“Why are they called Kurgans?” Cassie nibbled a crustless sandwich while Faye spoke.
“The burial practices of the invaders were very different from that of the Vinca and other cultures of old Europe. Kurgan is a Russian word meaning barrow. A barrow is a manmade hill. These people buried their dead, especially their important male leaders, in raised mounds. Frequently the chief’s wife was ritually murdered to accompany him into the afterlife—along with his favorite horse, of course.”
Cassie darted a swift look at Faye to see if she was joking.
Reading her expression, the old woman said, “I assure you, it’s all disturbingly true. Horse skulls and weapons were interred with the deceased.”
“I’m glad they’re not around anymore,” Cassie commented.
“Oh, but they are, though they’ve learned some manners over the ages. In fact, anyone of European origin is either a descendent of theirs or of the people they victimized.”
Cassie gulped down the remainder of her sandwich. It occurred to her that there were some things about her family tree that she’d rather not know.
Chapter 26 – Linear Thinking
The morning after Faye’s training session with Cassie, she received an unexpected phone call from Griffin. At first, he was babbling. It took several tries to calm him down enough to get any sort of useful information. As was typical of Griffin, he started at the tail end of the explanation, and Faye had to coax him back to the beginning. Eventually, he blurted out the essence of what he was trying to say: “I’ve done it. I’ve cracked the code!”
Uttering a silent prayer of thanks that the waiting was over at last, Faye got into her station wagon and drove out to the schoolhouse to get the full story. She entered the vault and knocked on the door to the scrivener’s office. When he swung the door open, his eyes were ablaze with excitement.
Maddie was already seated in one of the wing chairs wearing an annoyed expression on her face, her chin propped up by her hand. Faye had instructed Griffin to include the operations director in the discussion. The scrivener bustled the old woman into the other wing chair and then dashed around the office collecting a volume from a bookcase on one side, another from the opposite end of the room, a third from the floor behind his desk. He slammed them all down on the desk and dropped into his own chair, looking at the two women expectantly.
“He’s been like this all morning,” Maddie commented to Faye. “Absolutely whacko, but he wouldn’t tell me anything until you got here.”
Faye smiled to herself. Griffin might consider himself a poor liar, but he certainly knew how to keep a secret.
“It’s the most extraordinary thing!” he exclaimed as if that explained everything.
“Yes dear, I’m sure it is,” Faye said soothingly. “Now why don’t you take a deep breath and calm yourself.”
“No time for that,” Griffin brushed off the remark. He had already dived into one of the retrieved volumes and was rapidly thumbing through the pages, muttering to himself all the while. “That’s not it. Why on earth did I mark that text? Ah yes, I have it now!” He slid the volume toward the opposite end of the desk, so the two women could see it. “What do you make of that?” he asked triumphantly.
They both leaned forward in their chairs to study a full-page illustration. It was a table of mysterious symbols. They looked at one another blankly, at a loss for what he expected them to say.
Faye spoke first. “I can’t make anything of it,” she admitted. “Runes were never my area of expertise.”
“Ah, that’s just it, isn’t it?” he asked in a significant tone.
“Is what?” She peered at him closely. Not for the first time, she had to remind herself that he was a bit eccentric. Geniuses often were. However, at the moment, he seemed to have crossed the line from mildly eccentric to bi-polar. “Griffin, you really must settle down. Now, what do you want to tell us about the runes, dear?”
He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “They aren’t runes,” he said abruptly. “That’s it precisely. When I first started work on translating the key, I thought I recognized some of the markings as Scandinavian runes.” He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “But they’re not.”
Faye studied the page of symbols again. “They certainly look like runes to me. Are you quite sure?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he affirmed. “That was the fatal flaw in my logic. I automatically assumed that since the characters appeared runic, the language would be one of the scripts associated with matristic cultures.” He sighed deeply. “But I was wrong.”
Maddie’s voice asserted itself. “For those of us just tuning in who don’t have a clue what you two are talking about, do you think you could maybe start with ‘once upon a time’?”
“Oh yes, of course. Very sorry, Maddie.” Her comment seemed to have a sobering effect on him. “How much do you know about the scripts of old Europe?”
“You mean the original written languages?” she asked. “Not much. Go ahead and assume I belong on the short bus.”
“Very well then. I’ll start at the beginning.” He cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. “It is quite likely that written language originated with the sacred symbols of old Europe. Signs that had spiritual significance were found inscribed on a variety of artifacts dated to around 5000 BCE. Their principal purpose was an invocation to the goddess, a prayer if you will. Though tablets found at a Vinca excavation site are the most well-known, the same symbols have been unearthed from a variety
