Chapter 7: The Beginning of Now

8 Thousand Years Ago

Dawn came over the forests and mountains of the lands that in today’s world would be just east of the Black Sea, but the inhabitants of the small village could not see the sun. The rains had not stopped for days.

Noah huddled with his wife Naama and their children in front of their small dying fire. Dry wood was growing scarce because of the seemingly endless rain. Their animal skin and stone hut provided some relief from the rains and Naama did her best to continue life as she had always done. For now, the storage pits and jars held enough grain to feed the children and the goats provided milk and sometimes meat. So far this year had been a good year and if the rains stopped soon there would be grain and milk to trade. Naama, peering out of the entrance to their small home, let her mind drift momentarily to some traders who arrived last fall and the blue stone necklace they had brought with them. How she would like to trade for that but, quickly returning from here daydream, she thought perhaps she could just get some pottery instead. “Much more useful than blue stones”, she chuckled.

Noah had fallen asleep and moving closer to the entrance, Naama thought of the coming harvest that was quickly approaching. “If the rains stop, we would have something to trade”, she thought. The fields she and her children tended were near the banks of the river near their village. The nearness to the river was both a blessing and a curse. The soil was rich and dark, perfect for the rye and wheat crops they grew. But to remain this fertile year after year, periodic floods would cover the land depositing new soil and insuring future harvests. But Naama knew that when the floods came, harvests could be washed away and life would be difficult. The cold season would arrive just after the passing of the next full moon, she hope that she had crops to harvest.

In a way, Naama was better off than others in the village for Noah, her husband, had never fully adopted the settled, farming way of life. He often loudly proclaimed, “Let other plant and reap, for I must roam the mountains as our father’s father’s father’s have done”.

Farming was never for Noah. His father could farm. The rest of the village could farm but Noah always felt confined, like the goats tied to stakes outside their small village, controlled by others, some for food, some for sacrifice and some for life. “I choose to live free among the gods of the forest”, Noah would often proclaim when other’s questioned his choices..

Scorned by most of his village, which by now had taken to the settled life, the townsfolk had begin to call him Noah the Hunter, not as an honor but as a slur at someone who would not adapt the new ways. Noah the Hunter, standing apart from village life, being different.

Roaming the far hills looking for deer, bear and sometimes lion, Noah could still be called a hunter-gather, gone for days, seemingly lost in the mountains and foothills.

Though he saw the good things farming had brought the village, Noah was most comfortable tracking deer through the forests around the village. He felt free in the snowy mountains. With each kill he would make a small offering to the gods of the hunt and the spirit of the deer. Then he would bring the meat home to Naama and his children. Lately though it seemed that Noah must search farther and farther into the mountains to find the animals he revered.

Waking in the morning, Noah found the rain still falling. While this prevented the rest of the village from tending their fields, Noah knew that he would journey deep into the forest that day. The cold rain would not stop his hunt. Kissing Naama and the children, Noah pulled back the animal skin covering the entrance to their hut and stepped into the driving rain.

While watching the figure of her husband disappear into the distant forest, lightening struck a tree near the edge of town. Wise to the presence of ancient gods and spirits were in every rock and tree, Naama knew that this was an omen, not of evil or of good, but of change.

Naama could now no longer see Noah through the mist and rain. She returned to the hut and roused the children from their sleep. “Get up, there may be no field work today but the goats need tending”. Giving a quick glimpse back toward the forest, she thought of the lightening, “What change will come. What will the gods bring”?

# # #

Though many villages thrived and grew, the village of Naama and Noah remained poor. It was too far from the large freshwater sea to the West to trade with the settlements on its shores and too far away from the main caravan roots which passed farther to the east.

What the village did have though was a good stream, fed with melting mountain snows and never drying up, even in the driest times. Flowing to the great freshwater lake which could just barely be seen from the high slopes above the village, the stream provided the fields with a steady supply of water and renewed soils from its periodic flooding.

Small huts, near this stream, made of animal hides, mud, stone and trees from the nearby forests formed a rough circle. Between the huts bushes grew, forming a crude enclosure offering an area of safety for the village and an enclosure for the goats of the village.

Within the circle of huts was their common gathering area, the crude beginnings of what today would be a town square. Most huts opened onto this crude square. It was only recently that with a growing number of people in the village that new huts were being placed outside of the protection of the village circle.

On most days, the women and girls would sit and perform their chores of preparing hides, cloth and pottery. Bread baked in a communal oven. Cloth was weaved and garments sewn. Some families, men women and children worked the surrounding farmland and some watched the flocks in the nearby hills.

Children to young for daily work would, in the circle of huts, play games and learn the skills needed in this rapidly forming civilization. Children were expected to follow the same trades and learn the same skills as their parents. If the father was a farmer, the son would be a farmer. If the father was skilled in pottery, then the sons were expected to be skilled in pottery. Male children would practice ritual dances to prepare themselves when their age of manhood approached.

Though tending fields of rye and wheat or watching flocks grazing on the slopes above the stream was important to survival, there was another duty that must be performed. Most day to day activities were shared among all, but the men alone must perform this last important duty. It was to keep the gods appeased, insuring prosperity, food and life for the villagers.

At the times when daylight was longest or shortest, in the center of the circle of huts, the men would perform ritual dances praising the sun god or the moon god or any of the hundreds of other gods the villagers believed controlled their existence.

Farm the fields, tend the flocks and appease the gods, this was the way of village life. Survival was hard but life had order. But now the continuous rains had disrupted that order.

Soon the women would not be able to prepare the grains for baking bread. Mud threatened to swallow the grind stones, grain pits were in danger of flooding and the communal ovens of the village square could not be fired to cook food. The children could not easily tend to their chores of watching the goats and sheep of rain saturated hillsides. Mudslides killed several livestock and broke the leg of one small boy. The grain fields could not be worked, but checks of the stream, showed that a flood was near. Even the dogs which generally stayed near the village were more distant as less scraps of food were tossed their way.

Something must be done to save the village.

# # #

Crouching under a crude tent erected in the village square, the elders sat in a semi-circle and stared silently at the rain. It seemed to fall as hard now as it had days ago when the moon was full. Sitting on woven mats, shoulder to shoulder the elders discussed a matter of great importance… how to save the village.

“The river’s rise is nearing its banks” said one. “In my childhood, a great flood washed away the crops of the valley. We relied on the hunt that winter for there was no grain. Soon the deer fled higher into the mountains and many died during the cold season.”

Nodding in agreement, another elder continued, “Soon the grain stores are gone and the harvest destroyed. The cold will come and again many will die”.

Village women filled cups with fermented drinks and these were passed from elder to elder as a unification ritual. This drink lifted spirits and warmed their bodies. Often it was said that the drink had the power to give visions and receive advice from the gods. More drinks were passed and many petitions, aloud and in silence, were presented to the gods.

Rising with the help from several women, the most revered elder of the village steadied himself and stated, “You know there is one among us who is not here and does not follow the village way”. The elders murmured among themselves for they knew what was to be said.

“Noah the Hunter” said an elder, and he spit onto the wet ground with anger. “He is gone, to the far hills and mountains. He does not work the fields like his father did. He does not work the fields like his son does. His wife cannot work in the village square for she must do her man’s work. His children spend too much time in the fields doing their father’s work and not enough time preparing for the manhood dances.”

The women poured more drinks and the elders drank to the gods in agreement with the most revered elder.

Still standing, but with greater difficulty, the most revered elder continued, “It is clear, Noah is cause of the village’s trouble. He is now an outsider. He has made himself not one of us”.

“I knew his father”, said an elder, “a good man, a farmer, like us. His fields grew tall and prosperous, so prosperous that he could bring Naama from her distant village to be wife to his son. Good woman with an evil husband”.

Rain pounding the roof of the tent, women refilled the cups, the elders drank and with each drink became more convinced. By dawn, Noah the Hunter had changed from the village non-conformist to the source of evil.

The most revered elder, now laying back on his woven mat said in a weak, tired voice, “Clearly the gods are angry”.

The talk was now of the need for a sacrifice to the gods of rain.

# # #

Noah had started an ascent of one of the mountains near the village in a search for better hunting. The rain falling here was just a mist not a steady downpour. Climbing farther, Noah found that the rain ended, the weather got colder and the forest grew thick.

Crossing over a small rise, Noah came to a quick halt, standing still with not a muscle moving. A deer grazed behind a small bush. “It has not caught my scent”, thought Noah, “the winds blow favorable”.

Watching, Noah thought, “It is a small deer but Naama will have food until my next hunt”.

Slowly, no motion wasted, Noah drew an arrow from his quiver and raised his bow. He knew that he still had the advantage for the god of the wind blew his scent away from the unsuspecting deer.

Rustling not a branch or leave on the forest floor, in total silence he took aim. “I thank your spirit for the food you will deliver”, prayed Noah as he let loose the arrow. Its course was true, flying with great speed to the unsuspecting deer.

Then, it was not the deer he hit.

Noah stumbled backwards startled by the events. Tumbling through scrub bushes and leaves, he came to a stop leaning awkwardly against a small pine.

Shivering, not from the cold or the pain of his sudden stop, but from what he had just seen, Noah crawled back to the top of the rise.

The deer was gone but in the place it had stood was a creature unlike any Noah had ever seen in the forest before. Fear raced through Noah as he wanted to turn and run. “I have put my arrow through a god”, thought Noah. “My family, my wife, my children are now cursed to the underworld”.

But Noah didn’t run. Looking at the strange creature he saw an oozing from where the arrow pierced the creature’s flesh. “Gods don’t bleed” said Noah.

Like a shapeless mud ball, the creature lay with Noah’s arrow stuck deep in its body. The creature tried to move but it could not move even a short distance across the forest floor.

To Noah it looked like the creature was trying to reach a small stone lying just out of the reach of what appeared to be its hand. He knew the creature was dying and no medicine or magic would help.

Sitting on a nearby fallen tree, Noah considered what to do next. Looking up he prayed, “Gods of the forest, what am I to do?” He listened and watched but saw no sign. The gods of the forest were silent. “Or perhaps”, Noah thought, “they do not know what to do”.

With a loud, deep sound, the wounded creature still reached for the small stone that was still too far away. Startled by the creature’s noise, Noah leapt back off the log and instinctively raised his bow in defense, an arrow ready and aimed at the misshapen, dying creature. “His sound shakes the woods”, thought Noah.

“Is it calling for help from other of its kind” murmured Noah, his fear rising but still with the arrow steady and ready to fly. “This thing appeared out of nowhere, could other of it’s kind arrive”?

If the creature had a mouth, it would have been said to be panting heavily, gasping for any breath of air from its world. But the creature was still trying to reach the stone laying nearby.

“That must be important”, thought Noah, “for even in death it tries to hold it near”. He took a step nearer the creature and the stone it was trying to reach.

A bellow from the dying shape shook the canopy of trees and Noah stopped, not moving a muscle, as if still stalking prey waiting for it to move. It seemed that all nature went quiet. The winds did not blow nor did any creature run through the leaves and bushes.

Noah realized that the strange creature made no further sound or motion. It had died.

Lowering his bow, he slowly inched forward, approaching the stone still lying just a short distance from the lifeless form. With a hunter’s stealth and speed he picked it up, rolled it over in his hands and noticed the carvings.

Then to Noah’s amazement, the creature disappeared just as quickly as it arrived. There was no noise, no breeze, only the matted leaves where the creature had lain. No body, no blood and no arrow that had pierced the creature’s body.

Noah dropped to his knees, “Powerful magic”, he roared to the gods of the forest. Quickly myths and stories of the hunt played though his head. There must be an answer he thought. “The creature appeared, to protect the deer. Yes that’s it”, Noah thought, “and it had made a dying sacrifice to protect the creature of the forest”.

Noah’s attention now moved to the carved stone that he was still rolling over in his hand. “These lines, the symbols, mean nothing to me but were great magic to the protector god of the forest”.

The stone which started as cold as the day, was now slightly warming as he continued to examine its symbols. There was something different about this stone, a difference that he could not explain. “The creature was certainly a messenger of the gods and this was surely made by the gods” thought Noah.

Sitting for a while, he knew the day was now closer to sunset than sunrise and he must be on his way. But to where? He could not continue the hunt as if nothing had happened. He had killed a messenger of the gods. Go back to the village? Tell his story? But who would believe him?

With a little laugh, he imagined telling the village elders, “A creature appeared from nowhere to protect the deer from my arrow, died and then disappeared”. He would surely be village clown after that.

“Do I tell Naama? She may pretend to understand and believe me but surely would have to leave, take our children back to her village and tell tales of her crazy husband”. Noah chuckled again. He realized he could be an outcast in two villages, his and his wife’s family village. “Now that would be an accomplishment, village clown in not one but two villages”, thought a smiling Noah.

Turning the stone nervously over and over in his hands, Noah sat for several hours as the day neared dusk. Still on the fallen tree, he stared repeatedly at the stone in his hands and then at the matted leaves where the creature had lain.

He thought, “My dad would have known what to do. He was a great elder, wise, strong”. And Noah then missed him more than ever.

Until his death twelve full moons ago, Noah’s father, Lamech, had been chief elder of the village. Though the village did not become rich under Lamech’s guidance, it had seen no fields fail or person starve. It was a time looked back on admirably by the current elders. As an aged man, Lamech worked in his fields daily and his death was not a surprise.

One day near the last harvest season, Naama was took water and food to Lamech’s fields but found him dead. No marks scared his body and there were no signs of anything or anyone taking his life. Lamech was simply taken by the gods.

How Noah wished to consult his father’s wisdom for an answer. Still turning the mysterious stone over and over in his hands, Noah found the motion to be calming and almost hypnotic. Now the stone was almost too hot to hold. “I repent at the slaying of the forest god and fear what will happen to my family”. Noah looked through the canopy of leaves and cried out to his father “You would have an answer. You should be with me now. It was just TWELVE MOONS AGO” and with those words, Noah disappeared from the forest, but just briefly.

# # #

Blackness momentarily engulfed Noah, his eyes did not see, his ears did not hear, as if his mind was disconnected from his body. This lasted but the blink of an eye and then he sat again in the forest. But this time on the ground, the fallen tree he had been sitting on was gone and he lay in the dirt… dry dirt. And the matted leaves where the creature had lain was bare dry dirt. Again, dry dirt. The rain was gone and the sun god was high in a brilliant blue sky.

“A powerful magic”, thought Noah and he raised his eye to the sun god setting over the mountains and gave praise. Placing the stone in his tunic he quietly said, “Return to the village”.

He rose and ran down the mountain into the foothills above the village. Coming out of the line of trees into the brilliant sunlight, Noah could see the fields of the village in the valley below. Farther off, beyond the fields, he could see the village, but… somehow it looked different. It seemed to have fewer huts. But differences didn’t matter for the sun was out and shining and the gods were happy.

Breathing heavily from his running Noah vowed, “I will build an altar to the sun god to commemorate this day and in the altar I will give a place of honor to this stone”.

The more he ran the more glorious and grand his story became. The accidental shooting of the creature had, in Noah’s mind, grown into an epic tale of fighting evil in pouring mountain rains. And the stone was a reward from the sun god for his victory, guaranteeing the ending of the rain.

Surely he would be a hero, ending the rain, saving the fields fighting the evil beasts of the earth. “They will sing of my adventure”, thought a grinning of Noah, “long after I die”.

As Noah ran down the slopes, the forest gave way to grassy hills where the town’s sheep grazed. Then he ran through the fields of grain and with each step his visions of honor and importance grew bolder and bigger. And with these thoughts, Noah stopped and in a mix of terror and awe dropped to his knees in the fields of wheat.

“Lamech”, Noah whispered and then with a voice almost frozen with fear, he yelled “Father”.

There before him was Lamech, working his fields as alive as he ever was.. “But your…” Noah stopped for he could not say his father was dead. His father stood before him.

“Get up Noah. So you finally stopped hunting and will now help me with the fields”, said Lamech. “Look at this crop, we won’t be hungry in the cold season. Perhaps we’ll have enough to trade for the blue stones your wife loves.”

Noah stared. How could his father be alive and in the fields? Truly a great magic is in our presence. “Noah” questioned Lamech, “Are you going to help? You know these fields feed you wife and children too.” Noah did not move from he knees. He stared at his father who was now staring back puzzled and confused at the actions of his son.

The events of the day played over in Noahs mind: Gods appear, disappear, his father lives, but father’s dead, the endless rains cease, the ground is dry. I possess a great magic.

Then Noah disappeared. He did not run back up the hill or down the hill to the village. He disappeared where he knelt before his father. There was no smoke, incantation or any indication that something was about to happen. There were no signs in the wind or distant waters. Noah was there, then gone.

The startled, aged Lamech, stared at the spot where his son knelt just seconds before. Then in silence, he collapsed and died. Naama found him later that day.

# # #

The rain was again pounding on the head of the kneeling Noah. He was in the same field but his father was gone. The sun god was gone. The rich fields of grain were now just the poor crop his family was tending as he left.

Screaming at the dark sky and the pouring rain, Noah yelled, “Lamech, return. Father, do not leave”. And he knelt in the mud sobbing, “Why must I lose you again?”

Noah fought to stop his sobbing when he heard ritual drumming was coming from the village just beyond the fields. He knew of no festival during this time of year. The harvests were not in and it was not mid-winter to celebrate the return of the sun.

It was time to return to the village. Walking heavily through soggy fields of grain, Noah knew it was time to go home.

# # #

Drumming, drumming, drumming.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Raining, raining, raining.

The elders were in a dreamlike state, dancing in the pouring rain to the repetitive beat of drums. Bodies spinning wildly, fortified by ritual drinks, the elders were now only barely in control of their actions. Some wore the common cloth tunic of the small village, others wore the animal skins, but all danced wildly about the soggy, rain soaked ground of the village center.

Women and children peered from the huts surrounding the square, watching as their men danced in wild gyrations with petitions to the gods in prayers almost screamed from their lips. Surely the gods would answer soon.

The day wore on and the petitions to the gods were now incomprehensible shouts into the darkness and rain. “A sign great sun god, a sign of your desires” screamed one elder. “Rain god, tell me how to lift the burden of the village”, cried another, each elder imploring the gods to show the way to end the rains.

“Shall we build an altar”? A crack of lightning split a tree outside of the village.

“Shall we offer our crops to the gods”? The rain fell harder.

“Shall we sacrifice”? The rains seemed to let up slightly.

“Yes, yes”, cried the elders the gods were listening. They were on the right path to appease the gods.

“Bring a sheep as an offering to the gods”, ordered an elder but the rains again increased in intensity. The small stream was beginning to overflow its banks.

“The gods are angry at the sacrifice of a sheep. Choose someone from the village… a man… a woman… a child… who?”

The leap to human sacrifice that the Elders were about to propose was never a part of the ancient stories and lore of the area. Generations had passed and been forgotten since the last human sacrifices.

“Who great gods do you desire?” chanted the elders hoping for a sign that would point away from themselves and their families to someone else in the village.

Their chants continued, “A sign great gods. Who”? And with rising voices… “Who?” “Who”? Who”?

Lightening again cracked through the sky in great yellow bursts, just as Noah entered the village square, muddy, tired and very wet.

The Elders smiled for their families were safe.

# # #

Bound with rope and laying on a flat stone just outside the village entrance, Noah did not understand the situation he was now in. Apparently his actions in the forest had not only offended the gods but the people of his village as well.

Noah had struggled briefly but realizing it was of no use gave up and now lay quietly on the cold, wet stone. Shivering, terrified, he tried to glance around, “How do I get out of this”?

Now the town’s women and children had joined the Elders around the stone where he lay. Noah though could not see Naama or any of his children. First he wished Naama would appear and tell him how this madness came to be. Maybe she could stop it. Then with his next thought, he hoped Naama and the children were far away, safe up the far mountains.

Naama was not in the crowd surrounding the flat stone. They were restrained in their hut, held captive by a small guard of young village men. The Elders decided that they must remain captive until after the sacrifice was made for surely their displeasure at the choice of sacrifice would by seen by the gods.

Turning his head from side to side, Noah could see the Elders, people who he had known for years, chanting loudly at the sky imploring the gods to accept a sacrifice to end the rain. Now Noah knew, “I am the sacrifice”. He struggled again but the wet ropes only seemed to bind him tighter.

“What to do. What to do”, he thought. “I can’t be sacrifice for I have …” and then he realized, “I have slain a god”. He assumed he was to be the village outcast but to be a sacrifice, this had never entered his mind.

The rains were pounding harder on the crowd surrounding the stone where Noah was tied. The winds were fierce and the temperature was far too cold for this time of the year.

Pushing closer, the crowd of villagers implored the Elders to quickly do the sacrifice. “Save the fields”, some yelled. Others cried, “Stop the rain. Now. Now. Now”. And then a chant rose, “Knife. Knife. Knife. Send this outcast to the sky to please the gods”.

Wide eyed, Noah was in disbelief at the growing chaos surrounding his prone body. An elder raised his knife above Noah’s heaving chest. The villagers chanted and strained for a better look at the sacrifice that would change their lives. The rain pounded harder. The winds howled and great trees were blown over all across the sloping landscape. The gods were sending the strongest powers of nature to be present at the sacrifice.

Noah strained at the ropes holding him to the sacrificial altar. Then his palm touched the Stone still in his tunic. “Was it only this morning”, thought Noah, “It seemed like weeks ago”. Rolling the Stone in his fingers, he thought of his father working the fields. Was he alive or dead? He thought of the forest god his arrow had killed, appearing and disappearing before his eyes.

The Elder with the knife aimed at Noah’s chest was chanting with almost hypnotic vigor. Noah was rolling the Stone more nervously in his fingers.

The Elder’s knife started its downward plunge, aimed at Noah’s pounding heart. The villagers cheered and chanted in hope and terror. In these final seconds, Noah was desperate.

As if time stood still while the deadly knife plunged toward his heart, Noah’s thought of his family. Naama was strong, she would survive. The knife was now just an instant from his chest and Noah thought of his children. “If only I could have lived for Ham and Shem”, he cried, “just TEN YEARS MORE”.

The knife broke as it hit the altar stone where just a brief instant before Noah had lain.

# # #

Again, the darkness fell over Noah and then quickly disappeared. The knife had split the ropes binding Noah’s arms as the downward stroke headed for his chest but before it entered his flesh, he had disappeared.

But Noah had a new problem. He was now floating in the middle of a great sea whose shores could barely be seen. He could make out distant mountains that were so familiar to him and before them gently sloping hills.

Noah clawed in panic for a tree branch floating nearby and clutching it with all his strength and tried to make sense of the events bursting around him.

The creature he had killed. The Stone. The first blackness. The sun and blue skies appearing. His father alive again. Darkness again. Rain again. The sacrifice. The Stone. More darkness and now here he was clinging to a tree in a vast salt sea.

Noah wondered, “If I wait floating, will I return to the village like I returned after seeing my father”? So he floated, waiting in the gentle waves of what would one day be known as the Black Sea.

The expected darkness came again to Noah.

# # #

Noah was again on the sacrificial stone just out side of his village. Empty now, the area around the altar was just mud and trampled grass.

He quietly rose, not knowing the reception he would receive on his return. “The rains have stopped. I guess that is a good sign”, he thought. Stumbling into the village, his clothes still wet from the salt sea, Noah began to understand the meaning of all the events of the day.

He realized the land where the village stood would soon be under water, the bottom of the salt sea where he had been floating. Glancing toward the distant mountains, he knew that the spot of his sacrifice was also the spot where he had grabbed the floating tree limb.

How it would happen, he did not know, but Noah knew that a great flood was coming. He must find his family and leave the village forever.

Noah knew nothing of the troubles that follow the Stone and its travels. He only knew that the Stone had let him see his father one last time, saved him from a death and even saved his family from the great flood to come.

Just about at the moment Noah returned to his village, thousands of miles to the west, a great wall of stone and earth that separated a small fresh lake from a great salt sea had given way. The small lake was soon to be a vast sea and the village of Noah was to be lost beneath its waves. But by then, Noah and his family would be gone.

The stories of Noah would be remembered in great epic poems passed from generation to generation until finally written in clay by the scribes of Sumer almost three thousand years in the future.

It was the beginning of now…

______________________

Next week: The Present

Chapter 8 - The Noise Outside The Window Should Have Been Noticed

Chapter 6: The End of the Beginning

2.5 Billion Years Ago

Lighting the red sky with glorious streaks of fire, speeding through the methane-dominated atmosphere, a Stone smashed into the Earth. Leaving barely a charred crater in the hard granite surface of the early Earth, the Stone sat and cooled, intact and unmoving.

It was only about four inches across and smooth to the touch. Almost white in color, it stood out brilliantly against the predominately red granite rocks.

Near to the spot where the Stone had landed was a fairly large settlement. They had noticed the object streaking across the sky and many set out to locate it.

Revering the forces of nature, those first finding the Stone knew that that it must be handed over to the Elders and they could determine the importance of this event. They would know the fate of the Stone.

The Elders were immediately fascinated and several realized that it could be of great value in furthering their powers. But, rumors began to spread among the general population about the mysterious Stone. Debate began among the populace and it seemed that everyone had an opinion, some were of value and some were not worth considering. Many suggestions even generated what today we would call chuckles among the creatures gathered.

Some claimed it as a religious object, sent from distant gods. Voices arose. “Create a monument to house The Stone”, said one. “Worship the Stone. Pray to The Stone”, said another. Some stood outside the great hall of the Elders and chanted in chorus, “The Stone is immortal. The Stone is immortal”.

Others feared the Stone. The fiery crash that brought it to their city, sent fear even through creatures as these who had a deep knowledge of the mysteries of nature. “Send it into the oceans to be lost forever”, plead some. Others wanted to send The Stone into a fiery grave in a distant volcano. Others suggested, “Find the remotest, deepest corner of the planet and lose the Stone there”.

Still others determined to use natural powers to shape the Stone to their needs. “Etch the Stone with the story of its discovery”, some debated. Others said, “Give the stone to the historians to long be remembered”.

None was silent. Every one had an opinion. Every one had a solution. And everyone thought their solution best. From the humble worker to the rulers of the city, all debated and argued over the Stone.

Soon though debate gave way to violent action. They shoved. They pushed. They argued among themselves. And soon, this escalated into open fighting and rioting. Things were well out of control.

First several died, then hundreds. Violence gave way to revenge and all over the question of what to do with The Stone. An civilization was collapsing as opinions as to the fate of the Stone grew louder and more destructive.

Finally the Elders decided. Remove the Stone from society. It was not enough to send it to the bottom of a sea or the top of a mountain because here, the Stone could be found by one adventurous enough and trouble would begin anew.

The Elders met and talked while outside riots were growing. Finally a plan emerged for the Stone and the very nature of time was at its core. But there was a problem.

# # #

Time.

Among their many talents to control nature was the fact that They possessed the means to control the arrow of time itself, moving backwards and forwards as the required. But never in great giant leaps of time, for their culture and beliefs forbid that.

In their distant past, incantations were discovered that when said precisely and with just the right inflection one could travel to a selected period in history for a brief amount of time and then return.

The difficulty of the incantation was high and almost all who tried failed. Miss an inflection, slightly mispronounce a word or stress the wrong syllable and nothing would happen.

It was fortunate that the time incantation was so difficult, because They knew it had a serious drawback. It was observed that when one traveled through time, events would change and always for the worse, sometimes a small local calamity and sometimes a continent shaking event. But always, something happened.

Some travelers making time trips returned as if ripped apart by savage animals. This was often chalked up to the traveler’s inexperience or bad choice of destination. Sometimes travelers returned to finds death and destruction present where all was fine before their journey. On at least one instance, a traveler had returned to find entire settlements in ruin.

Sometimes news of a tragedy would only arrive days after. They knew that time travel was dangerous but they were also drawn to the endless possibility of time.

Over time, a great priesthood arose, the keepers and protectors of the words that permitted travel through time. As the Priesthood of the Incantation, they were responsible for the preservation and protection of time travel.

A massive Temple of the Incantation was built keeping the priests were separated from society, isolated to preserve the time chant and to protect society from its ills. Strong walls of black stone soared skyward, sturdy and apparently seamless giving no hint of weakness.

Spires of jagged, razor sharp stone periodically grew from the walls. Here Priests of the Incantation would stand above the city, remote and superior to those below. Great halls were constructed for the priests and dormitories were built to house novices accepted for study and inclusion into the priest hood.

Outside the imposing Temple grew an entire industry supporting those who came to plead for admittance into the studies of priesthood. Poorly constructed shelters, poor food and severe conditions greeted those hopeful of inclusion but still They remained and waited.

Those accepted through the massive gates would be endlessly trained to precisely use the proper tones and words of the time incantation but they would always stop short of completing the phrasing. Only the highest member of the order knew the final phrases, for the priesthood restricted time travel only to only when it was actually required. For any other that than the highest priests to complete the incantation meant instant death, dismemberment at the hands of the priest’s executioners.

Over the years, The Priesthood of the Incantation grew distant from the general public and eventually became of little interest to those outside. No longer did crowds live in harsh conditions outside of the Temple pleading for admittance. Vendors moved on to more lucrative businesses away from the Temple walls.

In side the Temple, things had also grown old. A slow, imperceptible fade into non-existence was underway. Priesthood novices no longer filled dormitories with study and preaching, learning the secrets and traditions. Now there were but three priests left who knew the secret of the time incantation.

It was into this fading Priesthood of the Incantation, isolated from the rioting outside, that the Elders delivered The Stone. To the Elders, this was a temporary solution, using the Temple of the Incantation as a refuge until they could restore order but the priests did not know this. The three remaining priests thought The Stone was theirs permanently.

The Elders handed The Stone over to the priests and with few instructions, they then hurried off to quell the increasing rioting.

By now, in many places, the rioting had become full warfare. Gangs roamed the towns beating those who did not believe about The Stone as they did. “Worship The Store”, screamed some. “Sacrilege, fight them”, yelled those opposing. “Destroy The Stone”, some yelled. “They don’t believe, burn them”, implored others and the fighting raged on.

The priesthood though stood apart from issues of the world, secure behind the massive Temple of the Incantation. Besides they could not be bothered with matters as rioting and fighting for they now possessed the marvelous Stone. What would they do with it?

With hardness beyond anything they understood, seemingly indestructible, the Stone presented a unique opportunity. Quickly a plan arose. Knowing that their old ways were dieing, it was decided that they would use The Stone to preserve their knowledge. After all there were only three left who knew and worshipped the Incantation.

“We can call on nature to rise to our call and carve into the Stone the holy incantation, preserving it for a time when worship shall again rise”, said one priest. “Call on the wind to bend to our will and create an eternal object”.

Immediately, the Priesthood started shaping the forces of nature to carve the Time Incantation into the hard surface of The Stone. In the tallest of their towers, they built a platform on which to set and secure The Stone. Open to the elements on all sides, vast great arches created a hexagon around the Stone. The priests could invoke the elements from all corners of the Earth to do their will.

Chanting and singing in patterns ancient beyond their years, they commanded the winds to blow fine grains of sand onto The Stone in precise patterns. Over and over again, the sands smashed into The Stone. Relentlessly the winds blew as nature obeyed the commands of the priests. Over and over the three priests danced around the Stone chanting.

The Stone though resisted their attempts to etch the Time Incantation on its sides. Having passed through solar furnaces and supernovas, The Stone was harder than anything on Earth.

“Blow harder winds”, the priest commanded and the winds reached speeds never before attained on the planet. The very spire of the tower strained against the forces of nature now blowing through, around and over it. The hexagon of arches exploded from their foundations as all nature raged around the spire.

Day and night the priests chanted and prayed, exposed to the elements of nature they were summoning and their plan was working. The relentless grinding of sand upon the surface of The Stone was now ever so slightly etching the Time Incantation into its surface.

Living day and night in the spire amid the cold, wind and sand, and working ever harder to bend nature to their will, the elderly priests drained their own lives to complete their task.

“The winds must blow harder”, one observed, “and the sand must be moved more quickly”. The three elderly priests stood together and impelled the forces of nature to move against The Stone with more ferocity.

More than once during the period of the etching, did one collapse only to be dragged away for rest while the others urged on the forces of nature. Weakened and often ill, the priests did their duty, returning to the tower to complete their task, their legacy of The Stone. One died and then another leaving just a lone solitary figure to complete the task.

Exhausted, the remaining priest ordered the forces of wind and sand to quit their action and return to their natural state. High in the spire, the last Priest of the Incantation lifted The Stone from its platform where it had been exposed to the elements bent to the will of the priests. “I can do no more”, the last priest sighed as he looked at the faint etchings on The Stone. “It is as complete as it shall ever be”.

Rolling The Stone over, the last Priest of the Incantation read the etchings. “It is good”, he said to himself and it was. The wind, sand and will of the priests had etched the Time Incantation into its surface, all except for the final details, period and duration.

“Good, good”, the exhausted priest murmured. “Most is preserved for eternity but I can command the winds no more. It must remain incomplete”.

Slumping against the outer wall of the battered tower, a servant’s voice he heard. “Master, the Elders have returned for the Stone”.

Turning and looking outward at flames engulfing everything out to the horizon, the last priest said solemnly, “And I don’t think they shall have it”.

# # #

The Elders were desperate. Retuning to retrieve the stone from the priests, they would now execute their last option.

Escorted by Temple servants into the Great Hall, they entered a room where once scores of priests gathered to worship the Time Incantation and practice forbidden mysteries. Now empty, the Great Hall echoed as they crossed to a spot in the center where they were asked to wait.

Settling in, waiting for the priests to deliver The Stone into their keeping they discussed the apparent hopelessness of the world outside the temple.

They had come to the emptiness of the Temple’s Great Hall from a world destroying itself over the meaning of The Stone: A gift from God or an omen of evil? Or was it simply a stone of no special meaning to be discarded and ignored?

These questions were turning neighborhood against neighborhood, neighbor against neighbor. They fought, burned, suffered and died over the meaning of The Stone. Cities had disappeared in the carnage as once violent gangs joined into deadly armies trying to claim The Stone and forge it to their own desires. It seemed as if the Earth itself was in flame.

Even the common incantations to create sustenance were failing and famine was spreaded. It was as if nature itself was changing and the rituals of the past functioned no more.

The Elders knew that they must halt the violence and, they realized that there was no means to halt the violence as long as the question of The Stone remained. So, their plan was simple, remove the Stone, end the violence. With order restored other issues could easily be handled.

A small door opened at the far end of the Great Hall and the last Priest of the Incantation entered, stooped over and aged. He approached The Elders gathered in the center of the room.

“Where are the others”, questioned an Elder?

“Dead. I am the last”, replied the priest.

Apparently unsurprised, the Elder continued, “Then listen, we must lose the Stone. Travel through time, to a distant spot and leave it far from where any can ever find it”.

Rising to his full height, the last priest raged. “No”, he screamed in a voice echoing through the emptiness of the Great Hall. “This Stone is, mine, er… ours, preserving the priesthood even when all are gone. You and your kind have no claim on it”.

The last priest knew that the etching on The Stone was incomplete as he turned away from the Elders and continued more calmly, “This stone holds the key to time. It preserves the Incantation and as the last priest, only I can use it and I will not.”

Rising to try to present a more imposing figure, the Elder calmly paced the center of the Great Hall. “You must lose The Stone in time. Think now of the suffering outside the Temple”, plead an Elder.

Then a thumping, a dull distant thumping was heard in the distance. Entering the hall, a servant of the Temple bowed and quietly said to the priest, “They are at the gates and attempting to gain entrance”.

The Elders glancing first at the servant and then quickly back to the lone priest rose almost as a single chorus, “For the good of all, take The Stone through time. The mob will claim entry soon”.

Now the last priest was in a panic, the pounding on the Temple entrance, the voices of the Elders, the nervous Temple servants all served to confuse him. Silently he said over and over, “Destroy the Stone and end any chance of preserving the Priesthood of the Incantation but I will save the city. But preserving the Incantation is my duty”.

Turning as he neared the far wall, the last priest continued, “Stay here and the mob will destroy the Temple, also destroying the priesthood. What to do? What must I do?”

The doors to the Great Hall were now barred with furniture pilled high across the entrances held in place by the strength of servants against the mob outside. “Sir, they are almost through. It is to be our end”. The mob voices could now be heard in the corridors winding through the Temple. Soon they would locate the Elders and priest in their refuge within the Great Hall.

“Through time is our only chance”, said an Elder, hoping that a calmer voice would let the last priest see that their way is the only way, “Our only chance”.

“It is over”, the priest thought for he realized that preserving their way of life was more important that saving the legacy of the Temple or even saving the time incantation itself. “The time of the Temple is over when I die”, he softly murmured. He knew what he must do, travel time.

Slumping to the floor, exhausted and fighting just to have strength to talk, the last priest said, “I will do your bidding. I will take the Stone through time”.

Relief spread through the Elders. They would prevail. They had won.

The last priest was ordered to go immediately through time, two and a half billion years in the future. “Time enough”, said an Elder and “A good place to lose the Stone”.

“Put the burden of its final resolution on those of the future”.

It would not be their problem anymore and perhaps it the fighting now raging just outside the doors of the Great Hall would cease.

Explosions were heard nearby, explosions in the Temple. Time was short. Just as the great black wall of the Temple fortifications had given way to the mob, so the walls of the Great Hall were beginning to buckle. Rioters were now just outside the doors.

“Do it now”, the Elders urged, “Now go”.

Picking up The Stone the last Priest of the Incantation prepared for travel through time. “ I must go to a place where it can do no more harm” he thought. He rehearsed the incantation in his mind, every word, every inflection and tone must be right. There may be no other chance.

Lifting The Stone the priest looked at the incantation lightly etched into its surface and felt a sense of pride that his work would last for all time. But something was different, an energy rising from The Stone that he had not felt before.

“Now”, screamed an Elder as the doors of the Great Hall buckled even more under the weight of the mob. Cracks were forming and the barricades strained at the weight of those trying to gain entrance.

The priest staggered as a power emanated from the Stone. The etching had made it more than just a stone. It was a powerful object tied into his every sense. The Stone drew power from the etching, the etching drew power from the Stone and each joined the will of the priest holding it.

“The difference”, the priest whispered, “I know the difference”. He sensed that no longer did he have to recite the words of the incantation to travel through time. Just by holding the Stone, it was in control. The Stone would assure the success of the incantation.

Now he knew that with the Stone anyone could control time. No longer was time travel the realm of the Priests of the Incantation, it was available to all. The old ways of the priesthood had died, here and in his hand.

He knew what he must do. To preserve the Priesthood, he must lose the Stone in time. He knew that there was great danger if it remained. “By losing the Stone, I will be the sole priest and I can preserve the old ways. I will teach others and they will worship me”, he thought. “I alone have knowledge and I alone will rule”, he cried with growing arrogance.

But then the last priest remembered, “the Stone is incomplete. The last line is unfinished”. Here was another reason that there would always be the need for a Priest of the Incantation. The Stone knew no period or duration.

Now very calm, he knew that no matter what outcome, he had preserved of the Priesthood of the Incantation. But curiosity was beginning to overwhelm him. “Would it work?” the last priest thought.

He glanced out a window of the Great Hall at the red, methane sky of his Earth. He glanced at the city in flame. He knew what he must do and how to do it. But first, as a test, “Does it work?” he silently thought. For this one time only he would let the power of the etchings on the Stone, lead him through time.

Rolling the Stone over and over, the Priest glanced around the room. A power swept through his body waiting for his command. He felt as if he was floating but still planted firmly on the floor of the Great Hall.

The priest was now ready to give the final orders, period and duration. He could almost hear the Stone ordering him to complete the incantation. In a language now dead for two and a half billion years he chanted TWO AND A HALF BILLION YEARS AHEAD, FIVE MINUTES.

And the stone knew what to do for at the last syllable, the last Priest of the Incantation and the Stone were gone.

# # #

8 Thousand Years Ago

It was not just the shock of the new surroundings that caused the last priest to immediately drop the Stone, it was the object piercing his body. Long and thin, the object caused a great pain, penetrating the outer layers and embedding deep in an internal organ.

Gasping for breathe in the alien atmosphere, he cried out, “Help me”, to a strange creature standing nearby. But the creature did nothing.

“I was wrong, so wrong”, the priest thought with his last breaths, “I must get the Stone and take it back with me”. It was lying near his dying body. He attempted to reach for it but could not.

Now the strange creature was nearing the stone, and the last priest bellowed, “Stay back or I shall command all nature to oppose you”.

And the alien creature stopped, watched the last priest and then sat on a long cylindrical object.

With more confidence the priest yelled, “Do not ever approach the Stone again”. His strength was failing and he could not say more.

Weakening more, the last priest made a final attempt to grasp the Stone. Failing, he laid back and realized that that for all his abilities, his magic, his command of nature, he could not save his own life.

“How blue this sky is”, he thought with his dying breath.

And he vanished from the strange, blue skied world.

# # #

2.5 Billion Years Ago

It would have been easy to believe that the priest and stone were never even there but the Elders had seen him vanish while clutching the Stone.

“We are saved”, said one Elder as they all settled in to the center of the Great Hall to wait for the priests return.

Outside the temple as if by magic, things were immediately changing, tempers were cooling and the violent events were coming to an end.

The doors of the Great Hall had held and a servant reported that the last of the mob was at that moment being forced into the streets. The Temple of the Incantation was secure and empty of priests. This pleased the Elders. Power was now theirs alone.

So now, the Elders waited for the return of the last priest. “Five minutes the old priest said. He should be back soon”, one Elder stated. “Then we can deal with him”.

Pacing the Great Hall in deep thought one Elder stopped and said, “You realize that there is some proof backing that old legend that every instance of time travel causes disasters to occur”.

“Yes, I know the stories but we had to take that chance”, said another. “Besides what disaster could be worse that the fighting in the streets below? Just listen, that priest has only been gone a short time and the fighting is already done. Something has changed and I can only think that it is for the better”.

Still as they waited for the return of the priest, silently praying that this time travel event would only lead to a minor problem because deep down, the Elders still did believe in the old legend.

As the minutes passed waiting for the priest’s return, the Elders started to feel very good about their decision to lose the Stone in time.

Then as quickly as the priest disappeared, he or at least his body reappeared, bloated and lifeless, dead on the floor. A strange, long thin piece of some material had pierced his body. The elders, afraid to touch the item ordered their servants remove it from the lifeless body of the priest.

“Take that for study”, said one Elder motioning to a servant to save the long thin rod that was removed from the priests body.

“Is the Stone with him”, asked another Elder?

This time, not relying on servants, the Elders themselves searched the priest’s body and clothing but the Stone was nowhere to be found.

Glancing at each other, the Elders were relieved and for the first time in days, they relaxed. The Stone was gone and as a bonus, the last Priest of the Incantation was gone. Power was theirs alone.

“Spread the word, the Stone has been destroyed”, ordered one of the Elders and a servant quickly left to post the message.

As word spread of the Stones disappearance even the rioting and fighting in the distant towns subsided. Armies disbanded as neighbor again welcomed to neighbor. Commerce between once warring communities resumed. Peace was restored and some were even bold enough to say that a golden age has begun.

The Elders were praised and their power grew. New palaces were built and they lived in great luxury. In the public eye, the Elders were transforming into god-like beings and plans were made to build temples in their honor.

In private though, the Elders celebrated the end of the Priests of the Incantation and that silly religion. They were now the object of their people’s worship.

Standing on the balcony of a newly constructed palace, the Elders talked among themselves, “How silly we were to believe that time travel would bring disaster. That belief kept us worshiping that ridiculous incantation for too many generations”.

“It has been a year since the priest died”, said another Elder, “and we achieved total power. We shall not be challenged again”.

As one they agreed. With themselves in charge, their world would only get better. Their sky seemed as red as it ever was and the methane atmosphere of their world was as good as ever.

None could notice of the imperceptible increase in oxygen in the atmosphere that started just as the dead priest returned from the future. Slowly oxygen would replace methane and ammonia. Slowly, new creatures would rise to dominate Earth.

The first mass extinction in Earth’s history had begun and They did not notice. The end of the beginning...

_____________________

Next week:

Chapter 7: The Beginning of Now

Chapter 5: You Would Know Me As...

The Present

Late spring was often a great time for just sitting around on the front porch with friends.

If the weather’s right, a warm breeze can cause the memory of snow and cold that ruled the valley just a few weeks before to quickly fade. In a typical town, flowers would be pushing up from the newly thawed ground ready to burst into color, but this was Owens Farm and color and flowers were generally frowned on by the residents.

For Mary, it was nice to see the trees regaining the canopy of green, stripped in the long winter.

“So, you going” Ben asked Mary as they sat on Ben’s porch after school.

Mary, thumbing through the day’s homework, was a little stunned by Ben’s question.

“Of course I’m going, I like Mr. Carlyle and of course, he’s the most interesting person in town”, she said.

“Oh, more interesting than me”, asked Ben jokingly.

“Of course far more interesting”, said Mary continuing the gentle ribbing. “Besides“, she said more matter-of-factly now, “My parents are some of the few folks in town who like Mr. Carlyle. They think it will be a good place to practice my social skills, good place for you too BD. After all, we are growing up”.

“Don’t remind me, I’ve got more homework and less time than ever”, replied Ben.

“Ben”, asked Mary changing the subject, “didn’t you find it rather odd, this whole Student Advisory thing? Nobody in school talked of it, but I guess that means they’d have to care about something. But this council thing, first it’s on. Then it’s off, in just the blink of an eye”

“That’s not the only thing that happened in the blink of an eye”, said Ben. “Mr. Carlyle acted rather strange that day. Somehow I lost track of him. First he’s behind me on the walk and then there he is in the doorway of the school. I just don’t see how I missed it”.

“Oh you were probably fixing your tie, wanting to look all perfect, just perfect”, said Mary with large joking smile on here face, “probably looking at your face in the shine on your shoes and Mr. Carlyle just passed right by you”.

“Enough Mary, Luke makes fun of me enough, I don’t need you joining his chorus”, laughed Ben.

“Oh Luke hasn’t bothered you in a few days Ben”, said Mary. “My dad says that Mr. Nelson decided to let Luke spend a few days in Officer Vache’s jail cell before getting him out. Dad says that it will teach him a lesson”.

“Yeah, well my dad says that it’s just Red Nelson’s way of not having to feed Luke for a few days. His was of saving a few bucks”, said Ben. “I hear that Officer Vache called Mr. Nelson the last two nights trying to get him to come and get Luke out”.

Behind Mary and Ben, the screen door creaked open. Leaning out Ben’s mother said, “Just about dinner time Ben. Mary, are you staying? It’s meatloaf and potatoes today and you are more than welcome”.

“No thanks Mr. Dover, my mom’s expecting me home soon”, said Mary as she collected her school things and started down the front steps. Turning she said, “Ben, be sure to stop by on you way to Mr. Carlyle’s on Saturday, we can walk there together”.

“No problem”, said Ben as he closed the screen door behind him and smelt the delicious odors coming seductively from his mom’s kitchen.

In the kitchen, Eleanor Dover said to her son, “Ben, you should have fun over at Mr. Carlyle’s on Saturday. I’m starting to find him fascinating, the colors and all.”

The turning to get the meatloaf out of the oven Eleanor Dover said, “If fact, I’m thinking of painting our house, something other than brown or gray. Perhaps a blue or red?”

Ben slumped in the chair at the dining room table. “Great”, he thought, “now my whole family will be hated in this dull grey town”.

# # #

Saturday afternoon and Ben was on his way to get Mary for their dinner party with Mr. Carlyle. Walking up her porch, Ben rang the door bell ad waited.

“She sure is pretty”, Ben thought for a second and then shuddered. He had never though of Mary that way before and it startled him. Still slightly confused, the door opened and there Mary stood. “Yes”, Ben thought, “She sure is pretty”.

“Ready to go BD”, said Mary. “Bye mom and we won’t be late”. With that Mary bounded out of the door, took Ben’s hand, much to the surprise of Ben, and proceeded down the street toward Mr. Carlyle’s house.

Sitting on the porch in a floral print rocking chair, was Mr. Carlyle. Seeing the Ben and Mary approaching, he pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and appeared to wipe something from his eyes.

“BD”, said Mary as they walked up to the house, “It sure looked like Mr. Carlyle was crying. I would say he just wiped away a tear.”

“How very like a girl”, joked Ben, “seeing emotions everywhere”.

Mary pulled her hand from Ben’s and turned to face him. “BD, I swear that sometimes just when I think you’re growing up, you become a child again” and Mary folded her arms and marched up the street to Mr. Carlyle’s house.

Ben followed closely behind, “Come on Mary, I was just joking…. Didn’t mean it… please Mary… come on”.

By now Ben and Mary were on the front walk to Mr. Carlyle’s porch where Mr. Carlyle stood and welcomed the two into his house. “I’m going to throw some steaks on the barbeque, baked potatoes too. I do hope you like steak. Old recipe given to me out West many years ago”, said Mr. Carlyle. “Go and grab yourselves a drink from the fridge, there’s several kinds of sodas in there. Go on, grab one and meet me out back”.

With that, Mr. Carlyle went outside to start the grille. Handing Mary a ginger ale, Ben said, “I sure do like him, Mary and have you noticed that things in Owens Farm seem to be brightening up just a bit? Even my parents are talking about colors, granted it was a debate between off-white or egg shell for the front room but that was more than they ever did before.”

“I think your a little optimistic BD”, said Mary. “Let’s face it, the only color around is in and on this house where we now stand. The rest of the town hasn’t changed. Why that can of yellow paint out on the porch is probably the only paint in this town that is not black, brown or some shade of gray”.

“…and soon to be off white”, grinned Ben.

Coming in from the Barbeque, Mr. Carlyle said, “Folks, looks like rain, I think its best we stay inside to eat and I’ll just do the cooking outside. Let’s go into the salon and have a seat.”

Settling into a brightly colored and overstuffed couches and chairs the three friends proceeded to chat and tell tales of their recent times in Owens Farm. Ben was starting to tell Mary about the puzzling incident outside the school just a few days earlier when Mr. Carlyle piped up, “I love chatting with you two about school and such, you know I never had a formal schooling, but I’ve got to go and tend to our dinner, just make you self at home” and Mr. Carlyle as he left the room for the back porch

“I just love this house”, said Mary, “Bright, cheerful, it just makes me feel good”. She leaned back, put her feet up on ottoman and looked very content and almost at home.

Ben though was growing more interest in the artifact and collections lining the walls. Picking up pieces and closely examining them only made his natural curiosity want to learn more. Various paintings, primitive masks and odd clay tablets pressed with strange shapes were placed throughout the room.

“These look very old Mary. Mr. Carlyle must have done nothing but go to distant far off places his whole life”, said Ben as he turned over in his hands a small carving of a gargoyle.

“BD, sit down before you break something”, said Mary as she straightened what appeared to be a photo album left on the table in front of her.

“Hey Mr. Carlyle won’t mind, he always shared things with us before and besides, what did he just say to us? Make yourselves at home, that’s what he said”, said Ben as he was now jiggling doorknobs and making his way around the salon.

“People say that just to be nice, they don’t really mean it, “said Mary who had now risen to her feet and was behind Ben. “Ben, stop poking around”.

Reaching a door in the hallway, Ben reached down and jiggled the door know. “Wonder what this room looks like”, said Ben. Opening the door, Ben peered into the darkness behind. “Looks like the stairway to the basement”, said Ben as he felt along the walls for the light switch.

“Okay, now you’ve gone too far”, complained Mary, as she grabbed Ben’s arm and pulled him back from the dark basement stairs. Resisting her pull, Ben leaned forward. “Let go Mary, just think what’s down there”, said Ben tersely.

Now using both arms and all her strength, Mary grabbed Ben and pulled back. “Do not go down there”, she struggle to say while straining against Ben.

At that moment, Ben realized that he had indeed gone too far and gotten too nosy. Without thinking, he let go of the basement stair railing just as Mary was giving one last pull with all her strength.

Tumbling backward, Mary and Ben knocked over a table dumping its contents with a loud, large crash. Mr. Carlyle ran from the back porch to the hallway and found Mary and Ben tangled on the floor amid broken statues, picture frames and other paraphernalia. Slowly his glance turned to the still open basement door.

“Did you go done there”, he yelled with an anger seeming to shake the walls of the house. Never before had Mary or Ben seen this side of Mr. Carlysle. “What did you see? What did you do”, and he took a rather threatening step toward the two still on the floor.

Ben, terrified of the looming figure of Mr. Carlyle, instinctively tried to shield Mary. Mary though would have no part of his protection and rose quickly to her feet. “We… we.. didn’t… go… er… see.. er…”, she stuttered.

“I offer you hospitality and you sneak through doors where you have no business”, continued an angry Mr. Carlyle, who now seemed to loom above them large and formidable. At least this was how Ben saw it from the mess in the hallway that still entangled his arms and legs.

“Sir, Mary did nothing. It was me. She tried to stop me but I became too caught up in the collections you have in this house”, said a very contrite Ben who by now had untangled himself and was now standing up next to Mary.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Dover. I trust you know that phrase”, said the irate Mr. Carlyle. “Get out. Leave now. I thought I could trust you. I was wrong”. With that Mr. Carlyle turned away from Ben and Mary, his head slumped low as he leaned against the corridor wall. No longer large and threatening, Ben saw him now as a rather sad, depressed elderly gentleman.

“Let’s go”, whispered Mary to Ben, as she took his arm and turned toward the front door. Ben knew that this was a good time for them to leave the house. Together they walked as silently as possible down the corridor and opened the door to leave. Ben slowly glanced over his shoulder to see if Mr. Carlyle was perhaps following after them.

At the first creak of the front door starting to open, Mr. Carlyle turned and said, “Wait, I had no right to act that way toward you two. I was wrong, please stay.” And he broke down in tears. Dropping to his knees and sobbing, he groped through his pockets for a handkerchief.

Mary returned to his side, wrapped her arms around him and tried to comfort the visibly upset Mr. Carlyle. Helping him rise to his feet, they walked back into the salon. Mary and Mr. Carlyle sat on the couch. Ben at first confused by the events closed the front door and joined them, sitting in the chair in the corner.

Whispering in a voice almost too quiet to hear Mr. Carlyle said, “I am too weary, tired of this life I have led. My wife, my children and even my children’s children one hundred times are gone and gone for many years”.

Using the sleeve of his coat to wipe away tears, Mr. Carlyle continued, “I have only married once but I have made a hundred friends only to leave them when my time was done. I have searched for descendants, but only find my lineage blurred by the passage of time. I am alone”.

Ben leaning forward in the chair, listening intently but still wary of Mr. Carlyle’s strange actions said, “You have no family, no one left”?

“Correct Ben”, said Mr. Carlyle, “I have lived too long, outliving those I cared about. This town was to be my final stop, the place to end my travels. Too make my final plans”.

“You must have traveled everywhere to collect all the things we see”, said Mary. “Most of this looks very exotic, valuable. But why didn’t your family travel with you?”

“Oh that is a long story, but perhaps now at the end of my years, it is time to tell”, said Mr. Carlyle. Rising from the couch, Mr. Carlyle opened a closet door, reached in and selected a long velvet wrapped package. Then turning toward Mary and Ben, he unwrapped the package exposing a long sword. Mary cringed and sunk as deep as she could into the couch, thinking that Mr. Carlyle could still be angry about Ben’s attempted visit to the basement.

Mr. Carlyle laughed, “Don’t worry Mary, I’m not going to harm you, relax. Ben, you said you were fascinated with my collection, well this sword is Greek, well older than Greek actually. It would really be dated to the Mycenaean period. In rather good condition don’t you think”? Mr. Carlyle handed the sword to Ben.

Ben rose and took the sword, awkwardly holding it trying not to offend Mr. Carlyle or break any more things.

“Perfect balance, perfect craftsmanship, don’t you think”, said Mr. Carlyle. “Notice that there are no ornate etchings on the shaft or hilt. That is the sword of a true warrior”.

“Uh, I don’t really know… I guess so Mr. Carlyle”, stuttered Ben now relaxing a bit and gently moving the sword back and forth.

Mr. Carlyle smiled, “What if I told you that this sword belonged to Ajax and before him, Hector wielded it in battle. It looks in perfect shape, doesn’t it?”

Mary said nothing. Ben too stopped swaying the sword and was now again growing suspicious of Mr. Carlyle.

“Well, I’m not surprised at the looks on your faces. They barely teach American history anymore in school so there’s no way classic history is taught”, said a smiling Mr. Carlyle, “well anyway, wouldn’t you say the sword was in great shape for being over three thousand years old”?

Ben carefully handed the sword back to Mr. Carlyle. He had broken enough and certainly didn’t want to damage this sword of Ajax, Hector or whoever. Ben was so nervous that he was even afraid that he might drop it on his foot and break a toe or something.

Holding the sword high, Mr. Carlyle continued, “What if I told you that this has been in my possession for just a short time and that I had recovered it after Ajax’s death”.

Mary fidgeted as Mr. Carlyle seemed to make less and less sense. “Maybe”, she said, “Ben and I should just leave now”, her eyes darting around the room looking for the quickest way out, away from Mr. Carlyle and his collections.

“Nonsense”, said Mr. Carlyle, “Sit. My story is just beginning to unfold and I have decided to tell it all to you”. Pacing the room now, Mr. Carlyle was looking for the proper place to start his story. Running over in his head an inventory of all the items filling the closets and halls of his house, he kept repeating over and over, “Where to start? How to start?” all the while spinning the sword of Ajax in the air almost unthinkingly as if second nature.

“He really is crazy”, thought Ben who while eyeing a possible escape route through the open salon window, knew that he could not leave Mary alone with Mr. Carlyle and the sword.

“I’m scaring you two aren’t I, “Said Mr. Carlyle as he now returned the sword to its cabinet. “Please forgive me. Before I tell you tales of my collection, I must tell my story. Now is as good a time as any for I fear that our dinner is hopelessly burnt on the grill” he said with a grin”. “Please relax”.

Now sitting in a chair, Mr. Carlyle paused for a moment and then looked at Ben and Mary. “You are in no danger from me children, please believe”.

“You see, I haven’t been totally honest with you”, said Mr. Carlyle , his grin now gone, replaced by a nervousness and a twitch which Ben and Mary hadn’t noticed before.

“In your eyes, I am maybe seventy-five years old, I am actually much, much older.” said Mr. Carlyle rising from his chair, his stature seeming to grow and his presence filling the room.

Shoulders back, he turned to Ben and Mary and with a deep, almost authoritative voice said, “I am not Cleophus Constanius Carlyle but that is of no consequence. It is just another of many names I have been called over the centuries since my birth”.

“You would know me as Noah”.

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Next week...

Chapter 6 - The End Of The Beginning