The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) (14 page)

Daniel lifted the hem of his richly embroidered robe and, leaning on the arm of the foreman, climbed over the pile of clay blocking the hole they had broken through to gain access to the chamber.

The light of his torch was swallowed up by darkness.

“Bring more torches,” shouted the foreman. The workers passed burning torches in through the opening to Daniel and the foreman, and then followed, one by one, each carrying a torch in his hand and the fear of God on his face.

With each additional torch that entered, the twilight at the edge of their vision expanded a little farther. Thirty men were now inside. Daniel could see that the space had a vaulted ceiling, but he could determine neither the top of the ceiling nor the far side of the cavern.

To the right and the left, the walls arced away into the distance, the opening crescent of what promised to be a mammoth expanse.

Ezekiel was at Daniel’s side. “Can you feel the presence?”

Daniel glanced up. “Do you hear the voice?”

“What?”

“Spread out,” said Daniel, sweeping his hand toward the darkness. “Spread out around the edges. Perhaps we can determine its shape, its size.”

As if each step would be their last, reciting the Shema Yisrael as they inched along, the three dozen workers gradually brought more light into the space. Now Daniel could see that the cave was not man-made at all. Its sides were rough, irregular, laced with cracks and fissures where clay had broken away, some significant flows of clay, now hardened, that invaded the underground hall in long, ragged fingers. But the farther his men ventured, the larger the space appeared.

Daniel and Ezekiel moved down the center of the void as the diggers searched the depths of its sides.

“Halt!”

Daniel turned quickly at the sound of the command, looking for the foreman to find out why he had ordered a halt. But the foreman was frozen in place—like a graven image, caught in mid-step, his mouth wide, his eyes alive with fear. Daniel strained his gaze in both directions. For as far as he could see, the workers were immobilized.

Ezekiel was just to his right, close to his side. “Can you move?”

Daniel’s response was stifled as a shimmering, silver light filled the chamber, which stretched off into a distance that could not be seen, only imagined. What could be seen was both incredible and frightening.

The light revealed a huge, verdant forest, green and lush and alive. Trees and shrubs of all kinds stretched in dense thickets and bordered wide, green meadows. Birds sang in the air, and, from somewhere in the distance, they could hear the sound of falling water. Daniel’s heart was thumping in his chest, his mind spinning.
How can it be so green?

“Come no closer, man of God.”

“What was that voice?” Ezekiel whispered.

“Only the called one, the Ordained One, can approach the garden of God.”

Daniel watched in awe, and Ezekiel grasped the sleeve of his tunic, as before them materialized an angelic presence. Taller than the tallest trees behind him, the vision was transformed from voice, to vapor, to shadow, to what appeared as a being of substance. He was dressed as a warrior. A glistening golden helmet covered his head, but long, dark, flowing hair cascaded over his shoulders. A golden breastplate, shining like the sun, ended at a sash of spun gold that cinched a silver girdle around his waist. Golden boots covered his feet, ankles, and calves. All this Daniel took in with one swift glance. But his attention continued to be drawn to two things: the furled wings that rounded on either side of his head and tucked behind broad shoulders, and the flaming sword that hung loosely from his right hand.

The angel raised the tip of the sword, the muscles of his forearm flexing, and pointed it at the two prophets.

“You are welcome here, prophets of God. You have been called to fulfill a purpose. It is time to restore the staff to the tree from which it came, until its time will come again.”

Daniel was entranced by the beauty of the angelic being. He had the appearance of a young man. His skin was alabaster, with the incandescent glow of old pearls, and flawless. His lips were full and red, his nose long and aquiline. His hair was shiny and black, a mass of waves that tumbled around his face, framing crystal green eyes. He moved with a fluid grace that failed to mask formidable strength.

“You have been called here to complete two tasks. The first is to summon your brother Jeremiah and his servant to join you here, and to bring Aaron’s staff with them. The second, once Aaron’s staff is restored to its source, is to construct a great wall across this line”—a line of flame crossed the cavern in front of the angel—“that will enclose the garden. In the wall you will construct seven gates.”

The angel’s words resonated like cymbals and spun in the air like an invitation to a dance, light and melodic. His voice was clear and firm, softly modulated. But in its words, in its breaths and pauses, it seemed like bells chimed in a far distance.

“When Jeremiah comes, bring the staff of God here to be returned to the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. When that task is fulfilled, then you will build the wall, close up the gate, and seal it, never to be opened until the stars of Hope rise once more in the sky. Once the staff of God is returned and the gate is sealed, you will never return here, nor will you remember your calling here. Only Jeremiah will retain the secret of the gate.”

Surrounded by the melodious voice of the apparition, entranced by the vision of his beauty, Daniel felt no fear. His heart and his soul were at peace. Then the angel lifted his sword, sweeping it back and forth, its flames scorching the air before him, leaving a comet-like tail in its wake. Daniel shuddered. Thunder erupted in the cavern, hammering at Daniel’s eardrums and driving him to his knees.

“I am Gabriel,” the angel called, his voice now the sound of a thousand waterfalls, “Messenger of God, Governor of Eden, Guardian of the Gate. This is Michael, Mighty Warrior.”

A second angel, as beautiful and massive as the first, materialized by Gabriel’s right side.

“Seal the gate and never return”—a great lightning storm erupted around the angels, ricocheting off the walls and ceiling of the chamber—“or you will forfeit your lives and endanger your souls.”

The line of fire that stretched before Gabriel and Michael exploded into a conflagration of flame and heat, a thousand times more intense than any furnace.

Gabriel’s voice increased in power.

“Only he who is anointed by God shall ever approach the gate. Physical and spiritual death awaits all others. These are the words of the Lord of Hosts.”

On his knees, Daniel was terrified by Gabriel’s power, oddly comforted by his goodness, and unable to tear his eyes from the angelic being’s face. In a heartbeat, everything changed. Gabriel and Michael vanished, the chamber was plunged back into darkness except for the torches still held in the hands of the paralyzed workers, and life instantly came back to their limbs. Some fell; some stumbled as if on a rocking ship; some wept in wonder. Three stepped forward, their torches held aloft, their left hands reaching out as if to touch something in the blackness. They took a step, and another. Lightning flashed and fire erupted from the floor, leaving behind only three, small clumps of ash on the floor, the torches, still burning, lying by their sides.

594 BC

Babylon

Daniel led the way into the chamber, holding his torch aloft. Jeremiah followed, a long, thin object covered in cloth held against his chest with both hands. One end was just above the floor, the other extended above Jeremiah’s left shoulder. Ezekiel and Baruch were in the rear.

Other than the light from the torches, the chamber was covered with black velvet darkness, soft to the touch and rich in its thickness, as though it caressed the skin and warmed their bodies as it parted before them and closed in behind them. To Jeremiah, he could have been in the womb or in the grave and the feeling of tender isolation would have been the same.

He wondered how far it was, how long before they would see something, hear something. His heart pounded against the package held fast to his chest.
Lord of Hosts, why do I fear?

“Reverent awe … Humble before His Majesty.”

“What? Baruch, what do you speak?”

When Baruch looked over his shoulder toward Jeremiah, his eyes bulged with stark terror, but no words escaped from his mouth.

“Welcome, man of God. Come and enter the Glory of your Creator.”

Jeremiah stopped.
Adonai, I am unworthy to be here.

The three men and their torches continued into the chamber, but Jeremiah waited and allowed the darkness to envelop him. It covered him like the blackest of winter nights. He lost consciousness of everything but the ebony void he could not see, but could only imagine. He was lost. More than lost. He had almost ceased to exist. Jeremiah’s equilibrium vanished in the dark, his sense of spatial balance, his presence in the world. He was about to tumble through space, out of control, when a hand rested upon his shoulder.

“Fear not. Do not be anxious for anything. But in everything, by prayer and petition, make your requests known to God.”

Jeremiah raised his eyes. Whether he looked up or down, he did not know. But he looked afar. And as he looked, a glow materialized, then pulsed, then grew like the stone ripples in a pond, expanding out in waves of light and dark, light and dark, the light growing and building on each wave. At the center of the pulse stood the trees off in the distance, the light confined to a small circle around them. But the pulsing dance of the waves of light called him to the trees, coaxed his feet, beckoned his spirit.

The light around the trees thrummed—the audible sound of pulsing light. From white to silver. Jeremiah watched in fascination as leaves sprouted on the branches of the trees—the two, side-by-side, their branches expanding—and the color sang from silver to gray … from gray to green. And then the choir of the forest joined in, its massed music rising and falling like flood waters over boulders.

He walked out of the blackness, guided by the hand on his shoulder. The music grew louder and more beautiful with the light as he closed the distance to the trees.

The hand on his shoulder stopped his forward movement.

“Your faithfulness is blessed. You stood when your people bowed to false gods of their own making. Now stand in the garden of God, the birthplace of man, from which will come the herald of the last days, the Scepter of the King. Only you, man of God, can return the scepter to its home.”

Jeremiah stumbled back as light erupted around him—and the light joined the song. In a flash of brilliance, the garden came alive, more lush and green than anything he could have imagined. A lifelong citizen of the Judean desert, Jeremiah was overwhelmed by the variety and volume of growing things. Yet above it all, at the heart of it all, the trees stood apart. Like the core of the sun, the intense light that beat forth from the trees was blinding and spellbinding.

An implacable invitation pulled Jeremiah forward, even as the fear of God—reverent awe—restrained his muscles and wrestled with his will. A path opened before him, and the song of the garden welcomed him. He came closer to the trees, approached a clearing—and the song stopped. The thrumming of light ceased. Silence so deafening Jeremiah heard his breath.

And a rustling in the verdant growth to his left. To his right, the soft sweep of a cloak as it caressed the grass. Behind him the swish of sandals through the undergrowth. Standing motionless, it was as if the blood had stopped flowing through Jeremiah’s veins. The words of Moses, which his father taught him, echoed in his ears.
“The sound of God walking in the cool of the day …”

“Come, man of God. Return the power to the tree.”

Jeremiah swallowed, but no moisture coated his mouth. He looked in front of him, partly because he was terrified to look anywhere else. And he had an awful thought. Which tree?

There appeared to be no way to distinguish one from the other. Both stood mighty, their thick trunks rooted deeply, their branches unfurled in long, majestic arms covered in the same, deep green leaf. Jeremiah swung his head back and forth, looking for some marking, something distinctive to separate the Tree of Life from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. What would happen if he approached the wrong tree?

“Even now you doubt? You wonder and question my purpose? Have I brought you this far to forsake you now?”

O Lord of Hosts, forgive my weakness.

“No … I celebrate your courage. Look, and see.”

How anything could surprise him at this point, he didn’t know. But Jeremiah nearly fell to the ground as four angelic beings materialized around the tree on his left, flaming swords pointed to the ground, their amazing, glorious wings unfurled from behind their shoulders. Their wings overlapping, the angels blocked all access to the tree on the left.

The Tree of Life.

“None may approach the Tree of Life. But you, man of God, have been foreordained to restore what is missing from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Your calling awaits.”

The light appeared to dim around the Tree of Life, and grow more dazzling around the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, mesmerizing Jeremiah and drawing him close. As he moved through the clearing, he was amazed to find the package in his hands growing warmer, stirring as if it were awakening. He held the package out, away from his body and the covering fell to the ground without a touch.

Aaron’s staff grew warmer. A glow began to emanate from it, envelop it. And Jeremiah saw a similar glow emerge from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, surrounding an opening in the trunk that hadn’t been there a heartbeat earlier. Jeremiah’s arms began to shake in time with the vibration in the staff, and they were pulled, stretched out toward the light on the tree.

Frightened to hold on to the staff but terrified to let it go, Jeremiah was dragged forward one step, the muscles in his arms wailing in protest.

Then the staff leaped from his hands, flew across the clearing, and folded itself into the opening in the tree.