The Sage Stone Prophecy (Arkana Archaeology Adventure Series Book 7) Read online

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  THE SAGE STONE PROPHECY

  by

  N. S. Wikarski

  The Sage Stone Prophecy

  Book Seven Of Seven—The Arkana Mystery Series

  http://www.mythofhistory.com

  Copyright © 2016 by N. S. Wikarski

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 – Past Perfect, Future Tense

  Chapter 2 – Truce Or Dare

  Chapter 3 – Hear, Say

  Chapter 4 – Don’t Ask, Don’t Call

  Chapter 5 – Of Mies And Men

  (And One Woman)

  Chapter 6 – Smoke And Mirrors

  Chapter 7 – Top End Down Under

  Chapter 8 – Dumb Plan

  Chapter 9 – On The Rocks

  Chapter 10 – Celestial Sex-Trafficker

  Chapter 11 – Special Effects

  Chapter 12 – Island Time

  Chapter 13 – Character Assassination

  Chapter 14 – Survivor Immunity

  Chapter 15 – Punch-Drunk And Disorderly

  Chapter 16 – Good Cop, Bad Cop,

  Cross Examiner

  Chapter 17 – Who Ya Gonna Call?

  Chapter 18 – River Dance

  Chapter 19 – Let It Ride

  Chapter 20 – Need-To-Know

  Chapter 21 – Mother And Sun

  Chapter 22 – Lend Me Your Ears

  Chapter 23 – Psychic Physics 101

  Chapter 24 – Sure As Shootin’

  Chapter 25 – Making Tracks

  Chapter 26 – Receiving Holy Orders

  Chapter 27 – Ritual Slaughter

  Chapter 28 – Fresh Targets

  Chapter 29 – Cut It Out

  Chapter 30 – Static Cling

  Chapter 31 – Making A Love Connection

  Chapter 32 – The Lady In The Lake

  Chapter 33 – Water, Water, Everywhere

  Chapter 34 – Queens Of Denial

  And Other River Lore

  Chapter 35 – Do Not Open Til Doomsday

  Chapter 36 – The Polar Bear

  Chapter 37 – Global Warning

  Chapter 38 – Massif Obstacles

  Chapter 39 – Artifact Retrieval

  On A Large Scale

  Chapter 40 – The Devil Is In The Details

  Chapter 41 – Nailed

  Chapter 42 – Changing Of The Guard

  Chapter 43 – Forced Retirement

  Chapter 44 – Prophet And Loss

  Chapter 45 – Do You Believe In Magic?

  Chapter 46 – Suicide Mission

  Chapter 47 – Waffles For Lunch

  Chapter 48 – Simply Revolting

  Chapter 49 – Cabin In The Sky

  Chapter 50 – A Verbis Ad Verbera

  Chapter 51 – Lives In The Balance

  Chapter 52 – Parting Shots

  Chapter 53 – The Last Detail

  Chapter 54 – Back To The Garden

  Chapter 55 – Réveille

  Names You Should Know

  Author Bio

  Books By N. S. Wikarski

  Useful Info

  FOR READERS NEW TO THE SERIES

  A list of Names You Should Know is appended to the end of this book.

  Chapter 1—Past Perfect, Future Tense

  Hyperborea – Circa 1000 BCE

  The priestess stood just outside the cave entrance and pensively surveyed the landscape around her. She drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Her long gray hair was covered today by a voluminous woolen hood. Though it was high summer, she shivered. She doubted that her aged bones would ever adapt to this chill climate. She had been born on a sundrenched island surrounded by an azure sea—a homeland now stolen from her people.

  A primitive race of men on horseback had pillaged all the great cities on the island, setting themselves up as rulers over people far wiser and more civilized than they. These ruffians were driven by a mania for conquest. They had honed the skills of warfare to the exclusion of all else. As a consequence, they possessed no system of writing, no art, no music, and the gods they worshipped were as greedy and bloodthirsty as they. Because they understood nothing, they had destroyed many sacred objects while ransacking the holy temples for treasure.

  Six precious artifacts remained at great risk. They were the most revered symbols of the Mother Of All: a golden bee, a dove carved from lapis lazuli, a bull’s head spangled with sapphires, a coiled serpent set with emeralds, a jewel-encrusted labrys, and the Voice Of Heaven itself. If the barbarians were to lay hold of them, they would rip the artifacts apart—gouging the gems from their settings and melting the gold to make crowns for their vagabond kings.

  The priestess and a dozen companions had left their native country on a mission to preserve these priceless relics before it was too late. They intended to hide them separately, a great distance apart, each one engraved with a cryptic message to lead to the next. Their journey had taken them across untold miles by sea and on land. Sometimes they rode, sometimes they walked. They had spent far too many nights sleeping on hard ground when no other shelter was to be had. They had bartered for food and survived on scraps from those who had little to give. They had dodged bandits and stray war parties. Finally, they had arrived here—the resting place of the final relic. Some of them had arrived, anyway. Most had succumbed to disease or mishap during their arduous trek to the farthest edge of the earth.

  Only three of the original band still remained alive: the priestess, a metalworker, and a stonemason who happened to be his cousin. She had known both men from their youth when they’d been pledged to the service of the temple. They had since grown into master craftsmen with sinewy forearms and sanguine dispositions. In spite of the hardships of the road, the two somehow retained enough jauntiness to play pranks on one another. The skills of both had been critical at each stage of the trip but never more so than here at its ultimate destination.

  One of them poked his head out of the cave and addressed her. “All is in readiness, lady.”

  Wordlessly, she turned and followed him back into the dark interior which was illuminated only by a pair of torches. The two men had labored ceaselessly for weeks to fashion a clever hiding place for the invaluable object she carried. Her clairvoyance had shown her this cave and unerringly guided them to its location. She glanced down briefly at the cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. Despite every manner of disaster along the way, she had never wavered in her conviction that they would ultimately succeed in finding this precise spot. And so they had.

  The little band had come to rely on her intuition as a mariner might rely on the constellations to steer his ship. She had led them through many strange lands, always knowing the exact place where each of the Bones Of The Mother must be hidden. She knew the wording which must be inscribed on every object—its coded message pointing to the next artifact long before any of them had laid eyes on the destination described in the clue. The stonemason and metalworker followed her instructions implicitly. Her second-sight had proven too accurate for them to doubt it anymore.

  She emerged from her re
verie to contemplate the cavern wall and the craftsmen’s handiwork which had transformed it into something far more complex than a flat sheet of rock.

  The two men looked at her expectantly.

  “Well,” the stonemason ventured. “What do you think?”

  She surveyed the results and smiled. “You have both done exceedingly well.”

  “All the calculations and measurements are precise,” the metalworker assured her. “Every condition must be met to open the lock. If not...” He trailed off.

  The priestess nodded. “If not, our greatest treasure will remain buried for all time.”

  “Better that than letting it fall into the hands of cutthroats,” the stonemason growled.

  “I fear before this age is past, the whole world will fall into their hands,” she remarked sadly.

  The two men stepped aside as the priestess knelt on the ground. After unwrapping the object, she held it between her hands and studied it intently. It was an oblong slab of rock, flat as a loaf of unleavened bread. As treasures went, it appeared utterly unremarkable. According to legend, it had fallen in flames from the sky at the beginning of time. Some called it the Voice Of Heaven because it could speak to those sensitive enough to hear it. The wisdom of the Oracle Stone had guided her people for millennia until the barbarian hordes cast the whole world into darkness. Then the voice fell silent and guided them no more.

  “Anything?” the metalworker asked.

  She sighed regretfully. “It has long since stopped speaking to me. The earth is now ruled by madmen who spurn the Mother Of All and shun her gifts of good counsel. Perhaps when the times have changed once more, the stone will regain its voice.” She deposited the baetyl reverently into the hiding place prepared for it. Then she rose to her feet and allowed the men to finish their work.

  Once they were done, the metalworker held out a stone cylinder. “What should we do about this?”

  The priestess took the object. It was a solid piece of granite, about a foot long and five-sided. Each of the five surfaces was intricately carved with symbols—the translation key to the clues inscribed on the Bones Of The Mother.

  “The granite key,” she murmured. “I’d completely forgotten.” She slipped it inside the folds of her sleeve. “I will find a trustworthy guardian who can keep it safe until the world grows sane again.”

  The three fell silent as they studied the cave wall which now concealed the Voice Of Heaven, each remembering the heartbreaking sacrifices required to bring them to this moment.

  “Do you think the grey-eyed seer will find this place?” The stonemason peered at the priestess hopefully in the flickering torchlight.

  “Only someone guided by unseen forces would have the power to unearth what we have hidden so well from the unworthy,” she equivocated. “And that is as it should be.” The priestess paused as a troubling vision of the future formed in her mind. “I see the grey-eyed one standing in this very cave but she is not alone. There is also an aged man. In spirit, he is much like the brutes who robbed us of our homeland. His hands, like theirs, are soaked in blood. The elder and the seer vie for the stone but...”She broke off, passing her hand across her forehead. “The outcome of their struggle is hidden even from me.”

  The two men appeared crestfallen at the news.

  The priestess patted them both on the back consolingly. “This is not a day for sadness. You should rejoice that we have completed our sacred charge at long last. Come, take the torches and let us leave this place.”

  The three emerged from the cave and collected their scattered belongings, preparing to depart.

  “We can’t return home.” The metalworker’s tone was resigned. “Those savages from the north will have overrun all of Minoa by now.”

  “Yes, I imagine that is true,” the priestess agreed.

  “Then where are we to go?” the stonemason asked plaintively.

  “There remain a few corners of this world which have not forsaken the old ways and the Mother Of All. We shall live out our days in exile among such folk.”

  “I don’t suppose these folk you mention know how to make wine, do they?” the metalworker asked testily. “I haven’t had a drop in months.”

  “Indeed they do,” the priestess countered slyly. “For I see both wine and women in your future.”

  The metalworker chuckled, nudging his cousin in the ribs. “I knew there was a reason why I volunteered for this mission.”

  The stonemason regarded the priestess glumly. “That’s all well and good for him but I want to settle down.”

  “Fear not. I foresee that your wish shall be granted as well.”

  The stonemason perked up immediately. “In that case, what are we waiting for?” He hoisted his bundle of tools to his shoulder. “Lead us to our new home, lady.”

  The metalworker glanced back toward the cave entrance and shrugged. “We’ve done all we can to protect it. I suppose the future of the Oracle Stone is up to chance now.”

  “No, my son,” the priestess murmured softly. “Not chance. Its future now rests in the hands of destiny.”

  Chapter 2—Truce Or Dare

  The Arkana Vault – Chicago Suburbs – Present Day

  Thirty-two shadowy forms sat in council at the great round table in the schoolhouse. The dim pendant lamp suspended above them cast a pall over their features. The governing body of the Arkana had just reached a momentous decision which would determine the future course of the secret society for years to come. Not surprisingly, no one felt like talking anymore.

  Zhang Jun, the Hongshan trove-keeper, eventually broke the silence. “It would appear that the Circle has unanimously defeated the Chatelaine’s proposal to declare a blackout for the Arkana.” With a slight smile, he turned toward the Pythia and the Scrivener. “Now what?”

  “You’re asking us?” Cassie retorted in a shocked tone.

  “You just gave this assembly some very compelling reasons for battling the Nephilim rather than going into hiding,” Michel Khatabi, the Berber trove-keeper, remarked. “How do you propose we do that?”

  “Ummm,” the Pythia hedged.

  “You said it was our duty to rescue the Diviner’s runaway bride, recover the Sage Stone, and shut the Nephilim down for good.” This helpful reminder came from Grace Littlefield, the Haudenosaunee trove-keeper. “And we agreed. So let’s hear your next steps.”

  “Ummm,” Cassie repeated, glancing imploringly at Griffin to bail her out.

  “Well, obviously it will take us some time to map out a strategy,” the Scrivener equivocated.

  “The key!” the Pythia blurted out.

  Everyone, including Griffin, looked at her in surprise.

  She popped out of her chair and began to pace around the table—her mind rapidly forging connections.

  Craning his neck to track her movements, Aydin Ozgur, the Anatolian trove-keeper, asked, “Do you mean the granite key?”

  “No.” Cassie frowned. Deep in concentration, she never broke stride. “I mean the fifth artifact. The one we just nabbed in China.”

  “Oh, I see,” Griffin said, though his tone hardly indicated that he understood his partner’s thought process. Addressing the group at large he explained, “We collected a golden labrys overseas. Cassie was able to discern that the base was a key of some sort. We speculated that it might unlock the Sage Stone’s hiding place.”

  The Pythia paused and wheeled about triumphantly. “And the Nephilim don’t have it!”

  The other members of the Circle continued to regard her with skepticism.

  “I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s a good thing that they don’t have it,” Grace observed.

  “But we can offer to give it to them,” Cassie concluded brightly.

  The expressions on her listeners’ faces turned from doubt to disbelief.

  “Cassie, perhaps we should discuss the specifics of our strategy at another time,” Griffin suggested tactfully. He obviously wanted her to stop digging them both a deepe
r grave with her tongue.

  “Don’t you get it?” She stamped her foot. “That key is our best chance of rescuing Hannah. We tried tackling the problem head-on by breaking into the compound. You all know how well that turned out.” She eyed her listeners briefly. “Maybe we should start our war against the Nephilim with a truce. We can negotiate an exchange—Hannah for the key.”

  “If you do that, you’re basically offering the Sage Stone to Abraham Metcalf on a silver platter,” Grace objected.

  Everybody started talking at once—mostly to protest the insanity of the Pythia’s suggestion.

  “Hold on!” Cassie objected above the general uproar. “That came out wrong. I meant we should dangle the key as bait. Metcalf and his crew will have to cooperate once they know they’re missing part of the puzzle.”

  “Yes, it just might work.” Griffin smiled with relief, at last understanding the Pythia’s strategy. “In fact, it might serve two purposes if we were to offer to find the Sage Stone in exchange for Hannah.”

  “What?” Now it was Cassie’s turn to look askance at her partner.

  “As the old adage says, ‘Keep your friends close but your enemies closer’,” Griffin hinted.

  “Ah, of course.” Jun nodded sagely. “The Nephilim will not interfere with your quest if they think you are searching for the Sage Stone on their behalf.”

  “Exactly so,” the Scrivener agreed. “In addition, such an offer would provide the added benefit of ensuring Hannah’s safety in the interval. The Nephilim must produce her unharmed if they wish to claim their coveted prize.”

  “There is another advantage you haven’t mentioned.” All eyes turned toward Stefan Kasprzyk, the Kurgan trove-keeper. “The Nephilim want to destroy the Arkana but they won’t dare to raise a hand against us until after the treasure has been found.” He chuckled sardonically. “That will give us time to prepare a defense since we can be sure they will attack us immediately afterward.”

  “Just to be clear,” Grace piped up, directing her comment to Cassie. “You are planning on double-crossing the Nephilim after you find the Sage Stone, right?”