The Scrolls of Velia

by John McWilliams

  “What people?” I asked.

  He took a card from his vest pocket and—cautiously—handed it to me. There was a black and a white raven on it.

  “I’m the Director of International Security for Raven Entelechy,” he said.

  “You set up that fight with Henry on the train?” Mary asked. “And this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” I handed the card to Adella.

  “I had hoped we’d have time to discuss all that, but we don’t. My protégé, Tycho Braun—the bald man who was on the train with me—and many others at Raven Entelechy want you dead. All of you. But trust me: I’m on your side.”

  “The Director of International Security for Raven Entelechy, the guy who sent four thugs after us… is on our side?” I looked at him incredulously.

  “I know that sounds strange, but I had to know who I was dealing with. Seriously though, we’re out of time. You must go.”

  “Are there other people on our side?” Mary asked.

  “I really can’t get into that.” Pierre looked down the road. “Please, go.”

  “I didn’t even know we had a side,” Mary said.

  “How does starting fights with me help you know who you’re dealing with?” I asked.

  “Go,” Pierre demanded, aiming his gun at us.

  Adella tugged on my arm. “I think we had better get going.”

  “Just one more question—” Mary began.

  Pierre shot a round into the air. “Go!”

  “All right already—jeez,” Mary muttered as we rushed to the car. “But you know, it doesn’t really seem like you’re on our side.”

  As we drove off, I saw Pierre standing in the road, his head bowed.

  Chapter 9

  We discovered that the fastest way to Athens on such short notice was for us to fly to Brindisi, Italy, board a ferry to Patras, Greece, then drive the rest of the way. But this meant we would be arriving a day later than expected. We called Dr. Mellios to let him know.

  The following afternoon, after our flight to Brindisi—and after a time-consuming trip to a bookstore in town so Adella could pick up a book on Parmenides—we boarded the Brindisi-Patras ferry. At a table on the sunny upper deck, as we steamed out of port, Adella read her book while Mary demonstrated to me the wisdom of her tarot cards.

  “We’re just not compatible,” Mary said as an aside.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re an Aries and I’m a Sagittarius. Two fire signs don’t mix.”

  “Fire doesn’t mix with fire?” I furrowed my brow.

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Mary, stop being such a tease.” Adella looked up, bookmarking her page. “You know perfectly well Aries and Sagittarius are a good match.” She set her book down and picked up her tea. “And in answer to your shocked expression, Henry: I have, on occasion—just for entertainment purposes— consulted the stars.”

  I rocked forward and placed my head on the table. “I hope this boat sinks,” I said.

  “Just for entertainment purposes,” Adella repeated.

  “You see?” Mary patted my shoulder. “Even Adella believes.”

  “She also said we are compatible.”

  “Well, my interpretations and readings aren’t always… orthodox,” Mary said.

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed how they seem to bolster whatever argument you’re trying to make at the time.”

  Adella went back to her book, and Mary her cards.

  I watched a fishing boat chug along our port side. By the time I looked back, Mary had a new deck of cards out—one she had purchased at the Brindisi bookstore. These new cards had nymphs and fairies on them.

  “I see these have your attention,” Mary said.

  “Yeah, well, naked women will tend to do that.”

  “They’re not naked—they’re just scantily clad.”

  Adella gave the cards a once-over and returned to her book.

  “They’re people, not objects to be gawked at,” Mary said.

  “They’re not people,” I argued. “They’re mythological creatures.”

  “And yet, they still have you all hot and bothered. Guys are so single-minded, aren’t they, Adella?”

  “Like she isn’t going to agree with you.”

  Adella closed her book and placed it on her lap. “Okay, you two. Here’s all you need to remember when it comes to men and women. For every imperfection you can dream up about the opposite sex, you can rest assured there’s an equal and opposite imperfection about your own sex to mirror it. Women created men, and men created women, through sexual selection—so each is just the reflected quirks of the other. And since they’re really just mutations of each other, so that humans can reproduce, mocking either one is really just mocking human beings.”

  Neither of us said anything for a long moment.

  “Well, that kind of takes the fun out of it,” Mary said.

  “I think I have to agree.” I sat back and let the sun warm my face.

  “Yes, well,” Adella said, “what a shock.”

  “Find anything interesting in that book?” I asked. Adella’s book was titled In the Dark Places of Wisdom.

  “According to the author, Peter Kingsley, Parmenides was an Apollonian priest. Actually, he was the number one priest in the lineage of all Apollonian priests.”

  “Parmenides worshiped the god who scorched all ravens black?”

  “Apollo’s a little more than that,” Mary said. “He’s the god of the light of the sun and the inner light of consciousness.”

  Adella and I stared at her in surprise.

  “I can look stuff up too you know,” she said.

  We sat in silence for a moment as a chatty family of six filtered around us.

  “You realize we’re going to be sleeping in these chairs tonight.” I looked across the busy deck. On such short notice, we hadn’t been able to get sleeping quarters.

  “Can’t be worse than that flight from Zurich.” Mary closed her eyes and took in the sun.

  “I’m sure we can find something comfortable in the main cabin,” Adella said.

  I noticed her eyeing me curiously. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I still can’t get over how easily you beat up those men.”

  “Easily?” I rubbed my shoulder.

  “He’s from Texas,” Mary said matter-of-factly, not opening her eyes.

  “Mary, I’m from Texas,” Adella said. “It’s not Krypton.”

  “Well, his dad had him working a ranch. That builds muscle.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that explains it.” Adella frowned and looked meditatively out at the water.

  A minute later, my cell phone rang. Wow. Two bars out at sea? My first impulse was to look for land. I didn’t see anyone else on a phone.

  “Hello? Dad?” I walked off toward the open deck.

  “Henry—my favorite son.”

  “Hey, Dad, what’s happening?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you. How’d you make out with those two lovely ladies?”

  “We’re just working on a project together. It’s not what you think.”

  “Something to do with that skydiving school?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s just that I found some interesting notes on one of the whiteboards here. ‘Eureka lies at the end of the road of the dead within—’”

  “Yeah, yeah—you can just go ahead and erase all that.” I couldn’t believe we’d left that on the board. We were in such a rush to get going. “It’s from a game we were playing.”

  “A game? So it wasn’t all work?” He chuckled.

  “Just some platonic fun.”

  The ship’s air horn went off, and I put my hand over the phone.

  “Henry?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Where? Where is here?”

  “We’re on a ferry.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just taking a trip—Hello? Dad?
You there?”

  The connection was lost.

  • • •

  After the sun had gone down and the temperature had dropped, we made ourselves comfortable in the main bar’s lounge. Mary and I took the two armchairs, and Adella, at our insistence, took the couch. Sometime after midnight, a steward came in and informed us that we needed to move to the general seating area due to ship safety regulations. Grumpily, we relocated. It wasn’t as comfortable, but it didn’t take long before I fell into a deep sleep.

  Some unknown amount of time after that, Mary and Adella shook me awake. Adella was freezing, and Mary wasn’t happy with the uncomfortable chairs. They wanted to return to the bar.

  So we did.

  Ten minutes later, the steward returned. “I must insist you move to the general seating area for your own safety,” he said.

  I glared at the young man, wondering if anyone would miss him if I threw him overboard.

  He put his hands up defensively. “Sorry. It’s my job.”

  “But the other room sucks,” Mary said. “The chairs are hard and it’s too cold and damp.”

  “That may be so, but I…” The steward met Mary’s eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose…” He glanced over his shoulder as if someone might be listening. “I suppose I could say one of you is sick. I have some discretion if one of you is seasick.”

  “I’m seasick.” Adella raised her hand.

  “Poor Adella,” Mary said. She turned to the steward. “Thank you so very, very much.”

  “You’re most welcome.” The young man backed out of the room, his eyes still on Mary. “Sleep well,” he said softly.

  “We will,” I replied.

  Mary settled into her relatively comfortable armchair, and Adella rolled over on the couch and covered her head with her ship-supplied pillow. I fell once again into a deep sleep.

  By five in the morning, however, I was wide awake. Not wanting to disturb the others, I went up on deck. Leaning against the railing, I scanned the pre-dawn sea.

  How’d I end up here, halfway between Italy and Greece, searching for a secret formula—and, now, a set of ancient scrolls?

  The ship rocked, and warm, moist air blasted me in the face, as if some kind of sea creature had breathed on me. I chuckled at the thought. But then the ship jolted as if we had actually hit something. I could feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

  I turned.

  A man with a knife tripped and fell no more than three feet away. As he tried to get to his feet, two deckhands rushed in and cracked him over the head with a pipe wrench.

  “Ci scusi, signore,” one of the deckhands said. “We take care of. No problem. Enjoy your stroll.” He gestured at the deck within range of the railing lights.

  Still groggy and a bit stunned, I watched them drag the man off. Was that a Raven who had just tried to attack me? And who were those two deckhands? They seemed awfully… prepared. Were they on “our side”?

  “Thank you,” I called into the darkness.

  “No, no thank us. Thank Poseidon.”

  I turned toward the sea. “Thanks,” I muttered ironically.

  The ship rocked again, and I grabbed the railing.

  “Careful, signore,” came a voice from the dark. “Poseidon—he’s a temperamental one.”

  Chapter 10

  We called Dr. Spiros Mellios when we arrived in Patras, and he suggested we meet him at the National Archaeological Museum of Athens. When we arrived, he wasn’t there yet, so we strolled the lobby, admiring the ancient artifacts.

  “Now these people are naked,” Mary said of the marble statues.

  “They were quite impressed with the human form back then,” Adella explained. “In a sense, these were the supermodels of ancient Greece.”

  “But none of them are real people, right?” Mary said.

  “Some are loosely based on real people,” Adella replied.

  “So, they are like supermodels,” I said.

  We continued walking, Adella telling us what she knew about each sculpture, until a portly man with salt and pepper hair marched up to us. “I’m Dr. Spiros Mellios, and you three must be Dr. Adella Fortier, Mary Carver, and Henry James Warland.” He stepped back to take us in. “I’m thrilled to meet you.”

  “You are?” Mary smiled.

  “Of course I am, fellow seekers of the truth. Life is quite exquisite, is it not?”

  “I guess…” I hesitated.

  “It is,” Mary jumped in, reaching out to shake Dr. Mellios’s hand.

  He shook her hand, then Adella’s. And, with a bit more apprehension, he shook mine too.

  “How about a tour of the museum?” he asked.

  “That would be lovely, Dr. Mellios,” Adella said, “but I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Of course, of course. Down to business. Please, this way. We can use one of the back rooms. Oh, and please, call me Spiros.”

  As we left the hall, Mary’s eyes lingered on a sculpture of Adonis. I gave her a nudge.

  “Hey, he’s got a nice butt,” she said.

  Spiros, a couple of yards ahead of us, nearly tripped over his own feet.

  Adella looked at Mary, eyebrows raised.

  “I was—” she started to say. “Never mind.” When Adella turned back around, Mary punched me in the arm.

  Spiros led us into a workroom, where we took seats around a small table. Around us were shelves of artifacts presently not on display.

  “Before we begin,” Spiros said, “I must warn you, the fact that the Scrolls of Velia aren’t part of any historical or archeological record is no accident. There are people out there dedicated to keeping them a secret.”

  “Yes, we’re quite aware of Raven Entelechy,” Adella said. “We’ve already had a number of run-ins with them.”

  “Yes, yes, that would make sense, but—” Spiros looked at his hands. “I’m curious. Have you received any help in dealing with them?”

  “Help?” Mary asked. “Not really—”

  “I did,” I said. “Well, maybe.”

  “You mean Monsieur Pierre Durant?” Adella asked.

  “I’m not sure I’d call him ‘help,’” Mary said.

  “No, I mean earlier today,” I said. “This morning on the ship. Someone tried to attack me with a knife.”

  “What? We were with you all morning,” Mary said.

  “This was really early, while you two were asleep. I went up on deck for just a minute.” I hated to admit this. My attacker could have just as easily gone after them.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Adella asked.

  “Because nothing happened. The guy—who probably wasn’t even a Raven—stumbled before he even reached me, then these two deckhands jumped in. It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Mary looked at me crossly. “Some guy tried to stab you with a knife. That’s certainly something.”

  “It’s quite possible,” Spiros said, “those two deckhands were Apollonians. They certainly know the three of you have the Ravens’ attention.” He looked at us. “The Apollonians have been at war with Raven Entelechy for decades.”

  “And how do you know the Apollonians know we have Raven Entelechy’s attention?” Adella asked.

  Spiros set his cell phone on the table. “I follow them on Twitter: Hashtag-Children-of-Apollo.”

  We all stared at the messages on his phone.

  “You see,” Spiros went on, “the Apollonians believe that the Scrolls of Velia were presented to the world by Apollo, through his highest priest, Parmenides, as a gift. They also believe that the Ravens are keeping this gift from the world in order to maintain the darkness.”

  “What darkness?” Mary asked.

  “The Apollonians believe that we’ve never really come out of the Dark Ages, that the scrolls have the power to usher in a new Age of Enlightenment. Parmenides, according to them, learned how to cure us of this darkness—in effect, heal humanity—from Apollo, when the two o
f them ventured into the underworld: the land of the dead.”

  “The land of the dead?” Mary looked at Adella and me knowingly.

  “Isn’t Apollo the god of the sun?” I asked. “What’s he doing in the underworld?”

  “Apollo’s also the god of the inner light of consciousness,” Spiros explained. “Some believe that the underworld is the perfect place to find that inner light.”

  I looked at Adella, confused.

  “They went down into a system of caves to meditate,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway,” Spiros continued, “as far as the Apollonians go, all they’ve ever wanted is to have the scrolls revealed to the world, and according to their Twitter account, they believe that’s about to happen.”

  “Why?” Adella asked.

  “Because they believe the Myth of the Descendants is no myth at all. They believe that the true descendants of Apollo are about to confront the Ravens, destroy them, and reveal Apollo’s gift to the world.”

  “Don’t the Ravens believe they’re the Descendants?” Adella asked.

  “They do.” Spiros chuckled.

  “Hold on,” I said. “You’re not about to tell us that the Apollonians think we’re the Descendants, are you?”

  “They believe you and Mary are. And they’re convinced that you, Dr. Fortier, are some kind of oracle.”

  “Perfect.” I laughed. “One group of lunatics wants to kill us, and another believes we’re descended from a god.”

  “Well, the second part is pretty cool,” Mary said. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, now we know where the road of the dead is.”

  “We do?” I asked.

  “Sure. In the caves where Parmenides and Apollo went.”

  “You mean the caves where Parmenides and his imaginary friend went twenty-five hundred years ago?” I turned to Adella. “And of course, this could all just be a big waste of time: We don’t even know if the Eureka Formula’s in with the scrolls.”

  “You know about the formula?” Spiros’s eyebrows went up. “Yes, of course you do—it was Dr. Schmaltz who sent you my way. Well, I for one believe the Eureka Formula is with the scrolls.”

  “Would you happen to know where Parmenides’s cave is?” Mary asked. “Was it somewhere near here?”