Mesopotamia - The Redeemer
Read Mesopotamia - The Redeemer Online
Authors: Yehuda Israely,Dor Raveh
Tags: #god, #psychology, #history, #religion, #philosophy, #mythology, #gnosis, #mesopotamia, #pythagoras, #socratic
by Yehuda Israely and Dor Raveh
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Yehuda Israely and Dor
Raveh
ISBN:
9781301545704
Discover other titles by Yehuda Isaraely
and Dor Raveh at Smashwords.com Mesopotamia - The Healer, the Slave
and the Prince
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/291348
Editors: Noa Manheim and Dorrit Landes
Cover art: Assaf Karass
Cover design: Yoni Graphic Design
Translated from Hebrew by Sodhamilim
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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The Redeemer is the second book in
Mesopotamia series.
Sample chapters fron "Mesopotamia - The
Healer, the Slave and the Prince"
S
moke
sensed a slight surge upward as he released all eight bombs at once
from under the wings of his plane. The inhabitants of Damascus had
already become accustomed to the bombings, which had killed no less
than a quarter of the population and had caused half of the
survivors to flee as refugees to Lebanon and Turkey. His gaunt hand
securely gripped the plane's controls. He circled the target a few
times and counted eight mushroom clouds. Now it was time for the
seven pilots under his command to take their turns.
"Hawk-2, to the refineries at
eleven o'clock," he commanded his second in command in a calm,
quiet voice. "Hawk-3, the two bridges directly opposite you.Hawk-4,
the ruler's palace. Hawk-5, the convoy of armored vehicles that we
passed at the city's entrance. Six and Seven, standby in the event
of a missed target."
The pilots carried out the
instructions of their respected commander and hit all their
targets.
"Badgers, the bombardment is over.
Enter the area."
The Badgers were the last remnant
of ground forces at a time when the majority of combat was
conducted from the air. Similar to their animalistic namesake, they
were the toughest of the Gnostic warriors. They were chosen after
having endured grueling survival tests and were trained to survive
any situation and withstand any possible hardships. Their job was
to mark the targets before bombing and to carry out commando raids
deep inside the enemy territory when conditions prevented the
forces from operating from the air. Currently, Smoke used them as
observers to report the damage incurred by the air raids as well as
to eliminate any remaining resistance in the area.
One badger, awaiting his
instructions impatiently, started his hover bike and switched on
the camera affixed to its front. He entered the billowing smoke to
relay images to his commander situated in the plane above.
The life expectancy of a badger was
shorter than that of a pilot. It was not rare for pilots to bomb
targets that contained ammunition caches, which exploded minutes
and even hours after the direct hits. Sometimes, the enemy soldiers
who managed to survive the barrage of shells returned fire toward
the hover bikes.
Because he understood and respected
them, Smoke's badgers were prepared to die for the Gnostics more
than the other badgers. He too had been a badger once, before he
had been promoted to pilot. His body was gaunt and his face
appeared younger than his years, but he was an experienced and
hardened warrior. The badgers revered him for his bravery during
the conquest of Istanbul and studied his original escape tactics in
meticulous detail. They had complete trust in his discretion: they
took upon themselves every assignment and were undeterred by
danger. The iron discipline he demanded during their military
operations easily changed to friendship the moment they shed their
uniforms.
As he waited for the images from
the ground, out of the corner of his eye, Smoke glimpsed the
secondary squadron, under the command of Flash, bombing the suburbs
of Damascus from the south. Flash's fair skin, tawny hair and
cerulean eyes gave him the appearance of a northern man. His
sinewy, muscular arms swelled beneath the elastic black pilot's
overalls. Smoke watched as Flash's airmen returned to base as
planned, but was astonished to see Flash, contrary to the battle
plan, making a solo vertical landing in the heart of the city,
exposing his precious aircraft to damage from the ground.
Images transmitted from Badger-1
began to arrive. He saw molten gobs of smoldering, glowing iron,
black and white plumes of smoke and dismembered corpses in pools of
blood. Badger-2 fired at the dying, who cried out amidst the
rubble, while Badger-3 pursued the wounded, piercing the bodies of
those who attempted to flee with a flurry of lethal blasts from the
laser launcher. Even the sight of helpless faces gazing up at him
in silent supplication did not bother Smoke. With refined
professionalism, he praised the badgers for their precisely aimed
strikes. A short while later, Badger-1 reported that he had purged
all the bombed areas and was awaiting instructions to move into
other areas in which the squadron was active.
"Badger-1!"
"Yes, Sir!"
"I saw Flash land in the heart of
the Metropolis. Keep your team under cover and approach in order to
transmit images to me of what's been done there."
"Yes, Sir!" This was an
unconventional command, but the badger responded without
hesitation.
"Hawk-2!" He addressed his deputy
in the flight squadron.
"Yes, Sir!"
"Lead the squadron back to the
base."
"Yes, Sir!"
The hover bike passed low over the
city and broadcast more pictures of the devastation.
"Keep hovering outside his range of
vision."
"Yes, Sir."
Smoke turned toward the hidden
camera and followed Flash by panning and zooming the image. He
watched as Flash stepped between the rubble, the laser launcher
strapped in a holster on his thigh and holding a serrated dagger in
his hand. He passed between the injured men and women and slit
their throats. A wave of revulsion gripped his insides and he was
tempted to avert his gaze, but he forced himself to keep on
watching. It was clear that Flash had lost the self-control that
characterized the Gnostics. With blood-soaked clothes, he wildly
attacked a lifeless corpse and stabbed it over and over in furious
abandon. Flash reveled in the blood with a drunken fervor.
What is the meaning of this
un-Gnostic behavior, wondered Smoke. There is nothing to gain by
abusing the wounded or those already dead. The enjoyment of such
practice was surely not a Gnostic attribute. Flash was not under
his command, so he lacked the authority to intervene. He also did
not see any reason to report him and thereby arouse Flash's
resentment.
"Badger-1!"
"Yes, Sir."
"Exit the city from the south. I'll
pick you up in the hovercraft in the twelfth kilometer outside the
city."
"Yes, Sir!"
"Not a word about what you saw!" he
added.
"Absolutely, Sir."
After the debriefing, Flash headed
straight for the temple. The priest was waiting for him as usual.
After lighting some incense for him and mumbling a few blessings,
he left Flash alone so he could have some privacy, ensuring that no
one would enter. Flash kneeled in the bright white room, tightly
shut his eyes and pressed his hands together. Opposite him hung the
empty glass frame, flanked on either side by two silver
candlesticks that contained burning oil wicks. When the room filled
with smoked cedar incense, Flash bowed face down and began to
recite blessings of praise in the traditional style to the Master
of Light, while imaging his figure of a serpent in his mind.
With all of my soul I shall praise
the Father God:
Holy is the God who is father of
all, wellspring of all beginnings.
Holy is the God who succeeds in his
powers.
Holy is the God who seeks to reveal
himself to his followers.
Holy art Thou, that all was created
by your word.
Holy art Thou, that your image is
the image of all nature.
Holy art Thou, exalted above all
highness.
Holy art Thou, esteemed above all
praise.
Please accept the gift of words
from my soul and heart into your silence.
Flash raised his forehead from the
floor, remained kneeling opposite the empty glass frame and began
to offer a prayer in his own words.
Save me, my Father, for I have
become lost.
I seek you in everything, though in
vain,
For You I shall crusade against
heretics without sign or signal,
Please, my dear God, send me an
indication, give me a sign,
Show me that I am serving your
will,
I am a slave to your will,
I am a tool in your hands,
Please, my Father, take me,
Do what you will with me,
Grant respite to my soul,
tranquility to my heart, serenity to my spirit.
His jaws clenched. He thought about
the slaughter in Damascus, about his attempt to awaken and appease
the God with gifts of death, about the sacrifices offered to Him,
about the hidden silence of the God who did not react even when he
killed so many people, even though he carried out the task with the
highest devotion. He made an effort to cleanse and purify his
belief in the Supreme God, Master of Light, but He did not notice
him.
It seemed that the Supreme God
still thirsted for blood. It seemed that the God would continue
demanding his victims. The knowledge that the God was not going to
relent calmed Flash. It was clear to him that he would persist in
the service of his God and offer him more and more sacrifices,
until he gains the favor of His light, to stand under His wings,
and to ascend to the ranks of angels, seraphim and aeons, until he
could sit united with them in the Pleroma—the lofty, heavenly
wholeness.
Flash's mood improved. He rose to
his feet, bowed to the empty glass frame, and mumbled, “In the name
of the holiness of the Master of Light.” He thanked the priest upon
exiting the temple and proceeded to walk toward the mess hall with
renewed energy and a healthy appetite.
Smoke ran about three or four
kilometers on the leveled desert sand and still felt the effort.
Usually, the strain faded after the first kilometer. He could not
understand why he was encountering difficulty specifically today.
In the last few weeks he had stuck to his lengthy jogging regimen,
but even so he was not in top shape today. During the fifth
kilometer, he finally loosened up. His legs galloped at their own
pace, his clenched fists swung at his sides, his pack bounced
lightly on his back and his breathing stabilized. The Gnostic
compound in Uruk faded away behind him. Before him stood the step
pyramid—the ancient Sumerian ziggurat. The desert stretched out in
shades of yellow and mustard until it met the white horizon. He
listened to the wind whistling in his ears, to the beating of his
heart, to his breath and to the sound of his running shoes as they
pounded the hardened sand.
'The operation was successful, the
targets were destroyed,' he reflected as he ran, 'my pilots and my
soldiers did exactly as they were assigned to do. The raids instill
terror and fear into the survivors. Soon we will be able to
complete the conquest of Damascus. They'll submit without a fight.
I controlled the situation and we sustained no losses.' For a
moment he felt a pang of pity for the dead. The sensation of shock
came back to him as he recalled the image of the slit throats and
the ebullient Flash opposite him. 'How can I ever be a true leader
if the weakness of compassion impedes my path? What kind of Gnostic
am I as long as I harbor feelings of mercy in my heart?' Smoke was
ashamed of his own feebleness. The physical exercise and rhythm of
his movement finally succeeded in sweeping these weak thoughts from
his head.
