The Bone Labyrinth by James Rollins

at them. Upon her brow, blue dots formed the shape of a six-pointed star, very much like those symbols found in the graves.
    “Do you think this could be a depiction of the Neanderthal woman whose bones were removed from that other cavern?” Lena asked.
    Stolen by Father Kircher centuries ago.
    “This is the first painting of a person we’ve seen down here,” Lena added, glancing back at him. “All the other petroglyphs were animals.”
    Except for the shadow images cast by the carved stalagmites , he added silently, depicting some great enemy of these people.
    “And look at this,” she said.
    She dropped the beam of her lamp, centering it between the white ankles of the petroglyph, where the dark mouth of a low tunnel opened. He moved closer, shining his own light inside, revealing that the tunnel was actually an arched doorway leading into a side cave.
    “Leave it,” Gerard warned them both. “We don’t have time to waste exploring.”
    The thunderous rumble of rushing waters amplified his warning.
    Still . . .
    Lena made the decision for them both. She ducked and crawled on her hands and knees across the threshold. As curious as she, Roland followed, ignoring the mumbled complaint from the French soldier.
    The next chamber was small, no more than five meters across. Here there were no bones on the floor, just flat rock with a charred spot in the center that marked some ancient hearth. Lena stood and slowly turned, splashing her light across the walls. She let out a small gasp of surprise.
    Instead of paintings, the cave walls had been carved into rows of niches. Each cubby held sculpted figures, all animals—a veritable stone menagerie. In one niche, a small mammoth raised a curled trunk. Another held a lion, with the beast reared up on its hind legs. Roland added his light, revealing sculptures of wolves, bears, and bison, along with all manner of deer and antelope. The higher shelves held birds of every feather, from hunting hawks to waterfowl.
    If there was any question as to this collection’s age, the crusts and runnels of calcite that caked everything in place removed any doubt of its prehistoric origin. It would have taken millennia to accrue this much buildup.
    “These must be tribal totems,” Lena said, reaching toward the figure of a hunched leopard, then lowering her arm. “If these were carved by Neanderthals, it would change our fundamental understanding of them.”
    Roland nodded and stepped over to the largest of the cubbies. It lay directly across from the cave opening. Small markings drew his attention. A single palm print flanked each side of the niche, again painted in blood-red.
    Lena joined him. “This one on the left has the same crooked pinkie, like we saw in the older ransacked grave.” She hovered a finger over the image to the right. “And this one . . . I bet it would match the collection of palm prints above the bones of the Neanderthal male.”
    He glanced to her, furrowing his brow. “Signs of the same two figures again.”
    “Clearly they were important to this tribe. Maybe leaders. Or, judging from this collection of totems, perhaps revered shamans.”
    He shifted his light to illuminate the depths of the dark niche. Unlike the others, this cubby held no stone figure. Instead, something lay on the bottom, wrapped tightly.
    He reached for it.
    “Careful,” Lena warned, but she didn’t attempt further to dissuade him.
    He took out the object, seeing that it was folded in layers of stiff cloth. Flakes of old wax crumbled from his fingertips. “This isn’t from prehistoric times.”
    She pressed closer. “What is it?”
    He licked his lips and peeled away the layers of old cloth, shedding more wax. Finally he revealed a leather-bound book inside. Its surface was embossed with a symbol, a design of convoluted loops forming a pattern.

    “It almost looks like a cross-section of a brain,” Lena said, awed.
    He smiled. She was a geneticist, so of course that was what