The Granite Key (Arkana Mysteries)

by N. S. Wikarski

  These outcasts became something the world had never seen before. Instead of killing animals for food, they slaughtered each other for possessions and dominance. Obsessed with warfare, they made raiding and pillaging a way of life. Raiding progressed to invading. As time went by, these invaders spread like a virus across the face of the earth, rewriting the story of every land they subjugated. The original nature deities of the vanquished were replaced with their own violent sky gods. Even the peaceful lands they attacked became warlike in self-defense. The cosmos was thrown out of balance. Women were no longer honored once aggression replaced cooperation as the supreme survival skill. And now we live in a world that has forgotten the time when humankind wasn’t drowning in its own blood.”

  Despite the horror she was describing, Faye’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  Cassie was silent, her expression grave.

  Faye continued. “Our collective memory has been erased. I, your sister, and the rest of our group are trying to get it back. To remember our true nature.”

  “Remember, how?”

  “We are digging up the buried past of the world. Site by site. Bone by bone. Artifact by artifact. We are putting the puzzle back together. We practice an alternative kind of archaeology—the kind that defies the fabrications of history. Which reminds me…” Faye stood up and walked over to a corner of the pergola. She picked up a shallow metal bowl that had been sitting on the ground. Cassie hadn’t noticed it before.

  Faye pulled her chair closer to Cassie. “Your sister was very good at authenticating our finds. I wonder if you would give it a try.”

  She held the bowl toward Cassie.

  The girl made no move to take it. “I’m not a trained archaeologist.”

  Faye smiled. “I’m not asking for anything specific. Just hold it in your hands and tell me what you observe.” She nudged the bowl closer.

  Cassie reached out with both hands. The second she touched the rim something very strange happened.

  She felt dizzy, as if she were falling down a deep, black well. Eventually she landed. She found herself in a cavern. An underground vaulted chamber of some sort. There was a woman perched on a high stool.

  No, that was wrong. Cassie had become the woman perched on a high stool. At least that’s where her consciousness was. She felt that she had somehow merged with this person.

  She was dressed in a long white linen robe. In her left hand she held a branch with leaves on it and in her right she held a bowl. The same kind Faye had given her. Only now it contained a clear liquid. She was looking into it as if it were a crystal ball. In front of her stool, on the floor of the cavern there was a crack in the ground. Strange-smelling vapors were drifting upward from that spot. The scent made Cassie feel light-headed.

  There was also a man wrapped in a toga who was standing in the chamber in front of her. A large man with heavy muscles. He had a stern, almost cruel expression on his face. He seemed to be hanging on every word she said. Cassie didn’t know how she could understand the language much less speak it, but she felt herself telling the man he was about to win a decisive victory over his enemies.

  The next thing Cassie knew she was back in the garden, sitting in a wrought iron chair. Faye had lifted the bowl out of her hands.

  “I think that’s quite sufficient for one day.” The old woman smiled. “Tell me what you saw.”

  Cassie was startled, disoriented. “What the freak was that!” she demanded.

  “Just tell me what you saw,” Faye prompted gently.

  “It was weird. I fell into another place. Another time. I felt as if I’d actually become someone else. I was a woman sitting in a cave telling the future to some guy who wanted to win a big battle.” Cassie’s heart was hammering. She looked at her glass suspiciously. “You put something in my lemonade!”

  “I did no such thing, my dear, and I think you know that. You’ve had unusual experiences like this before, haven’t you.” Faye sounded as if she was stating a fact, not asking a question.

  Cassie shook her head violently. “No, never. Or… maybe… but only once. Only the night Sybil died. I dreamed it before it happened. Every detail. It was like I was right there. The man in the cowboy hat was there too. The one who stole the stone ruler. He wanted Sybil to tell him where the key was.”

  “You say he was looking for a key of some sort?” Faye sounded surprised.

  “Yeah, a stupid key. And my sister is dead because of it. And I was standing right there when it happened.”

  “Sometimes the gift first appears when there has been an emotional trauma. Your sister had her first experience right after your parents died.”

  “After… after my… What!” Cassie felt as if Faye had just punched her in the stomach.

  The old woman reached across the table to touch the girl’s arm. “Forgive me, my dear. It’s a lot to take in at one time but I had to be certain.”

  Cassie recoiled. “Be certain of what?”

  “That you were meant to take your sister’s place. It is your destiny to be our new Pythia.”

  Jumping out of her chair, Cassie cried, “Destiny? I don’t have a destiny! This is crazy! You’re crazy! I don’t care what Sybil did for you or why but leave me out of it!” She backed away from Faye. “I can’t stay here. I have to go. Now!”

  She ran from the garden and out of the house. Off in the distance Faye could hear her tires squeal as she pulled out of the driveway and raced away.

  The old woman smiled to herself. “We have found our new Pythia,” she murmured.

  Chapter 12 – Power Tools

  It was late afternoon when Abraham decided to allow himself the indulgence of half an hour in the treasury. It was a secret room concealed behind a panel in his office wall. Only a few trusted followers knew of its existence. The room’s contents were too precious to become common knowledge.

  He typed a code into the keypad next to the steel door. It swung open on noiseless hinges and then shut behind him. The design of the interior resembled a bank safe. A windowless space with rows of small metal doors lining the walls. Individual security keypads were mounted on each one. A fluorescent fixture glared down from the ceiling on a bare table standing in the center of the room.

  Abraham walked up to one of the small metal doors and typed a code into its keypad. When the door swung open, he withdrew the most recent addition to his collection and placed the object on the table. It was a small round shield that a warrior would strap to his forearm. More properly, it would be called a buckler. This one was green. At its center were painted five small blue shields arranged in the shape of a cross. Each shield was decorated with five gold circles. The monetary worth of the buckler was negligible. It wasn’t made of gold or adorned with precious gems but its value lay in its miraculous history. In that regard it was priceless.

  During the Middle Ages, Portugal was overrun by Moors who wished to convert their foes to Islam at the point of a sword. Christians had fought against them for centuries in an effort to reclaim their country. In 1139, Don Afonso Henriquez was about to engage the heathen horde on the plains of Ourique. Shortly before the battle, he saw a vision in the eastern sky of Christ on a cross. He believed this to be a portent of victory. His troops went on the slaughter the Moorish army and, at the end of that day, Don Afonso was named the first king of Portugal. In commemoration of his vision, Afonso adorned his buckler with five shields forming the shape of a cross, each with five bezants representing the wounds of Christ. An invaluable treasure and clear proof of divine favor.

  Abraham moved the buckler to the left side of the table and went to another compartment to retrieve a second item. It was much smaller than the shield. A jagged piece of iron. A fragment broken from the tip of a spear. Utterly worthless for the raw material from which it was made. But, once again, appearances could be deceiving. This bit of common metal was a piece of the Longinus Lance. The spear which had pierced the side of Christ when he died on the cross. It was called the Longinus Lance
because it had belonged to a Roman centurion of that name but the weapon had other names too. Most often it was called the Spear Of Destiny because it was said that whoever possessed it could never be defeated in combat. Another portion of the spear tip had briefly belonged to Adolph Hitler during the Second World War. When he lost it to the enemy, his fortunes changed for the worse. That piece was now housed in the Vatican under the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica.

  The fragment which Abraham was holding had once belonged to Louis IX of France. The king had enshrined it, along with the crown of thorns from the crucifixion in Saint Chapelle in Paris. Both objects disappeared from history after the French Revolution. One of them had now found its way into Abraham’s private collection.

  The old man moved the lance tip to the right side of the table. He went back to the metal doors again. This time he retrieved a helmet and carried it back to the table. Metcalf examined the object in detail. It was of Roman design, fabricated of copper and iron. It conformed closely to the shape of the head, covering the ears. A neck guard protruded from the back and cheek protectors jutted from each side. It was surmounted by a horsehair crest and visor inlaid with precious gems. Unlike the other two relics, this object had great monetary value. Each stone in the visor was worth a fortune. Not surprising since this helmet had been worn by an emperor. But the most valuable part was something the casual observer couldn’t see. An iron spike embedded inside the helmet. A simple iron spike. Unremarkable in itself but millions had died because they believed in what it represented—or didn’t believe.

  When Constantine the First was emperor of Rome, his mother Saint Helena converted to Christianity. She went to the Holy Land in an effort to find sacred relics. She was able to locate the true cross and the nails that were used in the crucifixion. Two of the nails she sent back to Constantine. According to legend, she had one of them placed in her son’s helmet and the other in his horse’s bridle. It was believed that the relics would protect him from harm. Metcalf was holding in his hands the helmet of the Emperor Constantine. He felt sure that the emperor’s success as a military commander was due in large part to the sacred objects he carried with him into war.

  There were many tales associated with Constantine. Like Don Afonso, the emperor had been blessed with a vision. Just before a decisive battle, he saw a flaming cross appear in the eastern sky. A cross shaped like a P with a letter X through it. In Greek, the letters P and X or Chi and Ro spelled the first two letters of Christ’s name. Constantine took this as a sign that the Christian god favored him. At the same moment, the emperor heard a voice telling him, “In hoc signo vinces.” In this sign conquer. The warrior’s cross led his troops to victory that day.

  Abraham set the helmet down in the center of the table and regarded the prizes of his collection with satisfaction. A shield, a lance, and a helmet. All of them had brought triumph in battle to their possessors. Taken together, they should prove to be invincible. The French had a name for such relics. They called them objets de puissance. Objects of power.

  Metcalf looked up from the items on the table and surveyed the silent, locked compartments that lined the walls. He had spent a lifetime acquiring their contents. Each artifact carried the sanction of God. Metcalf would need all their powers if the prophecy was to be fulfilled.

  He knew that the Blessed Nephilim had lost faith over the years. They had waited more than a century for the Second Coming but Judgment Day was long overdue. Metcalf feared for his wavering flock. The influence of the Fallen Lands crept ever closer to his refuge and to all the far-flung communities under his care. A stray television broadcast, a radio transmission, the internet. Their messages raised troublesome questions in the minds of his followers. No matter how tightly he restricted their access to the outside world, he could feel them slipping away. God would hold him accountable for this and if he failed his punishment would be eternal damnation. The humiliation of such a fate horrified him. God would cast him into the sulfurous pit along with the Fallen that he so despised. He could never allow that to happen.

  The prophecy had shown him a way out of his dilemma. God had spoken directly to him through the foretelling of a long-dead Diviner. It was not his lot to wait patiently for the day when the Fallen would be banished to hell. He was to bring the heavenly kingdom to earth by whatever means necessary. That was what the Lord’s sacred warriors had always done.

  God was watching him and Abraham would not disappoint his Master. He would distinguish himself more than any Diviner before him. His reward would be greater. His celestial rank would be higher. His name would be praised before angels and men alike. This was not pride on his part. It was God’s will.

  The day was coming soon when the Blessed Nephilim would redeem the world from the Fallen who now overran it. Men had forgotten how to fear the Lord. It would be Abraham’s destiny to remind them. Metcalf carefully returned his treasures to their compartments. “In hoc signo vinces,” he whispered, shutting the safe door behind him.

  Chapter 13 – Destiny’s Child

  Ever since Cassie floored the gas pedal to get away from that crazy old woman, her world had been spinning out of control. Everything she thought she knew about Sybil had been blown apart.

  She could dismiss it all by saying that Faye had lied to her. That Sybil was a fine, upstanding citizen who bought and sold antiques. That she lived an absolutely ordinary life and never engaged in anything remotely risky. But too much had occurred in the past weeks to make Cassie believe that any more.

  Not just what had happened to Sybil but what had happened to Cassie herself. The nightmare that accurately predicted her sister’s death. The stone ruler that was stolen right before her eyes. Sybil’s last letter to her. Everything Faye had told her. If that weren’t enough, there was her encounter with the woman in white and her magic bowl.

  She didn’t know what any of it meant. She needed time to let it all sort itself out in her head. Let the dust settle and see where it landed. Where she landed. Today she was going to do something a normal person might do.

  The bell above the shop door jingled discretely when she walked into the antique store. At first, the memories of her last two visits hit her like a wave. A man with a gun, her sister falling, glass shattering, police swarming. She took a deep breath and put on a brave smile. “Hi Rhonda, how are you?”

  “Oh, sweetie, come here.” Her sister’s business partner rushed forward to embrace her. She was a motherly sort. Full-figured. In her fifties, with cropped black hair that was streaked with grey. She had a gentle, sympathetic face. The kind that encouraged confidences. At the moment, the expression on Rhonda’s face made Cassie feel like she was going to cry again. The girl sternly ordered herself to think about newspapers, postage stamps, anything mundane. No more feelings for now.

  She stepped away from the older woman. “I’m OK, Rhonda, don’t worry about me.”

  The concerned look didn’t go away. “Are you sure?” Rhonda peered at her closely. “You look like you haven’t slept for a week.”

  Cassie grinned sheepishly. “That would be about right, but really I feel OK.” She changed the topic. “How have you been?”

  Rhonda’s eyes swept the shop. “Coping. It took a while to clean up the mess the police left. I think they’re done hovering and asking questions. They seem satisfied that it was attempted robbery and that Sybil’s death was an accident. I’ve beefed up the security system and that’s about all I can do.”

  “Do you think they’ll ever catch the guy?” Cassie asked bleakly.

  Rhonda sighed. “They didn’t have much to go on. No physical description. No eyewitnesses. I’m not too hopeful.” She put her arm around Cassie’s shoulders. “Come on over here and sit down.” She led the girl to a spare chair behind the counter. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since …” she trailed off.

  “Yeah, I know,” Cassie said quietly.

  “Would you like a bottle of water or something?”

  “A can of pop if yo
u’ve got any.”

  “Sure thing.” Rhonda bustled to the refrigerator in the back room.

  Cassie looked around the shop. The glass case had been replaced. No sign of anything being shattered. Anything other than her own psyche. Everything was exactly as it should be in this upscale antique shop located in this high-toned boutique shopping district.

  Rhonda handed Cassie her soft drink and pulled up a chair beside her.

  “How’s business?” Cassie flipped the tab on the can. It made a hissing sound.

  Rhonda laughed ruefully. “A little slow, as you can guess. None of the usual customers wanted to appear morbidly curious so everybody stayed away for a while. Now things are getting back to normal.” She focused her attention on the girl. “Seriously, Cass, what are you going to do now? I know your sister would want you to stay in school.”

  “I know she would too.” Cassie sighed. “It’s not that easy. I feel like I’ve just been sucked down into some kind of whirlpool. I can’t get a grip on anything. I don’t even know which end is up right now. I think I need some time to get my bearings.”

  Rhonda patted her knee. “Of course, of course. That makes sense.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “You know that you’re my partner in the business now.”

  Cassie felt startled. She hadn’t stopped to think about her sister’s will. Everything had been left to her. Between stocks and bank accounts, it had turned out to be a considerable amount of money. Enough to let her skate awhile without having to get a job or make any major life decisions. She’d forgotten about the joint ownership of the store.