The Oracle Code

18



39 Miles Southwest of Herat

Herat Province

Afghanistan

February 14, 2013

Lights hung from the tomb’s low ceiling and splashed brightness around the rough stone walls. The ceiling made an arch over the small room, but even the highest point was close enough for Lourds to reach up and touch.

The stone sarcophagus occupied a carved niche in the wall. The niche was about eighteen inches taller than the sarcophagus, whose heavy stone lid sat slightly ajar.

Lourds spoke without taking his eyes from the bas-relief on the sarcophagus’s side. “You opened it?”

“I could not resist.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to either. Did anyone help you?”

“An intern. Evan. He’s probably off sleeping. Or playing one of his videogames. He has no true vision for what we do.”

Lourds crossed over to the sarcophagus and knelt. He dug a flashlight from his backpack and played the beam over the carved images, bringing them into sharper view. Boris had obviously spent some time cleaning them up. They were dust free.

The images were plain, rough, and beautiful at the same time. The central figure was a caped warrior on horseback, a shield on his left arm and a spear in his right hand. His cape streamed out behind him, floating over the warriors that rode at his heels. Another army lay in the distance on the right.

Most curious of all, though, was the image of a man sitting behind the army on the left. Small and unassuming, he was in a crouched position and held a stylus in one hand as he worked on a sheet of papyrus.

There was writing under the man. Lourds leaned forward so he could examine it. “This is Ancient Greek.” He knew the language intimately. It was an independent language that had come from the Indo-European family. Originating in the Balkans, it had the longest history of being in use, spanning thirty-five hundred years.

“You can read it?”

Lourds did. “‘Here lies the scribe Callisthenes of Olynthus. Placed here after his murder by his friends at court.’” He paused. “Some friends they turned out to be.”

“The sentence construction and word usage is comparable to that used in Alexander’s time, isn’t it?”

Lourds nodded. Excitement stirred up in him, building quickly now. He worked to keep it tamped down. Boris was already excited enough for both of them. He needed to be the steady one, the one who would challenge the enticing leaps of both logic and fantasy.

“The language has been around for three and a half millennia. You know that. Let’s get our ducks in a row.”

“This ties to Alexander, Thomas. I can feel it in my bones.”

“We need to find out what’s in these bones. Where are the documents you said you found?”

“Inside the sarcophagus. I didn’t want to chance moving them any more than I had to. Not until you were here.”

“I’m here now.” Lourds stood. “Let’s have a look at Callisthenes.” He grabbed one end of the sarcophagus lid and Boris grabbed the other. Together, they managed the massive stone slab and lifted it from the bottom, gently settling it onto the floor with a series of scrapes.

Inside the sarcophagus, a skeleton lay draped in rags. Whatever else Callisthenes might have been, he was a small man. His hands lay over his heart, and his feet were crossed.

Lourds shined his flashlight over the skull. “He has all of his teeth. He was probably a young man when he died.”

“When he was murdered, you mean.”

“I don’t see any signs of fractures to the skull or the ribs. They all appear intact.”

“You can kill a man by slicing his throat too. Or by forcing him to drink hemlock. Either way, it’s still murder.”

Lourds nodded.

“But there is something more.” Boris pointed to the skeletal feet. “Have a look here.”

Moving down the length of the body, Lourds shined his light on the dead man’s feet. Several of the metatarsal bones were broken, and there was a hole through the talus of each foot.

Boris stood grimly at Lourds’s side. “Crucifixion, yes?”

“That would be my guess, but you’ll need someone more expert on it to give a better opinion.”

“No, I trust us. We’ve seen these kinds of things before. And look at how the ankle joints are shattered and separated. I would bet that this man was crucified upside down.” Boris shook his head. “That would be a most painful way to die.”

Lourds silently agreed.

“The documents are here.” Boris pointed to a collection of clay pots that occupied one corner of the sarcophagus.

Lourds had been so engrossed in studying the skeletal remains that he had overlooked the pots. Scrolls filled the pots. Gently, Lourds removed one of the scrolls. The Greek language was easy enough to read. Callisthenes had possessed a good hand for his craft.

“‘Now it came to be that my lord, King Alexander III of Macedon, also known as the Great, was in terrible wrath after discovering the excesses and abuses committed by the satraps he had put into power to govern in his name while he sought out more glories on the battlefield.

“‘There was a military governor named Vahyadata who had caused to be executed three young women he took to be wives and later claimed to have lied to him about their virginity. When my lord discovered this, and that the young women lay in fresh graves, his righteous anger knew no boundaries.

“‘My lord rode his horse into the palace of Vahyadata, threw a rope around the man’s neck, and dragged him from the palace and into the street. There, the populace of the city spat upon the foul murderer, cursed him each in their way, and cheered on my lord.

“‘The satrap proved not to be hardy enough to make it to the end of the street. Still, my lord’s anger was so fierce that he did not give up dragging the body until dogs ran up after it and tore it to pieces.’”

Boris shifted and smiled slightly. “Not exactly bedtime reading, is it?”

“No, but it does have the ring of authenticity about it. What makes you so certain the location of Alexander’s tomb is revealed in here?”

With great care, Boris lifted one of the scrolls from the pot. “This is the scroll I read from.” He handed it to Lourds.

The scroll was different from the others, and it took Lourds a moment to spot the snakes engraved on the ends of the wooden roller that held the papyrus. “You saw this?”

“It was what first caught my eye.”

Lourds ran a finger across the roller end. The carving had faded over time and only stood out faintly. “Evidently, you have better eyes than I do.”

“I stared at them for a long time before I chose one to look at. I had the benefit of patience.”

“I am being patient.”

“I know. Now, the scroll, please.”

Lourds opened the scroll and began to read. “‘I am Callisthenes of Olynthus, from the town founded by Olynthus, the son of Heracles and Bolbe.’” He grinned. “Well, now we have proof that Heracles was real.”

“You say that in jest, my friend, but there are many things in this world that we do not know.”

Lourds paused, recalling the showdown he’d had with United States Vice President Elliott Webster. Webster’s disappearance from the world was still an unexplained mystery, but Lourds knew the truth of it, and it was the most supernatural thing he had ever witnessed.

“You are right, Boris. I stand corrected.” Lourds cleared his throat and continued reading. “‘Now am I come to recite the last will and testament of my lord, King Alexander III of Macedon, also known as the Great. It has come to my lord’s attention that death waits for every man, even a man like him, after the passing of his beloved friend, Hephaestion, son of Amyntor and General in the army of my lord.

“‘These final tenets are written in the secret language devised by my lord and will describe what will be done with his mortal shell, as well as his personal armor and sword. These things must be done to preserve balance in the world.’” Lourds stopped reading.

“Well?” Boris gestured impatiently. “Don’t stop now. Go on.”

“I can’t.” Lourds sighed with frustration. “This is where the code begins.”

“That should be simple enough for you.”

Lourds showed his friend the scroll. “This isn’t the Greek alphabet, and it isn’t cuneiform either. This is something new.”

“Ah, well, we knew this couldn’t be all easy. There had to be some stumbling blocks.”

“Stumbling blocks? Do you know how long it could take to decipher a code?”

“No. But I know I have the right man on the job.” Boris clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, my friend. Put those scrolls away for further examination later. For the moment, let us go bask in the glory and accolades the media is primed to deliver unto us.” He smiled. “After that, we will drink vodka the Russian way.”

Shaking his head, Lourds knelt and packed the seven scrolls into a protective box inside his backpack. “This is not going to be as easy as you seem to think it will be, and I still have every intention of spending some kind of Valentine’s Day with Layla.”

“As well as proposing?”

“Yes.” Lourds stood and hefted his backpack over his shoulder. He resettled his hat.

“Come on then. After you are a newly minted celebrity—again—she will most certainly be in love with you.”

They headed out together. Just as they entered the passageway, the distinct, staccato roar of rifle reports echoed from the front of the cave.

A few feet away, Anna Cherkshan stood working on a computer tablet, doubtless reviewing her notes for the story or already writing parts of it. Startled by the cracks of the small arms fire, she looked up, then shoved her tablet PC into her messenger bag and ran toward the front of the cave.

“Anna! Wait!” Lourds’s shout seemed to galvanize her into greater effort.

“I can’t! There’s a story going on out there, and I need to see it!”

Fearing for the young woman’s safety, Lourds held the backpack strap crossing his chest and ran after her with Boris racing along behind him.