The Greatest Spiritual Secret of the Century (4 page)

Noah leaned forward, raised his fist, and shouted back, “I speak the truth!” He waved at Paul. “And the man with me is Nusku, also known as Paul, who is the former chief-minister of Enlil, and now the chief-minister for Anu. As you know, Anu is very angry with Enlil, and so he has sent Paul to speak with Enlil.”

The men stepped back and had a hurried discussion in furtive tones.

Paul said, “Who is Enlil?”

“At this moment,” Noah said, “he is the head of the pantheon of gods, the creator of humans and of storms. Within a few decades, however, he will be replaced by Anu, the father of Enmesharra, whom Enlil killed. These men know how angry Anu is with Enlil, and they won't intervene in Enlil's business, because he's notorious for his short temper. For example, the people here believe that Enlil created the great flood, which was survived by only one family in an ark.”

“Noah's ark?”

“No, this ark was built by a righteous man named Utnapishtim. But the story is the same.”

“These people are Jews?”

“No, this land is what your people would call early Sumeria, and these are Sumerians or pre-Babylonians. The ancestors of the Jews live several hundred miles
from here, although the two peoples will collide many, many times.”

The lead soldier stepped forward, belligerence etched on his face, his muscles twitching. “This man Paul could not be a representative of Anu. His hair has been cut, the sign he is owned. He is a slave, probably your slave.”

“His hair reflects the custom of the aristocracy in Anu's land. Look at his clothes, how elaborate they are. He is, himself, a supernatural being.”

“And you?” the soldier said.

“I am his servant.”

“Hah!” the man screwed, and drove his sword into Noah's stomach. Paul stared, horrified, as Noah's eyes bulged, his mouth opened in a gasp, and a red stain erupted across his tunic. The soldier stepped back, puling his sword out of Noah's stomach with a self-satisfied look. His partner kept his sword pointed at Paul's stomach.

Paul trembled, feeling as if he might throw up, his heart racing. The light in the room seemed to brighten, and he could hear the quickening breath of the two soldiers. Noah put his hands over his stomach, as if to hold the contents in, and stepped back, his face pale. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if he'd thought better of whatever he was going to say.

The soldier near Paul pushed his sword toward Paul, backing him into the wall behind him. The soldier
stepped forward, the tip of his sword resting on Paul's stomach. The man said, “Now, you tell the truth. Who are you?” Paul felt his palms moisten, his breath speed up. There was no place to run, no way out of the room except past the four soldiers.

“Noah!” Paul said in a low voice, trying to conceal his panic. “What's happening?” He felt the sharp tip of the soldier's sword push hard against the fabric of his shirt, just short of the pressure necessary to pierce the fabric, skin, and muscle under it.

Noah coughed and took a deep, loud breath, then fell to the floor. He lay without movement or breath, the ground soaking up his blood.

The soldier with his spear to Paul's stomach said again, “Who are you?”

Paul thought of the times that he had faked being the assistant to the senator from New York when he wrote his ill-fated story for the
Tribune. Step into the role
, he remembered.
Become the person you're acting you are.

He drew himself up straight and tall. “I am Paul, and I am here to see Enlil. I have a question for him, on behalf of Anu.”

The man who'd stabbed Noah said, “Prove it.”

What would Anu's representative say, Paul wondered. Then it came to him.

“I will prove it to Enlil. You are already in great danger of the wrath of Anu and Enlil because you have
killed my companion.” He fought the catch in his voice and continued. “If you kill me, an even greater destruction will come upon you and your city.”

The soldier with his sword to Paul's stomach tensed his muscles, and Paul knew he was preparing for the killing stab. But the leader, who had stabbed Noah and now had an uncertain look on his face, said to his compatriot, “Stop. He is oddly dressed and his face is hairless. Clearly he is from a foreign land. We'll take him to the priests and let Enlil determine his fate.”

Paul felt relief wash over him, but knew he had to stay in his role. “And your fate as well,” he added, pleased to see the men wince at his words.

They led him at spear-point through twisting roads and narrow streets, children staring and giggling at Paul's clothing, hair, and clean-shaven face. The short-haired adults mostly averted their gaze, while the long-haired men gave him little attention whatsoever except to nod at the soldiers. They came to a gate in the stockade around the central part of the city, and the leader of the soldiers spoke briefly with the spear-bearing gate guards in hushed tones. They stood back, holding their spears respectfully at side arms, and allowed the five to pass.

Paul walked with his head erect, every bit the messenger of a god, guided by the soldiers toward a massive stone building faced with polished marble and granite
and trimmed with carefully hewn logs of cedar. On both sides of the large central entrance men sat on colorful blankets, and a slow but steady stream of longhaired noblemen came up to the blankets. Each placed an offering of food or carved stone or metal, took a small embossed bit of pottery that Paul assumed was a receipt, and then backed away, bowing.

Paul and his guards walked through the portal, to shocked looks from the priests collecting the offerings. One began to protest, but one of the four soldiers ran up and began an animated conversation with him. After a few sentences, the man stopped staring at Paul and instead fell silent, his face to the ground. The soldier rejoined the group.

They walked into a huge room, the walls and ceiling decorated with gold, polished woods, and colorful stone mosaics. The floor was polished and oiled light-gray granite, and the soft murmur of voices echoed through the building. A man in a yellow robe with detailed and intricate embroidery in reds and greens sat on a wooden bench next to a door into the innermost room, and the lead soldier spoke with him briefly. Statues of what looked like dogs were on either end of the bench, carved of stone, each about three feet tall. Smaller dog-statues were scattered around the edges of the room, each painted to look more life-like, with red gums, green eyes, and various spots, stripes, and blotches of ochre,
tan, black, and straw-yellow. The priest looked Paul up and down carefully, shivered, and nodded with his head in a gesture Paul took as permission to enter. He followed two soldiers into the next room, the other two staying with the priest who guarded the door.

The ceiling stretched forty feet up, the walls made of large, light-brown stones, decorated with elaborate paintings and drawings of bulls and men, metal figures of birds and dogs, and what looked like maps. One large panel had what looked like hieroglyphs carved into its top, and more recently carved alphabetic letters in vertical rows below. All around the room were dozens of pottery and stone-carved statues of dogs and men, many of the men looking like they were holding their necks in pain. The air smelled of cedar smoke, frankincense, and body odor.

A pyramid-shaped stone structure, which Paul recognized from his history classes in college as being called a ziggurat, rose in the center of the room twenty feet or more. It was made of a yellow stone, finely polished with foot-high and foot-deep steps leading from the wide base to the top, reminding him in structure of the small pyramid north of Cancun, Mexico he'd climbed once on a vacation trip. On the three-foot-square top of it stood a ten-foot-tall stone statue of a man holding a purple fabric robe in one hand; a gleaming gold spear in the other. Wings sprouted from his shoulder blades,
reaching two feet out behind his shoulders. Fresh fruit and flowers lay all around the statue's feet.

From the way everybody was acting, Paul guessed the statue was Enlil, and so he nodded toward it in a gesture of respectful familiarity. This was the test, and he knew his life depended on how he played out the next few minutes.

Two men dressed in yellow robes sat on elaborately woven mats of red and yellow and gold, facing the statue of Enlil. Before them were opened scrolls of what looked to Paul like either a thick paper or thin white animal skin, and each had a small cup of black ink and a thin brush next to his respective scroll. Both men had long black hair and beards, their dark skin and black eyes proclaiming their Middle Eastern ancestry, their fingernails painted purple, their fingers covered with rings of silver and gold. One was large and stocky, the other thin with the air of an aesthete.

In a single and smooth gesture, both stood and walked toward Paul and his guards.

The thin man spoke first, addressing himself to the soldier in command. “Who is this man you bring into the most holy sanctuary?”

The guard said, “He says he is Nusku, that he now serves Anu. His companion was belligerent, so I killed him. But this man called on the name of Enlil to decide his fate, so we brought him here.”

The man nodded. “A wise choice. He is indeed odd of appearance and dress.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the soldier said. “These are dangerous times. He may be what he says he is, or he may be a spy.”

The stocky priest walked up to Paul, putting his face so close Paul could smell the garlic on his breath. “And who do you say you are?” he said, his voice thick with contempt.

“I am Paul, also known as Nusku, and I bring a question from Anu for Enlil.”

“We have had no signs, there has been no prophecy. Enlil has made no mention of such a visit.”

Paul shrugged. “I am here. Is that not proof enough?”

The thin priest stepped forward. “No. You are a spy.”

The soldiers stepped forward, and Paul felt a spear-point touch his left kidney, another sword-point resting on his neck. He remembered how Noah had shook his fist and it had led to his death, and so put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. There, his left hand encountered the Bic lighter Mack had tossed to him earlier in the day.

“No, I am the representative of a god, and have been given my own powers,” Paul said, taking his hands from his pockets slowly, keeping the lighter hidden in his left fist. “I am he who controls the elemental forces.”

Both guards laughed and the priests looked baffled.
“Say the word and we will take him outside and kill him,” said the larger soldier.

“Or kill him here, if it will please Enlil,” added the man whose spear was poking Paul's back.

“May I demonstrate?” Paul said to the thin priest, who he'd decided was the one of the four with the greatest authority.

“Demonstrate what?” the priest said, one eyebrow arched.

“I will illuminate this soldier, if it is your will,” Paul said.

The priest glanced to the soldier, who said, “I do not trust him.”

“What would you do?” the priest said to Paul.

“It's really very simple,” Paul said, slowly bringing his left hand up and around so it was just below the beard of the soldier. He flicked the Bic lighter, and the man's beard burst into flame.

The soldier shrieked and his spear clattered to the floor as he grabbed at his burning beard. He hopped around the room, putting the flames out, making an angry keening sound like a wounded animal.

The other soldier stepped back to the doorway, holding his spear with both hands, his eyes wide. The priests both stepped back a few feet from Paul, but watched him carefully. Their faces danced with curiosity and awe.

“You carry fire in your hand?” the thin and elder priest said as the lead soldier picked back up his sword.

“I will kill him now!” the burned soldier said, but his eyes betrayed a deep fear.

“I carry only my magic talisman, given me by Anu,” Paul said, displaying the red Bic lighter. “It controls a wide variety of elemental forces. If you would like, I can demonstrate its power to create an earthquake, or a mighty storm with lightning that strikes men dead.”

“That is not necessary,” the elder priest said, with a quick nod of assent from his companion. He turned to the soldier. “You may leave, and take your companion with you.”

“But they killed my friend,” Paul said. Now that he was in control, he felt the anger at their casual murder of Noah fill him. It mingled with his fear that he may never return to his own time and place.

“What was the value of your servant?” the younger priest said. “They shall reimburse you.”

Paul waved the Bic at the soldier nearest him, making the man flinch and cringe, and then waved it at the other soldier. “My friend was beyond value, so I curse these men. They shall see their own punishment soon enough.”

The two men blanched, aghast and bug-eyed, and then turned and ran from the room as if a lion were chasing them.

“So,” the elder priest said, eyeing the Bic possessively. “What is your message for Enlil?”

“It is a question, really,” Paul said.

“And that question is?” The two priests were staring curiously at Paul, glancing furtively at his blue jeans, white pinpoint Oxford-cloth cotton shirt, and cordovan penny loafers. He realized that he had not seen a single other person wearing pants or shoes.

Paul took a deep breath. “If a man travels through time, how is he to return to his own time?”

“Travels through time?” said the older priest. “Do you mean how does an old man become young again?”

“No,” Paul said. “I mean if I were to travel from this moment back to the days when your fathers' fathers were first born, how would I then return to this moment here-and-now?”

“Such travel is impossible,” the stocky priest said. “There is no horse which can travel in such a way.”

“Perhaps there is a door through which one can step into another time?” Paul said.