The Statue Of Ninurta

The war god of Babylon, everyone had said it was just a myth. They all claimed he insulted the field of archeology with his, "self-appointed quest." Ninurta was a gorgeous solid gold creature before him. Jonathan brushed the ancient sand delicately from the priceless relic. The ruby eyes were masterfully set in the angry face.

The craftsmanship of the Nebo people had been legendary until around fifteen hundred years earlier. So much legend his peers assumed it was fiction. After all, no genuine artifact had ever been found. According to his associates, there wasn't even a full-sized settlement. A partially exposed roof was the only evidence any buildings or life had existed there. Yet, they never took the time to look beneath. It was his destiny to excavate Nebo. His purpose alone.

He gazed deep within the recesses of the red jewels, his emerald eyes gleamed with insatiable greed for the power within. The statue's eyes appeared to go on forever, he couldnt stop himself from looking deeper into the gems. It was magnificent. He looked down into the soul of an ancient civilization long forgotten. All his labor had paid off.

The excavation had been more than he could bare at times. The constant scalding winds and vicious sandstorms set in for hours. He could only pray he found something substantial to make the effort worthwhile. He had already lost creditability with several institutions, they saw his ambition and drive as frivolous and, "wasteful." He would show them all what morons they were.

The metal bunker provided some protection from the elements. The buildings were left from World War II, he'd purchased and moved them to Nebo. His peers even had the locals laughing at him, initially.

They were safe from the winds and the driving sand, but even the shelter couldn't stop the dry heat. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, he had the amazing piece in his palm. His goal in life had been fulfilled. Now he could show those smug bastards who knew their history.

Egypt was the most popular excavation country. The cities and surrounding areas of Giza and Alexandria were usually bustling with all forms of searching. The Valley of the Kings had attracted archeologists and anthropologists since it's discovery. Nebo was deemed a, "poor city." It's residents were mostly farmers and merchants, there were no palaces or elaborate tombs.

Although it sat near Tell-el-Obeid, Nebo was virtually unheard of. The most extravagant construction its citizens ever created was the Temple of Ninurta. That was where they stored the sacred fruits of their artful and intricate workmanship.

While the columns had fallen and the barely exposed roof lay within the dunes, he had found what he searched for. For a millennium it had been ignored and neglected, until he followed his instincts. The protective sand had blanketed the artifacts for thousands of years and preserved the most delicate of detail.

Their excavation had produced flint sickles for harvesting along with basalt mortars and pestles for grinding. All of them carried traces of their original substances. Acacia stools had been uncovered, alabaster vessels for storing perfume, even some petrified leather bags.

From the soil examinations around the exposed city, he proved the main crops were wheat and cumin. They were a simple people with contented lives. The early signs of a trash pit was discovered on the left side of the city. There were several stone foundations of what might've been homes for the more elite citizens near the temple.

He had found his treasure. His mission for so many years finally proved fruitful. The temple was gorgeous, although it still lay half-buried, it was magnificent. He assumed it was destroyed during the raid, however it was merely toppled and buried during a major sandstorm.

The Unknown War had crippled the city of Nebo. The enemy was believed to be soldiers from the Roman Empire. There was suspicion that the Egyptians had desired the land, however Nebo was constructed after Egypt had developed into a city. Would they have waited so long before claiming the land?

It was written two hundred years later that priests had carried the valuable items into the temple and hid them. They placed their precious crafts far from the oncoming marauders' greedy eyes.

Before all was known about the city's sacrosanct treasures, the priests were slain. An action which forever silenced any formal or documented mention of the Statue of Ninurta. Rome seemed to be the starting point for all lore regarding Nebo.

He polished the beautiful piece with a soft rag. He lovingly spoke to it, "Well, my friend. I've been searching for you for a long, long time. Even when your existence was doubted by science, I knew you were real."

He smiled and his chest swelled with pride. His lust for the worshipped piece of had taken him through four countries and thirty years. He had endured most of the Middle East. He tolerated the hostile forces and elements to find the object of his obsession.

According to myth whosoever possessed the relic could rule the world. What better way to achieve power? He laughed at the thought. It was purely folklore, much like the "curse" surrounding the tombs of Egypt. Howard Carter’s team did die rapidly and painfully, however the "curse" was merely a lethal mold which had lived on the walls and corridors in the tomb of Tutankhamen. Of course, there is always the possibility the mold was "planted," by Egyptian priests.

He hadn't pursued the statue for a myth, he was a man of logic. The piece itself was worth more than a lifetime as an archeologist. The Museum of London had already stated they would provide him with a few million pounds for any artifacts of the Nebo civilization. Their estimates came from the lack of facts and relics from the area. That number would quadruple with the statue. He found the city, the temple, and the proverbial "golden calf."

The fine detail was unbelievable. The items which were hidden by the priests were not inventoried. There were untold riches waiting for any person who located them. They were not as rich as Egypt, but they did boast minor treasures. Things which would be priceless in today's world. The Statue of Ninurta was the most sought-after, it was the only known item hidden.

Grave-robbers and thieves that had profited over the centuries hadn’t raided Nebo. They only knew it was some poor settlement that couldn't possibly have wealth or riches. There were only a few scholars and people of the field who knew the legends behind the town. Burglars usually chose to visit The Valley of The Kings or the other Egyptian sites. They were only fifty or sixty miles away, a day or two on foot.

"Jonathan, you must see this." Mizpah rushed into the room. His dark face had paled, terror radiated from his eyes.

"Oh, what is it?" Jonathan couldn't hide his aggravation, he had to shift his attention from his new find.

"It is danger, you must return the statue and we must leave." His voice quaked to tell his employer such news.

Jonathan laughed. The help from the locals was necessary, however many were uneducated. Superstitions abound in their illogical minds. But, Mizpah had never trembled at the threats from a dead civilization, nor had his men. They were different from their usual countrymen.

"Now, really, Mizpah," Jonathan assured. "You must have read something wrong."

His anger lingered, however the assistant's terror was strange. Mizpah rarely left his station, he was always faithful. He knew the land like no other, he had grew up in the area. His locality didn't affect his work, he was never susceptible to lore. He was a stern believer in logic, and equally appreciative of the money at stake in every dig. At least, he had been before.

Outside the sky had became dark and the wind arose. The usually white and fluffy clouds appeared bruised and injured as black pillars pilled on top of one another. The workers nervously whispered, some pointed to the sky. A sandstorm never produced such a dramatic change in the sky.

He looked over the provoked crowd, what had unsettled them? They had never before worked themselves up to such a state of alarm. The day's excavation halted at the Temple. Several workers laid down as others slapped their faces and wiped them with damp rags. He passed them and heard them mumble about fainting. A line of men had circled the gigantic hole. He descended the sturdy ladder. Hopefully, the secret would be revealed soon, he had many plans to make with his new find.

Abram and Miloch stood at the bottom of the pit with him. They stared at the inscription of the entrance. Jonathan pulled his glasses from their perch on the top of his head, down to his eyes. He squinted, could barely decipher the writing.

He placed both hands against the door and had a flash of sight. He saw a village in the middle of the desert. Priests wore white robes and carried urns and gold items towards an inner room in the Temple. The noise of an approaching army resounded outside, they buried their treasures deep within the structure and pushed the stone wall back into place.

They returned outside and a Roman legion rushed towards them. There were screams and yells of agony, the clanking of metal, and eventually silence. Dead silence.

He shook his head, the workers watched him cautiously. He turned his attention to the wall. After a moment he discovered the meaning. He read aloud, "He who touches this temple and disturbs the resting place will find death in his footsteps."

A ripple of apprehension passed through the crowd and Jonathan raised his hand, "Gentlemen, please. This means nothing, it is a thousand years old. I know you are tired and we will take the day off tomorrow. Now please, we must do what we can. Let's just keep working and forget about this message."

Jonathan walked back towards the ladder, a shrieking howl followed him. He turned to see Mizpah fall and clutch his neck. His face became blood red, crimson, then ghastly shades of lavender and gray. Sand coated the side of his face where he fell and saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth. He momentarily looked at Jonathan and away, he screamed, "Don't let it touch me! Don't let it touch m...!" His last sentence, choked upon. With a gargle, he uttered his last breath.

A rush of fear surged the atmosphere. He looked around, not completely sure of what happened. What was going on? What happened to Mizpah?

Suddenly, Jonathan felt a rush of energy. Something had came alive inside him and he could feel it's power grow. Two workers had gathered near Mizpah began attempting crude forms of CPR, but nothing revived the fastidious worker.

He considered his actions for a moment and took another step. He carefully observed all that happened while he moved. "Silence," Jonathan whispered to the whimpering worker. Another yell erupted, Miloch fell. He struggled in the same manner which Mizpah had. Jonathan knew what the power was. He knew what he was destined to do.

He pondered further action for a moment. He was going to be responsible for many great things. The crowd watched him ignore the dying man. He heard another gasp, the same as Mizpah. Such power and promise, he could do so many things.

He turned away from the presence of death and kept on walking. It was the perfect murder. No motive, no traceable evidence at all. He had colleagues to visit and institutions to consult. Someone of his stature needed to exercise his power and make the world a better place.

© 2005 by Laura Wright

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