by Alton Gansky
“Cheery fellow, huh?” Jack said.
Dr. Curtis moved closer. “That looked interesting,” he deadpanned.
Perry shook his head. “I can’t get the pieces to fit. Tell me, Doc, can that really be the Tower of Babel?”
“How can I know?” Curtis said. “I would not have believed a story about what I’ve seen, yet there it is, mocking everything I’ve been taught.”
“Maybe it’s just another ziggurat,” Jack said.
“Perhaps,” Curtis agreed. “But even that is beyond all expectation. Human habitation on this continent is so far beyond the pale of contemporary science that I can barely comprehend it. Of course, others have suggested it.”
“They have?” Perry said.
Curtis frowned. “There have always been those who preach that science is blind to the existence of previous civilizations. Occasionally they offer some evidence, but none of it can be scientifically verified.”
“Such as?” Perry prompted.
“Well, there’s the Piri Reis map of 1513,” Curtis explained. “The map shows a portion of Antarctica, the Queen Maud Land to be specific.”
“1513?” Perry said. “Antarctica wasn’t discovered until 1818. That’s a three-hundred-year difference.”
“That’s part of the puzzle, but even more intriguing is that the map shows the area as ice-free. That means that Admiral Piri Reis drew his map based on older maps that had to be made—if we use current scientific dating—prior to 4000 b.c. You can see why the scientific community dismisses the idea out of hand. Mapmaking was not a developed art then.”
“At least as far as current thinking goes.”
Curtis nodded. “Of course, the natural assumption is that no ice means the land could have been inhabited, but something happened to change all of that.”
“What was the writing on the brick?” Perry asked, wrapping his arms around his chest and moving his weight from leg to leg to increase circulation.
“Cuneiform,” Curtis said. “It’s a name, Marduk, and that’s what troubles me.”
“The name?”
Curtis nodded. “There’s an ancient body of work from Babylon called the Enuma Elish. It speaks of the Tower of Babel, saying that the name Marduk was stamped into every brick.”
“Marduk was a Babylonian god?” Perry asked.
“Yes. He’s one god of the Babylonian pantheon.”
“Pantheon?” Jack said.
“All the gods of a particular religion. We believe in one God, so the idea of many gods sounds odd to us, but most ancient people had belief systems with multiple deities. Usually, each one was associated with a numen.”
“Now you’re losing me, Doc,” Perry said.
“Numina—or numen in the singular—are supernatural powers associated with a place or a natural phenomenon. So every city had a god, the sun was a god, and there was a god of storms. You get the idea. Initially, the Babylonians worshiped a mother-goddess. The most ancient sculptures we have are of pregnant women, a symbol of fertility and promise. Male deities were introduced much later.”
“You said Enkian and Tia were named after ancient gods,” Perry prompted.
“That’s right. Enkian is from Enki and Tia is from Tiamat. Now there’s some irony.”
“Why is that?” Perry asked.
Curtis took a deep breath and released it. He looked weary, and Perry knew the man had a right to. “If I remember my mythology correctly, Tiamat was the mother of all living. Her name comes from the Akkadian and means sea. She was involved in a battle with Marduk, who slew her, cut her to pieces, and made heaven and earth out of her two halves.”
“Nice,” Jack said.
“I’m guessing it is one reason Tia defers to Enkian. Enki was the god of wisdom, spells, and incantations; Tiamat of ocean water. In the Babylonian accounts, Tiamat is consort to Apsu, the god of freshwater. Their union produced many gods, including Ea, who is also known as Enki. Tiamat is often portrayed as a dragon, which explains the tattoo. You can see the connection between the two.”
“Wait,” Jack said. “That means that Tiamat is Enki’s mother, right?”
“Right, but it’s more complex than that. Marduk is Ea’s son, who ultimately kills his grandfather and Tiamat, his grandmother . . . so to speak. But don’t read too much into that. I imagine our unexpected guests have just taken on the names. Marduk became the chief of all the gods, and his eminence was so great that he claimed fifty titles.”
“If Marduk was such hot stuff, then why didn’t Enkian take his name?” Jack asked.
“Probably because he believes there really is a god named Marduk,” Curtis explained.
“Hold on,” Perry cut in. “You said Enki went by another name?”
“Oh, yes,” Curtis said. “Remember, these gods and their stories were held by different groups. The stories vary some as do the names.”
“Say the name again.”
“Ea. It’s spelled E-A.”
“I wonder,” Perry said. “We did some work for a mining company called EA Mining.”
“He said he was a mining expert,” Jack added.
“If that’s his firm, then he has a lot of money behind him,” Perry said. “They’re global, and they’re wealthy.” He paused and then added, “I think I want to see what they’ve done to the Chamber.”
Chapter 32
Of the fifty men Enkian had brought with him, thirty or more hustled about the Chamber, carrying boxes and unloading them. The contents were unexpected. Perry saw gray-blue stones re-moved from packing crates and set up on the ice. They formed three concentric rings of twenty-two stones each—sixty-six in all. Smaller stones composed the inner ring and were less than two feet high and a foot in width. The next ring was comprised of stones a third larger than the first, and the last ring was made of stones three feet tall and two feet around. Some of the men worked alone; others, especially those handling the large rocks, labored in tandem. The other men stood by with guns at the ready.
Enkian had taken a position in the center of the rings, directing their placement, calling for corrections, and snapping orders. Tia stood by his side.
Perry walked to one of the large stones and noticed that the top had been chiseled flat and a circular half-inch deep depression was centered in each one. More stones were brought in, but these were smaller and rectangular like bricks. They were of different shades and textures but were all the same size. Enkian took a step to the side as two men knelt on the ice and began to take one stone brick and lay it upon another in a staggered array. From his position outside the outer ring, Perry studied the stones. One was silvery; another, jet black; another, white as ice; and still another, green. Row was laid upon course until a small pyramid shape with a flat top rose from the ice. The last block laid was like gold. Then it hit Perry: It was gold. And the silver brick was true silver. The others were what they appeared to be—onyx, granite, and more. Perry counted sixty-six stones of every kind.
“This is weird,” Jack said.
“Beyond weird,” Perry added.
“Is that really a brick of gold?” Curtis asked.
“I think so,” Perry answered. “If Enkian is the owner of EA Mining, he has access to every type of mineral in the ground.”
More boxes were brought in, but these were different from those that had been brought in before. They had rigid plastic sides. Perry moved as close to one as he dared and watched the worker unsnap the metal latches and swing up the lid. Inside was packing material that had been carefully wrapped around an object Perry could not see clearly.
“Your curiosity is whetted, I see.” Perry looked up to see Enkian approaching from a few feet away, Tia on his heels with her head bowed. The worker Perry had been watching carefully removed the packing material and then moved away. Enkian took his place, gently lifting a cylindrical object from the case. He held it as if it were alive, cradling it in his hands as a man would a child. Inside the clear plastic container, Perry saw a clay cylinder. �
��Behold the prophecy,” Enkian said. He set it in the depression of the closest stone.
“Behold the prophecy,” Tia repeated.
“I don’t understand,” Perry said.
“You never will,” Enkian replied, then moved to the next stone, where another worker was unpacking an identical cylinder. Again Enkian picked up the package tenderly, said, “Behold the prophecy,” and set the cylinder on the nearest stone.
Gleason, Griffin, and the others joined Perry. “This is making me real uncomfortable,” Gleason said. “What are they doing?”
“I think we are about to see a pagan worship ritual,” Dr. Curtis said.
Enkian stopped at each stone and repeated his previous action, Tia never more than one step away, her head down as if condemned to permanent humility. Minutes turned to half an hour until Enkian set the last clay cylinder in place.
He returned to the center of the rings. Tia followed. Wordlessly, Enkian’s small army formed a fourth ring around the three stone circles.
Enkian stepped behind the altar and removed his parka, tossing it to the side. Underneath he wore a long-sleeved undergarment. He peeled it away along with the thick T-shirt he wore beneath it, baring his chest to air kept several degrees below freezing. If the bite of the frigid air bothered him, he didn’t show it.
Perry leaned forward to verify what his eyes were telling him. Enkian’s chest was a latticework of scars from shoulders to waist. Tia turned to a man in the first circle and held out her hands. He presented her with a long-bladed knife, which he had removed from what appeared to be a handcrafted rosewood box. The handle of the knife was encrusted with jewels. Tia knelt before Enkian, bowed her head, and raised the knife for him to take.
“I don’t like the looks of this,” Gleason said.
Perry narrowed his eyes as he watched the scene unfolding before him. No one paid attention to them. It was as if they had ceased to matter.
“Self-mutilation,” Curtis whispered. “Not all that unusual. Many ancient cultures practiced it.”
“Elijah and the prophets of Baal,” Perry mused.
“Who?” Griffin said.
Curtis, ever the professor, explained. “An Old Testament showdown. The prophet Elijah faced off against four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal and four hundred prophets of Asherah. Elijah had laid out a simple challenge: If Baal was real, then let him show it by sending fire from heaven to consume an offering; if the Lord God was real, He would answer with fire from heaven. When Baal didn’t answer, the prophets began to cut themselves to encourage his response. It didn’t work. We know who won.”
“You mean this is normal?” Griffin asked.
“Not normal,” Perry said. “There’s nothing normal about this. It’s just not new.”
Perry watched, stiff-jawed, as Enkian took the knife, approached the central stone altar, and threw his head back. He said something Perry couldn’t understand. Perry looked at Dr. Curtis, who just shrugged and said, “I don’t recognize the language.”
Enkian began to sway. He muttered. He whispered. Only the name “Marduk” was recognizable.
Suddenly, Enkian stopped, lowered his head, and placed the point of the knife at the top of his sternum.
He pressed.
He drew it down.
Blood began to seep, then pour down his chest, mixing with the dark hair of his chest. He uttered no cry of pain; his face showed no agony. A red line zippered down, and Perry thought for a moment the madman was vivisecting himself in full view of all. No one showed surprise. Tia stood by, her eyes fixed on the gore before her as if she had seen it a hundred times before. Maybe she has, Perry thought.
The knife inched its way down Enkian’s sternum to the soft abdomen, stopping just above the navel. He removed the knife and set it on the altar, then bent over the stones and laid his bloody chest on the rocks.
No one moved.
Minutes later he stood erect. He raised his arms, oblivious to the crimson stream that continued to trickle down his body. He groaned. He hummed and the others joined him. The sound roared in a crescendo amplified by the concave interior of the Chamber until Perry’s ears hurt.
“I think I can fly the plane,” Griffin whispered in Perry’s ear.
“What?”
“I think I can fly the plane,” Griffin said, a little louder. “I took lessons in college. I’ve flown solo several times.” When Perry turned to him, he flushed. “It was just a single-engine Cessna, but I think I can deduce the difference between a single-engine and twin-engine.”
“Deduce?”
Griffin nodded. “I’m talking about the smaller plane, of course. Still, the difference should not be insurmountable. Once we’re airborne, I can figure out the distinctions on the way to McMurdo.”
Perry shook his head. It was hard to believe he was hearing this. He had to admit that stealing the Casa 212 had crossed his mind. But he was unable to come up with a plan that would afford them the necessary time to make their way to the craft, start the cold engines, taxi far enough away, and take to the air without being cut down by a fusillade of gunfire.
“I appreciate it, Griffin, but I don’t think they’ll let us wander very far without killing someone to show their displeasure.”
“We have to do something,” Griffin complained.
“I agree . . .”
Enkian raised his voice. “Most honored are you above all the gods. Your decree is unmatched by men and gods. You, Marduk, are the most honored of all gods. Your decrees are unquestionable. For now and forever, your declarations are unchangeable. No one from the gods can transgress your boundaries. Marduk, you are our avenger. You are our avenger . . . our avenger . . . our avenger.”
“Avenger!” the men shouted. “Avenger!”
“I’d be a lot more comfortable if they’d use a different word,” Jack said.
The chant grew louder until Perry was sure the prefab dome of the Chamber would collapse from the vibrations. Sarah and Gwen were white with fear and held their hands to their ears. Griffin looked shell-shocked, and Dr. Curtis stood as rigid as a marble column, his jaw slack. Jack was surprised but unshaken. Gleason just looked puzzled.
Enkian fired his hand into the air, and the chant turned to silence in an instant. It was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. All eyes were fixed on him.
He lowered his hand and spread his arms wide. “For millennia we have waited for this day.” His voice was fairly strong, despite the wound and his chest being bared to subfreezing temperatures. Perry felt cold just looking at him. “The prophecies told of this day, the Time of Return, the Time of Revenge.”
He stepped to the closest clay cylinder. “Here,” he said, “it was recorded. Here on these cylinders the words of our ancestors re-main alive. They are ours to protect as those who came before us protected them. They looked forward to this day.” He stopped and looked at Perry and the others. “Come forward.”
Perry hesitated.
“Come forward!”
“This must be like the invitation in a Baptist church,” Jack quipped.
“I doubt it,” Perry said as he walked toward the circle.
“All of you!” Enkian snapped.
The outer circle of men parted before him like earth before a plow’s blade. A few steps later, Perry and the others stood in the inner circle. Tia moved forward, her eyes hard like the stones of the altar. The message was clear. No one was to touch Enkian.
“Do you know what this is?” Enkian asked. Perry looked at the cylinder then at the self-inflicted wound on his chest. The gash was not as deep as Perry first thought, but it was deep enough to cause sufficient pain to drop a man to his knees. Enkian seemed to pay it no attention. The other scars—Perry guessed there were close to fifty of them—were evidence that Enkian had learned to live with pain.
Perry answered. “Not really. A clay cylinder of some kind.” He could see its smooth sides were occasionally marred by cracks and missing clay. There were no letters
, but tiny, exquisitely drawn pictures ran in vertical rows.
“It is the story of life,” Enkian said. “The true story of life. It is the oldest writing in the world, penned—as it were—in the days of Gilgamesh.”
“Gilga-who?” Jack said.
“Gilgamesh,” Dr. Curtis answered. “From the Gilgamesh Epic, one of the many ancient flood accounts. It was written in cuneiform on twelve clay tablets about four thousand years ago. It’s the Babylonian version very similar to the Bible’s story of Noah’s flood.”
“Very good, Doctor,” Enkian said. “Your Bible lifted the story from our more ancient accounts.”
“I doubt it,” Curtis said. “It’s more likely the other way around.”
“Your fellow scholars would disagree with you.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Curtis said. “And I also find it interesting that one of the main characters in the story of Gilgamesh is a man named Enkidu. Coincidence?”
“Many great men have taken the noble name of Enki,” Enkian said. He looked at the cylinder. “This came to me through my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. These cylinders predate the Gilgamesh Epic; they predate the Bible. They are the only true record of my past. They are both prophecies and histories.”
“Prophecies?” Perry said. “Are you telling us that these clay cylinders predicted the discovery of the ziggurat?”
“Discovery?” Enkian laughed. “It was never lost, Mr. Sachs. Never. My people have known its location for centuries. The account has been kept alive for millennia. We were just waiting for the time to . . . mature.”
“That cylinder tells you when the time will be mature?”
Enkian looked at the cylinder with the gaze of a man who held the world’s most precious possession. He nodded. “This one in particular. There are sixty-six of them, each kept in a glass container like this. The chamber is filled with an inert gas that doesn’t react with the dried clay.” He stroked the clear container. “They’re all special. Each tells a portion of the story—of the Flood, the Tower, the Dispersion, or the Revelation. This one holds the future of my people. This is more valuable than all of my possessions and all of my businesses. It is irreplaceable.”
