The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set

by N. S. Wikarski

  “OK, I get it,” Cassie admitted. “The Mayans aren’t as dire as I thought. They didn’t predict the end of the world. So where does that leave us with finding the sentinel who took off with the relic?”

  Griffin sighed. “It leaves us with the Aztecs of Mexico.” He paused briefly and then his expression brightened. “Now that I come to think of it, the Aztecs are linked more closely with dragons and Spain than any of the other civilizations of the New World.”

  “Why’s that?” Erik asked. “To me, they seem to be just another blood-thirsty overlord tribe.”

  “It’s the peculiar way in which fate turned their veneration of Quetzalcoatl into their undoing,” the scrivener replied.

  “Quetzal who?” the pythia asked.

  “Their version of the feathered serpent god, or dragon, was called Quetzalcoatl. According to Aztec myth, he was one of the children of the virgin goddess Coatlicue—the creator of the universe.”

  “Hmmm. A virgin goddess giving birth to a god. Now, where have we heard that one before?” Erik asked archly.

  Griffin resumed his explanation. “Quetzalcoatl was considered a benevolent deity since he taught the people how to write and keep calendars as well as how to cultivate maize. Although the name Quetzalcoatl literally means feathered serpent in the Nahuatl language of the Aztecs, the god himself is described as a bearded man with white skin. The legend states that Quetzalcoatl was forced into exile by another Aztec deity. He sailed away into the Atlantic but promised one day to return during ‘his year.’ According to the Aztec calendar, this would have been the First Year of the Reed which occurs every fifty-two years. As ill luck would have it, Hernan Cortez arrived in the vicinity of Tenochtitlan during the First Year of the Reed. He was white, bearded, and came from the eastern sea. The eerie parallel to the prophecy made the Aztec emperor hesitate just long enough for the Spaniards to exploit the situation to their advantage. The rest is overlord history.”

  The Basques exchanged a look of bewilderment among themselves.

  “You say the American Aztecs worshipped a god who looked European?” Iker asked.

  “Not just the Aztecs,” the scrivener replied. “White gods as bringers of culture appear in many indigenous myths of the Americas. The Incas called this figure Viracocha. The Mayans called him Kukulcan. Even the plains Indians of North America may have had a female counterpart in White Buffalo Woman.”

  “But where would they have gotten such ideas?” Ortzi asked.

  “Where indeed,” Griffin said cryptically. “There is strong evidence for the presence of visitors to the New World long before Columbus.”

  “You mean the Vikings,” Cassie said.

  “Much older than the Vikings,” the scrivener countered. “You haven’t heard about them because it is politically incorrect for mainstream archaeologists to admit that outsiders set foot in the Americas. The conventional belief is that the only people to inhabit the New World were the descendants of Asians who crossed the Bering Strait. In reality, the Americas were a melting pot from the very beginning. There are Caucasian mummies and skeletons strewn all over the landscape of both North and South America.”

  “What?” his listeners all asked in unison.

  “Where shall I begin? There’s Kennewick Man found in Washington State whose age is estimated at over 9,000 years. In Spirit Cave, Nevada a man and female child were found aged over 10,000 years. Buhl, Idaho contains a 10,000-year-old female skeleton. Ginger-haired mummies have been discovered in pre-Inca graves in Peru. There are even blond-headed Toltecs. The list goes on and on.”

  “But how did they get there?” Cassie asked.

  “The currently fashionable theory is that a huge ice sheet covering much of the North Altantic created a temporary land bridge which allowed them to walk from Europe.”

  “That’s some hike,” Erik observed. “Maybe that explains the Caucasians in North America but what about South America.”

  “Ah,” Griffin replied knowingly. “It’s quite likely that many of the anomalous inhabitants of the Americas didn’t walk there at all. They arrived by boat. Scholars choose to ignore the mountain of evidence demonstrating frequent interaction between native Americans and other cultures. There are Norse rune markings from the 14th century on a stone in Minnesota—Celtic ogham inscriptions dating from the 6th century in caves in West Virginia, Colorado, and Oklahoma. A Roman figurine was found off the New Jersey coast. North African gold pieces have been discovered in Illinois. There is a fifth century Christian church in Connecticut. Japanese pottery from the Jomon period has been found in Equador. A copper mine in Michigan dates from the Bronze Age. A two-thousand-year-old highway exists in Iowa. The Olmecs of Mexico carved giant stone heads with black African features. Chinese merchants, Jewish refugees, Phoenician castaways, African sailors. There is evidence that all of them set foot in the New World thousands of years ago.

  “And the traffic passed in both directions. Traces of nicotine and cocoa have been found on an Egyptian mummy. Both the tobacco plant and the cacao tree are indigenous only to the New World. In fact, New World maize was being cultivated in Egypt four thousand years ago. Contact with Egypt might also explain the American pyramids as well as the patriarchal overlord social structure adopted by its three major civilizations.”

  “So where do all those facts about strange visitors to the New World leave us with our relic search?” Cassie asked.

  The scrivener frowned in deep concentration for a few seconds. “I’m still inclined to believe that the Spanish Aztec colony would have been the lost sentinel’s most probable destination, but I can’t for the life of me think of a convenient hiding place near Mexico City.

  “Maybe there’s someplace in North America?” Cassie urged hopefully.

  Griffin sat back and gazed at the ceiling as if he were counting off numbers in his head. “I can’t think of any connection with dragons or feathered serpents in North America. There’s no real connection to Spain either. With the exception of founding St. Augustine in Florida and massacring a French settlement near Jacksonville, it’s as if the Spaniards never set foot on the eastern seaboard at all.”

  “But we did.” Ochanda’s voice echoed around the room.

  Everyone turned to stare at her.

  “I beg your pardon?” Griffin sat forward.

  “There is a story from a long time ago. A member of my family left farming and became a fisherman. We are not far away from the sea here, so he tried his luck on the fishing boats. They followed the cod—all the way across the ocean to America.”

  “Yes, I recall those stories too,” Iker added. “Our people and the Portuguese fished the waters along the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. Some went farther south.” He chuckled. “I remember hearing that when a French missionary first met the natives in Nova Scotia, he was greeted with the word adesquidex.”

  At this, the three Basques laughed outright.

  Iker explained to the puzzled Arkana team. “In our language, adeskide means friend. Other English and French explorers were greeted with the word ania. In Euskara, anaia means brother. You can tell from such stories that the Basque fishermen were already well acquainted with the Indian tribes of your Atlantic coast long before the history books say.”

  “So, the sentinel might have gone straight across the ocean to the Basque fishing grounds and found a handy place to dump the treasure,” Erik theorized. “I like it. Straightforward. Simple.”

  “It would have been a bonus that New England and Canada weren’t under Spanish rule,” Cassie added. “No Inquisition.”

  While they were speaking, Griffin’s eyes had glazed over.

  Cassie noticed his dramatic change of expression. “Are you alright?”

  “Half a mo’,” he replied absently.

  Leaning over toward Erik, Cassie whispered, “Dude, do you really think he wants us to bring him one-sixth of the Three Stooges?”

  Erik chuckled. “Good one.” H
e whispered back, “I think he’s just being veddy British.”

  Even though Griffin appeared not to be paying attention, he said, “I can hear you actually. Give us a second.”

  His two companions, looking chastened, sat quietly while he turned a problem over in his mind. Then he swiveled toward them with a jubilant smile.

  “I know that look!” Cassie exclaimed. Nudging Erik, she asked, “How about you?”

  The security coordinator replied, “That’s his, ‘By George, I’ve got it!’ look.”

  Ignoring the comment, Griffin directed his attention to Ochanda. “Might I trouble you for a ball of twine and something to cut it with?”

  The etxekoandre nodded in surprise and went to find the items.

  Meanwhile, Griffin got up to search his back pack. Rummaging through its contents, he retrieved the golden bee.

  “You brought the relic with us?” Cassie gasped. “That should be back at the vault under lock and key!”

  The scrivener smiled. “Calm yourself; it’s only a replica. I thought we might need it at some point.”

  By this time, Ochanda had returned with the string and a pair of scissors which she placed on the table in front of Griffin.

  He began muttering to himself. “Let’s see. What was it now? ‘Four bees from the dragon’s wing’?”

  Without waiting for confirmation, he measured off a piece of twine approximately three feet in length and cut it. He then laid it straight on the table and placed a knot a few inches from the top of the string. Next, he laid the bee beside the twine, being careful to align the bee’s head with the knot in the string. He placed another knot in the string where the bee’s tail ended. Moving the bee down so that its head now lined up with the last knot he’d made, he tied a second knot at the position of the bee’s tail. He repeated this process two more times. Giving a start, he looked out the window and asked, “Is it going to be a clear night tonight?”

  His Basque hosts glanced at one another as if he’d lost his mind. Cautiously, Ortzi replied, “Yes, the weather is supposed to be good tonight.”

  “Excellent!” Griffin replied. “Ochanda said we’re close to the sea here. Precisely how close?”

  “The nearest town on the water would be Deba,” Iker answered. “It is not very far. Maybe a half hour away.”

  “Right then!” Griffin stood decisively. “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to tell you that tonight we may solve the missing line of the riddle. I don’t wish to say anything else until I’ve verified my measurements, but all will be revealed soon.” Focusing on Ochanda again, he asked, “If I might beg your indulgence once more. I’ll need two sticks, each cut to approximately eighteen inches—that’s half a meter.”

  “What is this, a scavenger hunt?” Cassie asked suspiciously.

  “No, my dear girl,” Griffin replied happily. “I can say with some confidence that the hunt for the meaning of the riddle is over.”

  Chapter 33 – Son Rise

  Joshua Metcalf studied his reflection in the mirror with deep satisfaction. Although he looked nothing like his father, he thought the diviner would be pleased nonetheless. His coloring was dark, like his mother, Deborah. God rest her soul. His features were sharp—eyebrows like black wings over deep-set brown eyes, a long, straight nose and thin lips which Joshua believed gave him an air of determination. One of his wives, he couldn’t remember which, was fluttering about brushing the lint off of his black suit jacket.

  “You’ll want to look your best for your interview with your father,” she burbled.

  Joshua made no reply though he secretly agreed. Given how many sons the diviner had fathered, it was a rare occasion for any of them to receive his undivided attention. The last time the diviner had spoken a word to Joshua was at his most recent marriage. They exchanged the usual pleasantries on such an occasion. His father exhorted him to continue to build his celestial kingdom through the bride he’d just acquired. He replied with a respectful, “Yes, sir.”

  He ran a comb through his hair and wondered for the hundredth time what his father wanted. He knew there was no reprimand involved. The note requesting his presence had been kindly worded. What could it mean? Perhaps his father had some sort of preferment in mind for him, just as had happened to his brother Daniel. The thought of his sibling made him momentarily clench his fists. He and Daniel were full brothers. Their mother had borne five children to the diviner—three girls and two boys. It became clear from the start who the favorite was. Daniel and their mother would huddle together for hours, whispering confidences. Try as he might, Joshua could never infiltrate their private world.

  Still, among the Nephilim, a mother’s partiality was of little consequence. Only the father’s favor mattered. And here, once again, Daniel had preempted him even though Joshua was the elder of the two. How that weakling had ever attracted the diviner’s notice was unfathomable. To add insult to injury, the diviner had chosen Daniel to be his successor and named him scion. Why Daniel and not Joshua? Daniel, who could barely lead his family in prayer, would one day lead the Blessed Nephilim. The thought rankled.

  Joshua commanded himself to bury such notions. It would be years before the diviner was ready to relinquish control of his flock. Many things could change during that time. He glanced behind him. His wife had finished primping and tidying him and had unobtrusively let herself out of the chamber. He turned back to his reflection and straightened his tie.

  ***

  “Come in!” a voice commanded from the other side of the office door.

  “You wished to see me, sir?” Joshua asked mildly, standing before his father’s desk.

  The diviner glanced up as if remembering the appointment for the first time. He looked haggard and care-worn. However, the sight of Joshua brought a smile. That was a good sign.

  “Yes, sit down. I have something important to tell you.”

  Joshua silently did as he was told.

  The old man scrutinized him for several seconds. “I’ve heard some good reports about you from Mr. Bowdeen. He says you’re the best marksman he’s trained here.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Joshua hoped he sounded suitably humble. It was the first time his father had ever singled him out for praise. In his opinion, the moment was long overdue.

  “He said your concentration and accuracy were extraordinary. He also said you had a cool head under pressure and that nothing could distract you from your target. I find myself in need of someone with your particular skills.”

  “I am always at your service and at the service of all my brethren,” Joshua murmured with downcast eyes.

  “Well spoken.” The diviner nodded approvingly. “Remind me again which of my wives is your mother?”

  “My mother was Deborah, sir.” Joshua coughed delicately. “The same as Daniel’s.”

  “Really!” The diviner stared at him with keen interest. “It must be the hand of Providence at work.”

  Joshua smiled inwardly. It seemed his brother could be put to some use after all.

  Abraham rose and walked to the window. He spoke without turning to face his son. “Recent events have convinced me that the Nephilim are in need of greater protection.”

  “Protection?” Joshua echoed. “From the world of the Fallen, sir?”

  The diviner sighed. “No, from enemies within. The Evil One has slithered into our sanctuary and is even now planting false ideas in the minds of the people.”

  Joshua was flummoxed. He had no idea where this conversation was going. “I...uh...I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

  Abraham wheeled about. “Nor do I! It is inconceivable to me that Satan would presume to enter this bastion of sanctity, but it has happened just the same. You heard about my wife’s...” he hesitated. “You heard about Hannah’s disappearance?”

  Joshua projected a bland expression “Yes, sir.” He didn’t add that the whole compound could talk of nothing else. His own wives ha
d gibbered about it endlessly until he finally ordered them to stop.

  “I have taken steps to increase surveillance of the compound grounds, so such a thing doesn’t happen again.”

  “A wise move, sir,” Joshua agreed unctuously.

  “But it’s not enough.” The old man threw himself back into his chair in frustration.

  “Sir?”

  “I can have cameras watch the motions of my people, but I have no way of knowing what they are thinking—what they might be planning. I can’t be everywhere at once.”

  The fog was beginning to clear. Joshua rushed to press his advantage. “Then let me help,” he offered earnestly. “Let me be your eyes and ears.”

  The old man nodded wearily. “Yes, yes, you’ve hit it exactly. You must go where I cannot. Listen to conversations from which I am excluded. Choose a dozen young men from those who trained with you under Mr. Bowdeen. They are to move among the people and listen to what’s being said. They will report to you, and you will report to me. You will be an invisible brotherhood within the brotherhood, and you will be known amongst yourselves as the ‘Order of Argus.’ I am putting you in charge of the Order as its commander.”

  Joshua felt a thrill of excitement course through his veins. His moment had finally come. “I am overwhelmed by the honor you’ve bestowed on me, Father.” He hoped he sounded self-effacing enough.

  Abraham was still talking. “You can enlist the assistance of some of the women if you think any of them can be trusted. After all, it’s among the women that you’re likely to find Satan most busy. Use your best judgment.”

  Joshua’s mind was already racing—considering possible accomplices and how best to deploy them. He almost missed the scowl on his father’s face indicating that the interview was over. Catching his mistake, he rose to go.

  “You will report back to me in a week to let me know what progress you’ve made.”

  “Yes, sir. I only hope I’m worthy of the honor.”