Chapter 1 The Eyes of god

Contents Been here, done this! Let's go        On to Chapter 2

        It was a dark and stormy night. Not a typical night for that time of year, and as I wrapped my scarf more securely around my neck, I could not help but feel that something sinister was in the air. I tried to shake off this feeling like one would try to shake off a cob web after stepping through a spiders lair, and proceeded to my car. Then I saw him. He looked desperate and lost, but most of all, horrified...
        "Excuse me, sir, but may I ask why you are leaning against my car???"
        He looked up at me, uncertainty clouding his features. "Sorry, Ma'am," he muttered, stepping away from the car. "Didn't mean no harm." He fixed his eyes on the toes of his scuffed cowboy boots, cleared his throat, and in a voice redolent of East Texas asked, "Pardon me ma'am, but you don't happen to know where around here a feller could come acrost another one o' these?"
        He held out his hand and slowly opened to reveal what had to be the biggest emerald I had ever seen.
        "That's astounding!" I said, "How did you come by this one?"
        "Never you mind, ma'am," he drawled, "Just lookin' for one like it, that's all."
        "Well, I could point you to some excellent jewelers in the area, but I can't think of anyone who could match this."
        "Oh, no ma'am," the man explained, "I'm not lookin' to purchase another one, I'm lookin' to find one that's been, well, misplaced."
        "Misplaced?"
        "Okay, stolen."
        Stolen. I contemplated what I might be getting myself into by furthering any acquaintance with this man. But there was something about him that intrigued something mysterious.
        "Look", I told him, almost hesitantly, "I don't usually get involved with things like this, but in your case, maybe I can help".
        I motioned at him to follow me and we walked across the street to the local diner.

        "Hey, Charlie." I greeted as I walked in, "A cup of coffee for me and a bowl of your wonderful soup for my friend here."
        Charlie responded with a smile and a wave. I led my companion to a private booth and donned that days newspaper from my bag.
        "Look here," I said, in a quiet voice. "Just today Lady Jane of Lockdale was seen sporting an emerald similar to yours. I don't know what all this means, but I think you have your lead."
        The man stared down at the newspaper, his brow knotting in concentration.   "Sorry," he mumbled, "I don't read English. I ain't from around here."
        "Not from around here!" I exclaimed. "You sure sound like an English speaker!"
        "Why shucks, thanks, Ma'am!" he said, looking up from the newspaper picture. "The program in the pod can plant the local spoken language in my brain, but readin', why, that's another thing!"
        I narrowed my eyes, "Sure, and you've never seen a sci-fi/horror movie in your life, either have you?"
        "Okay, I was puttin' you on. But I really can't read. My family's poor an' where I come from they need the young 'uns in the corn fields more'n they need 'em in the school house. I dropped out after the eighth grade.  Wasn't no good at it, anyhow."
        "Great alibi," I said, "But you told me that you don't read _English_.   You read other languages, then? Where are you really from?"
        The man leaned forward in his bench suddenly and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. His accent switched dramatically to take on a very sharp, slightly Mediterranean twinge, and I jumped as he grabbed my hands.
        "Okay," he said, "I'm not an American, and I'm a horrible liar. I am a private citizen, and I've never been to America before, but I have come here pursuing a jewel that was stolen from me. Yes, I know of your Lady Jane of Lockdale, and yes, I know that she was the last seen wearing it. What I don't know is how to get it back from her. And it is very, very important that I get it back"
        "I can see why," I said nodding my head. "It's on gorgeous rock.   Must've cost you a small fortune."
        "NO! It's not that!" he said, clutching my fingers with mind-numbing ferocity. "I need to get it back because the emerald has a curse!"
        This was all becoming too much for me. My earlier premonition of the sinister quality of this night was turning into more than just a brief moment of paranoia, but rather, an out right omen! Priceless emeralds, a mysterious stranger from the Mediterranean, an evil curse! What next?  What sort of "cloak and dagger" adventure had the events of this evening ushered me, however unwillingly, in to?
        "Here's your soup." Charlie's presence couldn't have come at a better time. "Everything okay here?" he asked, giving me a sideways glance. I pulled my hand away from my that of my companion's and gave him a desperate smile.
        "Sure, Charlie", I said, " just fine, but you forgot my coffee."
        "It's just brewing now," he said.
        "Well, as soon as you can get it..., it's kinda cold in here." I replied. Charlie nodded, he seemed to understand that I wasn't talking about the temperature. "I might need something else later, I'll just give you a wave."
        "Sure, no problem." he replied, "I'll keep a good eye on ya."
        Charlie left us alone, but I felt a little better, knowing that if things got out of hand again, I just had to make a motion, and Charlie would be dialing the local authorities.
        "Okay," I said, once again addressing my companion, "now what is this talk about a curse?"
        "Many years ago," he began, "in the reign of the Sultan Mahmoud Mahdi Akbar, there lived a poor peasant boy named Amal, whose mother had many children but no husband. The scourge of drought had fallen upon the kingdom, and the family was very hungry. Night after night the children went to bed hungry and crying, the littlest one, Fatima, lying listless, barely moving, through the heat of the day.
        "The boy would do all that he could to help his mother feed the family. He would take the family's goat Min'a to the hills every day so that she could find grass, so that her milk could feed his darling baby sister Fatima. He would gather sticks to sell for firewood in the village. He would carry water for the houses of the rich for the few coppers thrown his way by the arrogant housekeepers.
        "One day as he wandered in the hills, following Min'a, Amal found that though he was but a few yards behind the goat, he could no longer see her. He called and called, then ran ahead, frantic that the precious goat would be lost or hurt, for surely, he said to himself, should such a thing come to pass Fatima must surely die.
        "As he rounded an outcropping in the rock he found himself before a narrow black opening that lead back into the darkness. He called again, and from the cool darkness he heard Min'a's answering bleat.  Cautiously he squeezed through the opening, and found that it widened into a substantial cave, with dry sand for its floor and stone above that arched away into the darkness.
        "'Min'a!' he called, and followed her bleat further into the cave.  'Min'a!' he called again, 'Min'a! Come back before I sell you to the tanner for your worthless hide!' He hurried on, deeper and deeper into the darkness, following the sounds of her footsteps trotting on ahead. But what was this! Did his eyes deceive him? Far ahead in the darkness he saw a faint glow! And the sound of running water!  Running water! Here! In the heart of the desert! He quickened his pace, almost running now, and burst out into a high-vaulted cavern, awash in the light of the most beautiful thing Amal had ever seen.
        "He stopped short and gaped in awe, the light in the cavern shining with almost supernatural intensity. Before him rose a pillar of stone and quartz, set in the middle of the cavern room as if by architecture.  Min'a was standing next to the pillar drinking from the rivulets of water that formed a tiny moat around it. The water ran inexplicably down the walls behind the pillar, and then to a doorway to the cavern that led to the even darker recesses of the cave. But the most wondrous that stood before him had nothing to do with the precious water. Atop the pillar, embedded in a cache of rose quartz, were two blindingly luminescent green eyes.
        "Amal gathered Min'a to himself and backed away to the respectable distance that the village men had taught him in his worship lessons. He assumed a postrate position on the cavern floor and began to scrape and intone his unworthiness, knowing for certain that in this cavern he had found the house of a god.
        "As he watched the sacred waters of the pillar began to run hot, the steam rising to fill the cavern. The voice that arose from the pillar was deafening and terrifying, and Amal trembled in fear of having awakened the god of the dark place.
        "'Who dares to wake me from oblivion?' the voice thundered.
        Amal shuddered. He was speechless with fear and awe, but the voice of this strange god persisted, "Answer the Great and Powerful One or be destroyed!"
        Amal stuttered "Iiiit iiiis I, the hummmmblllle Amal."
        "If you are as humble as you proclaim, than why do you dare to set foot in this holy place?" replied the thundering voice.
        "I...I did not know..., I was retrieving my goat, without whom my family would starve. It was my goat that found your lair, I was only bringing her out."
        "I see that you are young and unlearned" said the frightening voice with no face, "and I see that you do not know how to take responsibility for you own doings, and pass your transgressions on to that of an innocent animal.  For this, I must teach you a great and important lesson."
        "In an instant Amal felt his feet leave the floor, and, clawing the air to keep his balance he reflexively dropped Min'a, who scuttled for the entrance.
        "But Amal barely noticed. He rose higher and higher in the air until his head was at was at the level of the luminescent green eyes.  Slowly he felt the cavern room begin to spin, but the green eyes transfixed him, drawing him out of himself and down into their green depths. The room rotated faster and faster, but the eyes seemed never to move as the cavern became a blur beyond them, and Amal felt his brain fill with their green light and all consciousness drifted away in an enveloping sense of well-being. He was dimly aware that the light suffused  every corner of his being, and he willingly gave up to it all that he knew, all that he felt, all that he had ever seen.
        "When he came to himself he lay prostrate on the sandy floor of the chamber, muttering to himself over and over,  "Allah o akbar! Allah o akbar!" He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and looked about, noting with some  surprise that the towering pillar of rose quartz with its piercing green eyes was nowhere to be seen. Sunlight filtered dustily from a crack in the domed ceiling high overhead, but gone were the pillar, the eyes, the pool, every  part of Amal's strange experience but the cavern itself. Amal, shaken, made a warding gesture and shuffled toward the entrance. What was this, then, that had happened to him? Some strange dream? A djin of the desert who would bewitch a poor shepherd boy?
        "As he approached the cave's opening he noticed that it seemed to have grown narrower so that it was a terrible  effort for him to squeeze his way out. He cursed and grunted and pushed, and felt his loose-fitting tunic tear as he  burst forth into the light, calling out for Min'a. But what was this rumbling bass that burst forth from his lips!? And  these hands! Whose large black-haired hands were these? Amal looked down at the broad, well-muscled, and  hairy chest of a fully grown man, his trousers now halfway up to the newly-muscied calves.
        "Min'a stood at his feet, gazing up at him expectantly, and has he  strode away down the wadi scrambled after  him, this Min'a after whom he had chased time after time, following him like an obedient dog!  Amal stopped and  bent to pick her up in one strong arm, and it was only then that he noticed that since he had come to himself in the cave, his fists had been tightly clenched. Slowly he opened them, one finger at a time. Enclosed in each, so big that even his large hands could not completely enfold them, were two brilliant green emeralds, the Eyes Of God.
        The stranger paused and drew a deep breath. "In the years to come," he continued, "Amal came to know that to  possess these two stones was to possess great strength and wisdom. He raised his mother and brothers and sisters from the dust of despair and clothed them in soft and shining raiment. He quickly came to rule his village and his region, and in time he came to rule the Land Between the Two Rivers. He ruled with strength and with wisdom, wielding a massive sword in the defense of his people, a sword in whose hilt was set one of the Eyes Of  God, a golden breastplate on his chest, over his heart the other Eye of God.
        "For seven hundred years his descendants donned the Breastplate Of Virtue and wielded the Sword Of Justice, ruling in peace and justice, until the Europeans came with their cannons and muskets to slaughter our people and  loot our sacred treasures. Since that time the whereabouts of the Sword and the Breastplate had been unknown  and many considered them lost forever, melted down to satisfy the treasure lust of the European kings. That is, at  least until you sent your men from the University to dig in the ruins of the Old Places."
        "My men!" I exclaimed. "But they came back empty handed except for some insignificant pottery shards only a  few hundred years old! The University reported that there was nothing else to be gained at the site, and I pulled  my foundation's funding!"
        The stranger laid one brilliant Eye Of God on the table between us.  "Not entirely empty-handed," he muttered.   "One of them returned with the Sword."
        "And the emerald in the sword is cursed?" I asked. He nodded sadly.   "How so?"
        "You see, Madam, to possess the Eye of God from the Sword of Justice without simultaneously possessing the  Eye of God in the Breastplate of Virtue is to bring down upon oneself the wrath of Justice without the tempering  calm and protection of Virtue, which is to say, Mercy."
        "So what does that mean for whomever has the Sword?" I asked, still a little puzzled at all this philosophical  mumbo-jumbo.
        "It means," said the stranger, "that whomever has the sword will reap the just punishment for whatever wrongs he  has done, whatever they may be, and those punishments will be swift and sure. Only with this stone," he nodded  toward the emerald on the table, "can Mercy temper the demands of Justice."
        My communicator chose that moment to chime, as communicators so often do, at the most inopportune time, so  I flipped it open and read the message. I looked up to meet the stranger's inquiring stare. "It's Stansfield," I told  him, "the cataloguer from the expedition. He's just been found dead of an apparent heart attack in an adult bookstore."
        I didn't even look to see if the stranger was behind me as I slapped a bill on the diner table and burst out the  door, somehow remembering to wave to Charlie and give him a nod and a reassuring wink. The little bookstore  was only a couple of blocks away, and as I ran down the sidewalk, I thought of Stansfield and what his loss would mean to the university. As I rounded the corner to approach the little dive that faced an alley, I was stopped short by police tape, the stranger only a couple of steps behind.
        "You have to let me in!" I pleaded with the officer at the door.
        "Hold on, lady," the officer intoned, "Who are you, anyhow?"
        "I'm his coworker," I fumed, "and he was about the most brilliant mind on ancient civilizations on the entire West Coast! And he has no living relatives in town. I can ID him."
        "And who's this?" I heard the officer say, gesturing toward the stranger, but I didn't take time to answer him.  Instead, I burst past the doorway, picking my way through paramedics and disgruntled sales clerks and stopped to look into the face of my beloved friend and colleague, who lay prone on the floor as the ambulance team shook their heads sadly.
        "Stansfield," I murmured as the stranger finally burst through the crowd to stand next to me. "This is a double shocker." I put my hands over my face. "I didn't even know he had heart problems."
        "This confirms it," the stranger said, "He must have had the sword. He is guilty of stealing the Eye of Justice and  bringing down the curse on your city and your university."
        "On our city?"
        "The Eyes are the possession of kings and emporers. They can give the power to bestow the blessings of mercy and the swift hand of justice on an entire civilization. But the Eyes choose their keeper *always*. It cannot be another way. If the Eyes are stolen, a curse falls upon the thief and his house, and the curse follows everyone who acquires the jewels from the thief!"
        "What is the curse?" I asked dully, still staring into my friend's lifeless face.
        "The eyes are meant to rule cities, not to be exploited for personal gain. If one is stolen, it turns its powers inward  and controls its owner. Your Stansfield stole the Eye of Justice, and now he dies because his favorite sin has stopped his heart. This is how the Eye of Justice works. I have the Eye of Mercy, and it works in the opposite direction: If Mercy is stolen, it will soften the theif's own heart until he slips utterly under the whims and biddings  of another --"
        "Wait a minute!" I screamed.
        "What is it?" asked the stranger, freezing in position.
        "Lady Jane of Lockdale!"

        It was apparent to me that Stansfield was using his brilliance to finally secure a retirement plan after long years of  having been the toast of his field, but in word only. Now he wanted to retain some of the profit, and esteem was not what he had in mind. Unfortunately his attempts to pay himself back for his self perceived deserved earnings met with great misfortune. It would have been enough if his poor judgment only afflicted himself, but it  hadn't!
        I looked at my companion. There must have been terror in my eyes, because he seemed to know what I had in  mind.
        "Her home is heavily guarded, you know." He stated. "I've been there."
        "Then why did you come looking for me!"
        "I thought you might be in on this thing with Stansfield. Where would you go?"
        I had to admit, it seemed logical. I suddenly felt angry and my recently departed friend. "What have you dragged  me into, Stan, old boy?" I thought to myself.
        "All right, then, were do we go from here? We can't just waltz into the Lockdale estate and demand they give us back a valuable yet stolen and cursed emerald!"
        "That's not what I had in mind," replied my companion. Then he gazed at me for a long while, as if contemplating a very calculated and twisted plan.  "Do you have a cocktail dress?" he finally asked.
        "A cocktail dress!" I exclaimed. "You can't seriously be thinking of trying to get into the Lockdale estate during the ChildHelp International benefit!"
        The stranger gazed back at me wordlessly, his dark eyes expressionless, and suddenly it dawned on me -- this had been his plan all along: find me, enlist me in his cause, whatever it might really be, and use my status as a university regent and large donor to gain entrance to the estate. He most likely even knew, or guessed, that I would have been invited to the benefit. I sighed, and considered my options. "Of course I do. And I'm sure we can find a chauffer's uniform for you. Now don't glower! It's not like I'm going to show up at an important social event on the arm of a clod in an obviously borrowed tux."