Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2

by N. S. Wikarski

  Griffin squinted at her. “Meaning?”

  The pythia gave an exasperated sigh. “He’s the ultimate adrenaline junkie. Erik doesn’t have romantic relationships. He has sex-themed adventures. No way is he quality boyfriend material.”

  “I see.” The scrivener hesitated. “But surely, for a woman like you, even our Casanova Erik might be willing to change.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes in disbelief. “People don’t change. If I held my breath for that, I’d die from lack of oxygen. Besides, everybody has a right to live the life that suits them best. Nobody should change just to please somebody else.”

  “Love can profoundly change people and not just because they want to please someone else,” Griffin protested. “I’m loath to admit it, but I truly believe Erik cares for you.”

  “And I care for him,” Cassie readily agreed. “But it isn’t the kind of love that conquers all.”

  “You’re quite sure of that?” Griffin asked guardedly.

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure.” Cassie leaned her head against the seat cushion, preparing to take a nap in anticipation of a sleepless flight ahead. “You can stop worrying about my heart, Griffin. If I ever fall for anybody again, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Even though her lids were closed, she could feel him beaming at her.

  “You have no idea how much consolation I derive from that fact.”

  Chapter 20—Need to Know

  Joshua sat apprehensively in one of the bucket chairs in his father’s office. He had been ordered to arrive at 10 AM for an unexpected meeting. No further details were given, and the diviner hadn’t arrived yet. During the past few days, the spymaster had begun to grow uneasy. It was nothing he could pin down, yet he had formed the unshakeable impression that his father was secretly offended with him. He tried to attribute this paranoid notion to his line of work. As the head of the Order of Argus, he spent his days unearthing secrets people wished to hide. Small wonder that he fancied his father had something to hide from him too. The spymaster jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening. He hurriedly tried to repair his fractured composure.

  Abraham tottered into the room with the aid of his cane. He sat down heavily behind his desk, winded by even this small amount of exertion. His complexion looked more grey and bloodless than usual.

  “Good morning, Father,” Joshua began. “I hope you slept well.”

  “Ha!” the old man barked. “You hope in vain. I slept even more badly than usual, but that’s neither here nor there.” He shuffled a stack of papers on his desk, apparently looking for a particular sheet. When he’d selected it from among the pile, he set it down and regarded his son with a cool gaze. “I have a new project I’d like you to handle.”

  Joshua relaxed slightly. The diviner couldn’t be all that displeased with him if greater responsibilities lay in store. “I’d be happy to take on whatever task you have in mind.”

  Abraham waved his hand dismissively. “Before we get to that, there’s a more pressing matter I need to discuss with you.”

  The spymaster gripped the arms of his chair apprehensively. “Yes?”

  The old man measured his words carefully. “Tell me about the state of security at the compound.”

  Joshua blinked in surprise. “It’s excellent, sir. We now have round-the-clock surveillance. No one can get in or out without my staff knowing about it.”

  “Perhaps your staff knows but what about me?”

  “Sir?” The spymaster’s sense of uneasiness grew.

  “Do you inform me of all threats to our security?”

  “Of course, Father. It goes without saying that I would tell you immediately if the Nephilim were at risk.”

  “Yet you took it upon yourself to keep me in the dark about an intruder on the grounds!”

  The spymaster could feel the blood draining from his own face. He imagined he must look as ghastly at the old man glowering back at him.

  “An intruder,” he echoed to buy time and find out how much his father knew about the affair.

  “Yes.” Abraham’s eyes bored into his son like search beams. “About a month ago, a man was shot while attempting to enter the compound.”

  “How did you...” Joshua trailed off.

  “How did I learn of an incident which it was your duty to report?” The diviner slammed the top of his desk for emphasis. “Doctor Aboud told me of your unexpected visit and the man in the body bag.”

  The spymaster cleared his throat nervously. “I saw no point in upsetting you, Father. My guards were overzealous in apprehending the intruder. He was dead by the time I reached him. There was nothing to be done but dispose of the body.”

  “Who do you think he was?” the diviner probed.

  “I have no idea, sir. I didn’t recognize him. No doubt he had befriended Sister Hannah while she dwelt among the Fallen. It’s logical to assume he came to abduct her.”

  “Yes, that is the most probable explanation.” Abraham paused to treat his son to a contemptuous stare. “Providence offered you a golden opportunity to capture and question him, and you let it slip through your hands.”

  “As I said, sir, my guards shot him before I had the chance.”

  “And then you multiplied your error by failing to notify me immediately of the situation.”

  “I apologize, sir. It won’t happen again. In my own defense, I acted with your best interests at heart. I didn’t wish to disturb you when I know how much you need your rest.”

  The diviner scarcely heard him. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re worthy of the trust I’ve placed in you.”

  Joshua sensed his position was eroding. He sat forward tensely. “You must believe me, Father. Your well-being is my greatest concern. If you’ll recall, I even saved your life not too long ago. Was that the action of an untrustworthy man?”

  “You did save me, didn’t you?” The diviner’s eyes narrowed briefly. “Thank you for reminding me of that fact.”

  Despite his father’s conciliatory statement, the spymaster couldn’t quell the sense that he was still in danger.

  “Henceforth, I am to be informed if something as small as a squirrel manages to crawl over the fence. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”

  Abraham searched his son’s face for several more moments.

  Joshua fought an overwhelming urge to squirm in his chair.

  Finally, the diviner turned his attention to the sheet of paper he’d been perusing earlier. Without preamble, he said, “I want you to set up a taskforce for me.”

  “A taskforce?” Joshua repeated, relieved to be off the subject of his transgressions.

  “Yes. Here is a list of the compounds I’ve selected. There are fifty of them from all around the world.” He handed the sheet of paper to his son.

  The spymaster glanced briefly at the list and then back at his father.

  “You are to evaluate the Order of Argus operatives at each of those locations. Pick out the best three in each compound. I want men who are fearless and will obey orders without question.”

  “For what purpose, sir?”

  “They are to act as my emissaries.” Abraham allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch into a secret smile. “They will carry a message to the Fallen on my behalf.”

  “And what might that message be?” Joshua felt a sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

  “The message isn’t your concern. At least not today, it isn’t. Your task is simply to choose the best of the best at each of these compounds. One hundred and fifty men in all. Bring their names to me. That’s all you need to know at present.” Abraham waved him away. “You may go.”

  Joshua rose and took his leave. He couldn’t help feeling that he had been dismissed from his father’s confidence as well as his office. He desperately needed to find a way back in.

  Chapter 21—Mother and Sun

  “It isn’t much farther. We’re alm
ost there.”

  Cassie glanced out of the car window. The blue pacific lay on one side. On the other lay homes perched on hillsides along a narrow road which wound steadily upward. Their destination was an archaeological site on Japan’s northernmost island of Hokkaido. Their driver was the Jomon trove keeper, Kenji Takahashi, or “Ken” for short. An affable middle-aged man raised in Hawaii, he bore an accent as American as apple pie. Although Cassie and Griffin had originally contacted him to help search Sakhalin Island, he requested their aid with a conundrum related to his own trove first. As he put it, “they were going to be in the neighborhood anyway.” Consequently, the Arkana agents and their Nephilim associate boarded a plane from Chicago to Hakodate—a city on the southern tip of Hokkaido. They’d arrived the previous evening which, thankfully, had given them one night to recuperate from the twenty-hour flight.

  Cassie brought her attention back to the present moment when the car came to a stop in a gravel parking lot. Through the windshield, she could see a green meadow on a hill overlooking the ocean. It contained a few oddly-shaped wooden structures and several open pits.

  “This is it,” the trove keeper announced.

  Everyone climbed out of the compact car. Both Griffin and Daniel took time to stretch even though the ride had lasted less than an hour.

  “Well, what do you think?” Ken asked the group, gesturing toward the hillside.

  “What do we think?” Cassie repeated. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the morning sun. “That depends. What are we looking at?”

  “Sorry.” The trove keeper chuckled. “I suppose a recap is in order.” He motioned for the trio to follow him past the wooden fence that marked the boundary of the property. “This is Ofune, one of the largest Jomon settlement sites on Hokkaido. I thought it would be a good starting point for your visit.”

  “I’ve never heard of the Jomon culture,” Daniel admitted.

  “They were a fascinating people,” Griffin said as they ambled past the fence. “Their pottery is exquisite, far more advanced than anything else on the planet for its time.” He turned to Ken for verification. “Their earliest remains date from 18,000 years ago, yes?”

  “That’s right. Their culture flourished uninterrupted between 16500 BCE and 300 BCE. Sherds of their pottery date from 14000 BCE, making it the oldest known earthenware in the world. The Jomon didn’t use a wheel to shape their crockery. It was all done by hand. They pressed pieces of cord into wet clay to make designs. The word ‘Jomon’ means ‘rope-patterned.’ These pottery-makers are thought to have been the earliest inhabitants of Japan. Of course, they didn’t resemble the modern Japanese. Their maternal DNA indicates an origin in Siberia which means their skins were pale, their eyelids had double folds, and the men grew full beards. The closest living remnants of their genetic traits are found among the Ainu who look remarkably Caucasian for an indigenous people.”

  The pythia’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the trove keeper’s light complexion and neatly-trimmed beard. “You kind of fit that profile too.”

  “Some of my ancestors were Ainu,” Ken disclosed. “Siberian DNA is a mixture of Caucasian and East Asian. Geneticists used to think that the Caucasian and East Asian races developed independently at the same time. More recent gene research shows a hybrid race in between. It seems the Jomon, and later the Ainu, fell into that category.”

  The trove keeper led them along a path that looped to the left, stopping when he reached a large oval hole in the ground. It measured about six feet deep with several circular depressions, deeper than the tamped base of the pit itself. These holes were spaced around the edge of the pit except for two positioned near the center. The trio clustered around the spot, anticipating an explanation.

  “The Jomon dug these pits for their homes,” Ken said. “They drove a central pillar into the middle of the pit with support posts along the sides. The shell would have been constructed of chestnut boughs. Like those.”

  He pointed back to a structure on the right side of the path which they’d passed earlier. Everyone turned to study a latticework of weathered tree limbs covering another pit.

  “Over there you see the finished product.” Ken gestured beyond their current location to a grass hut farther up the path. “They used kaya grass for thatching.”

  The reconstructed Jomon hut possessed a door opening that jutted out a few feet from the building like a porch. The roof rose to a narrow peak with a vent over the front entry to allow smoke from the central hearth to escape.

  “This seems rather elaborate for a gatherer-hunter society,” Griffin remarked.

  “The Jomon put some time into constructing their dwellings because they were sedentary,” Ken said. “This site was occupied continuously for a thousand years. It originally included about one hundred homes. Unlike most gatherer-hunters, the Jomon didn’t need to migrate to find food. Chestnuts and other local plants were a staple part of their diet. They fished and harvested crustaceans. Whale and seal bones have been found here which means they also hunted sea mammals. A readily-available food supply gave them time to build permanent settlements and create their wonderful crafts—pottery, jewelry, votive figurines.”

  “I don’t quite understand why this particular culture caught the attention of the Arkana.” Daniel eyed the Jomon dwellings dubiously.

  Ken grinned with amusement. “Because the Jomon offer archaeological proof of Japan’s matristic past, that’s why. Their culture thrived for sixteen thousand years. If you factor in their antecedents in Siberia, it makes patriarchy’s timeline seem like a blip on the radar.”

  The scion furrowed his brow. “I know what ‘matristic’ means but I don’t see anything here that proves the Jomon were a female-centered society.”

  “Most of the hard evidence has been carted off to museums,” Ken conceded. “I could take you to the exhibits but how about I just give you the highlights?”

  “That would be helpful,” Daniel said.

  Cassie nudged Griffin in the ribs. She leaned up to whisper, “Remember when I was the new kid on the block and asked all the questions?”

  “I always found your naiveté endearing,” he confided back.

  “Aww, that’s sweet,” she murmured. “But everybody else found it annoying.”

  They both transferred their attention back to Ken who’d already begun a discourse on the finer points of Jomon culture. “We can infer a lot from the way these people lived. For example, we know the Jomon were a classless society because all their housing was of a uniform design. There were no elaborate palaces. Every home looked exactly the same, and they were intended for large kin groups, not nuclear families.”

  “Like a Haudenosaunee longhouse,” the pythia noted.

  “Exactly,” Ken agreed. “Jomon houses were also clustered in settlements that offered no defensive advantage in case of attack. This hilltop is a perfect example.”

  He gave his listeners a few moments to scan their surroundings.

  “It was chosen because of proximity to the food supply. In all the Jomon villages across Japan, we’ve never found fortifications of any kind.”

  “The Minoans weren’t defensive either,” Cassie remarked. “They settled in places that had spiritual significance. The threat of attack never factored into it.”

  “Also true.” Ken went on. “The Jomon possessed the technology to build weapons, but they chose not to. All we’ve found are hunting implements. They made jewelry for personal adornment, not as a tribute to a ruler. We also know they were probably goddess-worshippers.”

  The scion’s eyebrows shot up.

  “It’s in the clay,” Ken informed him. “Aside from some intricate pottery, the Jomon spent a lot of time fashioning votive figurines known as dogon. About ten thousand of these dogon have been recovered so far. That’s a huge number given the small geographical area of their territory. The overwhelming majority of those figurines have been identified as female. Maybe one perc
ent of the dogon are male.” The trove keeper peered at Daniel. “Does it seem likely that they would have wasted all that energy creating female figurines that held no symbolic significance?”

  “In the literature I’ve read about ancient Europe, such statues are dismissed as fertility symbols,” Daniel countered.

  “Dismissed,” Griffin echoed sardonically. “It would be quite typical for an overlord archaeologist to dismiss fertility as an unimportant concept. And he would be utterly wrong to do so. Jomon survival depended on fertility. Not simply as it related to the offspring of the clan, but the fertility of the seals and whales they hunted, of the crustaceans and fish they gathered, of the plants whose seeds and fruits they collected. Their lives depended on the continued abundance of nature. It was inevitable that they would invoke a goddess who embodied the concept of fertility. Of course, such a divinity would have seemed insignificant to overlords. They exploited others to meet their survival needs and, consequently, equated sustenance with pillage.”

  The scrivener smiled humorlessly. “Overlords exchanged the fertility goddess of a Garden of Eden for a warlord god of perpetual bloodshed. They prayed only for new people to conquer: ‘O Lord, grant me the power to smite all who oppose me and take what is theirs.’”

  The scion flinched. He lowered his eyes, a flush suffusing his cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” Cassie asked.

  “I was just thinking about my father,” Daniel confessed. “Lately, all he prays for is victory over his enemies. Nothing else matters to him anymore.” He lapsed into a gloomy silence.

  Ken hastily changed the subject. “Whether you believe the dogon are goddesses or not is open to question, but there’s compelling evidence that goddess worship has been alive in Japan from the very beginning. Worship of the sun goddess probably began with the Jomon, and it continues to the present day. How else can you explain that the most important deity in the Shinto religion is Amaterasu-omikami?”

  Both Daniel and Cassie stared at the trove keeper blankly.