The Fourth Ruby

by James R. Hannibal

  All sense of hesitation was gone. Jack strained with all he had to shove the sword through his mentor’s gut. His muscles would not accept his commands.

  Tanner walked from one side of the sword to the other, fingers hovering over the blade, daring Jack to cut him. “The fourth ruby holds the power of all the rest, boy. It is the beating heart of the stone. By simply holding it, I can command the finest movements of your muscles—with far more efficiency than I could with the Timur Ruby.”

  As if in response to the professor’s claim, Jack’s arm twitched. His hand moved against his will, bringing the sword up to his own throat. He tried to raise his other hand to block it, but that arm wouldn’t budge. Neither would his legs. Tanner had full control of his body. Then, somewhere in Jack’s subconscious, a voice commanded him to slit his own jugular. It told him that sacrificing himself for Tanner was the right thing to do.

  Jack almost believed it.

  “Can you see the words implanted in your mind? Can you feel the desire to obey? What you saw in the Black Prince’s Ruby was a mere echo of that power. So many of Temujin’s enemies turned on their own peoples, marching before his armies to become willing fodder for his next battle. Loyalty to the point of death, Jack. That is what I now control.”

  Sweat beaded at Jack’s brow. He grunted, fighting the thoughts invading his mind.

  “You can’t stop it. You don’t know how. Too bad. All the knowledge of the ages is so close to you, right here in my palm—knowledge that drove the emperors who wore the Russian ruby mad, because pieces were missing. But my knowledge is now complete.” Tanner narrowed his eyes, and the blade pressed against Jack’s skin.

  “Jack!” Gwen came racing down the path.

  Tanner glanced her way and she skidded to a stop at the chamber steps, frozen. Her voice fell to a hoarse whisper—the voice of someone being strangled. “J-Jack.”

  The sword cut into him. Sharp red pain flashed in his mind. And the pain provoked a response from his nervous system. Not a contraction of muscles—Tanner still had control of those—but a response only a tracker nervous system could make. Without a conscious thought, Jack drew power from the zed squeezed within his left fist.

  With a sudden rush of coolness, the soothing energy of the sphere flowed up his arm. It snaked out across his torso in curling tendrils. He took hold of it and let out a mighty growl, pushing the blade from his throat.

  The arrogance in Tanner’s expression faltered, replaced with confusion and panic. “How are you doing that? Stop! I command you!”

  Jack’s vision began to gray. The buzzing grew louder. A hundred million pinpoints attacked his body, pushing deep into his core, threatening to dissolve him into nothing right then and there. But with each second, he gained more control of his arm. He gave no more warnings to the psychopath. He turned the sword, pulling it back for a final thrust at the man’s chest.

  “No!” screamed Tanner, slamming the stone into the center of the triangle. His face twisted into a mask of agony and his hand fell away.

  In the next instant, Jack’s blade struck home. Drawn like a nail to a magnet, it hit the fourth ruby dead center.

  The chamber filled with blinding light.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  WHEN THE FLASH FADED, Jack stood alone on a red lacquer floor, his sword still extended. Rows of gold columns surrounded him on every side, running off into a pink mist. An infinite red dome filtered the light from above, and a gold lattice pattern hovered beneath it like a hologram. The buzzing in his head remained, along with the tingling that threatened to phase his body into nothingness. Jack lowered the sword. At least his neck wasn’t bleeding anymore.

  It occurred to him that if he had sparked, he had jumped past the observation position, right into the middle of the vision, and he had managed to bring the sword and the zed with him. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. “Where am I?” he asked out loud, partly to hear something, anything, in the deathly silence.

  “I think you know.” A man in a bowler hat and a suede duster materialized out of the mist, carrying a falcon-head cane. A purple arc of electricity danced within a glass chamber below the head.

  Jack went to him, hesitant at first, and then running, racing, practically knocking him down with a hug. “Dad!”

  “All right. All right. Take it easy.” His father held him tight, with arms as strong as Jack remembered. It had been so long since Jack had smelled that suede, felt that strength surround him. He did not want to let go. But something in the back of his mind told him their time together was already running short. He pushed himself away. “How is this possible?”

  John Buckles the Twelfth removed his bowler and scratched his hairline, glancing up at the dome. “You took something from my armory, didn’t you? Something dangerous.”

  Jack looked up at the red dome and the gold lattice. “You mean the zed.”

  “Is that what you call it?” His father let out a rueful chuckle and started walking, side by side with Jack, through the columns and the cool pink mist. “I wasn’t nearly so elegant. I called it the leech. And no, I don’t know what it is. The zed—to use your word for it—arrived by messenger a few days after my father’s death in Salzburg. No letter. Only a dangerous curve sign scrawled on the paper the sphere was wrapped in.” The older John Buckles looked down at his hand, turning it over and back. “I felt its power the moment I touched it—a clarity spreading through my senses like I had never experienced. But I also felt something go out of me when I set it down.”

  Jack caught the edge in his father’s voice. He stopped. “What kind of something?”

  “A sliver of consciousness. A slice of life, maybe.” John Buckles gave a half smile and waved a hand up and down his body. It shimmered, threatening to fade away, as if either he or Jack were fighting to keep the connection between them. “This, Jack. That’s what this is—a thin slice, separated from the whole when I first tried to use the zed.”

  Jack closed his eyes. He had allowed himself to fall into delusion. This aberration next to him was not his dad, not all of him, anyway. His father was there but not there—right next to him and a thousand miles away at the same time. After all Jack had been through, the injustice of it was more than he could bear. He gritted his teeth, searching for a positive. “Okay. So you’re only a piece of Dad, trapped in the zed. That’s why I’ve been seeing you in my sparks. But I’m here now. I can get you out. Maybe this piece is the key to waking you up.”

  His father shook his head. “That’s not why you’re here, Jack.”

  “Not why I’m here? Not why I’m here?” Jack lost it. He lost control, and he welcomed the feeling. He had held it together for way too long. “Then why, Dad? Why am I doing any of this if it isn’t to get you back?” The tears finally fell. “You lie there. Every day. Every night. While Mom pretends she’s not crying. While Sadie lives in some kind of spooky, little-girl denial. The doctors have tried everything. We’ve tried everything!” He pounded a fist against the suede coat—once, twice, a third time. “What did the Clockmaker do to you?”

  The older Buckles caught Jack’s wrist and held it to his chest. Then he tucked the cane under his arm and clapped his other hand over his son’s. “I know, Jack. I’m sorry. And I wish I could tell you what happened, but all I have from my time at Big Ben are flashes—images I gained when you pressed the zed into my hand.” He looked away into the mist. “I saw hypodermic needles, strange gems, and rivers of quicksilver. It was alchemy, perhaps an attempt to transfer my consciousness from the physical to the inanimate. A tracker mind would make the perfect candidate.”

  Jack cleared his throat, reining in his tears. “But . . . it failed.”

  “Of course it did. That kind of effort is always doomed to fail. We are more than data, son. We are spirit and soul, and nothing can imprison those. Not the Clockmaker’s alchemy”—he turned Jack’s fist over and opened his fingers, revealing the zed—“and not this.”

  Jack n
odded, looking down at the stone.

  His dad got down on one knee and lifted his chin. “But the zed has taken its toll on you. That’s why you’re here. Your subconscious forced you into a kind of pit stop before you charge into whatever battle lies ahead, because you won’t survive without it.” He gestured at the forest of polished gold columns, and Jack saw that each one held a reflection of him. They had been there the whole time, pieces of him, captured in the zed. “You’re not here to get me back, son. You’re here to get yourself back.”

  As Jack stared at the columns, a gilded doorway carved with cobras and a hawk appeared at the edge of the mist. The older Buckles stood. “You’re almost out of time. You’ve got to pull yourself together.”

  “But how?”

  “By letting go.” He cupped Jack’s hand, nodding down at the sphere. “This thing you call the zed, maybe we don’t know exactly what it is—but for you, it’s a holding pattern. And every time you circle back, you lose a little piece of yourself.”

  “I don’t understand.” That wasn’t true. He did understand, but he didn’t want to. He wasn’t ready.

  “You’re waiting, Jack. You’ve been waiting ever since Big Ben, hoping this fancy rock will fix me and that fixing me will fix everything else. But the fact is, I’m not that important. Your mom, Sadie, Gwen—they need you right now, not when or if I get better.” John Buckles placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Jack, you have to stop waiting. You have to live, even though I may not.”

  There they were, the words that had been lingering in Jack’s mind for a year, and this fragment of his father had dared to speak them. He shook his head. “No. I won’t lose you.”

  John Buckles let out a short, sad laugh. “Who said anything about losing me? Whether I’m standing beside you or looking down on you from somewhere else, I’ll always be with you, Jack. Here.” He placed his hand on his son’s heart. “Put your faith in that, not in some magic rock you carry in your pocket.”

  The mist had thickened. It was closing in around them. And the gilded door had moved menacingly closer.

  “Now’s the time, son. Let it go.”

  A deep voice rang down the silver hall beyond the threshold—several voices, speaking several languages at once. The English voice rang loudest. It was Tanner’s. “I know you’re there, Jack. Come and stand before your new khan.”

  The multi-voice reverberated through Jack’s body, demanding obedience. He could still feel the sting of the cut at his throat. How could he resist the power of the fourth ruby without the zed? He had carried it too long to let it go the very moment the fate of the world rested on his shoulders.

  “The zed won’t help you,” said his father, countering the argument Jack had not spoken. “It’s a burden, and you need to set it down before it’s too late.”

  Jack gazed at the little sphere for a long moment—so small and insignificant. It should have been a simple thing to toss it away. It wasn’t. He closed his fingers around it, shaking his head in resignation. “I can’t,” he said, and the golden doorway rushed out of the mist and swallowed him whole.

  Chapter Sixty

  THE MANY VERSIONS of Jack followed him through a silver hallway with sloping walls that joined far above. The reflections walked beside him, and within the mirrored floor beneath his sneakers. A few pointed the other way, urgently signaling him to turn back. But it was too late for that. The golden doorway was gone.

  A red light rushed toward him, eerily similar to the red lights in the hyperloop tunnel, and then Jack was standing in a yurt that matched Temujin’s burial chamber, carved from pure ruby instead of black stone. A silver throne stood on the platform where the sarcophagus should be, with a cascade of white water behind it. Tanner, or something like Tanner, reclined there, leaning on an elbow, still barefoot and wearing his gold mail shirt with all four rubies in place.

  “Welcome, Jack,” he said in his multi-voice, including languages that Jack guessed were Mongolian, Persian, and Chinese. Ghostly figures matched his posture on the throne, superimposed over his body. Some wore kingly robes. Others wore armor. Tanner sneered, and they all sneered with him. “I am glad—and I dare say proud—that you’ve made it this far, boy. You are an excellent pupil. It is fitting that you should bear witness to my full victory.”

  Jack’s reflections filed in on either side of the yurt, barely visible in the translucent walls.

  Tanner gave no sign that he noticed them. “Behold, the seat of my power.” He waved his hand, a ghostly ripple trailing behind, and the circus-tent roof evaporated, revealing a blue sky so pale it was almost white. Three more ruby yurts were perched up there on ornate silver platforms. They were joined to one another by a triangle of silver halls, sculpted with the forms of the zodiac animals and joined to Tanner’s yurt by silver stairwells. “The network is now complete, and with it, I will finish the work of Temujin. The entire world will finally bow before a single khan.” He pointed at Jack. “Starting with you.”

  Jack felt the command to kneel. He heard it in his subconscious. His knees buckled. He squeezed the zed, drawing what resistance he could despite the tingling that threatened to faze him away. His knees found the strength they needed.

  So did his sword arm.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, and charged the throne.

  Faceted ruby men grew out of the floor, solidifying into flesh-and-blood Mongol warriors. Jack smashed through a slashing scimitar, cutting into the soldier behind. The man crumbled into shimmering red dust. Beyond the cloud, he saw Tanner lean forward in concentration. The professor was driving the creatures like drones.

  A hand caught Jack’s arm from behind. And then another. Two soldiers held him fast. Their fists became ruby cuffs. Tanner grinned, a grotesque smile of several evil faces at once, and the faceted ruby shells spread up Jack’s arms to his shoulders, threatening to encapsulate him completely. What would happen if Tanner succeeded in trapping his consciousness in the stone?

  Jack knew from experience that all of this was happening at the speed of neurons. As far as Gwen was concerned, he was standing in the tomb, his sword just making contact with the ruby on Tanner’s chest. But if his consciousness were to become trapped in the jewel, that blink of time might become an eternity. The other Jacks paced within the walls, becoming less visible by the moment. They were fading. He was fading.

  “Leave my kid alone, Ed.”

  A bronze falcon head burst through the chest of the soldier on Jack’s left. The rest of him shattered and fell away, along with the ruby shell. Jack’s sword arm was free. Without hesitation, he shoved the blade through the Mongol warrior on his right. It vaporized into dust. He glanced over his shoulder. “Dad?”

  “Didn’t I tell you I would always be with you?” John Buckles swung his cane without bothering to look, smashing another soldier coming in from his right.

  Tanner bolted up from his throne. “What is he doing here?” He made a frustrated gesture at the circular wall. Ruby soldiers stepped out, rushing Jack and his dad.

  John Buckles smashed through the first to reach him and pointed toward Jack with the backswing of his cane. “On your left, son. And behind you. Look out!”

  Jack turned in time to meet a scimitar with his sword. He chopped the attacker in half and spun the sword on the downswing, thrusting it back beneath his arm. Another soldier crumbled.

  He destroyed two more attackers, and then, in a moment’s respite, he glanced over his shoulder at his dad. A mystified smile spread across Jack’s lips. He had never known the warrior side of his father.

  Before the events that had put John Buckles into a coma, Jack had thought he was a salesman. Now he watched in awe as his dad separated the cane into a short sword and a club, thrusting and swinging, suede duster swirling around him like a cape through the sparkling dust. The bowler hat never stirred from its rakish tilt upon his brow.

  More soldiers rushed in, and Jack had to focus on his own battle. There were too many. He was tiring. F
ast. They piled on by the dozens, hemming him in. A scimitar rose above his head for a killing blow.

  “Enough!” The multi-voice echoed through the chamber.

  The soldiers backed away into a circle, and Jack saw that his dad, too, had been outmanned. A pair of soldiers held John Buckles fast. A third snatched away the two halves of his falcon-head cane and placed them on the platform beside the throne.

  Multi-Tanner and his trail of ghostly khans walked down the steps. He parted the soldiers with a wave of his hand and stepped into the circle. “You brought your father with you, Jack. Impressive. But I believe I know how you pulled it off. Show me what you’re hiding there.”

  A half-dozen languages whispered in Jack’s mind, echoing a command that he couldn’t resist. He opened his hand, showing Tanner the zed.

  “Do you know what you have there, boy?”

  Again, Jack resisted, trying to stop the answer that spilled from his lips. “N-no.”

  Tanner laughed—an awful, multi-voice laugh. “Well, I do. And I can show you how to use it to bring your father back for real.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  JACK FOUGHT TO RECLAIM command of his tongue. “I don’t believe you. You’re a murderer. You killed my grandfather.”

  “Killed Joe?” Tanner looked taken aback. “I couldn’t have. He was my best friend.”

  “You and Grandpa Joe were the only ones on that island. You must have killed him.”

  “You’re not seeing the whole picture, Jack.” Tanner began a slow stroll along his perimeter of soldiers. “There was someone else. Ignatius Gall followed us to that island.”

  John Buckles struggled against his captors. “Ignore him. He’s a liar.”

  Tanner whipped his head around to shoot him a glare, ghostly faces following. “Gall was there, I tell you. Joe tried to use the stone’s power to stop him, but it had no effect. Gall killed him, and he would have killed me, too—”