One Long Panel of Stones – Chapter 8

For the second time this week I’m knocking on Gus’ door before he opens the shop. I already called into work this morning to take the next week off. I could hear my boss nearly jump out of her seat in surprise, but she granted my request immediately.

Gus answers the door and he creepily lets me in without a word.

He closes the door behind us and immediately loosens his tongue, blurting out words like a teenager trying to ask someone out on a date, “I’m not saying I’ve unlocked anything here, I have to say, I have to say, I think I’ve found something.”

“Gus, you need to slow down,” he’s fumbling over himself and pacing around the store like he’s in the midst of a withdrawal.

“I know, I know, sorry, I’ve just been excited to tell you.” Gus lays out the maps on the table.

“Oh, so, look Gus, before you get into it, this reminds me. I was looking over some of my own maps last night, and I was seeing triangles everywhere. I’m starting to think the Owls had some sort of ritual using them.”

Gus pauses for a second, thinking. I’m proud for a moment, until I realize he’s not pondering what I said, he’s pondering how to frame his own reply. “Sally, I hate to break it to you, but any three points can form a triangle, there’s nothing special going on there.”

“Oh, right.” Of course. Maybe I should stick to drawing the maps.

“But, anyway, so what I was thinking,” thankfully Gus doesn’t seem bothered by my interruption or my idiotic attempt at puzzle-solving, “Is, well, I mean, your triangle idea is kind of similar, but I’m thinking this is a ritual on a grander, more complex scale. And I think your little hippy friend is right, it starts in Sedona.”

“She’s not my friend.”

Gus ignores me, and pulls out a book from behind the counter. The binding is destroyed and the cover is blank.

“We were stuck on the Order of Owl,” he continues, “And ignoring who wrote the letter. I knew I recognized the name, Athanasius, from somewhere. He was a librarian.”

“What makes you think there’s only been one person named Athanasius?”

“Well, no, that’s not what I’m saying, but I’m saying this is our guy. He never talks about Owl in this book, but he does talk about similar ideas to what we’ve found so far.”

Gus starts flipping through the book. When he lands on the page he’s looking for, he smiles. “Athanasius liked to write. And he liked to dump all his thoughts into his journal. I have no idea how many of these books exist, but I have three of his journals. A college kid traded them into me for textbooks five or six years ago. I figured he’d either stolen them from his campus library or his parents, but they were weird enough I couldn’t help but take them anyway.”

“Okay, so what’s this have to do with the maps?”

“Everything, I think,” Gus replies, flipping the book over to me. “You have to read this essay.”