The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set

by N. S. Wikarski

  “That’s right,” Abraham agreed curtly. “Use your best judgment in sorting out the details.”

  “Father, I’m honored that you think so highly of my abilities.” Joshua tried to make his voice sound suitably modest.

  The diviner’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “This has nothing to do with your abilities. It’s a simple matter of efficiency. I prefer a single point of contact. You will be my sole connection to the Order and will bear the brunt of my anger should anything go wrong.”

  That thought sobered Joshua immediately. “Of course, sir.”

  “I am writing out the information you will need to arrange your trip to Europe.” Abraham took up a pen and bent over a sheet of paper on the desk.

  Joshua waited silently for him to finish scribbling his instructions. The young man speculated how this new international responsibility might serve his aims. Despite the downside of being Abraham’s scapegoat, Joshua couldn’t help thinking that this job would still elevate him in the hierarchy. Perhaps soon he would achieve the same rank as his brother Daniel.

  Daniel! He felt a surge of contempt at the name. How they could be related at all, much less share both a father and a mother, was beyond his understanding. Despite his brother’s spineless nature, the diviner favored him. For what? His ability to bury his nose in a book and read dead languages? Daniel had been named scion—Abraham’s chosen successor to lead the Blessed Nephilim after the time of his passing into the celestial kingdoms.

  Joshua studied his father through lowered lids. The old man’s shoulders were hunched, and his hand trembled slightly as he held his pen. His passing might be approaching faster than anyone expected. Perhaps in the time remaining, he could have a change of heart about his successor. Joshua intended to help him rethink his decision about who the next diviner ought to be.

  Chapter 20—Nativity Seen

  In the dead of night, Abraham shuffled aimlessly around his quarters. He was alone. It had been months since he had allowed any of his wives to sleep in his chamber. Routine marital visits ended shortly after Hannah’s disappearance. Each encounter with a different wife was a bitter reminder of the conjugal pleasures he could no longer enjoy with his favorite. Since none of the rest could take her place, he had petulantly dismissed them all. In his present state, he realized the wisdom of that decision. Better that his wives shouldn’t have the opportunity to observe his weakness at close range. The gossip that followed would be impossible to quell.

  He glanced at the alarm clock. It was one o’clock in the morning and sleep still danced just out of reach. Abraham walked into the bathroom and took a small blue bottle from the medicine cabinet. He contemplated it sourly. His chronic insomnia had taken such a toll that he had finally decided to do something about it. Generally, the Blessed Nephilim regarded the healing arts with suspicion. If it was God’s will that one should be stricken with disease, then that suffering was merited. If one died in childbirth or of a terminal illness, then that was God’s will too. However, since at least a few of the recruits to the brotherhood possessed some medical training, it was foolish not to take advantage of their knowledge if circumstances were extreme enough to warrant it.

  Earlier that day, Abraham had consulted an elderly brother who had spent his years among the Fallen as an herbalist. The brother prescribed a tincture which Abraham was to take each night—the very concoction which the diviner now held in his hand. Opening the stopper, he looked skeptically at the brown liquid suspended in a glass eye dropper. It smelled like dirt. He doubted the taste would be an improvement over the smell, but he measured out thirty drops into a glass of water and drank it down. After five minutes he felt no different, still irritable and alert. He took thirty more drops and idled away another five minutes. Abraham sensed the tiniest bit of lethargy creeping through his limbs. Still not enough. He took thirty more drops before returning to bed. There he waited for sleep to overtake him.

  ***

  He was walking through a desert. Although Abraham had never been to a desert, he could feel the sand underfoot. He could see many bright stars overhead, so he knew it was night. Off in the distance was a small wooden structure. He could hear sheep bleating somewhere out in the darkness. Perhaps the building was meant to offer them protection from the elements. As he approached, he thought it strange that there was a light glowing inside the little shed. The front stood open to the elements.

  He paused just beyond the range of the light, so he could observe the occupants inside without being seen. A woman was bending over a rough wooden crate stuffed with straw. She wore a blue cloak which covered her hair and concealed her features. Her attention was focused on an object lying on top of the straw.

  Abraham realized with a start that the object was moving. It was a baby kicking its arms and legs against the wool blanket which covered it. The infant gurgled and laughed and squirmed.

  The mother sensed a presence outside. She raised her head, and the cloak fell to her shoulders revealing her face.

  With a thrill of excitement, Abraham recognized her. “Hannah!” He called out her name and stepped eagerly into the stable.

  She looked up at him with an air of detachment for a few seconds. It was as if she didn’t know him at all. Then, with a mysterious smile, she dissolved into thin air.

  “Hannah!” he cried out again in desperation, but she had slipped away from him. She eluded him in his dreams just as effortlessly as she eluded him in the real world.

  He transferred his attention to the baby, but it was a newborn no longer. The child was a toddler of about two. It was now standing up in its bed of straw and regarding Abraham gravely.

  “My son,” the diviner whispered and knelt down beside the crate.

  “Father,” the child replied without faltering. The voice was that of a much older boy. “Why have you abandoned me?”

  “Abandoned...” Abraham froze in shock at the words. “I never...”

  “Why have you abandoned me?” the child repeated, his eyes becoming cloudy and unseeing.

  Abraham reached out to shake him by the shoulders— to anchor his attention in the present moment.

  “My son, I never abandoned you! Your mother ran away. I have tried in vain to find her— to find you. I never gave up!”

  The child’s eyes now seemed focused on another world entirely. The filmy pupils grew white. “Never mind,” his voice replied dreamily. “It is finished.”

  The sound of sheep bleating in the darkness grew louder and more insistent. Abraham watched helplessly as the solid body of his son dissolved into vapor and then into nothing at all. The old man was left alone in the shed, kneeling next to an empty wooden crate filled with straw. He reached out for the woolen blanket which remained behind. He pressed it to his face, sobbing into it as he recalled his son’s last words with horror. “Never mind. It is finished.”

  ***

  Abraham’s eyes flew open wide. He struggled to disentangle himself from the bedclothes, stood up and stared wildly around his dark, silent chamber. It had been a dream. No, not just a dream—a vision. He was the diviner. His dreams were messages from beyond. He needed no time at all to interpret the meaning of this one. He sank to his knees beside the mattress, burying his face in the coverlet. In a parallel to his dream, he began to sob uncontrollably into the blanket. He cried until every last drop of moisture had been wrung from his eyes.

  “Never mind. It is finished,” he murmured. He understood the message. His son had died in the Fallen Lands. They would never meet again in this world.

  The boy’s death could only be interpreted as the judgment of the Lord. Abraham had failed miserably in his duty to shepherd the Nephilim. Hannah, his lost lamb, had been spirited away by the devil because he not been vigilant enough. Now God had taken his son as a punishment for his laxness, and the diviner knew the chastisement was just. Abraham thought with dread of the afflictions which the Lord might yet visit upon him in the afterlife.


  The old man raised his head. Perhaps it wasn’t yet too late if he could show his master that he would never fail again. If he could wrest Hannah away from the devil and bring her back to God, surely that would prove his devotion. He must get her back. It wasn’t merely the girl’s soul which stood in jeopardy. It was his own as well.

  Abraham peered at the red glow of the alarm clock in the darkness. 1:45 AM. He had slept all of twenty minutes. Shakily, he got to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom. He poured the contents of the sleeping potion down the drain. If such visions were what sleep held in store for him, he feared to shut his eyes in repose ever again.

  Chapter 21—Bad Blood Brothers

  Daniel had just let himself out of his father’s office after his usual weekly progress report. For once, he hadn’t needed to stretch the truth too far. He was close to a breakthrough in cracking the dove riddle. Of course, he neglected to tell his father that the puzzle was likely to be solved with the help of one of the Fallen. If his father had any idea of Chris’s involvement in the relic hunt, no matter how limited that involvement might be, Daniel didn’t like to imagine the repercussions. He sauntered down the long hallway, head down, lost in thought until he sensed that someone had fallen smoothly in step with him.

  “Hello, brother.”

  Daniel looked up with a start to realize Joshua was walking alongside him. “Hello,” he replied uncertainly. “I... I... didn’t see you.”

  Of course, that was typical. Daniel never saw his sibling’s approach. Joshua always had a way of gliding up on a person unawares. He’d been doing that since they were boys. Daniel never knew why. Perhaps Joshua hoped to surprise him in some wrong-doing. The scion glanced at his brother’s archly smiling face. They looked nothing alike. Daniel took after his mother. There was no trace of the diviner in either his physique or his temperament. Joshua, on the other hand, looked like neither of their parents. His hair was dark. His eyes were a deep shade of brown which bordered on black. His features were narrow and sharp, and his bearing was restless, like a hungry predator. Overall, he reminded Daniel of a grey fox. All that was missing was the mask.

  At the moment, Joshua was studying his brother with an expression of cool appraisal. “You’ve been spending a good deal of time with our father lately.”

  Daniel hesitated before replying. He could hardly explain why they met so frequently. The relic hunt was a closely-guarded secret. He had to think of another pretext. “Since I’ve been appointed as Father’s successor, he feels the need to instruct me in the work of shepherding the Nephilim.”

  For some unaccountable reason, Joshua bristled at his explanation. “Yes, of course. The role of the scion must be a great responsibility for you. Are you sure you feel qualified to carry that burden?”

  Now it was Daniel’s turn to give his brother an appraising look. Was he actually jealous? The scion chose not to answer the question directly. “It’s not for me to decide if I’m qualified to carry that burden. Father obviously thinks I am.”

  Daniel could tell he’d struck a nerve. Joshua turned aside hurriedly to cover something—but what? After a few seconds, he recovered and resumed the conversation. “There are rumors. You know how the women like to gossip. I don’t give them any credence, you understand, but some believe that Father has given you a special task to fulfill. Something so secret that no one is allowed to know of it.” He paused and then added, “Silly idea, isn’t it?”

  Daniel raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “That’s ridiculous,” he agreed. Apparently, his recent mastery of the art of deception suited a variety of occasions. No wonder the diviner singled out lying as a capital sin. A person who was as adept a liar as Daniel could get away with a great deal.

  The two men came to a junction in the corridor.

  “Well, I’m going off to the study hall,” Daniel offered, hoping his brother would take the hint and leave him alone.

  Joshua wasn’t to be deterred so easily. “What a coincidence. I’m going in that direction too.”

  Daniel sighed in resignation and turned down the hallway to the right. Joshua wasn’t the only one who had been listening to gossip. The scion had heard a few choice rumors himself, and he decided to test their accuracy. He began with just the right note of innocence in his voice. “My wives have been chattering lately as well. It’s impossible to ignore them, really. I heard a tidbit about you, brother.”

  Now it was Joshua’s turn to mimic surprise. “About me? What did they say?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t only the three of them. These rumors have been circulating around the compound for some months now. It was something about a secret organization within the Nephilim whose job it is to report sinful behavior to the diviner. Somehow you got mixed up in that rumor. Supposedly you’re part of this new group. Talk about far-fetched.”

  Daniel peered hard at his brother. Joshua appeared momentarily too stunned to respond. Then he threw his head back and laughed—a bit too loudly and a bit too long.

  “That’s absurd,” he finally replied. “Surely you don’t believe such stories?” His dark eyes searched Daniel’s face intently.

  The scion cultivated a blank expression. “I believe that you’re in charge of a spy organization just about as much as you believe I’m working on a confidential project for Father.”

  The two men stared unblinking at one another for a few moments.

  “Here’s my destination.” Daniel opened the door to the study hall. “Time for me to work on that clandestine task of mine.”

  ‘Yes, I may as well be going too,” Joshua volunteered. “Time for me to write up a report on everyone’s suspicious behavior. What an amusing notion.”

  Daniel cast a final look at his brother’s face. Joshua wasn’t smiling.

  Chapter 22—The French Connection

  Cassie absently watched the elevator’s illuminated panel mark their ascent. It was only five flights to their destination, but the lift seemed in no hurry to get there. She and her teammates waited patiently as people filed in and out on the second floor. One of the men was wearing a hooded cloak, called a burnoose, with a skullcap on his head. One of the women wore a shapeless sack of a coat and hid her hair under a hijab scarf.

  The pythia inwardly mused about the paradoxical nature of this place. They were now in Rabat, Morocco. Rabat was a modern city complete with an expressway and taxi cabs, but somebody forgot to tell the camels that their services were no longer needed. Urbanites dressed in jeans and tee shirts walked down the same streets as turbaned locals whose weather-beaten faces made Cassie think they’d just arrived in town via desert caravan. In this progressive metropolis, the twenty-first century rubbed elbows with the seventh.

  The architecture seemed equally contradictory. White-washed fortress walls and ancient mosques existed side by side with steel and glass skyscrapers. When the Arkana team arrived the day before, they had wandered into the old section of the city called the medina. It looked like the market from Raiders of the Lost Ark: narrow, winding streets cast perpetually in shadow; merchants draping their wares over every available doorway, awning and windowsill; shopkeepers haggling with patrons over the price of their merchandise; tourists with cameras and cell phones threading their way through flocks of black-shrouded Muslim women and nobody taking the least notice of the crashing anomalies everywhere. That was Rabat.

  Cassie glanced up again at the elevator display. They’d made it all the way to the fourth floor. The doors opened once more to disgorge a few more passengers before the Arkana team got its turn to exit on five. They had come here to meet their contact—the Berber trove keeper. By day, he was a semi-retired professor of Saharan Studies at the Université De Rabat. They walked down the hall in search of his office.

  “Ah, here we are,” Griffin commented. They paused before a door with the inscription “Michel Khatabi.”

  The scrivener tapped gently.

  The door swung open as if the room’s occupant ha
d been waiting breathlessly on the other side. Instead of a solemn academic, they were greeted by a thirty-something glamazon with long auburn hair. She was dressed in Chanel and four-inch stiletto heels, causing her to tower over everyone except Griffin. Her blue eyes locked onto Erik in hungry anticipation the second she saw him.

  Rushing through the door, she murmured, “Ah mon chéri, it has been too long!” Then she threw her arms around him and planted a long, slow kiss on his lips.

  Cassie and Griffin exchanged startled looks.

  It took a lot to embarrass Erik, but this lavish display of affection had obviously done it. Blushing furiously, he disentangled himself from the woman’s embrace. “Um, hi, Sophie, it’s good to see you too.” He cleared his throat.

  Cassie narrowed her gaze. “Why don’t you introduce us to your friend, dude?”

  Erik stepped out of the woman’s reach. “Guys, this is Sophie Khatabi. She’s Professor Khatabi’s daughter.”

  “Please, Erik.” She had a strong French accent and pronounced his name “Ereek.” “You know everyone calls me Fifi.”

  The paladin nodded. “Fifi, this is Griffin, the Chief scrivener.”

  “Enchanté.” Fifi held out her hand, palm downward, giving Cassie the impression that she meant for Griffin to kiss it. Instead, he limply shook her fingers.

  Erik moved on. “And this is our new pythia, Cassie.”

  When Fifi transferred her attention to the third member of the Arkana team, her eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead in surprise. Sizing Cassie up from head to toe, she murmured, “This is the new pythia? Ma déesse! She is so little and so young. A mere child.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t all be as old as you,” Cassie muttered under her breath.

  “Pardon?” Fifi asked.

  Griffin gave Cassie’s sleeve a warning tug though she caught a gleam of amusement in his eyes.