Area 51: The Legend (25 page)

“Leave the Ark here,” the Bedu ordered.

Relieved, the four Judeans lowered the Ark to the rocky ground.

“Come,” the Bedu ordered. They followed, the guards falling in behind them as they continued up the trail about four hundred meters, to a point where a tall rock, over twenty-five meters in height, jutted out from the side of the mountain. The Bedu went up to the base of the rock andplaced the eye symbol he had shown Moses during the first meeting against it. The Judeans were startled as a doorway, three meters wide by two high, appeared.

One of the four held back, not willing to go into the dark entrance. The Bedu showed little patience, snapping an order in his own language to the guards. They slew the Judean where he stood, severing his head from his body, the blood pumping out onto the rock before the doorway. The others needed no more incentive. They rushed through the doorway and it slid shut behind them.

“I am a vengeful God.”

The voice echoed in the darkness, against the stone walls of the chamber. A light began to grow from a line in the ceiling and a figure was revealed standing on the other side of the cavern: a tall man robed in black. A hood hid his face.

“You will obey or you will suffer, as your comrade did.”

The Judeans fell to their knees and prostrated themselves, foreheads to the floor. Moses hesitated, then slowly went to his knees and bowed his head.

“I am the one and only God,” the figure continued. “You will worship me and you will obey my rules for your people. You will keep the Ark in your care, but you must never open it. Death will be the penalty for whoever opens it and gazes upon what is inside.”

The figure turned toward a doorway on the far side of the chamber. “Come with me and see what wondrous things I have for you.”

Aspasia’s Shadow watched Moses and the surviving three Judeans carry the Ark along the trail and out of sight, heading back toward their encampment. They were Guides now, their will suborned to the programming of theguardian computer he had taken them to deep inside the mountain.

Aspasia’s Shadow had played with the idea of keeping the Ark and Grail here, but knew that if his maker ever came to check on him, such an act would result in his immediate termination. He knew that he should take the Ark and Grail from the Judeans and return it to Giza. But—and there was always a but—he also knew doing so would take away any hope he ever had of partaking of the Grail. He was tired of this endless series of reincarnations in the service of the Airlia. He had more than enough of Aspasia’s personality to know his maker would dispose of him like so much trash when the time came for the Airlia to resume their control of this world. And if Artad prevailed, the result would be the same. Aspasia’s Shadow had to make his own plans, and letting the Judeans take the Ark and Grail with them provided just one of many options he wanted to keep open.

He had imprinted into the three Judeans and Moses the imperative that they were to make security of the Ark their paramount concern. On top of that, he had reinforced the Judeans’ belief in their one God. Religion, as the Airlia had learned, was a most effective way of keeping humans under control. They had always made the humans worship them, but Aspasia’s Shadow thought it was a good idea to introduce the concept of more gods to the humans.

We did well,” Gwalcmai said as they began to strip down in preparation for entering the deep sleep tubes. It had taken them two years of hard traveling to make it back to their ship. Gwalcmai now sported a wicked-looking scar along his right arm from shoulder to elbow from a battle in the forests of Gaul, where they had been ambushed by thieves and barely escaped with their lives.

Donnchadh nodded. “The Airlia no longer have control of the Grail. That is a large step. But I am worried about Moses and the Judeans and—”

Gwalcmai put his hand over her mouth. “Hush. Do not go into the deep sleep with worries. They’ll rattle around in your head all those years and give you a headache. Let me give you a good memory to take with you.” He lifted her off her feet and carried her forward to the pilot’s seat.

Moses did not survive to lead the Judeans into the land he had promised them. Aspasia’s Shadow learned this from one of his Bedu spies who had trailed the Judeans north to Palestine. However, the twelve tribes had united strongly after Moses and the elders came down from the mountain with their unshakable belief in one God and a set of divine rules by which the people were to live. Humans liked external rules—it was something the Airlia had bred into the species.

Their fledgling kingdom was not only surviving but flourishing. Their single-minded belief in only one God gave them a great advantage over their neighbors who worshipped many Gods, if they worshipped at all. Aspasia’s Shadow felt quite satisfied that the Ark and Grail would be safe for some time.

That did not mean, of course, that he was not going to implement more of his plans.

A.D. 70: STONEHENGE

Donnchadh felt refreshed and vaguely optimistic as she opened her eyes. She smiled as she remembered Gwalcmai and his “farewell” to her before entering the tubes this last time. He had been right—good memories were the way to enter the deep sleep.

The smile was gone as she sat up. What had happened while they slept? Was the Grail safe? Were the Airlia still asleep and the Atlantis Truce in place? Was the planet safe from the Swarm? She swung her legs over the side of the tube and touched the cold deck plating. She threw on a robe and slipped on sandals, then scurried over to the copilot’s seat and booted up the computer.

“Worried already?” Gwalcmai’s voice was hoarse, as always after the deep sleep.

“You know me well,” Donnchadh said.

“It was nice the one time you awakened me with a kiss,” Gwalcmai. “If I woke first, that is what I would do every time. But I am a slow riser.”

Donnchadh paused, her fingers over the keyboard. She slowly turned to face her husband. “I am sorry. I am always in a rush—”

“When there is a need to hurry, you will see no one go faster,” Gwalcmai interrupted her as he climbed out of his tube and got dressed. “But at this moment, upon awakening, unless there is an alarm going off, there is no need to rush.”

Donnchadh forced herself to get out of the chair and go to her husband. She felt the pull of the computer and whatever information it had, but for once she allowed the stronger feeling deep inside her to rule.

JERUSALEM

Aspasia’s Shadow cursed as the spray of blood from the captive’s throat left a trail of red across his gleaming breastplate. “Pull him back next time, you fools,” he hissed at the two legionnaires who held the arms of the dying Jew. It was always difficult to train new help, he reflected as a slave gingerly wiped at the armor, eyes downcast, afraid of suffering the same fate.

The dead man had been worthless. As had the hundreds before him that Aspasia’s Shadow had also tortured and killed. True, he had learned much of the history of the Judeans since they had arrived here after following Moses so many years earlier, but history held little interest for Aspasia’s Shadow. It was the present and the future that he was concerned about.

Aspasia’s Shadow looked up from the corpse and across a valley to the city the Roman army was besieging. The Jews were a stubborn people, he would give them that. At the base of the hill Aspasia’s Shadow’s legion was deployed on were over three thousand crosses on which those who tried to escape the besieged town were crucified, as an example to those still inside. On a rotating basis the corpses on the crosses were cut down and new victims nailed into place. Long ago, in a previous lifetime, Aspasia’s Shadow had changed the method of crucifixion the memories of Aspasiaheld—using leather—out of a desire to see blood. He’d had his legionnaires use nails instead. By trial and error—and numerous bodies falling off as the nails ripped through hands, they had learned the proper place to drive the iron stakes— between the bones of the forearm and just above the ankles.

Titus had been most pleased with Aspasia’s Shadow’s innovations in torture and intimidation. Titus was the Emperor Vespasian’s son, and as such was in line to be the next Emperor. His goal was the complete subjugation of the Judeans—and, more important, capturing the gold and riches that was rumored to be hidden in the Temple of the Jews. Aspasia’s Shadow was also interested in something hidden in the Temple—the Ark and Grail.

Of course, he was not known as Aspasia’s Shadow to Titus and the other Romans. Over twenty years previously, upon awakening from the deep sleep, he had taken the name Tacitus. He had surveyed the current situation and found that things had changed greatly since he’d last walked the planet. A large empire had arisen on a peninsula on the north side of the Middle Sea and now commanded a large portion of the known world. The Romans had invaded Judea over one hundred years previously and made it a province of the empire.

As his guards dragged the body away, Aspasia’s Shadow sat down on an ornate chair he’d had brought with him from a villa they’d sacked several months previously on the way to Jerusalem. He put his chin on his fist and glared at Jerusalem. The Grail was so close, but guarded by zealots who were willing to die in the tens of thousands rather than surrender. Humans were very strange creatures.

Five years earlier, Aspasia’s Shadow had formed his own legion in Syria and offered its services to Titus, who had been more than happy to accept the force into his fold. Aspasia’s Shadow had recruited many Roman soldiers to serve for him, principally as officers and centurions, while the bulk of the fighting men were mercenaries. The Twelfth Legion was positioned on Mount Scopus, to the northeast of the old city of Jerusalem, along with the Fifteenth Legion. Other legions were deployed in a large encirclement around the city.

Every effort to assault the city proper had been repulsed up to this point and Aspasia’s Shadow knew from his spies that Titus’s father was growing impatient in Rome. With their short life spans, humans knew very little of patience. What was amazing about the level of resistance was that, as had been their way even during the Exodus with Moses, the Judeans were still bickering among themselves. There were two leaders inside the walls of Jerusalem, not one. There were the zealots led by Eleazer, son of Simon, and a private army led by a man named John of Gischala. The schism between the two was between primary allegiance to religion and primary allegiance to state.

Unfortunately, their bickering tended to fall by the way-side when faced with the common threat of the Romans. Things had been peaceful in Judea for many years, but revolt had begun four years earlier. Aspasia’s Shadow had had a hand in that, desiring to cause instability in order to open the road to Jerusalem and its highly guarded Temple.

He’d come to the realization that leaving the Ark and Grail in the care of the Judeans had been a dangerous ploy. True, it was out of the hands of the Airlia and he knew where it was, but there had been several instances when control had been lost by the Judeans. During the realm of King Samuel of the Judeans, the Philistines had penetrated into Jerusalem and stolen the Ark from the city. Aspasia’s Shadow had been forced to raise an army and lead it against them to return the Ark to Jerusalem. He’d then imprinted a king—Solomon— with the directive to build a powerful temple fortress to house the artifact. Aspasia’s Shadow had even spent time in Jerusalem under the name of Hiram Abiff, the architect designing the new Temple.

What was curious about this was that the Judeans spent eight years building the magnificent temple according to Aspasia’s Shadow’s specification, under the command of Solomon, yet they never really questioned why they were doing so. After all, the one God they claimed to worship had, according to the prophets, not asked for such a thing to be built—indeed, He had been very specific about no idols being built to Him.

With the Temple completed, Aspasia’s Shadow had disappeared, returning to Mount Sinai and the regeneration tube. He’d taken the chance to go into the deep sleep for a while, weary of dealing with humans. When he’d awoken, it had been to learn that during one of the many internal power struggles among the Judeans, the Ark and Grail had been separated and the former removed from Palestine. Aspasia’s Shadow had suspected that to be the work of Guides or Ones Who Wait. As far as his spies could learn, the Ark had been carried to the south, into Africa, by Solomon’s son and a queen named Sheva with whom he was besotted. The Ark was now somewhere in the Kingdom of Axum. Some spies even reported that the Judean king had allowed the Ark to be taken as a ruse to deflect attention from the Grail.

Aspasia’s Shadow’s priority was the Grail—he could care less about the Ark, which was mainly a historical recording device. He also learned that Jerusalem had been conquered once more while he slept, this time by the Babylonians, who had razed the Temple and taken the Judeans into captivity. The Grail, though, had been saved, hidden on Mount Nebo in the Abraham Mountains, by a prophet named Jeremiah. When the Temple was rebuilt, the Grail was returned to Jerusalem and hidden deep inside, passing from history into legend as the centuries came and went.

And then the Romans arrived in Palestine. All had been peaceful for over a hundred years, but eventually the Romans and the Judeans came into conflict.

The religion of the Jews had worked too well, Aspasia’s Shadow now knew. There were also disturbing rumors of another religion, one which also worshipped one God, but which had been established by a prophet who was said to have been crucified and risen from the dead. Aspasia’s Shadow found this report disturbing and he suspected the role of the Grail in it. Perhaps this man, this prophet, had partaken of the Grail? Aspasia’s Shadow had never been able to find out and the man, whoever he was, had disappeared shortly after his “resurrection,” passing into myth and religion.

The wind shifted direction and Aspasia’s Shadow’s nose wrinkled as the stench from the corpses that filled the valley between his position and the Old City wafted across the camp. There were more than just those who had been crucified. Many noncombatants had tried to escape the city. Since Titus had staged the siege to coincide with the start of the Jewish Passover, over a half million pilgrims had been trapped inside the city. When they tried to make their way out, begging for mercy, the Syrians and Arabians in Aspasia’s Shadow’s Legion had showed no mercy, slaughtering them and then, for profit, cutting their bodies open, searching for the coins many of the escapees had swallowed in a desperate attempt to salvage something.