MAAT-SU: the lapis skull; Chapter 4
There was no time left to dwell on those painful feelings. They had arrived. The gorge ended in a natural amphitheatre, its only entrance the narrow pass through which they had entered. The walls here were almost sheer, towering high above them, the orange gold sandstone of the rim contrasting sharply with the dazzling blue of the mid-afternoon sky. All here knew this place well, most had made the pilgrimage on many occasions over their lifetime, yet still the spectacle and majesty of these surroundings did not fail to move them.
Breathtakingly beautiful though this place was, it was not just the natural wonder that held everyone spellbound. At some point, lost in the distant past, their ancestors had made their mark here. In the centre of the cliff that faced them, a massive rectangular doorway had been created standing the height of ten men and measuring a good dozen paces across. Flanking this entrance, two half pillars, carved in relief from the bedrock and skilfully decorated with lifelike leaves and vines, stood sentinel. The top lintel, again formed from the bedrock, was intricately carved with strange and exotic symbols, at the centre of which had been created a false keystone bearing the mark known to all down through the ages as the ‘key to life’. On either side of the doorway, reaching to the same height, hundreds of tiny square openings, no wider than a man’s hand span, had been cut through the rock face into the cavern beyond.
Halu paused, overwhelmed as always by the inherently sacred atmosphere that filled this place, a sacredness that had been intensified by thousands of years of ritual and reverence. Breathing in the spiritual essence it held, he allowed his heartbeat to calm, his unease to dissipate and his mind to fall still. He would not be able to communicate with Maat-su if he was distracted by his fears. With a theatrical flourish, perfected by years of execution, Halu lifted the skull high above his head and strode through the imposing entrance portal.
Breathtakingly beautiful though this place was, it was not just the natural wonder that held everyone spellbound. At some point, lost in the distant past, their ancestors had made their mark here. In the centre of the cliff that faced them, a massive rectangular doorway had been created standing the height of ten men and measuring a good dozen paces across. Flanking this entrance, two half pillars, carved in relief from the bedrock and skilfully decorated with lifelike leaves and vines, stood sentinel. The top lintel, again formed from the bedrock, was intricately carved with strange and exotic symbols, at the centre of which had been created a false keystone bearing the mark known to all down through the ages as the ‘key to life’. On either side of the doorway, reaching to the same height, hundreds of tiny square openings, no wider than a man’s hand span, had been cut through the rock face into the cavern beyond.
Halu paused, overwhelmed as always by the inherently sacred atmosphere that filled this place, a sacredness that had been intensified by thousands of years of ritual and reverence. Breathing in the spiritual essence it held, he allowed his heartbeat to calm, his unease to dissipate and his mind to fall still. He would not be able to communicate with Maat-su if he was distracted by his fears. With a theatrical flourish, perfected by years of execution, Halu lifted the skull high above his head and strode through the imposing entrance portal.
* * * * *
He had entered another world. On this side, all was cool and dark. On either flank, the painstakingly chiselled windows cast a trellis of soft light on a stone floor polished smooth by the feet of innumerable worshippers over the thousands of years this place had been used, but only a few paces into the chamber this light faded away and the remainder of this vast vault was steeped in darkness. So much so that for several moments those who entered found themselves blind after the glare of outside, their eyes taking that time to adjust. Once they had, the sight before them was humbling in its majesty.
Originally a natural cave of no meagre proportions, the interior had been enlarged many times over by the hands of countless willing workers, some of whom had laboured here for their entire lifetime. Over five thousand worshippers could have fitted in this gargantuan cathedral to Maat-su with room to spare, and in the not so distant past they had done so. The three hundred or so who now ventured inside stood lost in its vast emptiness.
Manua busied herself lighting the lamps that were spread unsparingly around the perimeter of the space and thickly dotted the wide, open expanse of the floor. As their light spread, the faint, barely distinguishable outline of the altar sharpened into clear focus. In the flickering light of a thousand tiny flames it was all overwhelmingly awe-inspiring and unreal.
Halu knelt before the altar, Maat-su still raised high in his hands.
Originally a natural cave of no meagre proportions, the interior had been enlarged many times over by the hands of countless willing workers, some of whom had laboured here for their entire lifetime. Over five thousand worshippers could have fitted in this gargantuan cathedral to Maat-su with room to spare, and in the not so distant past they had done so. The three hundred or so who now ventured inside stood lost in its vast emptiness.
Manua busied herself lighting the lamps that were spread unsparingly around the perimeter of the space and thickly dotted the wide, open expanse of the floor. As their light spread, the faint, barely distinguishable outline of the altar sharpened into clear focus. In the flickering light of a thousand tiny flames it was all overwhelmingly awe-inspiring and unreal.
Halu knelt before the altar, Maat-su still raised high in his hands.
* * * * *
For over five thousand years, Maat-su had been cared for by Manua’s people, worshipped as both god and oracle. Where she had come from, no-one now remembered, although stories handed down through time spoke of magical beings, half-bird half-human, who had descended from the cloud covered peaks of the highest mountains on shimmering bronze wings. Cruel and cold, they had enslaved the populace and devastated the land around in their search for precious minerals.
The eerie, silent lake high up on one of the nearer ridges was held by everyone to be one of these scars. It was certainly menacing enough. Unlike all the other lakes in the area, the dense, inky depths did not reflect the blue of the summer sky or the sparkle of sunlight, instead sucking it in and imprisoning it so that no glimmer could escape. The icy waters were unforgiving and fatal. Anyone unlucky enough to fall in would perish with half a dozen breaths as their frigid grip pitilessly claimed its victim.
Then, one day, the bird-men were gone as suddenly as they had arrived, leaving the people to rebuild their broken, interrupted lives. All that remained were the scars of their occupation, a ravaged landscape… and a skull of the deepest, richest lapis lazuli, sprinkled with flecks of golden pyrite and washed through with a swathe of creamy white. Maat-su. They had left her in the main gathering place, held in a box of some strange metal that those who now held her in their guardianship had never encountered before.
And yet…. And yet? Manua could not believe that those old tales spoke the truth of what had taken place so long ago. There was so much that did not fit. Above and beyond anything else there was Maat-su herself. The lapis skull emanated a potent vibration of love, justice and harmony. The young handmaiden had spent the last five years of her life caring for Maat-su, surrounded by these blessings. Even if those ancient visitors had existed – and Maat-su had to have come from somewhere – surely a race as brutal and grasping as they had been portrayed would not have held in reverence an object whose energy and spirit was the complete opposite.
Why too, would her long dead ancestors have accepted, even welcomed, the skull if she had been a parting gift from such cruel and hated oppressors? Why would those oppressors have left her at all, have given such a precious gift to those whom they had despised and brutalised? And why would the ancestors then have spent generations of blood and sweat carving out this magnificent temple in the cliff so that they could worship her more nobly. No, Manua had long ago decided, the stories could not be true. She could not reconcile the legends of the past with the reality of her own experience.
Even at fourteen Manu held more wisdom than most of her seniors. She understood clearly that truth became distorted as it was passed from one person to another, even over the course of a single day. How much greater that distortion would become over a thousand and more lifetimes. Maat-su had been left for them, deliberately, a gift from the visitors to those whom they visited. What had really occurred all that time ago would never now be told, but Manua knew in the core of her being that it had not been at all as the legends portrayed it.
The eerie, silent lake high up on one of the nearer ridges was held by everyone to be one of these scars. It was certainly menacing enough. Unlike all the other lakes in the area, the dense, inky depths did not reflect the blue of the summer sky or the sparkle of sunlight, instead sucking it in and imprisoning it so that no glimmer could escape. The icy waters were unforgiving and fatal. Anyone unlucky enough to fall in would perish with half a dozen breaths as their frigid grip pitilessly claimed its victim.
Then, one day, the bird-men were gone as suddenly as they had arrived, leaving the people to rebuild their broken, interrupted lives. All that remained were the scars of their occupation, a ravaged landscape… and a skull of the deepest, richest lapis lazuli, sprinkled with flecks of golden pyrite and washed through with a swathe of creamy white. Maat-su. They had left her in the main gathering place, held in a box of some strange metal that those who now held her in their guardianship had never encountered before.
And yet…. And yet? Manua could not believe that those old tales spoke the truth of what had taken place so long ago. There was so much that did not fit. Above and beyond anything else there was Maat-su herself. The lapis skull emanated a potent vibration of love, justice and harmony. The young handmaiden had spent the last five years of her life caring for Maat-su, surrounded by these blessings. Even if those ancient visitors had existed – and Maat-su had to have come from somewhere – surely a race as brutal and grasping as they had been portrayed would not have held in reverence an object whose energy and spirit was the complete opposite.
Why too, would her long dead ancestors have accepted, even welcomed, the skull if she had been a parting gift from such cruel and hated oppressors? Why would those oppressors have left her at all, have given such a precious gift to those whom they had despised and brutalised? And why would the ancestors then have spent generations of blood and sweat carving out this magnificent temple in the cliff so that they could worship her more nobly. No, Manua had long ago decided, the stories could not be true. She could not reconcile the legends of the past with the reality of her own experience.
Even at fourteen Manu held more wisdom than most of her seniors. She understood clearly that truth became distorted as it was passed from one person to another, even over the course of a single day. How much greater that distortion would become over a thousand and more lifetimes. Maat-su had been left for them, deliberately, a gift from the visitors to those whom they visited. What had really occurred all that time ago would never now be told, but Manua knew in the core of her being that it had not been at all as the legends portrayed it.
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