The Seventh Mountain (33 page)

Starlings are an interesting bird in the
fact that they are known to flock in groups of about a hundred
thousand and that they don’t generally do droppings until they are
just about ready to roost for the night. One single starling
usually leaves quite a large mess. This precipitated event had been
no exception, times about fifty thousand.

Slone’s crew had been running in circles
looking, hoping for something to dive under, while the enormous
globs deluged them from high above. Every one of them was covered
from head to foot. Occasionally a couple of them would run into
each other, rebounding, falling into the slippery mess. Mr. Thorpe
had already remanifested out of the area.

When the group’s laughter started to fade,
they realized that someone else was there, laughing with them. Tim
was seated higher up on the bleachers with his spotting scope out,
watching the spectacle.

Mark said, “Hi, Tim.”

“Hi, Mark. You know, all the doors are not
locked.”

Locks had been installed on all entrance
doors after the incident of the thralls’ invading the museum,
fifteen years ago. The locks activated a security alarm system on
the door that they served. This was supposed to give just a little
more time for able-bodied Magi to respond, which in most cases
would mean all the difference in the world. The doors were
routinely locked during flags matches and other events that
normally degraded security and at night after regular classes and
events. All teachers had keys, but keys weren’t needed from the
inside. Six doors in all would have to be locked, leaving only the
front entrance open.

“If the back and side doors were locked,
then they would have to use the front entrance and go through some
of the mall to get to a bathroom.” Mark put his binoculars into
Aaron’s Grasp. “It would be a shame to let them slip into a
backdoor, unseen. Come on, let’s go. Thanks Tim.”

“I did not do anything. No need to thank
me.”

Nick said, “The closest stairs to the front
entrance is through The Oasis and the closest bathroom is in the
entrance hall by the theater, way through the mall.”

The group scrambled down the stairs and
split up, heading for different doors. They managed to lock the
doors long before Slone’s crew returned. Evidently, Tim had told
someone, sparking a wildfire rumor that spread through the mountain
in no time flat. Students, counselors, instructors, teachers and
regular folk were crowding the front of the mall, waiting for the
parade, when Mark, Chenoa, Jamal and Nick returned there.

Slone and his crew entered a short while
later, marching through the crowd, quick time, eyes front, turning
uproarious laughter into retching and gagging with their fetid
fumes. The desert air outside had dried their sticky coating to
thin cakes that had mostly cracked and fallen off. It did nothing
for the reeking, putrescent funk that had permeated everything
about them, and would remain with them for days to come.

Jamal leaned into Mark. “You know Slone
isn’t going to let this go unanswered.”

Mark said, “Yeah, I know.”

Mrs. Shadowitz’s voice came from behind the
group. “Mr. Young, Mr. Terfa, Mr. Poparov, Miss Day, I might have
guessed that you were behind this, if Tim hadn’t seen it and
reported to us.”

Mark and the group turned to face her.

Mark said, “It was really an accident.”

“Oh, yes, I know. Tim told us the whole
story. He burst into my office just as Mr. Thorpe was relating how
he believed that Benrah was developing a new style of attack, using
birds. Mr. Thorpe cast Daniel’s Shield over himself and immediately
remanifested to relate his speculations. It fails me as to why he
didn’t cast the shield over the group, which he could have easily
done, and mitigate this entire disgusting, smelly affair.”

“Now, as for the
accident
… you will
receive no points for the flying fecal farce, but as it were,
corpus delicti, ex post facto, the body of the crime, so to speak,
after the fact, merits consideration. You locked the doors thus
reviving the original intent of the failed joke and succeeded in
doing so. You each receive the maximum of ten points. That totals
to two hundred, twenty points for each of you and eight hundred,
eighty points for Emerald Tribe. The others will lose forty points
each and the tribe totals will be calculated later.”

Mrs. Shadowitz turned from the group to face
some counselors. “Counselors, see to your charges. See to it that
they get some lemon juice, orange oil and some kind of fragrance to
mask that awful smell, or we’ll all be living with it for a
month.”

Mrs. Shadowitz turned back to face Nick.
“Mr. Poparov, to your credit you will be awarded a hundred extra
points in your science class for that little invention. I am
certain that you will get at least a paragraph about your invention
and this incident in the next edition of “History of Scientific
Thought” and I am certain that engineering is going to want you to
consult on adding that weapon to our non-lethal armory.”

Hope transcends reason.

The Seventh Mountain Museum of Artifacts was
on the first sub-level of the school. The curator was a tall, thin
man with thick black hair. He was a Magi of the Agate Tribe. He
wore the usual black and silver robes of the school staff. Mark had
come to know that a Magi’s tribe was indicated by the small stone
on the right side of the signet ring and rank was indicated by the
number of bands on the ring itself. This Magi had five bands, the
same as Mr. Diefenderfer and Mrs. Shadowitz. That fact told Mark
that the curator was someone high up in the school staff.

Mr. Diefenderfer used this weekend, every
year, to introduce students to the study of archeology, which
included artifacts, knowledge, and skills that had been lost or
forgotten in ages past. Part of a Magi’s duty was to study the
past, through artifacts, and regain things lost. This lesson in the
museum was designed to introduce students to that undertaking.

The museum itself was a vast, well-lit,
underground cavern. There were glass-covered display boxes
everywhere. Each display box housed some sort of artifact that had
been recovered from some ancient site and was here now for
study.

Mr. Diefenderfer and the curator entered the
museum and all eyes turned to them.

“This is… Quintus McGraw… the Keeper of
Artifacts… and… curator of this museum. You will browse this
museum… and select… an artifact… that interests you. When you have
made your selection… let Mr. McGraw know… he will turn the
artifact… over to you… for study. You must… keep the artifact safe.
You will have… one month… to complete your study. You are required…
to log in your notebook… the methods… and means… that you take… in
every individual step… in the process… and progress… of your study.
Your notebooks will be graded… not only on your conclusion… but…
the means… and methods… of your progress. By all means… be careful
down here. The artifacts… cannot be replaced. Also… the labyrinth
opens… once a day… on that wall… at an unpredictable time. No
person… not even one… has ever returned… from it.”

Mark looked at the wall that Mr.
Diefenderfer had indicated. For a space of about twenty feet along
the wall, there weren’t any glass cases. A velvet rope held by two
stands was all that guarded the wall. He walked over and looked at
the wall. It didn’t look any different from any other wall in the
school.

Mark thought that it might be possible to
study the staff for his assignment. He grabbed his staff and walked
up to Mr. Diefenderfer.

Mr. Diefenderfer spoke without Mark having
asked the question. “For extra credit… you may study your staff…
For this assignment… you must choose… from the artifacts here.” He
raised his arm and swept it in an arc indicating the things in the
museum.

Mark replaced the staff into Aaron’s Grasp.
He walked from case to case looking at the artifacts. Nothing
interested him until he saw a small stone tablet that he could
read. It read simply, “
Walk through a door before it
closes.
”

Mark found Mr. McGraw and brought him to the
small stone tablet.

“Ah, yes, a most curious stone indeed. The
language is pre-Sanskrit, even pre-Cuneiform. No one has ever
figured out what it is. It should present a formidable challenge.
Are you sure you want to try this one?”

“I think so. I mean, I can read it.”

Mr. McGraw bent over and looked at Mark. He
raised his eyebrows, and his mouth dropped open. “Praise the One
God! Are you telling me that you have the Eyes of Abednego?”

“I don’t know what that is. All I know is
that I can read it.”

Mr. McGraw turned and started looking around
the museum. He raised his arm and waved it in the air. “AlHufus!
AlHufus! Did you hear that? The Eyes of Abednego. AlHufus! Where
are you?”

Mr. Diefenderfer walked up behind Mr.
McGraw. “I’m right here… Quintus… Did I hear you… correctly?”

Mr. McGraw said, “Yes, yes! This boy,” his
finger pointed at Mark and vibrated as if it might have been a
machine pistol. “This boy can read this stone. He has the Eyes of
Abednego.”

A crowd of students was forming around the
group. Mr. Diefenderfer leaned down to Mark and looked at him.
“Yes… I see… Is it so? Mark… has anything like this… ever happened
before?”

“Yes sir, once before. I could read what my
great, great, great, great grandfather had written in his Bible. He
wrote it in German. I don’t know how to read German.”

“Actually… that was different. That was
left… exclusively for you. Do you recall… any other time… that you
could read something… in a foreign language?”

“No sir.”

“This is most curious. Quintus… give me the
information page… for this stone.”

Mr. McGraw started walking toward the office
while muttering to himself. “Yes, yes… the information on the
stone. It can’t be the Eyes of Abednego. He would be able to read
everything if it were. It must be a trap… yes, yes, a trap… it has
to be a trap.”

Mr. Diefenderfer returned his attention to
Mark. “Mark… if you do not… which I believe… to be the case… have
the ability… of the Eyes of Abednego… then… that means… that this
stone… was set for you. That possibility… raises a lot of…
disconcerting questions. Choose another artifact… for your
assignment.”

Mr. Diefenderfer raised the glass lid, took
the stone and walked off the way that Mr. McGraw had gone.

Nick leaned toward Mark and whispered. “You
never said anything about anything like that before.”

“I forgot about it. So many weird things
have happened since then.”

“Okay, but I want to hear the story when we
go to lunch.”

“Okay.”

Mark was examining the cases next to the
velvet rope when he noticed that the wall had vanished. There
hadn’t been any sound or any other indication that it had opened
up. The wall section was simply just gone. Mark walked toward the
opening and said, “Hey! Check it out. The wall has
disappeared.”

A crowd started forming behind Mark. It
seemed that everyone wanted to see the door that swallowed people
forever. He heard someone say, “Quit pushing.” He turned to look at
the people behind him. He saw Ralph Lawrence lurch out of the
crowd, trying to regain his balance. Mark didn’t have time to get
out of the way. Ralph hurdled headlong into him and knocked Mark
toward the open doorway. Mark was knocked backwards toward the
opening. The velvet rope was the only thing that he could grab.

He crossed the plane of the opening and
sensed that gravity had changed direction. He fell a long way to
what had just moments before been the far wall in the labyrinth.
Falling, even in normal circumstances, produces an adrenalin rush,
which quickens the heart, enhances perception and muscle response,
to the point of making one superhuman for a short time. Mark had
experienced this rush before; only this time the enemy was gravity,
a warrior that could be vanquished by no one.

Mark looked this way and that, hoping for
anything to grab onto before he came to the inevitable conclusion
of this journey. There was nothing there save the two rope stands
and a velvet rope, all caught in gravity’s grasp, just as helpless
as he was.

He realized that he was falling headfirst
and tried to right himself in order to impact on his feet instead
of his head. There wasn’t enough time and his arms protected his
head as much as possible.

He heard the rope stands clang on the floor
on either side of him. That far wall was now the floor. He had hit
that floor hard. His scream vanished into the darkness. The
excruciating pain in both of his arms told him that they were
broken. His head and chest were in agonizing pain, too. He tried to
move and couldn’t, except for his eyes and all there was to see was
the light from the door. He knew that he had to stay awake, but the
fight was useless. He was defeated; numbing cold settled over him,
and he faded into blackness.

Time passed. Mark didn’t know how long he
had been out. He awoke in pitch-blackness. A deep penetrating voice
spoke to his mind. Nausea squeezed, forcing the contents of his
stomach up to the back of his throat.

“Hello, Mark. Welcome home.” This was
followed by a deep reverberating laugh. “Do you know who I am?”

Mark remembered the voice from a dream that
had told him that he was going to die. It was the same voice. “Are
you Benrah?”

The deep, disembodied voice continued. “Very
good, Mark. Well, if you know who I am, then maybe you can guess
what this place is.”

“Where are you?” The voice sounded like it
was coming from nowhere in particular, but it was close, too
close.

“It doesn’t matter where I am. What matters
is do you know where you are?”