“Got it, sort of an ancient Batman floodlight.”
“The only problem? The Candelabra was constructed sometime around the beginning of the common era. Yet, the Viracocha legend is an Incan myth, and the Incan empire didn’t arise for over a millennium after the Candelabra was built.”
“I could see how that would kill any connection between the Candelabra and Viracocha,” Anlon said. “But, correct me if I’m wrong, the fish-men myths go much further back than the Incans. Couldn’t the Candelabra still be connected to the same myths, even though the Paracas people might have had a different name for the god they were honoring?”
“Absolutely, and that’s what proponents of the Viracocha theory hang their hats on. Only, there are other problems with this theory.”
“Such as?”
“Well, first and foremost, the Paracas people were fine artisans, Anlon. In fact, they were one of the first in South America to craft gold jewelry. They also created beautiful textiles and terra-cotta sculptures. We can tell a lot about their daily lives and beliefs from these works of art. Yet, not one piece of pottery, not one gold medallion, or one tapestry depicts the Candelabra symbol.”
“That is surprising. It’s hard to imagine there wouldn’t be other representations of the symbol if it was so important to the people that they built the monument of it.”
“Exactly,” Cesar said. “Go through artifacts of most cultures and you will find pervasive depictions of gods or important symbols everywhere you turn. Take the Egyptians, for example. Say…the eye of Ra. This symbol appears on temples, statues, murals, figurines, jewelry, you name it. You could say the same of certain icons from the Sumerians to the Maya to ancient Rome or the dynasties of China. But here…there is nothing...no connection whatsoever with the Candelabra in any Paracas art.”
“That’s bizarre.”
“It is…and it’s what’s fed ancient alien theories.”
“How so?”
“They label the Candelabra an out-of-place artifact, historically speaking, meaning it doesn’t fit with other artifacts dated to the same time period,” Cesar said. “They say the Candelabra is a depiction of a spacecraft or airplane, the prong designs representing exhaust spewed by its engines.”
Anlon frowned and zoomed out the photograph on his phone. To his surprise, he could definitely visualize how one could envision the monument as a plane or rocket if one looked at it from a different perspective.
“This theory,” Cesar said, “is of course bolstered in their minds by the mummies with the elongated heads found in the Paracas necropolis.”
Ah, yes, thought Anlon, Citali’s rather prodigious noggin did have an otherworldly appearance to it. He was about to ask Cesar about the mummies when he heard the archaeologist scoff. “Which is ridiculous. Thank God for DNA analysis.”
“Oh? The mummies have been tested?”
“Yes. And, safe to say, their DNA is entirely human. Although, there is an oddity about the DNA, one that has puzzled my colleagues.”
Cesar went on to say the genealogy of the DNA extracted from the elongated-skull mummies could be traced back to Eastern European ancestors. How was it, Cesar had posed, that a band of Anglos from Eastern Europe traveled all the way to Peru, settled among the indigenous population and interbred without some art memorializing their arrival or ascension into Paracas society?
“That is not to say there is an absence of Paracas art that depicts people among their population with the elongated skulls,” Cesar said. “There is plenty of art showing such people. But there are many depictions of Paracas people with normal skulls too. Yet, the people with the deformed heads are the ones who received special burial treatment in the necropolis. They appeared to have been revered. For what reason remains unknown.”
The longer Cesar talked about Paracas art, the Candelabra and the mummies, the more Anlon became convinced, once and for all, that Pebbles’ visions were not dreams. They were memories of a real person, just as Pebbles had claimed after she had interacted with Citali at the oasis.
“Well, Cesar, you may be in luck. Pebbles might just be in a position to get you a definitive answer to that question…and others. Where are you now?”
“Guatemala. I’m helping excavate a recently discovered tomb at Nakum.”
“Can you get away and meet us in Paracas?”
“I’m sure I can manage it, but I was thinking it might be better to meet up in Noumea on New Caledonia.”
“Excuse me? Why New Caledonia?”
“You know the necklace in Pebbles’ drawing? The one worn by Citali? There is one in Muran’s collection that looks eerily similar.”
Anlon hopped up from the bench. “What?”
“I’ll text you a picture of it…hold on…there, it’s on its way. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of speaking with the curator of the collection, the New Caledonian Minister of Cultural Affairs. He’s indicated a willingness to let me examine the piece…in exchange for an…uh…honorarium.”
Anxious to receive Cesar’s text, Anlon began to pace. “How much are we talking about?”
“We did not discuss a specific amount…though he indicated honoraria to examine other pieces in the collection have been in the range of fifty thousand US.”
As Cesar spoke, the text arrived. Anlon clicked on the thumbnail image and examined the picture. The necklace was made of gold, just as Pebbles had recounted in her dream journal. However, unlike Pebbles’ oasis sketch, each of the domino-shaped tiles that ringed the necklace were stamped with different symbols — details that were absent in her drawing.
“Anlon? Are you still there? If it is too much, I can try to negotiate.”
“Sorry, Cesar. I was distracted by your text. The amount is fine. Will a check suffice?”
“Um…I believe an offshore wire transfer is preferred.”
“How silly of me. Of course, it is.” Redirecting the conversation back to the necklace, Anlon asked, “What do you make of the symbols?”
“They are unlike any Paracas or Nazca symbols I’ve ever seen. In fact, I’d have to say they don’t look Mesoamerican at all. That’s why I want to examine it more closely.”
“Understood. Question — what about testing its composition? You know, is it pure gold or gold plating over tin or some other metallic substance? If we knew that, we could compare its composition with other gold Paracas or Nazca artifacts.”
“It’s certainly possible to test its composition, but I’m not sure the curator will allow us to take a sample. They’ve denied similar requests to test other pieces from what I hear. It’s part of the reason it’s taking so long to authenticate many of the artifacts in the collection.”
“All right. In that case, will it be possible for you to get Pebbles in to see it in person? She might see something about it that gives us some insight.”
“I’m way ahead of you, my friend. I told the curator that I would want to bring two experts with me to help authenticate the piece, Pebbles and Mereau.”
Anlon halted. “Mereau? Why Mereau?”
“I thought there was a chance he might recognize the symbols.”
Pulling the phone from his ear, Anlon sat back down on the bench and reopened the picture of the necklace. He had seen enough Munuorian symbols in the past to know the ones on the necklace were primitive by comparison. He mentioned as much to Cesar.
“I agree…for the most part. It may be the lighting in the picture, or the angle at which the necklace was photographed, but there are two symbols that strike me as possibly Munuorian. Front left at about seven o’clock, you’ll see a tile with what looks like three wavy lines.”
Anlon used his fingers to enlarge the photo and zero in on the one Cesar mentioned. He would not have called the lines wavy himself. They were curved, but not in the shape of waves to Anlon’s eyes. He asked Cesar to point out the other tile.
“The one with the star. Back side of the necklace. Between one o’clock and two o’clock.”
>
Shifting the image, Anlon studied the star symbol. It did not look like a Munuorian star, the one they used to depict their most powerful stone tool, the Tuliskaera, or the Flash Stone as Anlon’s uncle used to call it. But…the symbol did look like a crude star.
“Are you suggesting the necklace is a Munuorian artifact? I thought Mereau went through the pictures of Muran’s collection a while ago? It was my understanding he didn’t find anything but a cache of Lifintyls.”
“You are correct. But I wonder how closely he studied the necklace.”
“Gotta be honest with you, Cesar. Seems like a stretch.”
“All the same, I think it would be of value to have Mereau join us, especially in light of the possible connection with Muran’s manifesto.”
It took a few seconds before the implication of Cesar’s comment registered in Anlon’s brain. Along with the art collection Muran had amassed over her ten-thousand-year odyssey, she had penned a manifesto detailing the lives she had lived in the bodies of other women. “You found a mention of the necklace?”
“Possibly.”
“Cripes, Cesar. Talk about burying the lead.”
“Well, I didn’t want to get you too excited before I consulted with Mereau. As you know, he and I have been working collaboratively to translate the full text and line up her personal histories with those of ancient cultures, to see if the manifesto offers new information of historical significance.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.”
“Well, if you recall, the manifesto is not entirely in English. Muran must have recopied it many times throughout the millennia, so the last iteration is a hodgepodge of English mixed with words, phrases and passages in other languages. Some of which remain indecipherable. Yet, despite the challenges the language mix has caused us, we have been able to pinpoint certain eras she lived in. One such period spans a several-hundred-year stretch around the beginning of the Common Era.”
“The time you think Citali lived.”
“Yes. It’s clear from the text that Muran made her way into South America from Central America in the first century BCE and we know she fled Naranjo in Guatemala around 700 CE. The span in between, roughly six hundred years, encompasses three lives she memorialized in the manifesto.”
Three lives over six hundred years. Thank the anti-aging, life-extending effects of the Munuorian elixir ‘enjyia’, Anlon thought.
Cesar continued. “Two of those lives don’t appear to have been contiguous as there were abrupt ends to those histories, meaning she didn’t describe her transitions from one body to another as she typically did in other sections of the text.”
“I guess that’s not all that surprising,” said Anlon. “If she was run out of a village or city, she probably laid low for a while, took on an interim identity before plotting her next power grab.”
“Precisely. That is what Mereau and I think too. She obviously liked being in charge. With her skill in wielding the Munuorian stones, she typically found it easy to rise to power. But, early on in the manifesto, she bemoans her challenges holding onto power. Whether confronted by revolts or foreign attacks or betrayals by those close to her, Muran frequently lost out and found herself on the run. But, over time, she developed a keener ability to sniff trouble brewing and stamp it out before it became a threat. Every now and then, however, she overreached and it cost her dearly.”
Cesar paused, then said, “One such backfire occurred right around the dawn of the Common Era — a situation where Muran apparently became obsessed with a cult of mountain-dwelling oracles that held sway over a wide cross-section of tribes across northern South America. For a long stretch of time, she tolerated their existence, but at some point, she learned something about them that upset her terribly. She does not mention the catalyst for her change in attitude toward the oracles, but whatever it was, it riled her so much that she systematically hunted them down and killed them all.”
“Are you saying you think Citali was one of the oracles?”
“Maybe. She is not named. None of the oracles are named in Muran’s screed.”
“Then what makes you think Citali was one of them?”
“Muran has a rather extensive rant about the lengths she had to go through to kill the last of the oracles, a three-month chase through the desert, over mountains and down rivers. Her chronicle of the chase ends with the slaughter of the oracle deep in a jungle.”
“Hmm…does Muran refer to the last oracle as a woman?”
“No. But neither does she refer to the oracle as a man. She refers to them collectively as signae, which raises another possible link.”
“How so?”
“There are scattered mentions in ancient Greek texts of a mysterious culture of nomads called the Sigynnae who roamed territory along the Danube in Central and Eastern Europe circa 500 BCE.”
As Cesar spelled out the two variations of the similar-sounding words, Anlon considered the clues Cesar had found in Muran’s manifesto. Earlier, the archaeologist had said the bones of the Paracas mummies, the ones with the elongated skulls, could be traced back to Eastern European ancestry. So, Cesar was thinking Muran’s signae, the mountain-dwelling oracles, were descendants of the Sigynnae who emigrated to South America. It was a speculative theory based on a thin amount of circumstantial evidence but, Anlon had to admit, it seemed worth further exploration.
“What about the necklace? You said you found a possible mention.”
“Yes. Muran was most explicit in her description of how she killed the last oracle. It’s gruesome to read, as much of the manifesto is. Apparently, at one point during the lengthy torture, Muran tried to cut the signae’s head off — a common form of execution in those times — but was stymied by the thickness of the signae’s chain. A chain isn’t necessarily a necklace, but it is suggestive of one.”
“I guess. Seems iffy to me, but added to everything else you’ve presented, I can see how it stuck out to you.” Anlon paused, then asked, “Cesar, I’m curious, you said going after the oracles backfired on Muran. How?”
“The expression ‘cut off your nose to spite your face’ comes to mind. You should read the account yourself. I will send it to you.”
Anlon’s and Pebbles’ five-hour visit to the hospital ended with the doctor declaring Pebbles fit for release, telling them he found nothing of concern in her bloodwork or CT scan. “Given your test results, combined with the fact you haven’t had seizures before and the one you had today was short, it’s likely the seizure was anxiety-related. I’d recommend rest and increase in fluid intake.”
As soon as the doctor left the room, Pebbles said, “Told you so.”
“Don’t get all high and mighty. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Yada, yada.” Pebbles hopped off the examining table. “Deal’s a deal. On to Paracas.”
“Uh…yeah…about that…”
Later that evening, over dinner, Anlon shared the details of his call with Cesar with the rest of the group. Pebbles, of course, was already on cloud nine, having been briefed by Anlon on the way back from the hospital.
Anlon had not been sure how Sanjay would react to the news. Traveling across the Pacific to New Caledonia and continuing on to Peru was a significant change in plans. But Sanjay had embraced the revised itinerary, saying he wanted to help Pebbles through both trips.
Sanjay raised a couple of sticking points, however. He told Anlon he needed to return to Sedona to retrieve his passport and make arrangements for someone to dog-sit Happy while he was away.
“Not a problem, Sanjay. We’ll make the travel arrangements for you. We wouldn’t have been able to leave tomorrow anyway. Too many logistics to sort out.”
The latter issue was also resolved quickly when Griffin volunteered to stay behind and dog-sit Happy. He further suggested tagging along with Sanjay back to Sedona and staying with Happy at Sanjay’s home.
“Happy will like it better and I’d rather be in open country than on a docked boat, especiall
y if no one else is going to be around.”
While Sanjay indicated the plan was acceptable to him, the red rising in Jennifer’s face signaled she was unhappy with the arrangement. Before she could raise an objection, Griffin said, “It’ll only be for a few days. A week tops. Right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said.
“Plus, I’m not sure what I could add if I came along.”
“Don’t say that. You’ve got lots to offer, especially to me.”
“I appreciate that, but I can be a bigger help to the cause by keeping tabs on old slobber-buddy here.” Griffin scratched Happy’s head. The dog barked his approval.
Jennifer relented and Anlon left to begin working on the travel plans.
CHAPTER 13: A LINK IN THE CHAIN
La Tontouta International Airport
Noumea, New Caledonia
September 22
Three days later, Anlon, Pebbles, Jennifer and Sanjay landed in Noumea, the capital of New Caledonia. As they deplaned the chartered flight, Sanjay whispered to Anlon, “I am nervous about meeting Mereau.”
“Why?”
“One does not meet a ten-thousand-year-old man every day.”
“Don’t worry, he’s a good guy. A little intense sometimes, but you’ll like him. You’ll like both of them, Cesar and Mereau.”
After clearing customs, they found the aforementioned men waiting for them at the security exit. Sanjay stood to the side at first and watched the friends greet each other. Then, Anlon introduced him to Mereau.
Sanjay smiled as Mereau said, “Hello, my friend, it is good to meet you.”
Tanned and relaxed, the diminutive, middle-aged Mereau looked to Sanjay like the sort of man who spent his days lying on a hammock under swaying palm trees, but his voice sounded like a man used to barking orders and dispensing wisdom. It was a strange mix. Then Sanjay recalled there was a very good reason the voice did not match the image of the man standing before him.
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