna as powerful and resourceful, Peleg was overwhelmed by a feeling that she was, instead, trapped in a prison of loneliness and fatigue. A sense of sympathy for her swept over Peleg.
As they turned down the hallway towards the classroom, his thoughts again went to Tammuz, and he was shocked when he almost started to cry for the poor child which had been commandeered by such evil.
He realized that, throughout his entire life, he had never truly viewed the world from another’s perspective.
Was this the new sanity which Shem had promised? Was he now compelled to experience the grief and agony of those around him? Thoughts of Thaxad, Serug, and his crewmates slipped through his mind as he suddenly realized that they had been men with hopes, thoughts, confusions, and indecisions just like himself. Thoughts of his wives and children suddenly made him aware that he cared far more for them than he had ever known before. His mind began to sag under the weight of it all.
And then, suddenly, an amazing sense of comfort entered his mind as he realized that it was not his place to contend with the world’s ills. It was the Creator’s. And He was now providing the peace which would (from now on) enable Peleg to cope. It was a strange give and take. Peleg could now empathize more fully with his fellow created humans, while the Creator alleviated the resulting apprehension.
Peleg watched the two guards who were leading him, and he realized that they too were filled with daily issues and complex concerns. There were not the same guards which had brought him to the Hall of Spheres. They were apparently just starting their shift and were extremely tired and lost in thought—not even talking to each other.
Lost in thought?
Their hold on Peleg’s arms was practically non-existent as they made the final turn towards his room. Peleg suddenly realized that he had been walking these halls decades before these guards had even been born. He probably knew passages and access ways which they had never even considered.
With a flash of energy, he wrenched his arm free from the grasp of the guard on the left, while at the same time he reached up and punched the throat of the other guard with the back of his fist, forcing him to cough and tip backwards. The first guard pushed forward to try and regain Peleg’s arm, but Peleg struck him in the sternum with his elbow, and the guard dropped to the floor with a yelp and a gurgle. The guard on the right was trying to compose himself, his hands on his throat, but Peleg clasped his hands together, stretched out his arms, and spun around wildly to the right, striking the guard’s ribs with the combined angular momentum of his extended, intertwined fists. The guard stumbled to his left, and then tripped and fell over his partner.
Then Peleg was running full speed towards a small staircase on the left at the far end of the hallway. Yells of anger and dismay followed him as the guards collected themselves from the floor and began their pursuit.
At first, Peleg wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he escaped. But, after a split-second of consideration, he determined that he was going to see his family again—if only for a final farewell. He reached the archway leading to the dark stairwell and, instead of going down, he instantly headed up the steps two at a time.
He could have gone down three stories where he would have exited into the main courtroom—only to be met by more guards who would no doubt be alerted to his escape. Instead, he knew that, one flight up (on the same level as the Hall of Spheres) there was a small crawl space adjacent to the doorway entering into the main corridor. It traveled in a straight line through the center of the Citadel, exiting outside on to a narrow ledge on the northern face of the ziggurat. Maintenance workers used it to clean debris and dead birds from the sides of the Citadel.
Hopefully the guards would assume he had gone down and give him more time. Once outside, Peleg could run to the Northwestern corner where small steps were cut in the stone and he could descend to the first level, run to the southern face and drop the half story to the archway covering the main entrance. From there he could wedge himself in the angle between the covering and the front wall and scale the remaining level using the large petroglyphs as handholds.
His plan was devised in an instant—with no regards for his fear of heights. He quickly—and quietly—ascended the two alternating flights to the next level (in the dark) as he listened to the guards discussing which way to go on the landing below. He found the crawlspace where he expected it and dove in.
Peleg crawled a few “paces” and then stopped to listen. He heard the guards as they decided to head downstairs, took a deep breath, and resumed moving as fast as he could through the crawlspace on his hands and knees.
A few seconds later his forehead collided full force with a large metal object, almost knocking him out. He yelped involuntarily in pain, and reached out to feel what he had struck.
The crawlspace was completely sealed by a metal plate—probably bronze—judging by the resonating sound of the impact. He felt around for some means to open or dislodge the barrier but found nothing.
The guards below heard his resounding yell—which had been preceded by the muffled metallic echoes of the impact—and quickly reversed their pursuit back up the staircase.
Realizing he had no choice, Peleg tried to turn around, but was unable to in the cramped space. He felt blood dripping down his eyebrows as he began backing up as quickly as he could—all the while conscious of the fact that his pursuers might be waiting for him when he emerged.
Fortunately, he arrived at the stairwell just before the guards reached the level below. He hurried down towards them, stopping just before the first switchback, and waited for them to pass beneath.
Soon they came running up the flight beneath him, and, just as he heard them approaching from below, he jumped blindly over their heads and behind them towards the far landing which was only barely lit by the faint blue light of the fish-oil lamps from the hallway beyond. He tried desperately to swing his feet out in a straight line, but his heels caught the lip of the first step and he tumbled forward, violently crashing into the far wall with his forearm and face while his knees landed painfully on the marble floor.
The guards whirled at the commotion, but had difficulty turning around in the narrow stairwell. Peleg collected himself, and decided to run down the stairwell to the third level.
When he arrived, he turned and ran left down the hallway, with the guards shouting in loud pursuit. The lighting was much brighter here than on the levels he had just left, and he tried to keep running while he blinked and shaded his eyes. The Hall of the Inner Worlds for Nabû and Inana was on this level, and a scattering of students and Academicians were moving through the hall, going about their daily activities.
The guards entered the hall a few moments behind Peleg, and shouted for them to stop him, but they were so stunned by his filthy and bloody appearance, that they instinctively stepped aside. He continued running until he reached the end of the hall where he was confronted with two choices.
A small stairway on the left would take him down to the main floor level where he might be able to charge his way out of the ziggurat—and to his family. However, his chances were very bleak, now that the entire Citadel knew there was a fugitive on the loose.
But his other option—to go right—might be worse. A low archway on the right led to a small chamber where he knew another crawlspace existed. This crawlway also led to the outer face, but was even tighter than the one he had attempted earlier. Unfortunately, it had only been used during the original construction of the Citadel, and had been sealed at the outer ledge. It was only a thin stone plating, and he might be able to break through if he had enough time, but…
He had to decide. The guards were nearly upon him. A
thought flashed through his mind as they approached.
Inanna had been right about one thing. True understanding could never come by empirical knowledge alone. An external information source was required. She had chosen her source, and he…
His thoughts aborted as the guards reached for him, and his mind frantically tried to free itself from his prison of indecision.
Go right!
The strange command resonated from within his head, but there was no time to question it. Without hesitation, Peleg pulled from their grasp and headed into the chamber on the right. The guards, who had half expected him to run for the stairs, were surprised for a moment, but soon pursued him through the archway.
Peleg kicked aside a small table in front of the crawlway, pushed aside the tapestry covering it, and entered headfirst. The guards reached for his feet, but he kicked them away as he began his long, tight scramble into the dark tunnel.
He hauled himself forward using his elbows and knees, destroying what was left of his fine avocado colored suit. Dried blood mixed with sweat, and Peleg was forced to close his eyes as he pushed aside dirt and insects on his way to the Eastern face.
The young, muscled, well-fed guards were unable to pursue Peleg into the tight opening, and were forced to wait for other, more nimble guards to send in after him. But there was no chance of escape. The tunnel only went one place, and it had been sealed for years, so the guards were finally able to relax.
Peleg continued to push forward, unable to determine how far he had traveled. When he realized that the guards were not immediately behind him, he stopped for a moment to collect his breath—and his thoughts.
Had the Creator told him to go right? Here he was, stuck in a tight, filthy crawlspace inside of the very Citadel he had trusted his entire life. He really had no place to go, since the way back was guarded, and the way forward was surely sealed off. For a moment, he began to wonder if the Creator really had his best interests in mind.
He shrugged as best as he could in the confined area, and proceeded forward. He was committed now. He tried to wipe his face with his hands, but only succeeded in spreading additional dirt and blood.
A few minutes later he struck a stone surface and realized he had reached the seal. He could hear additional noises echoing from behind him and knew that soon someone would be sent in after him. However, he was certain that this seal was simply a weatherworn plate which should shatter if enough force was applied.
He punched at it several times with the heel of his hand, but it was soon obvious that he did not have the strength to break through.
Suddenly, a child’s voice rang down the tunnel from the chamber where the guards waited.
“Seal him in, seal him in!”
Tammuz! If Peleg didn’t make it through the seal, that psychotic five-year-old might still get his way! His hands flailed around, looking for a rock or something with which to strike the panel, but found nothing. As he twisted, a sharp pain jabbed him in his right chest, reminding him that he was still wearing his chest-pack under his suit.
His protractor/cross-staff! He twisted his right hand down into his clothing, and pulled his chest-pack free, untying the laces which held it in place. He retrieved the cross-staff, placed the bottom end against the panel, and began striking the stone plate, using the staff as a blunt spike—taking advantage of the focused, cylindrical force it provided.
At first, as he attacked the plate in the center, nothing happened except a thumping sound which echoed down the tunnel. Growing impatient, he moved the staff to the upper-right corner and continued pounding.
After several strikes, he was rewarded with a loud Crack, and three blows later, a small corner of the plate broke off and fell to the other side, revealing a painful stab of afternoon sunlight! He kept striking at the edges until almost one forth of the barrier had broken away and fallen to the outside.
He heard a woman’s voice, shouting from behind. It was Inanna’s. She was chiding Tammuz, telling him that sealing someone alive inside of a building was not nice. But her tone was that of an exasperated mother telling her impetuous son not to torture his pets. She then ordered someone in after Peleg, and soon he heard scrambling from the chamber behind him as a guard entered the crawlway.
Grasping the edge of the plate, he began alternately pushing and pulling on it, trying to wrench it free—or perhaps snap it in two. Suddenly, after a tremendous yank, the entire plate came loose—almost striking Peleg in the face. He jerked backwards, banging his head against the roof of the crawlspace, but after a quick shudder, he pushed the panel aside and moved to look out over the city. The plate was completely removed!
As his eyes adjusted to the brilliant outdoor light, he could see that he was indeed high atop the eastern face of the Citadel, overlooking the city, and could even see the Eastern gate from his vantage point.
But as his focus moved closer, his initial exuberance was replaced by dismay as he realized that his exit was still blocked. Two brass supports stretched across the opening, forming a ‘†’. The plate had apparently been fastened to it, and as he inspected the bars he saw that they were secured deeply into the surrounding rock.
The man who had been sent in after him was almost half way there. Peleg shook at the bars, but there was no way they were going to budge. And there was certainly no way that he was going to fit through the rectangles created by the crossbar.
Frantically, he looked out over the city again, and was stunned to recognize Shem and Bernifal walking under guard several blocks away! They should have been out of the city long ago! Pulling his face up to the opening, he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Shem had just turned away from the Citadel, when he heard a familiar voice shouting his name behind them faintly in the distance.
“Shem!! Shem!!”
He and Bernifal both turned around as Shem tried to imagine how Peleg could possibly be free. He scoured the area intently, but no matter how hard he looked, he could not see any sign of his great-great-grandson.
Somehow the guards had not heard Peleg’s calls over the din of the city, and they jerked Shem and Bernifal back around, steering them back towards the gate.
“Shem!!”
It was louder this time, and the guards heard it, too. As they all turned, Shem realized the cry was coming from above. He looked back into the shadow of the Citadel, and, after staring intently up at the structure, he suddenly saw Peleg’s face pressing out of an airshaft grating—up above the ledge on the third level! Portions of his face looked like it was covered with mud, but it was soon obvious that it was mixed with dried blood.
What had they done to him?
Peleg’s left arm was sticking out of the shaft, waving frantically, so Shem wrenched his arm free and waved back to acknowledge him. One of the two guards who had been in front, struck Shem’s arm from behind, and then grabbed it, to twist him back towards the gate. Bernifal’s two rear guards reaffirmed their grip on his elbows, and also gave him a shove.
Bernifal tensed and looked inquiringly at Shem. This time Shem nodded.
Peleg was so elated that Shem had seen him, that he almost forgot about the man who had entered the crawlspace to retrieve him. He suddenly felt a hand wrap around his right ankle, and Peleg kicked violently until the man was forced to let go. Several times the man tried (with first one hand and then the other) to grab something he could hold on to. Peleg continued kicking, occasionally making contact with the man’s flailing hands, until finally he pulled both of his legs in towards himself, waited a moment, and then stomped outward with full force.
He struck the man full in the face, and after a few moments of stunned indecision, the man slowly began to back out of the tunnel away from Peleg.
Maybe they would seal him in here after all. But most likely, they would keep sending men in to pull him out. Leaving him would be tantamount to giving up—and those in power never allow the helpless to remain in peace.
Bernifal’s first action was to kick
the right kneecap of his right rear-guard while simultaneously reaching (with his suddenly freed right arm) for the other guard’s hand—which was still gripping his left elbow.
He spun around to the left, twisting the guard’s wrist, all the while clamping down on the guard’s hand so he could not let go. As he turned, he raised his arm (with the guard’s hand still attached) and then wrapped his fingers around the guard’s fingers while his left foot stepped back.
Bernifal wrenched the guard’s fingers downward, and the guard instinctively jumped up in the air to avoid the pain in his wrist, then dove headfirst into the ground to prevent his fingers from being broken—or ripped from his hands. It was now a matter of finesse as Bernifal took one more small step and aimed the falling guard on top the first one—who was valiantly trying to recover from his broken kneecap.
As the two guards collided together on the ground in a heap, the guard in front of Bernifal rushed in with his sword, but a simple sidestep and a punch to the throat forced him to join his comrades on the marble pavement.
He looked over to see how Shem was faring.
Shem’s right rear-guard had crumpled immediately after a simple elbow to the face. Shem had then tried to wrench his left elbow free from the other guard’s grip, but with amazing tenacity, that guard had somehow hung on, and was now suspended in the air, dangling from Shem’s upraised arm. Shem, in turn, placed his other hand over the man’s grasp, preventing him from letting go. It was almost a comical standoff, as the man was unable to hurt Shem from his elevated position, yet Shem was reluctant to harm the pathetic, helpless man. He continued to flail his arms and legs while Shem turned and looked at Bernifal, wondering what to do.
The final, front guard had been momentarily stunned by the fracas, but, as a result, had enough time to remember that he had a sword. He drew it and charged towards Shem, yelling loudly.
The guard was left-handed, so Bernifal ran towards him, palm outstretched, and slapped the back of the guard’s sword-wielding hand, gripping it tightly. As the guard twisted to face this attack from the side, Bernifal placed his other hand under the first, completely encasing the sword hilt—still held by the guard.
