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Authors: Nikola Yanchovichin

Tags: #love, #horror, #drama, #adventure, #mystery, #action, #fantasy, #epic, #sci fi, #yong

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Countless valleys were illuminated in front
of them as swooning ships kindled fires. They looked to be covered
in sprinkled stardust or acted like they were at dancing balls with
the way they raised and lowered.

Shepherds, borrowed shofars from the Semitic
tribes of the north, echoed songs in their quiet voices and told
stories almost as old as the local land.

Disputed well robbers who imposed
racketeering for bottles of milk and skin bags of cheese were
overtaken by more recent events that the shepherds stirred, much as
they did the camp fire with gnarled sticks, chewing and chewing
with their minds. But even then they still could not find a
rational decision.

Goats had been lost.

Maybe it would have seemed insignificant to
the reader’s mind but these were not little flocks. Everything
became more significant because the circumstances in which, so to
speak, the lost goods were discovered.

Valleys were being found covered in animal
blood. Plucked hairs and skins looked as if they had been torn with
nails and used as garb.

And these views had recently become more
frequent. The cattlemen were anxious even though they were used to
their little harsh lives because they could not rely on an army
made halfway of mercenaries, troops from the coasts. They took the
law into their own hands given the uncertainty surrounding the new
enemy; it was a risky move.

And in view of these facts one night, Victor
Drake, Amos Oz, and the others came to these camps that were
twisted at the foot of the ridges.

Chapter
Twenty-three

Sands collapsed like bleeding coals. Several
bushes dropped their prickly stems as if cracking under the intense
heat, while between them, stretched across the desert plateau, a
caravan was moving.

Hundreds of camels loaded with cloth bundles
were sweltering at the grueling pace. Their drivers were swarthy
and fused shadows in the haze. They shouted at them with exhausted
chants that were characteristic of the sister of the great Arabian
Desert: the Sinai.

Coming from Africa, the branches are the
lifeblood, flowing into the confines of Asia Minor; they wore the
refreshed elements of trade that relived these otherwise lifeless
and uninhabited parts.

Dozens of nations owe their existence to
this supposedly primitive transporting system, providing drivers,
security, and food to the passing caravans since time
immemorial.

Indeed, proving the correctness of this
statement, the flow was stopping to take water and supplies in the
most extreme places in advance of waiting nomadic traders.

So, from time to time, a large column made
passage to the ways of Sumer and Akkad. Sometimes even another
column would be coming from the mines of Cyprus and the Hittite
country, bringing balance to the constant flow that rattled and
rattled in the rocky terrain.

All sorts of people were here. There were
slave owners who drove wooden-collared slaves from the side of
Kush, traders from the newly founded Carthage, mercenaries by the
Libyan oases, camel drivers from south Arabia, and random
passengers who had agreed with the occasional silver coin to be
translators in deserts of Sinai.

Thus, among them, wearing cloaks, were some
white people riding several visible and cheaply bought camels.

Not that there were conversations in the
caravan. Everyone was looking out for his own safety, but it seemed
common practice to have conversations combined in dozens of accents
and dialects.

From time to time they checked the status of
their goods, which accounted for the cheap products of coppersmith
who out of much irony made products of metal that had been mined in
the local areas.

For all of their troubles, they were
attributed as small traders who risked their lives in the retail
resale, doomed forever to wander between Egypt and Asia, never
growing up into something more.

But, as they say, sometimes the truth is far
different, and these traders were none other than Tammuz, Sharukin,
and the others, disguised as such.

They were using only the carriage. They had
abandoned the airship, returning to the places from which they
came: Canaan and Phoenicia.

No doubt there had been no sign of their
speed in the previous days, but they were still approaching. In
fact, only God knew where.

They were at the focal point of all the
caravan routes, wandering as pilgrims, and following their God in
the sands.

They had walked a lot. Even so they had to
go forward as if they had melted into the sands of the Semitic
peoples.

Here and there some oasis gushed according
to the legends of recent times. It was said they did so to
alleviate the liberated tribes of Israel on their way to their
promised land. The area was crawling with snakes in the stones,
which were scattered like the defeated skeletal army strewn across
the ground.

The caravan stopped near them before
re-stretching out into the haze.

Another time the nomads came to their camps,
waiting as agreed to give the faint walking traders some of their
milk and softened dates. Perhaps this happened every day, merging
as time does when repeated, as we said, weeks upon weeks.

Every day was like a dissolving and
unfamiliar but still to the eyes it looked the same every day.

Many avoided the blooming lands of the
north, although they had realize that once in Gaza, Hebron, and
elsewhere, they would go back. The older among them spoke of how
everything would become a desert wind that has no past and
future.

Well, some people were settled among the red
hills of Israel, Samaria, and Judea. Others, nudged by the sword
from the eternal human pilgrimage, had walked deeper into
Mesopotamia.

And maybe the truth thought that the desert
was the first and last abode of the planet. It was the only place
that although much lower than God man also difficult to name.

But even the desert eventually ended and
where it did, gracious, coastal land dug into emerald hillocks.

Here the climate felt a little softer,
although this artificial greenery was rather loose and languished
on the arms of the surrounding land. The caravan rested a little
more than usual, shielded beside the palms.

Even the mood, broken from the long
transition, improved and strong optimism flowed into the men’s
veins.

Israel was already close and the small
commercial factories (which were barely even self-sustained) that
they encountered were a sign of approaching civilization.

Thus came the first camps of brown canvas
tents. They lived and farmed animals ready and holding, of course,
their hands on the knives in their bosoms to give smoky meat,
crushed grain, and very strong local wines.

Along with these sites came much more
comfortable roads shaded with sails, with dug wells in loose soil,
and with plants that could partly rejuvenate the horses and small
villages of adobe. The caravan remained at one of those.

Here far more practical works such as oil,
Egyptian cotton, and wax tapered honey were valued, but that did
not mean that the majority of the goods trade was done in jewelry,
bronze implements, and some of the essential oils. Sometimes those
could not be given. They would be exchanged for silver and more
often for sheep, donkeys, and camels, which the itinerant traders
particularly valued.

And the outputs and the local places of
Israel proper with its olive groves, vineyards, dairies and curd,
and its small workshops were coveted. From the workshops the fine
fleece of Canaan sheep was manipulated. Part of them were here
before the Israelites had crossed Mesopotamia and then gone on into
Egypt. Others, on the contrary, were set upon during their return
as a result of the wars that they had to keep.

Anyway, the recently acquired lands were
administered in a way that astonished people with its rationality.
Taxes had been collected, militias were gathered, the population
had been counted. In general, there was a pretty lean part of the
organization at time that we would consider to be archaic.

The only negative that we should not forget
to add a reminder about is that this community of tribal alliances
was surrounded by others: the children of Ammon, Ashdod, the
Philistines, and so forth. They were constantly fighting each
other.

So it is not surprising that the Jews
exercised control over them since they were open to trade relations
and had the accompanying material prosperity.

Seemingly a small fee, it resulted in
one-eighth shekels of silver, which were imposed when walking a
short distance and perhaps more importantly, called for sanitary
supervision, which was a progressive idea to deter and quarantine
those individuals who were dangerously sick among travelers.

And the leper colonies, perhaps comparable
to those encountered previously were separated into dank, lifeless
gorges. They also appeared like burst cracks within a grave,
pointing out that this world is nothing but a big broken heart.

With the advent of more and more to the
north, these views became more frequent, and the number of
workshops for leather, saddlery, and paint developed along with the
other parts of everyday life.

Newcomer nations to this complex entity,
which was a worshiper of God, were brought in as cults. There was
the god Refan and the cults of Molloh and Astarta that had been
founded within. The same word was stoned or on the contrary
rendered to have a positive reception. Therefore, it was a
complicated task of maneuvering to strike a balance among all.

There was a place where it was common to see
people calling themselves–—right or not—prophets. Their separation
was undoubtedly difficult, as we find in modern Biblical texts, for
example. Everybody in their own way was manipulating the masses,
and it was difficult to maneuver between these preachers in the
desert, council in cities, aliens in space, the judges, and so many
more.

Almost every piece of gossip that took them
to different towns in Judea proved false, but the crew chopped
these off one by one like the threads of the Gordian knot. They
gradually narrowed the circle and went through a Canaanite
settlements in a concentric crawl, gradually getting to information
that stood out in this background.

It was said that near the Judean Desert
there was a place built upon attenuated fertility. Children
disappeared and adolescents were almost always orphans. This, of
course, went unnoticed by the locals because many families
emigrated to emerging cities, like Syria and Edom.

The problem was that these children were
being attracted by new teachers and then nothing had been heard of
them.

This trace, albeit vague, was sufficient
enough to follow.

Chapter
Twenty-four

The shepherds roasted directly on the burned
firebrand. A kettle and a hanging pot were singing on the burning
resin wood that was emitting sparks that danced like fireflies
before decomposing into the twilight.

Several dogs buried their snouts in their
paws. They were sleeping but were still willing to protect the
herds and the tinkle of their collars confirmed this.

Occasionally, sipping from simmering dishes,
one of the pastors took portions to bring into the guarding posts
where others were watching over the rest.

The night, woven with the fibers of
forgetting, was matted with the ink carbon clouds. They quivered in
a shroud of beating stars.

“Hakim, hand me the woolen cloak. The desert
is cool to my old bones,” said one of the older shepherds to one of
the younger ones who supported the fireplace.

“Sure, Baba. You will need something warm to
rest. We have a lot a walking before we reach the valley.”

“The valley? How many times have I told you
that we are going to plateau?”

“The plateau? That place has become a
den.”

“Hakim, Hakim, how many times can I say that
when God created this world, He provided several times the
stupidity in it.

“We can go where we feel comfortable, and
you will see that everything will be all right.”

“Okay, Baba, I just hope you’re right.”

At that moment, one of the sleeping dogs
trembled and began to snarl. Waking up, others followed his
actions.

“Hey Bab, Ulima, Howrah, what happened to
you, boys?” said the people who were now jumping up.

From the tops of the sand, Chinese dragons
in a festival lights from torches could be seen clambering up the
humps.

“Must be foolish people. No one besides us
comes to this part of the desert,” said the old Hakim armed with a
scimitar in its scabbard. “Guys, go help them. It is still our duty
as good people.”

The other shepherds listened to him and
left.

Folds of the dune lit like the back of a
diving sea creature.

After a few minutes, the whistle was heard,
which meant that everything was fine and the shepherds returned to
the campfire with the newcomers.

“Before you say who you are, drink some
milk, even if we find you malefactors we can’t leave you thirsty,”
urged the old men.

The new ones did as he bid.

“So now you can tell us what brought you
here.”

One of the newcomers took off his cloak and
the flickering flame illuminated his deep, slightly yellowish
face.

“We were looking for the El Mouth plateau,
but we lost the way.”

“Well, obviously there is a great reason to
have looked for it. You almost committed suicide on the road.”

All fell silent and the bursting fire seemed
to be preparing the atmosphere for a story that nobody wanted or
needed to hear.

“As it sounds pompous, the truth is that we
are going through many lands.

“For reasons that we do not fully
understand, we are trying to find some people in this plateau and
as life beautifies a few words of hope, we will withhold what has
happened in the meantime.”

BOOK: Crematorium for Phoenixes
5.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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