The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set

by N. S. Wikarski

  “Excuse me, please,” Stefan interrupted. “But this knife was found in a grave. It would not have been passed forward to anybody.”

  “That’s because the last guy who had it ended up getting stabbed with it himself. Then all of a sudden, it was bad juju.”

  “Bad juju?” the trove keeper repeated doubtfully. “I do not understand this expression.”

  “Allow me to interpret,” Griffin said. “I think I’m becoming proficient in Cassie-speak.”

  The pythia rolled her eyes.

  “I believe she means it came to be regarded as unlucky. Its magic was broken. Better to bury it with its last owner than to pass it on.”

  “You know that female body you found in the grave with the chieftain and the dagger?” Cassie looked inquiringly at Stefan.

  “Yes,” he replied uncertainly. “She was most probably his wife.”

  “She was more than that,” the pythia said. “She was also his killer.”

  The men all looked startled.

  “I only got flashes of what happened, but it seems that he had already been wounded in some big battle and was recuperating. She’d been captured during a raid and didn’t like being treated like prize livestock. While he was sleeping one night, she decided she would let him and his whole tribe know what she thought about the situation. She understood what a big deal the dagger was to them, so using it as the murder weapon was a way of giving them all a collective black eye. After she stabbed the chieftain, she ran off. Too bad she couldn’t outrun a horse. They caught up with her and dragged her back. Broke her legs so she couldn’t run away again. Then when they had the big funeral ceremony, they cut her throat and put her in the grave. I guess the tribe figured their chief would get a chance to punish her in the afterlife for what she’d done.”

  “What lovely people,” Griffin remarked caustically.

  “After that, the tribe thought the dagger was defiled. It had been used against them by someone they conquered—one of the so-called inferior tribes—so that’s why it got buried.” Cassie yawned wearily. “And that’s where its story ends.”

  Fred handed her a fresh glass of water. “Which brings us back to Stefan’s original question. How did that tribe get the dagger in the first place?”

  Cassie took several sips before replying. “I think the guy who had it first was the founder of that tribe though he would have lived a couple of thousand years before its last owner. He was bad news, that one. Somebody should have forced him to take an anger management class. Except maybe ‘angry’ isn’t the right word. It felt more like rage. The same kind of rage I could feel in the dagger itself.”

  “What was he enraged about?” Griffin asked.

  The pythia paused to consider. “Everything. Everybody. It was almost as if he had a grudge against life itself for being the way it was. He didn’t like being told no.” She stopped speaking, trying to reach out into the atmosphere and pluck out the right phrase to describe what was wrong with him. “It’s almost as if he thought he was God. And every time reality smacked him down to prove he wasn’t, he got even madder.” She paused again and closed her eyes, trying to recall the details. “He was traveling with a bunch of people who were all running away from a giant flood.”

  Griffin laid a hand on her arm to interrupt her. “Cassie, where were they? Could you see the surroundings?”

  She nodded. “They were in some mountains. There was snow on the trail.”

  “Good heavens, do you know what you may be describing?” Griffin asked in wonderment.

  Cassie stared at him. “No, what?”

  “This young man and the people who were with him may have all been fleeing from the Black Sea deluge.”

  “But that would mean this knife goes back about seven thousand years,” Erik speculated.

  “Precisely,” Griffin concurred. “Stefan, is there any way you could get this carbon-dated?”

  The trove keeper nodded. “Yes, I think that is possible.”

  “Amazing,” Griffin exclaimed. “This artifact may provide a direct link between refugees of the flood and the origins of Kurgan culture.

  “How do you figure?” Fred asked.

  “If these people were climbing into the mountains to escape a great flood, there’s a very good chance they were fleeing directly into the Russian steppes. This may help broaden our understanding of the Kurgan tribes. Their warlike tendencies may have predated the dessication of the grasslands by thousands of years. Those refugees would have already been hungry and desperate when they arrived in their new homeland. Quite possibly they might have started preying on the indigenous peoples in the area. Remember what happened to the area around Catal Huyuk after the flood? Cities with fortifications. It stands to reason that these starving, predatory newcomers to the steppes might have entirely changed the cultural balance in that part of the world. This aggressive young man that Cassie has described would have been proto-Kurgan.”

  “He sure was brutal enough to be a Kurgan,” Cassie observed. “He cut her throat like it was nothing.”

  “Who?” Erik asked.

  “Sorry, I forgot. I’m getting ahead of myself. In my vision, this guy was ornery at the best of times, but he’d linked up with a tribe that was trying to get away from the flood. He was mad at the direction they were going. I think that was what set him off. He wanted to be in charge. But there was this woman. I guess she was the tribe’s shaman, and she kept insisting that they go in a different direction. So, he took out his knife and cut her throat. That was the beginning for him. He saw that catastrophe with the flood as…” She paused to summon the right word. “As an opportunity. That’s it. An opportunity for him to take over. He was a different kind of human from the rest. Maybe he was born different. The tribe he was traveling with—their leaders acted for the good of everybody. They all felt bound to each other. But this guy, he was disconnected. He really didn’t care about the rest of the people or what was good for them. Only what was good for him. He wanted to be giving the orders. Wanted to be worshipped and obeyed. Some of the tribe followed him because they didn’t know what to do and he acted like he knew where he was going. So, they went off with him and left the others behind.” She shook her head ruefully. “What a psycho.”

  “Not psycho,” Griffin corrected. “The personality you’re describing sounds very much like a sociopath to me.”

  “It all fits,” Erik added. “That kind of leader usually manages to show up whenever there’s a culture in crisis. People get scared stupid, and they listen to anybody who sounds like he has a plan to get them out of the jam they’re in. Overlord history books are full of his kind.”

  Cassie wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. “There should be something else here.” She was puzzled.

  “Pardon?” Griffin stared at her.

  She transferred her attention to the trove keeper. “Stefan, didn’t you find something else with this knife? Something shiny buried right next to it?”

  The trove keeper looked perplexed. “There was the sheath which you have already seen.”

  “No, not that. Can somebody get me something to write with?”

  Fred walked over to the desk to retrieve some hotel stationary and a pen. He handed them wordlessly to Cassie.

  She traced an outline on the paper. A five-sided geometric shape. Inscribed inside it was a five-pointed star. She held the picture out for Stefan to see. “It would have looked like this. An amulet made of metal, copper maybe. It had a star carved into the middle of it. The dead priestess wore it across her forehead. I got the impression it was the symbol for the goddess those people worshipped. Anyway, when the psycho cut her throat, he took it with him. It was handed down with the knife from one chieftain to the next.”

  “I have no knowledge of this.” Stefan seemed bemused. “I am sorry to be saying I am sorry yet again.”

  “Oh well, it must have been lost somewhere along the way. But I think it was important
to them. A trophy. The sort of thing you’d want to display in your den if you were a big game hunter. Like a moose’s head.”

  “That’s a pretty bizarre analogy,” Fred commented.

  Cassie made a wry face. “Give me a break. My head hurts, and all my bones feel like I’ve just been crunched by a boa constrictor. My communication skills are still a little off.”

  “On the contrary,” Griffin broke in. He seemed oddly animated. “My dear girl, your communication skills are spot on.”

  “Huh?”

  “The star amulet. A goddess symbol. It’s given me an idea. A fantastic idea!”

  By now they were all staring at him dubiously.

  He jumped up and began pacing the room. “I’ll have to get in touch with a few people back at the vault to run the calculations, but I believe we’ll still be in time.” He stopped muttering long enough to notice the reaction of his colleagues and hastened to explain. “Cassie’s words jogged my memory about something. My theory may be far-fetched but if I’m right…” He was beaming now. “By tomorrow, I’ll be able to tell you precisely when and where the soul of the lady will rise!”

  Chapter 25 – On Purpose

  “Thanks, Gamma. I don’t think I ate anything since lunch.” Zachary wiped his mouth with a napkin and proceeded to lick up every last bread crumb on his plate.

  The lemon squares had vanished into the boy’s stomach an hour earlier to be followed by two sandwiches, several dill pickles and a bag of potato chips.

  “I can make you another sandwich, dear,” Faye offered. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some chicken salad instead of another mushroom burger?”

  “Sorry, Gamma. You know I’m a vegan. Give me enough time, and I’ll convince you to be one too. You wouldn’t believe the way animals are treated in the meat and dairy industry. I could show you pictures that would turn your stomach. Worse than Auschwitz.”

  Faye regarded him dispassionately. “I take it you won’t be wanting the chicken salad, then?”

  Apparently deciding to proselytize another time, the boy replied, “Those portobellos were pretty good. I think I could manage just one more.” Then he changed the subject entirely. “Sorry if I chased off your friend.” He was alluding to Maddie’s hasty departure. “Who is she, anyway?”

  “Oh, just a neighbor.” Faye remained intent on slicing two more pieces of bread. “She came over to borrow a cup of sugar.”

  “She didn’t leave with any.”

  The old woman shrugged innocently. “She must have forgotten in all the excitement of your arrival.” She placed another grilled portobello mushroom sandwich in front of Zachary.

  He fell to devouring it without ceremony. “You’d think she’d be used to your great-grandkids popping over all the time,” he said between mouthfuls.

  “She isn’t because they don’t. My progeny is scattered all over the globe. Dropping by for a visit is reserved for major holidays during alternate decades. No, Zachary, your situation is unique. Your parents have the distinction of being the only relatives who live in close proximity to me.”

  While she was speaking the boy had managed to consume the rest of his sandwich and several chocolate chip cookies.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the old woman asked.

  “Got any soy milk?” he asked hopefully.

  “I’m sorry, dear. Just cow’s milk, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s alright. I’m good for now.” The boy stood up from the table and stretched contentedly. He wasn’t more than five-foot eight, but he towered over Faye. “Just point me someplace where I can crash.”

  “You know this is only a temporary solution,” Faye cautioned. “You’ll have to deal with your parents sometime.”

  The boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but not tonight, OK? No lectures tonight.”

  The old woman chuckled. “I remember being a teenager.”

  “You do?” Zachary tried not to sound too shocked.

  Faye gave an amused smile. “Yes, that long ago. Remarkable that my memory hasn’t failed, isn’t it?” She paused to recollect. “It was a time in my life when there seemed to be far too many rules.”

  “And all of them made by somebody else,” her descendent muttered.

  “Yes,” Faye agreed quietly. “I believe that was the troublesome part.” She exited the kitchen and gestured for Zachary to follow her. “I suppose the guest room will do. I just changed the bedding.”

  “Were you expecting company?” The boy trailed her up the stairs.

  “I’m always expecting the unexpected,” she said over her shoulder.

  The second story floorboards creaked as she led him to a room at the far end of the hall. Switching on the light, she said, “You can put your things in here.”

  The bedroom was set under a dormer at the back of the house, so the ceiling was slanted. The room contained an old-fashioned brass bed, a nightstand, and an antique oak dresser. White lace curtains floated on the evening breeze streaming through the open window.

  “Better than Howard Johnson’s.” Zachary tossed his backpack in the corner and flung himself across the mattress. The metal springs rasped under his weight.

  Faye stood in the doorway with her arms folded, regarding him silently for several seconds.

  Noticing her scrutiny, the boy sat up. “What?”

  “Just tell me what triggered this urgent need for freedom.”

  “Gamma, do we have to go into that now?” His tone was wheedling.

  “Twenty-five words or less.”

  “I wanted to do a summer internship with Greenpeace. The fascist dictators I live with said it was too dangerous. All I was going to do was hand out flyers in the city. It’s not like I was trying to stop an illegal whale hunt or jump in front of a baby seal that was being clubbed to death.” He threw his hands up in disgust. “When I save up enough money I’m gonna get a DNA test done. I can’t be a blood relative to those people. I swear I must have been left on their doorstep by space aliens.”

  With a perfectly straight face, the old woman asked, “What color was the mother ship?”

  “Metallic blue with white sidewalls.”

  “I’m not going to lecture you,” Faye said softly. “But surely you know how worried your parents must be.”

  “They probably figured out where I went,” Zachary offered grudgingly. He sat on the edge of the bed, kicking his legs back and forth. “I just took off, OK? It wasn’t like I did it on purpose to make them crazy. I just couldn’t take one more ‘No.’ For crying out loud, I’m not a baby. I’m sixteen!”

  Faye smiled. “You’re fifteen years and eleven months. Had you been sixteen, I’m sure you would have availed yourself of a driver’s permit and hijacked one of your parents’ cars to get here rather than hitchhiking. Am I right?”

  The boy hung his head for a moment. “Busted.” Then he gave his aged relative an appraising look. “How do you always seem to know stuff without being told?”

  “Let’s just say I’m very good at mathematics.” She sat down on the bed next to him. “Being a parent is a tremendously hard job. They only want to protect you and keep you safe.”

  “Then they should just seal me up in a big damn plastic bubble and get it over with!”

  “I’m sure there’s a law against that. In fact, I read about it quite recently in the Enquirer.”

  Zachary did a double-take until he realized Faye was smiling.

  “I wonder if they might get away with encasing you in a hazmat suit until you’re twenty-one. Yes, that may be the better way to go.”

  Now he could tell she was joking. The boy grinned in spite of himself.

  “In addition to remembering all the ‘no’s’ when one is a teenager,” she said, “I also remember how intense life can seem when one is young. I used to write some very lugubrious poetry at your age. Awful stuff!”

  “Lugubrious?”

  “Yes, it means melancholy. I had a perp
etual case of the vapors until my early twenties. My own personal mauve decade.” She smiled at the memory. “And I wrote some truly terrible poetry to commemorate my maudlin phase.”

  “I bet it was pretty good,” Zachary observed. “You’re the cool one. You’re the only one in the family I’d ever admit to being related to.”

  “Why thank you, Zach. I’ll take that as a compliment.” She patted his knee. “But I can afford to be the cool one. I don’t have to do the hard part. I can simply enjoy your company and send you packing whenever you become tiresome.”

  “Am I?” he asked anxiously.

  “Are you what?” She brushed a breadcrumb off his shirt.

  “Tiresome?”

  She gave him a fond look. “No, my dear boy. Most assuredly not.”

  “But we are different from them, aren’t we?” he persisted. “I mean you’re the only one in the family who gets me. Everybody else is so busy trying to fit in. Be a solid citizen. I’ve got parents who make their living watching mold grow in petri dishes and a sister who wanted to be a lawyer before she was out of diapers.”

  “And what do you want to be?”

  The boy paused and gave her a furtive glance. “I don’t know exactly, but I want it to be something that isn’t ordinary. Something that’s going to change the world.”

  The old woman nodded understandingly. “I think most young people want to change the world.”

  “No, Gamma. I really mean it. I want to feel like my life makes a big difference. It’s almost like I’ve got some kind of mission.”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A mission. Indeed. What sort of mission?”

  He gave a frustrated sigh. “That’s just it. I don’t know. I can almost feel it out there calling me, but I don’t know what it is yet.” Zach paused to consider. “It’s really weird, but I can feel it stronger whenever I’m around you.” He peered into her face. “What do you think that’s about?”