His messenger scoffed a laugh and then uttered something to his leader in their native tongue. The Mitharian leader asked, “What did he say?”
To which the Shadol replied, “‘How can someone from such a grand city not be cultured in other tongues?’ The openly the Judge addressed his scribe, “Tiamon, tell our guest what the sacred text says.”
Tiamon smiled then proudly spoke from memory, then opted for a translation in the common speech, “Sha mamudaka mamunu mea-
‘In a dream that was not a dream
Small boy/ thy messenger
He crossed/ the haunted plain/ monument-shirne
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 god of fate
~Uga’ibi son of Ku’ibi am I
Who made this inscription.’
The Mitharian priest then witnessed the Shadol and his scribe hold out both their hands with palms up and briefly look skyward in reverence and say in unison, "Blessed be the Words." The 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 lands 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 as accepted answer of offense. 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.”
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, as the Judge removed a small decorative 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 which 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, yet I fear the 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.
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