The Jovian Legacy (9 page)

Nick
and Jack cycle into town to see if anything is happening. Jack keeps
an eye on his watch, remembering he has to be back to have lunch with
his grandparents. As they approach the town they see only a few
people milling about. Most shops are shut, so people are walking
their dogs or merely taking a walk in the crisp winter morning. The
boys ride on up to the dairy which has the best selection of lollies.
Nick had brought some change with him and buys a one-dollar bag of
mixed lollies containing around thirty lollies, and another fifty
cents’ worth of jet planes. They sit outside the dairy on the
benchseat and gorge themselves, fighting over the red jet planes.
Nick loves his planes, any sort of planes.

They
sit, swinging their legs, talking about what they are going to do
when they grow up. Already knowing what Nick wants to do, Jack
patiently listens while he goes on and on about his future as a jet
fighter pilot.

At
least he has a goal in life, unlike some people in this town who walk
up and down with long sad faces,
he reckons.

D
etermined
he isn’t going to work simply to make ends meet, Jack has his
goal in life too. Once he finishes at the American Military
University and attains his MS degree in Space Studies, he wants to be
a rocket scientist, work at NASA and be paid an insane amount of
money. He also wants to do some travelling beforehand as he is
fascinated with the Egyptian people and how they built the great
pyramids.

The
school had a man come and talk to the class about computers, and
about how they were going to be the way of the future. The school
was going to do some fundraising to purchase one. The man had showed
them a video of someone using one and what it could do. Jack was
hooked. Little did he know then where his knowledge of computers
would take him.

At
a quarter to eleven the boys start heading home, as Jack knows he has
a fairly long ride ahead of him. His legs start to ache and he
wonders if he might have overdone it a bit.

After
two friends wave goodbye to each other, Jack pedals madly to get home
before noon. He makes it back with five minutes to spare, and
completely exhausted. He lays on his bed for a few minutes trying to
get his breath back, and then has a quick shower before his
grandparents turn up.

They’ll
probably want to hug me and tell me how much I’ve grown.

“My,
look how much you’ve grown!” His grandmother has him in a
bear hug, and Jack couldn’t help noticing that her moustache
looks even more conspicuous.

His grandfather shakes his hand and
pats him on the back. “Happy birthday Son. Into the double
numbers now, aye. Soon you’ll be bringing home some sweet
young sheilas,” he laughs. His grandfather always teases him
about girls. At his age Jack thinks of them as nothing but wusses.

Jack’s
grandmother passes him a large square parcel wrapped in birthday
paper with an almost baby young pattern on it. He thanks her, takes
it over to the table and opens it.

Jack
lifts out the remote-control racing car and holds it up. “Orh
yeah!” he exclaims. “Thanks Gramps, thanks Nana, just
what I wanted!”

“Why
don’t you go and get your present from us and bring it inside
to show your grandparents?” his father says, smiling at him.

Jack
goes outside to get his bike. The Lucre Box is still sitting on the
tray, attached by a bungy cord. Taking the cord off, Jack carries
the Lucre Box to his bedroom and sits on the bed with it. He smooths
his hands over the lid and fingers its gold inscription. As he does
so he sees a rainbow of colours sparkle off the lettering.

Must
be reflecting off the sun,
he
considers, placing the box on his dresser, when he notices it again.
The box, he sees, is in the shade. Jack feels a shiver run up his
spine.

Maybe
there was something in what Nick was ranting on about after all
,
he wonders, feeling a stab of guilt for thinking Nick was gullible.
Jack realises that he’s pretty lucky to have a friend like
Nick, an honest boy with a quiet demeanour, even if a little naïve.
Jack scrutinises the cryptic message, trying to make sense of it,
and suddenly feeling uneasy. The message has an effect on him, the
symbols beginning to swim around in his eyes.

The
distant calling of his name brings Jack out of his reverie. It is
his mother’s voice. Jack ignores it and focuses on the symbols
again.

What
the heck does that mean?
he
thinks.

“Jack!”
his mother calls again, a little louder. He knows he is being rude.
With a sigh Jack sets the Lucre Box down on the chest of drawers,
goes out to collect his bike, and takes it in to show his
grandparents.

“My
my, that’s a spiffing bicycle, lad,” his grandfather
said. “You’ll go places now, won’t you?”

“I’ve
already been for a ride on it, Gramps. This morning. Me and my mate
Nick…”

“My
mate Nick and I,” his mother corrects.

“Nick
and I rode into town. I’m pretty sore now.” Jack knows
he needs to be polite and make small talk so his grandparents will
have a nice afternoon and go home. Then he can get back to his Lucre
Box. He is also aware that he has limited time here, reliving.

There
is definitely a message here today that will affect my entire life,
he reflects.

It
is two o’clock in the afternoon, and he has until seven o’clock
in the evening to find out what the message means.

At
last his grandparents make a move to head off. Jack is torn between
the Lucre Box and seeing his grandparents for the last time. His
mother’s parents died when he was eleven, a year before his
parents disappeared.

He
gives his Nana an extra long hug and she is noticeably taken aback.
“You must have thoroughly liked your present!” she
laughs.

Jack
composes himself and looks into her eyes; so tired looking now, but
still with a beautiful softness.

“For
real!” he exclaims. Jack turns to his granddad, a lump forming
in his throat. Always young at heart, his granddad still looks
handsome despite his seventy-eight years. His mother’s father
possesses a wicked sense of humour; no doubt the elixir of his youth,
Jack considers. Gramps even fancies himself as a ladies’ man,
and Jack loves him to bits.

As
he waves them goodbye his eyes sting with tears. Jack literally
shakes himself to keep his cool. His grandfather’s momentary
look as they drove off was of great mutual understanding. Quickly
wiping his tears away and realising he’s been doing a lot of
that lately
,
Jack
rips back to his bedroom, grabs the box off the chest of drawers and
sits back on his bed with it. The symbols swim around again with a
beautiful ray of colours oscillating back and forth.

It
looks Egyptian,
he reasons.
With no time to spare, Jack is on his bike and heading down to the
local library to seek out some literature on Egyptology, remembering
that the library is open for a couple of hours on a Saturday
afternoon. With his box firmly fixed on the carrier of his bike,
Jack speeds into town again.

“Man, I’m going to sleep
well tonight!” he says aloud to himself, his legs starting to
ache for a second time round.

Jack
feverishly hunts through the row of books on Egyptian Hieroglyphics,
scrambling through the pages trying to find symbols that match the
message. Eventually, he comes across a book with similar pictures,
and takes it over to the counter with his library card which he’d
remembered to slip in his jeans pocket at the last minute. The
librarian looks at him over her glasses that are perched on the end
of her nose.

“Jack
Dunlop, you already have two library books that are overdue. I can’t
let you have this one out until the other two are returned,”
she scolds, lips pursed.

“Please,
Mrs Francis,” Jack pleads. “I really need this one for my
homework that’s due in on Monday. I promise I’ll return
all three on Monday afternoon.”

Audrey
Francis holds her gaze then pulls her lips back. “Well, as long
as you do,” she cautions.

“Thank
you Mrs Francis!” Jack grins and hurries out the door, feeling
a bit naughty, knowing full well he won’t be anywhere near
there come Monday.

Back
in his room Jack places the box on his bed and opens the library
book. With ardent determination he begins to decipher the cryptic
message, letter by letter. A half an hour later Jack sits back and
reads his message:

“You
are the descendant of Pharaoh Siptah.”

He
falls flat.
Must be one of
those trick boxes,
he thinks,
disappointed.

Each
symbol begins to change, one by one, into letters, together forming
into another cryptic message:
“Sinestu-ipini-itxaro-ahalguzti.”

Although
feeling a little annoyed he decides to finish decoding it, and after
another hour Jack finally reads the translation:
“To
believe is to place your trust in the Almighty.”

“O
kaay….”
he says with a lilt in his voice.

He slowly lifts the lid and sees not an
empty book with red felt lining, but a box filled with luminous green
light. One by one letters appear and form into words. Egyptian
words. With a now shaky hand Jack tries to write the words down,
aware now that it is a race against time. He shoots a look at his
bedroom clock: 4.30 p.m. He has time. At 6.50 p.m., with only ten
minutes to spare, Jack stares at his translated message, trying to
come to terms with it.

“Your
soul is one with Pharaoh Siptah, King of Egypt, ruler of the 19
^th
Dynasty. Your journey is now predetermined by Queen Meryt-Neith,
ruler of Jovian.”

Jack
sat back at his computer, dumbfounded.

“King
Siptah, ruler of the 19
^th
Dynasty, Queen Meryt-Neith, ruler of Jovian?” he questioned out
loud. He had always held a fascination for the Egyptian race, and
now knew why, his gut feeling telling him his interest in Egyptology
as a boy was pretty significant.

He
delved into his wardrobe to look for the Lucre Box, and after much
hunting Jack couldn’t find it. He tried to recall what had
happened to it.

“That’s
it!” He’d suddenly remembered that he’d taken the
box to his parents to show them what he had discovered. They had
shown a half-hearted interest in it and his father had said that he
would take the Lucre Box back to the store Nick Findlay had purchased
it from, and ask the storeowner about it. That was the last Jack
ever saw of his Lucre Box. When he had asked them when he was
getting it back his parents had told him that Mr Walker, the
shopkeeper, was going to ring up the man who had brought the Lucre
Box into his shop in the first place, to find out more about it. A
few months down the track, Jack had completely forgotten all about
it.

It’s
like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle
.

Chapter 7

O
ver
the next few days Jack was left alone by everyone - Megan, the Jovian
men, and his parents. He didn’t realise the time had drifted
into three weeks and he still hadn’t been prompted by anyone,
or anything. Not until mid-September.

It
was a usual morning, the smell of spring and his favourite time of
year. He lay awake in his bed for a while, pondering over the last
few weeks, ever since he found out about his ‘Egyptian roots.’
It seemed to be too far fetched to him.

Gazing
into the mirror he regarded himself. For a young man of seventeen he
thought looked older.
Probably due to the events of the last few
months,
he considered.
Was
this the turning point?
He had always wondered what he was
supposed to be doing on this Earth.

“Let’s
not get too philosophical aye,” he spoke to his reflection.

As
he ate his Weetbix he stared out the kitchen window, catching sight
of a fat tui flitting amongst the puriri tree. His self-contained
unit was attached to his landlord’s house, friends of his aunt
and uncle, who had promised they would keep an eye on him. Jack ate
his dinners with them while his Aunt Pippa looked after the modest
rent payments. His landlord’s house backed onto native bush so
he often heard tui in the trees that feed on the tiny berries.
Another tui joined his friend and they set about doing some sort of
cat and mouse chase as if they were playing. Jack liked being close
to nature. Although he lived in a town he had a taste of country as
well.

He
thought about Megan. His beautiful young girlfriend,
so
young,
but never to be his.
It occurred to him then and there that he loved her.

Jack
rinsed his breakfast bowl under the hot tap when he heard the
computer buzzing again. With a deep breath he placed the bowl in the
dish rack and went to his computer.