Crematorium for Phoenixes (18 page)

Some of them were eating rice cooked out on
the sand. Others who were poorer or were already fed were nudging
rafts with sticks, while others rested on logs and straw
mattresses.

This group, sitting in a semicircle, was
typical with its Mongoloid features. There were perhaps Japanese
people who had surrounded an Aryan one. Those who caused confusion
apparently came from distant Persia, as representatives of this
nation where they were considered occultists and bringing in their
new religious, bent in fragility that still existed in their
beliefs such as totemism and fire worshiping. That’s why a lot of
eyes were focused on this man.

He did not respond, and apparently other
things engaged him and his companions. They were tucked into what
they were discussing. It was something in a language that was
completely different from the structure of the locals.

When asked what they do, they answered that
they were healers, which did not prevent them from engaging in
small transactions such as the exchange of writing with Chinese
judges who they fed and transferred, among other things, on a raft
with others who was moving between the thresholds of the river.

They, as you might have anticipated,
thoughtful reader, were Takeshi, Akuma, and the others. They had
slacked off course, which we will discuss.

Perhaps, reader, you have passed the days
yet you felt that the world is at a crossroads that will divide a
part of ourselves and others.

And all we will have left is a few tears, a
memory, and the steps ahead.

Exactly as in the confines of the East, many
men find new opportunities.

And backed by little more than an idea and a
little less than an oath, their journey ended, they found the
convenience of a new life.

Takeshi gave them the means to start from
scratch and now in Chenla the group was much less than it had been
originally.

The river was winding through the inundated
mangrove forests.

Large barges, loaded with wood, used the
natural course and descended to the sea, guided by the ferrymen,
who, heated from the work and tropical heat, were stripped naked to
the waist. They wore just the typical broad straw hat.

Junks moored near overgrown reed banks and
were more commonly used for floating homes. Flora was kindled to
release new farmland.

Pontoon jetties, bottleneck traffic, shoals,
islands of silt, and sandy hair, all of these things also changed
with the seasons and the rising and outgoing tides.

Large vessels with oars, with the rhythm of
drums, carried blocks of cut sandstone. They were often the
measurers of time as well.

As far as they knew (and they had traveled
there), several tens of kilometers up there were degenerate temple
complexes, whose scale and splendor would not let man simply pass
by.

Towers, surrounded by almost crucified human
statues were rising tens of meters high. They were speechless in
breath, pointed west, and blended their lines as delicate
snowflakes.

This exercise, undertaken in principle, was
not so backward, but still did not reach a level of development
possible, at least not in this historical epoch. Suspicions aroused
in the men, so that they would, for better or for worse, finally
execute the Apollyon Project.

The local tribes were recently interest in
the generations before and their hunting and gathering. They
enhanced these riddles and had suddenly shown talent in sculpture
and large-scale construction; land surveying took all the savvy
that looks with supernatural origin.

Many of the boats that traveled also went
there to be hired, so that the group used the opportunity and
managed to convince some who already had relatives there to flow
into this stream.

And so, saddled with specific equipment for
elephants, they swayed along the coast, leading one another with
trunks, bringing new supplies, and beating new paths to the new
focal center.

Meanders of the river turned and merged with
the sky. Flocks of birds descended over thousands of gold veins in
the water, hoping to perhaps grab something from the almost
indistinctive hatcheries and shrimp farms.

In this piece of beauty one can see a
memory, depending on what it is you seek. Perhaps the most
beautiful things in this world: God or a loved one.

Therefore, the raft was moving among aquatic
thresholds to stop at a home for a small pile of support.

And with a bit of strain, as we see fit, the
novelists were overcoming several dozen kilometers that were dotted
with submerged logs in the water. Here and there marsh vegetation
could be seen, and there were larger settlements covered by rope
bridges and larger buildings. All of this was surrounded by clouds
of bamboo standing like an anthill, and before him, standing on the
borders of the construction, the men waited to enter.

Chapter
Twenty-six

Several altars were red with dried and caked
blood. Pieces of skinned leather had been glued on the ground,
covered with a thin layer of ash; they were stacked like grease
fat.

Everything fit to be used for combustion in
the vicinity was gone, leaving only the hills covered with their
anemic turf. They looked like burial mounds.

Indeed, the residue of horse collars, torn
pieces of cloth that could be either a cloth or armor, and
children’s blankets and the rusty scabbards of swords could be seen
here and there, as if left by an ancient battle or rite.

Among the decay—like the hands of denuded
branches, moved a small group that had just rested their bulky
backpacks.

“Let us have patience. It is hardly far,”
said one of them.

“Good,” answered the rest.

A man rolled up his sleeves. Tattoos moved
up in his arm like smoke.

It was Tammuz, leading, of course, the
others.

Passing almost all of Israel, they were
headed east, looking for those whose fate were intertwined with
theirs.

It is difficult, reader, to explain our
relationships with others and why this fellowship had done
everything they had here.

Because associated with memories, one
sometimes wonders whether or not forgetting meeting someone would
be the better option.

Because it hurts like a finished world
without outputs.

Earth’s frequency and dimples become more
frequent. Sacrificial altars, do, too.

Something that has long been worshiped now
lay in oblivion; it was undistinguishable whether this was good or
bad.

There was no guidance—just the products of a
long-forgotten cemetery or crematorium.

“At least we have something to eat,” they
said, trying to refresh themselves.

And yes, they had pieces and pieces of dried
meat and rusks, sufficient for distances away.

But they weren’t hungry.

Their throats were tight with the bitterness
that preceded the memory of sin produces.

From time to time, they were finding
something interesting stuck between the rocks. Sometimes they were
dotted with an ornamental sword that was intact, as if it had just
been knitted by the reds of armor, or even the entrance of the
tomb, which has been kept secret from the time of its being
sealed.

But more often, as it happened, all they
found were iron pieces or memorial stones that no longer resembled
anything.

“How much?” a man asked in a roundabout
way.

“I do not know, but I doubt it is far,” he
responded with that firmness by which small things were actually
supported. “According to the rumors that you heard yourself, those
who suggested what we seek need to collect in these places.”

And the shedding land, scratchy as a gilded
vessel has changed into another and created spaces of burned grass
that has no end. And if there were such, it would flow into the
deserts of Mesopotamia after the spinning of several Earth
axes.

There would be just an area devoid of even
birds and clouds, sky and land, with its saturated colors

Only a few dugouts—or just flaps over tufts
of grass that had been diluted for miles in the distance—showed
that there still had to be someone who had not been lost here.

Rather, they, like small mining towns, were
more frequent and were cutting the baboons, creating the feeling
that at any moment, like a broken spell, the area would be bustling
with people and animals.

Alternately, hidden among almost flat
surfaces, they were merging with it in color due to passage of time
or due to the skill of the designers, or perhaps because of
both.

“Easy, we will get there,” said Tammuz,
laboring from the several hours he felt weak but still led a great
multitude. “We just have to persevere.”

Space went on and on, as if developing the
heart gradually, plucking it from the root, and invoking the idea
that sometimes it may not fit all.

“Right there, are you seeing it?” everyone
brightened after a while.

A camp, in the form of a horseshoe, was
nestled at the foot of some hills. It was described as several
kilometers away according to their perceptions.

“This is it.”

They pulled their guns, made quads, and
continued there.

But when they came, the lodges were
empty.

“What should we do?” the men had asked
Tammuz, having searched the still more pill box-like adjacent
buildings.

“We will wait. We have passed too much, so
we will wait a couple of hours.”

The men picked one dugout and sat down.

The sun climbed some height and hallowed
sands of mica, causing the ingredients in them to shine like sea
water. Several clouds rolled by like gears, bringing the peace of
indulgent thoughts.

The day, full of a monotony that is
something we take for granted, dragged on, bowing legs to the
haze.

“Well, at least there is a little cooler,”
one of the men was saying, while peering through the windows of the
building they had occupied.

Bang.

Here and there were some containers.
Forgotten outside they were cracking from the unbearable heat, like
grinding bones.

The solar disk was relegating to the depths
from which it was released and the band was getting ready to
leave.

“Let’s wait at least until sunset. This way
we will travel in the shade, and those who belong to all may return
to rest in the night,” someone offered and all agreed with him.

Light drove its tapered blade, hiding it
from the sky. Few creatures—scorpions and other insects—brushed the
sand in which they were hidden, and the first stars, the precursors
of the awakened worlds appeared in the sky.

“Come on,” said Victor.

“Good,” replied the others.

All hoisted their backpacks and went out of
the dugout.

If only they could find the shepherds again.
They had given them enough fluids to return alone, but they could
still be fooled.

They were walking up the hill, finding their
way in the still whitish night.

“What’s this?” called first man, who had
already climbed up a dune.

Others strode on, walking toward him.

Lights, due to illumination of cities or
approaching armies, were surrounding everything.

“It cannot be. There should be nothing,”
Sharukin said.

“Nothing, except that which we seek,” said
Tammuz. “Let’s get what we have and hope for the best. That’s all
we have left now.”

They did and waited in the gloom.

And as a whip snaps and comes like a sudden
illness, second by second in front of them perhaps the strangest
sight that man has ever seen was created.

Thousands were riding camels that had almost
acquired the traits of a bull. They filled whirlwinds and tornadoes
with their radius, led by mutilated elephants.

“What in the name of all that is . . . ?”
said one of the men, feeling his cheeks. He shrugged off his
unease.

“These are the destroyers, coming down.”

Circling, trapping, the hills narrowed and
narrowed.

One short figure descended like a shooting
star and flashed at them.

A ship, beloved by everything that is born
from the human imagination, descended, spinning its axis as if in
flames; it ended as crumbling pieces of wood.

Then ghostly apparitions stepped into the
air and went down as four horsemen: white, fiery red, black, and
pale. Their robes fluttered as if made from a burning plasma.

Numerous men and beasts suddenly bowed,
forming a sea of garments and armor.

“Hey, Tammuz,” the white rider said, his
voice picking up the storm as it echoed around the troops.
“Finally, we meet each other.”

The horsemen went down on the ground and led
the combat formations.

Their flames attacked the legions,
interlacing their torches.

“What a view, huh?” said the white horseman,
indicating formations that burned like ice statues “This is the
result of several years of our work in a not so populated area of
the planet. Think what we could have done elsewhere—countless
armies throwing even the very providence in the oven. They lack one
thing: the purity of nothing, of reincarnation that you, Tammuz,
can provide, using your special powers.”

“I do not understand what you mean . . .
.”

“Oh, really? The person who takes on foreign
defects isn’t finding the meaning of everything.

“Well, we will make it easy for you.

“We must be redeemed, Tammuz. You must take
all the evil from us so that when take up our endeavor we will be
as clean and empty as deities.”

“You are crazy.”

“Really? Can you tell me how in all the ages
religions and societies are created and disappear?

“We can. Because we, through our
intervention, we have done that.

“We have given the technologies that were
ultimately given to us.

“But that was tiring, especially when
dealing with people like you, with your eternal obstacles.