The Granite Key (Arkana Mysteries)

by N. S. Wikarski

  Daniel was forced to tilt his head upward. So much for level eye contact. “The text is rather cryptic. I don’t understand what it means. It reads: ‘To find the Bones Of The Mother’.”

  At these words, Abraham unaccountably fell to his knees beside the desk. “Thank you, Lord! Thank you!” He clasped his hands and bowed his head.

  Daniel could see his father’s lips moving in a silent prayer of gratitude. He didn’t know what to do—whether he should join him in prayer or look away and allow the old man a moment of privacy in communion with God. Before he could decide on a course of action, Metcalf sprang back to his feet.

  “Observe, Daniel. We see the hand of God in this. The righteous are meant to prevail. It is a sign. In hoc signo vinces! This is the Lord’s doing.” He was pacing again, talking to himself more than to his son.

  Daniel turned around in his chair to follow the Diviner’s erratic movements around the room. “Do you understand what the message means, father?” he asked, mystified.

  “Yes, yes I do.” Abraham paused to glance at his son, a triumphant smile on his face. “Among other things, it means the antiquities dealer who put me on the trail of the artifact wasn’t lying about it. He said it had to do with the Bones Of The Mother.”

  “And what exactly are the Bones Of The Mother, sir?”

  “Something very important to the future of the Blessed Nephilim.” The old man measured his words carefully. “That is all I will say for now.”

  Daniel was beginning to feel a sense of foreboding. “If the message says the key will lead to the Bones, then that means you will have to send someone in search of them.”

  Abraham nodded vigorously. “Quite right. Quite right!”

  The young man’s apprehension grew more intense. Given his father’s volatile emotional state, he didn’t want to upset him. He tried to keep his voice subdued and calm. “Sir, the language of the key is from a time before the gospels. From a time even before the Old Testament was set down. It is a pagan language and the key will surely lead to heathen relics.”

  The old man gave his son an odd look, as if he couldn’t fathom the objection. “Yes, they are heathen relics. What of it?”

  Daniel swallowed hard. He didn’t know how to make his next words sound inoffensive. “Father, are you sure that such a mission is part of God’s plan for the angelic bloodline? From the days of Jedediah Proctor, our very first Diviner, we were instructed to live blameless lives and wait for the Second Coming. We were to keep ourselves pure from the contamination of the Fallen Lands. For fear of pollution no member of the Nephilim has ever dwelt among the Fallen and yet you would be sending someone directly into their world for what could be an extended period of time.”

  “Who is the Diviner here, you or I!” Abraham thundered. “The Lord speaks to me, not you, and He has told me what must be done. Are you questioning my authority?”

  Daniel’s eyes fell. “No sir. Your direction must be followed in all things.” Even as he said the words, he knew he was lying. For the first time in his life, he doubted the divine origin of his father’s instruction. He even doubted Abraham’s sanity. The thought was frightening. It made him almost dizzy with panic that the person in whom he placed absolute faith might be wrong. Concealing as best he could the turmoil that was churning inside of him, he quietly asked, “Who do you plan to send in search of these relics?”

  Again the old man gave him an incredulous look. “Why you, of course.”

  “I?” Daniel gasped. “Surely there must be someone else. I’m hardly qualified—”

  “You are supremely qualified,” the old man cut in. “You have learned how to read this ancient language.”

  The young man could barely contain his panic now. “But father, I…I am a scholar. I understand books. I do not understand the world.”

  In an almost benevolent tone, the old man said, “Fear not, my boy. You won’t be sent off into the Fallen Lands alone. There is a worldly man in my employ. He performs special tasks for me and I will send him to protect you.”

  Daniel’s concern was hardly alleviated by the thought of a stranger, and a worldly one at that, accompanying him on this mysterious search. “In all likelihood, these bones are to be found in the place where this language was last spoken.”

  “Yes, yes.” Abraham nodded in agreement. “That is very likely.”

  “B…b…but, that’s halfway around the world!” Daniel blurted out.

  The old man’s voice held a hint of warning. “Daniel, what is the greatest of all sins?”

  The young man sighed and looked down at the floor. “Disobedience, sir.”

  “I hope I’m not detecting a wicked obstinacy in you.”

  “No, sir.”

  Abraham came to stand next to his son’s chair once more. “God has charged me with a great responsibility. I am the servant of the Lord just as you are my servant. We are all links in the great Chain of Being. It will be your task to find me these bones, wherever they may be hidden.”

  Daniel said nothing. He was too appalled to speak. The grim irony of the situation didn’t escape him. He had originally been keenly interested to go to the library in the city and learn about the internet from the handsome young librarian. It was an innocent little adventure not far from home and he had relished it. At the time, it had been his father who was alarmed at his interest in the outer world. His father who had cautioned him about the dangers of the Fallen Lands. And now it was his father who was pushing him directly toward those dangers to seek out a pagan abomination. Whether his father was divinely inspired or simply gone mad was beyond his power to discern but he feared that his own soul hung in the balance.

  Abraham took his son’s long silence as a sign of consent. He continued. “You will proceed to translate the other symbols on the key. Hopefully they will give us more information regarding the location of the relics I seek. You will come to me again only when you have deciphered the rest of the code. Then we will prepare for your journey.”

  Daniel felt as if he had just received a death sentence. “Yes sir,” he said meekly. “I will do as you wish.”

  Chapter 26 – Pythia Practice

  It had been a few weeks since Cassie last visited Faye’s house. The old woman had instructed her to come by to round out her training, whatever that was supposed to mean.

  The girl reflected that it might have been a century since their last meeting considering how much her life had changed in less than a month. Faye looked ancient as ever when she opened the door. She was wearing what Cassie took to be her uniform—an overly bright floral house dress.

  Since it was raining when the girl arrived, chatting in the garden was out of the question. Faye asked her to have a seat in the parlor while the old woman went toward the back of the house to retrieve something.

  Cassie sat down on the sofa. Like everything else in Faye’s house it gave the impression of great age although the velvet fabric wasn’t worn and the camels back upholstery didn’t sag. The girl looked at the coffee table in front of her. There were three objects placed on it—a clay pot, a stone cat, and a little carved statue. She had just reached out a hand toward the statue when she heard Faye’s voice emerging from the dining room. “Don’t touch those just yet, dear. We’ll go through them one by one.”

  The old woman reentered the parlor balancing a tray of tea and cookies. She placed it on the table in front of Cassie. “I thought you’d like a snack. After all, it’s a long drive out here from the city.”

  The girl transferred her attention from the relics to the food. She sipped and nibbled for a few moments in silence while Faye settled into the purple armchair across from her and poured herself a cup of tea.

  The old woman regarded her visitor with bright blue eyes. “How has your introduction to the Arkana been going?”

  Cassie shrugged. “Some of it has been great, some of it not so good.”

  “Oh?” Faye’s expression showed concern.

  “That Erik is a rea
l piece of work.”

  “Erik?” the old woman echoed in surprise.

  “Yeah, I think he’s a total jerk. He was so rude to me during our session that I couldn’t even talk to him. I went to Maddie instead.”

  “I see,” Faye said. Those two little words suggested volumes about what she inferred and understood. “Don’t let his behavior trouble you. I believe he’ll work through his ‘issues’ as you young people would say.”

  Cassie put her cup down on the table. She hesitated before speaking. “Actually what he said didn’t bother me half as much as something Maddie said.”

  “Oh?”

  “She was telling me about the Nephilim and how they’ve messed up some of your expeditions before and…” She paused.

  Faye continued to sip her tea without comment.

  “I’ve had a few days to put the pieces together.” The girl gazed intently at Faye. “They killed my parents too, didn’t they?”

  The old woman reached across the coffee table to squeeze Cassie’s hand. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way, my dear. Maddie didn’t join the Arkana until sometime after it happened. She never knew your parents and probably didn’t realize what she was saying to you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me yourself?”

  Faye gave her a worried glance. “I thought you already had enough tragedy to deal with after Sybil’s death. I was waiting for a more opportune time to explain the rest.”

  Cassie stared off into space. “It’s funny but I can hardly remember them at all. My mom had dark, shoulder length hair. And my dad’s hair was thinning on top. When I was a kid, I used to have a bird collection. Little figurines. Some were carved wood, some were blown glass or porcelain. They would always bring me a new one whenever they came back from a trip.”

  “They were wonderful people, your parents,” Faye commented in a low voice. “They loved life and they had the enthusiasm of children whenever they were able to locate a unique artifact. I believe their last mission had something to do with Asherah, the Canaanite goddess. They made phone contact with the local trove-keeper shortly after they landed in Israel. And then they disappeared into the desert and were never seen again.”

  Cassie cleared her throat uncomfortably. “So nobody knows what really happened to them?”

  Faye shook her head. “The artifact they were sent to find was later seen in the possession of a Nephilim operative so we know who was responsible.”

  Cassie was quiet for a long while, thinking. “I guess that makes it simpler,” she said at last. “A single spot to lay the blame. The Nephilim are the one and only reason that my entire family is gone.”

  “We’re still here,” Faye added quietly. “You aren’t alone.”

  Cassie nodded, blinking back a few tears. “It helps to know that. It really does.”

  The two women remained silent for several moments. Finally Faye asked cautiously, “Do you want to postpone these exercises for another time?”

  Cassie shook her head. “No. I’m OK, really. I’ve had some time to sort this out and get used to the idea. I just needed to hear it from you. Now I’d rather think about something else. Anything else, in fact.” She poured herself another cup of tea, regarding the curious objects laid out on the coffee table before her. Changing the subject abruptly, she asked, “So what’s this stuff? Some more validation to prove I’m the real deal?”

  “Not exactly. We’re all quite convinced you have the necessary gift to help us. You should consider this more of a training session to hone your skills.”

  Her appetite returning, Cassie reached for a cookie. “What’s to hone? I pick something up, I have a psychotic episode and then I tell you what I see.”

  Faye chuckled. “Surely you meant to say ‘psychic’ episode.”

  “Nope,” Cassie replied. “I meant what I said. Psychotic. Picking up that bowl last time I was here made me feel like I was losing my mind.”

  “Ah, I understand. In that case, you should find this training especially helpful. We’re going to attempt to put you in control of your visions rather than being at their mercy.”

  “I’m all for that,” the girl agreed readily. She dusted crumbs off her jeans. “Where do we start?”

  “Why don’t we begin by working left to right,” Faye suggested. “Just pick up the pot and tell me what you sense.”

  Before she touched it, Cassie took a few seconds to look at the object. It was a piece of pottery about the size of a soup bowl only not as shallow. The bottom half was red clay and the top half appeared to have a black glaze overlay. She took it into her hands. Her fingers were on the outside surface and her thumbs hooked over the rim. She was amazed at how thin and delicate the clay was. Little more than the thickness of an eggshell and then her vision took over.

  She was still holding the pot but now she was shaping it. The clay was moist and pliable. She was pressing it against her palm to thin it out. She looked down at her hands, at her arms. With a start, she realized her skin was brown. Darker than any tan she’d ever had. Then she realized it was the potter whose arms were brown, though they felt as if they were her own. After a few seconds, she began to notice other things. She seemed to be sitting cross-legged on the ground. A sandy, flat piece of ground. The tunic she wore felt scratchy against her skin. It reminded her of an unlined flax jacket she once owned. The potter paused a moment to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun and then Cassie saw the river. Sparkling and dancing with light. It was as wide as the Mississippi though she knew this wasn’t anywhere in America. There were palm trees growing along the banks. The potter wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. It was hot. So hot that each breath she drew into her lungs felt as if she were inhaling from a furnace. A stiff breeze was coming off the water but instead of cooling her it seemed to stir up more moisture, making the air unbearably heavy. Her gaze shifted to a camp fire that was burning just behind her out of reach. It was smoking more than burning. A thick black cloud emanated from the center. At first Cassie couldn’t understand why anybody would light a fire on a day like this until she noticed the other pots. They were positioned face down on a clay rack over the fire. The portion that rested on the rack was taking on the black color of the smoke that was swirling around the crockery.

  That was all. Then Cassie was back in Faye’s parlor again. The old woman was looking at her intently, a slight smile on her face.

  “Now that was kind of cool,” the girl said appreciatively. “Except that it was so hot.”

  “What did you see,” Faye prompted.

  Cassie gave her all the details.

  “Did you recognize your location?”

  “I can’t say I recognized it because it was someplace I know I’ve never been. But I’m pretty sure I was in the Middle East. Sand everywhere and scorching hot. Maybe the river was the Nile?” she posited uncertainly. “Was I in Egypt?”

  Faye smiled approvingly. “That was a very good guess. Yes, this object was originally found in Egypt though not the Egypt you’ve heard about in history class.” She picked up the pot and studied it briefly. “This is a Badarian artifact.”

  “Badarian?” Cassie echoed blankly.

  “As I said, not something you would have been taught. The Badarians were a people who settled in El-Badari in central Egypt. The town is along the eastern bank of the Nile River. Approximately 7000 tombs were found scattered around the region. Badarian grave goods have allowed archaeologists to date the time of their occupation. They lived in the area between 5500 BCE and 4000 BCE. We can infer several things about their culture. They were primarily farmers and kept domesticated livestock though fishing also supplemented their food supply. Hunting, by this time, had ceased to be an important occupation. They were skilled at making pottery and also working metals into jewelry and tools. The graves of females tended to be larger than males, at least before the onset of the dynasties. An enormous number of carved stone figurines have been found. They were invariably female, probably goddess statue
s, which suggests a matristic culture.”

  “What’s matristic?” asked Cassie. “That’s a word I’ve never heard before.”

  “We use the term matristic rather than matriarchal to refer to a particular type of social organization. The word matriarchy has come to mean a society of female rule that is the mirror image of male-dominant patriarchy.” Faye chuckled. “What an absurd idea. I don’t think women would ever be silly enough to adopt it. Any culture based on domination is highly unstable. It carries within it the seeds of its own destruction. Enormous resources are required to continually suppress the masses for any length of time. Dominance can only be maintained through chronic warfare. In contrast, a matristic culture is one in which the sexes are equal, the social order is relatively democratic, but lineage and inheritance follow the female line rather than the male. The principal deity of matristic societies is typically a mother goddess.”

  Faye paused to see if Cassie was following her explanation before she continued. “As I was saying, we are convinced that the Badarians were a matristic culture. The greatest evidence for our theory is the fact that warfare was unknown among them.”

  “How can you be sure of that?” Cassie asked skeptically.

  The old woman smiled. “The bones tell us everything. When the skeletons in Badarian tombs were examined, there was no evidence at all of traumatic injury. No indication of battle wounds. People died of natural causes. Over a fifteen hundred year period. That’s an impressive record of peace by any standard. Aside from that, their artifacts consist of tools, not weapons. They certainly had the necessary metal-working skills to create arrow heads, spears and knives, but they didn’t. They used that technology for more constructive purposes.”

  “It all sounds peachy. So what happened to them?”

  “Other tribes migrated into the region and the Badarians moved elsewhere. Eventually the entire area was thrown into a state of flux when the invasions began.”

  “Don’t tell me that Egypt got invaded too. Was it the Hellenes again?”