The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist (28 page)

“
Are
there other examples of staff gods?”

“
There
are lots, Mr. Hart.”

Hart felt
encouraged. Amid the sultry stillness, he wanted to stay long,
sitting as he did hearing insects call. For a moment he wondered if
there was a connection between the Hindu age of Satya Yuga and the
prophecy of Inti. It was ambitious to think there was, even though
Olsen had given it thought and said it wasn’t impossible. Bentley
did identify images common to Indian culture and ancient America,
like the lotus flower. A depiction of an Asian elephant was found
in Central America.

The gods would
come back to show the way as they had done before, Olsen had said.
Yet, it was incredible to him. The world was not what it had been
many years ago. It was a hostile place of skin peeling weaponry.
Renaldo’s pitched voice shook him from his reprieve.

“
Viracocha, our supreme god, rebuilt the earth after the
great flood. He walked among the people and showed them how to live
and he will return. Come, let’s go into Chan Chan.”

He followed
Renaldo into the high-walled citadel that housed burial chambers,
temples and residences.

“
The Inca
people learnt how to communicate with the universe here, way back
when they had conquered the Chimor.”

Hart stared at
seventeen statues embedded in the wall.

“
They pay
homage to Ayapec, the deity of the all-knowing. His temple is the
Huaca Del Luna. It’s not far from here.”

“
It
didn’t survive the ages because of the mud used in its
construction, Renaldo.”

“
No, it
didn’t.”

It was eerie,
staring at the praying figurines. Were they evidence of a world
unknown? Hart had spent long nights tracing the alignment of
structures like pyramids to constellations. It was a task. The
mathematical skills of the ancients never ceased to amaze him.

He followed
Renaldo deeper into the citadel. It was an elemental experience.
The ancient Chimor took pride in nature. It was from it many of
their gods arose. They worshipped the sea and the rivers along with
the air and the sun.

“
Mr.
Hart,” Renaldo pointed. “Come and see this.”

Hart stared at
a figure with a pail in its hand. Its right arm was pointing to the
sky. He wondered who the figure was.

“
Who
this?” he asked.

“
Quetzalcoatl,” Renaldo rendered.

“
Chan
Chan is the largest pre-Colombian city but there’s no evidence of a
staff god here, Renaldo. Why’s that?”

“
Chan-Chan was not a religious centre. It was just a society
that bloomed from the Moche civilization. Staff gods are known from
depictions on ceramic but not many have survived.”

“
I really
need to know more of them.”

“
Let’s
go, then.”

Two hours later
they were on a flight headed south. It wasn’t long before they
stood on the stones of Caral, an ancient city two hundred miles
from Lima. The site was as much a mystery or even more so than Chan
Chan. It was the home of the Norte Chico, the oldest civilization
in the Americas. Caral Supe, its scared city, had remnants of
pyramids and massive stone mounds. Evidence showed the Norte Chico
had used Quipus to record data and had been avid agriculturalists,
weavers and drug users, traits that were probably copied later by
the Inca.

As he looked at
the remains of the pyramids on the dust-bowled land, Hart wondered
about its inhabitants. The pyramid constructions consisted of
flattened tops and the layout suggested the site was once part of a
highly organized society.

“
These
pyramids are older than the pyramids of Egypt, aren’t they
Renaldo?”

“
They
are, Mr. Hart. The design of the central plaza is like that of
Teotihuacan, the City of Gods in Mexico. This is a religious
centre. The Norte Chico embraced a staff god. These structures were
built by that god.”

“
What do
you know about him?”

“
He
created a strong supernatural presence here. He did away with bad
things, in much the same way
Inti
did. He promoted the ideals of a common good. On the
north-eastern slope of Peru, there once lived a group of called the
Chavins who built a temple called Chavin de Huantar, out of stone
and clay. They also had a staff god and, like the Norte Chico, they
ascribed power to those connected to the divine.”

“
Staff
gods are really common in these parts.”

“
They’re
the major deities in Andean cultures. The oldest image of a staff
god was found right here. Did you know that? In fact, it dates to
2250BC.”

“
That’s
before the biblical flood.”

“
The
image was found on gourd, a plant extract.” Renaldo looked toward
the horizon with an expression of concern. “It is getting dark, Mr.
Hart. I think we should go.”

The approaching
darkness cast eerie silhouettes in the distance. The sunset was now
a slit of light on the horizon when they walked away from the
mounds of baked earth. Clearly, drought had come to Caral in its
five thousand year history. Now, barren and dusty, it was still a
majestic place, one of untold mystery. Hart felt the greatness of
the continent in the air, the landscape and the sounds of nocturnal
creatures stirring. The more he thought of everything, the more the
secrets of life revealed itself. While the natural world was
wondrous, the supernatural world was amazing.

The rustic
scene of llamas and the vastness of the land thrilled him as they
travelled to the town of Cuzco next day. From there, they rode a
train through terraced mountains and descended to the town of Agua
Calientes, or hot springs. A narrow road led to the ruins of Machu
Picchu. From a distance, they could see shells of temples,
storehouses and dwellings. Cobbled pathways that were narrower led
to Pachacuti’s palatial home, consisting of courtyards, bath houses
and private rooms.

“
Pachacuti lived here and had built all that you see before
you.”

“
He built
it with a staff?”

“
No,
Pachacuti was not a god but a conqueror. He conquered many
lands.”

“
Why did
he build this, Renaldo?”

“
We have
to begin with the place. Machu Picchu was never a city but a sacred
place from which food and clothing were distributed to many in
need. Many were also healed. Pachacuti united our people. The
Spanish knew nothing of this place.”

Ahead Hart
could see a chiselled structure sitting atop a large terrace.
“What’s that?”

“
That’s
the
Intihuatana
or
time machine.”

He frowned.

“
It was
used to follow the movement of the sun over time, like a sun dial.
I have to tell you this is what everybody sees but, there’re lots
more that’s hidden and unexplored, Mr. Hart.”

Hart gazed up
at the Huayna Picchu, a peak that stood over Machu Picchu. Leading
up to it where granite steps that were hidden by Yucca plants and
other shrubs.

“
Have you
been up there?”

“
Yes.
It’s closed now. The site which housed the sacred meeting places of
priests were up there but are now no more. From there, they studied
the stars. You will find the remains of the scared Temple of the
Moon and the Temple of the Condor. On the vertical side, lie the
remains of fountains and ceremonial sites.”

It was dead
quiet on Machu Picchu except for a few middling tourists. Hart
pulled his jacket around his neck as a cold wind blew. Many spoke
of the spiritual transformation they felt from being there. He
certainly did too. It was as if the past wanted to chat with him.
It was an invigorating and supremely mystical experience.

“
What
evidence exists to show that the Inca priests were healers?” he
asked.

“
There’re
etchings on the Huayna Picchu. The priests performed amputations,
even transplants. Many survived. Today, shamans can give
people
Mosoq
Karpay
, the power of
their ancestors. It allows an individual to travel beyond time.
They can perform the
Kawaq
rite. The energy stimulates the brain, allowing an
individual to become a seer with ability to perceive the future,
what you would describe a third eye. All these things came
from
Inti
, the sun
god.”

Hart looked at
his watch. It was approaching evening and he needed to start
thinking about leaving. At 11PM, he boarded a Continental flight
bound for New York.

Chapter 62

Back at home,
he picked up his phone. “Hello?”

“
Tom?”
Cathy called.

“
Yeah,
Cat?” he answered.

“
KD
finally admitted to the shootings.”

“
Bastard.”

“
Said he
took orders from Foster and LaPlotte. Foster thinks Nash will get
them off.”

“
I hope
not.”

“
From
what I hear, Nash is no push over.”

“
How long
again, Cat?”

“
Be
patient. It’s a matter of time now before you have those pages.
You’ll hear from Nash soon. He’s still in Paris.”

“
Thanks
Cat.”

Outside his
home, a light rain fell. The sun was going down in the sky. A beep
on his phone pulled him out of his deep thoughts.

“
Hello,”
he answered. The crackle on the line told him the call was coming
from far.

“
Dr.
Hart, I’m Terrance Nash of the FDI. I managed to get hold of the
pages you want, those of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene.”

His heart
leapt. He was on his way to unravelling the secrets of matter and
of worlds beyond. It was all he could ever wish for.

“
Can you
get here, Dr. Hart?”

“
I’m on my way.”

Chapter 63

Oxford,
England

July 20th

The first
lecture given at the University of Oxford was a theological one
back in 1193. The Faculty of Theology had grown immensely since
that time. Seated in front of Hart, reclined at his desk was
Professor John Donnelly. Donnelly was an Englishman and an Old
Testament scholar. He was fortyish, young for his accomplishments.
He was quite obviously amazed by Hart’s claim to have found the
pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene.

Next to him sat
the Oriel and Laing Professor of Holy Scripture, Reverend
Christopher Bartow. Bartow was a man of few words. Both waited to
hear what Hart had to say concerning the missing pages of the
gospel.

“
The
pages were sent to the British Museum, to the Department of
Palaeography and Manuscript Research for
authentication.”

“
Anyone
in particular, Dr. Hart?” Bartow asked.

“
Yes.”
Hart scrambled for a slip of paper from his pocket. “Mr. Lengard,
Avery Lengard.”

“
Very
well, I’m familiar with his work. He spent years at the National
Archives before pursuing research on Coptic translations. A very
handy person I might add, and, skilled in the art of ancient
writing.”

“
Dr.
Hart?” the lanky John Donnelly came forward. “You’re saying you
found the missing pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, am I
right?”

Hart felt a
tinge of nerves. He was in front of two of the world’s best
theological minds and it dawned on him that he wasn’t absolutely
certain of his find.

“
I
believe so, Professor.”

“
I’m
intrigued by this claim. You’re claiming too that you found them in
the possession of the curator of the Louvre, Michelle
LaPlotte.”

“
It’s sad
about LaPlotte.” Bartow was referring to the note found near
LaPlotte’s body at his home on Avenue Du General de Gaulle in
Paris.

“
Yes,”
Hart said to Donnelly. He was unconcerned about LaPlotte’s
demise.

“
But,
LaPlotte could not have ever had those pages, Dr. Hart!” Donnelly’s
voice rose, incensed by the claim.

“
Now,
John, don’t be rude,” Bartow pleaded. “What Dr. Donnelly is trying
to say, Dr. Hart, is that the manuscript that was taken to Berlin
and translated by Carl Schmidt was all that ever existed of the
Gospel of Mary Magdalene. The pages weren’t in that manuscript or
anywhere for that matter. Now, would you care for a glass of wine,
or, perhaps a sherry?”