The Granite Key (Arkana Mysteries)

by N. S. Wikarski

  “Good morning, Father,” he said tentatively. “You wanted to see me?”

  Abraham turned toward his guest. “Yes, that’s right. Sit down, Daniel.” He indicated one of the two chairs.

  The visitor glanced up briefly at the portrait before he slid into his chair. He sat forward anxiously, his hands grasping the seat.

  Abraham remained standing near the windows. “Daniel, remind me again which of my sons you are.”

  The younger man didn’t seem to consider the question odd. “I am your twentieth son, Father,” he answered readily.

  “And which of my wives is your mother?”

  “My mother is Deborah, your fifth wife,” Daniel looked down, “though she has passed from this life.”

  The older man’s expression was vague. “Hmmm, yes, I do seem to recall now. She’s been departed, what is it, nearly two years? Never mind boy. She has gone to wait for me in the next world. We will be reunited there. How many wives do you have now?”

  Daniel cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You have blessed me with three wives, Father.”

  Abraham looked pleased with himself. “That’s a good start though some of your brothers at the same age have collected more.” He paused to consider. “Still it’s a good start. And how many children?”

  Daniel seemed to be fighting the urge to squirm in his chair. “Three so far.”

  “Three?” Abraham registered shock. “Are any of your wives barren?”

  “N…no, I don’t think so, Father.” Daniel stared hard at the table.

  Abraham took a pace or two forward. “And when did I give you your first wife?”

  “When I was twenty,” Daniel mumbled.

  “Ten years,” Abraham mused. “In ten years your wives have only produced three children. That’s unheard of!”

  Daniel shifted his position slightly. “I’m sorry, Fa—”

  The old man cut him off. “We are charged with the obligation to be fruitful and multiply—to extend His dominion over the earth. We must increase our numbers. You cannot hope to claim a place of glory in His kingdom otherwise. Surely, you don’t wish to bring shame on your family.”

  Daniel shrunk back in his seat.

  Abraham was standing above his son now. “Remember who is watching.” He gestured toward the portrait. “Your grandfather is watching you even now from heaven. God, himself, is watching you.” He paused for effect. “He is watching us all. He sees the secret sins of our innermost hearts, Daniel. He sees all and he will punish all!”

  Daniel gulped and nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand. I will pray for more issue.”

  “And instruct your wives to pray as well!” Abraham observed his son silently for a few moments. He seemed satisfied that he had made his point. “Good, that’s settled then.”

  Metcalf walked to the wall cabinets. He took a brass key out of his pocket. “I am told you are quite the scholar. You have distinguished yourself above your brothers in the study of ancient languages.”

  Daniel seemed to puff up a bit at the encouragement. “Yes, it is the subject I love above all others. Translating the word of God.”

  “That shows a proper spirit,” Metcalf nodded approvingly. “Come here, I have something to show you.”

  Daniel obediently walked over to join him.

  Abraham unlocked one of the cabinets and withdrew the stone ruler. “What can you make of this?” the old man inquired, handing the object to his son.

  Daniel held it up to the meager light coming through the windows. He examined the markings with great intensity. When he looked up again, his expression was one of dismay. “The script isn’t Aramaic, or Hebrew, or Greek, or Latin. Not even Egyptian judging by the pictograms.” Daniel now seemed a bit afraid of the ruler. He held it out toward his father as if he thought it was contaminated. “This is some heathen relic.”

  Abraham made no move to take the object back. He stood with his arms folded across his chest. “Yes I know, Daniel, but the Lord has charged me with the task of finding out its secrets. And now I charge you with the task of translating these strange markings into some language that a Christian can understand.”

  The young man scrutinized the pictures and lines and loops again. “Do we know where it comes from?” he asked tentatively.

  “Only that it was found somewhere in the east and that it is very ancient.”

  Daniel thought of something that caused a look of apprehension to cross his face.

  “What is it, my son?”

  “Well, it’s just that we have nothing in our library that could explain this. Do I have your permission to go into the Fallen Lands? I will need to search in their libraries. Because it is pagan, they may have records that show what language it is.”

  Abraham sighed. “My heart is heavy at the thought of sending you into their world. So many temptations. So much you have never been prepared for. But it is God’s will that this be so.” Abraham’s eyes bored into his son’s face. “Daniel, you must find a way to translate this. Everything depends upon it. Do you understand?”

  Daniel gulped. “Yes, Father, I will find a way.”

  Chapter 10 – Photographic Memories

  The grandfather clock in the hall was chiming noon when Faye heard a gentle knock on her front door. She hobbled over to answer it as quickly as her aged feet would carry her. Standing on her porch was a young woman, barely out of her teens. The girl was dressed in blue jeans, a pullover, and light spring jacket. She was about Faye’s height with the slender build of a gymnast. Her shortness and tiny frame gave her the air of a pixie, as if she were a small scale replica of an adult human.

  The girl smiled hesitantly. “Are you Faye?” She flipped her head slightly to move her limp, straight hair out of the way. It was parted to the side and seemed to want to cover her face like a curtain. The color was a dark shade of brown. There was nothing remarkable about her features—regular and even. Nothing remarkable but her eyes. They were large and grey, but not a clear grey. They were opaque, like sunlight struggling to burn through fog.

  “Please come in,” Faye offered.

  “My name is Cassie,” the girl held out her hand.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, my dear.” Faye shook her hand warmly. “It’s such a lovely day for early spring. Almost warm enough for me to remember what summer feels like. Why don’t we go outside and talk in the garden.”

  Cassie followed her toward the back of the house.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” Faye asked over her shoulder as they passed through the kitchen.

  “Yes, thank you. I would,” replied Cassie.

  She helped Faye carry a pitcher and two glasses through the screen door to the back yard.

  Faye’s garden was a world unto itself. It spanned a full acre. Fruit trees, evergreens and tall shrubs lined the eight-foot privacy fence, muffling sounds of traffic from the street. There were leafy rose bushes just starting to wake up to the season. Stepping stone paths skirted flower beds blooming with crocus and narcissus. At the far end against the fence was a newly cultivated plot of fresh dirt for summer vegetables.

  “Wow, this is some yard you’ve got,” Cassie said in amazement. “From the street, you can’t even tell this is here.”

  “That’s the idea.” Faye smiled. “Shall we sit over there?” She led the way to a latticework pergola in the middle of the flower garden which contained a wrought iron bistro table and two chairs. The roof of the pergola was covered with wisteria vines. Clusters of purple flowers were just beginning to bloom. They hung down like a canopy over the two women.

  Cassie seemed ill at ease. Faye didn’t press her so they sat in silence, sipping lemonade for a little while.

  Eventually, the girl set down her glass and reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I don’t suppose there’s any good way to talk about this. Here, read it for yourself.” She pressed the paper into Faye’s hands.

  Faye looked questioningly at the girl, set
down her own glass and unfolded the paper. It was a letter. She began to read it out loud.

  “My Dear Little Sis,

  I’m sitting here writing this and hoping that you never have to read it. The only reason you would come across this letter is if I’m gone. Maybe the danger will pass and I can destroy this. Maybe not.

  There are times when my work can be risky. This is one of those times. I’ve come across a find that has immense value to the people I work with but it looks like somebody else wants this find too. Somebody who would be willing to kill for it. For the past week, I’ve gotten the feeling I’m being followed. It might be my imagination. In case it isn’t and in case something happens to me, I want you to call the number I wrote on the back of this sheet. Ask to speak to Faye. Give her the packet. She can explain everything.

  There’s so much I want to say, but there isn’t enough time, and maybe it only comes down to this. I love you and everything I did, even when you didn’t understand it, was to keep you safe. No matter what you might have thought, I was always looking out for you.

  Love,

  Sybil”

  Faye stopped reading. She glanced up to see Cassie wiping tears from her cheeks. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry.” She reached out to squeeze Cassie’s hand lightly.

  The girl stared off into the distance. She began to speak more to herself than to Faye. “It’s funny the way she ended the letter. She must have thought that I hated her. I suppose I did a little. I blamed her for everything. All the moves. Every year it was a new school in a new town. She never explained why. She just parked me with housekeepers most of the time while she was off doing whatever it was she did when she wasn’t around. After we came to Chicago, I told her that I was going to finish college at the same school where I started no matter what. She swore this would be the end of the line.” Cassie laughed bitterly. “That was one promise she sure kept.”

  She impatiently brushed away another tear. “I resented her but I loved her too. I hope she knew that. Maybe she didn’t because we were always more like strangers than sisters. But I did love her. She was the only family I had after our parents died.” The girl shifted in her chair to stare directly at Faye. “Sybil said you could explain everything. Can you explain how somebody could walk into my world and wreck it without even blinking?” Cassie’s eyes welled up once again with tears. “Do you know who killed my sister?”

  Faye hesitated. She measured her words carefully. “We have an idea who was responsible and we’re conducting our own investigation. We should have some information to share with you soon.”

  The girl nodded and straightened up. Reaching into her jacket pocket once more, she pulled out a thick envelope. She pushed it across the table toward the old woman. “My sister said to give you this packet.”

  Faye removed the contents. A series of photographs and a page of numbers.

  Cassie leaned over to point at the first picture. “That’s what he took. The man in my dream—” She stopped short, catching herself before she blurted out more.

  “The man in your dream?” Faye enunciated the words distinctly. She gave Cassie a searching look.

  The girl shied away. As she lowered her head, her hair swung down over her face. “No. That isn’t what I meant. Dumb thing to say. I mean the man who broke into Sybil’s apartment. He took that ruler.”

  Faye returned her attention to the packet. “How extraordinary.” She flipped through the snapshots.

  “I think each one shows a side of the ruler. It had five sides,” Cassie added helpfully.

  “I see.” Faye remained lost in thought as she studied the photos. Each side of the ruler contained one line of markings. The left half consisted of pictograms, the right half was a script in some language she couldn’t identify. The bottom edge was etched with indecipherable hash marks and loops.

  “And then in the note with all the numbers, I think she’s giving the measurements. The length and width of the thing. At least they seem to match the size I guessed it to be. Why do you suppose she would want you to have that?”

  Faye paused a moment to consider. “I believe she thought the people who wanted this item would try to steal it. If they were successful, the information you’ve provided would allow us to make a replica. But that puzzles me too.”

  “You mean you don’t know why?” Cassie sounded concerned.

  “All the artifacts Sybil recovered are originals. Their value lies in their antiquity. From that standpoint, a replica is worthless. Like paste jewels.” She hesitated. “I’ll need to discuss this with my associates.”

  “Your associates?” Cassie asked cautiously. “How many are there? And by the way, who are you people anyway?”

  Faye smiled and sighed. “Where to begin…”

  Chapter 11 – Bowled Over

  Cassie adjusted her chair to face Faye directly.

  The old woman took a few minutes to gather her thoughts. “As you already know, your sister was in the antique business. Aside from her store, Sybil was part of an organization that collects rare objects. Objects that have a particular significance to our group.”

  Cassie pounced on the word. “Your group? Does your group have a name?”

  “Yes,” Faye said gently but offered nothing further on that point. She continued. “We are involved in a large scale recovery project. Its scope is immense. It reaches back far before recorded history and spans cultures across the entire globe.”

  “No wonder Sybil wasn’t around much,” muttered Cassie. “Sounds like you kept her pretty busy.”

  “Not just her, dear,” Faye took a sip of lemonade. “There are hundreds of people all over the world involved in this effort.”

  “What could be that big?”

  “Nothing less than the true story of the human race,” Faye replied cryptically. She stood up. “I think we need something to go with this lemonade. Don’t you?” Without waiting for a reply she trundled into the house and emerged a few minutes later carrying a plate of oatmeal cookies.

  “Help yourself, dear.” She set the plate on the table.

  Cassie reached over to take one. Picking up right where they’d left off, she asked, “What exactly do you mean by the true story of the human race?”

  Faye laughed. “That’s a big question to answer.” She settled back in her chair and began to speak. “What if I told you that much of what you’ve been taught about the past is a lie?”

  Cassie looked at her noncommittally.

  “Have you ever taken an ancient history class?”

  Cassie nodded.

  “When do your history books say that civilization began?”

  The girl considered the question. “I think it was Sumeria, Babylon, something like that. Where Iraq is now. The Tigris and Euphrates rivers were what they called the cradle of civilization. Sometime around 3000 BCE.”

  The old woman chuckled. “Yes, that is the prevailing theory. I’m sure they told you about the rise of the Egyptians, Sumerians, and later the Greeks and Romans. Great military conquests, empire building. All of it a straight march from barbarism to civilization.”

  “I guess.” Cassie poured more lemonade for the two of them.

  “What if I told you that great civilizations thrived before that time? As much as four thousand years before that time. What if I told you that some of those civilizations were sophisticated enough to have written language, running water and sewer systems, and that warfare didn’t exist.”

  Cassie stopped sipping her lemonade. She seemed intrigued. “Really? Is this one of those crazy space alien theories?”

  Faye laughed. “Not at all, child. There were major civilizations scattered all over the world. We are in the process of proving that. In India, the Aegean, Africa. Everywhere really. Lost cities that you’ve never heard of and a way of life that you probably never dreamed existed.”

  “So why isn’t all that stuff in the history books?” Cassie challenged.

  “Because history is the conquerors’ ver
sion of what happened. The defeated are written out of the story entirely.”

  Cassie impatiently shrugged her hair away from her face. “So why is it a big deal? One country invades another country and the winner gets to tell future generations how great they were. It’s always been that way.”

  “Actually it hasn’t,” Faye corrected gently. “Until about six thousand years ago the human race didn’t behave that way at all.”

  “That’s pretty hard to swallow,” Cassie said unconvinced.

  “It’s hard to swallow because recorded history wants us to believe that it’s always been this way. That violence toward our own species is ingrained in our very being. Dog eat dog. Nature red in tooth and claw.”

  “So your group has a theory that we used to be nicer to each other than we are now,” the girl’s voice held a slightly mocking tone.

  “Much more than a theory. We’re building quite a compelling body of evidence to prove it.”

  “So what changed us?” Cassie sounded more intrigued than doubtful now.

  “A number of factors: climate shift, agriculture, domesticated animals, settled communities and global warming that makes our current dilemma look small by comparison. The combination of all these things was what you might call a perfect storm. It turned some of us into killers.”

  The girl raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Why only some of us and not all of us?”

  “Because some of us were lucky enough to settle in hospitable environments. Fertile farmland, a mild climate, and plentiful resources. And these fortunate people continued to worship the deity that all humans had worshipped from the very beginning of time. A benevolent mother goddess who readily supplied all the needs of her children.”

  Faye’s face darkened. “But others were not so lucky. Hemmed in by mountains and trapped by floods during the last climate change. They suffered through prolonged droughts and famine. Their landscape became harsh and barren and it yielded them nothing. They grew angry and turned their backs on the goddess. If she would not supply them, they would take what they needed from others by force and pray to a like-minded god. A volatile sky god of thunder with an appetite for gore.