Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2

by N. S. Wikarski

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “But the meaning behind it is the same. You don’t want me to date other boys.”

  “Well, yeah,” he finally admitted.

  Hannah gave an exasperated sigh. “Zachary, you must know I’m very fond of you, but I’ve only just begun to move about in your world. Everything is new and frightening and wonderful to me. I’m free to meet all sorts of different people. Some of them are going to be boys. Some of them may want to date me, and I may want to say ‘yes’ just so I’ll know what it feels like to date someone besides you. You’ve spent months and months teaching me the ways of your world so I’ll find my place in it. After all that effort, why would you want to keep me from dating like a normal teenage girl?” Her eyes flew open wide with dawning recognition. “You’re afraid I might like somebody better than you!”

  “Afraid? I’m not afraid.” He forced a laugh.

  For the first time since they’d known each other, he saw Hannah glare at him. “Yes, you are! OMG, that is sooooo lame!”

  Zach was about to defend himself when a completely unrelated thought struck him. He felt a surge of triumph that made him laugh out loud.

  “What’s so funny,” Hannah demanded, still angry.

  “Don’t you get it? What did you just call me?”

  “I called you a total lamo, that’s what!”

  “Yeah, you did.” He was fairly beaming by now. “Hannah, you used slang! And you got it right. Exactly right!”

  She paused, taken aback. Then she gave a self-conscious smile. “I guess I did.” Unexpectedly, she reached over and hugged him. “Zach, that proves I can be normal. With a little more practice, I’ll fit in. Totally!”

  “My work here is done. I’ve taught you everything I know.” He chuckled, pleased with himself. Then taking the ring out of her fingers, he grew serious. “But you weren’t wrong. It was a lame stunt for me to pull. I was so worried about what mattered to me that I wasn’t thinking about what this might mean for you. If I make you wear a ring that says you’re only supposed to date me, then I’m no better than that old jerk you were married to.”

  “The diviner?” she asked, startled.

  “Yeah. He didn’t let you decide for yourself whether you wanted to marry him or not. He only cared about what he wanted. I never meant to treat you like that.” He put the ring back in the box. “Forget about this. You’ve got a right to date whoever you want no matter how I feel about it.”

  She reached out and stopped him before he slipped the ring box into his jacket pocket. Taking it back, she opened the box and stared at the ring. “You said this could also be a sign of friendship?”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed eagerly. “It could mean that we promise to be best friends, no matter what.”

  “BFFs?”

  He laughed again. “You see. You completely get slang now. This ring can be a promise that we’ll be best friends forever.”

  She took the ring out of the box and slipped it on. “In that case, I accept.” She held her right hand out to admire the sparkle of the tiny diamonds against the reflection of the fireworks.

  “Just so we’re clear,” Zach added cautiously. “I’m your BFF, not your gay BFF, OK?”

  Hannah darted him a puzzled look. “Why not? I’ve always thought you had an excellent sense of humor and you’re loads of fun to be around.”

  Zach groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. “Maybe just one more round of slang coaching wouldn’t hurt.”

  The Ferris Wheel began to move again, making its gentle descent.

  “The ring is lovely. Thank you.” With a slight smile, Hannah leaned over and gave him a long, languid kiss.

  After it was over, he pulled his head back and studied her face in surprise. “How’d you learn to kiss like that? Have you been practicing on somebody else?”

  “No, silly.” She giggled. “I’ve been watching old movies on TV. Lots and lots of them.”

  Zach grinned and drew her close. “Then all I can say is Hooray for Hollywood!”

  Chapter 25—Follow the Sun

  “Well, here we are.” Cassie scanned the salt flats beyond the city walls. “Again.”

  The trio stood together on the citadel mound of Dholavira, contemplating the white desert in the distance. Most of the water had evaporated from the salt marsh now that monsoon season was over.

  “What do you mean again,” Erik challenged. “We’ve never been here before.”

  “In my head, dude,” the pythia corrected. “This is exactly where I was standing when I had my vision of this place.”

  “I suppose that represents a confirmation of sorts,” the scrivener observed. “If Cassie is reliving this scene, then we’ve certainly found the right location.”

  As Dee had told them, Dholavira was a large city—the largest IVC site in India. It had been built between two monsoon channels and engineered to take full advantage of the available water supply for irrigation. As was true of Mohenjo-Daro, the city also possessed an elaborate drainage system to serve the sanitation needs of thousands of households. Even more surprising than its flush toilets was evidence in the so-called “royal bathrooms” of showers which were fed through rock-cut channels.

  The most striking feature of the site, however, had nothing to do with its plumbing. The biggest curiosity was a ten-foot-wide signboard that had previously hung over the northern gate of the city in its heyday. The lettering consisted of several characters from the undeciphered IVC script. As Griffin pointed out, the use of written language in this way was an indication of full literacy, and it predated the overlord Sumerian claim to that invention by centuries if not millennia.

  Cassie checked her wristwatch. It was already one PM. It had taken more than four hours to drive to the site, and they would need to plan their departure well before dark. That meant they had only an hour or two to explore the ancient city. If they hoped to find the original location of the lily rock, they’d have to do it quickly. She glanced at a youth loitering on the other side of the mound. He was a tyro assigned by the IVC trove keeper to secure the lily rock back in place once the trio pinpointed its original location. The boy seemed abashed in the presence of dignitaries from the Home Office and preferred to keep his distance. He gave a start when he realized Cassie was staring at him. She averted her gaze.

  “We better get a move on,” the pythia advised her teammates. She walked toward the line of stones which had once been the partition wall of the bailey. The entire citadel looked different than in her vision. There was no roof now, and the walls had been levelled so that only squares and circles could be seen protruding a few feet above the ground. Cassie scanned the geometric shapes for a circle of stones with an opening where a door used to be. There were, in fact, two circular structures on the mound but she headed, without hesitation, for the smaller of the two. The trio stepped inside, and all of them immediately focused their attention on the rocks embedded in the dirt floor. The line of stones bisected the tower at a right angle to the gap in the wall which had once been the door. The center rock looked as if its top had been sheared off.

  “That must be the one,” Cassie said. “Give me the lily rock.”

  Erik reached into his backpack and handed her the carved stone.

  The pythia knelt on the ground and tried a few different angles to get the missing piece to fit flush against the stone beneath. After several tries, it finally slipped into place. When it did, the daylight around her seemed to dim, and she felt herself slumping sideways.

  The room had darkened. The walls were high again, and the plank ceiling cloaked the tower in shadow. The Minoans were nowhere to be seen. Cassie was alone in the observatory, kneeling on the floor, still touching the lily rock. At that moment a blaze of light covered her hand. She recoiled in surprise until she identified where the light was coming from. Several feet above her head, a sunbeam was shooting through the single hole in the ceiling. It settled on the lily rock, illuminating it
directly while leaving the stones on either side in shadow.

  Cassie felt the soft pressure of fingers resting on her shoulder. She jerked her head up in alarm to see the Minoan priestess bending over her. The old woman pointed at the lily rock and then at the ray of light as if to say, “Look.” After that, the scene faded to black.

  The pythia found herself lying on the ground curled into a fetal position. Her teammates knelt on either side of her.

  “That came out of nowhere,” Erik said, helping her to sit up.

  “You were fitting the rock into place, and then you collapsed without warning,” Griffin explained.

  Cassie rubbed her head. “How long was I out?”

  “Only a few moments,” the scrivener replied. “Sorry one of us didn’t catch you. It took us by surprise.”

  “Me, too,” the pythia agreed. She rose to her feet, still staring at the stone flower.

  Her teammates followed suit, waiting silently for an explanation.

  “I’m really getting the 3-D version now,” she said ruefully. “The Minoan priestess isn’t just seeing me in my vision, this time she touched me on the shoulder.”

  “How extraordinary,” Griffin said. “It’s unprecedented for a pythia to communicate directly with the subject of her trance. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “I don’t think it’s me who’s extraordinary,” Cassie demurred. “I’m pretty sure it was her doing.” She told her companions what had occurred.

  They all stood in a tiny circle surrounding the lily rock.

  “Can you remember the direction the light came from?” Griffin asked.

  “Sure. I was facing this way,” Cassie stepped to the right side of the rock and faced the doorway. She turned to look over her shoulder. “The light was coming from the ceiling over there.” She pointed to the left.

  “Erik, would you happen to have brought a compass?” the scrivener asked.

  “I never go anyplace without one.” The paladin retrieved the item and handed it to Griffin.

  “Let’s see now.” Griffin turned until he was facing north. “Yes, I thought so,” he muttered half to himself. “I’ve been reading up on the original design of this observatory. Fascinating subject. Supposedly, it was oriented toward the pole star which means it faces directly north. That doorway,” he gestured toward the gap in the circle, “is positioned due west. From Cassie’s description of the light source, it seems the hole in the ceiling was no random accident. It was placed at the southernmost edge of the roof.”

  “Why?” Cassie asked blankly.

  Griffin gave a cryptic smile. “Because this entire structure is a solar calendar.”

  Erik gazed dubiously at the innocent-looking circle. “How do you figure that?”

  Griffin turned to face the other two. “Picture, if you will, this tower with the walls intact at a height of approximately seven feet.”

  “Not hard for me to do,” Cassie remarked. “I saw the walls with my very own psychic eyeballs.”

  The scrivener continued. “Then visualize a flat roof covering the tower with a single hole allowing light to enter. This observatory’s dimensions are constructed with a very specific purpose in mind. On the longest day of the year, the summer solstice, light entering the chamber at high noon would strike the ground at the southern edge of the wall, casting no shadow. Conversely, on the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, light at noon would graze the bottom of the northern wall.”

  “But the light didn’t touch either of those spots,” Cassie protested. “It only hit the lily rock, and that’s in the dead center of the room.”

  “Precisely!” Griffin exclaimed in triumph.

  “Do you get what he’s talking about?” Cassie peered at Erik.

  The paladin raised an eyebrow. “If I did, it would be a first.”

  Griffin gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s really not that complicated. During the time between mid-winter and mid-summer, the light would advance across the floor of the chamber. By placing markers at intervals and observing the position of the light, one could tell exactly what time of year it was.”

  “You think those stones lined up in the middle of the floor used to be calendar markers?” Erik asked skeptically.

  “I do indeed,” the scrivener concurred.

  “That’s pretty ingenious,” Cassie said. “So, if the lily is carved into a stone in the middle of the floor then it must mean we’re looking at a date halfway between the winter and summer solstices.”

  “Quite so,” Griffin agreed. “The midway point would measure either the spring or fall equinox—the two times of year when day and night are of equal length.”

  “So which equinox is it?” Erik urged. “March twenty-first or September twenty-third? They’re six months apart.”

  “Yes,” Griffin rubbed his chin contemplatively. “That does appear to be the sticking point. Spring or fall? Spring or fall?”

  Cassie tilted her head to the side, studying the lily’s design. “Anybody notice something odd about the way the flower is carved?”

  Her teammates stared vacantly at the stone in the ground.

  When neither one of them spoke, she continued. “Remember how the direction the lily was pointing made a difference when we were in Africa? Well, this one is pointing toward the doorway.”

  Griffin consulted his compass. “You’re right. The top of the lily is pointing west. West is symbolically associated with autumn just as east is associated with spring.”

  “So that means the Minoans wanted us to pay attention to the autumn equinox,” Erik remarked.

  “That would appear to be the case,” the scrivener concurred.

  “It’s great that we figured out which equinox is important but what’s that got to do with the riddle?” Cassie countered.

  Only half-listening, Griffin repeated mechanically, “On an island tower she alights to drink, biding til her kindred fill the jaws of the lion.”

  “Let’s recap,” the pythia said. “So far we’ve found the island tower. Score one point for us. The bird stops here to drink. Lots of water around, at least during monsoon season in the summer. Check. Then she waits.”

  “Yes, she waits,” Griffin echoed. “Perhaps the lily carved into the floor indicates the interval she must wait.” His eyes gleamed. “That’s it. Given that the lily points west, that must mean the interval between the fall and spring equinox. The dove must wait here from September twenty-third until March twenty-first.” His joy ebbed when the implication of his words struck him. “Oh, dear. A six-month hiatus.”

  “We’ve gotten around problems like this before,” Cassie objected. “All we have to do is figure out the reason why she’s supposed to wait.”

  “She must wait until her kindred fill the jaws of the lion,” Griffin replied simply.

  “And that means what exactly?” the pythia prodded in frustration.

  “Haven’t the foggiest,” Griffin admitted.

  Erik rubbed his eyes irritably. “Time out. Stop and think about this for a minute. Every riddle we’ve cracked so far had something to do with astronomy, right? We’re standing in the middle of a big honking observatory. Call me crazy, but I’d say the riddle has something to do with constellations.”

  Griffin gave him a dazed look. “You’re right, of course. I’ve been racking my brain over this conundrum for so long that I’ve completely lost my perspective. I failed to see the most obvious function of this room. In addition to being a solar calendar, it’s also a place to watch the stars.”

  “Good! Now we’re getting somewhere,” Cassie encouraged. “So what constellations would be important in this part of the world around the spring and fall equinox?”

  “We’re dealing with agricultural civilizations,” the scrivener said, thinking out loud. “They used calendars to mark planting and harvest cycles.”

  “Like spring and fall,” Cassie added helpfully.

  “Like
spring and fall.” Griffin nodded. His eyes glazed over briefly as a thought struck him. “Oh, good grief!” Without explanation, he removed his own backpack and rooted through its contents to retrieve some photos.

  Cassie and Erik huddled closer to watch over his shoulder. He was studying images of the golden bull artifact.

  After several moments his face took on an incredulous expression. “It was staring at us all the time.”

  “What!” Both Cassie and Erik shouted in unison.

  “The artifact itself is a clue to solving the riddle.” Griffin handed each of them a photo of the golden bull. “In ancient times, Taurus The Bull was the principal constellation which symbolized the arrival of spring. Of course, by the time the Minoans arrived here the actual equinoctial point had already shifted to Aries due to precession but the mythological association with Taurus remained.”

  Cassie squinted hard at the image. “What about the blue stones around the bull’s neck? If we know this figurine is the Taurus constellation, do the sapphires mean something astronomical too?’

  “That’s brilliant, Cassie! Bloody brilliant!” Griffin beamed at her. “Seven sapphires. Seven sisters. The gems must represent the Pleiades. The Pleiades is a star cluster decorating the shoulder of Taurus. Of course, there are more than seven stars in the cluster, but only the brightest can be seen by the naked eye—” Griffin stopped speaking abruptly.

  His two companions exchanged dubious glances. Erik shrugged and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  The scrivener gathered his thoughts. “I seem to recall a reference. Yes, I’m quite sure of it. The ancient Greeks referred to the Pleiades not as sisters but as a flock of doves. In all probability, they appropriated that bit of mythology from the Minoans who preceded them.”

  “Doves!” Cassie exclaimed. “As in the ‘kindred’ of the dove from our African riddle?”

  “The very same, unless I miss my guess,” Griffin said triumphantly. “I’m sure that line of the puzzle hinges on an astronomical phenomenon associated with the Pleiades. We need to get back to Bhuj as soon as possible. I must consult the reference materials I left at the hotel.”