The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1)

by Rae T. Alexander

  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.

  “You came back! I knew you would! I have lunch soon! Come back in an hour!” she said with excitement.

  I did just that. I returned in an hour and walked with the woman to a sandwich shop, at least that is what I called it. Over lunch, which was soup that was made of some kind of fish, she told me of the latest news of the city. We talked about the St. Louis World’s Fair and the new ice cream cone novelty, and New York’s proud achievement of a train that ran underground. More than that—I got to know the woman on a relationship level. I fell in love with this fine lady. But did I truly know this woman? She seemed familiar, but was she my wife, I wondered.

  Our formal relationship all began when she introduced herself, “Please, call me, Aysha!”

  I told her of a great earthquake that was coming to the city, in the near future. I told her that I wanted to warn her friend Mary and her children of the disaster as well, but it was Aysha that came up with a much better plan.

  I stayed in San Francisco for a week and I fell deeply in love with beautiful Aysha. I forgot about my wife of the future. Aysha was all that mattered.

  Chapter 23

  The Confession of Jesse

  In Her Own Words

  My name is Jesse, but I have been called other names. In Egypt, I was known as Iris, a devoted servant of Queen Cleopatra. I was briefly called Aysha, the devoted wife of Hajen Habib, the Egyptian archaeologist, and gemologist. Throughout my history, I had countless names and numerous faces, many loves, and scores of enemies.

  I had a lengthy history of betrayal by trusted friends and pretended followers. And in retaliation I had committed many acts of violence, often out of my extreme hatred of men and their broken promises to me. I was even betrayed when I was a queen in ancient Mesopotamia.

  Consider my death when I was a queen. I was cast down from a tower by men, and I tumbled to my death. The men threw me down, though they were not men, but eunuchs, emasculated boys at that. Even though I was royalty, I was betrayed by my own subjects. My betrayer was only one of many that sought my throne. My name was Queen Jezebel!

  My body fell against a wall on the way down, blood splattered on its jagged sides. Then my body hit the dirt and was trampled on by horse hoofs while I was briefl
y semiconscious at the same time. My body was beaten continuously until the only distinguishable parts of my body that remained recognizable were my hands, feet, and my skull. All of this was done in the name of the Living Spirit and with his supposed approval. All of this was done by men!

  After my eventual death, my spirit rose above my remains. I saw some dogs chew my remnants while others defecated on them. Was it any wonder that intense hatred remained in my soul after that? Events like that caused me to boil inside with revulsion. I determined that one day, at just the right moment, that I would unleash my hellish revenge and fury!

  This death, as just described, was preceded by a reign of mine that held the Living Spirit in great contempt for destroying my ancestors after the second creation. My ancestors, who were known as the Anakites, were once boiled alive in vast pools of mercury—they perished in a state of great suffering. Few survived the Great Destruction by the Living Spirit. And many held the great Living Spirit responsible for that despicable act. I was one of them. I hated the Living Spirit for committing such a heinous crime against my people.

  Legend told of at least one purebred Anakite that survived that destruction, and his name was Medraut. He was later called Dred. The other pure Anakites were either killed or driven underground to caves deep in the earth. They never were seen again. And no one knew if the legend of Medraut was true or not.

  There were also a few that survived who were of mixed descent. These Anakites had human blood in them, for they had married that loathsome lot of people and had produced children. Some of these Anakites survived by hiding in caves, underground, but sealed and protected from the flood of liquid metal that so quickly sought their deaths. It was in these caves that some of the Anakites discovered what was called the hidden stones of Eden, ancient and powerful elements that had properties of great magic.

  When the Great Destruction was over, those with Anakite blood in their veins returned to the surface. They attempted to gradually mate and mingle with the sons and daughters of the second creation. They did this because they were different and craved acceptance, but they were often too different to be tolerated by the majority. Although some Anakites were accepted, even genuinely worshipped, most were brutally killed or severely tortured.

  Some Anakites were fortunate enough to escape death. A few of them avoided persecution by practicing the ancient art of shapeshifting. It was a developed ability obtained after prolonged exposure to the stones of Eden and certain gases from deep below the earth’s surface. Some developed powers of invisibility or greater strength. There was the tribe of the Nephilim, who grew into great giants that roamed the Earth, but they eventually became extinct because of their inability to produce fertile offspring. Some survived by migration like the deer people who migrated to the Americas from China, but the Ani Nvya people eventually destroyed them.

  I was one of those rare breeds that developed the power to shapeshift into another form or person, but it did require something special to make it work properly. I had the power to shapeshift into another being, but only if I had the opportunity to ingest its blood. That was the requirement. The blood had to be of the right sort, the right temperature, and not mixed with any other agent. It had to be pure.

  A mixed Anakite mother conceived me, but I had a fully human father—and I had a sister. My father had been dead for about nine months when my sister and I were born. We were twins, but not identical. My sister favored the ways of the humans. My sister objected to shapeshifting and magic, and she attempted to live as much as possible as a human being. She attempted to deny her gifts and heritage. She even worshipped the great Living Spirit. I never knew my brother, but my mother claimed that he existed somewhere. That is all that I was told. My brother was always a source of mystery.

  Despite my disagreements with my sister, we once had the opportunity to serve together, side by side. It was soon after my murder when I was a queen. I had managed, by the act of transference to thwart the attempts of my murderers, the ones that threw me over the wall. I was a survivor. I had the magic on my side. I had my royal stones of travel—a stone of blue and a stone of white. I traveled ahead in time and searched for my family, but I found that my mother was dead or unaccounted for.

  I then searched for and finally found my sister in the land of Egypt, with the help of a gold stone of prophecy that guided me faithfully. My sister told me that she had reluctantly used the sardius stones to prolong her life. She said that she had fallen victim to a disease soon after my death and was forced to use the stones to take away great pain. No one was ever immune to the desire for immortality, not even my sister. Pain was no one’s friend.

  I gave my sister a disingenuous promise of reform, and we agreed to set aside our previous differences. We served for many years with Queen Cleopatra in Cairo. We helped to protect her throne, jewels, and many of her other valuable possessions. It was a good life until the Roman army ended their relationship with the queen and stormed her city.

  The end of my life and the life of my sister came by way of a poisonous snake and other poisonous elements in a most vile drink. The queen had chosen poison as her way of escaping the marching army of Rome. As servants, we were expected to follow her suicide, and we did. Both my sister and I committed suicide by the deadly venom, although my sister did so unenthusiastically.

  On the day of our suicide, by the command of the queen, my sister and I bid each other farewell, and we died. I vowed to seek her out, by way of ancient magic and the royal stones that the queen had kept with her jewels—for she had magic stones also. Before we perished, we both chanted our prayers and spells because we expected to meet each other in another life or time. We did not share our secrets with the queen. It was not because we were not benevolent. At that time, we truly believed that only the Anakites or their blood had the power of soul transference.

  We knew and shared the love for a special cat of ours, named Pili. Pili was a black calico cat and stayed in the confines of the palace. Pili was forced to consume the same poison that we had partaken of. We wanted all of us to be found in the same place after our trip, even our faithful companion Pili.

  When I awoke from traveling the river of light, I was in a street that lay in ruin from a great disaster. Fires spread across the great city that I appeared in, and the earth rumbled from below. I appeared still in my servants clothes. I carried a knife in a sheath, tied around my waist. Even though the river of light had carried me to this place, I doubted the ancient magic and its ability to bring me to my sister. I thought the Magic had made a mistake.

  In Egypt, before our death, we both wore symbols that would act as signs for each of us, after we passed to the other side, just in case we took on different forms. Transference sometimes brought the body, but sometimes only the spirit. The signs that traveled with us would confirm our legitimacy to each other, we thought.

  My sister, reluctant to magic, except by necessity, objected to our trip. Her hypocrisy disgusted me at times. But she agreed to it and wore her sign that traveled with her. It was a large ruby stone around her neck. It was from a set of two necklaces in the palace, but some servant woman stole one of them. My sign was that of a red stone ring, also from the palace treasure rooms. Our plan was to pass through the river of light and then to a new life, the life as a pretended native human.

  I planned to shapeshift into a dead human. I planned to kill a human in order to enter the body. My sister agreed to the trip, but only if she could enter a dead body, one that she did not have to kill, because she believed that killing was not acceptable, unless in the defense of life. She had the weakness of believing in human morals.

  When I arrived on Market Street, in San Francisco, California, I saw the body of one Aysha Vranich, lying face down and resting in the rubble of a fallen building. I knew that the blood was ripe and ready for my mouth. I would not know her name until later. At first sight, I simply saw a female body. I used my sharpest knife and slit her exposed right wrist. A stream of r
ed delight flowed out. I leaned down and sucked it in. I savored every taste of the blood. The clone had to be perfect if I was to shapeshift into my new life.

  I had sought out my sister, but instead, I had seemingly been transported to a place without her. I did not wish to be noticed, despite the great chaos in the city, so I transformed into the clone of the lady that I found in the rubble. In an instant, after I swallowed her blood, I copied her body and then her memories. It was then, after the memories started to whirl in my mind, that I realized the terrible crime that I had just committed.

  I turned the body of the woman over and saw no necklace and no red stone around her neck. I looked at my own hand. I was wearing my red stone ring. I had worn the symbol, but my sister had not. My sister lay in the rubble. My memories, obtained from drinking the woman’s blood, held ancient Egypt inside them—memories of a woman who called herself Aysha. She had obviously arrived before me and had assumed the life of this woman. Aysha was Charmion, my sister! I had cloned my sister’s dead body!

  As we both had agreed, we took several items on our trip on the river of light, although some called it the river of death. We took a prophetic gold stone and two stones of transference, one blue and one white. Legend told of only four sets of stones of this kind. I looked at my treasure, once I had taken Aysha’s form. I wanted to see what my future held, and what I should do. I always followed the directions of the stones. I trusted in the guidance of their words.