Though the discovery of the fonts and the inscriptions consumed most of our time during Day One, we soon found ourselves quite fatigued as the adrenaline dumped from our systems as quickly as it fired them up.
So we made camp along the stretch of a long warren with darkness flanking our edges. A single lamp remained lit as we ate strips of dried beef and drank bottled water. It was enough to tide us over.
However, as fatigued as I was, I could not sleep. So here I write beneath the feeble glow of a lamp as my team sleeps around me.
As excited as I am about the discovery of Eden {Edin,} I can’t help wonder about the religious accounts of this Paradise — of the indications of rich fauna and indigenous creatures depicted in the carved reliefs. So far all suggestions are that this temple has been created under a canopy of utter darkness, a black-silica ceiling now sustaining inconceivable amounts of earth that has gathered over twelve thousand years.
Was it strong enough to hold true? Sometimes I wonder, often catching myself looking ceilingward, telling myself that the silica has so far stood the test of time. Still, I hear noises like the creak of a board settling in an old house or a perhaps a gentle wind passing through the eaves and playing a song. But these noises are different. They sound like metered tapping. Like Morse code, very discernible.
And this allows me to believe that we are not alone.
As I look around, I see my comrades asleep and unaware, which is good, since the tapping is sometimes close, other times distant, but always moving.
Whatever else is in Eden {Edin}, I hope it is much more afraid of us as we are of it.
Dr. John Moore
The Archaeological Institute of Ancient Antiquities
New York, New York
It appears that during my entries, I was finally overcome with fatigue and fell asleep with pen and journal in hand. It wasn’t until morning (but who can tell since there is no light?) when a student shook me awake, startling me, mentioning that a team member was missing from the ranks.
Sure enough, it was discovered that a leading professor from the Istanbul Institute was gone; his bedroll missing from the fringe of light where he had bedded down the night before, saying the lamp would keep him awake since he was sensitive to the light.
Last night, as I was writing in my journal, I would often look to see the members sleeping fitfully, including Professor Ahmet Osman, whose chest rose and fell with the comfort of rest.
This morning, however, he was gone. And so was his bedroll.
Needless to say, a search was summarily undertaken to the question as to why someone would vacate his post after partaking in such a discovery. There were no answers, of course, only foolish guesses that were simply far reaching, given the man’s character.
And to deepen the mystery even further, after we had taken stock of our items, it appears that Professor Osman, should he have resigned from the premise, did so without a lamp, leaving him to wander in impenetrable darkness.
Weighted down with our own lamps, we broke up into teams of three, and ventured into three separate tunnels that led inward toward the temple’s center with the intention of meeting back at the bedding site in an hour’s time; thirty minutes out, thirty minutes back.
My team, which consisted of Professor Gedik Yiğit, an aged and affable man, and a grad student by the name of Marc Weatherby, took a tunnel with myself taking the lead and Professor Yiğit bringing up the rear.
To say the least I found myself quite fascinated with the cuneiform along the walls, the detail of their creations stunningly incredible, as if the carved bas-reliefs had been chipped by the skilled hands of Michelangelo with every remarkable aspect bearing the detailed quality of his David. The muscle tone, the curvatures, every aspect of man and creature depicted by these carvings could only have been done by lost technology that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but which existed more than twelve thousand years ago.
Embarrassing enough, as I took a moment to study these carvings by holding a lamp to the groupings, I was reminded by a constant but gentle urging by Mr. Weatherby to press on with a mild goading by his hand as a reminder that we were looking for Professor Osman.
There would be time later to catalogue these bas-reliefs carvings for further study.
So we pressed on with one tunnel appearing as much as another, with one font looking as much as the next. But my sense of direction has always been keen so my confidence of getting back in timely fashion was constant, whereas I could see by the faces of my team members that they did not share my attitude of self-reliance.
I could only smile at this as my internal compass told me that we were working our way toward the center of (Eden), where I took notice of the pre-Sumerian inscriptions noting the cryptic doomsday scenarios of entering certain parts of the temple at the cost of human life. Whether these inscriptions are warnings of trespassing into chambers akin to the warnings inside Egyptian pyramids, would have to be determined with further study of the symbols.
As much as my inquisitive mind wanted to stay behind or press on, we returned to our bedding point as required at the full rotation of one hour. When we returned we found the team members hunkered around the feeble glow of a lamp. Lying in the center was Professor Osman’s bedroll, torn and tattered, the cotton of its interior bleeding through gaping tears that seemed to have been committed by razor cuts. On the fabric appeared to be marginal drippings of blood, which had dried to a shade of deep chocolate in the lighting.
When I asked who found it and where, an awkward-looking student raised his hand as if he was afraid to acknowledge that he was the one who had made the discovery. He stated that he found it in the tunnel leading to a central chamber, the fabric lying gathered in the center of the hallway.
And this begged more questions: Why was the professor’s bedroll tattered and torn? And why was it located far from the site? But more importantly, where was Professor Osman?
Perhaps driven by instinct, I merely lifted the lamp in hopes that the light would be strong enough to penetrate the darkness and allow me to see what truly lie beyond, waiting. And it was here, as the team watched my every move, when they realized that we were not alone.
Dr. John Moore
The Archaeological Institute of Ancient Antiquities
New York, New York
Everyone is on edge yet no one wants to leave.
Since there is safety in numbers, we gathered into a single unit and recommenced our journey within the temple of {Edin} Eden.
What we ventured upon were more cuneiforms and pictograms, as well as unfamiliar scripture bearing Sumerian similarities which I have been noting as pre-Sumerian characters that will have to be examined at a later time. What is even more amazing is the architecture. The hallways are perfectly balanced in dimension, according to my Laser Distance Meter. Wherever we go — no matter the tunnel — the walls, the floors, the ceilings, are all composed of black silica that is as smooth as the surface of glass. I cannot even predict the tools or lost technology that were used to create such a magnificent site.
It’s almost too surreal to conceive as I stand here in the cradle of humanity.
As the hours pass by with a speed we are unaware of, we came upon a passageway that led inward toward the central point of {Edin} Eden. The passage was rather short, a walkway — if you will — leading to a chamber of possible pagan worship.
The room is circular, the ceiling domed, and all in black silica. In the room’s center is a life-size statue of a bull, fashioned from clouded quartz, which stood upon a plinth of black silica. The sculptural detail is beyond description, beyond anything superlative. It was as if the bull had been petrified into this state with every cord of muscle, the upward tilt of its head and raised foreleg, were caught at the precise moment of transition from flesh to mineral.