The Covenant of Genesis

meal?’

The others came in behind him. ‘The Triumvirate voted to continue with the work as quickly as possible,’ said Zamal.

‘Two out of three,’ Ribbsley said irritably. ‘At least Vogler here showed some courtesy. Not like you and Hammerstein. And you wouldn’t even have voted at all if he hadn’t opened his mouth.’ He glared at the white-haired American. ‘He’s not even a member of the Covenant, so why he gets any say I have no idea. There’s no reason even for him to be here.’

‘You know that was part of the deal, Professor,’ said Vogler. ‘But please, the sooner we start, the sooner we will be finished.’

‘Oh, very well.’ Still annoyed, Ribbsley crossed the room, pausing to pick up a couple of the clay cylinders - including the one Nina had examined earlier. ‘“Wind sea” - no, “sea of wind, seasons, wind,”’ he read from the inscription on the first. ‘“Winds of the seasons of the sea of wind”, I suppose.’ He checked the other. ‘And “fish of the sea of wind”. The usual gibberish. Why did they make so many of these things just to hold one line of meaningless text?’ He put them back down and continued across the chamber to stand before the text on the wall - barely four feet from Nina. Another step, and he would see her . . .

Instead, he opened up his laptop computer, cradling it in one arm as he peered at the text on the wall, then brought up a list of words written in the ancient language. ‘Let’s see . . . ah, I was right - the first line is a title of sorts. I was only missing a couple of words. Something along the lines of “The account of the final days of the people of the one great tree”, although the syntactic structure is different. It’s a very logically constructed language, actually - reminds me of Esperanto—’

‘Is that what the Veteres called themselves?’ Zamal interrupted. He moved forward for a closer look. Nina held her breath, tears in her eyes from the stabbing pain, hearing his footsteps getting nearer—

‘Don’t block the light,’ Ribbsley snapped, waving him back. Zamal scowled, but obeyed. ‘They seem to have a great deal of reverence for trees - it’s a word that’s appeared a lot in the texts you’ve brought me over the years. Perhaps they worshipped them.’

‘Pagans,’ Zamal sneered.

‘Maybe, but their beliefs certainly lasted for much longer than Islam’s been around, hmm?’ Smirking at the frowning Arab, he returned to the translation. ‘Ah! Now this is interesting. It says they left here a long time before to . . . to “escape the beasts”.’

‘Beasts?’ asked Hammerstein, glancing round the room and fingering his holstered gun as if expecting some animal to jump out. Chase, watching through a small gap in the pile of rubble, tensed.

‘That’s the closest translation. Although I can’t imagine what kind of beasts would be terrorising them in Australia. Giant wombats, perhaps!’ He laughed, then looked back at the wall. ‘But these beasts, whatever they were, were dangerous enough to drive them out of this settlement. They sailed for many days, probably weeks, to . . . to “the land of wind and sand”.’ They all exchanged puzzled looks.

‘Are you sure that’s what it says?’ the white-haired man demanded.

‘Yes, I’m positive,’ said Ribbsley testily. He jabbed a finger at the inscription, Nina just able to see him indicate particular symbols from her awkward position. ‘Wind, sand, land. Absolutely unmistakable.’

Zamal scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘Wind and sand. A desert.’

‘But that could be anywhere,’ Vogler said. ‘A journey of weeks by sea could have taken them to Asia, Arabia, even Africa.’

‘Let’s hope the rest of the text is more enlightening.’ Ribbsley read on. ‘They built a new home, a “great city” in a valley near the sea with “tiny mountains of fire” - well, that’s the symbol for a volcano, although I don’t know how one could be tiny.’ He scanned through several more lines. ‘I think you will definitely find this part fascinating. It says they lived in peace in their city for many years - until their god drove them out.’

‘Their god?’ asked Hammerstein.

‘It’s actually a concatenation of several words and symbols - literally, it reads “the one great tree”. I misunderstood the context in the title, but there’s nothing else it can mean here. A supreme being, one that punished them for . . . “giving the gift of God to the beasts”.’

As Ribbsley had expected, that aroused considerable interest in the other men. ‘What gift?’ said Zamal.

Ribbsley gave him a patronising sigh. ‘Perhaps if you’d let me finish, I might be able to tell you. Now, it says their god punished them by “taking the sea”, which I assume means a fall in sea level, so we should be able to match the date to the onset of an ice age, and sending wind and sand to kill the trees . . . and they had to leave the city before the wind and sand killed them too.’ A pause as he checked his laptop. ‘They tried to . . . “preserve”, I suppose, to preserve the city by closing . . . no, “sealing” the valley so the river would grow and be covered by . . . oh, what a surprise. Wind and sand. I must say, they did have the most banal and repetitive prose style.’

‘It sounds like they flooded their city,’ Hammerstein suggested. ‘Blocking a valley to make the river grow - they built a dam. What else does it say?’

‘It seems,’ said Ribbsley, ‘that after they left their city, they came back here. But not everyone made it - they lost a lot of people, and also . . . oh, Mr Zamal, I think you’ll appreciate this part. It says that during the voyage, they lost many of “the voices of the prophets”.’

The Arab looked stung. ‘Prophets?’

‘That’s what it says. Well, well. They have something in common with Islam after all!’

‘Blasphemy,’ growled Zamal. ‘They may have called them prophets, but they were not the servants of Allah.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ribbsley, clearly amused at having found a way to rile him. ‘But it’s still an intriguing thought, isn’t it?’ He turned back to the text. ‘Once they made it back here, the beasts soon attacked. They tried to, ah . . . something about a “safe wall” - oh, of course. They tried to fortify the settlement. But there were too many of the beasts, so they . . . hmm. Interesting.’

‘What happened to them?’ Vogler asked. ‘Does it say where they went next?’

‘Wherever they meant to go, I don’t think they got very far.’ He raised his free hand, turning and sweeping it theatrically around the chamber. Nina squashed herself harder against the rubble, the pain increasing. ‘This seems to be where they made their last stand. The chamber is associated with something called “the tree of the gift” - apparently they couldn’t take it with them, so they buried it and left a message in the hope that their people might find it again in the future.’

Hammerstein pointed at the text. ‘Is that the message?’

‘So it seems. But there’s certainly no tree in here. As for what happened to the Veteres . . . well, that’s where the story ends. They never came back, so either they settled elsewhere - or were all killed trying to escape these beasts.’

‘But we know there definitely is another settlement,’ said Vogler. ‘Their city. If we can locate it, we can destroy it.’

‘After I’ve the chance to explore it,’ Ribbsley said, closing his laptop. ‘That was our deal. I may not be able to share it with the world, but at least I’ll have discovered something nobody else has ever seen. Not even Nina Wilde.’

Nina’s heart almost stopped at the unexpected mention of her name. She was terrified that Ribbsley had spotted her, but then he continued: ‘Of course, we have to find it first, which means working out exactly where this “land of wind and sand” is.’ A pause, then a camera flash lit the room, followed by another as Ribbsley photographed sections of the inscription. Behind him, Vogler and Hammerstein traded suggestions as to the location.

Chase, meanwhile, overheard another conversation as Zamal and the American, standing near the hole in the wall, conversed in low voices. ‘Once he learns where the city is,’ said Zamal, ‘his job will be done. And then . . . you can kill his woman.’

‘That’ll make my boss very happy,’ the white-haired man replied.

‘And you too?’

‘I wouldn’t say happy. But there’ll be some . . . job satisfaction.’

Zamal smirked, then looked round as Ribbsley finished taking his photographs. ‘That should be enough to work from for now,’ the professor announced. ‘But now, gentlemen, perhaps I could finally be allowed to have some supper?’

‘I have no objections,’ said Vogler. ‘And I don’t think the Triumvirate needs to call a vote.’ Hammerstein