The Mountain Mother Cipher (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 2)

by N. S. Wikarski

  He was referring to their elderly leader.

  “No, isn’t she here yet?”

  He shrugged. “Not yet. Would you mind awfully going back topside and collecting Maddie? We’ll be meeting in Faye’s office on the second floor.”

  “Faye has an office in the vault?” Cassie registered surprise. She was accustomed to the Memory Guardian conducting her business from the comfort of her suburban farmhouse.

  Griffin glanced up briefly from the volume he was perusing. “Yes, it’s the closed door at the far end of the second floor. She rarely uses it.”

  Cassie nodded. “OK, then. See you upstairs in a bit.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later the key members of the Arkana were assembled in Faye’s office waiting for Griffin.

  The space was cozy, as Cassie imagined it would be if it belonged to Faye. A lacquered chinoiserie desk sat in the front window which overlooked the lawn. There were antique bookcases lining the walls and one corner of the room was reserved for guests. A leather sofa and loveseats were arranged in a horseshoe around a coffee table set with a silver tea service. Cassie wasn’t sure who had bustled up to brew tea but Faye was already playing hostess and handing out cups of the steaming beverage.

  Maddie refused the refreshment. She sat with her arms folded, clearly in a grumpy mood. “You’d think Griffin could be on time.”

  “What’s the matter? Did we pry you out of the chimney too soon?” teased Erik.

  He was referring to the bell tower that Maddie had commandeered as a smoking lounge.

  “How’d you guess?” Maddie asked, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette in an effort to calm herself down.

  “Let’s just wait a few more minutes for him before I begin,” Faye said. She sat perched demurely on the edge of the couch, sipping her tea. The quintessential grandmother in her flowered dress and cardigan, a little pillbox hat balanced on her head.

  Cassie was secretly amused by Faye’s appearance. Like the schoolhouse itself, she was far less bland than she seemed to be.

  At that moment, Griffin came skidding through the door, a pile of papers under his arm, and breathlessly took a seat next to Erik. “Very sorry I’m late,” he offered apologetically.

  “You ought to be,” muttered Maddie.

  “I’m sure you’re all wondering what this is about.” Faye handed Griffin a cup of tea. She looked mildly distressed as she gazed from one quizzical face to another. “I’m afraid we must speed up our timeframe a bit.”

  Her listeners still appeared confused so she elaborated. “Ever since you returned from Crete, I’ve taken the precaution of keeping close tabs on our adversaries.”

  Eric raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I don’t see how you managed that. I couldn’t sneeze within twenty feet of the Nephilim compound without somebody seeing me.”

  “Quite right.” The Memory Guardian nodded. “Fortunately there is a weak link in their chain mail. Mr. Hunt is not of the brotherhood.”

  Griffin sat forward intently. “Of course. He doesn’t live with them. Not difficult to set someone to keep watch of his whereabouts.”

  “Or to monitor his communications.” Faye smiled sweetly.

  Cassie laughed to herself. Harmless little granny. Yeah, right.

  The old woman’s smile faded. “Unfortunately, I just received some disturbing news this morning. The Nephilim are mobilizing once more. We intercepted a message between Mr. Hunt and Abraham Metcalf. Apparently, Mr. Hunt has been instructed to prepare for another trip to Crete.”

  “When?” they all cried at once.

  “I gather the departure could be any time now.”

  “How’s that possible?” Maddie barked. “I thought you all were convinced they weren’t going to move on the relic for months.” She turned to stare at Erik. “Didn’t you tell me they couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag without help?”

  Erik shrugged. “Guess it was a paper bag with a map printed inside.”

  “Oh, but this is terrible.” Griffin ran his fingers through his hair—an unconscious gesture whenever he was perturbed about something.

  Faye noted the reaction to her announcement. “I see you all understand our dilemma. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave for Turkey much sooner than anticipated.”

  “But how can we?” Cassie asked. “Last time I checked, Griffin still couldn’t make heads or tails of that clue we discovered in Crete. The one that’s supposed to lead us to the first relic. How does it go again?”

  “You will find the first of five you seek, when the soul of the lady rises with the sun, at the home of the Mountain Mother, where flows the River Skamandros.” Erik rattled off the lines in a sing-song voice. “That little ditty has been running through my head for weeks now and it still doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Well, we do know a few things,” countered Faye. “We know that the artifact is somewhere on Mount Ida and since the Nephilim are missing the critical fourth line of the riddle, they will be searching Mount Ida in Crete rather than Mount Ida in Turkey.”

  Griffin appeared panic-stricken. “Yes, but I remain utterly baffled by the second line. ‘When the soul of the lady rises with the sun.’ What does that mean? I’ve searched every reference book I can think of. There is simply no context in which the ancient Minoans used the expression ‘soul of the lady’.”

  “Despite your hesitation, we must act and soon,” Faye said softly. “I’m open to all suggestions.”

  Griffin glanced at her sheepishly. “Under the circumstances, our only hope is for Cassie to touch things.”

  Erik swiveled in his seat to stare at the Scrivener as if he’d lost his mind. “That’s your idea of a plan? You expect us to go stumbling up and down a mountain while the kid trips over rocks and gets a vision?”

  “I’m not a kid,” Cassie corrected him, trying to sound dignified. Although Erik had become far less hostile to her presence as a member of the Arkana since Crete, he could still be thoughtlessly insulting. For someone who was only in his mid-twenties, he considered himself the wise old man of the team.

  “Sorry toots!” He gave her a half-smile, knowing that this new name would irritate her even more.

  “My name isn’t toots, either,” she retorted in an injured tone. “I’m the Pythia. Try to remember that!” Cassie’s official role in the Arkana was to use her telemetric gift to touch an artifact and receive intuitive impressions about its past. ‘If it wasn’t for me tripping over rocks in Crete, we wouldn’t have any intel at all about where the first relic is hidden.”

  “That’s true,” Erik said more seriously, “but the area we were searching around Karfi was a fraction of the size of Kaz Daglari.”

  “Kaz what?”

  “Daglari. It means Goose Mountain in Turkish. That’s the modern name for Mount Ida which, by the way, isn’t a single mountain. It’s actually a mountain range. That’s a whole lot of tripping for one pair of size eight sneakers to handle.”

  “Six and a half,” Cassie protested. “I don’t have Bozo feet!”

  “My dears,” Faye chuckled. “Calm yourselves. Have some cookies. They’re homemade.” She held out a plate of sugar cookies. The two combatants helped themselves and began crunching loudly.

  Faye gave her full attention to Griffin. “I do believe Erik’s point is well-taken. We will need to focus the search in a specific direction if Cassie’s talents are to be used effectively.”

  “There are a few ways we could narrow the field,” Griffin answered. “I expect we’re looking for an ancient ruin. That would be the most likely place the Minoans might have hidden the relic.”

  “Good luck with that idea,” Erik snorted. “You should know better than anybody that Mount Ida is riddled with ruins. They’re scattered all over the countryside.”

  “I beg your pardon. Will you be contributing anything to this discussion other than disparaging remarks?” Griffin drew himself up. “I wasn’t proposing we go there without a plan.”


  Maddie sighed and shifted her position causing the couch to squeak under her ample weight.

  “Then what are you proposing?” Erik challenged.

  “We should start with the Anatolian trove-keeper obviously. Find out if he can recall any sites that bear unidentified marks that might match our translation key.”

  “Anatolian?” Cassie asked. She still wasn’t up to speed on all the Arkana terminology.

  “Anatolia is the name for the Asian part of Turkey,” Griffin explained. “It was once known as Asia Minor. I think the trove-keeper has been dividing his time between the excavations at Catal Hoyuk and Hacilar.”

  “OK, slow down.” Cassie held up her hands in protest. “What does that mean?”

  “Here, I’ll show you.” Griffin selected a page from among the stack he’d brought with him. Spreading it out on the coffee table, he revealed a map of Turkey.

  “This is Mount Ida.” He pointed to a mountain range on the west coast of the country. “It’s very close to the ancient city of Troy. So close in fact, that Homer mentions it in the Iliad. He describes the gods standing on Mount Ida and watching the conflict in the valley below from its slopes.” He moved his finger in a line due east of the mountains and about halfway across the country. “This is the ancient city of Catal Huyuk. It has provided invaluable information about matristic civilization in this part of the world. The same is true on a smaller scale at Hacilar.” He pointed to a spot to the southwest of Catal Huyuk.

  “So why would this Anatolian trove-keeper know anything at all about Mount Ida if he’s hundreds of miles away?” Cassie challenged.

  “Because he’s responsible for every find that’s catalogued in the Anatolian trove. All across the country. He’s also very old and has a long memory.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Cassie conceded. “But I’m still not sure I understand what all the rush is about. So the Nephilim are on their way to Crete way sooner than we expected. I mean it isn’t like they’re going to magically figure out they’re looking for the relic in the wrong country, jump on a plane and get to Turkey ahead of us.”

  The Scrivener shook his head. “I don’t credit the Nephilim with an overabundance of brains but it would behoove us to be on our guard.”

  “Behoove?” Erik echoed incredulously “Dude, did you actually just say behoove?”

  Ignoring the Security Coordinator, Griffin continued. “I’m merely pointing out that we can’t afford the luxury of complacency. We must still move with the utmost speed especially because of that one devilish word in the riddle.”

  His listeners looked at him blankly.

  He clarified the point. “When the soul of the lady rises with the sun. ‘When’ is the word that’s most worrisome.”

  “Nice alliteration,” Erik joked.

  Griffin sprang out of his seat unexpectedly and began to pace “Don’t you understand? We’re looking for an object that isn’t merely hidden in space. It’s also hidden in time. Some event that happens at sunrise must occur in order for us to find the relic we seek. For all I know we’re running out of time with respect to that event if we haven’t already.”

  “I see,” Faye murmured speculatively.

  “All I can glean with any certainty from that line of the riddle is the direction we must be looking toward. East.” Griffin sat back down and glanced helplessly at Faye.

  “You’ve just demonstrated that we know a good deal more than nothing,” she consoled. “Perhaps once you’re searching the landscape, the meaning of the line will become clear.” Turning to Maddie, she asked, “Do you think you can coordinate the trip for them on such short notice?”

  The Operations Director frowned. “Not overnight I can’t but give me a couple of days to pull the arrangements together.” She glanced briefly at the Security Coordinator. “Erik’s going to need a few days to get their papers in order.”

  He nodded in agreement. “The Turkish government likes to keep an eye on visitors. We’re going to be poking around places we may not be welcome or authorized to visit.” Erik looked earnestly at Cassie. “Crete was a walk in the park compared to what’s coming next. I hope you’re ready for it.”

  With all the bravado she could muster, Cassie replied, “Only one way to find out.”

  Chapter 7 – A Bedtime Story

  Hannah Curtis sat cross-legged in the middle of a strange bed. Everything was strange. Her entire life, in fact, had taken a strange turn. She came from Missouri and was raised in a house surrounded by brothers and sisters and a mother who was always ready with a hug or a smile of encouragement. Her father had been a distant figure. He was the leader of the Missouri Nephilim and therefore a man of importance. When he came to visit, the children were expected to put on clean clothes and brush their hair thoroughly. They would line up in a row and he would ask them if they were good children. Once they replied that they were, they would be dismissed. That was all.

  She hadn’t been unhappy although it never occurred to her to ask herself what that word meant. Not that she knew what happiness was either. She just went along and did what she was told and stayed out of trouble. It was safer to avoid being noticed. That way everything proceeded more or less as it was supposed to do. As God willed it to do.

  But now, she could tell the difference between happiness and unhappiness and she didn’t much care for it. Unhappiness was an aching emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Unhappiness was being told she could never see her mother again. It was being separated from her brothers and sisters. Being moved a long distance from the only home she had ever known.

  Her father had angered the Diviner somehow. It was so serious a matter that all his wives and children had been reassigned to other men. Hannah’s mother had been her father’s favorite. She had pleaded to be allowed to stay with him. In order to teach her a particularly harsh lesson, the Diviner separated Hannah’s mother not only from her husband but also from her own children. They were distributed among the other compounds. Hannah had been taken to Illinois. She knew which state it was from the geography map in the schoolroom. She didn’t know anybody here. Her foster mother had a dozen children of her own to look after. She seemed tense most of the time and Hannah was afraid to ask her anything.

  The girl reached into the pocket of her nightgown and drew out a small wooden doll. Her mother had pressed it into her hand when she was being taken away. “Remember me,” was all she had time to say. The doll had been one of Hannah’s earliest toys. It had sat neglected in the locker at the foot of her bed for some years after she decided that she was too old to play with dolls. She slipped it back into her pocket. It didn’t matter if she was supposed to be too old for toys. She always kept it with her now. It was all she had left.

  In this strange new place all the women spoke in whispers. They stopped speaking altogether if she happened to walk by. She pretended not to notice. All of them, men and women alike, seemed terrified of the Diviner. She was scared of him too. He was old and he scowled most of the time and he talked directly to God. She wondered if that meant God liked him. God didn’t seem to care much for the rest of his creation, as far as she could tell. He was always punishing people who disobeyed him. Killing them in floods or banishing them from gardens. He even made his son Jesus die to make up for all the things that displeased him about human beings. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to God even if he wanted to talk to her. He would probably just yell at her.

  She picked absentmindedly at the quilt on the bed. The fabric felt odd to her touch. As if this was a dream and she was touching a dream quilt instead of the real thing. It all felt like a very odd dream. Two days ago the Diviner had called everyone together to announce her marriage to his son Daniel. They all came crowding up to congratulate her. They all told her what a good thing it was for her. In spite of her father’s transgressions the Diviner was allowing her to marry one of his own sons, and the Scion at that. They all told her how happy she must be. There was that word again. Happy? She didn’t think t
hat she felt happy. Numb, maybe. Shocked definitely, but not happy.

  The wedding had taken place just this afternoon. Again she was singled out in front of the whole congregation. She changed her grey smock for the garb of a married woman—a shapeless grey shift and apron. Instead of wearing her hair in a long braid down her back, the braid was coiled around her head. All those things meant she wasn’t a child anymore. How did that work exactly? Changing her clothes didn’t change how she felt. She still missed her mother and her sisters and brothers. She didn’t feel very grown up but everybody told her she would learn to be.

  She got off the bed and walked over to the dresser. Picking up a hair brush, she combed out the braid and brushed her hair. She looked at her reflection and couldn’t see any difference between her married self and the way her face had always looked.

  Her mind drifted off to her husband. It felt so odd to say that word. He slouched. His suit seemed two sizes too big for him and his voice quavered when he said, “I do.” She guessed he must be about thirty. Twice her age though she supposed that wasn’t too bad. Many girls were married off to men much older than that.

  She knew what was expected of her on her wedding night. Women were meant to breed heirs to the kingdom. That’s how they were allowed to enter heaven. Only if they became wives and mothers, Consecrated Brides, would they be worthy. She knew that was her duty but she didn’t know why. It was God’s plan and not for her to question. Who was she, after all, to ask about such things? It had all been set down many generations ago by wise men.

  She had braced herself when her husband had entered the room but he didn’t appear as she expected. She was dressed in a cotton nightgown but he was still wearing his black suit.

  He cleared his throat and asked, “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied uncertainly, balancing on one bare foot. “How are you?”

  He paced around the room, pretending to examine the window shade. “Oh, I’m well. Thank you for asking.” He spun around and asked, “Do you like the room? It’s yours now.”