Chapter Sixteen

 

The old man's words struck me like a sledgehammer in the chest.

“Dead? How do you know?”

“I scryed it,” he said.

“Scryed it?”

“Gazed it in the crystal.”

Zekiel was talking gibberish and now I didn't know what to believe. I must have looked dejected because Mary Ann stood behind me and placed a consoling hand on my shoulder.

Zekiel glanced up at the cloudless sky and said, “Mighty fine weather we're having lately.”

“Lovely,” I said, by now sure he was completely senile.

He chuckled again and used my shoulder to brace himself off the crate.

“Son, I'm sorry about your brother. Come inside,” he said as he opened the door of the shack. “I'll get you something to drink.”

I looked at Mary Ann and then at a hawk flying high above us. Big trucks on the highway far in the distance made the only noticeable sound except for wind whistling through the pine boughs. As we followed the old man into the shack, the black tom rushed between my feet, slipping through the screen door before I could close it. The shack was small and dark inside and weathered cardboard, papered thin walls. A flowered curtain, suspended from a wire, quartered the single room. An old army green cot marked the spot where Zekiel slept. There was no indoor plumbing.

A stained oak table sat in the center of the room. On the table, a coal oil lantern glowed, lighting cave-like darkness with flickering flame. Scattered papers, various gemstones and what looked like an antique microscope lay strewn on the table. Boxes of old newspapers and magazines littered the floor and various bottles containing who-knows-what lined the walls with homemade shelves.

Zekiel motioned us to have a seat then ambled over to a squatty icebox in the corner. It was a real icebox of white porcelain, chipped and yellowed with time and rust showing through flaking paint. He returned with a cold drink for Mary Ann and a ceramic jug. Removing the cork from the jug, he tipped it over his scrawny old shoulder, pouring clear liquid into his toothless mouth. He held it there until liquid dribbled down his face before handing the jug to me.

“I know you're teetotaling but this time it's all right. I'm here to guide you and you'll need a dose of shine for what we're about to do.”

Something in his words persuaded me and I tipped back the jug, drinking some of the fiery liquor. Zekiel gripped the jug in his gnarled hand, holding it to my mouth until a near lethal amount had sloshed down my throat. Then he took two dark stones from a cigar box on the table.

“I want to show you something.”

After clearing a spot in front of him with his forearm, he held the two stones about six inches apart. They clashed together with a loud click when he released them.

“Lodestones?” I said.

He nodded. “Powerful attraction. Agree?”

“Yes, but there's a scientific explanation.”

Ignoring my skepticism, he said, “They have the same powerful attraction as between planets and stars.”

“Maybe . . .”

“Same powerful attraction the moon has on tides.”

“But I don't see what all this has to do with the diamond.”

“You believe lodestones have power. You believe in the attraction of stars and planets and moon and tide. Why not believe in the power of the king of gems, a stone that takes its strength straight from the sun?”

“You're trying to compare a precious gem with metallic minerals. Diamonds have no such power. Neither does any other stone.”

“Oh but they do,” Zekiel said. “So does every stone.”

He reached in his cigar box, this time removing a translucent, blood red gem. Beside the coal oil lamp sat a glass of water. The red stone plunked when he dropped it into the glass.

“Bloodstone,” he said. “It gains power from water. Together they can suck a hurricane from desert sky.”

“Get serious,” I said.

Distant thunder sounded outside the shack.

“Storm's coming,” Zekiel said.

Within seconds heavy raindrops began pelting the shack's tin roof as lightning flashed across the dirty window pane. Fetid odor of damp soil and crackling ozone flushed like a wave through cracks in the wall.

“Coincidence,” I said. “It's rained every day this week.”

Zekiel reached across the table and clasped my clenched fist in his gnarled old palm. “Son, you have a lot of pain—too much pain. It sticks out like a red flush on your face. You wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for Bill and the diamond.”

Mary Ann seemed to agree because she leaned closer and rested her hand on my shoulder.

“You say Bill is dead. How did he die?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I tried to see but my old eyes gave out on me.”

“Can you tell us where his journal is?” asked Mary Ann, speaking for the first time.

Zekiel took a deep breath. Dark skin visible through the vee in his shirt stretched across his birdlike ribs. This time he extracted a three-inch crystal ball from the cigar box. Metallic needles pierced its transparent thickness. He placed it on an ebony stand in front of us then took another drink from the moonshine jug. After a second drink, he handed it back to me.

“I need your help,” he said. “We got to help each other to make this work.”

“Tell us what to do, Zekiel,” Mary Ann said, drawing closer to the table.

The old man cocked his head and stared at me, waiting for an answer to his unspoken question. Red light from the Bloodstone in the glass of water danced on the shack's dark wall. Outside the storm raged, rain pummeling windows and the tin roof.

“Let’s do it,” I said, showing him a thumb's up.

“Then lock your gaze on the crystal. Won't nothing work till your eyes start to dim. Don't blink. Don't do nothing but gaze at the crystal.”

Zekiel kept up a low-voiced banter, imploring us to stare at the finely polished crystal ball. Soon his words became a subliminal message, directed to some remote portion of my brain usually familiar only in my deepest dreams. Zekiel's banter continued for an interminable period – at least until my vision began to dim. Or was it the crystal ball? It seemed to turn black and become fluid. Clouds parted and my gaze penetrated the sphere, opening a vivid panorama into another place and time.

Then I saw Bill. He was alone, draped in darkness, water cascading behind him as he stood on his tiptoes. As I watched he reached for a ledge nestled in a wall of rock and placed something on it. An explosion of noise jolted me back to reality. Nearby lightning had struck a tall pine, thunder sounding just outside the window. As I shook the cobwebs from my head, Mary Ann and Zekiel attempted to do likewise.

“Bill's journal,” Mary Ann said. “It is in the waterfall cave.”

***

The storm had passed when we exited the shack's dark interior. Azure again dominated the sky. The grass was wet and crystal drops of water hung from their blades. It reminded me of what I had just seen.

“Thanks, Zekiel,” I said, handing him the bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

Zekiel extended his closed hand. I opened my own, waiting until he dropped a misshapen object into it. From its luster and texture, I recognized the object as a pearl—a real pearl.

“Diamond brought you here,” he said. “Pearl go with you to complete the journey. Diamond is the king of gems, pearl the queen. You got yourself beaucoup dragons and you're going to need all your powers to conquer them. Give this to your queen when she comes tomorrow.”

Rain had soaked the Jeep's bucket seats and I squirmed behind the wheel as we negotiated the washboard road, back to the highway.

“Who was he talking about?” Mary Ann asked.

“Tell you tomorrow,” I said.

My answer seemed to satisfy Mary Ann as we waited in silence at the intersection for a car to pass before turning up the highway toward the clearing at the top of the mountain. We found no loggers or bikers and parked the Jeep beside a pile of brush.

It took us more than an hour to retrace our steps down the mountain, along the winding path damp with rain, to the stream pouring from the ledge high above us. Mary Ann scurried up the steep grade and I followed, jumping from rock to rock, trying to keep my feet out of the water. When the grade finally flattened my labored breath came in wheezing bursts. Then I saw it, cloaked in the clearing by a cloudy mist—the waterfall pool.

Mary Ann did not wait for me, quickly shedding her clothes on the bank and diving in. As I crested the last rise she had already reached the middle of the large pool. She was churning water and leaving a wake as she swam with powerful strokes toward the waterfall. No longer worrying about my modesty, or Mary Ann’s, I stripped, dived in, and chased after her. Pouring water brought back my tactile memories of our previous visit.

Mary Ann was already in the cave as I climbed from the pool and I caught a glimpse of her torso disappearing into murky dimness. I followed her up the rounded limestone rise as wet clay oozed between my toes and sent sensual messages to my brain. Mary Ann had begun her search in earnest, this time along the walls of the grotto. I joined her.

“It’s got to be up on a ledge,” she said. “I saw it in the crystal ball.”

So had I, although I could still barely believe what I had seen. For ten long minutes dim shadows, masking cave walls with silence and darkness, defied our search. Along with shadows, the walls cast doubts on what we thought we had seen in Zekiel's magic crystal. Before long, doubt began to linger.

Suddenly Mary Ann's excited shout echoed through the chamber. “I see it sticking out over that ledge.”

Her young eyes were better than mine were and it took moments of staring before I spotted the object of her excitement. Its metal corners glinted in the muted light flooding through the mouth of the cave.

“Give me a boost,” Mary Ann said. “I can't reach it.”

Mary Ann put her bare foot in my cupped hand and stretched to reach the ledge. Suddenly she pivoted in my grasp and dropped into my arms, a smile of pure joy lighting her pretty face.

“We did it,” she said, squealing with delight. “We found Bill's journal.”