The Days of Peleg (21 page)

While he continued etching in the sand, Thaxad approached the boy slowly with great care to be as non-threatening as possible. When he was close enough, he reached out his hand, silently asking if he could examine the porcelain dog.

The boy looked up without a trace of fear, just a look of bewilderment. Slowly he offered the object to Thaxad, who studied it for a moment, then raised it to his lips. The boy watched intently as the Mentor placed his mouth over the metal tube, and then almost laughed as Thaxad jerked with discomfort as he blew into the device.

Thaxad looked over at the other men who were observing them. “Can’t you hear that?” he asked. When their silence indicated they could not, he returned the whistle to the boy. As he bent down to place it in the boy’s hand, he said, quietly, “Very impressive”. He looked down into the boy’s eyes, almost smiled, then cupped the boy’s hand in his. He placed the porcelain dog in it, nodded, then turned away.

The boy turned back to Peleg’s drawings. His markings could not be misunderstood. They had traveled across the waters from the west, and Peleg could now be seen scratching a crude outline of their own eastern continent showing where they had come from.

The boy looked directly into Peleg’s eyes, then down at his drawing. He looked back up, then looked at the
Urbat
in the bay. A frantic expression came over him as he looked first at one man, then another. Another quick look at their ship was followed by one last stare at the map on the beach.

He clasped his dog whistle tightly, looked one more time at Peleg, then whirled and ran towards the trees. Within seconds he had disappeared into the forest, leaving the men of the
Urbat
staring after him with questions and concerns.

Inmaquo had been Clan-guide for over 250 new moons. Although he was not the oldest father, he had assumed leadership after the death of their original Clan-guide, Shanqin, who had been attacked and killed by a large mountain cat. They had sent his spirit on to join the great hunt in the sky to begin his final
Mèsha
, and he had adopted their fallen leader’s wife and children as his own.

Now he sat with his wife, Quenxian who was concerned about her son’s whereabouts. She said nothing, but there was no way she could avoid thinking about her husband’s demise as she waited for Tañqin.

Suddenly the dogs began a frenzied barking and they could hear Tañqin shouting in the distance.

“They crossed the water! They came from the sun!” He kept repeating this, even though he gasped for breath and was unable to form his words clearly.

Inmaquo and Quenxian rushed to meet him. He was now in sight but kept running full force towards their tent.

“Compose yourself,” Inmaquo demanded. “You have returned late and require excellent justification.”

Tañqin stopped in front of them and quieted his breathing, trying to organize his words.

“There are strange men on the shore,” he began, pointing towards the southwest. “They have traveled straight from the house of the sun, and across the great ocean.”

Inmaquo regarded him quizzically. “Tell me more about these men.”

“Clan-guide Inmaquo,” resumed Tañqin with an increase in formality, “They seem quite old and they have an enormous watercraft. My team surrounded them this morning, but they appear to be harmless.”

He looked up at the Clan-guide.

“They can’t talk,” he said bluntly. “I mean, they seem to be able to communicate with each other, but they don’t know how to make real words.” He gave a teen-age smile. “And they can’t write, either. I had to draw simple little pictures just to find out where they were from. I have never seen such a huge watercraft, but I can’t imagine these men building it.”

Inmaquo looked up sharply when Tañqin mentioned the lack of speech. There were reports of the time immediately after
Mèsha
had been declared of a malady that had affected men’s tongues. The reason that the Founder had decreed
Mèsha
was to escape such curses. Was it possible that survivors had created a vessel that could make such a journey?

“We must go to them at once,” declared Inmaquo. “We must see if their speech is an abomination.”

He turned to his stepson.

“Tañqin, tell the other fathers to meet us here, and we will see these men of whom you speak.”

“Should I bring my team?” asked Tañqin.

“That is not necessary.” He looked around.

“I must go to my tent first. Wait here, and when I return we shall leave.”

Inmaquo walked toward his tent, his mind whirling. He wished to retrieve a sacred item he had received when the belongings of Shanqin had become his. He entered his tent and opened the large leather bag which contained his ceremonial clothing, jewelry, and writings. He pulled out a large scroll made of tanned animal skin and began to unroll it.

This was only for the eyes of Clan-guides. In theory, there were only four such documents in existence, since it was passed on only to the leader of the clan’s first new clan. He would soon hand this over to the new Clan-guide when the new group was sent out. A Clan-guide was also the spiritual guide, and one of his private rituals was to study this document—and to add to it as history was made. Encoded within its mysteries were the answers to where they came from and who they were.

He re-rolled the skin, placed it in a tall wooden cylinder, and returned to the group. He wasn’t sure whether they were going to meet brothers of the sun, or descendants of a great curse from across the sea, but he hoped his scroll would provide the guidance he needed.

Mentor Inanna was greatly concerned and somewhat fearful about her husband’s condition. While speaking as Dumuzi, he was energetic, insightful, and imbued with a personality that seemed to expand beyond his own. However, when he finished his lectures and directives, or returned home from his administrative duties, he was exhausted to the point of confusion and incoherence. What was worse was the incredible lethargy he expressed when he was simply her husband, Salah.

There was something else at work here—a strange power or perhaps some form of schizophrenia. He had deciphered volumes of pre-Calamity history, but often could not remember what he had written the day before.

She needed her husband to be an energetic and charismatic leader if she was ever to accomplish her own goals. But, as a wife, she also needed her husband to be energetic for other reasons.

She heard his steps on the front porch, and could tell by their plodding nature that he was the normal, weary husband she had become accustomed to.

He entered the front room where she sat, and looked over at her with a downcast, stupefied expression. He had never been very romantic, but these last several months, he hadn’t even looked at her; had scarcely touched her. It was time to confront him.

“Salah,” she began. He glanced up with a slight shudder, and looked down again with a slight shake of his head.

“Good evening, my love,” he said reflexively. He turned to walk past her towards the stairs where he habitually went the moment he arrived home.

“Salah,” she said again, more forcefully this time. “I need you to come sit with me.” She indicated the embroidered divan where she was partially reclined. She had gone to the trouble of misting herself with a fine
Hirin
-perfume from Indus which the old Salah had been particularly fond of.

“Um, certainly,” Salah said without concern. He looked once or twice at the staircase as he slowly adjusted to the change in routine, then sidled over to his wife and methodically placed himself next toher.

She took his hands in hers and spoke quietly.

“I know you’ve been taking care of yourself and avoiding the drugs that once wore you out. But you are becoming more and more lethargic, and your level of fatigue seems to grow daily.”

She looked into his dispassionate eyes, and saw a flicker of fear buried deep within begin to emerge.

She pressed.

“What is happening to you? Can’t you see that you’re not yourself? I don’t understand how you could be so completely drained of life and emotion.”

Salah’s face pursed slightly then contorted as his eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly she was shocked and a little embarrassed as the large black Mentor burst into sobs.

“I don’t know,” he gasped. “They promised to care for me. It’s not supposed to…”

“Who promised?” she demanded. “What, or who, are you talking about?”

“Akkadian… Utu Council … healed me…” he dissolved into more tears and collapsed with his arms around her shoulders—his head resting on her breast.

He tried once more. “I receive historical knowledge and they heal my body. That was the deal. They promised…” He sniffed as his outburst began to subside.

“Who
is
Dumuzi?” she asked quietly.

There was no answer, just a slight shake of the head.

“I need to know.” Inanna braced herself for her next question. Cautiously, yet with resolve, she asked it.

“May I speak to Dumuzi?”

Salah remained motionless, but his arms moved around to her back and seemed to gain substance as he gave her a firm embrace—the first in many months.

She looked down at him. His face, which had been buried in her bosom, turned up towards hers. His eyes snapped open.

She gasped.

His eyes were burning with a brightness she had never seen before, and his entire countenance had transformed into one of intensity and determination. The tears had mysteriously dried.

She recoiled slightly into the cushions, but his face followed hers and kissed her with a resolve and passion she had never experienced from him or any other man. It was as if she didn’t recognize him—but she hadn’t felt like she knew Salah for quite some time anyway. A combination of fear and desire swept through her, but the concerns of her body outweighed the concerns of her mind.

Maintaining his kiss, he picked her up with his newly strengthened arms and carried her towards the stairs. She considered fighting for a moment, but realized that this unexpected turn had been her subconscious plan from the start, and, just like every other passion in her life, she would not be denied. They ascended.

That evening, Dumuzi of the Utu High Council made up for decades of inattention.

Chapter 19

Bridge

“One ramification of the Great Calamity is that it is impossible to meet someone who is not your relative.”

P
eleg was angry. Ever since the young boy’s abrupt departure, he had wanted to pursue him with a team of men and discover what he could about these people and how they got here. Captain Phaxâd had dismissed this, saying that there was no commercial value in communicating with a rogue bunch of hunter-gatherer riff-raff.

“So they make whistles that no one can hear,” Phaxâd explained. “And maybe they have superior abilities in tracking animals by smell. But there is no indication of any real civilization that we can make trade agreements with—unless you think there is a market for porcelain puppies.”

Phaxâd was not usually this sarcastic. However, he was still smarting from his men being surrounded by the boy’s wolf-circle, and resented anything that threatened those in his care—especially when he had been unable to prevent it.
Imagine, a boy holding his men hostage!
Also, it didn’t help that his wife had been uncharacteristically annoyed by the whole affair.

He held up a hand, preventing Peleg from responding.

“Even if there are great mineral deposits, or the potential for mining in the area, we will have to leave that to future expeditions. Our job is to create charts and make the way safe for those who will come behind us.”

Peleg saw an opening.

“I just want to find out a little more about their language, that’s all. I’m sure
that
will be of use to future travelers.”

“Chief Cartographer Peleg,” Phaxâd said, drawing himself up indicating he was now speaking as Captain of the
Urbat
. “Your job is to chart. You have also inherited the bulk of navigation. Your only other task is to communicate with those to whom I wish to communicate. Is that clear?” He looked up into Peleg’s face, bearing the relaxed countenance of one who is in charge, yet has nothing to prove.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you.” Captain Phaxâd nodded. “We will now begin reloading our supplies and prepare to set sail.” He looked around and loudly addressed the rest of the men. “We leave in three hours! Let’s get all of our equipment together!”

The men hurried to put out their fires and roll up their sleeping equipment.

He looked back at Peleg.

“I’m just excited about reaching the equator. Seems like an important leg of our mission.” He gave him an encouraging grin, then left.

Phaxâd returned to his tent where Utebbibassu was just finishing her hair.

“I left all of my combs on the ship,” she said as he entered the flap. It wasn’t a complaint, just an observation.

She continued.

“Don’t get me wrong, dear. This little camp outing was fun—wolves and everything. It’s just that I’ll be glad to get back to our quarters.” Although she had lived in those quarters now for over five years, she still enjoyed the magnificent teak and cedar furnishings with the gold trim. And, of course, her diaries and resource scrolls were all within reach. Her journal would definitely be a best seller.