Lykos (The Book) XXII

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* Pic is of the book

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He placed the book on the desk and ran his hand over the smooth leather cover. It was worn with age, with some small scratches and a big gouge in the bottom corner.

Hmmm. 

The book had a design on the front that almost looked celtic. Greek symbols run up the spine, and he squinted to make out the faded title. 

ΤΟ ΙΕΡΟ TOME ΤΗΣ ΤΑΞΗΣ Λύκαιο

The Sacred Tome of the Order of Lykaion.

This just screams ‘secret society’…

He unlocked the latch that held the book shut and lifted the cover. His eyes fixed on the first page.

Holy sh*t.

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The pages were not made of parchment, but instead a thin, soft, white, leather. Some kind of black ink was used to write in the unfamiliar-but-somehow-familiar ancient Greek script. But what had really made him catch his breath was the picture that was inscribed upon the leather. 

A black wolf was shown as if leaping out of the page, paws unsheathed and baring deadly looking claws, fangs barred, narrow eyes glaring fiercely at the reader. Lykos felt a thrill when he touched the page, and blew out the breath he’d been holding.

Not exactly what I’d been expecting.

He stared at the animal, feeling it’s power rising from the pages.

Saying that, I really didn’t know what to expect.

He turned the page slowly, feeling an anticipation he’d never experienced before.

This is big. This is really big.

I don’t know what it’s all about, but the fact Dad trusted me with it, means that I’m somehow involved as well.

The next page was inscribed with beautiful script, penned by different hands.

A genealogy?

Hundreds of unfamiliar names were written in a careful order, with runes inscribed  beside them. He turned the next few pages, finding exactly the same thing, except by the sixth page the runes transitioned to number symbols.

Birth dates?

What year is MDCCXXXIX? 

He did some rapid math. 

1739? That was over two hundred and fifty years ago.

He frowned. The next number was MDCCXXIX. 

That’s 1728. Less than the previous number. 

He squinted and recalculated. He’d made no mistakes.

It couldn’t possibly be 1728BC. 

There are no records going back that far! How on earth could this book survive… over three thousand seven hundred years!? 

And how about the runes? What did they symbolize? A time when there were no such things as numbers to represent time?

He leaned back and pushed his hand through his hair, agitated.

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