“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
