The Letterbox

by Layton Green

  “Yep.”

  “Lucius placed a call to Father Novak to see if he could shed some light on the site’s history.” I hesitated, a chill coursing through me as I remembered the end of our conversation. “Mr. Sofistere couldn’t reach anyone at the church, so he called the local diocese in Prague to see if they could help. He was informed that the church at Kostel Utes was closed the morning we were there, and that there is no Father Novak. Or rather, there’s no longer a Father Novak. He died twenty years ago.”

  -66-

  Lou’s hands slid off the book he was holding. Jake looked just as shocked.

  “I had some time to think about this on the way over,” I said. “That information led me to revisit another train of thought, one I’ve been pondering for a while.”

  My left foot began tapping. “Think about Father Novak leading us to Kostnice, think about Asha’s brother walking right up to the tower, think about the conveniently open tomb in Pere Lachaise where we hid from the Druids. Maybe even think of the librarian in Naples pointing out dolmen in the dictionary.” I leaned forward. “I think we’ve had help.”

  Lou nodded. “I’ve thought of that, too. But the idea is absurd; who would be helping us?”

  “If you haven’t noticed,” Jake said, “then let me be the one to point out that most, if not all, of the help we’ve had has come from the deceased.”

  Lou and I stared at Jake as the truth of that statement sunk in.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” Lou said finally, “but it’s all moot right now.” He crumpled his paper cup and tossed it onto the table. “We can’t find the last place on the map. There were thousands of ziggurats built. I can’t find any reference whatsoever to this Akkadian word or to the collection of numbers and symbols on the lid. As much as I hate to admit it, I have no idea what the letterbox is trying to tell us, if anything.”

  “That’s because, lads,” a booming, erudite voice called out, “you’re still looking in the wrong place.”

  I whipped around, thinking of the Druids. Instead I saw a towering British man, taller even than Jake, striding into the room carrying the oldest book I had ever laid eyes on, a tome cracked and yellowed from age. He set it down with aplomb on the table. A slip of paper bookmarked a page in the middle.

  He wore his traveler’s clothes as well as he wore his age: khaki cargo pants and a bomber jacket, weathered boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. He reminded me of the British travelers from old movies, privileged and intrepid individuals who spent their fortunes in pursuit of the unknown.

  He allowed us a slightly mocking smile, as if he possessed a secret he was withholding for effect. I wondered how long he had been listening in the doorway. “It appears I’ve forgotten my manners,” he said. “Do forgive me. I’m Dr. Philip Clifton, and I presume you’re the three gentlemen Mr. Sofistere warned me about? I highly doubt three other young Americans would be subjecting themselves to the confines of the British Museum on a Friday night, with the heart of London waiting just outside.”

  “You’re early, I’m not young, and I sure as Christmas don’t have time for that nonsense,” Jake said, jerking his thumb towards the door. “You claim we’re lookin’ in the wrong place. Where should we be looking?”

  “Dr. Fleniken, your reputation precedes you.”

  “It better,” Jake said.

  Dr. Clifton’s lips retreated into a thin smile. “Mr. Sofistere suggested I impart the results of my research in person, but I’ve a limited window of time. How much do you know about Akkadian and the peoples who spoke it?”

  Lou kicked his legs up and put his hands behind his head. “I’m a trained linguist, but Akkadian isn’t my area of expertise. What I do know is that it’s an extremely ancient language. Old Akkadian, which I believe this to be, flourished between 2500 and 1950 B.C.E. Nearly five thousand years ago.”

  Dr. Clifton spread his hands in approval, and Lou continued. “Akkadian is a Semitic language, spoken in ancient Mesopotamia, and can be traced back almost to the beginning of written history. The Semitic language family has two main sub branches, East Semitic and West Semitic. The East Semitic branch, the language of the Babylonian and Assyrian civilizations and from which Akkadian derives, is extinct. West Semitic is the precursor to Arabic and Hebrew and other Canaanite languages, including Aramaic and its language families. The West Semitic language family and its offspring are, so to speak, the lingua franca of the world’s major monotheistic religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.”

  “I’ll help fill in the gaps on the cultural side,” Dr. Clifton said. “Paganism is something of a misnomer, for it implies an alternative to standard religion, and pagans are commonly thought of as ‘alternative religious practitioners.’ In fact, pagan religions are not alternatives: they’re the prototypes. Without speaking to the validity or non-validity of any religion, it is simply a fact that most, if not all, of the myths—historical events if you are one of faith—that comprise the backbone of the world’s religions have their roots in one pagan legend or another. There is a flood, or an Eden, or a resurrection of life, as far back as religious history dates. Even the cross was a symbol common to early pagan religions.”

  Dr. Clifton’s combination of scholarly bearing and rugged competence lent him an aura of authenticity that left even me, the suspicious attorney, at ease and in his confidence.

  “Akkadian,” Dr. Clifton continued, “was the language of the Babylonians, the most influential pagan civilization of its day. Perhaps ever. Akkadian, gentlemen, is the language of archetypal religion, of the origin of myth.”

  Jake threw his hands up. “Where you headed, doc?”

  Dr. Clifton started to pace, one hand hanging at his side, the other coming up to gesture as he spoke. “I understand you have a rudimentary knowledge of the alleged ley lines, including the theory that their energy is much more intense at an intersection point—intense enough, under proper circumstances, to be channeled.”

  “Which was why the stone circles were built,” Lou said, and got another affirmative nod. “But how? What are the dolmens and megaliths supposed to do?”

  “No one is certain, besides the fact that they served various astrological purposes. However, the commonly held belief is that the stones acted as a sort of channeling device that allowed metaphysical energy to flow and coalesce. We think these ancient cultures believed that, through the use of megalithic structures, they were gathering, conducting, and stimulating the flow of this energy. Rather like spiritual acupuncture.”

  “Pagan poppycock,” Jake said, though without his usual conviction.

  “Perhaps,” Dr. Clifton replied, then wagged a finger. “But let us connect the dots. The ancient Babylonians took their ley lines very seriously. More so than any other culture. They built enormous temples where they believed the points of intersection to lie, and performed lengthy and complex rituals to channel their power.”

  “How did anyone know where these ley lines were in the first place?” I asked.

  “Great question. The Babylonians developed an entire class of priests, reputed to be psychics, who were devoted to the task of pinpointing and utilizing ley lines. They developed the concept of the dowsing rod and used mathematical calculations involving the position of the heavenly bodies, as well as other advanced methods, to determine where the ley lines ran.” He smirked. “No one knows how good they were at it, because no one can prove that ley lines exist. But the Babylonians, and a multitude of other cultures, were absolutely convinced of their power. I would also mention that some of the places reputed to be ley lines possess a high level of geomagnetic energy, and that modern-day psychics claim they can feel heightened spiritual energy at sites such as Stonehenge.”

  “We’ve seen all of this in our research,” Lou said.

  Dr. Clifton smiled as if he had doled out the tip of the iceberg. “Apart from the megaliths, the Babylonian priests developed another way to channel the energy of the ley lines. A method they believed was much more
effective, much more difficult to implement—and much more dangerous.”

  “That we haven’t seen,” Jake said.

  “People who subscribe to ley lines believe you can harness their power by entering into a trance, opening yourself to the energies. However, these neo-pagans are clearly not versed in ancient Akkadian. If they were, they would realize they’re missing a vital element.”

  Lou cracked his knuckles without looking down. “Which was?”

  “The Babylonians believed that, through the proper use of astronomy, mathematics, language, and divination, combined with precise calculations of where the ley lines ran, one could greatly enhance the channeling of metaphysical energy. They developed a code—a formula, if you will—using complex rituals and calculations involving the above-mentioned spheres of knowledge.”

  Jake frowned. “A formula? For channeling spiritual energy?”

  “The concept exists in some form or another in every religion on earth, including Christianity. What do you think prayer is? Rites, liturgies, monastic chants? Versions of the same thing. Efforts to call upon the spirit world, to reach God through the use of language. Mathematics, science, and pseudo-sciences often come into play as well. Think of the Kabbalah and the codes of the Torah; the hidden teachings of the Gnostics; Hindu and Buddhist mantras; Islamic rituals; the repetition of Christian prayers and liturgies; the precise semantics of an exorcism. All are calculated, ritualistic efforts to invoke the power of the divine. Dr. Fleniken, you’re far more versed in religion than I. Tell me, am I wrong?”

  Jake pursed his lips. “In theory, no.”

  “The Babylonians believed they had developed something that served the same purpose: a formula that facilitated contact with the spirit world, especially when brought into the presence of a heightened theater, such as an intersection of ley lines. I believe an appropriate analogy might be . . . let us say . . . performing a Catholic rite on holy ground.”

  Jake’s face tightened. Lou and I exchanged a glance, and one phrase in particular had stood out to me. Facilitated contact with the spirit world.

  “The Babylonians believed their ‘formula’ to be their greatest discovery, as well as their most sacred knowledge, known to only a handful of high-ranking priests. It was their holy grail, their ark of the covenant.”

  “What exactly did they think they’d discovered?” I asked.

  “On its own, the formula was considered a way to commune with God. A type of mantra or prayer. However, the Babylonians believed that if the formula was inscribed upon an object and brought within proximity of a ley line, the formula would expand and magnify the energy channels to a much greater degree.”

  “My God,” Lou said, in a near-whisper. “The Babylonians would have used Akkadian. The symbols on the letterbox—is that the formula?”

  “I believe that is exactly what it is,” Dr. Clifton said.

  -67-

  “There’s no way to be certain,” Dr. Clifton continued. “Due to its complexity and gravity, the formula was only inscribed on a handful of objects. I consulted a few colleagues and the only one who had even heard of it, a Sumerian scholar at Oxford, laughed and said that, if such a thing ever existed, it surely has been lost to time, and in any event would be impossible to verify.”

  “What’s supposed to happen when this . . . formula . . . comes into proximity with a ley line?” I asked.

  “A normal ley line wouldn’t produce much of an effect, even when combined with the formula. However, the Babylonians believed that at an intersection point, with the help of the formula, it would be possible to communicate with entities from the spirit world.”

  My eyes slunk to the letterbox, poised on a low table next to Jake. “Think about the places we’ve had an encounter,” I said. “At the castle, Kostel Utes . . . .”

  “Places on the map,” Jake said grimly. “Points of intersection.”

  “Yes, but also at the ossuary and Pere LaChaise and the two times your wife appeared, at Notre Dame and by the dolmen in Grimspound.”

  “Notre Dame was built on top of a Roman temple,” Jake said. “I’ve a strong suspicion that’s the case with the Bone Church and Pere Lachaise, as well.”

  I paused with the weight of my next words. “Every time we’ve visited an ancient religious site with the letterbox, we’ve had some sort of unexplainable encounter. With someone or something. And at no other time has this happened.”

  Despite the fact that we were tucked away within the confines of the British Museum, gooseflesh began running in waves along my arms. Jake looked stricken. While Lou was staring at the fire, I could tell he was listening intently.

  “Note that the Babylonians believed even the points of intersection contained limited energy,” Dr. Clifton said, “and that they varied in strength.”

  “Vivian kept saying she didn’t have much time,” I said. “And the way everyone kept disappearing . . . yet when Jake tossed the stone at the man in the crypt, it made contact. Pere Lachaise must be a more powerful site.”

  Lou turned back from the fire, sneering. “Or it was a trick. Let’s keep our heads here.”

  “Shut up, Commie.”

  Dr. Clifton stopped pacing in front of the table with the letterbox. “There was another belief among the Babylonians—a belief that there existed a specific place on earth where more than two ley lines intersected. A place, in fact, where they all intersected. A power center, a nexus: a sacred site where the Babylonians believed the physical and spiritual worlds were so intertwined that even without the formula, ghosts and spirits could manifest at will. Unfortunately, as far as I can tell, the Babylonians never managed to pinpoint the location.”

  Jake’s voice was thick. “What if the formula was brought to this place? Did they have a theory?”

  “The two things they speculated would happen are clear. First, they thought the barrier between our world and the spiritual realm would dissolve, and that it might be possible to travel between the two.”

  I knew by Jake’s rapt expression what he was thinking. His wife, mortal once again.

  “And the second?” Jake said.

  Dr. Clifton put his hands on the table. “The Babylonians believed that at this one place on earth, with the presence of the formula, one might encounter a divine being. A god.”

  -68-

  “A theophany,” Lou said, with a hollow chuckle. “A manifestation of a god to a human.”

  As if lured by a snake charmer, my gaze veered downward, to the ancient Babylonian artifact. The letterbox seemed to possess a new and puissant essence, the symbol of our hopes and fears, a manifestation of our dreams and nightmares.

  Jake jumped up and began pacing. “Even if this is all true, the box is useless without the location of the nexus. You said the Babylonians themselves didn’t know where it was.”

  Dr. Clifton moved his hands to the cover of the tome he had brought with him. “As I said, the Babylonians had a highly developed system of discovering and tracing tellurian energy. They believed the ley lines all curved slightly inward, meeting at one point in the middle, and they knew some of them curved across other ley lines to create intersection points. The ‘straight-line’ effect of ley lines on modern maps is not necessarily inaccurate, for the lines were thought to be extremely long and the curve gradual. Amazingly, the Babylonian theory makes sense if you consider that the world is round; their slightly curved ley lines and nexus point fit perfectly within a spherical surface. But I digress. The Babylonians took their knowledge and made a map of the ley lines they believed ran across the earth, superimposing the lines over the areas of the world they had mapped.”

  He opened the book and stepped aside. “I believe this should speak for itself.”

  I felt a heaviness in the air as I bent over the tome. Though I didn’t recognize the specific geographical entities, there were universal representations of mountains, oceans, and deserts. I saw human figures dotting the landscape, warriors and priests and kings. Strange-looking b
oats hovered in seas without borders, and there was the unique addition that made this map unlike any I had ever seen: the presence of dozens of lines running across the earth, crossing each other at various points, all spiraling inward to meet at a pinprick in the upper left corner.

  The meeting point of the lines was northwest of the area that had been mapped extensively and which represented the known regions of the world at the time. No cartographical markings existed near this meeting point. I racked my brain to try to remember what area of the world this might represent in relation to the Near East, but the map was too old and inaccurate for me to hazard a guess.

  The map bore only one marking near the meeting point: a rune-like symbol, topped by a wavy line, that was neither ley line nor cartographical representation.

  Lou put both stocky arms on the table and leaned over the map. “It’s the same symbol,” he said in awe, stating what I had already noticed, and which caused a tingling to flood my nerve endings. “Next to the meeting of the ley lines—that’s the symbol on the letterbox.”

  “As you can see,” Dr. Clifton said, “the Babylonians named the site, though they had yet to discover the actual location.”

  “The nexus,” Jake whispered, gripping his chair and leaning forward.

  “So what now?” Lou asked.

  “I’m sorry to say I’ve exhausted the sources within my field. If there’s an answer to this puzzle, I’m afraid you’ll need to look elsewhere.” He closed the book. “Gentlemen, I wish you the best. I have other engagements, and must pass the torch.”

  Jake slumped in his seat, and I felt a stab of despair. So close, yet so far.

  “Perhaps it’s an impossible task,” Dr. Clifton said, noticing our dejection, “but you opened the door when you discovered the Akkadian inscription on the letterbox.” His gaze rested on the map, and then on the symbol carved into the letterbox. “You have a name.”