Post by abraxes on Apr 29, 2024 5:59:27 GMT
Dr. Hawthorne started as his office phone rang. He pushed aside the sandwich he was eating for lunch and finished chewing before he picked up the receiver.
“This is Dr. Hawthorne.”
“Hello Dr. Hawthorne. My name is Dr. Hussein Ali with the University of Chicago.”
“Yes, you were the language specialist that Jim sent the journal to. Has it been translated already?”
“Yes, doctor. That is correct. I am afraid it is going to take more time. I will not bore you too much with the details, but I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Of course. Go ahead.” Dr. Hawthorne reached out and took a drink from his mug of coffee.
“Jim had mentioned that the individual responsible for writing did not study Sumerian. I wanted to ask if you were certain?”
“I am reasonably certain, yes. The patient was a salesman. They only had a Bachelor’s degree.”
There was a moment of silence on the other line.
“I was wondering if it would be possible if you could make certain that was the case. If I may be blunt, this is not a level that someone could just casually research on the internet. This level of grammar, the style of Cuneiform… This is scholar level ability. I have colleagues who could not put something like this together.”.
Dr. Hawthorne pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes.
“The only way someone could write something like this is by studying it?”
“That is the only way that I know of, Doctor. I specialize in languages though. You are the one who specializes in the mind.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. I will see what I can find.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I would very much like to know who they learned from.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I would like them to teach me!”
Dr. Hawthorne felt a shiver run down his spine, and he did not know why.
~_~
The single hooded light swings back and forth in the air, casting a beam of light against the darkness in the room. At the lowest arc of each swing it illuminates the grinning mask of Abraxes as they stands motionless in the seemingly empty room.
“I have been given two students to instruct. Two fresh minds to share my wisdom with. Will these be the ears to hear my message? Will these two sup on the bounty of my knowledge? Will they kneel at the foot of their creator to receive his blessing?”
Their teeth click together.
“I think not.”
They lift a gloved hand and stroke it slowly along the side of their face.
“No, they will not. Two souls so unalike and yet so close that if they were only to reach out with their minds their finger tips would faintly brush against each other. Two pitiful beings struggling to find some meaning in their suffering. Instead of bowing their heads at my altar they shall thrash and scream, like so many children do.”
Their teeth rapidly click together as they tilt their head to one side.
“Solomon Khan. You have given up all hope for enlightenment. All hope for relevance. You cling to the chaff around you, deluding yourself into thinking that so long as you are together that you may be considered the berry. But scrapings do not form a tool, no matter how many you gather together. You must find your own path to walk. You must cast your shackles from your arms. I can help you do this. As I have helped Adel. As I have helped Ducky. You need only take my hand so that I might lead you from darkness into the sweet pain of enlightenment. You need but to ask Solomon, as the one whose name you carry once did. Then you too may be counted among the wise.”
Slowly their head tilts to the other side, their teeth grinding together like the bones of mountains.
“RAM. Little sheep, you lash out. You seek to make a name for yourself. To prove that you are worthy. But you can not do that while you hide amongst your flock. You wish to prove that you are worthy and yet you cling to that which you would discard as the drowning man clings to debris. That is not the way to salvation. For the waves of the time shall dash against you and send you farther out to sea to be lost. No, you must leave behind that which you have destroyed. Turn back from the wreckage that has come before. You must strike out and swim. That is the way to salvation.”
They titter softly as they rock back onto their heels.
“Or to damnation. But that is the price one must pay. For only in the fires of torment is iron forged. Only through my pain lies truth.”
They clack their teeth together a final time as the light winks out.
“This is Dr. Hawthorne.”
“Hello Dr. Hawthorne. My name is Dr. Hussein Ali with the University of Chicago.”
“Yes, you were the language specialist that Jim sent the journal to. Has it been translated already?”
“Yes, doctor. That is correct. I am afraid it is going to take more time. I will not bore you too much with the details, but I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Of course. Go ahead.” Dr. Hawthorne reached out and took a drink from his mug of coffee.
“Jim had mentioned that the individual responsible for writing did not study Sumerian. I wanted to ask if you were certain?”
“I am reasonably certain, yes. The patient was a salesman. They only had a Bachelor’s degree.”
There was a moment of silence on the other line.
“I was wondering if it would be possible if you could make certain that was the case. If I may be blunt, this is not a level that someone could just casually research on the internet. This level of grammar, the style of Cuneiform… This is scholar level ability. I have colleagues who could not put something like this together.”.
Dr. Hawthorne pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes.
“The only way someone could write something like this is by studying it?”
“That is the only way that I know of, Doctor. I specialize in languages though. You are the one who specializes in the mind.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. I will see what I can find.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I would very much like to know who they learned from.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I would like them to teach me!”
Dr. Hawthorne felt a shiver run down his spine, and he did not know why.
~_~
The single hooded light swings back and forth in the air, casting a beam of light against the darkness in the room. At the lowest arc of each swing it illuminates the grinning mask of Abraxes as they stands motionless in the seemingly empty room.
“I have been given two students to instruct. Two fresh minds to share my wisdom with. Will these be the ears to hear my message? Will these two sup on the bounty of my knowledge? Will they kneel at the foot of their creator to receive his blessing?”
Their teeth click together.
“I think not.”
They lift a gloved hand and stroke it slowly along the side of their face.
“No, they will not. Two souls so unalike and yet so close that if they were only to reach out with their minds their finger tips would faintly brush against each other. Two pitiful beings struggling to find some meaning in their suffering. Instead of bowing their heads at my altar they shall thrash and scream, like so many children do.”
Their teeth rapidly click together as they tilt their head to one side.
“Solomon Khan. You have given up all hope for enlightenment. All hope for relevance. You cling to the chaff around you, deluding yourself into thinking that so long as you are together that you may be considered the berry. But scrapings do not form a tool, no matter how many you gather together. You must find your own path to walk. You must cast your shackles from your arms. I can help you do this. As I have helped Adel. As I have helped Ducky. You need only take my hand so that I might lead you from darkness into the sweet pain of enlightenment. You need but to ask Solomon, as the one whose name you carry once did. Then you too may be counted among the wise.”
Slowly their head tilts to the other side, their teeth grinding together like the bones of mountains.
“RAM. Little sheep, you lash out. You seek to make a name for yourself. To prove that you are worthy. But you can not do that while you hide amongst your flock. You wish to prove that you are worthy and yet you cling to that which you would discard as the drowning man clings to debris. That is not the way to salvation. For the waves of the time shall dash against you and send you farther out to sea to be lost. No, you must leave behind that which you have destroyed. Turn back from the wreckage that has come before. You must strike out and swim. That is the way to salvation.”
They titter softly as they rock back onto their heels.
“Or to damnation. But that is the price one must pay. For only in the fires of torment is iron forged. Only through my pain lies truth.”
They clack their teeth together a final time as the light winks out.
Well howdy there pardner.