The Giza Death Star Revisited: A New Steemit Novel Chapter 34

in #writing5 years ago

The Giza Death Star Revisited: A Novel Based on the Work of Joseph P. Farrell

©2017 by Carl Joseph DeMarco


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Chapter 34

The locals thought they’d rib Thorny and One Flare a bit, as men are inclined to do with newcomers.

“Hey, man, why you guys got Mohawks? We’re all Indians here and we don’t have Mohawks.”

“Well, you’re not Mohawks, are you?”

They laughed light-heartedly. “Good point. But we’re still closer to Mohawks than you two.”

“Well why’s he wearin’ a cowboy hat? He’s not a cowboy,” said One Flare indicating a man working the fire.

“Yeah,” added Thorny. “Seen a lotta Indians around here today wearin’ cowboy hats. What’s with that?”

A big Apache looked at them both and blinked once as he remarked flatly, “Looks like the Indians wanna be cowboys, and the cowboys wanna be Indians.” And they all shared an ironic laugh.

“Actually we’re both half Italian, half Polish and half Southern,” joked Thorny.

“That sounds bad. But not as bad as your math.”

“They’re confused,” chimed in the medicine man. “They’re three halves different things, and have haircuts like Indians. Maybe after tonight they’ll be less confused.”

A loud explosive pop startled a guy who was standing too close to the fire. He was wrapped in a towel and barefoot.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed as he danced clumsily away from it.

“Watch out, man. Don’t burn your dick.”

It wasn’t uncommon to crack all manner of manly jokes while waiting for a lodge to start. At signal or word from the medicine men that could be instinctively recognized, the men would immediately shift into sanctity.

“You hear that?” asked the medicine man. “That’s strong medicine.”

The lodge was constructed in the Navajo fashion with logs stacked up in a cone and the floor below ground level. Dirt was piled up on the logs for insulation and blankets were rolled up over the A-frame entrance. They would be unrolled to seal the door when the lodge started.


Greaves had returned with Thorny and One Flare to ask for permission to “do their thing.” This violated the normal scout rule of “It’s often better to ask for forgiveness later than ask for permission first,” but there were too many people possibly affected to be cavalier about it. The elders were very specific that all involved would have to be purified in the sweat should the spirits decide that it was OK to infiltrate the facility.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How could they infiltrate that place? You’ve seen drawings on the Internet of all the subterranean levels that get progressively worse and increasingly horrific as one descends to Nightmare Hall, and you’ve seen a YouTube video of Tom Costello’s testimony, and so forth.

Certainly Nazis are no slouches when it comes to creating nightmares and horrors, but as the good Dr. Faro has already pointed out, it’s all hogwash. None of that has ever been proven. Anyone can claim anything, especially when it’s unverifiable one way or another. And the existence of extraterrestrials has never been proven if there is any evidence at all. Produce any type specimen of an intelligent EBE, and I’ll rewrite this paragraph in the next edition.

So, back to our infil. Kelvin and the boys had to join the sweat so that their spirits could be tested and purified. Even if they were, it didn’t mean the mission was a go, but at least all would benefit from the ceremony.

The medicine man in charge of this ceremony spread the coals of the fire to get to the hot rocks within. As he spread them, he observed the omens revealed in the burning embers and ash while singing Apache songs. He carefully selected the rocks he wanted with a pitchfork and put them in the lodge’s fire pit.

The men entered the sweat wrapped in their towels. Most removed them as they sat down. It was held that one must enter the sweat to meet one’s Creator as He made them—naked. Owing to the presence of three white guys in the lodge, nobody split hairs over “sitting on” vs. “sitting on while still wrapped.”

The medicine man began in English, “We’re going to do three rounds in this sweat. I suggest you leave the lodge between rounds and drink some water. If it gets too hot, just lay down, except you three. You have to sit up like warriors today no matter how hot it gets and how much it hurts, and show the spirits you’re ready for the task at hand. It’s not out of pride you sit up, but out of a willingness to suffer so that others won’t have to.”

He then sprinkled tobacco on the glowing red rocks that glistened like stars being born and then resorbed as black dots by a great nebula and continued in his native tongue. In fact, this “tobacco” was not strictly the smoking plant, but a mixture of local herbs that burned aromatically. As he did this, he shouted to the door, and an attendant, most likely his apprentice, passed in a spackling bucket full of water with a gourd ladle and the same tobacco floating on top, then rolled the door shut.


Spackling buckets are very useful for a lot of things

The interior of the lodge was now pitch black except for the throbbing fiery heart in the pit. The lodge quickly filled with aromatic smoke as the medicine man sang his shamanic songs of power. He touched a stick to the rocks which instantly flamed up and used it to light the pipe. This wasn’t one of the long wooden pipes with soapstone bowl of the plains Indians. This was a handmade clay pipe of the desert southwest. What it lacked in feathers and pizzazz it made up for in medicine in the hands of the shaman.

He passed the pipe around the circle and each puffed in turn until it came back to the shaman. Then he started pouring water on the rocks while still praying in song. The three white guys fidgeted a bit, but everyone was silent as the lodge filled with warm and invigorating steam. They immediately began to perspire.

This first round lasted about 30 minutes and got steamier and steamier as generous portions of water were ladled over the stones, the perfect intermingling of yin and yang, to cleanse the flesh and purify the spirit. The old shaman shouted in Apache towards the door again and the apprentice rolled it open. The cool night air rushed in and refreshed the participants. Slowly they raised themselves out of their cross-legged positions and crawled outside and stood up. There was another spackling bucket of spring water for all to drink.

They stood around more quietly this time, occasionally lifting a foot to brush pebbles or sand from the sole with a hand or by rubbing it on the opposite calf. They drank copiously because the pure spring water would push toxins and impurities through their pores. The perspiration was usually wiped off with their hands and cast onto the rocks where the sin sizzled as it was incinerated. Coyotes howled nearby.

Meanwhile the apprentice spread the fire out again as the shaman read its portents with rapt attention. The apprentice moved nine more rocks to the center of the lodge. The stack of hot rocks was now just below the lip of the pit.


The old shaman called out in Apache again, and the men moved toward the lodge with Kelvin, Thorny, and One Flare following their lead. They crept in on hands and knees and took up their previous positions. It was noticeably hotter, like an oven. The old shaman began sprinkling tobacco and the apprentice unfurled the door into its closed position.

The medicine man immediately began pouring. The water hissed and the rocks popped as the lodge filled with a thick stifling cloud of steam. The men took deep breaths to relax into the discomfort, all the while wiping streams of sweat from their heads, faces, and bodies and flicking the torrents into the rocks.

Their eyes became heavy. Greaves, Thorny and One Flare shifted position repeatedly to relieve one over-heated part of the body or another or to find a more relaxing position. Colored lights swirled in the lodge and the herbal steam became intoxicating. The shaman sang louder and shook his rattle. The colored lights coalesced into ancient animals made of iridescent crystals that grazed and trotted through the steam. Then they’d turn and face the trio with fire in their eyes and go back again to circling the blackness.

The Indians in the lodge with them sat serenely, eyes closed, heads cocked back, listening to the songs, softly rocking, and silently moving their mouths.

This went on for another half hour before respite came and the door was flung open. It was as if they couldn’t get out fast enough. The fresh, cool dry air contrasted sharply with the burning humidity inside. A vast cloud of steam gushed out of the lodge and rose heavenward until it was invisible. The shaman watched intently. Everyone drank a lot of water.

The old shaman went over to the other Apaches participating in the lodge and spoke in hushed tones their native tongue. They nodded in agreement. They reached for towels hanging around the sweat lodge area and began drying off and shifting back into “social mode.”

The shaman then approached our three friends and explained that only they would do the third round, the others were finished.

The apprentice began forking the rocks into the lodge. He spread the fire wide to uncover every last rock that was there and added all of them to the pit inside.

The pile now bulged over the rim of the pit like a blazing red sun. Inside was like a blast furnace with the temperature still rising. The old shaman took his place by the door and the three guys took up their positions. The door was immediately shut and they sat there baking while the shaman sprinkled tobacco into the crimson hemisphere before them.

A hot wind began to circulate the orbit of the lodge. The shaman splashed the water wholesale into the fiery center. The steam, caught up by the hot wind, swirled around and encircled the inside of the lodge like the Milky Way and scorched the faces of our trio while the shaman barely broke a sweat. Creatures leapt from the fire with intense expressions, then vanished.

Kelvin and the boys began to swoon. They tried to lean against the wall to stay erect, but it was too hot. They tried kneeling, sitting on one leg, sitting cross-legged, then fidgeted some more to stay upright.

The shaman was pouring faster now. The ring of steam circulated faster and became a ceaseless blast of searing torment. Mysterious figures appeared like transparent holograms, and the men began panting as it became insufferable. Their sweat ran like rivers no matter how assiduously they wiped themselves.

POW! POW! POP! The rocks exploded and chips blasted through the lodge. The shaman rocked serenely and continued to sing and pour. The trio could feel themselves being touched and jostled by invisible beings as the tortuous blasts of steam intensified. They winced, and sniffled.

Crying children appeared in a sunlit meadow where death rained down all around them blackening the place, and demons danced menacingly. They found themselves together wanting to get to these children but were withheld by mysterious means. Their faces felt like they were submerged in a deep fryer and they began to scream. Still the children cried. They beheld each other’s scorched and reddened faces and could see the lymph begin to ooze from their burns.

Still the children cried. The shaman let out a deep, deafening "Ho!," and the mysterious force holding them back vanished. They rushed forward gritting through the tears that streamed down their cheeks and rushed the demons like madmen in mortal desperation. When they were right up on them, the demons scowled and slurped with narrowed eyes of death and braced themselves. The men flung themselves upon them, but instead of the slap and thud of colliding bodies, the meadow again was calm and sunny.

Birdsong filled the air. The children stood before them with arms outstretched as if welcoming a hug, but then each suddenly transformed into the most colorful and powerful bird you have ever seen. The men approached the birds but were plucked up and swallowed. Each bird took on the characteristics of the one they swallowed, like a bird version of each, and then spread their wings and soared to a mountain top where they perched and drank from a refreshing icy pool. They could see past the farthest horizon, deep into the firmament and beyond the edge of creation to the primordial scission of the nothing that gave rise to everything.



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