Raven's Key: A Novel

By Siomonn Pulla

Siomonn Pulla's first e-novel is a fast-paced new age adventure with a most unlikely cast of characters. This book is quirky and probably unlike anything you've ever read before. An ancient Sumerian King has hired a shape shifting Raven to steal sacred objects from museum's around the world. A Museum curator and her assistant, a young anthropology graduate student, discover that they are running out of time in this quest to restore the ancient balance of light and dark forces. Together with members from the ancient Council of Light, they must track down the shape shifting Raven, locate the stolen objects and return them to the council. Nearly out of time, they must journey to discover the key to unlocking humanity's shift into the new consciousness of 2012.

As a new fiction writer Siomonn is having fun testing out ideas and working on his technique with this novel. He enjoys receiving constructive comments and his dream is to one day work with an agent and a team of talented editors to help him shape his numerous far-out creative ideas into great fiction!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Siomonn Pulla
• Release date: Jul 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986878206

Siomonn Pulla

I am a cultural anthropologist who currently lives on Vancouver Island in the beautiful pacific Northwest of Canada. I teach university courses and supervise graduate students in the fields of interdisciplinary studies, applied research, indigenous issues, and education technology. Currently I’m working on academic projects around Metis issues in Canada, education technology, and corporate-Aboriginal relations.Non-FictionI write a significant amount of non-fiction; in fact I make a living writing non-fiction. Over the last 10 years I’ve published over 35 peer reviewed articles and professional reports. These cover a broad range of topics from historical anthropology and Aboriginal treaty rights, to the social impacts of major projects in Canada’s North. Almost all of these publications are based on original research. Unfortunately many of these original research publications on the history of Canada and Aboriginal-settler relations will never see the other-side of a court-room; or the outside of a lawyer’s briefcase.FictionIn my creative fiction I combine my rigorous academic training and research skills with a vivid and active imagination. I’m inspired by Commercial writers like Neil Gaiman and Charles De Lint, Isabella Allende, Paulo Coleho, and Leslie Marmon Silko. And I like to bur the line between fact and fiction, weaving the real together with the unreal; drawing deeply on my anthropological expertise and knowledge of cultural tropes, symbols, and mythologies. I’m also deeply inspired by true events and themes around the spirit and mysteries of love, friendships and the greater powers and forces of the seen and unseen worlds.PoetryAlmost all of my poetry is written in a “stream of consciousness” style. For years the last thing I would do before going to sleep was to write poetry – no rules, no thought, no expectations. It became a form of meditation for me. A lot of my poetry also ends up as lyrics in songs that I write. I’m working on my first poetry collection; and all the poems shared on this site will be included in this collection of poetry to be e-published in the summer of 2014.

Book preview

Prologue

This is the famous 5,000 year old slate palette of King Narmer, considered by Egyptologists to be the unifier of upper and lower Egypt and the first king of all Egypt.

The tour guide pointed to the ancient stone slab propped up inside the bullet-proof glass. The Cairo Museum recently purchased a million dollars worth of these high-tech display units. Bast Security Services convinced the administrators that protecting these priceless artifacts was an investment worth paying for.

And this is the museum’s current object of the month, continued the Tour Guide. The oldest known amulet in Egypt - the Knot of Isis.

The amulet was small and deep red. The colour of dried blood long preserved by the hot, dry desert winds.

Legend states that the ancient Goddess of motherhood, magic and fertility, Isis, constructed this amulet from her own menstrual blood to protect her son, Horus, from his jealous uncle, Set. This piece dates back to the Pre-dynastic around 4,500 to 3,100 B.C.

It took only a second after the tour guide and his group moved away from the display case before the alarm bells started to sound in Room No. 43.

Security guards carrying semi-automatic rifles swarmed into the Antrim like bees to honey. The badges on their uniforms clearly indicating that they were part of Bast Security Services.

Please do not panic ladies and gentlemen. This is just a drill. The officer in charge, Felisa Sylvestre, was a tall commanding woman. Her short military brush cut accentuated her long face and high check-bones. She looked like an ancient Ethiopian warrior somehow out-of-place, but comfortably secure in the 21st century.

She directed her guards past the huge statue of Ramses II to where the knot of Isis was on display only seconds ago as object of the month.

Find him, she ordered her guards. That object does not leave this museum or heads will fly. I want you to proceed clockwise and head upstairs to the Tut Ankh Amon collection in the northern and eastern galleries. Check and double-check each of the one hundred and seven halls. You know the drill. He’s here somewhere.

Felisa watched her men circle through the back-end of Room No. 43 and up the staircase to the first floor of the museum.

The tourists were all being led in to the basement, where they would be searched and eventually let go.

He’s too crafty to be hiding in with the rest of the tourists. If I was in his shoes I would definitely have gone upstairs to the mummy hall.

We’ve searched everybody and turned up nothing. The first reports were starting to come in now. The guards weren’t turning up anything suspicious in the halls and likewise in their searches of the tourists.

Look harder, pressed Felisa. He’s here. I know it and none of you are leaving until we find this thief.

Felisa worked her men hard and they respected her more for it. Over the last few days she had been preparing them for this. Bast Security services had been tipped off that Apep was planning some kind of maneuver in the museum. When she pressed for more information, her sources couldn’t tell her anything else. She had her suspicions, and over the years she had learned to always follow her gut instincts, which saved her on more than one occasion.

Chapter 1

Paul Saya sat at one of the small tables in the museum archives studying a large stack of old papers. Whatever he was reading was interesting enough that he didn’t notice Benoit, the museum’s archivist, roll in beside him with boxes of papers stacked on a trolley.

This should keep you busy for a while. I think I finally found that file you’ve been looking for. Benoit adjusted his glasses and transferred some of the boxes on to Paul’s desk.

Thanks Benoit. I’ll let you now if that file is where is supposed to be.

I’m happy to help out Paul. We’re all eager for you to finish your studies. I’m especially eager to hear what you’re discovering about the history of this museum.

You’ll be the first one to know if I turn up anything scandalous.

Whatever you find, I hope it’s not too scandalous. Benoit smiled went back into his office, leaving Paul alone, half the boxes still stacked on the small trolley.

Right away, Paul started to dig around in the new boxes, excited that maybe, just maybe, he’d find that one document - the gem of all documents - that he’d been digging around for three years to find.

Chapter 2

A man dressed in elegant black suit, with a briefcase, sat alone in the museum’s reception watching the elevator. Every few seconds he checked his watch, tapping his fingers nervously on the side of his briefcase.

At exactly 10:15 am,  a tall, middle-aged woman, dressed in an expensive business suit stepped out of the elevator and introduced herself to the man.

Dr. Corvus, a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been really looking forward to this visit.

It really is my pleasure Dr. Hasser. It’s a fine museum you work at.

I hope your flight in from Cairo was pleasant.

A wee bit long, but nonetheless uneventful.

I’m sure you’re eager to get to work. I’ve got your room all set up. You’re going to be the first researcher to review the new Sinclair manuscript.

The Curator slipped her pass into a card reader mounted on the wall and a  door in the reception room opened into a long hallway.

I’m very excited to get a sneak peek at this manuscript. Ever since it was leaked to the media last week I’ve been anxious to examine it before it disappears again.

I think the manuscript will disappoint you. There’s no mention about the Templar treasure. But it does chronicle Sinclair’s voyage northwest into Ojibwa territory to a sacred teaching rock.

The Curator stopped at another door. This time she pressed her finger into a slot in the wall. After a flash of red the door opened into another, smaller hallway.

Sinclair apparently knew about the stone for some time, she continued.  His visit to this sacred site was the main reason for his journey. There never was a treasure.

Sinclair was very adventurous. He believed in the Templar’s mission of preserving their ancient manuscripts about the real truth of human history.

That idea is so overdone, sighed the Curator. Even the big blockbuster movies don’t get it right.

There was a deeper truth, something much more profound that Sinclair held very secretly to himself.

I grew up in Egypt and heard all these stories from my grandfather when I was kid, replied the Curator. As an educated curator of a world-class museum, I don’t believe any of it anymore. Show me the facts.

Recently a document surfaced in the Vatican’s secret archives absolving the Templars of all heresies, continued the visitor. "Apparently the Pope at the time felt pressured by the King of France who amassed a great debt to the Order. He wanted it disbanded because it was becoming too powerful and rich.

The Curator stopped at a third door, this time both passing her identification tag over the security lock and presses her finger into a tiny slot on the wall. After a brief whir and click, the door opened.

Inside the room there was a small desk and a chair. On top of the desk was an old leather covered manuscript and a pair of white gloves.

How do you know so much about Sinclair? And how does this all fit into your research on neo-pagan revitalization movements in Europe?

"Sinclair was part of a French lineage of Templars, the St. Clair family, who fled to Rossyln Scotland to avoid persecution by the Catholic Church. Remember that at that time during the 14th century, Scotland was a free state ruled by a pagan King.

In 1398, almost a century before Columbus, Sinclair led an expedition from Scotland to lands in eastern Canada and New England. Many believe that during their time in the Holy Land, the Templars learned about the Phoenician voyages to a westerly continent following a star called La Merika.

"Sinclair’s Captain was a Venetian sailor, Antonio Zeno, who kept detailed records and maps of their voyage. Sinclair never sent Zeno back to Italy in the fall of 1398. They both remained in Nova Scotia, living amongst the Mi’kmaq people, who took them to the Ojibwa teaching rock.

"The rock wasn’t a mysterious shamanic site. It was a star chart, a map of the heavens. It provided precise information on the cycles of the moon and the sun and their alignment on specific days of the year.

"Some of the key petroglyphs are exact replicas of images found on ancient Druidic sites in Europe dating as far back as the third century BC. Without any prior knowledge of each other, these two cultures were experiencing and recording very similar phenomena.

What I believe, and am writing a paper on, is that this shared human spirituality reflects a detailed and complex understanding of the interconnections between universal laws and material reality. This new Sinclair manuscript is the missing link.

I better let you get to work. The Curator looked at her watch. I could chat all afternoon about these subjects and I bet you’re excited to get into that manuscript.

Indeed. Thank you very much Dr. Hasser.

The Curator closed the door behind her, leaving the visitor alone in consultation room 1B.

Chapter 3

Paul had his head so deep into the new documents that he didn’t notice the Curator standing there beside him.

Sorry to interrupt Paul.

Huh? Paul turned around, surprised to see his friend Susan. What’s up Sue? I wasn’t expecting to see you today.

Change of plans. I need your help right away.

Sure of course. What’s going on?

Pack your computer up, grab your coat and follow me.

The Curator led Paul out into the hall towards the elevator.

Where are we going?

You know those two Elders that were supposed to come in next week? Susan pushed the elevator button a few too many times. They just arrived.

What? Their visit has been planed for over two months.

No time to explain.

The elevator door opened and they stepped inside.

The Elders are waiting downstairs at reception, Susan continued. And to top it all off I have a visiting scholar here reviewing the Sinclair manuscript.

Wow. He works fast. We just made the public announcement last week.

Tell me about it. He’s got some interesting ideas though. I hope I get a chance to speak to him again before he leaves.

The elevator door opened and Paul and Sue stepped out into reception.

There were two men sitting waiting for them. Their hair was pulled back into two long braids, and they were wearing perfectly tailored black suits, with starched white shirts, elegant ties and beautifully beaded moccasins. The sunlight shining in from the window outside reflected off the older man’s silver hair.

The younger of the two stood up immediately as Susan and Paul got off the elevator.

We have come from a great distance to recover something very special to us.

Chapter 4

When the Geological Survey museum moved from Montreal to the old Clarendon Hotel at 547 Sussex Street the Director of the Museum, Dr. Arthur Selwyn, hoped that his ongoing requests to the Minister of Mines and Resources for more space to conduct research, facilitate museum activities and store the survey’s increasing collection would be granted-finally.

Selwyn took his role very seriously. He was convinced that unless he preserved the cultures of Aboriginal peoples in his museum, there would be nothing left of the noble race. The museum also served as a place for scientists to conduct research, lead seminars and hold public lectures. The ever-increasing collections of native artifacts, however, required more and more space for storage and display.

Moving the survey’s headquarters from Montreal to Ottawa was made a lot easier by the completion of the Canadian Pacific Railway’s mainline from Montreal to Ottawa in the spring of 1881.  The prospect of loading the numerous delicate crates full of priceless Indian artifacts onto a dozen carriages for the long bumpy ride to Ottawa did not appeal to Selwyn. Not only was the ride uncomfortably long, it caused him undue stress thinking about the potential damage the rough road, and especially the carelessness of those damn French-Canadian coachmen driving the horses, would cause to the collection of artifacts under his supervision and care.

The completion of the railway to Ottawa, however, made the decision to move much easier. Of course, it was not he that made the ultimate decision, but the Minister of the Interior who had the last word. In fact it had been the Minister’s idea in the first place to move the survey closer to the heart of government in Ottawa. The option of taking the train was the only way the Minister could convince Selwyn that the move to Ottawa was in the best interest of science and not just a way for the Minister to keep closer tab on the survey’s operations.

Selwyn liked to run a tight-ship. His men were known to get into trouble sometimes in the field. Usually it involved drinking white whiskey smuggled into lumber-camps with displaced French-Canadians or burly Irish peasants, newly emigrated to the hinterlands of Canada. The stories of these encounters always filtered their way back to Selwyn, and occasionally found their way to the Minister’s office through some unofficial channel, usually from a drunk lumberman from the valley who blew his winter’s pay at the parliament tavern on a Friday night.

After only one year in Ottawa, he concluded that the new home of the Survey and its museum at the Clarendon Hotel was completely inadequate. The lack of space prevented the display and storage of the Survey’s increasing collection and, the nine thousand visitors to the museum in its first full year in Ottawa surely was some indication that the public wanted greater access to the museum’s collections. The conservative government, however, was tight on the purse strings and would not increase the museum’s operating budget or even provide the survey with a larger space to facilitate the ongoing public visitations.

In response to his numerous requests, the new Minister of the Interior had reprimanded Selwyn for concentrating too much on pure science and not focusing on the survey’s original function of examining and aiding the development of the mineral resources of the country. This type of petty bureaucracy infuriated Selwyn. These government men always seemed to think they knew what was in the best interest of science. But really all they cared about were the backroom dealings, making themselves rich off the blood and veins of the vast and rich resources of the country.

His response to the bumbling bureaucracy of the new government was to organize a groundbreaking survey team made up of his two best men. He had first considered sending Robert Bell, who would have been a great man for the job. Bell was a seasoned survey-man, with more field hours logged than any of Selwyn’s other men. He was also a top-notch physician, skilled at treating any number of illnesses, as well as dealing with sprains and fractures, one of the most common of field injuries. Bell had even, on occasion, performed emergency surgery in the field, amputating gangrenous feet, severed legs and fingers broken beyond repair.

Unfortunately, Selwyn had to reconsider after he learned that Bell had fallen ill with scarlet fever.  Apparently after a late night house call to assess the very same ailment in a young female acquaintance, Bell had awoken the next morning with a dreadful rash and a very high fever. Good thing he was a doctor and although he would most definitely recover before the expedition was to set out, Selwyn needed somebody on hand right away to help sort through the rather complicated arrangements of sending a team to the farthest reaches of the country.

His second choice to lead the western expedition was Dawson. Dawson was excited, and grateful, at the opportunity to venture west. The younger Tyrell would work as Dawson’s assistant, learning the techniques and skills of the much more experienced Dawson, while refining his own interest in paleontology. The expedition was to explore and map Crowsnest Pass, the north and south Kootenay Rivers, Kicking Horse Pass and the foothills east of the Rocky Mountains. In addition to collecting plants, flowers and fossils, the expedition was also assigned the task of making a pace survey, measuring by foot the distance traveled. This in turn would aid the survey’s task of mapping the whole of the country, and eventually, producing official government maps of the various regions of Canada.

Although Selwyn secretly wished he could lead the expedition, since moving to Ottawa the increasing administrative demands of the museum, combined with the demands of operating the survey had become overwhelming.  He also felt that sending Dawson out on an extended field-trip would be a positive way for the young man to build some discipline and self-confidence. Ever since his return from Princeton, Dawson had become withdrawn and hard to connect with. An extended season in the field would help him to reconnect with his love for science and appreciation for the vast unyielding beauty of the country.

In the meantime, the Director had to concentrate on updating the museum’s growing catalogue. Each specimen brought in from the field had to first be numbered and classified in relation to its specific geographical region of origin. Once that was accomplished, a second number was given based on its specific use category. The result was a systematic catalogue of artifacts.

That morning he was focusing his attention on the most recent additions to the collection, a vast array of specimens collected by Bell north of Sudbury Ontario while he was on a short expedition to examine a potentially large mineral ore deposit. Of particular interest was a collection of artifacts Bell almost collected from an Ojibwa man around the Sturgeon River, who claimed to be a shaman of the highest degree within the secret Midewiwin society.

According to Bell’s field notes, the man had offered to sell his medicine kit. This included a most extraordinary beaded bag of what appeared to be the complete skin of an otter, the contents of the bag, and a beautiful pipe carved in the effigy of an eagle, that transformed into a wolf when looked at from a certain angle.

In his field notes, Bell recounted that he had tried to talk the man down to fifty dollars, but the man was stubbornly set at a price of five hundred dollars for the artifacts. After a close inspection of the items, Bell concluded that the artifacts were not only of a fine vintage, but that they were substantially unique to warrant spending his complete field allowance, knowing of course that he was contributing to the better good of Canadian society by preserving these Indian specimens in the museum for all to see and admire. 

Bell’s notes ultimately conveyed a sense of loss. Unfortunately, he only had one hundred dollars left, the cost of a train ticket and hiring an Indian guide had been more than expected, so he had to reluctantly refuse the shaman’s offer.

That is unfortunate. I’m sure one of George Heye’s men will end up purchasing the lot and our cultural heritage will end up in some American museum.  I should consider sending the men into the field with a higher allowance for salvaging material for the museum. Although five hundred dollars is pretty steep. Bell probably could have talked him down to two hundred and fifty. The Indians are always inflating the prices for their stuff. They should be happy that we’re offering them anything.

Just as Selwyn placed Bell’s field notes on the table there was a knock at his door.

What is it Florence, can’t you see I’m very busy at the moment.

Florence was Selwyn’s secretary. A nice Irish girl, whose family had survived the embittered Shiner’s war that raged through Ottawa during the early 1860s. What Selwyn really liked about Florence was, for an uneducated lumberjack’s daughter, her ability to take down his dictations and then translate the shorthand into beautifully eloquent letters never ceased to amaze. Although her constant questions and interruptions proved to be a petty annoyance.

Sorry Sir, but there is a rather animated gentleman requesting to see you right away. He says it is very important and will not leave until he discusses a most important matter with you in person. I think he is an Indian, but am not quite sure.

An Indian? Selwyn thought out loud, puzzled. It was rare that an Indian came into the survey and asked specifically for an audience with him.

"Yes Sir,