The Dragon's Wing Enigma (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 3)

by N. S. Wikarski

  He checked his watch. Leroy was late. He should have been here half an hour ago. Chopper felt a sinking sensation. What if he didn’t show at all? Bowdeen had to make some quick decisions but he couldn’t do that without knowing the whole story.

  “Hey, brother, how you doin’?”

  Chopper jumped when he felt a friendly paw slap him on the shoulder. He hated how twitchy his nerves had become lately. He glanced over at the man who had just joined him. Hunt was still sporting his Hollywood cowboy look—Stetson hat, string tie, snakeskin boots and a silver belt buckle big enough to knock somebody’s teeth out. Hunt removed his hat and laid it on the bar. He ran a comb through the pompadour wave in his hair.

  Bowdeen put on his game face and smiled. The scar across his lip must have made it appear more of a snarl but Hunt didn’t seem to notice. He was busy telling the bartender to bring him a shot of tequila.

  Leroy straddled the bar stool next to Bowdeen’s. “Life been treatin’ you good, Chopper?” When the name escaped his lips, it sounded like “Choppuh.”

  “Can’t complain,” Chopper said noncommittally. “That old preacher is keepin’ me hoppin’.”

  “That so?” Hunt sounded genuinely surprised. “Last I heard he wanted you to train some greenhorns on the business end of a gun. That shoulda been a slam dunk even with those retards.”

  “He’s got me workin’ on something else now. Security for the compound.”

  Leroy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That place is already shut up so tight that a flea ain’t gonna jump inside without settin’ off bells and whistles someplace. What’s he want more security for?”

  Chopper shrugged. “You tell me. I think it’s because one of his wives disappeared.”

  Leroy chuckled silently.

  “You know something about it?”

  Hunt downed his shot in a single gulp and signaled for another. “Fact is, I’m on her trail right now. Guess she didn’t cotton to marryin’ an old coot like Abe. Gal’s barely out of diapers herself and about to be saddled with a young un of her own. Them Nephilim sure got some strange notions about women.”

  “Findin’ a kid like that should be a piece of cake for an ole tracker like you. Remember when we used to go coon huntin’ back home? Everybody always said, ‘Don’t need no hound. Got Leroy’.”

  Hunt guffawed and slapped his knee at the memory. “Yup, I surely do recall them times. Wasn’t a critter I couldn’t run down. Didn’t make no difference how small. I once tracked a squirrel on a bet. Course it wasn’t no ordinary squirrel. Lost half its tail in a fight or some such. Anyhow, I bagged it in a couple hours.”

  “So how come you got a problem now?” Bowdeen asked in puzzlement.

  The cowboy scowled before replying. “Turns out this little gal is a mite more clever than a stumpy squirrel. Managed to find her way to the big bad city all by herself. Of course, she mighta had some help from—” He cut himself short.

  Chopper knew there was more to the story but Leroy wasn’t about to tell him what it was.

  Instead Hunt changed the subject. “So you called me to come meet you ‘cause you got a hankerin’ to talk about the old days?”

  Chopper peered into the depths of his beer glass. “Naw, that ain’t it. I wanted to find out what you know about Metcalf. What’s he got up his sleeve?”

  “What you mean, ‘what’s he got up his sleeve?’”

  Bowdeen shrugged, trying to appear casual. “He’s got bigger plans than just training kids at the compound. He wants me to train all the kids at all the compounds around the world.”

  Leroy let out a low whistle. “Well, well. Sounds like you fell into a pile o’ money. That’s a sweet gig.” He signaled to the bartender to refill his shot glass.

  Chopper finished his beer and ordered another. “It would be a sweet gig if I could figure out what he needs all that firepower for.”

  Hunt’s eyes narrowed. “Time was, you wouldn’t of asked a question like that.”

  “Time was, I wasn’t in the business of training home-grown terrorists!”

  Hunt swiveled on his bar stool to stare directly at Bowdeen’s profile. “Now that’s gratitude for you! I hand you a ticket to ride on the gravy train and all you can do is piss and moan ‘cause you ain’t got all the facts?” Hunt’s voice was getting loud enough that other patrons turned to stare at the pair. “What’s the matter, man? The old preacher’s money ain’t green enough for you?”

  Chopper felt stunned by the cowboy’s reaction. “Take it easy, Leroy. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  Hunt got off his barstool and grabbed Bowdeen by the collar. He shoved his face in close to whisper, “I swear if you queer this deal for me, I’ll track you down and gut you like a wild hog. And you know I ain’t lyin’!”

  Chopper raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Now hold on. I ain’t gonna rock the boat or interfere in your business.”

  Leroy backed off a few inches. “That’s more like it. From where I’m standin’ you got no call to belly ache. Just the opposite. Didn’t your momma teach you no manners? When a fella does you a favor, you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ but I ain’t heard those words come out of your mouth one time yet.”

  Bowdeen retreated even further. He decided nothing more could be gained by riling Hunt. “Sorry, man. I got a little sideways. You’re right.”

  “Damn straight.” Leroy resumed his seat and downed another shot.

  “The next round’s on me,” Chopper added. “Like you said, it’s a sweet gig. Thanks, brother. I owe you one.”

  Leroy nodded. “Now that’s proper manners. My momma would’a liked that.”

  Hunt lapsed into a mellow silence after a few more shots of tequila. Bowdeen was glad of the conversational lull so he could ponder his problem anew. Rather than getting some answers he’d been hit with an even bigger and more troubling question. Leroy was obviously working on something else for the old man and he probably had an agenda that the preacher wasn’t aware of. What deal was he so worried that Chopper might queer for him? Bowdeen sighed and added that mystery to the stack he’d already accumulated.

  The only useful bit of information he’d learned tonight was that Leroy had no clue about the Diviner’s grand plan, whatever it was. In all the years Chopper had known his cowboy pal, there was one thing you could count on. Leroy only cared about what was good for Leroy. The rest of the world could collapse around his ears and so long as it didn’t clock him when it came crashing down, he wouldn’t even blink.

  Chopper signaled to the bartender and ordered a double shot of whiskey. He was going to start drinking in earnest now. Leaving his contract with the Nephilim was out of the question. He already knew the cult would be after him if he quit but that idea didn’t trouble him half as much as the thought of getting on Hunt’s bad side. He might elude the Nephilim but he knew for sure he’d never outrun his ole buddy. Leroy had a gift that way. He always nailed what he was after. Always. For a brief moment, Bowdeen pitied the girl Leroy was tracking now. She didn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter 28 – Hex Marks the Spot

  Ortzi maneuvered his sedan through the streets of Bilbao and onto the open highway of the surrounding countryside. He had insisted that the Pythia take the front seat. Fortunately for her two companions, the back seat afforded a good deal more legroom than Thea’s tiny electric car.

  Cassie observed the green valleys and grey mountains that rolled past her window. At regular intervals, a succession of large buildings dotted the landscape. They all seemed to follow the same pattern—boxy design, three stories high, gently sloping red tile roofs. Their facades were a combination of whitewashed stone and painted wood.

  “Is there a name for a building like that?” Cassie asked the trove-keeper, pointing to one of the distinctive structures as they drove past it.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “That is a Basque farmhouse—what we call a ‘basseri’. Some of them are quite old, going back many centuries. The farmhouse can b
e inherited by a man or woman. If it is a man, he is called the ‘etxekojaun’ or, in English, ‘the master of the house’. If it is a woman, then she is the ‘etxekoandre’ or ‘lady of the house’.”

  “Isn’t that what you called your Aunt Ochanda?” Cassie asked. “You said she was the etshe... etshe—”

  “Etxekoandre. Yes, she is the lady of the house though she will retire soon.”

  “The term ‘lady of the house’ is deceptive,” Griffin observed. “In practice, the etxekoandre is something more like the matriarch of the family. She governs all matters related to the kin group and its ancestral home. She even leads some of the religious ceremonies. Basque culture has a long-standing tradition of female authority. Strabo, the ancient Greek historian, said that the Basques practiced a sort of ‘woman-rule’ which he concluded was most uncivilized.”

  Ortzi glanced at Griffin in the rear-view mirror. “You know much about the Basque people.”

  “It’s what he does,” Cassie remarked. “Whenever we go on a field mission, he reads up on everything he can find about the places where we’ll be travelling. Not only that, he remembers everything he reads.”

  “It is useful to have such a person with you, yes?” Ortzi asked.

  “Absolutely!” Cassie agreed. “Griffin’s the best.”

  The Scrivener blushed at her enthusiastic endorsement.

  Apparently feeling left out, Erik decided to demonstrate what he knew about the region. “The Basques don’t automatically pass property from father to eldest son like overlord cultures do.”

  “Also true,” their guide concurred. “When the etxekoandre and etxekojaun are old and wish to retire, they decide which of their children will inherit the farm. It will be passed down to the one most capable whether it be a daughter or a son. Sometimes it is the youngest daughter who will inherit the property. The basseri is never supposed to be divided or sold out of the family.”

  “So it’s more like being a trustee than an owner,” Cassie commented. “The one who inherits, manages it for the family as a whole.”

  Ortzi nodded.

  Cassie studied another basseri passing by the window as they drove on. “Those buildings are huge. Basques must have really big families.”

  Their guide chuckled. “The building is for the family, yes, but not only the family. Part of it is a barn for the pigs and sheep and goats and cows and horses. Another part is for storage. Some basseriak have cider presses as well.”

  “So it’s like a whole farm operation under one roof,” the Pythia noted.

  “And then as more room is needed, additions are built on one side or the other.”

  “Because these farms have been in operation for centuries, it stands to reason that the core building would keep expanding over time,” Griffin remarked.

  “Sure beats the hell out of a pole shed and a chicken coop,” Erik said.

  “I think they have character.” Cassie’s voice held a note of approval. She paused as another thought struck her. She turned eagerly toward Ortzi. “Is that where the Basque trove is hidden? In your basseri?”

  Ortzi shook his head. “The trove is hidden deep in the mountains where nobody who should not know of its existence can find it. I am not taking you there because none of our artifacts can help you.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said in a small, disappointed voice. She’d secretly been hoping for a grand tour.

  As they rounded the next curve, a large stone farmhouse came into view. The second floor windows were framed by wooden shutters and decorative cross-beams painted red. The first level contained a huge wooden door beneath an arch. Both were also painted red.

  Ortzi pulled the car up near the building. As they got out, the front door opened and an elderly woman emerged.

  She was of medium height and squarely built with curly silver hair and sharp hazel eyes. Her weathered skin bore the appearance of someone who had spent much of her life out of doors. She was dressed in black pants covered by a bright blue smock that reached to her knees. When she saw the visitors, she gave a welcoming smile and gestured for them to come inside.

  “I am Ochanda Exteberri. Welcome to the home of my family.” Her English, like her nephew’s, was very good. “Come in, come in,” the old woman urged. She beckoned them into what appeared to be a huge kitchen. The walls and floor were made of fieldstone. The high ceiling was supported by dark oak crossbeams. A large stone hearth dominated the side wall. At the moment, it glowed with the embers of a banked fire.

  “Please sit down.” She pointed to a trestle table in the center of the room. Each visitor took a chair around it. After Griffin had introduced everyone, Ochanda murmured some words in Euskara to her nephew. He immediately went to one of the cupboards and fetched down half a dozen glasses. Then he left the room, only to return a moment later with a bottle.

  “We are just beginning our apple harvest,” the matriarch explained. “You must try some of our cider. It is very well known. We sell it in the market in town.”

  While Ortzi was busy filling glasses and passing them around, Ochanda piled plates with fruit, nuts and cheese and laid them on the table.

  “This cheese is called ‘idiazabal’. It is made from sheep’s milk,” she explained.

  “I don’t recognize the fruit,” Cassie said uncertainly.

  “In English, the name is ‘quince’.”

  Ortzi handed the Pythia a glass of cider. “This is last year’s vintage. We have none ready yet for this year.”

  Cassie took a sip of the amber liquid. The first taste made her realize that this wasn’t like the cider back home. It was apple wine. She assuaged her guilt by remembering that she was of legal drinking age in Spain, if not in the US. “Very good,” she said.

  They all readily agreed as they chatted and consumed the accompaniments. Griffin launched into an explanation of their quest to the etxekoandre and her nephew.

  While he was speaking, Erik leaned over and murmured in the Pythia’s ear, “I’m cutting you off after one glass, toots.”

  She shot him an offended look. “So now you’re the apple police?”

  “Just looking out for you. It’s my job, remember?”

  “I’m legal in Spain.”

  The Security Coordinator cocked an amused eyebrow at her unfortunate choice of words. “One glass,” he repeated. “That’s it.”

  They turned their attention back to the others.

  Griffin was just beginning to recite the clue which had brought them there. “Let Eurus fill the sails twelve days, then follow Eberos where it climbs to the sky. Set your course four bees from the dragon’s wing to the sea. When the bull turns the season, mark where the goat grazes the spinner’s peak. There lies the second of five you seek.”

  “We’ve already figured out the first part about Eurus and Eberos,” Cassie said. “That’s what got us here.”

  “Quite,” Griffin concurred. “However we were hoping you might shed some light on the business about the dragon’s wing, the goat, and the spinner’s peak.”

  Ochanda sat in silence for several moments. She patted the table top rhythmically as she considered the question. Finally, the ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. “Yes, I understand part of your riddle. The place you seek is nearer than you know.”

  The Arkana team looked at one another in relief.

  The etxekoandre rose from her seat and walked over to a kitchen window which had been thrown open to catch an autumn breeze. “It is here,” she said mysteriously.

  The trio rose and followed her.

  “You seek the dwelling of Andre Mari.”

  They gazed out the window where she pointed to a sharp mountain peak jutting up in the distance.

  “You must go to the cave where the lady of the mountain lives.”

  “We have to climb up there?” Cassie asked in disbelief. “It looks awfully high.”

  “If you wish to find your Bones Of The Mother, that is where you must go. To the cave of Anbotoko Sorgina—the witch
of Anboto.”

  “So she’s a witch too?” The Pythia asked warily.

  Ochanda laughed. “Come and sit down. I will tell you all about her.”

  They obediently followed her back to the table.

  Ortzi refilled their glasses.

  Erik placed a hand over Cassie’s glass but she objected. “Give me a break. I only drank half!” As an aside, she whispered, “You don’t want to offend them, do you?”

  “It’s a little late for you to start worrying about offending people,” he retorted but withdrew his hand and allowed Ortzi to pour.

  The etxekoandre closed her eyes a moment and gathered her thoughts. “A long time ago, goddesses walked among the people of the earth but in many places they were chased away by greedy men who wanted to steal their power. They disappeared everywhere else but not here. Mari still lives in the mountains and in the hearts of the Euskaldunak. Her favorite places are in caves on the tops of the mountains. We know where she is because the weather will change. When she is staying on the peak of Anboto, the weather is wet. When she moves to Aizkorri or Aralar then we have drought.”

  “She is very similar to the goddess of the Minoans in her liking for high places,” Griffin interjected.

  Ochanda nodded in agreement. “All goddesses like the high places so they can watch what is going on with the people. Mari often sits outside the entrance to her cave on Anboto, dressed all in red and combing her long blond hair. Many have seen her and some have coveted her wealth. Once a dishonest woman went to the cave and stole Mari’s golden comb.”

  “The goddess couldn’t have liked that very much,” Cassie commented.

  “No. This woman who stole the comb owned a valuable piece of farmland. When she got back home, she found the field covered in stones so it could not be tilled. Thieves do not please Mari. It is said there are many golden things to be found in her caves but when robbers take these objects outside, they turn into worthless pieces of rotten wood. Mari will not stand for injustice. She does not like arrogance or pride or broken promises. When she sees someone who does not respect others and does not help others, she will find a way to punish that person.”