The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set

by N. S. Wikarski

  “We have no explanation for that.” Faye reached across the table to test the temperature of the cooling bread. “It seems to be a function of our pythia that her gift applies only to ancient antiquities.”

  Cassie registered relief. “That’s good to know. I don’t think I could explain trances in a grocery store whenever the checkout clerk hands me my change. How many of these antiquities have you gotten so far?”

  “Thousands, perhaps millions,” Faye said offhandedly as she began to sweep the kitchen floor.

  The girl felt stunned. “Millions?”

  “Our organization has been in existence for centuries. My predecessors were very industrious.”

  “Then you must have a huge warehouse to store all of it.” Cassie’s voice grew eager. “Can I go there?”

  Faye stopped sweeping. She seemed to be struggling to choose the right words. “Cassie, I have an obligation to protect our treasures. If their location became known to people who want to destroy us, it would be a disaster.”

  “You mean the cowboy who went after Sybil.” The girl’s tone was solemn.

  The old woman sighed. “There are people in the world who find our knowledge threatening. It contradicts their basic beliefs about the way things have always been and the way they’re meant to be.” She stared directly at the girl. “So, you see, I can’t reveal any more information unless I know you are willing to help our cause. Will you do that? Will you join us?”

  Cassie hesitated, at a loss for words.

  The old woman read her expression. “I’m sorry, child. I didn’t mean to force you to decide this minute. There really isn’t a blood oath or anything like that. I just need your promise that you will protect our identity and the location of our treasures.”

  The girl let out a huge sigh. She stared at the table instead of looking directly at Faye. Her hair fell forward over her face. “Here’s the thing. I’m not sure I buy what you’re doing or how important it is. I don’t care about any of it very much. The only thing I did care about was my sister, and I care that some random guy in a cowboy hat took her away from me.”

  She paused. “You and your people worked with Sybil every day. You saw a side of her that I never knew existed. Probably understood her better than I ever did.”

  Cassie stood up abruptly. She felt tears welling up, so she went to stand by the sink, looking out the kitchen window. “What I’m trying to say is that by helping you, I might feel like I’m still connected to my family somehow. Still connected to the world because, honestly, now that Sybil is gone, I don’t feel as if I belong anywhere.” She turned back to face Faye and smiled self-consciously. “I guess there was a ‘yes’ buried somewhere in all that rambling. Yes, I’ll help and maybe helping you will help me feel less alone.”

  Faye walked over and wrapped her arm around Cassie’s shoulder. “You were never alone, child. We were always looking out for you. Even before you knew we existed.” She squeezed the girl’s shoulder gently. “We are called the Arkana. Welcome to our family.”

  Chapter 16 – Troublesome Relations

  Abraham had waited, albeit impatiently, for Daniel to provide some insight into the mysterious stone object that was his newest prize. His son was gone much of the time now, working ceaselessly in the libraries of the Fallen. Every few days, Metcalf would ask for a progress report, but nothing had come to light yet. He had prayed every day on his knees that God would grant his son the knowledge he required. Apparently, the Lord was testing his faith. His prayers went unanswered.

  He thought it might be best to turn to other matters. He had a flock to manage — both in the compound and abroad. It was time he paid more attention to day-to-day affairs. Perhaps that was the Lord’s intention in denying him.

  Daniel’s lack of progress in translation wasn’t the only matter troubling Metcalf. His son’s lack of progeny was distressing, even embarrassing, considering who his father was. A son of the diviner was expected to be foremost in advancing the angelic kingdom. More than that, the Lord had spoken to him in a dream. The Almighty had told Abraham that he was watching him and would hold him to strict account for his son’s failure. Metcalf was determined to get to the bottom of this.

  The old man marched decisively to the nursery where the wives with small children spent their time. There were a dozen women managing the business of toddlers who outnumbered them four to one. They were dressed alike in gray shifts and white aprons—the garb of married women. The wives all saw him at the same time and rose as one body.

  “Good morning, Father Abraham,” they said in unison.

  He nodded in acknowledgement. “I wish to have a word with Annabeth.”

  His eyes focused on a timid blond woman of about twenty standing far back in the corner. She was holding a girl who was about a year old. Another woman rushed forward to take the child from her.

  Annabeth swallowed hard and walked forward timidly. “Here I am, Father.”

  “Come with me.” Without waiting for a sign of assent, he turned on his heel and left the room, expecting her to trail in his wake.

  He swung around to face her outside the common room. “Where are your quarters?”

  Awed by all this direct attention from the diviner, Annabeth had difficulty forming a coherent sentence. “Th… there. O… over that way. I mean… that is… in that direction, Father.” She pointed down another corridor.

  “Show me,” Metcalf ordered. “We will talk there.”

  With a sidelong glance of dread, Annabeth led the way. She obviously feared she was in serious trouble if the diviner had sought her out and wanted to speak privately. When she reached her door, she hesitated, looking over her shoulder at him. Then she stood aside and allowed him to enter ahead of her.

  Abraham assessed his surroundings. The room was simply furnished as were all the sleeping chambers in the compound. A double bed with bleached white sheets and a pine dresser. A plain wooden cross hung above the headboard. His eyes traveled to the opposite wall. There was no crib. All the older children slept in dormitories, but those under the age of two remained with their mothers. That meant the child Annabeth had been holding was not hers. Two chairs faced each other across a small square table, occupying the space where a crib should have been. Abraham noted approvingly that his son’s picture hung on the wall above the table. That showed a fitting respect on Annabeth’s part.

  The young woman stood gawking at him, unsure of what he expected. “Sit down,” he ordered. She scurried to comply, and he took the chair opposite her.

  “Annabeth, when did I assign you to be my son’s wife?”

  She hesitated as if she were solving a difficult mathematical equation. “I think it was… no… let me see… umm… it would have been uh… f... five years ago, Father.”

  Metcalf leaned forward over the table. “And what is your rank among his wives?”

  “We are all of equal rank since we’ve all borne an equal number of children. Each of us has had one.”

  Metcalf was nonplussed by her answer. A wife’s rank was determined by the number of offspring she produced. It was also a good indication of which wife a man favored most. He had started his inquiry with Daniel’s most recent wife since the newest tended to receive the most attention from their husbands. But he could tell nothing from this line of questioning. He still didn’t know which wife was the weak link in Daniel’s chain.

  Abraham forced a smile. He wanted to put the woman at ease. “Perhaps you can help me understand this. You say each of you has had one child. One?” He let the word hang in the air between them.

  Annabeth clasped and unclasped her hands. Apparently, she was fighting an urge to bite her nails. They were already bitten to the quick. “Yes, Father. We have prayed for more issue. All of us. Daniel has instructed us to do that, and we have. Every day. We have.”

  “Is your child the youngest of my son’s offspring?”

  Annabeth cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s
right. She is three years old.”

  “She.” Metcalf allowed a note of disappointment to creep into his voice.

  The woman looked down at the table, flustered. “All Daniel’s children are girls, Father. All three of them. They are good girls, too. They never misbehave. They are pure in the eyes of the Lord.”

  Abraham folded his arms and sat back in his chair, considering the facts he’d just been given. Something was quite amiss here. “Annabeth, when was the last time you and my son had relations?”

  Obviously, the woman had been dreading that he might ask this question. She looked at the floor, at the walls, at every spot in the room other than into Metcalf’s eyes.

  “It has been some t… time, Father,” she faltered.

  “How long, precisely?”

  “Since before my daughter was born, sir.”

  Abraham was appalled. “But that would be years, woman!”

  “Yes, sir” she nodded vigorously. “About f… four years.”

  Metcalf made an effort to control his temper. He wanted more information. Again, he forced himself to smile. “You are one of the Lord’s chosen, Annabeth. A consecrated bride. Do you understand that?”

  She seemed to relax a bit. “That is what our holy books say. We are not like the Fallen. We have been selected from among all the women of the earth to be God’s chosen vessels. It is through my children and the children of my Consecrated sisters that the Blessed Nephilim will increase the angelic kingdom.”

  “Very true. Yet you are failing in your duty to increase the kingdom.”

  “But—”

  “Let me continue.” Metcalf held up his hand to silence her. “It is often the case with a young husband that one of his wives can be overbearing.”

  A look of panic crossed Annabeth’s face. “I… oh no, Father. Never! I would never do that!”

  “As I was saying, if a wife is of a headstrong nature, she may intimidate her husband, and he will not seek her company.”

  “But I—”

  Metcalf cut her off. “Annabeth, do you know what a consecrated bride’s principal duty is?”

  “Of course, Father, of course. It is her principal duty in life to marry and bear her husband’s angelic offspring.” She recited the words as if by rote.

  “And do you think you have fulfilled the duty of a consecrated bride?” he asked quietly.

  “I have always—”

  He broke in once more. “Perhaps you should search your conscience a little more. Perhaps you don’t deserve to be counted among the consecrated.” Abraham stood up and towered over her. “You must pray, Annabeth.”

  She looked up at him confusedly. “Father?”

  “I want you to get on your knees now and ask the Lord to give you a more pliable disposition.”

  “Just as you wish, Father.” She scrambled out of the chair and knelt beside the table.

  “You must ask God to change your unruly temperament so that you may win back your husband’s affections.”

  The woman bit her lip to keep it from quivering. Tears began to run down her cheeks.

  Abraham turned his back and walked toward the door. “You must pray unceasingly, Annabeth. God is watching you. He is watching us all.”

  Chapter 17 – Old School

  Cassie was venturing into unknown territory. She had been driving for over an hour in a northwest direction. There was a map spread open on the passenger seat along with a page of hastily scrawled driving directions that Faye had given her over the phone. She was outside the metro area and off into farm country, only this didn’t look like any part of Illinois that she’d seen before. Instead of flat cornfields, everything was hilly and wooded. “The place where the last glacier melted” was the way Faye had described it. The place where mountains of ice had carved hills and valleys and lakes and rivers into Illinois’ otherwise dull topography.

  She passed through villages that might have been thriving a hundred years earlier, then crossed railroad tracks and bridges over rivers. The scenery became more wooded the farther she traveled—the roads became narrower and the traffic sparser. Eventually, she was driving on roads with no center line, and then roads with no shoulder, and finally on a road that was unpaved. Trees arched overhead, blocking out the sun. The underbrush on either side scraped against the doors of her car. In a small clearing, the dirt road ended abruptly. Noon sun flooded the glade with light, and at its center stood a two-story white frame building. There was a bell tower over the front entrance.

  Cassie didn’t see a No Trespassing sign to keep intruders away, so she pulled her car over to one side of the clearing, got out, and walked toward the building. It looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting—an old-fashioned country schoolhouse. The structure was at least a century old though the age was hard to guess because it was so well-maintained. The exterior had been recently painted, and the grass was neatly trimmed. Hyacinth bloomed around the foundation. Cassie couldn’t see any other cars. Nobody seemed to be around.

  The girl began to feel troubled. She still wasn’t entirely sure why she was going along with this or what she was going to see here. She felt defensive and on guard. “Proceed with caution,” she instructed herself.

  Cassie walked up the three stairs leading to double front doors. Just as she touched the handle, the doors swung open. A young man in his early twenties with curly brown hair poked his head around the side and came to stand in front of her.

  “Come in, please, come in. We’ve been expecting you. My name is Griffin.” He spoke with a British accent. “And you must be Cassie.” He held out his hand and shook hers briefly. “Faye has told me all about you, and may I say how pleased I am to meet you at last!”

  Even though his words were cordial, something about the reserved tone of his voice put Cassie a bit further on her guard. Maybe he was just being British, or maybe he felt uneasy in her presence for reasons she couldn’t quite figure out.

  There was an awkward pause while they sized up one another for a few seconds. Cassie thought he was kind of good looking if a person could get past his twitchiness. She saw that he was dressed more formally than she was. He wore navy blue trousers, a white shirt, V-neck sweater and a striped tie. She felt as if she ought to be wearing a dress and heels instead of jeans, a sweater, and hiking boots.

  “Right then,” Griffin forged ahead. “Please do come in. Maddie was taking an important phone call, or she would have come down to meet you herself. This way, if you will.”

  They walked through a small vestibule and on into the main room. The ceiling was about twelve feet high with globe chandeliers suspended from heavy chains. Tall stained-glass windows took up the top half of each side wall. They ought to have given the building a churchlike quality, but the scenes depicted in the windows all came from nature. Bright green forests, azure waterfalls, silver lilies, and golden birds cast prismatic light across the center of the room. Right below the windows were several tiers of what looked like box seats.

  “I thought this was an old schoolhouse from the outside,” Cassie said as she took stock of her surroundings.

  Griffin bobbed his head in agreement. “Yes, you’re quite right. This was a schoolhouse about a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “Kind of big and oddly furnished for an out-of-the-way rural schoolhouse,” the girl observed.

  “It doubled as the town hall when there was a town out this way. That’s all vanished now, of course. Railroads took the place of river transportation, and the towns around waterways disappeared. And we’ve done some remodeling as well. The stained glass is new.”

  Cassie’s attention turned to the center of the room. She expected to see rows of student desks, but there weren’t any. Instead, she was confronted with a polished round table big enough to seat thirty people. She counted the chairs just to be sure. There were thirty of them.

  “You hold Renaissance fairs here?” she asked dryly.

  “I
beg your pardon?” Griffin looked confused.

  “You know, King Arthur, knights of the round table, et cetera.”

  “Oh, I see.” He laughed self-consciously. “No, not as such. Actually, Arthur and his knights were not Renaissance figures.” He pronounced “Renaissance” like “ReNAYsonce.”

  “They were most probably sixth century, but there is no scholarly consensus on the exact date. In point of fact, King Arthur and the knights of the round table are more closely associated with the Middle Ages than with the Renaissance. Perhaps because Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae was written in the twelfth century and popularized in the courts of Europe at that time. Of course, Welsh and Breton folktales about King Arthur do predate Mallory’s book. And then you have Chretien de Troyes adding the legend of Lancelot and the Holy Grail. Well, as you can see…”

  He trailed off when he noticed the glazed expression on Cassie’s face. “Sorry, more information than you could possibly require. I have an unfortunate tendency to provide irrelevant detail. I do beg your pardon.” He checked his verbal torrent and stood looking at her in mute embarrassment.

  Cassie turned away to glance around the entire room. “This is it? This is the giant vault Fay was telling me about? An empty schoolhouse with fancy bleachers and a big table?”

  “Hardly.” Griffin gave her a thin smile. “Faye thought it best to introduce you to us in stages. Today you’re here to learn about the organization, not the vault. Don’t want to overwhelm you all at once. This way, please.”

  Their footsteps made the oak floorboards creak as they crossed the main room to a door at the opposite end. It led to a short corridor that ran widthwise across the back of the building. At either end were exit doors and stairways that led up to the second floor.

  Cassie followed her guide upstairs to stand in a short hallway that mirrored the one below. To their left was a corridor that ran the length of the building. As they walked down the hall, Cassie glanced through the open doorways on either side. There were conference rooms and offices with desks, but they were all empty. Nobody else was about, and none of the rooms gave a hint of the kind of business that was conducted here.