“Oh, mortal beings, you are so dense.” Alaniah whirled in front of them. “You must show him the Book! Isn’t that why you brought him here-re?”
“You are right, Alaniah,” said Akeel. “We have been caught up in our own thoughts. Poor Marco.” Marco welcomed Akeel’s quick caress and stretched out for more. Instead Akeel stepped over to the book, leaving Marco lying on his back.
He scrambled to get up as Akeel said, “You have traveled far, my young friend. I will make it worth your effort.”
Akeel collected himself by closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. He spoke in a language Marco didn’t understand, and with both hands, gently opened the book.
A magnitude of light came bursting from inside the book, like water liberated through the turn of a spigot. It filled the room, transforming the walls into a kaleidoscope of radiance. Constellations, algebraic formulas, and whirling dervishes swirled together. Marco grew dizzy watching the wall of revolving images, vaguely reminiscent of his time travel experience. Many of them were little more than a blur, except for a few strange ones—wild horses racing across desert sand and a young monk in a bare candlelit room, writing at a small desk.
How did all this come from inside the book?
Marco went over to look at the open pages of strange script. He thought he’d seen a lot of books, but never anything like this. The pages were made of some material that reminded him of the crystalline spiral staircase, only paper thin. It appeared to be alive.
Gradually the marvelous show subsided and the room returned to normal. But nothing was really what Marco would call normal anymore.
“I will now give you a simple demonstration of its power,” said Akeel, pulling out a knife hidden in the folds of his tunic. In one smooth movement, he sliced his hand. Bright red blood seeped from the cut.
Chapter 14: The right frequency
Akeel held his right hand over the book as blood pooled in his other hand. Marco thought Cicero should be more worried, but he acted like he’d seen this before. Akeel moved his right hand in a circle above the wound. The blood and the cut both disappeared, as though it had never happened.
Marco was speechless.
Akeel smiled. “This was merely a parlor trick… to show you its healing power. But you asked why it needs guarding. That requires something a little more novel.” He assured Cicero, “We will keep it simple and not too showy.”
Akeel picked up Chuluum and placed him on the table. The cat tried to bolt, but Akeel was quick. With a few words and a wave of his arm, Akeel transformed Chuluum into a small squirming gray ball.
Marco could hardly believe his eyes. Chuluum was gone and a mouse had taken his place.
Alaniah flew in jittery circles above their heads. The mouse jumped out of Akeel’s grasp and Cicero pounced on him. The squirming cat-turned-mouse went limp and Marco feared he was dead.
“Here, let me have him,” Akeel said. “I don’t want him scratching you when I change him back.”
Akeel cupped the mouse in his hands and blew gently. Suddenly Chuluum became his old self and tumbled to the floor. His fur ruffled and his whiskers twitched with humiliation, but he puffed out his chest and glared at Marco like it was his fault. Then he high-tailed it out of the room.
“Poor Chuluum,” said Marco. Five minutes ago he thought the cat was arrogant and annoying. Now he was a little sorry for him. “Will he be alright?”
“He’s fine. He won’t come out of hiding for a while, but he’ll forgive me. He knows I mean him no harm. But you can see why the Book’s power is not to be played with. I needed a quick way to show you what some people call magic and others call God—and why they will go to extreme measures to try and possess it.”
Alaniah had calmed and was floating above. Strains of music drifted in from a distance, or maybe it was coming from her. Marco couldn’t tell.
“Few cats are able to hear the music,” Cicero said.
The sound grew more intense until it reverberated throughout his body. Like a magnanimous purr or the roaring of Niagara Falls. Or the singing of angels.
“How come I can hear it?” Marco asked Cicero.
“You have to be tuned to the right channel. Most cats don’t operate on that frequency.”
“It’s a good sign. You’ve done well picking this one,” Akeel told Cicero.
“I’m thinking he picked me.”
“Could be,” said Akeel. “More likely, it is the hand of destiny.”
Akeel went over and stroked Marco on his head. “We will put the book away for now. It’s time to tell you more of the story.”
Marco burrowed into Akeel’s hand and Akeel picked him up, embracing him as he closed the Book. He blew on the dust particles and they rematerialized to their former state as a box.
“Let us go elsewhere, where we can make ourselves comfortable.” Akeel led them out of the small chamber into a room plump with books. Delightfully disordered, shelves were bursting with books which overflowed onto low tables and sitting cushions.
People who were reading or talking paid them no mind as Akeel cleared a space on a low cushioned platform and settled cross-legged on the divan. Chuluum, still ruffled, glared at them from his hiding place between piles of books across the room.
When they were comfortable, Akeel turned to Marco. “You have a lot of questions, no?”
“No? Oh, but yes,” said Marco. “I don’t even know where to start, except I have one for Cicero. Why did you bring me here? I mean, why me?”
“That will become obvious,” Cicero answered. “But not yet. There is more to learn and…” Cicero’s eyes pierced his soul. “You must be found worthy.”
Marco shuddered and the conversation died. After a moment Akeel spoke. “You see all these men and women around you? They may look like casual readers enjoying a pleasant afternoon in this small library room. But do not let appearances deceive you. They are warriors of the highest order, Guardians of knowledge.”
They didn’t look like warriors to Marco. He’d read plenty of adventure books and none of the heroes sat around reading.
“They must pass many trials before they arrive here. Many do not make it for various reasons, but even if they pass all the others, the problem comes with the test of power.”
While Akeel explained, Cicero got up, stretched and began to pace.
Akeel talked as if remembering. “In the beginning, the taste of power is sweet, savored on the tongue, like fine wine. It whispers promises in your ear and pretends to be your friend. It is easy to become addicted to this feeling.
“If you do not resist the lure of power, you become hooked. Then you begin to gather small crimes, in layers, like thin cloth, one covering another. Insignificant things, they must seem at first. A little dishonesty. Perhaps the implication of an innocent person in some misdeed. Lies, pretense and betrayals wrap themselves like a cloak and the imposter becomes nothing more than an actor in his own play.”
His brow furrowed. “If it were only that uncomplicated. Everything we do affects the molecules around us. Just being here changes things in ways we cannot see.” Then he made a strange statement. “But when duplicity is disguised behind a mask of honor, the consequences ripple like waves throughout time.”
Cicero stopped pacing. “I have been trying to remember something I read, a quote by a famous man.”
Akeel’s strained face relaxed. “You are always full of good quotes, Cicero.”
“It was spoken by a man named Abraham Lincoln. He said, ‘Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.’ I always liked that one.”
“A wise observation,” said Akeel. “He must have been an honorable man. Maybe a Guardian as well.” He paused, reflecting further. “A man with power will show his true character. Eventually. But many spend all their time making themselves more clever, concealing their intentions.