Of Biblical Proportions (9/11) III Heading back to his seat, Methos picked up the parchment he had been reading. It was part of the grouping of scrolls that had included Manetho's dissertation. What Dr. Zoll hadn't noticed was that there were more than one in the set. Not only had the ancient scholar written about the pharaohs, he had written about Old Testament characters. Methos' hands were shaking with excitement. This particular scroll described the life of Enoch. The next described the great flood and Noah's family. The treasure trove contained five scrolls in all, with a sixth containing his own personal notes on the five. He carefully moved the five off the table and unrolled the sixth. His mind swirled as he remembered first reading about these ancient people. Alexandria-c. 31 BCE The dusty room was forgotten as the strange tale unfolded itself within the ancient script. It described an ancient magic that enabled two men named Noah and Methuselah to live longer than their paltry scores of years. It allowed them to become as old as an Immortal. Methos carefully set the scroll down and picked up another. This too described a history: the sons of Cain and how that line died out because they lost the favor of God. The next talked of the great flood, which purged the earth of impurities and allowed only Seth's descendants to survive and repopulate the land. Every single scroll contained some reference to the beginning of time--and implied that the Jewish Torah spoke the truth about creation. No wonder the Egyptians had buried the history. It was heresy to deny Osirus and Isis and the multiple gods that the Egyptians worshipped. Methos carefully re-rolled the precious documents and began to formulate a plan to copy them for his own reference. If the Romans ever discovered this treasure they would quickly burn it. He had to keep the works safe. The hallways were still empty as Methos made his way back to the reading room. "Were you caught in a sandstorm?" Nebamun asked, eyebrow raised and a grimace of distaste upon his face. Methos looked at his dust-coated tunic. He was filthy. "A formation of the Roman cavalry rode past me on the road," Methos lied. "I was in such a hurry to return that I didn't notice that--" "It doesn't matter. Have you finished the Maxims?" "I have." Methos had left the parchment drying when he had made his escape from the other Immortal. "Here," he said as he handed it to Nebamun. Nebamun nodded. "You are excused. I have much work to finish today." Methos walked out of the room. Hidden alongside his sword was one of the ancient scrolls that he had "borrowed" from the deserted storage room. He would copy the scroll tonight. Methos walked through Alexandria, conscious of the ancient scroll hidden on his person. He walked down the marble steps, out onto the city street. Tied to his waist, a sack dangled, containing his brushes and ink--the personal property of any scribe. However, he didn't own any parchment. The skins were for his personal journal. His first order of business was to purchase something to write on. Venders hawked their wares on the street. What he wanted was a little shop near the Temple of Serapis. Arqamani had recommended the place as having the best quality in Alexandria. Methos was able to find the store without difficulty. People of different ethnic origins loitered outside the door. "Excuse me. Is Aton inside?" Methos inquired of the Arab, who stood erect with his white voluminous robes billowing around him. For a second, the immortal admired the idea of such a large area in which to hide weapons and personal items close to his body. Maybe in his next incarnation, he would adopt desert dress. "He is. The slave, Harrab, is inside negotiating for a bundle of scrolls for his master. You must wait your turn." Methos spent his time watching the many citizens of Egypt along the road. Women carried food back to their homes to cook the evening meal. The temple itself was on the only naturally occurring hill. The grounds sloped upward from where he stood. Priests wearing scarlet robes went dutifully about their business of collecting tributes and offerings for their god. The statue of Serapis was imposing, casting a long shadow where many of the faithful knelt and prayed. Someone tapped on his back. "It is your turn," a young boy told him. Methos followed him into a small mud shack, where an old man had different grades of flat sheets on a table. "No barter, only coin," the old man told him in broken Greek. "I have money," Methos replied in faultless Egyptian. The man beamed, showing a missing tooth. "I have more--better," he said and brought out another pile of scrolls. "You work for the queen?" "No, at the library," Methos told him absently as he perused the different stacks. "The Museion." He nodded knowledgeably. "My nephew is there." "I'll take this bunch." Methos pulled out his moneybag and counted out several denarii. Again the man beamed. "Come again." Methos left the little hut and walked up the steep hill to the temple. Priests glanced his way, but the Immortal ignored them. At the top, he looked out over the horizon and saw the Lake Mareotis. He would work there, until dark. The walk was long in the hot sun, but worth it as he sat by the bank and took out the scroll he had absconded with. Using rocks to weigh the parchment down, he began the laborious process of copying it. The ancient words danced across his mind as he wrote. An unbelievable story began to unfold. Perspiration dripped down his face, along with tears from burning eyes as he squinted in the darkness trying to get one last word down. Gently blowing on what he had just finished, he saw the stars come out. He was in total darkness, but he didn't dare leave until the parchment had dried enough not to smear as he rolled it up. While waiting, he cleaned up his brushes in the lake and placed them and the jar of ink back in his bag. The next day, Methos was able to return the ancient scroll and gather two other ones. He worked diligently for Nebamun until the midday heat, and then escaped detection by working in the abandoned room. Since there were so many scroll sockets in the dusty room, he decided to leave his copies there until he found a suitable hiding place. Later that night, as he ate, an idea formed in his mind. He would bury the scrolls in the desert and retrieve them when the danger was over. In fact, he thought as he munched on the remaining slice of bread, he had the perfect spot. There was a place he used to live in, many centuries ago, which was now buried in the sand. No one knew about it; no one would even think to look for it. The giant sphinx guarded the area, and only the weary traveler went near the location. Methos smiled as he took the last sip of his Pramnian wine. The next day, he eagerly made his way up the marble steps into the learning sanctuary. He loved the smell of scrolls as they unfurled their knowledge to the reader. A sense of great loss assailed him as he walked the corridors and realized that the library might soon be gone. Methos entered the Polyhymnia reading room, where Nebamun was supposed to meet him, but the Egyptian wasn't there. The room was empty. Methos turned around and went to look for Apollonius, but the head librarian found him first. "Metopholus. I have just come from the queen. Nebamun is working with her today, so he doesn't require your services." Apollonius smiled. "He is pleased with the work you have done for him. I saw the scroll you wrote on the eye salve. It was done in great detail so even the beginner physician could make and use the medicine. Thank you for your contribution." "You're welcome. I am happy that my work meets your expectations." "Go now and read. I know you have desired time to cater to your whimsy. You are free to work on your private education." Methos felt his heart race at the news. "Thank you. I will use the time wisely." Apollonius nodded and gave him a conspiratorial smile and went back to his duties. Methos went directly to the back room with the ancient scrolls. In the room just adjacent to it, he found a table and dragged it into the small room. He pulled out one of his new, unused pieces of parchment and laid it on the table. Next he took out several of the scrolls from the top shelf, previously sorted, so that he could peruse them together. Each hinted at an ancient magic, and he was hoping that he could find the common thread and elucidate the nature of that magic. Spacing the five different scrolls on the floor, he looked from one to another. Each scroll told the life story of a different man. What excited Methos' interest was that these men seemed to have lived beyond what was normal for mortals. Were these the first Immortals to walk the earth? Yet in each case, the men were described to have grown old before they died. There was no mention of sword fights. The only thing they had in common was the white ball of light that they referred to as the Spirit of God. Sometimes that ball broke into shards of crystal, which family members used to adorn themselves. In other instances the ball disappeared into another man. Methos was perplexed on how this could happen. Was it similar to a quickening? He read further. The man Enoch stated that only if the group of shards was assembled correctly would the physical turn into the Spirit and be able to penetrate a man's skin. Nowhere could Methos find a reason for why the ball sometimes went directly into a man and in others, it broke into pieces. As Methos read bits from one scroll and then another, he noticed that having the ability to produce this Spirit of God coincided with the man's death. As he died, the light burst from his chest and directed itself into another or broke into pieces to be assembled later. When a man accepted this Spirit of God, he subsequently lived to a very old age. Carefully, Methos read each text and tried to determine how many of the balls of light existed. Adam had the first one. When he died at the age of 930 years, the light entered a man named Lamech, who subsequently lived 777 years. Seth had one and he lived to be 912 years. It appeared that his broke into the shards of crystal and were reconstituted later to enter Noah. Others, such as Mahalaleel, Jared and Enoch were described to have lived long lives, but where their spirits went was not mentioned. Methusaleh's crystal, on the other hand, had been extensively written about. It had been saved and taken on the ark by Noah as a memorial to his grandfather. It was not given to another man. After the great flood, the lengths of the lives of men were lessened. Instead of seven to nine hundred years, they only lived two to four hundred years and the total years kept decreasing. Did the power of God's Spirit decrease with use? Methos thought back. Did he remember the flood? He had very faint memories of stories about the water that washed the world, but he didn't remember the flood itself. In the last section of the scroll, he described exactly how Methusaleh's crystal should be assembled. Using his brush and ink, he was able to diagram the directions exactly as Enoch had previously instructed and Manetho paraphrased. With reverent strokes Methos copied the picture exactly, adding colors when needed. He hoped it was accurate in case he ever found the crystal himself. When he had finished, he let the parchment dry. The texts he had been reading from had already been copied and taken to the safe container in the desert. Methos looked at the rest of the scrolls in the room. He believed that all the rest had been dutifully done also. He was done here. If time permitted, he would explore more of the library and see if he could find more of these hidden alcoves. Capping his ink and putting it and the brush away, he also rolled the now-dry scroll and hid it in the folds of his tunic. He had no idea of the time, and knew he had better return before someone noticed that he was missing. Stepping from the room, he made his way to the main part of the Museion. His thoughts were still churning with the discoveries he had made. What did they all mean?