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Realms: Bough Logs

Interlude: Thera's Theme

Athens-Ben Epps Airport, Greece
20XX

It is raining, unusual enough for the legendary balmy Mediterranean weather, but at least it is a light drizzle at best. But the moisture in the air does nothing for the humidity, and it is almost oppressive even if it isn't hot. The plane has just landed, disgorging its passengers into the wet Greek day. The Hellenic Police are, as is usual these days, out in force, and a few armored cars trundle past the airport.

Tara Alcyone and her brother, Adelphus, have been in Greece for several months now, loosely attached to Giorgos Rethemiotakis's excavation work on Crete. Well, Tara has, at least; her protective yet conscientious foster brother has been with her almost the entire time, but has not made a nuisance of himself. If anything, he's been quite useful in driving here and there and running errands for Tara and the other researchers while Rethemiotakis has been in America, curating the artefacts unearthed so far at the Onassis Cultural Center in New York. She is at the airport now, waiting at the arrivals gate, while her brother is keeping a car running, a decade-old fourth-hand Citroen that will nevertheless get them to the docks just fine.

Emerging from the arrivals gate is Seamus, who was referred to the Rethemiotakis excavation by a former colleague as a good way to get some field experience. In fact, this particular run is fortuitous; with the excavation being so short-handed, an archaeologist who specializes in tools and weapons is just what was needed -- this week and this very day, in fact.

Mikal has a small sign she's holding, with Seamus's name written on it. She's a tall woman with thick, wavy, dark hair pulled back into a bun with a pen stuck through it to hold it in place, and the classic Mediterranean complexion. She's fidgeting a bit impatiently, waiting for this new person -- she has work to do back at the dig, and she's not thrilled at being detailed to go pick up some new guy.

Norris is an efficient packer. He doesn't like to bring a whole lot of extraneous stuff with him, not just because of the hassle. Changes of clothes, some reference material, his own tool kit, and a few items for being out in the field, in an executive bag he can take in carryon. He rolls it behind him as he comes out of the ramp, and looking around hopefully for the person to meet him. He looks every inch a young pup, barely out of college, a blonde 20-something wearing a polo shirt and khakis. When he sees the sign, he perks, and comes up to the stern woman, smiling affably. "Seamus McClanahan, reporting for duty." he says, his voice having only a hint of an irish accent.

Tara nods in relief, "Excellent! This way, please." She shakes hands with quick efficiency, heading briskly through the airport. "Dr. Tara Alcyone, pleasure to meet you. Delf's sitting in the car outside -- we don't want the police to have it towed, but that means we have to hurry."

Norris beams. "No worries, Doc...doctor. " he drawls, shaking back and keeping to a quick step obediently. "Eager to get out in the field, myself. Y' just my ride, or you gonna be my supervisor, too?"

"No idea yet, McClanahan, but we'll find out soon enough from Dr. Rethemiotakis once we've returned to camp. You're familiar with Athenian weaponry, yes? Have you studied Mycenean and Egyptian as well? Any Sumerian?

Adolphus has left the car running, and has only just started trying to avoid getting into a rather one-sided argument with an airport cop whose SMG is slung behind his back, when Tara and Seamus show up. He is extremely glad to see them, and looks considerably different from Tara in that he is shorter than her and russet hair. Beyond that, he looks very much Mediterranean. The police officer tiredly tells Delf to get out of the loading zone, as the two doctors pile into the cramped Citroen.

"I'm an eclectic, ma'am...I'm sorry, do you prefer ma'am or doctor?" Seamus goes on, regardless. "My focus is Mediterranean: Greek, Minoan, Turkish, even some African, but I'm pretty well rounded. Always been facinated by the tools and weapons end of things specifically, couldn't tell you why."

Tara smiles sweetly at the police officer, thanking him for his patience -- and then as the car drives off she casually drops the charm and goes back to her usual brisk intensity. "Thanks, Delf. Seamus McClanahan, this is my brother Adolphus. Delf, Seamus is the weaponry expert Giorgios told us to expect." She adds to the American, "OK, so you do a little bit of a lot, yes? What has Dr. Rethemiotakis told you of the dig and where we currently are?"

Seamus had obediently gets his things into the car, not wanting anyone to get into trouble! Once they're on their way, he inclines his head to the driver. "Pleasedtameetcha. " he says agreeably to Delf. "Not much, to be honest. I heard there was a timing issue, and put things together at the last minute to join you. " He looks wry. "There was a packet I was supposed to get, but I was so jittery, didn't want to miss my flight, that I couldn't wait for the delivery. I figured I'd just jump in with both feet."

Tara hms thoughtfully, then nods, "All right, we'll call the US when we get back to the dig. That'll give you some time to settle in and get over your jet lag too."

Seamus adds, "Also, my thesis was on Minoan. Got the impression that was part of the reason my prof said I'd be a good fit for this assignment?"

The Citroen yowls off down the street, quite fast but apparently par for the course for Greece. It heads almost due south along the highway, heading towards what looks like the largest concentration of fishing boat and charter docks.

Tara murmurs dryly, "Considering it's a dig a short distance outside of Heraklion, I'd say yes." She falls silent after that, musing silently.

Seamus leans back, then, this strange combination of wired and tired. Long airplane rides will do that to you. He's tired of sitting down, and wants to move around, but he aches from being in a cramped space. At least in teh back seat of the Citroen, he can stretch out a little. He also reaches into his back ,and gets out a canteen. he is parched, and sips sparingly from it, not knowing when he'll be able to fill up again.

"Not looking forward to another flight like that again, I'll tell ya." Seamus mumbles into the silence, holding the cold metal to his forehead.

Tara smiles faintly, "Yes, it does take it out of you."

It seems that Adelphus is quite skilled at driving fast; while there are a few close calls, there is nothing to indicate that he's not in complete control, let alone complete familiarity, of the car and the roads. Thus, it isn't long before the Citroen pulls into the parking lot near the docks, and he is starting to unpack the car. The sky has cleared, a patch of blue light opening up in the hazy grey overcast sky, and the clouds begin to dissipate as the rain moves away. If anything, this is even worse for the humidity, though being this close to the Med's sea breeze helps a little bit.

It doesn't take long to load Seamus's belongings into one of the smaller charter boats, captained by an ex-fisherman who looks like he could have taught Iason a thing or two about sailing. The boat sets out shortly, then, heading due south, past the broken, volcanic island of Thera, towards the isle of Crete.

The trip takes the better part of a day, and it is almost night when the boat pulls up to the dock. Theophilis Stavros, the excavation boss while Rethemiotakis is in New York, is on hand to greet Seamus.

The instructions he has are fairly direct. The team has unearthed a lower gallery in the palace of Galatas, one of the best-preserved palatial sites on Minos so far. There are a number of artefacts there, and while an initial photography team went in, he would like Tara and Seamus to go in there on the following morning and see to what extent the gallery goes.

Seamus's excitement was slightly dampened by Delf's driving. I mean, it certainly got his heart rate up, but not necessarily in a good way! But Tara reassured him, and at least it got them to the boat quickly. And once there, he was able to relax a lot better. He greets the boss as eagerly as he did Tara, and had many questions to ask about the dig, even as Stavros was explaining his responsibilities in regards to the palace.

"I have a special project for you there, Tara," Stavros says, taking out a large sheet of paper, the kind the site uses for large-scale drawings. On it is a high-resolution but blurry photo of an elaborate frescoe. It is not clear what it is. "This was taken in the gallery a earlier today. The team didn't really realize what it was that they had found until the infrared camera's footage was put into the computers. It appears to be one of the most complete frescoes we've yet found on Crete in any palace. The gallery was buried, sealed away, which is probably why it survived the detonation of Santorini. But it is remarkable in that there is not only Minoan Linear A script but possibly what we think might be an early form of Phoenician... and some other writing.

"While Seamus is examing the placement and nature of the artefacts, I would like you to examine the frescoes, in particular this one. What is it, what is it depicting? And almost as important, I want your eyes on the writing. This might very well be the Rosetta Stone of the Minoan civilization.

"I wish I could send more than Adelphus with you. We're all scattered to the four winds here, and short-handed to boot. Georgios -- Doctor Rethemiotakis -- has been informed, though, and he'll be heading back here in a few days. But I do want you both to take a look at the gallery, so we have something to tell him when he gets here."

Tara's eyebrows go way up at that! She excitedly snaps, "Lay that down here on the table, please! Delf, more light in here?" as she whips out a high powered magnifying glass and leans over the blurry photo, hmming thoughtfully to herself.

Seamus blinks and takes a step back, not wanting to get in Tara's way! He does grin though, at Tara's eagerness. "When should I be starting with the gallery, sir? Don't want to get in the doctor's way and all that..." he queries of the boss.

The photo is blurry, and pixelated; clearly the photo team just wanted to get some pictures, it was dark, and the infrared camera picked up more than they thought they were taking pictures of. But it seems remarkable, nevertheless. The writing could be Phoenician, and the writing is almost certainly Minoan Linear A, a language that despite the best efforts of the world's linguists, has had only a handful of words translated.

Of equal interested to anthropology, is the frescoe. It appears to be in excellent condition, at least as far as can be told from the image, but it has a number of atypical elements. What can be seen reasonably clearly is what appears to be a winged goddess-form, as well as, of all things, a green anvil. The rest of the frescoe is poorly lit. But those elements are certainly not found together in most places.

Stavros shakes his head. "I'd see if I could send you separately, if I could, but I can't. Miguel's team has one of the Land Rovers in Phaistos, and Pierre's has the second at Lebena. You two will take the third tomorrow morning. Spend all the time you need, keep in touch with the radios. No heroics. The Academy would have my hide if something happened to you two."

Seamus blinks. "Heroics? We're just going to be studying an archeological site, boss, one that's already been excavated, no less. or are you suggesting the structure is unsound?"

Tara glances puzzledly over her shoulder, "Why would you send us separately? You don't expect McClanahan to do anything destructive, do you?" She's intrigued enough by the frescoe that she's gone back to studying it while she waits for answers.

Stavros shrugs. "Of course not. McClanahan asked if you two would be going separately, so he wouldn't be in your way."

Tara murmurs absently, "Oh, gotcha. No worries, I'll just nudge anyone in my way to the side or something..." Her voice trails off as she gets absorbed in the photo again.

Stavros shakes his head. "No, the structure's remarkably sound -- though I guess if it got through the Santorini eruption, it would be, even after all this time. No, it's just that normally I prefer having at least half a dozen people in place at a site, rather than three. But... we're short-handed for some damnable reason. So I can only send you three. And Delf isn't even technically a member of the excavation."

Adelphus grins cheerfully from where he leans against the wall, watching his foster sister's absolute absorption in staring at the photo and muttering to herself and scribbling absent notes in a dog-eared little notebook.

Seamus looks relieved! I mean...he's a scholar, not a hero. Yes, he's in good physical condition, because you can't really be traipsing all over the field and not be. But he's not really eager to be in a disaster movie. "I see, just worried about SOP. No worries, boss. We'll be careful!"

The night is spent in study, preparation, and strangely fitful sleep. At first light, the camp cook packs box lunches and some extra -- being short-handed does have some advantages -- and the three set out, with more or less laconic Adelphus at the wheel. He is somewhat more careful on these unkempt roads, such as they are, of Crete, but he does get them to the Galatas site well before midmorning. The weather has recovered nicely from the rainshower of the day before, and while a touch humid this is the weather the Mediterranean is best-known and -loved for.

The site is in excellent condition, high upon the mountains with fell Thera/Santorini not in sight. The only locations of note nearby is the village of Arkalochori, a small urban center of barely 10,000 people, almost three kilometers due south and further down the mountain. There is a main central courtyard, surrounded on four sides by the remains of the four palace wings. The east wing is partly excavated and seems to be in good condition, while the west and south wings are in somewhat poorer shape. It is the north wing, however, that has gained the attention of Stavros and the rest of the excavation team, and which is Tara's and Seamus's destination.

The northern wing is partly excavated, made up of ashlar blocks. The main stoa, or portico, has been cleared, a series of pillars lining a covered entryway, and the entrance to the wing has been cleared. The cords and tape placed by prior teams is still here, as is the small generator and the floodlamps, currently off. The entrance has been clearly marked, and not far inside is a large room. Again, mostly typical of Cretan palaces... but what is different about this is the floor. The broad tiling has been carefully removed and set to the side, revealing narrow stairs leading downwards.

Stavros's briefing noted that a prior team had used sonographs in the wing, seeing it as being well-preserved, and trying to gauge the construction behind, below, and within the floors and walls. What they found, however, was the stairway leading down, very atypical... and the gallery below.

Seamus is barely able to stay in his seat on the way over. His first field assignment! While he's no egomaniac, beliving that he's going to have a chance to find something out that no one ever has, dealing with artifacts in the field is a lot different than studying from books, or from well known artifacts that have been pored over, again and again. He clutches at his tool kit, and practically leaps from the car when it stops. He keeps a close eye out for markers once they've reached the northern wing, seeing no reason there wouldn't be things of note above as well as in the gallery below. Really, just looking at everything present, embracing the newness of the experience, of being in this ancient, sacred place. Every step careful every detail scrutinized.

Mikal is dressed for the weather in comfortable shorts, sneakers, and a light tank top. She's got a light backpack on as well, although it's Adelphus who good-naturedly carries all the lunch gear in his much larger backpack. Tara is in a good mood today, chattering excitedly at her foster brother about possible ties in the artwork to later Egyptian deity figures, and trying to puzzle out if the anvil was just an artifact of poor photography. Her long, thick braid bounces lightly where it sways past her backpack as she walks, and she grins at Seamus's enthusiasm -- she remembers her first time in the field too, after all. "C'mon, McClanahan, down this way! Got your lighting gear with you?"

Seamus pats one fanny pack. "Large and small." he assures, pulling a light free, and twirling it in his hand, before catching it with both hands...okay, that was just foolish. No showing off. He blushes, and just quiets, trying to rein in his coltish impulses. He ventures, after a moment. "What was that you were talking about an anvil with your brother, though?"

Tara smiles at Seamus's antics, then turns and simply heads downwards into the excavation -- no reason to embarrass the boy, after all. Her flashlight clicks on and the light dances ahead as she paces slowly forward, staring interestedly from side to side. Her voice is slightly absent, "Mm? Oh, just that they're not usually depicted in the artwork here... especially not green. It's not like there weren't pigments for that color then, after all, y'know?"

Seamus blinks, and lets Tara take the lead. Helps him to slow down. "Maybe it was of some metaphorical significance? or it could just be damage due to age? Could even be just bad lighting."

Tara murmurs absently again, "Yep, 'zactly... so I want to take a look at the original."

Seamus rubs his chin. "Hope you don't mind if I look with ya. Boss sent me here to look at metal artifacts, but this feels kinda symbolic of that..can't make tools and weapons without an anvil." he ventures.

"'Course not. Just don't block the light, 'kay?"

"Yeah! No worries, mate!" Seamus grins.

Tara glances bemusedly over her shoulder at the American, wondering momentarily if he thinks she's Black Irish or something. She meets Adolphus's startled grin over Seamus's shoulder, and she too grins, then shrugs and turns back to walking carefully through the rather dark excavation.

The stairs down to the gallery are narrow, and go down for several more meters than is typical of subterranean structures that are not tombs. A few lines of rope snake down the stairs as well; Adeplhus is being quite careful to drop glow-sticks here and there, each well within sight of others.

The stairs go straight down, and they stop in a little foyer, with a low door and a pair of short bronze doors, shorter than usual. These doors are engraved, mostly the wavy designs characteristic of Minoan art but curiously minimalist. There is an inscription set deeply into the stone -- very deeply, definitely unusual for that era, or any other for that matter; it is in Linear A, naturally, and cannot be translated. Beyond lies the gallery Stavros described.

Tara stops and stares for several seconds. Her voice is awed when she finally murmurs, "The doors... they're still here!"

Seamus had actually gotten the turn of phrase from a classmate that was Australian, and had taken a shine to it. But now they're inside the gallery, and the strange look is forgotten as he looks about in wonder, turning his light here and there. "That's strange, Doctor? Why would doors have gone missing?" he queries at Tara's outburst.

She runs her fingers in gentle reverence over the doors, not yet going through them into the gallery but also not blocking Seamus from ducking past. "First, metal is valuable and scavengeable. Second, this is the first set of metal doors I've seen in the palaces. There weren't usually any."

She adds absently, "Oh, just call me Tara on the job, McClanahan." A moment later she adds in fascination, "This is unprecedented! It could mean the gallery was built secretly, or the doors were added later... but..." Her voice trails off in puzzlement, "No, that latter one doesn't make sense. The palace was abandoned by then, wasn't it? Who'd add doors to the underground of an abandoned palace?" She pauses, tucking the flashlight under an arm and murmuring, "Dolf, light this for me, please? Want to take some notes and photos..." She'll do so for several minutes, muttering thoughtfully to herself as she tries to figure out this anomaly.

Seamus blinks. "Sure, and I should have thought o' that. Still what with the volcano erupting and all, could be that once the folk here had gone the way o' the dinosaur, no one came to scavenge what was left. Hell, if they had, wouldn't be much need for me to be here neither, since if they'd scavenge the doors, they'd have taken any old tools too, yeah? Those still usable, and those that could be melted down for the raw metals." he steps forward, taking a clearer interest in the bronse doors.

The doors themselves seem unremarkable, discolored with age, but since bronze doesn't corrode they are fairly well-preserved. Beyond them, the doors having been carefully opened by Stavros's teams, the gallery stretches out. It requires crouching to enter the gallery, since the doorway is so low.

Tara tsks, "Nono, the place was abandoned, not exterminated! The dinosaur's a poor metaphor for this situation." Her voice sounds vaguely like a college professor in mid-lecture for a bit -- and then she goes back to half talking to herself, mumbling softly, "Now what do you mean, you strange little inscription, you?"

Seamus doesn't touch the door, leaving it entirely to the doctor...he has a scholarly interest in the doors, certainly, but clearly the significance of them was not in the construction, but in that inscribed on it...and he is no expert in any ancient language, let alone Linear A. "Going down into the gallery, Doctor...Tara. Hollar if you need me." He goes down the steps carefully, more curious, now, about the fresco and the strange anvil, not to mention whatever other treasures await below.

After she's made copious notes for later, Tara happily thanks Dolf, then ducks down to enter the long gallery. She looks quite pleased as she looks around in there, thanking Seamus also for setting up the lighting so nicely.

Inside the gallery, it stretches away from the doors for a good twenty meters, a bit farther than his light can comfortably reach; it's a good thing archaeologists tend to not be claustrophobic or nervous in the dark. Lining the walls, though, on stands and pedistals, is a remarkable array of materiel. Most are Bronze Age weapons -- axes and swords, at least one breastplate -- but there is one weapon in particular that catches Seamus's attention: It is a bronze sickle-sword, which simply was not present in the Minoan civilization. Rather, it was found more often in Egyptian and Mesopotamian cultures... and by the design of this, with a curious winged hilt, it appears to be of Sumerian design but crafted contemporary to everything else in the room.

Tara's jaw drops, and she nearly drops her flashlight as well when she sees the room. As she stares around, all she can manage is a small, almost choked sounding, "Oh... my... god!" A moment later she almost snaps, "They took photos of a frescoe -- and just forgot to mention THIS?!"

Seamus mutters a 'you're welcome' to Tara...clearly fixated on this anomaly. When he first came in, he was fascinated by the array of weapons and even armor present, here. But the sword clearly captures his attention. And when Tara gasps, he grins, looking over his shoulder. "I wasn't going to say anything, but...clearly, they figured you'd be more interested in the frescoe. And this is my bailiwick." He gets out his penlight for more fine study of the winged-hilted sword, as well as a small brush to remove detritus from the blade and hilt.

The tall woman shakes her head impatiently, "No, that's absurd! To not mention this is simply negligent on their part! I shall complain to Stavros when we return."

Seamus doesn't really respond, fixated on this treasure as he babies over every inch of it, muttering to himself in wonder. "...got enough in here to keep me busy for weeks, I bet..." he mumbles slightly louder.

Tara tchs to herself, muttering something about bored interns setting up elaborate pranks, and her being willing to take someone's head off for that, as she stalks past the absorbed young man. She heads further in, searching for the supposed fresco. Seamus can hear her irritated voice trailing behind her, were he actually listening, "If that fuzzy photo was to hide some stupid photoshopped prank fresco, more than heads are going to roll, Dolf!"

On closer examination, Seamus can tell that the sword is contemporary to Minoan civilization -- at least, the metallurgy and crafting techniques are. The design itself, is very much older, Sumerian. It's as if a Minoan artificer decided to make a Sumerian sickle-sword. The winged hilt is particularly remarkable, in that it is not often that a sickle-sword is found with a decorated hilt. But this one is; and as near as he can tell, it is a winged goddess motif, some sort of goddess of war in fact, as near as he can tell.

As they walk further into the gallery, it's almost as if there's an ethereal, dreamlike quality to the place. The artefacts are incredible and seem to simply become even more remarkable as they move onward. A vase with a curious serpentine motif; another pottery figure, this one of a stylized winged figure astride a lion; a breastplate with an equally curious blacksmith's motif, as if it were armor worn by a smith and not a warrior.

Seamus blinks, that getting his attention. "You don't think they'd be pulling that in the field, do you, Tara? I mean, the classroom is the classroom, and everyone pulls something in collage. But this is serious work here..." he calls out.

Seamus shakes his head, confused by this sword. Not because it's totally impossible, because it isn't. Cultures affect each other, and it's entirely possible that an older style was made with more modern materials. It happens all the time. No, what confuses him is this strange idea that it feels so familiar, for some reason, like it's reminding him of something he read, or saw once. Finally he manages to pull himself away from the sword, but not before marking it for later study and making a few notes. Now, when he happens across the breastplate, that just makes this moment feel even stranger. Heightens this dreamy familiarity of the place. And not entirely clear to him, why this armor feels like it was made for the smith that crafted it, rather than for a warrior, running his brush over the stylized crest emblazoned on it.

Seamus finds he has to resist actually touching the armor with his bare hands, as that's a big no-no in the field. His fingers itch, aching to carress the metal. Touching his head and feeling...not dizzy, not exactly, but still off balance.

Abruptly and almost unexpectedly, Tara comes face-to-face with the frescoe; she hadn't even realized she'd come up to it when suddenly her light shone on it and it was barely a meter or two away from her. It doesn't seem possible that it's as vibrant in color as it is; she's seen Late Dynasty Egyptian tombs where the colors are duller and far more faded than those on this frescoe. Reds, blues, greens, purples... even whites and blacks, seem amazingly bright and vivid. The infrared photo clearly did not -- could not -- do it justice.

And what it depicts...

The style is distinctly Minoan, of that much it is certain. But the content of the frescoe is both an anthropological dream and nightmare; because it has elements that simply should not appear together.

A winged goddess, armed for war and astride a lion. A serpent-goddess of some kind, clad in red raiment, likewise astride a lion. A flaming wolf of some sort. A god-figure hammering at an anvil, his legs curiously deformed.

To Tara's mind, it might be distantly possible to find a serpent-goddess -- of which there were several -- in a frescoe with Inanna -- the identity of the winged goddess leaps out at her, as if there is no doubt in her mind despite where she is seeing the frescoe. But the Minoan civilization predated classical Greece by centuries, and Hephaestus should not be there. To say nothing of whatever that flaming-on-fire wolf could be.

Tara stands there silently, her astonished gaze flicking back and forth across the fresco -- she's so astonished she doesn't even register Seamus's question called after her.

Finally she whispers, "Dolf... big brother, are you seeing this too? It's... impossible, isn't it. It -- it must be a prank. This can't be!"

Dolf's voice is quiet and a little confused from somewhere in the shadows behind Tara. "I see it, too, Tara."

Tara sounds almost lost, "Oh... good..."

Seamus likely can't hear the exact words of Tara's commentary, but it's as if he did when he calls out. "Tara, I gotta tell you, this makes no sense. This place isn't just a frescoe. It's a fricking gold mine...well, bronze mine, anyway. I know you're good, I heard the Boss tell me so, but I'm just a student. There should be a small horde of people all over this place...I still can't figure out this breastplate..."

Finally she takes a deep breath, straightening, "No. No, I am not letting some childish prank floor me like this!" She turns around slowly, scowling, "If they've put up infrared cameras, then fuck them! I'll just disprove this nonsense -- set up the lights, Dolfy, we've got work to do!"

Tara sounds almost angry as she calls back, "McClanahan, this can't be real. Just do your research as thoroughly and carefully as you can, documenting all the errors -- that's how we disprove crap like this. That's what scientific methodology is for, dammit, and that's what we're going to do -- no one will be able to point mocking fingers at the rigor of our work, you hear me?"

Adelphus is quiet and quick with his setup, moving neatly around Seamus and managing not to jostle the archaeologist, though his coming and going is clearly noticable. He brings a battery of fluorescent reflector lights, the kind that will not put too much heat onto a subject nor light that is harsh enough to fade pigments.

Seamus blinks at Tara's outburst, stepping down and seeking out the professor. "You can't be serious, Doctor. All this, for just us? A fake? I'm nobody, and why would they do this just to wig you out? I mean, I'm not saying this isn't strange and confusing, but..." He waves his hands around at all this. "Do you have any idea how much time an energy would have to go in to making all of this, getting it in here without being seen, making everything just so? What deranged mind would do that?"

Seamus has closed the gap between him and Tara, absently looking past her at the frescoe curious, wondering if there's something there that set her off...

Tara steps out of Adelphus's way, gently drawing Seamus aside with her so the other man can easily set up the lights. That puts Seamus right next to the fresco. Her voice is tight and determined, "I don't know, McClanahan, but I'm going to find out."

Seamus stares at the frescoe...he doesn't get that this combination of images don't belong, couldn't possibly belong. But when he sees the smith working at his anvil, and the twisted legs, that sense of strangeness, of sameness, of familiarity only hits him stronger, and it's wigging him out. His eyes only getting wider.

Seamus shakes his head. "Maybe there's bad air down here...feeling...lightheaded." he murmurs.

As the fresco lights up more and more with Adelphus's work, Tara slowly draws in her breath, reaching out towards the glowing pigments as if she were about to touch the fresco. She stops herself in time, of course, drawing on a pair of surgical style gloves as she stares fascinatedly. Her voice is low as she talks quietly to herself, "Inana, all right -- I can see her with... who is this... with the Evening Star, maybe? Who was that... N-Ninshubur, I think? Right, right, her sukkal, that was it. Could they have been painted at different times, maybe? Sure looks like Hephaestus... but the wolf -- who's the fiery wolf? Nobody does that shape... not Enki, not Zeus, really..." The absorbed woman sounds absent again as she murmurs, "Don't get sick down here, McClanahan... hm. Wolves... Etruscan? But... fire?”

Adelphus has finally set up the lights, and after a few moments of preparation, turns them on.

If anything, the frescoe leaps even more into life, as if the people, the beings depicted are there, larger than life and almost real, despite being paintings on a wall. The colors leap out as if fiercely, vibrant and -- virtually -- lifelike.

She isn't sure how or why, but Tara is pretty certain that one could not make this as a mere hoax. In fact... she's not quite sure how one could make this, period. Because it's like there's a message underneath the surface, somewhere in the lines of Linear A and Phoenician and the other languages there. Or maybe it's in the eyes of Inanna, proto-Lilitu, and Hephaestus. It couldn't be in the flaming wolf... even though it doesn't look much like a wolf now, but some fire-haired being....

Seamus shakes his head. "Not sick. Not really. Just...maybe it's just the adrenaline, or something." And then his mind latches onto something Tara said. "Wait, the Athenian forge god? That should be....oh! Christ, now I get what you're saying. You're right, if that's Hephaestus, that sure sounds like a fricking hoax...unless people came back after, and the frescoe actually post dates Minoan civ? Has anyone dated the stuff in here?"

Tara falls silent at the sudden flash of brilliance, stepping back half so she can see the entire thing better -- and half in shocked awe. Still staring at the frighteningly strange fresco, one of her hands finds Adelphus's, and she clutches it tightly. Her voice is small, "The... the wolf, look. It -- it changed. It was a wolf before!"

Adelphus murmurs, partly reassuringly, partly to reassure himself, "A trick of the light.... Seen it before. Looks like one thing, then with enough light looks like another... maybe...."

Tara takes a deep breath, then straightens, "Well, then changing our perspective should change it back. Let's see if it works." She deliberately steps to one side, leaning to study the flame-haired entity carefully as she does so.

It does seem Adelphus is right, in that the figure is cunningly made so as to suggest different figures as one moves. As Tara steps to the side, she can see how the figure is cunningly inscribed so as to change it's appearance from vaguely human-figure to one that is of... a horse. Also on fire.

Seamus wasn't looking right at the frescoe when it happened, but he did catch the visual out of the corner of his eye, and blinks, stepping back. He didn't take a close look at the wolf - or whatever it was - before, so he can't speak to the veracity of their association that it changed. "Maybe there really is something in the air, and we should get out of here, flush the place with oxygen or something..." he mumbles, stepping beside Tara as she's studying the anomaly.

Tara blinks, "Er... now it's a horse?!"

The anthropologist straightens a bit, glancing around. She suddenly realizes it's quiet -- very quiet, as in she can't hear anything outside the gallery. Thoughtfully she considers Seamus's words -- could the doors be somehow holding in some hallucinogenic gas? That's well beyond the known capabilities of this culture, though... and none of them have touched or eaten anything. She frowns interestedly, murmuring, "All right, this is just... weird. What is going on here?"

Seamus shakes his head. "No wait, bad idea. Oxygen could affect the integrity of the metals. Use uh...something inert. Nitrogen. Or just wear oxygen tanks, maybe?" he mumbles to himself.

Seamus shakes a finger. he has not noticed the quiet. "Maybe there's an easy test, for this. We just leave the gallery, get our breath, see if we feel better. I mean, the gallery's not going anywhere, right?"

Tara hmms... then abruptly sits down on the ground, "Gas would be differently weighted than the air, right? Light a match, Dolf -- that'll tell us if there's enough oxygen for us in here -- and if I see things differently than you both due to different air composition down here, then we'll know for sure."

Adelphus blinks, then rummages through his pack and comes up with a book of matches. After striking one, it flares normally. "This isn't conclusive," he murmurs. "But supposedly the photography team did a gas check before they went in and found nothing." Tara for her part does not notice any particular difference.

Tara sighs in intellectual exasperation, crossing her legs and staring at the fresco. "It just... it shouldn't be, you know? And who's that last guy, anyways?"

Seamus glares that the frescoe. "No frigging clue." he murmurs, stepping out of Tara's line of sight, and taking a closer look at the crippled smith. "But do you still have the photograph? I mean, if it looked this strange earlier, wouldn't that have been evident in the photo itself? Why are we asking these questions *now*?"

"Or was the photo lacking the critical detail that is - supposedly - self evident now..."

Tara blinks again, saying in a completely different voice, "Oh. I'm a dope. It's Loki, of course." She blinks again -- then suddenly sits bolt upright, "Wait, what am I saying?! No! No, no, absolutely not, this is not possible!" She whips her backpack around in front of her, rummaging through it and yanking out the photo. She unrolls it, using the flashlight to anchor one end, and glares at it, "All right, let's just check this out..."

As they work, all three start to get slight headaches. It could be from the intensity of the lamps; this isn't exactly normal conditions for the human eye. Plus maybe the vibrancy of the colors are being a little TOO vibrant. But so far the three are not having any other problems.

It's clear that the infrared photo missed a lot of the finer details. Then again, there's some doubt that a mere photo could have possibly captured an image like this with anything resembling faithfulness.

Seamus rubs his forehead. "Dammit, should have brought some ibuprofin...temples are starting to ache." He carefully brushes at the smith, absently wondering if the motif he saw in the armor is apparent at all in the image of the smith-god. Not knowing why he'd make that connection, exactly....

At Seamus's touch, he's pretty sure -- almost certain, really -- that the armor Hephaestus is wearing in the frescoe is indeed, at least similar to the breastplate further back in the gallery.

Tara examines the photo closely, comparing it to the frescoe. It's hard to believe that the photo is that bad. In fact, even if a little blurry, it shouldn't have missed details like the lame smith or the fire-wolf-human-horse -- in fact, they should have leaped out. To say nothing of the winged goddess being Inanna. And yet, those details are flatly unclear, if not outright impossible to get, from the photo.

The anthropologist slowly shakes her head, completely bemused. She looks up at Adelphus, "How could I have so completely missed this? How could the photo be this bad?" She sighs, rolling it back up as she adds frustratedly, "All right, McClanahan, we'll try your idea too. Let's leave the lights here, step outside, take a moment... then step back in. That should clear our heads."

Seamus's brow knits, almost angrily. "Okay...now that's fucking...what the fucking hell?" He gets up, and stomps back over to the breastplate, even as Tara is talking to him. "You are not the fucking armor of a god!" he yells at it. And then he leans closer, staring at the make in a new light. Is it? Was this made in Athenian style, rather than Minoan style? He had been looking at it from the perspective of motif, but...he's the expert. If this is really Hephaestus's armor, or a fascimilie, surely the crafting style would bear it out.

Tara starts visibly at the yell, staring at Seamus... then simply sighs and shakes her head, "Probably is just bad air. C'mon, Dolfy, let's collect the new kid and get out of here for a bit."

Despite it predating Athenian designs by several centuries, the design of the armor is, indeed, Athenian.

Adelphus remains looking curiously and with a bit of a frown, at the frescoe. "It's a safe place," he says quietly, at last.

Tara glances back at Adelphus, "Pardon?"

Seamus takes a step back. The design doesn't lie. This armor is clearly an anachronism. And it just makes his head hurt worse. "Maybe you're right, Tara. Maybe this place is a fake. Unless the Athenians came here long after, or someone did...these things make no historical sense, if they're as old as the structure." He rubs his eyes.

Adelphus blinks, then shakes his head as he turns to join Tara. "Ah... I'm not sure. A thought came to me, that's all. That this was... a place to put stuff. Stuff that might be forgotten."

There is the faintest of tremors felt through the ground. Distant and weak, not terribly concerning in the Aegean Sea, which has been volcanically active for millenia.

Tara glances at Adelphus, then at the fresco. This time, for the first time, she does a visual examination of the background the figures are standing in, checking to see what it is. Does it support Adelphus's theory? Are Inanna's sacred gateposts there, bracketing all the figures, or just her?

"I'll, uh...I'll meet you two outside." Seamus says, grabbing his water canteen and taking a swig, heading back for the entrance, and just then is when the ground shudders.

Inanna's gatepots are indeed there -- they combine elements not only of Inanna's marks, but also the Asherah poles of Canaanite mythology.

Seamus takes a moment, worried for a second about the stability of the gallery, before remembering that these quakes are normal, and nothing to be worried about. He heads back towards the stairs.

Tara blinks again -- then simply shakes her head sharply, grabbing her foster brother's hand, "C'mon, Dolf -- earth tremors. Safe or not, we're out of here until it's quiet again!" The anthropologist in her objects to leaving these treasures behind, though, and she glances at the various items as they walk past, wondering if there's one she could grab -- since she's wearing the surgical gloves still.

The small pottery statuette of a winged Inana on a lion grabs Tara's gaze, and she pauses just long enough to carefully, carefully lift it up -- then she hastens after her companions.

Outside the gallery, sound seems to return -- the cry of seagulls, the distant sound of traffic on Crete, the rustle of wind through the sparse trees. Emerging from the north wing of Galatas, the air seems to clear, it no longer seems nearly as dreamlike as it was in the gallery. The headaches subside. Still, the statuette is still in Tara's gloved hand, solid and real.

Tara looks down at the statuette warily, wondering if it has changed too, like the Loki painting.

The statuette remains exactly as she remembered seeing it in the gallery.

The tall woman sighs in quiet relief, then turns to look down at the stairs. "All right, my headache is gone. How're you two doing? Ready to check that place again?"

Adelphus makes a quiet sound. "I think we should get some air gear first, just in case," he says. "And to radio and check in with Stavros."

Tara hesitates... then says a little guiltily, "I should put the statuette back, so we can record it properly."

Seamus sits on the nearest thing he can find that's not in any danger od being tarnished by him, takes deep breaths, drinks from the canteen. He wipes at his forehead. "I mean...I guess. I agree with your brother. We should also do what you said...take pictures, and document the fuck out of everything. This feels really damn confusing."

She smiles, "Go ahead and radio Stavros, Dolf -- I'll be right back." She turns and heads quickly back towards the gallery, intensely curious as to what she'll find.

Adelphus smiles a bit. "You're the anthropologist, little sister."

Tara grins over her shoulder at her brother, then steps carefully down the stairs as she returns. The lights in the far gallery will give her enough light to see to replace the lovely statuette, and she doesn't want to disrupt such an amazing find -- even if it's simply to disprove it.

Into the north wing... down the stairs... through the bronze doors.... Once again in the gallery, the frescoe illuminated semingly so distant, and yet only twenty meters from the entrance, like a pool of light that is impossible to gauge the distance to. Nevertheless, to Tara's eyes the frescoe remains, perhaps a little less vibrant than it was before, but still colorful and dramatic and so, so impossible.

Tara stands silently for a moment; impossibly located statuette in her hands and impossible fresco in front of her. She just looks, not trying to explain to herself, but rather just to absorb. Finally she sighs softly, stepping forward to gently replace the statue as exactly as possible.

She finds the place she removed the statuette from easilly enough, and replaces it as best as she can. Tara stares at the statuette for a moment too... then she sighs softly again, shaking her head as she heads quietly back out.

Outside, Adelphus is gathering up his pack. "Come on," he says, indicating the Land Rover. "We'll head back to camp, pick up some breathing apparatus, and come back."

Tara emerges from the gallery in time to hear that. She nods silently, shouldering her own pack and following him.

Seamus looks up, and nods, feeling more exhausted now, suddenly, than he did yesterday. "Yeah, yeah, you're right." He gets up and follows Adelphus.

As the group approaches the Land Rover, parked on the ridge, they come into sight of the north Aegean Sea, the vast expanse of the Mediterranean that formed so much a part of the recorded history of the ancient world.

And then Thera detonates, a geyser of water and ash rushing upward from the submerged caldera. The scientist in the minds of Tara and Seamus know that it is not nearly as powerful as the fateful detonation four thousand years before, but it is surely titanic in power, as evinced clearly by the shockwave ripping outward through the water as a visible thing, racing towards them and everyone else in the Aegean. Fatal it might not be, but unpleasant it certainly will be.

Perhaps it is a trick of the light, perhaps some lingering something from the gallery. Perhaps imagination. Most likely imagination. For how could that pillar of water and smoke seem so much like a god's fist plunging downward from the sky into Thera? And how could the roar of the detonation, when it finally reaches them, the air pummelling them, the air becoming a typhoon wind rushing past them, sound like the roar of a vengeful, angry god denied some final victory?

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Last modified: 2008-Oct-04 19:17:18

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