“The burial practices of the invaders were very different from that of the Vinca and other cultures of Old Europe. Kurgan is a Russian word meaning barrow. A barrow is a manmade hill and these people buried their dead, especially their important male leaders, in raised mounds. Frequently the chief’s wife was ritually murdered to accompany him into the afterlife. Along with his favorite horse, of course.”
Cassie darted a swift look at Faye to see if she was joking.
Reading her expression, the old woman said, “I assure you, it’s all disturbingly true. Horse skulls and weapons were interred with the deceased.”
“Sure glad they’re not around anymore,” Cassie commented.
“Oh but they are, though they’ve learned some manners over the ages. In fact, you and I and anyone of European origin is either a descendent of theirs or of the people they victimized.”
Cassie gulped down the remainder of her sandwich. It occurred to her that there were some things about her family history that she’d rather not know.
Chapter 28 – Linear Thinking
The morning after Faye’s training session with Cassie, she received an unexpected phone call from Griffin. At first he was babbling. It took several tries to calm him down enough to get any sort of useful information. As was typical of Griffin, he started at the tail end of the explanation and Faye had to coax him back to the beginning. Eventually he blurted out the essence of what he was trying to say: “I’ve done it. I’ve cracked the code!”
Uttering a silent prayer of thanks that the waiting was over at last, Faye got into her station wagon and drove out to the schoolhouse to get the full story. She entered the vault and knocked on the door to the Scrivener’s office. When he swung the door open, his eyes were ablaze with excitement.
Maddie was already seated in one of the wing chairs, her chin propped up by her hand, wearing an annoyed expression on her face. Faye had instructed Griffin to include the Operations Director in the discussion. The Scrivener bustled the old woman into the other wing chair and then dashed around the office collecting a volume from a bookcase on one side, another from the opposite end of the room, a third from the floor behind his desk. He slammed them all down on the desk and dropped into his own chair, looking at the two women expectantly.
“He’s been like this all morning,” Maddie commented to Faye. “Absolutely whacko but he wouldn’t tell me anything until you got here.”
Faye smiled to herself. Griffin might consider himself a poor liar but he certainly knew how to keep a secret.
“It’s the most extraordinary thing!” he exclaimed, as if that explained everything.
“Yes dear, I’m sure it is,” Faye said soothingly. “Now why don’t you take a deep breath and calm yourself.”
“No time for that,” Griffin brushed off the remark. He had already dived into one of the retrieved volumes and was rapidly thumbing through the pages, muttering to himself all the while. “That’s not it. Why on earth did I mark that text? Ah yes, I have you now!” He slid the volume toward the opposite end of the desk so the two women could see it. “What do you make of that?” he asked triumphantly.
They both leaned forward in their chairs to study a full page illustration. It was a table of mysterious symbols. They looked at one another blankly, at a loss for what he expected them to say.
Faye spoke first. “I can’t make anything of it,” she admitted. “Runes were never my area of expertise.”
“Ah, that’s just it, isn’t it?” he asked in a significant tone.
“Is what?” She peered at him closely. Not for the first time, she had to remind herself that he was a bit eccentric. Geniuses often were but at the moment he seemed to have crossed the line from mildly eccentric to manic depressive. “Griffin, you really must settle down. Now what do you want to tell us about the runes, dear?”
He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “They aren’t runes,” he said abruptly. “That’s it precisely. When I first started work on translating the key, I thought I instantly recognized some of the markings as Scandinavian runes.” He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “But they’re not.”
Faye studied the page of symbols again. “They certainly look like runes to me. Are you quite sure?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he affirmed. “That was the fatal flaw in my logic. I automatically assumed that since the characters appeared runic, the language would be one of the scripts associated with matristic cultures.” He sighed deeply. “But I was wrong.”
Maddie’s voice asserted itself. “For those of us just tuning in who don’t have a clue what you two are talking about, do you think you could maybe start with ‘Once Upon a Time’?”
“Oh yes, of course. Very sorry, Maddie.” Her comment seemed to have a sobering effect on him. “How much do you know about the scripts of Old Europe?”
“You mean the original written languages?” she asked. “Not much. Go ahead and assume I belong on the short bus.”
“Very well, then, I’ll start at the very beginning.” He cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. “It is quite likely that written language originated with the sacred symbols of Old Europe. Signs that had spiritual significance were found inscribed on a variety of artifacts dated to around 5000 BCE. Their principal purpose was an invocation to the goddess, a prayer if you will. Though tablets found at a Vinca excavation site are the most well-known, the same symbols have been unearthed from a variety of other contemporaneous cultures in southeastern Europe. They have even been found on pottery and bone objects from as far away as southern Italy and western Europe. The ancient runes of Scandinavia also derive from the same source. It would not be an exaggeration to say that this script was a universal phenomenon of Old European culture.
“The symbols consist of straight lines, dots, and curved lines in various combinations with each other. So far, two hundred and ten Vinca signs have been identified. About a third of them are symbols used in common throughout Europe at the time. These symbols all but disappeared during the first wave of Kurgan invasions around 4000 BCE. Writing of a different sort emerged in Sumeria at about 3000 BCE but it was used for a very different purpose—in the service of law and bureaucracy. Devoid of spirituality, it counted property and promulgated edicts.
“Happily, the old script didn’t die out completely. Because the Kurgan infiltration of Europe didn’t extend into the middle of the Aegean Sea, the old script was carried forward to the island of Cypress where it evolved into the classical Cypriot syllabary. Likewise it persisted in the hieroglyphics of Minoan Crete and in the Minoan Linear A script.”
The Scrivener reached into a desk drawer and retrieved the replica of the stone key. He slid it across the desk until it rested next to the open page of the book. “Compare the markings on the key to what you see in the book,” he instructed.
The two women scrutinized both items carefully.
“It appears to me that one line of text on the key matches some of the characters in this book,” Faye noted.
“Either way, it’s all Greek to me.” Maddie shrugged.
Griffin sprang out of his chair and leaned over the desk. Fixing Maddie with an intense stare he said, “You are more right than you can possibly imagine!”
He flipped over to the next page in the book.
Faye read the caption aloud. “Mycenean Linear B Syllabary.” She looked up at Griffin and smiled. “Oh, I see.”
“Well I don’t. What’s he talking about?” asked Maddie irritably.
Griffin sat back down, still glowing with exhilaration at his discovery. “Some of the characters on the granite key are Mycenaean. The Mycenaeans were early invaders of Greece and later Crete. They were descendants of the Kurgan steppe nomads but we think of them as proto-Greek. So when you said, ‘It’s all Greek to’—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it now,” Maddie cut in. “Very funny. Get to the point.”
Griffin dutifully complied. “You will note that each of the five sides of the granit
e key contains one line of script that corresponds to Linear B characters. Above each character is a symbol, a hieroglyph.”
Faye picked up the key and turned it over in her hands. Maddie looked over her shoulder.
Griffin continued. “I believe the hieroglyphic symbols are meant to be translated into the corresponding Linear B syllables.”
“So it’s like a substitution code?” the Operations Director asked. “A letter of the Greek alphabet for a hieroglyphic?”
“Not quite as simple as that,” Griffin said. “Linear B is a syllabary, actually. Each character corresponds to a consonant and a vowel together or a vowel sound alone. The Mycenaeans got the idea from the Minoan Linear A syllabary but they had to adapt it to their own language. The Greek language, and all Indo-European languages, are different from what came before. They cannot conveniently use alternating consonants and vowels so the characters had to mean something different in Linear B than they did in Linear A or the Cypriot syllabary. We still have not been able to translate Linear A because the Minoan language has been lost. Linear B, however, is another matter. Fortunately for us, it has been translated into Greek.”
“Then you can read what this line of script says?” Faye asked.
“I can read the syllables,” Griffin admitted, “but that isn’t the same as the message.”
“OK, you lost me again,” Maddie complained, rubbing her forehead tiredly.
“The key only shows which Linear B syllable corresponds to which hieroglyphic. The meaning of the message is in another location. I have a theory that the hieroglyphics are assembled in a particular order and the key provides the Greek syllables to translate that message.”
“But that could be anywhere,” the Operations Director protested.
“On the contrary, it can only be one place in the world,” Griffin replied proudly.
The two women looked at one another skeptically and then back at the Scrivener.
“It’s on the island of Crete,” he said simply.
“On Crete,” Maddie echoed, unconvinced. “How can you know that?”
“It’s fairly straightforward, actually. There are a few reasons why I draw that conclusion. First, Linear B was used in only two places on the planet. One was in southern Greece, primarily the Peloponnese, and the other on Crete.”
“OK, Mr. Wizard, that gives you two places to look, not one,” the Operations Director contradicted, “and the Peloponnesian peninsula is a pretty big place.”
Griffin smiled angelically. “That’s true but there’s one other bit of information that the granite key yielded which eliminated the Greek mainland from my search.”
Without warning, the young man flew out of his chair and whisked yet another volume from off the bookshelf to his right. He placed it in the middle of his desk and, without explanation, sat down again. He continued, “There was one line of text on the key, just here, you see?” He pointed to one of the five sides which contained three lines of markings instead of two.
Faye handed the granite key to Maddie for her to examine.
The latter looked at it briefly then turned a questioning gaze to Griffin. “Do you know what the extra line says?” she asked.
“I do,” he concurred. “The Linear B script roughly translates as the phrase ‘To find the Bones Of The Mother.’”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Maddie asked, handing the granite key back to Faye.
Wordlessly, Griffin gave her the volume he had just taken from the bookshelf. “This is a field journal written by one of our operatives on Crete over a century ago. I would direct your attention to page twenty seven.”
Maddie found the page marked with a post-it note. She began to read aloud: “There is an ancient legend which tells of the time when misfortune befell the Minoans: earthquakes and tidal waves and barbarian invaders who forced new laws and new gods upon the people. After a time the Minoans despaired. Thinking the goddess had abandoned them, they began to forget the old ways. A small number of those still faithful to the Lady struggled to uphold her rituals. They believed she would return to the land one day. To that end, they collected her most sacred relics which they called ‘The Bones Of The Mother’ and hid them away.”
Maddie paused and looked up at Griffin quizzically. “That’s a pretty odd name for a collection of relics. ‘Bones Of The Mother.’ You don’t think they’re actual human bones, do you?”
The Scrivener shook his head. “Not human, no. In all likelihood, it’s a reference to objects made of stone or that which could be mined from stone—ore, gems, crystals.”
The Operations Director squinted at him skeptically. “How do you figure?”
“The term ‘Bones Of The Mother’ has a precise mythological meaning. It is most well-known in the Hellenic story of Deucalion and Pyrrha, though considering how much overlord mythology is stolen from earlier cultures, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the term originated with the Minoans and was, shall we say, borrowed by the Hellenes.”
“So what’s the myth?” Maddie asked flatly.
“Like so many other descendents of the steppe nomads, the Hellenes had a flood myth. The parallels to the biblical version are rather striking. Supposedly Zeus decided to destroy humanity but Deucalion and his wife Pyrrha were resourceful enough to build an ark which weathered the deluge and landed safely on Mount Parnassus. Being the only humans left alive, the couple was now faced with the dilemma of how to repopulate the earth post haste. After consulting an oracle of Themis, Deucalion was advised to throw the bones of his mother over his shoulder. He and Pyrrha took the word ‘mother’ to mean the earth, the mother of all living things. They interpreted her bones to be stones. As the couple began casting stones over their shoulders, the ones cast by Pyrrha changed into women, the ones cast by Deucalion changed into men.”
Maddie nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. “Makes sense so far.” She turned her attention back to the journal and continued reading. “It is said that the secret to finding the Bones Of The Mother can be found at the high place of the goddess. A cipher in stone waiting to be unlocked by one who holds the key. It is also said that the one of the objects in this collection of treasures is the Voice of Heaven itself.”
“The Voice Of Heaven is one of the many names given to the Sage Stone,” Griffin explained.
“The Sage Stone,” Faye echoed. ‘Then my worst fears have been confirmed.”
“What?” Maddie gasped. “That’s impossible. The Sage Stone is a myth. It doesn’t exist.”
“Everyone thought Troy was a myth until the ruins at Hissarlik were excavated,” countered the Scrivener.
“You don’t actually think there’s something to this, do you?” Maddie asked cautiously.
“I do now,” he replied in a solemn voice. “According to the field journal, a cache of Minoan sacred objects was hidden somewhere. I think the directions for finding them have been encrypted in code on Crete and that the granite key provides the means to unlock that code. The passage you just read explicitly states that one of those sacred objects is the Sage Stone which leads me to conclude that it does, in fact, exist.”
Faye looked down at the granite key which she still held absently in her hands. “Now that we know all this, it seems even more incomprehensible that the Nephilim would pursue such artifacts. The Sage Stone is the quintessential matristic relic. Of what possible use could it be to a Christian fundamentalist cult? It’s far more likely they would dismiss both the Bones Of The Mother and the Sage Stone as heathen nonsense.”
“So what’s our next move?” Maddie asked them both.
Griffin looked at Faye. A silent message seemed to be passing between them.
Faye sighed. “It was my original intention not to take any action to retrieve relics the Nephilim wanted. Better to let them have the artifacts than to risk exposing our organization. But under the circumstances, I believe that approach would be a mistake. The Sage Stone is too significant a find for us to sacrifice. Mor
e importantly, in the hands of the Nephilim it could be put to a very bad use. I had hoped to avoid a confrontation but I see no recourse. It’s time to call a meeting of the Concordance.”
Chapter 29 – Hunt For The Bones
Once Daniel had cracked the first line of code, it was an easy matter to sort out the rest of the markings on the key. In consequence, Abraham was finally able to set his plan in motion. As a first step, he made an uncharacteristic journey to the Fallen Lands. On a warm spring morning, Metcalf seated himself on a bench in Millennium Park in the heart of Chicago and waited. He felt distinctly out of place. This park was a monument to the worldly folly of the Fallen. It held a distracting array of fountains, pavilions, and modern art work which tourists came to gawk at. Metcalf thought briefly of John Bunyan’s Vanity Fair. Little about Fallen nature had changed in four hundred years. He disliked the atmosphere, the noise, the crowds but it suited his present purpose. The park gave him complete anonymity. He was orchestrating a delicate scheme and he didn’t want his flock scrutinizing his activities too closely at this juncture. Some matters couldn’t be explained to them. Not just yet anyway. He looked at his wristwatch, noting that the hour for his rendezvous had arrived.
A shadow fell across Metcalf’s body as he bent his head down to check the time. He looked up to see a man standing above him. The man was wearing a cowboy hat and chewing on a toothpick. He grinned affably.
“Mornin’ chief. How y’all doin’ this fine day?”
Abraham shielded his eyes from the eastern sun and treated his companion to a rare smile. “Good morning to you, Mr. Hunt. Please have a seat.”
Hunt raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was apparently unprepared for such a cordial reception. Nevertheless he sat down on the bench next to Metcalf and waited for an explanation.
“I have some more work for you, Mr. Hunt,” Abraham began.
The Granite Key (Arkana Mysteries) Page 16