He wondered what his father’s God would have to say about that. The commandments clearly stated, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” The relics themselves constituted graven images. His father coveted them to such a degree that it qualified as a form of idol worship. Daniel thought uncomfortably of God’s promise to punish anyone to the fourth generation who indulged in such profane practices. Surely the Scion would be visited with the penalty for his father’s crimes. That is, if one believed that the commandments were the literal word of God in the first place. Daniel’s recent exposure to other religions made him question if that were so. He gasped inwardly at the blasphemous notion.
The Scion made his way outside the terminal and stood on the sidewalk for a few moments to savor the experience of being completely independent on this trip. After a surreptitious glance around to see if anyone was watching, he removed his black suit jacket, folded it neatly and stuffed it into his overnight bag. He hesitated only a moment before removing his black tie as well, placing it in the bag alongside his jacket. Then he straightened up and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. After that, he did something even more extraordinary. He rolled up his sleeves to the forearm. Given all the days he’d spent in the hot Mediterranean sun, it had never occurred to him that he might have done this sooner. He felt a mixture of guilt and exhilaration at his slight costume adjustment. Now he could almost pass for one of the Fallen. Should he be shocked at his own behavior? Had his contact with the outside world corrupted his morals? He didn’t feel particularly sinful, merely a bit less constricted.
He hoisted his bag over his shoulder and made his way toward a cab stand. Daniel congratulated himself on his ability to navigate his way through the Fallen Lands so easily now. He knew what a cab was and how to get one—knew how to book a hotel room for himself and how to pay for it with a credit card online. He wondered if he might move among them soon as a native instead of an oddity. Surely his father would view his newfound ease among the Fallen as an abomination. But there was nobody around to tell him about it, was there?
Something caught Daniel’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t consciously noticed any of the other passengers moving in and out of the airport but he felt an urge to stop dead in his tracks and look over his shoulder. A trio of travelers had just passed him and walked through the glass doors of the terminal. Even though he had only snatched a glimpse, there was something vaguely familiar about them.
Daniel felt an irrational desire to follow them back inside. Why should any of the Fallen look familiar to him? He was completely unknown in this place. The impulse refused to go away. Daniel turned around and retraced his steps. He scanned the ticket counters but there were too many people milling about. He didn’t see them. Still mentally castigating himself for this silly whim, he wandered over toward the security checkpoints. There on the other side of one of the X-ray scanners he saw the retreating backs of the same trio. They were talking and laughing with each other—a short woman with dark brown hair, a blond man and a taller brown-haired man. He strained to see their faces but they rounded a corner and were gone from view.
Daniel couldn’t follow them through security. He stood uncertainly in the terminal lobby, still wondering at his bizarre need to identify them. Then the reason hit his consciousness with a force that made him tremble. He had just seen three ghosts! The Scion staggered to the nearest bench. He felt dizzy and feared he might pass out from the shock. His mind was surely playing tricks on him. The three Fallen from Karfi were dead! Two had suffocated in the earthquake and the third had tumbled off a cliff. He had seen those things happen with his own eyes.
Daniel sunk his face into his hands. What did this mean? His mind had absurdly fixed on three random people who bore a passing resemblance to the departed ones. He thought he had left his guilty conscience behind in Chicago but it had obviously pursued him across the ocean to torture him anew. Would this be his fate as he continued the relic quest? To be haunted by the memory of his crimes when he least expected it? Would he project a false resemblance every time he saw a group of three people walking together? Was he going mad?
The Scion thought grimly that if he were going mad, it was no more than he deserved. The blood of the innocent stained his own hands just as surely as it stained the hands of Leroy Hunt. For a brief second he flashed on Hannah’s plaintive face the last time they had spoken together. Her words echoed in his head. “How bad does it have to get before you finally walk away?”
Not yet, he thought. Demons taunting him in the guise of ghosts were only the beginning. He had a foreboding that fresh horrors lay in store. He hadn’t suffered nearly enough for his sins. He felt the worst was still to come.
Chapter 26 – Bask In The Culture
“It must be nearby.” Griffin paused at an intersection to consult the slip of paper in his hand.
The Arkana team had just finished checking into a vintage hotel off the Plaza Moyua in Bilbao, Spain and were now en route to the restaurant where their trove contact was to meet them.
“This way, I believe.” The Scrivener struck off to the right and his two teammates followed.
“So how’s your room?” Cassie tried to conceal her impish expression as she asked Erik the question.
The Security Coordinator gave her an impassive glance. “Fine.”
“No broom closet this time?”
“Nope.”
“Maddie must have finally gotten over her snit because you trashed that hotel room in Venice.”
“Allegedly. I allegedly trashed it.”
The Pythia laughed. “You’re still going with that story?”
“Why doesn’t anybody believe me?” Erik finally grinned in spite of himself. “Anyway, Maddie booked me a decent room this time.”
“So she’s decided to let bygones be bygones?”
Erik paused a long moment before replying. “Not exactly. She made me sign a waiver before we left that says if I set anything else on fire the repairs are coming out of my paycheck.”
Cassie couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Kind of gives you an incentive to act all middle-aged and responsible, doesn’t it?”
“That’ll be the day!” The Security Coordinator snorted in derision.
Their conversation ended when Griffin came to an abrupt stop. He compared his scribbled directions to the building in front of them and announced, “Here we are.”
They were standing in front of a cafe with outdoor seating. Since the weather was warm for early fall they decided to place their orders and eat outside while waiting for their contact.
None of them were prepared for the sight which greeted them when they entered the cafe. Under a glass dome lay a dizzying array of small plates of food. Each item rested on a thick slice of what appeared to be French bread and was skewered with a very long toothpick. Some of the creations looked like vertical shish kebobs.
“What is that stuff?” Cassie asked cautiously
Griffin pointed wordlessly to a sign on the wall which read “Pinxtos.”
“Oh here we go again.” She sighed. “Practically every sign I’ve seen since we got here has a word with an ‘x’ in it. Did they get tired of using all the other letters? How do you pronounce that—‘pinks toes’?”
“As in Maltese, the ‘x’ is pronounced as ‘sh.’”
“Oh for crying out loud! Why don’t they pronounce an ‘x’ like the rest of the world, instead of ‘sh’?”
“Shhh!” Griffin replied.
“That’s what I said. What are you correcting me for?” Cassie muttered indignantly.
“I don’t mean ‘sh’, I mean ‘shhh’ as in keep your voice down.” The Scrivener glanced furtively toward the cashier. “The Basque people are very proud of their language. It’s called Euskara and it’s very ancient. I don’t think they appreciate tourists mocking their mother tongue.”
“Sorry,” Cassie whispered. “But honestly, they’ve got a ‘j’ that’s pronounced like ‘y’ and
and a ‘z’ that’s pronounced like ‘s’. Now it’s an ‘x’ that’s pronounced like ‘sh.’ Why not get rid of the extra letters if you’re not gonna use them? Maybe send the spares to those Balkan countries where there’s a vowel shortage.”
By this time the trio had reached the counter where row upon row of pinxtos confronted them. They stood wavering in indecision.
“Whatever you call them, they sure look good,” Cassie admitted.
Thus far Erik had been silent. He frowned. “I don’t see any cheeseburgers.”
Cassie stared at the Security Coordinator in disbelief. “Dude, I have now watched you eat cheeseburgers in three separate countries. For the love of goddess, it’s enough already. Man up and try something different.”
The Security Coordinator made no reply other than continuing to scowl at the offending plates.
After vacillating for several more moments, they made their selections. Cassie chose a Spanish tortilla which resembled a thick wedge of potato quiche. Griffin picked sliced salmon wrapped around cream cheese and topped with an anchovy. Erik, still grumbling, settled on shaved smoked ham with melon.
They ordered soft drinks, paid for their purchases and claimed a table outside where they could survey the square.
Once they’d gotten settled and started on their snacks, Cassie said, “Griffin, you haven’t been your usual chatty self since we left Malta. What’s up?”
“I do apologize,” the Scrivener said in embarrassment. “Maddie and I had a bit of a tangle cataloging some artifacts from Ethiopia. I’ve been somewhat distracted while we were sorting it all out.”
“So distracted that you haven’t told us why we’re here,” Cassie remarked. “Erik and I have been following along blindly while you and Maddie made all the travel arrangements. Now that the dust has settled, how’s about you give us an idea why we ended up in Bilbao? I know the Maltese trove-keeper figured out that Eberos is the Greek name for the Ebro River, but the Ebro cuts across the entire country so why did we make a bee line for the north coast instead of starting in Barcelona and working our way up here?”
“Because of the rest of the clue,” Griffin replied between bites of salmon. “‘Follow Eberos where it climbs to the sky.’ I take that to mean the headwaters of the river which flow from springs in the Cantabrian Mountains directly west of here.”
Completely oblivious to the conversation between his teammates, Erik regarded his food with surprise. “You know, this actually isn’t bad.”
The Pythia shot him an incredulous look before transferring her attention back to Griffin. “Then why aren’t we in Cantabria if it’s closer to the headwaters of the river?”
Griffin finished his dish and fastidiously dusted crumbs from his jacket. “Because Bilbao is the largest city in the Basque region of Spain and the Basque region holds our best hope of finding the next artifact.”
“Why’s that?” Cassie prompted, taking a last bite of her tortilla.
“Well, for one thing, Euskara—the Basque tongue—has no known antecedents anywhere on the planet.”
“So it’s not an overlord language?”
“Definitely not. No Indo-European root words at all. Linguists have been puzzling over it for years. They’ve concluded that the Basques were the indigenous occupants of this area based on the uniqueness of their language. Recent DNA evidence seems to confirm that theory at least on the maternal side. Basque mitochondrial DNA can be traced as far back as 50,000 BCE which would make these people the original Caucasian inhabitants of Europe. However, the male DNA profile is somewhat more muddled. Much of it is indistinguishable from the yDNA patterns of the rest of Spain. That would mean a more recent movement westward. The conflicting DNA profile can be explained by my own theory about Kurgan migration patterns. If you’ll recall when we were in Turkey I said that small bands of roving males on horseback tended to intermarry with indigenous female populations. Usually cultural changes were forced on the native people by invading Kurgans. In the case of the Basques, it would appear the migrating males got assimilated into existing Basque culture rather than the other way around. That’s the reason Basque customs survived and persisted even when the Romans arrived to conquer and colonize Spain.”
Erik, now finished eating, finally joined the conversation. “The Basques were able to hold onto their language and culture longer than anybody else in western Europe in spite of the Romans. The fact that Rome fell apart right around the time the legions were putting the squeeze on this part of the world worked in their favor.”
“Geography may also have worked in their favor,” Griffin added. “This area is isolated and mountainous. It affords a multitude of places to hide and harry one’s enemies from the shelter of the hills. All overlord cultures—from the Kurgans to the Romans—depended on the horse to extend the range of their conquests. While the horse may be a huge tactical advantage over open terrain, it provides very little benefit in mountainous regions. In fact, maneuvering a large animal through a mountain pass while under attack may have constituted a liability.”
Erik once more took up the explanation. “The Romans were mainly interested in conquering the tribes on the Mediterranean side of the peninsula anyway. It was too much trouble to chase after a bunch of renegades who could hide out in the mountains and ambush them at will. After a while, they figured it wasn’t worth the effort and they left the Basques alone.”
“That’s handy for us,” Griffin remarked, “because the Basques constitute a living remnant of what must once have been the universal matristic civilization of old Europe.”
Cassie sat forward with interest. “So their culture has a lot in common with the Minoans?”
“In many respects, it’s very likely. Since we haven’t deciphered Linear A yet, we have no way of knowing whether there is a linguistic connection but both groups share the tradition of goddess worship and high female social status.”
Griffin sighed. “Sadly, the Basque customs of matrilineal descent and female management of agriculture have eroded over the centuries because of the encroachment of overlord nations. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy to maintain a unified cultural identity since their territory straddles the border between modern-day Spain and France. It’s amazing that they’ve managed to hold onto any matristic elements of their past when so many other ancient European tribes lost theirs. To this day, Basque inheritance laws contain no gender bias and many of the people still actively venerate their traditional goddess Mari.”
“You mean like the mother of Jesus?” Cassie asked in surprise.
“No, there is no relation to the biblical Mary though I suspect that Christian missionaries eager to convert the natives would have exploited the similarity in the names as much as possible. The goddess of the Basques is hardly a meek handmaiden of an overlord thunder god. She is a powerful creation deity and a stickler for proper behavior from what little I’ve read.”
The three were so engrossed in conversation that they failed to observe a middle-aged man who had walked up to their table. “Good day,” he said in accented English. “I believe you are waiting for me?”
The Arkana team looked up in surprise. Griffin rose and extended his hand. “I do beg your pardon. You must be Ortzi.”
“Yes, I am.” The man took a few paces forward and shook hands. “My name is Ortzi Exteberri.” His manner was quiet and unassuming. He gave an overall impression of roundness. There were no sharp angles either to his features or his shape. He might have been in his fifties since the hair curling beneath his black beret had gone grey.
Griffin completed the introductions. Ortzi solemnly shook hands with both Cassie and Erik. Each time he coupled the handshake with the word “Kaixo.”
Cassie resisted the urge to utter “Gesundheit.” She assumed the word “Kaixo” meant “Hello.”
Griffin offered the newcomer a seat.
“I see you have tried some of our local specialty—pinxtos.” Ortzi pointed to the empty plates. “Did you like them?”
“They were really good.” Even Erik readily agreed.
“Are you the Basque trove-keeper?” Cassie asked.
“Yes.” Ortzi nodded. “For many years now.”
“I sure hope you can help us,” the Pythia said.
“It is not I who can help you,” the trove-keeper demurred. “After the Scrivener told me what you are looking for, I think it is my Aunt Ochanda who will know. I have come to take you to her. She does not like the city.”
“I take it she lives somewhere out in the country,” Griffin inferred.
“Not very far. A little way past Durango. About thirty kilometers from here.”
“What’s that in miles?” Cassie whispered under her breath to Erik.
“Twenty or so,” he answered.
“My car is parked at the end of the square. If you are ready, we can go now.”
“We have so many questions,” Griffin said worriedly. “You see we’ve already travelled very far to very little purpose.”
Ortzi Exteberri gave the Arkana team a cryptic smile. “Izeba Ochanda is our etxekoandre. She knows many things—things that have been forgotten by everybody else. Come, she is waiting to meet you.”
Wordlessly, they rose and followed him.
Chapter 27 – Boozin’ Buddies
Chopper Bowdeen sat alone in a Rush Street bar nursing a light beer. He wanted his head clear for what was coming. His last conversation with the Diviner had set him on his ear. It was one thing to teach a handful of kids to aim a gun. It was another thing entirely to order them to train those guns on their own families. All his plans to stay the course had flown out the window. He needed more intel before he could decide what to do and there was only one person who was likely to give it to him.
The Dragon's Wing Enigma (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 3) Page 14
