THE TABLET’S SECRET

 THE TABLET’S SECRET

                      a story I wrote...

   His messenger scoffed a laugh and then uttered something to his leader in their native tongue. The Mitharian leader beside them was perplexed, “What he did say?”

   To which the Shadol replied, “He asked, ‘How can someone from such a grand city not be cultured in the art of other tongues?’ " Then openly the Judge-Shadol addressed his scribe, “Tiamon, tell our guest what the sacred text says.”

   Tiamon smiled, started to then proudly recite from memory, then changed over to a translation in the common speech, “Sha mamu daka mamu nu mea --

   ‘In a dream...  that was not a dream

   Small boy    thy messenger

   He crossed     the haunted plain    monument-shrine

   Where great stones     encircled    stood

   He entered   in the midst of     the artificial pond

   Of blood     in that place     took little stones

   Of doom    measured    is the judgement     unto mankind

   Year unto the future    the deluge    bring to annihilation

   By the sovereignty     of the Anunnaki     the great GODS of fate

   ~Uga’ibi son of Ku’ibi    am I

     Who made     this inscription.’

   The Mitharian priest then witnessed the Judge and scribe hold out both their hands with palms up and briefly look skyward in reverence, "Blessed is his words!”  The young Priest asked, “Gratitude is sharing what you hold as sacred, but forgive my inquiry –what does it all mean? There are no standing stones, or a pool of blood or even a boy prophet anywhere here in land of Eriduah.”

   The Shadol smiled, “You understand far more than you pretend to. If what you say is true, my new young friend, it only means that our people have arrived in time to witness everything unfold from the beginning. Blessed indeed to be alive at such times.”

   The Priest rebuffed, “If that is the case, then maybe your people have a part to play in making certain things happen. Hum?”

   “INDEED! No truer and sadder words have been spoken before, young noble. Seldom do the righteous see themselves as the villain nor the wicked viewed before they are understood as such. Come, Maleer! Let us drink and break bread with me, and no is not an accepted answer or I shall be forever offended. Sit! Let us build a better foundation of friendship, than for the need for your king to house a prisoner for us.”

   The priest agreed, “Indeed, there is much to be learned on both sides.”

 

   After much strong wine, sweet dates, flatbread, and delicious mutton were enjoyed as the hour passed with seven daughters dancing provocatively for their honored guest. Then as all such festivities do it came to an end too soon. Musicians, dancers and servants alike withdrew leaving the Judge and Priest alone once again.

   Merithan the Fourth, leader of those settled Bedouins said, “Alas, before you depart this evening, allow me to share something which has never been declared with an outsider before.” From sitting on the carpet, he stood, and from the side pouch that never left his person, the Judge removed a small decorative blue-stoned box and handed it over to his guest.

   Maleer slowly opened it. After removing a cloth-covered item, he handed the container back and unwrapped it carefully. It was a baked clay tablet. Both front and reverse sides were covered in impressions of four distinct scripts; none of them the priest appeared to know. His fingers ran along the sides as he noticed more characters. He asked, “Shadol, there are letters here, along the edges of the tablet. Why do I have a feeling these were not quoted by your –messenger?”

   The man gave his guest a huge, impressive smile, “You are most astute indeed, Maleer. The words speak only two: ‘Eight Survive’.”

   “So, there is hope for humanity after all.”

   “Again, a most keen observation indeed. Know now the very secret of the tablet, and our true purpose for coming into these lands of the far west. For we know without doubt the Gods of fate will end all things--.”

  The priest interrupted with, “BUT –you desire more than anything that at least your people will be counted among the eight to survive that coming destruction. I now understand, Shadol of Slavath, my deepest gratitude in your sharing of your –faith. Alas, forgive my rudeness that hour is late, and I must retire. Good night – my new friend.”

  “May your sandals ever be a blessing outside my tent.” With that the two parted.