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

by N. S. Wikarski

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” the girl said hurriedly, snatching it out of his palm. “I…uh…I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.” She slipped it back into her apron pocket with shaky fingers.

  He attempted a light tone. “Soon you’ll have babies of your own and no need to play with dolls.”

  “Yes, sir,” she agreed dutifully.

  “Be seated,” he instructed her.

  She obeyed and flounced down on the bed.

  He stood over her in silence for several seconds. He hadn’t spent much time noticing her before. Too many other people around and too many distractions. She wore her thick blond hair braided and coiled around her head in the prescribed manner of a married woman but her skin was far from matronly. It glowed with the freshness of a rose petal. Her body was far from matronly too. The girl’s shapeless grey shift somehow managed to reveal graceful feminine curves. Her eyes were green, a curious almond shape. Almost like a cat’s. Abraham didn’t much care for cats. They were sinuous and slippery and had minds of their own. Willful, unruly creatures. Small wonder they were so often associated with Lucifer, that most insubordinate of God’s angels. Still, the shape of her eyes held an exotic appeal. They were wide open in alarm at the moment.

  “Calm yourself, child.” He sat down on the bed next to her. “I had a few questions for you but you weren’t in your quarters. What are you doing here?”

  She eyed him anxiously. “This is where I slept before I was married, Father. With all the other girls. ”

  He gave a thin smile in an attempt to put her at ease. “But surely you must prefer to have a nice room all to yourself and your husband?”

  She didn’t meet his gaze. “It felt lonely there so I thought I would sit here for a while.”

  “Of course,” he patted her hand reassuringly. She recoiled from his touch and clasped her hands together in her lap.

  Ignoring the gesture, he observed, “It’s understandable. You miss your husband. I know he had to depart on his journey very soon after you were joined in marriage.”

  “That’s not it,” she said tremulously, her eyes misting with tears. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

  Abraham was taken aback by the comment. He drew himself up. “What do you mean he doesn’t like you?”

  “After we were married...” She hesitated. “He didn’t stay with me on our wedding night.”

  The old man waited for her to elaborate but she offered nothing further. The girl sat silently on the edge of the bed, swinging her feet to and fro since her legs were too short to reach the floor.

  “Can I please go now, Father?”

  “Not quite yet, my child. I have a few more questions to put to you.” Abraham was at a loss as to how to interpret this story. He was wary of accepting her words at face value. Women were liars by nature. What else could one expect from the daughters of Eve? Daniel’s other wives had certainly lied about their relations with his son. They had all failed to produce numerous offspring and now they wanted to lay their own inadequacies at their husband’s doorstep. Could they have persuaded Hannah to join their conspiracy by fabricating this outrageous tale? The Diviner scrutinized her face closely but couldn’t detect any evidence of guilt in her expression. Just a pretty confusion. He tried another approach. “The day a girl becomes a woman is a very big day in her life, don’t you agree? A very busy day.”

  She nodded uncertainly.

  “You must have been very tired by the time evening came.”

  “I was sleepy,” she admitted simply.

  He placed a hand on her knee to still her swinging legs. She became dead calm. He squeezed her thigh lightly before letting go.

  “When a person is tired, the mind can sometimes play tricks.”

  It was her turn to stare at him. “Play tricks?”

  He smiled again. “Perhaps you don’t remember everything that happened that evening. If you were very, very tired…” he trailed off.

  She knit her brows in concentration. “I think I remember what happened and what didn’t.”

  He pressed the point. “I’m sure everything happened just as it ought to have done.”

  The girl shook her head vehemently. “No, Father, it didn’t.”

  He rose and stood over her. “Are you suggesting that I am in error?”

  She gazed up at him in shock. Her mouth gaped open but she said nothing.

  “Answer me!” he commanded.

  “No, Father. You’re never supposed to be wrong.”

  “That is correct!” he asserted. “The Diviner is given the gift of discernment in all things. You will believe me when I tell you that you are mistaken. Satan is deceiving you and has caused you to forget the events of that night.”

  Rather than hastily agreeing as he expected her to do, she tilted her head to one side and gazed up at him curiously. “He has? Why would he do that?”

  The question caught him off-guard. Abraham paused for several seconds before framing a reply. “Because…because… he wishes to destroy our community from within, that’s why! By sowing the seeds of error among the people.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t seem entirely convinced by his explanation.

  Her obstinacy angered him. He raised his arm and pointed at the door. “Now go to your quarters and pray. Pray that God will cast out the demon who has tricked you. Go!”

  She jumped off the bed and pelted from the room without another word.

  Abraham sat down heavily. This was worse than he had expected. It was enough of a trial that the Nephilim were assailed every day by the Fallen World outside their gates. But this? The greatest threat to his congregation now was the cancer springing up within its own ranks. Satan had found the perfect means to undermine Abraham’s authority. Destroy the credibility of the Scion. And the Evil One had chosen as his instrument this naïve child whose memory could be easily manipulated. The Diviner was determined that the devil would not succeed. He would take steps to subdue the forces of hell. This delusion would spread no farther.

  Chapter 18 – Ida Ho!

  Cassie ventured out onto the wooden balcony of her hotel room. She took a deep breath of clear mountain air. It was shortly after sunrise and everything felt fresh and very still. She was surprised by how piney this mountain was. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but the waterfalls and jagged rock formations had surprised her. Except for the elevation and the fact that nobody was speaking English, she might have been staying at a lodge in Yosemite. They were, in fact, registered at a boutique hotel halfway up the slopes of Mount Ida or, as it was now called, Kaz Daglari.

  The mountain ran all the way down to the Gulf of Edremit. That’s where they’d started their journey the day before. Fred had arranged everything, acting as both tour guide and chauffeur. They’d left the concrete jumble of vacation homes lining the shore and headed upland. The foothills of the mountain were dotted with farms and miles of olive groves. They’d passed through a number of small villages that couldn’t be described as anything but quaint or maybe even charming. Tiny hamlets of old stone houses, cobbled streets and village squares complete with bubbling fountains. The higher they ascended, the fewer the villages. Farms and olive groves gave way to pine forests, rushing rivers and cooler temperatures. Just when Cassie was sure they’d left civilization behind for good, they arrived at their destination. A four star hotel complete with Olympic-sized swimming pool and gourmet cuisine. They gratefully piled out of the car to check in and get a good night’s sleep. They would need it before tackling the summit of Gargarus which rose a mile above sea level.

  Cassie took another deep breath of mountain air. A good night’s sleep had certainly done wonders. She felt rested and ready to find the fabled calendar stones. She wondered what they would look like. Just then, her reverie was punctured by the blast of a car horn. Looking down into the hotel courtyard, she saw Fred waving at her. He was standing up in the driver seat of an open Jeep.

  “Hello there, sleepyhead. Are you and your tea
m just about ready?”

  “Two minutes,” she called. Sliding the patio door shut, she hastily left her room and sped down to the lobby.

  Eric and Griffin were already waiting for her. Griffin appeared restless, alert. Cassie knew him well enough by now to recognize his inner relic hound. He was on the scent of something. It reminded her of a beagle just before a fox hunt. At least he wasn’t barking.

  “Down boy,” she patted him on the arm.

  “What?” he looked at her quizzically.

  Eric gave a subdued chuckle. Apparently he had noted the resemblance too. “Time to get this show on the road.”

  The trio emerged into the brightening day and climbed into the four-wheeler Fred had rented for their trek.

  “A few roads criss-cross the top of the mountain,” their guide explained, “but the place I’m taking you is pretty far from any of them. Hang on. Some of these trails can get awfully bumpy.”

  Cassie gripped the roll bar above her head as the Jeep jolted to life. Once again, Eric was seated up forward with Fred while Griffin was doing the best he could to keep all his gangly limbs inside the back seat.

  “Now this is more like it,” Cassie said to the Scrivener appreciatively, savoring the feeling of adventure.

  “More like what?” he asked testily. “Trundling over boulders in a sardine tin?”

  “You’re really not a morning person, are you?” she teased.

  He relented a bit and smiled back. “It is exciting, isn’t it? By the end of today we may be holding the first relic in our hands.”

  The girl nodded in agreement. “That would be something.”

  The Jeep lurched and bounced over rocky trails, cut across fast-moving streams and wove its way through dense thickets of pine. The terrain was too uncertain to allow them to travel at high speed. Cassie settled in for a long ride.

  “You know this mountain is one of the most famous landmarks in the classical world,” Griffin began. “It’s mentioned no less than forty times in the Iliad.”

  Anticipating a history lesson, Cassie cut him off. “Yeah, I know. The Trojan War and all that.”

  Griffin gaped at her in amazement. “You actually know something about Troy?”

  Cassie glanced at his puzzled face and grimaced. “Close your mouth. You don’t have to act so surprised. I can know stuff too. The Iliad was the last thing we covered in my ancient lit class before I left school. Let’s see if I remember the story.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I just know you’ll correct me if I’m wrong,”

  “Have at it,” he prompted. “I’m listening.”

  “Well, it all started when the goddess of discord lobbed a golden apple into the middle of a wedding feast on Mount Olympus. It had an inscription that read, ‘To the fairest.’” She paused as a thought struck her. “The Greeks really had a thing about golden apples, didn’t they? They have all these myths with golden apples in them. Didn’t they ever hear of the fruit of the month? I mean, why not a nice kiwi once in a while for variety.”

  Griffin sighed.

  Cassie pulled herself up short. “OK, that was off-topic. Back to the wedding feast. Once the apple started rolling around the floor, three of the goddesses pounced on it like cats on a ball of string. They all started arguing about who was the prettiest. Since nobody could decide, they asked Zeus’s opinion. For somebody who claimed to be the king of the gods, Zeus was kind of a weenie. He didn’t want to get into the middle of that discussion any more than your boyfriend wants to answer the question, ‘Does this dress make me look fat?’”

  “I’m not gay!” Griffin protested indignantly.

  “Relax. I didn’t mean your boyfriend.” She emphasized the word “your.” “I was just being generic.”

  “Perhaps you could confine yourself to gender-specific generalities,” the Scrivener sniffed.

  The girl shrugged. “Fine. Anyway, Zeus didn’t want to answer the question so he sent the goddesses off to some poor schmuck tending sheep somewhere on this very mountainside and appointed him to judge the beauty contest.” Cassie frowned in concentration. “I should remember the guy’s name because it was a city. Was it London? No. Maybe it was Detroit.”

  “Detroit?” Griffin echoed in disbelief. “It was Paris! The poor schmuck as you describe him was a youth named Paris. And the three female deities in question are the very famous Aphrodite—goddess of love, Hera—Zeus’s wife and patron of women and Athena—goddess of wisdom.”

  “Right. So as I was saying, the three goddesses try bribing this Paris guy to win the Miss Aegean beauty pageant but he likes Aphrodite’s offer best. She says if he gives her the title, she’ll make the most beautiful woman in the world fall in love with him.” Cassie paused for confirmation. “How am I doing so far?”

  “Quite well if one overlooks the appalling irreverence of your narrative style. Do continue.”

  She nodded. “So then Aphrodite gets the apple and Paris sails off to Greece to collect his bride bribe.” She chuckled at her own witticism. “Bride bribe. Get it?”

  Her companion rolled his eyes.

  “Anyhow, the prize is a chick named Helen. Of course, Aphrodite forgot to mention that Helen is already married to the King of Sparta. This little detail doesn’t seem to bother anybody very much except for Helen’s husband. When he finds out his wife has run off to Troy with a guy who likes spending quality time with sheep, he rallies all his cronies. They jump on their ships and sail off in hot pursuit. After a ten year slug fest, lots of manly battles, much chest-thumping and many big speeches, Greece wins. Troy gets burnt to the ground and Helen gets bundled back home.” Cassie grinned impishly. “So what do you think? Did I get it right?”

  “I’m speechless.”

  Erik twisted around in his seat and called over the loud growl of the engine, “What are you two gabbing about back there?”

  “The Trojan War,” Griffin answered. “Cassie has just managed to reduce the epic to the length of a sardonic soundbyte. If only Homer had been alive to hear her, it would certainly have killed the old sod.”

  “Oh come on,” Cassie objected. “How worked up can you get about a long-winded overlord poem anyway? I wasn’t wrong about any of the facts, was I?”

  “In essence, no,” the Scrivener conceded. “The facts are as you’ve stated them.”

  Cassie tilted her head, considering. “But maybe fact isn’t the right word. Are they facts? I mean, did any of it really happen?” She peered around at her companions, waiting for an answer.

  Fred remained silent, concentrating fiercely on navigating the Jeep up a steep slope.

  Erik had hooked his arm around the headrest and was following the exchange in the back seat. “Some of it really happened,” he said.

  Cassie stared at him. “You mean gods sitting on top of Mount Ida waving pennants and rooting for their favorite team? Go Trojans!”

  The Security Coordinator laughed. “No, not that part. But there really was a Troy. It’s near the coast just a little northwest of here.”

  “And the archaeological evidence suggests the city was burned around 1200 BCE,” added Griffin. “That timeframe is consistent with Homer’s epic.”

  “It’s odd though,” Cassie remarked. “That the Greeks would pick a fight in this place. I mean what with the lion lady and Cybele, Turkey used to be goddess-worship central.”

  “That’s why the Iliad is so important a piece of overlord propaganda,” offered Griffin. “The Trojan War wasn’t about recapturing a stray woman. It was about capturing all women in legally sanctioned matrimonial alliances. The overlord Greeks fighting the matristic Trojans.”

  “Too bad about how it ended,” Cassie commented gloomily.

  “Cheer up.” Griffin tried to comfort her. “Despite the Greek victory, this section of the Aegean remained a goddess stronghold for millennia afterward. In fact, there’s an amusing story in the Iliad wherein Hera seduces her husband Zeus to distract him from the battle long enough to tip the scales in favor o
f Hera’s team. Mount Ida was the home of the goddess so Hera’s power here was very strong. Even the all-powerful father of the gods couldn’t win in this place.”

  “Yeah, but she was rooting for the Greeks,” Cassie objected. “Poster boys for the new world order. What kind of crazy sense does that make?”

  “Not sense,” Erik replied. “Propaganda. It’s always more effective when you can make it look like your former enemy has been convinced of the error of her ways and defects to your side. Hera used to be an all-powerful Mother Goddess. Another version of Cybele until she got demoted by the Hellenic tribes and had to marry the new guy in town. And she sure didn’t want to marry him.”

  “So how did Zeus get her to agree?” Cassie asked.

  “According to the overlord myth,” Erik explained, “when he wasn’t getting anywhere courting her, he disguised himself as a rain-soaked cuckoo. After she picked up the poor little birdie to take care of it, Zeus changed back into his old self and took care of business. Once he’d raped her, Hera was shamed into marrying him.”

  “What a guy,” Cassie commented acidly.

  “Zeus had quite a reputation as a seducer and/or rapist,” Griffin said. “The conventional explanation is that as classical mythology evolved, the new deity was symbolically appropriating the original goddesses of the conquered peoples and incorporating them into the overlord pantheon.” He paused. “But the more I think about it, the more inclined I am to believe that Zeus’s antics mirrored what was actually taking place during the Kurgan invasions. Since the intruders tended to be roving bands of armed males on horseback, the quickest way to secure a local bride was through abduction and rape. In fact, the practice of bride abduction still occurs in the steppe nations today. Of course, nowadays the preferred getaway vehicle is an automobile rather than a horse.”