by Gene Curtis
“It was discovered about two hundred years ago by accident. They originally thought that someone had planned a room here but abandoned the project. Since this door was found, many more have been discovered throughout the mountain. We’ll go out another one.”
The room wasn’t all that wide, maybe fifteen feet or so, but it was long. Along both of the long walls were racks and racks of edged weapons. LeOmi thought that every type of edged weapon that ever existed might be here. Ms. Vanmie led her to a rack that had more than a dozen different styles of dories. There was even one very similar to the one she had used a few years ago. “Take your pick.”
She picked up the one that was like the one she used to use. It felt lighter than what she remembered. “This is like the one I had at Henry’s. I think I’ll try it for a while unless you’d recommend another one.”
“I don’t have much experience with them. I don’t really like them; they limit your speed.”
“I don’t know about that; I did pretty well with it.”
“Care to put that to the test?”
“What do you mean? I know I can’t beat you.”
“How about another student? She needs a sparring partner.”
“Sure, why not. Who is it?”
“Shirley, Mark’s mother. Come back to the training platform after dinner, but use the regular entrance. Don’t ever use the way I’m about to show you without a staff member with you.”
She followed Ms. Vanmie to the other end of the room to another pivoting door that led to the back of the stage in The Oasis.
After dinner, LeOmi found Shirley practicing by herself. “Hi. Ms. Vanmie says you need a sparring partner.”
Shirley smiled, “Really? She said that to you?” She performed figure-eight moves with her hand scythes with blinding speed: low, high and then mid-level then spun and did it again. Then she back flipped to where LeOmi had been standing.
LeOmi sidestepped and pulled out her dory. Shirley was too close; all she could do was use the shaft to block Shirley’s lighting swift blades. She dropped to her knees and leaned backwards, forcing Shirley to attack by leaning over, putting her off balance. LeOmi rolled right, unpinning her legs and attempted a leg sweep. Shirley jumped and stumbled. LeOmi regained her feet and moved to a standoff position.
Shirley didn’t continue the attack; instead, she smiled and said, “You’ll do.”
* * *
Communications class was on Tuesdays and Thursdays for second level sophomores and it began promptly at 9 a.m. Mr. Fairbanks began, “Good morning everyone. In the past, this year of study was devoted to Spirit Sight, both improving it and working with those students that were finding it a bit difficult. Every one of you in this class has surpassed what had been previously expected and because of that fact, I have elected to teach remanifesting in the first hour of this class this year instead of waiting two more years. The second and third hours will remain as they have been: Dream Casting II and Introduction to Spiritual Combat. Since remanifesting requires a view of the sky, the class will meet on the school grounds next to the olive tree starting Thursday.
“For your notebooks, this year you will write at the top of every page: I am a servant of God. Fail to do it and you fail this class and then it is back to square one.
“Now, for a bit of information about spiritual combat; we do on occasion engage the enemy in the spirit realm. A spirit cannot be killed with any weapon forged by mankind and very few that are forged in the spiritual kingdoms. To actually kill a spirit is impossible, but they can be effectively killed by banishing it forever. That takes a weapon capable of severing the connection between the spirit and the soul in the spirit world. However, a spirit can be damaged, even to the point of incapacitation and this can create a tactical or strategic advantage.”
Mr. Fairbanks paused when a few students, including Mark, raised their hands. The instructors went to them to answer their questions. Mark whispered, “What’s the difference between a soul and spirit? I thought they were words for the same thing.”
The instructor said, “Think of a robot. The body is the mechanical devices working together; the software is the spirit, the true self of the robot. The soul is the interface between the software and the mechanical devices. That analogy is flawed in a lot of respects, but it gives you the gist of it in a nutshell.”
Mark nodded, “Thanks.”
When the instructors were back in their places Mr. Fairbanks continued, “Your weapons in the physical world can damage the body and soul to the point of cleaving the connection between the soul and spirit. We normally call that death. In the spirit world your weapons have much less effect, something akin to cutting a thick sauce with your sword; it just flows back together unless you continue striking it... a lot.
“If you are wondering why to even bother engaging in combat in the spirit realm if combat is so ineffective, the answer is you are preventing that spirit from doing something like remanifesting or using Tactical Sight or going to aid another or any number of other things. Thinking of it that way allows you to understand how spiritual combat can be effective.
“The drawbacks are related to the fact that anyone you engage in spiritual combat will always feel animosity toward you and you them. Therefore, we will not be doing practical exercises, not in class or anywhere else for that matter. A spirit will hold a grudge for a very long time and it is very difficult to get rid of.
“Now, for a little about what you will be studying in Dream Casting II. Last year you had a little experience with Dream Casting, particularly with tuning in to news and shows. Those programs were cast by combining Spirit Sight with Dream Casting. Traditionally the third hour of this class was devoted to covering the theory. This year I will be teaching mostly through practical exercises, so eat a big breakfast before coming to class. You will want to be warm and drowsy.
“It is time to get started with remanifesting. I’ll see you under the olive tree in ten minutes.”
* * *
James had selected firearms training as his elective this year. Getting to class was time consuming as it was held in the middle of the Firearms Range section, more than ten miles away from the school. It took twenty minutes for him to get there: a ten-minute jog across the school grounds, several minutes waiting for an auto-car and then a couple of minutes riding there. That meant that every Tuesday and Thursday morning he would have to leave twenty minutes, or more, earlier from breakfast than the others did and he’d be at least that much late for lunch. He was looking forward to learning how to remanifest.
The instructor greeted him at the entrance to the outdoor shooting range. “Hello, James. I’m Skip Pierce and I’ll be your instructor for the next couple of weeks. Looks like it’ll be just you and me. I’m not a teacher so you can just call me Skip.” His accent sounded Australian. He was wearing a standard instructor’s robe, but he had the hood pulled back revealing his short blond hair and features of his face, including his bright blue eyes.”
“Isn’t it kind of hot to be wearing that robe?”
“I’m wearing body armor; it keeps me cool. We’ll get you some too, wouldn’t want to take a chance on you bleeding all over the sand. We work hard to keep it nice and clean.” Skip smiled.
James knew from his brother’s descriptions that Magi armor was made from engineered molecules in an unsteady pattern that created a fast change relative to the amount of energy applied. It was a lightweight cloth that became harder and tougher based on the amount of force applied to it. It had the added feature that it was self-cooling or self-warming depending on how it was worn.
The entrance was an arched door in a twenty-foot tall stone wall standing alone in the desert. Skip motioned for James to enter. “Have you had any experience with firearms?”
Behind the wall was a table with a pistol and a rifle lying on top of it. The wall itself had diagrams painted on it showing sight pictures, stances, basic cleaning procedures and instructions for the practical pistol course
and practical rifle course.
Aside from the Thompson submachine gun last year firing wax bullets at Slone the answer was no, he hadn’t had any experience with firearms. He answered, “Not really. I fired a Thompson last year, but it was loaded with wax bullets.”
“Well, we’re going to change that. Would you rather start with a handgun or a rifle?”
“Which one do you recommend?”
“It doesn’t really matter; you’re going to do both.”
“Handgun then.”
“Okay, we’ll start with basic handgun safety.”
Somebody cleared his throat behind him, “Excuse me. I need to ask where to go. Sorry for the interruption.”
James turned and saw that it was his dad, Steve.
“No worries mate,” Skip said with a smile. “Who are you looking for?”
“Mr. McGraw said I needed to get checked out on any firearms I wanted to carry?”
“What kind of experience do you have?”
“US Marines, all kinds of small arms.”
“Well, you’re in the right place, just the wrong time unless you want to go through the basics with James here.”
Steve evidently hadn’t noticed that the only student in the class was his son. He grinned and said, “I didn’t know you were interested in firearms.”
“I wasn’t until last year when I tagged Slone in sword class.”
Skip said, “So you’re the one. You know, that’d never happened before you did it. It took a bit of air out of Ms. Vanmie’s sails, if you know what I mean.”
James grinned, “You’re kidding!”
“No, I’m serious mate. She was always on about how the sword was the best weapon for a Magi in close combat. Well, she’s correct about that, but close combat doesn’t happen as much as it used to. Firearms, at least the basics, should be a part of the core course curriculum right alongside sword training. Instead, it’s just an elective and you see how effective that is.” He swept his hand in an arc indicating the lack of students in the class.
Steve asked, “What weapons do you recommend?”
“US Marines eh, you were in the Middle East, right?”
“Desert Storm and a few other places.”
“What enemy weapons were you most cautious about?”
“IEDs and RPGs.”
“That’s what you should train in. We have a class on improvised explosive devices the first Saturday of every month and I can check you out on rocket propelled grenades this afternoon, right after this class if you like. We’ve developed an add-on package for the grenades that makes ‘em laser guided; same idea as JDAMs only smaller.”
Steve nodded, “Sounds like a plan and I could use some target practice. It’s been a few years since I’ve even picked up a gun.”
“Well then, I’ll get you a pistol.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Strange Visitor
More than a week passed and no one had any insights about where the sunstone, the staff or LeOmi’s lake was. Mr. Diefenderfer, Mr. Young and a stranger were waiting for Mark and LeOmi when they arrived for dinner at Jamal’s Kitchen. The man was wearing jeans, a khaki shirt and climbing boots. What little hair he had was silver gray and cropped close to his head. He held a pith helmet in one hand down by his thigh.
“Ah... Miss Jones... and Mr. Young... I would like... you to meet... Mr. Clarence Rutherford. He purports to... be an expert... on relics... of ancient power... and insists on... seeing you both. He claims to... be self-taught... in the ways... of the Magi. A remarkable achievement... I’d say.” Mr. Diefenderfer winked at them. “He has traveled... a great distance... from the east... to impart the... knowledge he bears. He said so... himself. I too often... travel great distances... to accomplish things.”
This told Mark and LeOmi that he didn’t believe this man was a Magi, but he may have been astute enough to learn, or guess, some theory. Mark set the two boxes he was carrying on the nearest table.
Mr. Young continued, “He found the climb up the Zoroaster Temple butte quite taxing and I’m sure he’s quite hungry as he’s just arrived in the past hour. He was not averse to having dinner with you, if you don’t mind.”
This told them that the man had not remanifested to The Seventh Mountain. Mark wondered if this man was a charlatan or if he was just intently curious. He thought he’d find out one way or the other. He raised his arm in the traditional Magi salute and said, “I am Mark Young, student at The Seventh Mountain, bearer of the staff called Bands and servant of the One True God.” He turned his head toward LeOmi.
LeOmi caught on and raised her arm in salute. “I am LeOmi Jones, student at The Seventh Mountain, seeker of the staff called Beauty and servant of the One True God.”
They both looked at the stranger. He looked puzzled. Mr. Young whispered to him, “They’re expecting you to return the salute.”
“Er... um... What do I say?”
He whispered again, “Raise your arm like they did and tell them who and what you are. It’s like a Magi handshake.”
“Oh... indeed!” He raised his arm. “I am Clarence Herbert Rutherford, retired history teacher and amateur archeologist. I freelance for a number of historical societies and have a love for the study of ancient religions. I specialize in objects of power, particularly those of the ancient Hebrew and Zoroastrian faiths. Um... My faith is Christian... and I don’t know how you’re going to respond to this... I dreamed of you, Mark Young. I saw you acquire the staff named Bands; you, your father and your brother.”
Mr. Diefenderfer said, “Ah... that makes things... much clearer. Shall we be... seated?” He gestured toward the closest picnic table.
As they were seating themselves, Shana walked up and placed a stack of menus on the table.
“Hello Shana.” Mr. Diefenderfer didn’t bother picking up a menu. “I’ll have one... of Jamal’s famous... hamburgers... peppercorn... and a glass... of iced tea.”
Mr. Young said, “I think I’ll try one of his pizzas, the works, and iced tea.”
Mr. Rutherford picked up a menu. “Hey, there’re no prices. Guess everything is free.”
Mark chuckled, “Yep, that’s true.” He said to Shana, “Burger, cheddar, and iced tea.”
LeOmi chose the same.
Mr. Rutherford asked, “What’s good?”
Shana replied, “It’s Jamal’s Kitchen; you won’t find better comfort food anywhere.”
“Then I’ll have the au gratin potatoes with mushrooms.”
Shana asked, “Drink?”
“Iced tea will be fine.” He turned to Mark. “If it isn’t asking too much, may I see the staff?”
Mark looked at Mr. Diefenderfer and he nodded. Mark pulled the staff from Aaron’s Grasp.
Mr. Rutherford’s eyes became big. “Whoa! What the heck? I didn’t know it had that power!”
“I thought you said you knew the ways of Magi.”
“What? All Magi can do that?”
No one said anything until Mark said, “Maybe you should tell us what you know about Magi. You obviously knew enough to climb Zoroaster Temple.”
“That bit of information came from Hopi legend.” He didn’t take his eyes off of the staff. “I’d just about given up on trying to find you and decided I’d give it a shot.”
“Why were you trying to find me?”
“You’d acquired the staff. That staff was supposed to be a myth. So is the other one. It is a thing of beauty, isn’t it? May I hold it?”
Mark shook his head, “Afraid not. What do you know about the other staff?”
“Well, I surmise they’re supposed to work together. They’re always mentioned together, Beauty and Bands. It’s a natural assumption.”
Mr. Young asked, “Aside from the ancient text of Zechariah, what else do you know about Beauty and Bands?”
“Well, there’s the ancient Hebrew words themselves: beauty means delightful, pleasant, lovely; bands means destroys, spoils, opens, or holds by oath. You see, they�
�re opposites so they have to work together.
“And they’re symbols: whoever the two are that hold them are seen as symbols, witnesses for the power of God. The significance of two witnesses working together in the end times, and we are approaching the end times, it’s obvious. They will stand against the antichrist.
“The two witnesses will have powers to control the weather, to cause plagues, to turn the waters to blood, they’ll be able to breathe fire on their enemies; in short, the powers of Moses and Elisha and by implication the powers of all the prophets... You see... in the modern vernacular, we’d call them superheroes. And they’re real!” He looked back and forth at Mark and LeOmi and exclaimed, “Oh, this is exciting!”
Mr. Diefenderfer said, “Please continue.”
Mr. Rutherford frowned when he looked at Mr. Diefenderfer. “Well, there’s the lost ancient Sumerian text. It’s supposed to be a list of possessions. It was never fully translated, but other Babylonian texts of that era mention this text as recording the two staves Beauty and Bands. They even describe them and the description of Bands matches exactly what you’re holding there. Beauty is described as being made of fuzzed precious stones, twelve in all, in the shape of, for lack of a better term, a walking stick of about four cubits length, roughly six or seven feet long.
“Then there are the cave paintings, always the two together with two people, a male and a female, and always a wheel with ten spokes, except for one with twelve spokes. They told me about that one, but I didn’t need to see it to understand it. The Hopi and Navajo mythologies say it’s the wheel of life, the balance of all things.”
Mark said, “Cave paintings? Where?”
“Oh, they’re not open to the public, but I had the feeling I was in Asia. The art had that look, like the recent discoveries in Tibet. But how could it have been? Come on, how could they have taken me to Tibet? Wherever it was, they took me there; knocked me out first. They made me drink this really awful stuff.”
“Okay, who took you there?”
