Forge of Creation

Initiation

Not by age but by capacity is wisdom acquired
-Titus Maccius Plautus (254 BC – 184 BC)

CA. 2,000 A.C.E. Present Day

Tim Yeager sat in the back of the Cessna wondering if he would really make it to his destination. Miguel, the pilot, was showing off, and Tim’s lunch was rising in his throat. “Are we there yet?” he yelled as the engine throttled down for another dive.

Miguel looked over his shoulder smiling wide “Do not worry senor, I go this trip every day.”

Not encouraged in the least, Tim decided that there was no reasonable way to improve the situation. “Just shut your eyes and pretend this is Disneyland” he whispered to himself bleakly, though he could not hear himself in the din.

Tim tried to distract himself from the jostling by rehearsing how to justify his private flight to Nazca. This was going to be a stretch, getting the company to agree that part of his duties in planning the Lima water storage project involved studying the geology in the desert 200 miles from the project site. But Ernesto Velasquez at the Vatican embassy had insisted that he come here and study the Nazca Valley before starting the design, and since the Vatican was footing part of the bill, he could easily claim credibility for this trip. The Church could be very reasonable if you follow their rules.

Ernesto said that there was an ancient method to collect water here that could be useful elsewhere, once an engineer with sufficient experience has seen and understands the system.

Of course, Tim has been designing water storage and distribution systems for more than 22 years and has managed to be part of the design team for every major project except the Three Gorges project on the Yangtse River in China. They had insisted that no one but Chinese citizens be assigned to all parts of the project. Since Tim was an American of British descent, there was no way to get him in.

Tim had been on the move since the Peruvian Government hired his company to establish a feasible method for collecting, storing, and distributing drinking water for the people of Peru. Aldrich International spares no time or expense when a project so well-heeled as this falls into their lap.

The bid was a longshot since the price nearly doubled expectations, but Aldrich was the only bidder to agree to provide the design without insisting on having rights to performing the construction. This was important since the Peruvian Government was suffering from double-digit unemployment and wanted only local labor in construction. This whole project is part of a national aid program funded jointly by the United Nations and the Vatican.

“Senor Yeager.” Miguel shouted over the whine of the engine. “The animals are coming up. Look out your window!”

As he looked out the window, Tim saw the distinct outline of a hummingbird traced out on the ground. There were other shapes in the distance. “What do you mean?” “Hmm” he thought to himself. “I remember seeing something about these things on television, but I hadn’t thought I would actually see them for myself.” Then Tim noticed the lines, stretching for miles in every direction, like the spokes of a wheel, with the hub seemingly directly below them.

He leaned forward and shouted a question to Miguel. “Where are the water wells?”

Miguel looked confused “Que?”

“Agua! You know. Water? Water wells. Where are they?”

Again Miguel smiled, “Puquios! Agua below us! We just flew over one.”

Now Tim was interested, “Can you land here so I can see them?”

Miguel looked alarmed. “No! Not here! There are too many rocks. Besides, if the Security catches us out there, we will be arrested. You need special permission to walk among the lines.”

Tim wondered how the ancient people managed to dig wells deep enough in the desert terrain to find water.

Later, after landing at the airstrip, Tim asked Miguel where it may be possible to get permission to walk near the lines to inspect the Puquios.

“Is it possible? I do not know. The Nasca Lady is gone now. Maybe you can find someone at her museum that can get you permission from the Security. Either way, I cannot land my plane there.”

As the plane landed and taxied to the reception area, Tim was busy taking notes. “There has got to be a way to get permission to inspect these ancient water wells.”

The two-hour trip had left Tim drained, and the afternoon sun beat down to remind him that it was siesta time. There was a slight breeze. Most anyone he wanted to interview would be indoors by now. In fact, the town seemed almost deserted, except for occasional sound of wind chimes to break the silence.

As Tim neared the square, it was apparent that there were but few hotels from which to pick. He looked for the one with the most curb-appeal, and picked one named, quite appropriately, the “Hotel Nazca”. It looked like a dump, but it was better than the other one he could see, which was possibly the only alternative. He was surprised to find that they took US Dollars, so he saved his Pesos.

A few hours later he emerged to find the streets choked full of locals and tourists alike. They seemed to be preparing for some celebration. Brightly-colored costumes were being made and carried, while shipments of food were being delivered to the restaraunts along the square. Two airplanes made slow circles overhead in the North.

Tim headed in the direction pointed out a few hours earlier by Miguel. The Museum seemed to be one of the newest buildings in town. He entered the front door and looked around to see if he could find someone resembling a curator. Finally, he settled on a very attractive young woman who was directing a tour through the museum. She spoke fairly good English with a slightly European, maybe German accent, so he joined the throng of tourists gathered around her and followed the group until it started to disperse at the other end of the museum.

He caught her eye and walked up to converse with her.

“Hello” he said, Using the best smile he could muster. “My name is Tim Yeager. I am an engineer and have come to study the old water wells. I believe they are called Puquios? How does one go about getting permission to go for a long walk around here?”

Then he noticed her tour guide tag. It said ‘Nasca Museum’ in small letters and ‘Isabelle’ in large white letters.

Isabelle frowned, “Does she ever smile?” Tim wondered. “I’ll have to pour on the charm.” Then he realized he had been staring at her tag, conveniently placed on her very shapely chest. “Oops, strike one” he thought.

“One cannot. Unless of course they have the approval of the museum curator.” She said. “That is only reserved only for those who have a scientific goal and can verify that they will not cause any damage to the artifacts. Anything you find must be turned over or reported to museum staff, and any damage to the lines or the geoglyphs carry a very large fine.”

“What happens if it’s an accident?” Said Tim, wondering if it would be possible to get permission at all.

“We must be quite sure that these treasures are never damaged, since it has been entrusted to us. It was my Aunt’s wish that they always be preserved.” Said Isabelle. “Last time this fine was assessed was some teenagers in a Jeep, joyriding. They saw the signs and were even warned away by local villagers, but continued past the roads and marred some of the main lines. They sat in jail until their parents paid the fine. We had to share the money with the Peruvian Government, but it was useful all the same, as you can see around you.”

“I don’t have any intention of causing damage. I was sent to investigate the design of the water wells in the area. Puquios the pilot called them.” Tim said, wondering if he would be able to see them at all.

“I can guide you, but you must wait for tomorrow, since it is my day off from the Museum.” Isabelle said tentatively, wondering if this was worth the trouble.

Surprised, Tim smiled again. “Thank you! Can we get an early start?”

“Is sunrise too late?” she tried to smile back, but could only manage another frown. It is not like she had anything planned after all, but she had a feeling that this may turn out badly. “Meet me here at sunrise. I will arrange transportation.”

Before he could respond, she turned to the new tour group that had assembled and started a new tour.

“Well” thought Tim. “No idle chitchat!”

The next morning at sunrise, Tim stood at the museum entrance with survey gear in hand and camera at the ready.

Isabelle drove up in a late model Land Rover and motioned him to get in. “You are prompt. Good. I have a spot in mind for your research. It is on the edge of the protected part of the pampa, near the road. I am authorizing this area only. Do not wander more than a quarter kilometer from the site.”

“I think I can manage that.” Said Tim.

Neither one said anything during the trip. She followed the road North for about two miles, then turned east onto a barely-used dirt road and stopped after nearly a half-mile. She put the vehicle in park and turned to Tim. “You havent told me what is your scientific goal. Do you have one?”

Tim was surprised by the question and took more than a few seconds to compose an answer. “I am the designer for the new Lima water storage project and don’t like reinventing the wheel. One of my bosses insisted that I could learn something from the ruins in this old desert. Frankly, I am not sure what it is supposed to be. He said it had to do with the water wells-Puquios, the pilot called them. I suspect that I may just find out how inefficient this method was so that we will not repeat the mistake in Lima.”

“Or efficient.” Isabelle broke in before he finished. “These wells are not very deep at all but have good water in them year-round. It is a mystery that the local villagers say is a gift from the gods.” Then she took out a scratch pad, scribbled a note on it, signed her name, ripped it out, and handed it to Tim. “Here is your permit if you get stopped by the patrols. If you stray beyond the range I have set, they will arrest you. Don’t do it.”

“If the wells are shallow, where does the water come from? condensation?” Tim hefted his gear and started to walk down the slope toward the well.

She didn’t follow him, but started the engine and shouted: You are the engineer. Tell me about it when I come back for you at noon. See you then! And she drove off.

This left Tim standing with a surprised look on his face like he had just been cheated. He had half-expected her to be interested in his test procedures and at least walk down to the well with him instead of driving off like she did. He turned around slowly, then set out to survey the area.

Over the next few hours, Tim explored the well, climbing in and around it for photographs, and then setting up his geotechnical gear to get some sonar imaging shots. He found the well fed by a network of subterranean pipes radiating out from the well like spokes of a wheel. These pipes turned out to be semi-porous and made of a very concrete-like mixture that resembles rock, but is not. He followed one of these pipes away from the well using sonar imaging and discovered that bundles of these pipes and the Nazca lines follow the same path. “that is why the wells are replenished every morning.” He said aloud, then realizing he was talking to himself, then thought “It collects the dew from the soil and transports it to the Puquio. What an ingenious setup!”

Unfortunately, in the process of his discovery he traveled too far from the Puquio and found he had exceeded the boundaries of his permission.

At around 10am, Tim really started to feel the hot sun on his back and neck. He decided it was time to turn back and make for the well and his equipment before Isabelle could return. It was a good decision, considering his water supply was going fast and there were no wells nearby to replenish his canteen. He felt that his hunch was correct in that the lines on the desert floor, that were so straight, were just a covering for the collector tubes he found at the well. The only thing left was to dig, but not until he had a shovel and could be sure to return the spot to its original condition. Besides, time was running out today. He would have to return tomorrow.

As he walked, he decided to cut around the last ridge in the opposite direction that he had come, supposing that the round hill was the same distance from either side, and bring him back to the well in time to pack up his gear and wait for Isabelle.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim caught a glimpse of what looked like a man-made wall up the slope only a little above his present position. It drew his curiosity. When he arrived a few minutes later, he noted that it was indeed a man-made wall protruding from the rock face with a partly-blocked opening on the right.

The opening was full of rubble, but was large enough for him to stick his head inside and peer into with his flashlight. “Ruins! Possibly, never before discovered. Well, maybe not as important as all that.” he thought. There were no bones or artifacts, just a crude wooden table with lots of round carved stones on and around it.

Tim reached down and strained to extend his hand down and picked up one of the stones. Carefully carved pictures of beasts that looked like dinosaurs covered the surface. On the other side was a picture of what looked like an oval-shaped hot-air balloon. In the gondola were men throwing (or shooting) lightning bolts to the ground.

He set the first stone down and went after another just within his reach. He would have to clear the entrance to go any farther, but he now had the second stone in his hand. On it was an image showing the details of a brain surgery, showing tools and incisions in fairly good detail.

Tim could hardly believe that these images would appear on an artifact that had to be at least eight or nine centuries old according to the museum tour. Brain surgery is rarely attempted even today, while it wasn’t until the nineteenth century that mankind invented hot-air balloons. The dinosaurs were stegosaurs depicted as living, not bones or fossils. When were these stones carved? Tim asked himself as he traced the pencil-smooth lines in the hard stone with his fingertips.

Meanwhile Isabelle arrived at the drop off point to meet Tim, but he was nowhere to be found. She spat curses into the air. Why had she trusted this tourist? She wanted to be somewhere else. Rather than look for him herself, she reached into her glove box and pulled out a radio handset.

“Arnoldo, are you there? This is Isabelle.”

“Si, Senorita, I read you.” Said a voice cutting through the static of the handset.

“We have a trespasser.” Said Isabelle. “I gave him strict instructions to stay nearby the first Puquio on the Northeast road, but he is gone too far. Can you find him and bring him back to me here?”

“Yes Ma’am. I will go immediately.” Said the voice of Arnoldo.

Tim decided to put the first stone into his backpack and carried the other as he headed back to the well. As he came over the ridge, he was not surprised to see that he was late, since Isabelle was already there. And angry, by the looks of her. She paced back and forth, but stopped when she saw him come down the hill.

“You exceeded the boundary, didn’t you?” She called sharply even before he was even a hundred feet away.

“I just went for a walk.” Said Tim feeling sheepish and wishing he had made better use of his time.

“You must never go hiking among the lines without a guide. You could be shot!” Isabelle tried to calm down and then remembered that she had already called someone to retrieve Tim and she must let them know what was happening. She picked up the handset on the seat of the Rover and spoke into it. “Arnoldo”

“I am here, Senorita.” Said Arnoldo.

“Arnoldo, please arrange an airplane trip for one to Lima. I found the tresspasser and I want him gone.” Isabelle started to drop the handset back onto the Rover’s seat, but hesitated and turned to Tim, raising her eyebrows. “Will you go willingly, or must I call for support?” she said pointedly.

Tim considered his options. To refuse would only get him arrested and deported, which would leave him jobless. “No, I will leave willingly.” He said, sounding somewhat resigned as he turned to pack up his equipment, feeling the stone roll menacingly in his backpack.

Tim’s mind raced as he turned the engraving-covered stone in his hands. Surgical tools and brain anatomy far too advanced for an ancient civilization were meticulously etched into the hard basalt. “Isabelle, these carvings – you must know there’s something deeper here. Your aunt discovering this site, protecting these lines…this wasn’t just about preservation, was it?”

Isabelle averted her eyes, conflicted. Her tone turned grave. “No. My aunt believed the true purpose of the Nazca lines involved unlocking portals to…other worlds. That visitors called the Annunaki imbued these stones with knowledge from distant times and places. The local god Viracocha was said to hold this knowledge and shared secrets with the king Pakal. The stone you hold – she died pursuing its secrets.”

Tim’s spine tingled, the intricately carved stone suddenly feeling alive in his palms. He remembered the similarity between Pakal’s tomb lid and a similar depiction of the Apollo astronauts. Thoughts flashed to stories of godlike beings come from the sky, traveling the earth at will. As he pictured these gods using these stones, Tim asked pointedly, “Isabelle, tell me straight. Are these stones the same as the Annunaki oracles?”

Isabelle weighed sharing her aunt’s most protected theories. Tim had ventured where no outsider had gone before. He had discovered in hours what her kin had sought lifetimes. She made her decision – “Yes, Tim. The legends tell of Viracocha and his kind encoding all knowledge of the ages into infinite stones. My aunt believed that by deciphering them, we unlock the destiny of human civilization across time and space.”

Then Isabelle looked down at the stone he was holding. Her eyes flashed and her jaw hardened as she quickly walked up and snatched the stone out of his hand. “You have desecrated graves!”

Tim was not very happy that she had so easily taken the stone from him. Maybe she won’t try to search his backpack. He had already decided to play dumb about the ruins and try to come back later.

“Not at all Isabelle.” He said defensively. “It caught my eye on the path.” Then he added. “I didn’t go far, just to the other side of the hill there.” And he pointed back the way he came.

Isabelle said nothing on the drive back to the town. The Land Rover lurched to a stop in front of his hotel.

Tim looked over at Isabelle and said “how long have I got?”

“As long as it takes to gather your things and meet me at the airstrip ” said Isabelle, having calmed down somewhat. “You leave immediately.”

The trip back to Lima was uneventful and much less stressful since the new pilot was more concerned with the job at home, than showing off. As they left Nazca, Tim looked out the window at the coiled tail of the monkey figure on the desert floor as it faded into the distance, and he marveled at it’s accuracy. “The ancient people who made these wells and figures were much more adept builders than the museum had let on, or they had help.”

Later, after arriving in Lima, Tim went to his hotel room and slept. The plane trip had left him with quite a headache and he was grateful to have a quiet room in which to sleep it off.

He had very strange dreams that night.

The morning came with sounds of traffic on the street below. It was annoying at first, but once he became lucid, he grabbed onto it to help him regain consciousness. If he had been a light sleeper, he would certainly have felt much worse. As it was, the headache was mostly gone and his legs were sore from yesterday’s activity. “Yesterday!” He looked around for his luggage and found his backpack, then dove for it.

The stone was still there, of course. No one had searched him when he boarded the plane for his return trip to Lima. Isabelle had wanted nothing further to do with him, and so Tim had succeeded in keeping it. Now it was time to get some help of his own.

———————————————————————

Back in Lima, Tim decided his first stop must be the Vatican embassy to report his findings to Ernesto Velasquez. Although his trip had ended poorly, Tim was still excited to share the discovery of the mysterious stone carvings. He recounted the details of the Nazca valley puquios and then presented the images etched into the stones, emphasizing the seemingly advanced depictions.

Ernesto’s eyes widened as he peered at the scenes on the stone’s surface. “These carvings…they depict medical procedures and technologies far ahead of this culture’s time. And you said there were no other artifacts found with them?” Ernesto asked. The two men speculated about the seemingly absurd possibilities – perhaps a time traveler, or visitor from another planet? Tim described the remote location where he had found the cache of stones, buried in an obscure cave. Ernesto wondered if there was more to be found there.

First, Ernesto inquired subtly about Tim’s background and beliefs. Though nominally an Anglican, Tim assured Ernesto of his strong commitment to Christian values and respect for the Catholic church. Pressed further, Tim also admitted that recent events had him questioning the true history of ancient civilizations. Ernesto seemed satisfied.

Apparently Tim’s responses aligned sufficiently with Ernesto’s expectations. The priest nodded, crossing his arms. “Very well, my friend. What I show you next must remain in strictest confidence. As a loyal son of Mother Church, I trust you’ll understand.”

From his robes Ernesto produced a large ring of keys and unlocked an obscure cabinet door. Inside lay nearly a dozen stones resembling the one Tim had brought – only these Vatican specimens bore different carvings – celestial maps, mathematical equations, architectural drawings. Ernesto introduced these as artifacts collected over centuries and stored secretly in the Vatican archives.

According to Ernesto, the stones shared unique electromagnetic anomalies. In the Vatican laboratories, scientists had measured unusual energy fluctuations in their atomic structure. Some even speculated these were a means of storing information – or power. But much remained unknown. Ernesto himself had only recently gained access to the archive.

Tim was floored by the notion of a covert Vatican science division researching the stones. He pressed Ernesto for details about the lab and it’s abrupt appearance decades ago following an archeological expedition. Built deep below the holy city, only the highest ranks of the Vatican knew the true work occurring there, Ernesto explained. Dangerous knowledge called for intense secrecy, he insisted.

Tim’s mind was reeling from Ernesto’s revelation that the secret Vatican lab had been researching the strange stones for decades. But new questions flooded his thoughts after learning what Isabelle had revealed about her aunt’s doomed pursuit of their secrets.

“This lab, Ernesto, tell me – when did the Vatican first begin analyzing these stones? Isabelle spoke of her aunt dedicating her life to unlocking a prophecy they contained before she met an early end in the Nazca desert. Did her work and theories first put you on that path?” Tim asked intently.

Ernesto nodded slowly, stroking his chin. “You ask an astute question, my friend. Our expeditions to study cosmic particles and quantic mysteries did indeed begin shortly after a bright-eyed researcher named Clara published groundbreaking discoveries in electromagnetic manipulations – discoveries we realized matched markings on certain stored relics…”

Ernesto went on to confirm that Isabelle’s Aunt Clara had become obsessed with a text known as the Prophecy Prism – said to contain encoded details on the past and future history of man’s evolution across dimensional gateways. This drove her expedition to Peru and untimely death. The Vatican lab’s true genesis was in secrecy attempts to continue Clara’s dangerous pursuit of forbidden knowledge.

Ernesto placed a steadying hand on Tim’s shoulder. “It is a heavy burden indeed, my son. But you now bear the torch meant for Clara’s hands. Her theories placed you on this path – who better to bring truth from her efforts? Of course, you need not continue alone…” the priest trailed off leadingly.

He continued “The Vatican’s best resources can aid you, if you have courage. But without your unique access to newly uncovered oracles, her life’s meaning remains locked away. You must choose – let Clara’s death stay meaningless, or take up her cause so the church can finally reveal what she died pursuing all these years.”

As Ernesto spoke, Tim gripped the newly uncovered oracle stone, feeling Clara’s lifeforce passed through time onto him. He shivered, uncertain if he was prepared to take up this fallen researcher’s obsessive crusade.

“Ernesto, you said yourself – Clara’s pursuit drove her to an early grave. Now you expect me to risk the same fate deciphering these mysteries?” Tim asked nervously. The weight of unknown prophecies and questions of man’s destiny bore heavy on his conscience, yet fear gripped him.

Ernesto’s words had landed heavily on Tim, twisting his gut. Was he ready to commit his life to this mystery spanning millennia and dimensions? The oracle stones hummed in his pack, Clara’s obsessive quest calling out across time and space….

When Tim moved to retrieve his stone and depart, Ernesto raised a hand stopping him. For further analysis and safekeeping, the priest explained, it was best that all discovered samples reside together within the archive – including Tim’s latest finding. Though reluctant, Tim understood the logic in Ernesto’s insistence and the two agreed Tim would monitor future Nazca excavations closely for additional discoveries.

———————————————————————

Into a chamber carved of lustrous grey stone strode the imposing, radiant figure of Viracocha – a powerful being worshipped as a god by the people in the valley below. They were merely hu-men, but as the product of their origin, they were also posessions of the Annunaki empire. Their fealty was clearly demonstrated by their willingness and ability to work and take direction from their god.

Viracocha reached into a cabinet and hefted the palm-sized Oracle stone, admiring the smooth curves and intricate symbols adorning its surface. The basalt felt pleasantly warm and hummed almost imperceptibly in his hand. He had shaped its contours himself centuries ago, imbuing the matrix with quantum particles to enable storage and retrieval of massive data. Virtually indestructable, he knew that the information contained in it would endure eternally. This Oracle among his collection was likely the one containing the information he wanted.

Reaching out with the Oracle, he inserts it into an awaiting receptacle, a cradle of advanced yet simple design. As it connects, a subtle glow betrays the stone’s latent energies and unusual properties. Once seated, the Oracle sends a signal and the receptacle comes alive; panels and particles reconfiguring themselves into a stunning holographic display suspended weightlessly above. A snapshot of a hyper-advanced technology even today’s world has yet to recreate.

Onto the meticulously rendered display flood streams of glyphs and sigils that continuously transform as Viracocha interacts with it. To a mere hu-man, yes even to most Annunaki, this script would appear mystical and confusing
yet Viracocha comprehends every vowel and vertex. The knowledge and wisdom spills easily into the god’s mind.

Viracocha’s thoughts mingle ego with curiosity “surely among all the beings in twelve galaxies, only he, the chief Igigi of the Annunaki could decipher all of these symbols instantly into calculations and connections that might enlighten a million star systems.” The Oracle held no mysteries from its master and complied flawlessly as he pinpointed the specific reference to the information which he desired.

“Indeed” he thought as he mulled over the data. “This is what I need to provide the people with more water for their crops so they can flourish and become self-sustaining. I will assign supervisors to conduct the work without delay.

Feeling accomplished, Viracocha lifts the Oracle from its cradle and returns it to the cabinet alongside many others. His quantum information storage is becoming more useful over time. Once a suitable crystalline host is developed to receive the engraved oracle stones, perhaps one day all knowledge of civilization might be contained within a single engineered crystal. But today, there are water systems to build, vimanas to design and cosmic questions to resolve.

Viracocha smiled as he stepped out on the veranda of his palace, “this sanctuary never fails to make even one such as myself pause to admire the austere majesty of this place.” he thought. He watched as the last vimana departed through the shimmering atmosphere shield called Cherubim that safeguards the entire complex overlooking the desert valley below. These vessels represent but a tiny fraction of what Annunaki empire are capable of creating.