Chris focused on them for the first time and gasped. “Are those real?” he asked in disbelief.
“The outer circle is made of diamonds with two rubies at either end. The gems in the middle are emeralds.”
“This artifact of yours must be worth a fortune!”
Daniel shrugged matter-of-factly. “My father isn’t concerned about its monetary value. It holds some symbolic significance for him.”
“Your father must be pretty rich not to care about rocks like these!” Chris’s eyes were riveted to the gems.
“Other things are more important to him,” Daniel said cryptically. “That’s all I can tell you.”
Chris shook himself out of his daze. “Understood. Sorry about that. I got lost in the moment. I’m back now!” He gave the scion an impish grin. “So, you were saying?”
Daniel forged ahead. “I believe the arrangement of the stones has some meaning. It may be a representation of a stone circle.”
“Let me see that again.” Chris took the photo from his friend’s hands and puzzled over it for a few seconds. “Given how fixated the Minoans were on stars, this might be something more than a simple stone circle. Look at the cluster of emeralds in the middle. What shape does it remind you of?”
Daniel took the photo back. “You mean the emeralds aren’t scattered at random?”
“Hardly.” Chris sniffed in derision. He turned to his computer and pulled up another set of search results. “There,” he said in triumph. “Take a look at that.”
Daniel studied the shape on the screen which bore an uncanny resemblance to the seven emeralds. “Orion?” he asked, still not understanding the significance of the pattern.
“Orion,” Chris confirmed. “It’s one of the most identifiable constellations in the night sky. Its seven brightest stars form an hourglass shape. The three lined up in the middle are known as Orion’s Belt. Their names are Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka. The four outer stars are called Rigel, Betelgeuse, Bellatrix, and Saiph.”
“But what does all that mean?” Daniel asked helplessly.
Chris pondered the question. “Let’s suppose the design on the dove’s back isn’t merely symbolic. Maybe there really is a stone circle in Africa that looks like this. I’ve read that megalithic formations might have been used for calendar purposes thousands of years ago. There’s at least one theory that the pyramids at Giza are aligned with Orion’s Belt. Why not a stone circle too? Let’s find out.”
Chris returned to the keyboard. It took several tries to get the search criteria right, but the results amazed both of them.
They stared at the screen in disbelief.
“Nabta Playa?” Daniel asked the librarian cautiously.
“Absolutely,” Chris averred. “It has to be. Nabta Playa.”
Chapter 35—Sounding Bored
Leroy pushed away from his desk and rubbed his strained eyes. For the past three hours, he’d been watching the video feed and listening to the audio recording from the bug he’d planted in the antique shop. One thing was certain. He now knew more about the difference between a Sheraton and a Hepplewhite side chair than any straight, red-blooded American male had any business knowing.
He’d holed up in his apartment to continue his surveillance because he figured it was better to let Miz Rhonda stew about his next move. Unfortunately, after two days of monitoring the shop, he’d learned absolutely nothing. Nothing, that is, about the mastermind behind Miss Hannah’s disappearance and the removal of Miz Sybil’s furniture. He’d learned plenty about the antique business and way too much about the personal life of Senorita Lupe who was filling in while Miz Rhonda was out sick.
He grinned at the thought. Miz Rhonda would have had good reason to develop a case of the vapors and take to her bed after the scare he’d thrown into her. He knew she hadn’t bolted because she phoned in every day to ask Senorita Lupe how business was going. He decided it was safe to let her sit at home and nurse her worries. The more she dreaded what was waiting for her when she got back to work, the more inclined she’d be to call in some backup for protection. Whoever she brought in was sure to lead him to the head of the ring. As far as he could tell, her assistant didn’t know jack about the dark doings at Miz Rhonda’s shop. Senorita Lupe’s conversations were dull as ditchwater. The high point of her day was when one of her amigas phoned to shoot the breeze. That’s when she’d start running off at the mouth about the shortcomings of her latest boyfriend. Exciting stuff.
Leroy yawned and stood up to stretch his legs. He checked his watch. The shop was about to close, and it had been a slow day to begin with. At that moment, his cell phone rang.
“Hello, Mr. Hunt?” It was the preacher.
“Howdy, boss. What’s shakin’?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Leroy guessed that old Abe was trying to suss out what he meant. “Prepare yourself for a journey.”
“Hot dang! So, your boy’s ready to get crackin’?”
“Yes, he is. He knows where the next artifact may be hidden. I’ll send the usual driver to collect you in the morning. Be ready at seven o’clock.”
“Where we headin’?”
“To Africa, Mr. Hunt.”
“You don’t say. I never been to the dark continent before.”
“The political situation is somewhat troubled in the areas where you’ll be traveling.”
“Do tell.” Hunt eyed his SIG Pro sitting in its shoulder holster slung over the back of a chair. “Guess I’d best take precautions.”
“We’ll supply you with what you need once you’re off the airplane.”
“Sounds good, boss. I’ll be ready bright and early.”
The other end of the line went dead.
Leroy cast a glance at the headphones now lying idle on his desk—the video feed still frozen on his computer screen. The old preacher’s timing might have been better. Leroy wasn’t too crazy about leaving the country right when he’d backed Miz Rhonda into a corner. A lot could change in the time he was gone. He comforted himself with the thought that he could still monitor the antique shop from anywhere in the world. If Miz Rhonda decided to send up a flare while he was away, his smoke detector would tell him where to find the fire.
Chapter 36—Just Deserts
Cassie gazed out the rear side window of an SUV winging its way across the Sudanese desert. One thing you could say about the scenery—there wasn’t any. Just a long thread of blacktop road stretching off into infinity. It ran in a monotonously straight line over a monotonously flat and sandy terrain. There weren’t even any dunes to vary the scenery. Just an endless road through an endless desert. Thinking back to their trip to Nabta Playa, Cassie reminded herself to be thankful that they actually had a road to drive on at all. Not only did they have a road, but it was in very good shape and looked newly-paved. The air temperature was a balmy eighty degrees which felt like a significant improvement over the Egyptian desert of a few days earlier.
The Arkana team had arrived in Khartoum the night before. Ironically, the quickest way to reach the Sudanese capital was to fly all the way back from southern Egypt to Cairo. As aggravating as the two-day detour was, the ferry from Aswan to cross the border at Wadi Halfa would have been even worse. Stories abounded of people making the crossing from southern Egypt to Sudan via a crowded and not overly-hygienic Nile ferry, only to find they had to wait five additional days for their motor vehicles to arrive on a separate boat. After careful deliberation, the trio had decided that wasting two days in airports was infinitely preferable to taking the ferry from hell.
When they finally landed in Khartoum, they were pleasantly surprised. It proved to be a city of six million people complete with all the amenities of twenty-first century life. They were, however, only able to enjoy the trappings of civilization for one night before starting their trek northwards.
The next morning, they were met by their Arkana contact—a very slender black African
youth who went by the name of John. This startled everyone until he explained that his ancestors were Coptic Christians who never converted to Islam. John was only a tyro at the Nubian trove, but his extensive knowledge of their destination qualified him to be their guide. He explained that the distance from Khartoum to Karima was over three hundred miles and would take several hours. His shy, soft voice coupled with a heavy accent made it difficult to understand him.
They all understood, however, when John gestured for them to climb into his SUV. Griffin yielded the back seat to Cassie and Erik without a word. This was in obvious deference to their personal relationship though none of them talked about the romance openly. It was an awkward topic which the trio side-stepped at every opportunity.
There was no conversation en route. John drove silently. Griffin kept rechecking his field notes while Cassie and Erik looked out of opposite windows at the nonexistent scenery. The monotony of the experience was only broken once when Cassie cried, “What’s that?”
Out in the desert about a quarter mile to the left of the car, a vertical column of sand was spinning in the air.
Peering out the window on her side of the vehicle, Erik said, “It looks like a dust devil.”
“To me, it looks like a tornado or maybe a water spout,” the pythia replied.
“Well, it’s the same principle. Only with sand,” the paladin retorted.
“They are quite common around here,” their guide explained. “We call them ‘ghost’s wind.’”
After that brief moment of excitement, they all lapsed back into silence.
About halfway through their journey, John pulled off the highway next to an odd little roadside establishment. It was a lean-to made of vertical sticks driven into the sand with adobe bricks and rocks piled up around the perimeter as makeshift walls. Overhead cover was provided by palm leaves stretched over a frame of more sticks. A few donkeys and camels were tethered outside.
Eyeing the structure skeptically, Cassie asked, “So, is this the desert equivalent of a Sonic Drive-In?”
“Sonic?” John repeated uncertainly as they all climbed out to stretch their legs.
“She means is this a place to stop and eat?” Erik explained.
“Oh, yes.” John nodded. “The coffee here is very good.”
Cassie grew alert at the magic word. “Coffee?” she echoed hopefully.
Even though she’d had more than one cup at the hotel that morning, her usual travel fatigue was kicking in with a vengeance.
“Yes, come inside and try some.” John led them into the shade of the lean-to.
The interior seemed cool and dark after the glare of the desert. A few men were seated on benches conversing with one another. They were dressed in the white cotton gown called a jellabiya which seemed to be the national costume in this part of the world. A woman in a black abiyah sat apart in the corner. Cassie did a double-take when she noticed that the woman held a cell phone in her hand and seemed to be texting someone. A man wearing a turban and a yellow jellabiya sat cross-legged on the ground where he tended an urn over a small fire. There were several clay dishes on the ground in front of him filled with powders of different colors.
“You can tell him what you want in your coffee. Point to the spice you like,” John instructed.
“Really?” Cassie bent down to examine the intriguing contents of the dishes. She recognized cinnamon and nutmeg among the mix.
The coffee vendor didn’t speak English, but after much smiling, pointing, and translation by John they all managed to obtain a cup of the brew.
Cassie immediately perked up after the first sip. “Amazing.” She regarded her beverage with surprise. It was a heavenly mixture of strong coffee brewed without a trace of bitterness and laced with cardamom.
Since nothing came in To Go cups, they were obliged to take seats and patiently sip their drinks in the shade.
Cassie counted exactly two cars and three bicycles on the highway during the entire time they were inside.
“There isn’t much traffic around here,” she observed to John.
He chuckled softly. “That is because most of the people who live in this area travel by camel.”
The pythia gave an embarrassed grin. “I see your point.”
After paying the coffee vendor, they climbed back into the SUV to continue their journey.
The jolt of caffeine made Cassie feel more talkative. She decided to quiz John and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the front seat beside him. “It’s kind of strange that you work for the Arkana,” she began.
Their driver glanced at her in surprise. “How so?”
“Well, I mean this part of the world is pretty heavily Islamic. I was told I couldn’t walk around outside in a tank top in Khartoum without people staring at me. Not exactly a woman-friendly culture so how did you ever learn about a female-centric group like the Arkana?”
“Oh, I see.” John focused his attention on the road. “As I told you, my family never converted to Islam, but long before that, even during the time of the Egyptian pharaohs, Nubia remained a strongly matriarchal society.”
“Really? In school I read that Nubia pretty much followed Egypt’s culture,” Cassie countered.
Erik butted in. “And what has working for the Arkana taught you about overlord history, toots?”
Cassie turned her head to regard the paladin. “That overlords lie a lot.”
Everyone laughed at her observation.
Erik continued. “I mean how many people know about the black pharaohs of Egypt?”
“Not me,” Cassie offered tentatively. “When did this happen?”
Griffin swiveled sideways, so he could address the whole group. “During a period of Egyptian political instability in the eighth century BCE, a Nubian king named Piye invaded Egypt and was crowned pharaoh. He and his descendants held the throne for a hundred years until Egypt was invaded by the Assyrians. They, in turn, pushed the Nubians back across the border.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Yet another factoid swept under the rug by mainstream historians.”
Griffin continued. “While Nubia and Egypt shared cultural similarities, Nubia retained its matriarchal traditions long after Egypt had forgotten its own.”
“So, you mean Egypt started out matriarchal too?”
“All of Africa practiced matrilineal descent and vested power in the hands of women until the coming of the Semites and the Kurgans,” the scrivener replied. “Egypt lost its matriarchal customs completely by the time of the New Kingdom. The old goddesses were supplanted by the likes of Amun-Ra, the overlord sun god. While Nubia accepted many of Egypt’s spiritual beliefs, its political system still found room for female leadership. For example, the Kandakes.”
“What are the Kandakes?”
John answered. “They were the ruling queens of the ancient Nubian kingdom of Kush. That is to distinguish them from queen-consorts who were the spouses of ruling kings. The Kandakes ruled in their own right.”
Griffin picked up the thread of the conversation. “Some ancient historians refer to them as Candaces, thinking that their personal names were all ‘Candace’ but it’s a corruption of the Nubian word kentake which means ‘queen.’ Beginning in the fourth century BCE, a disproportionate number of the rulers of Kush were female. No doubt, that’s attributable to their inheritance laws.”
“Among the Nubian people, the royal bloodline was traced through the mother,” John said. “The queen mother would also be called a Kandake, and it was she who chose the successor to the throne from among her children. It was not the eldest son who inherited the title, but the worthiest individual whether male or female.”
“The existence of the Kandakes was documented by Greek and Roman historians, so we know they aren’t a myth,” Griffin added. “There is even an apocryphal story of a Kandake who intimidated Alexander the Great to such a degree that he never attempted to invade Kush.”
“Many o
f the Kandakes were known as warrior-queens,” John said. “The bas-reliefs of the Kandake named Shanakdakheto show her wearing armor and carrying a spear. Her pyramid is the largest in Meroe.”
“Wait. What?” Cassie stopped him. “There are pyramids around here?”
“More than in Egypt,” John answered. “My people built hundreds of them. Most are at Meroe, but some are across the river. You’ll see them when we arrive. Several are very close to the mountain of Jebel Barkal.”
“If I’m not mistaken, the construction style is slightly different,” Griffin interjected. “The bases are narrower, and the angle to the apex is steeper.”
“That is true,” John agreed. “They are made of red sandstone because it is so plentiful in the desert. Sadly, that means they will erode faster too.”
John suspended their conversation. “Look there,” he instructed. “You can see Jebel Barkal already.”
Cassie peered through Erik’s window to see a massive bluff rising off in the distance on the other side of the river. “The Pure Mountain,” she murmured.
Chapter 37—Tyro Maniac
“You wanted to see me, dear?” Faye stood in the open doorway of Maddie’s office in the vault.
The chatelaine looked up distractedly. She was knee-deep in piles of paperwork, stacks of ledgers, computer printouts, and several different sized monitors all perched precariously on the corners of her desk.
At the sight of Faye, she smiled with relief and edged around the clutter to clear off a chair for her visitor. “Hi, Faye. Thanks for coming in. Have a seat.”
She assisted the old woman to a chair and then paused before sitting down as a new thought struck her. “We need some quiet time to talk, but it’s like Grand Central Station around here lately. I’m training a new batch of tyros, and they won’t give me a minute’s peace.” Maddie strode to the door of her office just as a trainee was about to enter. She glowered at him. “Not now!”
The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set Page 98
