The Steel Ring

by R. A. Jones

  Atop the pedestal sat a steel ring.

  As he plucked the ring from its resting-place, he saw that it was engraved with the same symbols as those adorning the ring of his vision.

  Though he could tell at a glance that it was far too large for his hand, Windham placed it on his left ring finger.

  He smiled when, as he expected, the mystical ring shimmered and shrank in size until it fit him perfectly.

  From that day to this, it would never leave his hand.

  As he stared down at it that day in the cavern, though, the thought first and foremost in his mind was of his wife. Not knowing how long he had lain in a trance state here in the cavern, he feared Noora might be worried for him.

  Responding to his thoughts, the ring began to tingle, and a light filtered up from its surface. The beam swirled briefly before compacting into the image of a large eye that swiftly flew out and through the wall of the cave.

  Windham found he could now see what this strange third eye saw, as clearly and naturally as if through his own physical orbs. As if he was a bird, he looked down upon the image of his flock, still grazing where he had left it.

  Swiftly the eye swooped past the sheep, steering its way down the hillside toward the home Windham shared with Noora and Hamoud.

  The eye stopped, but its vision seemed to zoom downward. Stumbling up the path leading to the high pastures, falling and rising again, was Noora. The look on her face was one of both fear and concern.

  Seeing this, Windham instinctively called the mystic eye back into his ring. He paused only for a moment to gaze about the cavern in which he stood, then hurried toward the tunnel that led back out of the hillside.

  The moment his foot left the tunnel in daylight, the ground beneath him mildly quaked for several seconds. From within the hillside came the sound of falling stones. Wind and dust shot out of the tunnel, pushing him away as the entrance to the cavern closed forever.

  Pondering what had transpired, Windham stared thoughtfully down at the ring upon his finger. Then he set out at a run to meet up with Noora.

  Neither his life nor hers would ever be the same.

  CHAPTER XXX

  Aman was not even aware that his eyes had been closed until he now opened them.

  He was staring down at the steel ring on his right hand. It hummed ever so softly and pulsed with a faint glow. Only now did he realize that he had not merely been listening to the story of Aaron Windham, but had actually been experiencing it, as if he had been an actual witness to all that had transpired.

  He glanced around at the others gathered here beneath the fairgrounds and saw that they too had been psychically transported back in time. They had all seen and heard the same thing.

  When Windham had reunited with Noora, he learned that he had been gone from her for five days. She was beside herself with worry, not only for him but because her father had fallen ill as well.

  He had hurried home with her to take care of Hamoud. But even his newfound mystical abilities had limits, and he was unable to prevent the old man’s death.

  With his beloved father-in-law gone, and driven by new ambitions, Windham decided to return to England, with Noora as ever at his side.

  Once there, he had used his power and his wealth, as a sorcerer and as a nobleman, to form a secret society – to be called the Steel Ring – devoted to providing aid to all who truly needed it, to comforting and protecting the oppressed, to fostering brotherhood and to striving for world peace.

  “Don’t seem like you’ve been too successful at that, bud,” Ferret said sarcastically, casting his gaze sideways at the Eye.

  “It has been hard,” the man who was once the Earl of Colchester conceded. “I couldn’t even convince most of my peers to ever fully accept my dear wife, to the very day many years later when poor Noora died in my arms.”

  Aman clenched the fist on which he wore his ring. Just as it had shown him the story of the Eye’s beginning, so now did it seem to be sending him a silent yet firm message: that every word he had heard and felt was true, and that the Eye could be trusted. He assumed the others were being likewise reassured. Everything within him told him the ring spoke truly.

  “At any time,” the Eye was continuing, “both then and now, there are too few points of light trying to dispel the darkness. There are too few men,” he smiled benignly at the Witch, “and too few women willing to do what is right no matter the cost.” He sighed deeply.

  “But there are always some. And I’ve always sought them out, and invited them to join me in this tight little circle, this ring of steel that will never concede defeat, never lose hope, never stop fighting for the right and the just.

  “Never stop trying to make the world a better place for all.”

  “Wonderful sentiments,” Man of War said. “But what does it have to do with all of us?”

  “I would think that was obvious, Clay,” the Clock now interjected. “The Eye and I want each and every one of you to join us in the Steel Ring.

  “Some of you,” he cast an eye toward Iron Skull, “the Ring had a hand in creating. Others were forged by destiny.

  “All of you are needed.”

  “Especially you,” the Eye said solemnly, raising a slender finger to point at John Aman.

  “In days past, one very special member of the ring – Michelangelo Buonarroti – predicted that there would come a time of worldwide upheaval, a time when darkness would descend over the entire globe.

  “He also prophesied that when that dark day arrived, a man forged in ice would come to save civilization.” The sorcerer’s voice grew slightly louder.

  “The Clock and I believe that man is you, John.”

  “I know it’s you,” the Clock asserted.

  “Let’s get to that later,” Man of War said calmly. “First, I want to hear more about this great ‘upheaval’ you spoke of. What could possibly be any worse than what we went through back in 1914?”

  “I’m afraid we’re about to find out,” the Eye replied.

  “Well, if the big guy over there’s the Messiah,” Ferret drawled, “why do you need the rest of us?”

  “No mere man can save the world alone,” the Clock said. “Not even one as amazing as John. If we’re to succeed, if we and the world are going to survive … each of you will be vital.”

  “Will you join us?” the Eye asked plaintively. “Please.”

  Aman stared silently down at his ring, contemplating all that he had seen and heard, weighing it in his mind. All his life, he had wanted to believe that there was a reason he had been gifted with his many abilities, some great purpose to which they would lead him. Wanting with all his heart to believe that now was the time, the place and the cause for which he had been yearning, he took a step forward.

  “Count me in.”

  “You know you have me,” Iron Skull said rather cryptically.

  “And me,” said Fantom.

  Man of War and Ferret, both eager for action and too bold to be swayed by fear of any thought of possible defeat, did not hesitate to pick up the gauntlet and accept the Eye’s offer.

  That left only one, and all eyes turned toward her.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to count me out,” said the Witch.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  No one knew what to say … so they said nothing as the Witch took the steel ring from her finger and handed it to the Fantom, who was standing nearest to her.

  “I’m sure your mission is real and good and just,” she said by way of explanation, discomfited as she stared at the emotionless face and hooded eyes of the Eye.

  “But I’m on a mission of my own. It’s important, too – to me and to lots of others. And I don’t have a ring or a gang or an army to back me up. It’s just me. It’s always been just me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  As she took a last look around, the only face she could read with certainty was that of the Ferret. She smiled sadly at him as he nodded his head in acceptance of her decision.r />
  She couldn’t see the Fantom at all; he had taken a few steps back away from the others and had seemingly disappeared within one of the chamber’s many shadowed nooks.

  As she began to walk away, her resolve weakened for just an instant at Ferret reached out and lightly squeezed the fingers of her left hand.

  She hesitated, then continued on.

  She had crossed the chamber and was about to enter one of the many corridors leading away from it when a faint movement caught her eye; her ears detected a sound like cloth blowing in the wind.

  Then the Fantom stepped out of the shadows in front of her, blocking her way.

  The Witch pulled up short, flicked a glance back over one shoulder to make sure this wasn’t some double of the Fantom she had left on the other side of the chamber. It wasn’t.

  Could he actually travel within shadows, transporting nearly instantly from place to place?

  Before she could protest, he leaned toward her and, in a voice only she could hear, said:

  “Of all the people we could have chosen, you should most want to join us … Miss Schulman.”

  The woman drew back away from him as is she had been slapped, sucking in breath, stunned by his words.

  “What did you call me?” she hissed, eyes flashing.

  “Miss Schulman,” he replied. “That is your real name, isn’t it? Rebekah Schulman? Born in Hungary. Raised by gypsies after your parents were executed in a government pogrom.”

  “How do you know that?” she demanded. “How could you know that?”

  “I know many things, Rebekah. I know that your people need you even more than you realize. And I know that joining the Ring is your best chance to help them.”

  Uncertainty began to gnaw at her reeling mind.

  “How can you be so sure I even belong in such a group as yours?” she asked. “That I’m worthy? Some of the things I’ve done … and will do again ….”

  “Only the young die good, Rebekah,” he replied.

  “And the rest of us?”

  “The rest of us try to save the good. Try to make sure that all the little girls in checked kerchiefs can live in a better world.”

  Still uncertain, the Witch glared at him coldly for a long moment, then relaxed, her shoulders drooping slightly.

  “I don’t want the others to know the truth about me,” she said firmly.

  “They’ll never hear it from me,” he assured her, “though I hope the day will come when you’ll feel it’s safe to tell them yourself.”

  She again stared at him silently, then nodded curtly.

  Reaching out, he raised her left hand, slipping her steel ring back on her finger.

  Spinning on her heels, she found the others had moved across the room toward her, doubtless consumed with curiosity about what was transpiring between her and the Fantom. Seeing the earnest looks on their faces, she smiled.

  “This old man looks like a pile of dirty laundry, and smells like last week’s leftovers … but he’s got a golden tongue.” She shrugged lightly.

  “I’m in.”

  “Atta girl!” Ferret exclaimed, beaming. “I knew a live wire like you wouldn’t pass up a ride like this!”

  “But what exactly is this?” Aman asked. “Have we simply joined some sort of global social club, or agreed to become law enforcement agents? Or is there a more specific reason we’ve all been called together at this precise moment?”

  “The latter, I’m afraid,” said the Eye. “Dark clouds have been gathering over humankind for some time now, warning of the coming of great sorrow and pain.

  “I’ve used every mystical and mundane source at my disposal to learn more, but the veil hiding the future in virtually impenetrable, by man at least.”

  “Even a thousand-year-old man?” Ferret asked.

  “For any man,” the Clock asserted.

  “But my visions did attain a certain degree of clarity with the coming of the New Year,” the Eye continued, ignoring the exchange between his two companions.

  “What I learned was especially disturbing, for I saw that some agency was targeting members of the Steel Ring for assassination.

  “Twice, they succeeded with their murderous scheme.” He felt no need to further identify Amelia Earhart or the great poet at this time.

  “What was the point?” the Witch asked.

  “Twofold, we believe. The first is obvious: to eliminate a potential enemy. But we believe there was a second, perhaps even more important objective.”

  The Eye held out his left hand. From his ring shot out a languid cone of light. Within the light appeared images of the jeweled objects that had been stolen from the two murder victims.

  “These were stolen from our slain comrades,” the Eye explained. “The jewels within them are ancient artifacts, perhaps mystical in origin and nature. That much was widely known; fascination with them probably explains why our friends had sought them out in the first place.

  “But what purpose, if any, do the gems serve? No one knows. Or at least, no one knew. Now, we’re not so sure.”

  “Could your friends have figured that out?” Iron Skull asked.

  “Unlikely. To them, the artifacts were little more than curiosities, ancient baubles. They didn’t know they were carrying with them their own death warrants.”

  The shadowy images in the light were replaced by a view of the ring that had been stolen from the Queen of England.

  “Along with the first two, we knew that the third artifact was in the possession of King George’s wife, having been passed down through the royal family since the time of James I – who was also a member of our ring.”

  “Clearly, these artifacts must be significant in some way,” the Clock said. “They were important enough to kill for. So Man of War and I set out to prevent the royal couple from joining the list of the dead.”

  “We succeeded in that, at least,” Man of War said. He left unspoken the guilt and grief he still felt over his failure to similarly save the life of the woman he had loved.

  “Yes. But we failed to prevent the theft of the ring and its jewel.”

  “I was almost killed.”

  The metallic growl of Iron Skull drew all eyes toward him. He stared down at his hands, now sheathed in flexible armor, then raised his head.

  “I was almost killed earlier this year,” he said.

  “Join the club, bud,” Ferret said breezily.

  “What do you mean?” Fantom asked.

  “I was the object of a lynch mob a few months back,” Ferret explained. “If the Clock hadn’t shown up, I might not be here today.”

  “I’ve been close to death more than once this year myself,” Aman stated.

  “I’m not entirely sure I didn’t die,” Man of War said, smiling grimly.

  “If I’d stayed on that boat,” the Witch said, turning to look at the Eye, “who knows what would have happened to me?”

  “Could this all be connected to what happened to your friends?” Aman asked.

  “How could it be?” Ferret said. “None of us even belonged to this knittin’ circle back then.”

  “Still,” the Clock said, “it’s possible this all ties together in ways we just don’t know yet.”

  “Like the jewels,” Aman said. “Do you know yet just what these jewels do?”

  “No,” the Eye replied. “Nor do we know who is behind the plot to steal them. But we have gained additional knowledge in the last few hours.”

  He motioned with one hand, and seemingly from nowhere a slightly short, slightly rotund man came walking toward them.

  “Where the heck did he come from?” Ferret asked softly.

  “The devil if I know,” Man of War replied.

  The little man had curly, graying hair and sported an equally graying Van Dyke beard, but was otherwise of indeterminate age. A pair of eyeglasses was perched halfway down his nose. His face bore an expression of mild indifference. He was carrying a rather large book of unquestionable antiquity, wh
ich he gingerly handed to the Eye.

  “Try to be careful with it,” he admonished the sorcerer. “Don’t crack the spine, don’t dog-ear the pages, and for God’s sake don’t use it as a coaster.”

  “Noted and noted,” said the Eye, bowing slightly at the waist.

  The little man sniffed disdainfully, grunted softly, then turned and drifted away back into the shadows. He appeared to be muttering to himself, but so quietly as to be unintelligible.

  “Who is that?” Witch asked in a whisper.

  “No one but the Eye knows for sure,” Fantom replied. “The Clock and I simply call him ‘the Librarian’.”

  The Eye stared intently at the ancient book in his hands until, in response to an unspoken command, it levitated upward, stopping and hovering just below the level of his chin.

  At a wave of the sorcerer’s hand, the book opened. Pages began to flip quickly until, at another gesture, it stopped, open now to a precise passage. The Eye frowned slightly as he perused the ancient tome, sighed, then turned his attention to his silently watching companions.

  “As near as I can discern,” he explained, “the three gems are of no great import individually. But they are all integral parts of a larger, more complex talisman. Energized by the gems, this talisman could become a mystical weapon of immense power.”

  “Clearly,” the Fantom stated, “someone is trying to assemble the components of this talisman.”

  “It would seem so,” the Eye said. “But who that someone is, and what he plans to do with the talisman ….” He shrugged. “That we don’t know.”

  “What about the journal?” the Clock asked. “Has it given up any secrets?”

  In reply, the Eye softly closed his fist; the floating book closed along with it, then drifted back down into his hands. He briefly explained to the others that the journal in question was that which had been retrieved from the nightstand of the slain poet and mystic Yeats.

  “Precious little has been learned from it so far,” he told them. “It’s possible poor William had uncovered knowledge of the gems or something of equal importance, for his journal is written in a secret code of his own designing, for secrecy’s sake. The Librarian and I have yet to fully decipher it.