The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1) (36 page)

I believed in a higher power, but I believed that I could not prove the power’s existence. I guess I was more of an agnostic, but these events tested my beliefs in fate. I had told David that all things were predetermined—or, at the very least, had already happened. Time was circular and not linear. I had told him that nothing was changeable. Did I really believe that? How is it that Tom had met Sam at the precise moment that they needed each other? How coincidental was it that Mattie and Mary were linked and in my presence during the trip to the past? Was there a guiding force? And if there was a guiding force, or fate, or person, who was it? What was it?

I knew that I had to do two things. I had to speak to Tom, which I had accomplished. I also needed to speak to my wife. She would have the answers, I thought.

My wife had been a faithful companion, and she was a true believer in all things spiritual and magic. We did not always see eye to eye, but she supported me and never disparaged me in any way. I believed in the science of the stones, and protecting the stones from those that would use them for purposes of evil. I had inherited the cause from those who believed in both the magic and the science.

But I would not have the chance to speak to my wife. Just as I had ended my call with Tom, Peter came into my small-scale office beside the cafe walls.

“I remember now!” he recalled. His changed demeanor instantly filled me with terror. “I was just about to throw your body into a wall when I realized that I had been infected with mercury and could no longer perform such actions. Peter saved me!”—Dred looked down at his new body with awe. He respected the handicraft of the ancient power. Peter held a sword, the Sword of Gath in the air. He had found it in the cave, but he did not know that I had removed by a special process its energy source. It would cut all the same, and he pointed its tip in my direction. Dred was alive and well in the body of Peter Jenkins.

Peter said that with his current knowledge and with additional resources that he would be able to harness the full power of the stones. He would release his people if they still were alive, he boasted. He would avenge their deaths at the very least, he said.

Peter’s plan was to start with the power of the life-giving sardius stones. Then he would use the power of the other stones to free his people. He would find a way to bring them back, even if he had to go back in time. But Anakites could not travel to the past, not without a human. Peter needed a human, and so my life was safe, at least temporarily.

He commanded me to go to the safe and retrieve the stones that I had. His eyes glowed red but possessed no demonstrable powers. I decided to obey as I thought of a diversionary plan. I contrived to entice Peter with gold and money while I ensured the safety of the rocks.

“I can finance your efforts, but I want my safety and my wife’s safety guaranteed. I can take you to the real gold mines, those that Merlin once told my father about during his travels. I also have access to money and treasures now in my name. You can…”—I was interrupted.

“No! I don’t think so. I can’t trust you. Tell me where the gold is, and give me the stones to travel. I will go there by myself. I want it all!”—I knew then that he did not realize that he could not travel in the past alone. I knew more than he did.

Then, before Peter could speak another word, his eyes fluttered and closed. He was hit on the head and knocked unconscious by someone that was behind him. With a blow to his head, Peter collapsed, the ancient sword fell from his hand, and he fell to the floor.

It was Aysha, my wife, who had saved me that day. She had disrobed from her usual veil and black robes. She stood with her beautiful curls of black hair that fell on her bare back. She wore a strap blouse vest and Capri pants, and she was barefoot. She had an American baseball bat in her hand. It was an old, dark-colored bat that someone like “Moonlight” Graham would have used in 1904. An American had given it to me during a speaking tour. The antique wood cracked after hitting Peter’s head and was in several, splintered pieces on the floor.

“Go back to me, my husband! Go quickly, before he arises! I will wait for you!” she said. I wanted to ask her more, but she insisted that I leave her. She said that she would flee and seek out the others. She insisted that I gather the stones and leave. Her words sent chills down my spine as I realized that Peter must have seen what I truly did not. I had not seen Aysha in the past, as Peter had, for it was hidden somehow from me. Aysha must have placed a spell on me, I thought. The important thing was to scatter the traveling stones. I would have to think about Aysha later.

I remembered that David had told me of the tragedy of his father’s suicide. I decided to take one of the stones to a young and impressionable David Hughes. I planned to give the other stones to Mary in her past, in Old California. I had to scatter the traveling stones and keep Peter from going through time again. I could take several trips in what would appear as seconds in my current time.

I could bring several gold nuggets to buy off Peter with, I thought. I could give him wealth that would greatly distract him. No one is truly more distracted than those souls swayed by the force of greed that exists in this world. Perhaps, I thought, I could make him wealthy enough to give up his quest for the stones. That was a wishful thought indeed.

I left Aysha after a quick but passionate kiss. I felt her warm breasts against me for one last time. I was in the basement and through the pink cloud in less than twenty minutes, while Aysha, in the office above me, tied up Peter with thick sewing thread.

Just before I left, I made two more phone calls. I called David again at his hotel and reminded him not to come to the cafe. In fact, I advised him that there was great danger in Cairo, and used the recent militants as an excuse. I sensed that David faced a great peril with the reinvented Peter. I also called Tom once again. I repeated my request for him to look after Mattie and David. I suggested that Tom place David in a fake police force and hire him. These calls I made while Aysha tied up Peter.

Tom, along with Sam, did indeed take care of David and Mattie. In my absence, they used the excuse of hiring David as a government agent in order to keep their eyes on them and ensure their safety. It was something that David could believe in and not be suspicious of. It satisfied David’s restless mind. David had sought purpose in his life, ever since the death of his father. This fake proposition satisfied his propensity to work and use his deductive reasoning skills to resolve complex problems. David was told that his inventions were needed, which gave him an outlet to develop his technical skills as well.

What I did not know was this. Peter later explained my disappearance with a lie. The explanation was that I had somehow met my death with a most unfortunate accident.

I had no time to think through everything. I engaged the time cloud in the basement again and was soon transported to San Francisco in 1906, just about a year from when Peter and I first arrived in Sacramento. Aysha had said two additional and final words before I left her. She said, “San Francisco.” And that is where I went to—San Francisco—the stones were in control as I focused just on the name of the city.

I materialized through the cloud. I carried my stones in a satchel around my neck. I was on a street near Market Street. The street was unmarked. I went up to a man to ask about the time. He carried a newspaper and was haphazardly dressed. His shirt was not squarely tucked into his pants, and his tie not firmly in place. Instead of the time, he gave me his newspaper. He obviously did not want to converse with me. He thought I was a panhandler and walked away with a snub.

I looked at the gifted newspaper and read the day. It was April 1, 1906. I was not interested in Mr. Roosevelt’s “Advanced Socialism.” Neither did I care about the Kaiser or Rockefeller. I was concerned about the date. Maybe, I thought, Aysha’s words had sent me to the wrong time or place. I did not believe that it was possible to find Mary in San Francisco, or Aysha for that matter. This was a time where once again I had to rely on my wife’s predictions. I had to trust her ideas of fate.

I decided to ride the cable car on Market Street and view the city while I planned my next action. The street was an odd combination of the old and the new. On one hand, there were horseless carriages, Roadsters, and Runabouts, with large buggy seats. They often straddled the cable groove and rode down Market Street ahead of the cable car. On the other hand, there were horse drawing wagons or carts that spoke of a former era. The tires of the cars looked bubbly and susceptible to puncture. Men, and occasionally small children, crossed the cable tracks in front of the cable cars in a nonchalant fashion, with no regard to whether their actions were against the law or whether they endangered their lives.

The street had a strange and unique pavement, and it had a bustle to it. It was more crowded than I could have imagined. I read the occasional business signs or advertisements, one that read, “Wilson.” There were also bicycles that darted through the traffic of cars and buggies. I briefly admired a woman with a great frilly hat that seemed as wide as her shoulders.

Then I saw a constable. He wore dark pants that had a stripe down the leg. He carried a stick and came towards me. I had bummed a ride by bribing someone with a gold piece for fare, and I was afraid that I would be removed. I had been conditioned by a previous negative experience in Sacramento. But I was not displaced, and I saw the policeman walk away.

I then spotted a most familiar and welcome site, and I realized that I had been directed successfully again by a most magical power or possibly fate. It was Mattie, or rather, Mary, and she walked on the side of the street along with her two children. I disembarked the creaking vehicle immediately and ran to meet her.

Mattie’s children looked like miniature gentlemen in suits and ties. Around their necks were large collars, with ties underneath. Their pants were cropped at the knee. They wore laced boots. The two boys wore hats, which I thought was odd. Of course, I was of another time and place.

Mattie had what seemed to be a multi-layered dress on, with a stripe full of flower prints around her middle, and on the bottom of her dress as well. Like her boys, she also wore a hat, which reminded me that I had forgotten that piece of authentic wardrobe. She recognized me after looking at me for a few seconds.

“It’s you! Children, this is the man who saved your mother’s life in Sacramento!” she proclaimed.

She introduced me to Timmy and Tommy, ages five and seven. To my amazement, little Timmy was eating a chocolate candy bar. The wrapper had a picture of a woman on it, it seemed. The title was clearly “Hershey’s Pure Milk Chocolate.” I supposed that civilization existed when both automobiles and chocolate were present.

Mary explained that she had left for San Francisco to follow her dream of becoming an actress. Eventually, she wanted to be in the legitimate theatre one day, she told me. Of course, she had not realized her dream yet, but she did perform nightly as a dancer in a vaudeville show, alongside acts with monkeys, and contortionists. It was the television of the day.

We walked to a nearby park and talked about politics, San Francisco, and her hopes and dreams, but I did not mention that I knew her in the future. She told me that she lived in a place where there was another family from Sacramento, a family called Vranich.

“Aysha and Nikola?”—I inquired excitedly.

“Yes, why?” she asked.

“I have to see her! Where is she?”—I thought about my wife’s words before I left her.

“She works at the Bartell’s Drug Company,” Mary said, and she gave me crude directions to the place.

Before I left her, I pulled out the stones of blue and white and gave them to her. I instructed her to keep them safe always, on her person if possible. I advised her to hide them and tell no one of their existence. “These stones are
lucky
stones,” I told her. I believe that was the word that I used. “They will keep you from harm and your greatest danger!” I told her. I could not help but feel that she was somewhat skeptical. But with her appreciation for what I had done for her, she took them gratefully and promised to honor my wishes, regardless of the unusual request.

I gave my farewells and wished them all good luck and success. But as I walked away from her, the date of my arrival struck a familiar chord in my gut. I turned in haste to warn Mary of the impending doom that was about to befall her. I had just realized that a great earthquake of enormous destruction was soon to come to this great city. I wanted to warn her, but she had disappeared into the crowd. She was gone. Maybe I could warn her later, I thought. Perhaps.

I followed Mary’s directions and soon arrived at the drugstore where the gypsy woman worked. I was mesmerized by the history of it all. The Red Cross skin soap, the liver pills, the cod liver oil, the wizard pills—all of it fascinated me! I found the woman in the back. She was on her knees in the back of the store. A bottle of elixir had spilled and she was cleaning it up.

The bottle was one of those bottles that had been advertised and praised for having a “miracle cure.” Some syrups were known to have qualities of delight in them, whether they were labeled or not. One never knew at times if God, modern medicine, or just good old-fashioned opium, cocaine, or cannabis was curing one’s “blood poisoning.”

The woman rose from her broom and pail with gleeful recognition as her dull eyes ignited and a smile broke her melancholy.