The Angel of Eden (33 page)

Two massive wings, bent and folded, black feathers intact, jutted from the figure's back. The eyes, shell for the whites and glossy obsidian for the irises, glittered behind the mask. “Was this once a king?” I asked in amazement.

Yersan kept his tone low, reverential. “One of the seven sages, immortalized in legend as the Apkallu. A genius, a high priest from ancient times. The wings are a skillfully constructed piece of its raiment. As the myths tell us, the Apkallu and their followers, over time, bestowed many gifts on mankind: the calendar, the interpretation of the stars, the taming of plants and animals, the potter's wheel. They were worshipers of the god Enki, the giver of wisdom.” He heaved a long sigh. “We will each take a place at his feet. Please sit.

“Imagine yourself,” Yersan continued, “as a young acolyte. At puberty you would have been hand-picked from the community to serve as apprentice to a high priest. You would be introduced at sunset, through a prescribed ritual—the taking of the plant of immortality. Can you imagine the effect on a child's mind of seeing this gold-bedecked, winged figure when under the influence of the
drug?” Yersan glanced at Alaz. “It would be like Alaz's wonderment when he first laid eyes on the sorcerer Helmstetter, only much greater. That experience, to be repeated over and over again for many centuries, gave rise to myths and, I believe, our notion of angels as messengers from heaven.”

I'd have given anything to examine the priest, to take pictures. It would be a life's work just to study its meaning and cultural significance. But right now that felt like a sacrilege.

Yersan sat cross-legged to the figure's left and beckoned me to sit beside him, dead center. Then he reached under the right side of the throne and brought out a carafe and a bowl. The dishes looked similar to the bowls and urns I'd found in the cart during my sojourn in the salt caves. Utensils at least 5500 years old.

He poured some liquid from the carafe into the bowl and held it out to me. “Made from the fruit of the vine—the tree of knowledge,” he said. “Thirty-five years ago Helmstetter traveled halfway across the world seeking immortality. I offer it to you— freely. And with it a promise. To reveal the true story of your birth.”

“You want me to drink this?”

“It is your choice. I have partaken many times and am still here.”

“Is that how Helmstetter died—from drinking it?”

Yersan shook his head. “He wanted to take the liquor. It was refused him.”

He sat beside me and touched my arm. “Taste it first. And then drink the whole of it down. Do not fear. The priest will guide you.”

I would die at their hands anyway. Perhaps if Yersan was lying and this was a poison, it would be a faster way to go. I said a quick prayer for Evelyn, Nick, and Bennet, then raised the rim of the plain little bowl to my lips.

Forty-Nine

A
side from a numbness in my mouth, at first I felt nothing. Neither Yersan nor Alaz spoke. My head was a little woozy, but that may have been a result of the fear coursing through my veins. Then the smooth liquor hit my bloodstream as if I'd just taken a morphine shot. My legs began to feel heavy, like waterlogged sponges. Minutes later I retched and had just enough time to turn my head to the side before I threw up. My heart hammered, the beats coming so close and loud they drummed out any other sound. My throat seized and an overpowering thirst struck me. “I need water,” I heard myself croak. “Please.”

Yersan loomed over me; his face seemed to have expanded to several times its natural size. His voice echoed. “Stay still,” he said. “He will come to you. It will be worse if you try to move.”

Torrents of fear raked my body. I could feel the poison invading every cell.

I sensed motion, was conscious of bodies nearby. I lashed out. An electric jolt tore through me; my own body felt as if it had been cleaved in two. Had Yersan gutted me with a knife? I looked down at my chest but my vision had blurred. I shook like a summer leaf spinning in a tornado. Hands held me down. It felt as though they were squeezing me flat in a giant vise. The pain was immense. I stopped resisting and lay still, which lessened the agony a little.

Someone passed a cool wet cloth over my forehead. I opened my eyes but when I focused on his fingers they appeared almost transparent; I could see glassy skin, purple-red veins, tiny capillaries.

Scent overpowered me. Cedar, the perfumed oil, the men's sweat, the garden's plants, soil, and mold. I could even smell the quartz dust drifting down from the ancient walls. Slowly the pain subsided and my heart settled down. I tried to lift my head. A cramp gripped me and I doubled in two again. I think I screamed.

“Stay still, stay still” came a disembodied voice floating through the air. When the aftershock of the second cramp lessened I lay quietly, too terrified to move.

I felt myself being lifted. The walls of the room disappeared. A flickering darkness, a soft grayness, surrounded me. A dazzle of gold flashed so brightly I had to shut my eyes. I opened my lids a fraction and looked again.

A winged figure stood before me. Tall as the tallest man I'd ever seen. His gold mask glittered. His robe was no longer in tatters. On it were painted beautiful designs in strange symbols of green, red, and blue. Jewels circled the neck of his robe. The colors shimmered and seemed to melt into the flare of rosy gold.

He held his arms crossed over his heart. The skin on his face, arms, and hands was the colour of old parchment, the hair of his long braided beard white as bleached bones. His dark eyes bored into my soul.

And then the being spoke. I couldn't understand the words but somehow knew what he was saying. As if his thoughts had the power to flow directly into mine.

An invitation.

A warmth stole over my body. I stopped trembling. Then his great wings unfolded and in the next moment I lost all awareness of time. Now I was surrounded by darkness, the indigo black of night. Far below I saw the frothy crowns of trees, the stream, the golden path. But how could everything appear so clearly in the gloom? The colors of the natural flora below me were as bright as if they'd been brushed with neon paint. The whole terrain glowed, yet each detail was crisp and clear.

I was seeing with a bird's eye.

It was cold but that didn't seem to affect me. The moon had come out, casting a silvery light, and the first stars began to appear. I sensed the winged one's presence, heard his murmurings, yet could not see him. He seemed to hold me safe in a kind of tender embrace. We flew that way for a long time. Then he left me. No, that's wrong. I was alone but at the same time my flesh had joined with the pulse at the core of the universe. My heartbeat became the rhythm of waves flowing onto the shore, the punch of thunder, the burst of a sapling pushing out of the earth, the swish of a bird's wings. I began to forget who I was and I welcomed it.

I have no idea how long that journey lasted. Only that at some point I opened my eyes and saw I was outside the temple and the great cedar doors had now closed. My head hurt yet I felt strangely energized. Voices seemed to come from far off. Yersan and Alaz leaned over me.

“Can you get up?” Alaz said. “You should have something to eat and drink now.”

Yersan caught my arm and helped me to my feet. We crossed the moat, put our footwear back on, and sat on rocks beside the stream. I nibbled at some flatbread and drank a cup of strong sweet tea from a thermos Alaz handed me. By the strength and angle of the sun I could tell it was morning.

Yersan's weapon was tucked into the holster attached to his belt, but I'd lost any inclination to fight him. “Last night,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

“First, I want to know: What do you think of immortality?”

“I'm not sure I would call it that. How long was I unconscious?”

“You were not unconscious, you were
more
conscious.”

“How long was I out for?” I persisted. I looked at the strong morning sun again. “Must have been all night.”

“You've been gone from us for two and a half days.”

“No! That's impossible.”

He gave me a quick look of rebuke. “Check your phone.”

I was shocked when I glanced at my cell screen.

Yersan smiled. “Did time not vanish for you? Surely that is a kind of immortality. What is immortality but an absence of time, a state of being in the present? The potion helped you suspend your day-to-day perceptions and introduced you to knowledge of the world as it really is. Knowledge that the gods possess and do not part with easily. The priest chose to become your guide; you were open to him and so he put his faith in you. Even if he'd taken the drug, Helmstetter would not have been capable of that. He'd been searching for what turned out to be a simple answer but was too blinded by his perverse beliefs in magic to comprehend it.”

Still feeling the afterglow of my journey, I sat quietly and thought about his explanation. “It was an incredible experience. Thank you.”

“I promised to tell you about your birth but I will leave that to my friend.” Yersan swept his hand toward Alaz.

“I can tell it,” Alaz said, “but before I begin, are you certain you want to know?”

Fifty

“Y
es.”

“Very well then. Many years ago, a man came to Kandovan. A sorcerer who sought immortality. He'd learned about the beliefs of our people and wished to use them for his own benefit. He wanted fame and fortune for himself and would stop at nothing to get it. This is the man you call George Helmstetter.

“He was your father.”

My breath stopped. The peacefulness I'd felt vanished like the sun suddenly blocked by a storm cloud. “I thought you said Yeva bore a child out of wedlock from an Iranian, a man who came from Tabriz.”

He shrugged. “I made no mention of Iranian heritage. You assumed that. Helmstetter did come to our region by way of Tabriz.”

Evelyn was my mother and Helmstetter, my father. I wished I hadn't heard it. Wished I'd left well enough alone. The man was loathsome and the thought of him putting his hands on Evelyn repulsed me. And Samuel, who I'd always known as my half
brother, the person I'd looked up to most in the world, hadn't shared a drop of blood with me at all.

“What happened to Helmstetter? Why did he abandon your sister?”

“I've told you he captivated the minds of many of the villagers and that I fell under his spell when I was a young boy. Your mother did too. As Yersan said, for millennia a small circle of Kandovan men have served as caretakers for this temple sanctuary. Helmstetter managed to persuade one of the old caretakers to bring him here— the place where he believed he'd find the power to grant him immortality. Entering the temple and defiling your mother were both a great sacrilege. When his treachery was discovered he was seized, staked to the ground on a high rocky slope, cut with knives. The men let the vultures do the rest. They picked the skeleton clean. That, they burned to a crisp. The ashes were mixed with oil and burned again until nothing was left. This is an old remedy we use against sorcerers.”

My astonishment upon learning I was Helmstetter's son was matched by a repugnance at how he'd died. An awful thought passed through my mind. Did I take after him? Had I inherited his casual cruelty toward people?