Markus ran ahead to the girl and asked her, “How were you able to keep us from seeing both of you? There has been nothing but open desert between our camp and here.”
The girl stopped and turned toward Markus. He noticed that she had very pretty, icy blue eyes. The boy who was two steps ahead suddenly vanished. “We are a people of many disciplines. You shall see. We have learned to hide in plain sight. It has served us well and has protected our village for a long time. Look, we are here.” She pointed down the trail. Markus followed her finger and gazed upon a small collection of houses built around a square, in the middle of the square stood a tall statue.
“Buddha” slithered out of his mouth.
“Yes,” she said. “He is our god, but not so much a god as he is a teacher.”
As Markus observed the statue, he noticed it appeared jovial and had a kind face. He was happy. This was so different from the gods he knew. Greek gods were fierce and cunning, yet this statue was at peace.
“His name was Siddharta Gautama, and he lived a long time ago, near where we are right now,” the girl announced as she clasped her hands over her heart with a show of love and admiration. “He taught us the power of respect for all living things. We are all one in this valley—the birds, the animals, and even the insects.”
“I have never seen a statue like this before,” Markus offered.
“This is the only one of its kind. It was carved from stone shortly after Buddha passed on to another existence. It was brought to our village for safekeeping. It has stayed here for many, many generations.”
Skeptical of a happy god, Markus inquired, “If he was a god, where has he gone? What powers did he have?”
“Buddha is everywhere; he sees all. Buddha is the ‘awakened one.’ His teachings are skills and disciplines. You must dedicate yourself to his teachings to understand. Many of our people become monks and spend their entire lives pursuing his teachings.”
“Is that how you learned to hide in plain sight?” Tibes was baiting her, as she was barely an adolescent.
“In this valley, we all can become invisible, if we choose.” She spoke like it was the same as being able to walk. “All living things here are connected. This valley is special. We communicate with each other on all things that affect the valley. To hide in plain sight is but a discipline. All people in the village have mastered this skill.”
Tibes was awed by her off-the-cuff response. “So, are you telling me that you talk to the animals?”
“Well, not exactly. We feel each other. If any of us is threatened, a warning goes out to everyone. We know when a threat enters the valley. We have learned the discipline of changing how people see us. We can appear to be invisible. It just takes training.”
“And you feel threats from the hordes?”
“Yes, that is correct. If the hordes came here to the valley looking for the bauble, we would not be able to stop them. We are pacifists—we do not fight. But they must not gain possession of the bauble. It is too powerful.”
Markus examined the statue while Tibes and the girl spoke. As he crossed the courtyard and neared the center, he started to feel a tingling throughout his body. Thoughts of power began to invade his conscious mind. He could clearly see the bauble centered in the forehead of the Buddha. It was intensely black, yet it had great depth to it. He could see inside, and light seemed to be trapped there. It was changing him already.
“You had better tell us everything that you know about the power of this artifact, now,” he demanded, a little too strongly. Stress was in his speech. Tibes and the young girl just stared at him in disbelief.
As he attempted to step up onto the platform surrounding the statue, a voice ordered, “Go no further.” Markus suddenly found he could not move his legs, only his head. He turned toward the voice and eyed a small bald man in a blue robe.
“What have you done to me?” he screamed. The veins in his neck stood out. His fists were clenched.
“I have saved you from an unpleasant experience, maybe even death,” replied the old man. “If you had set foot on the platform, you would have become unmanageable—your innermost thoughts and fears would have seemed real, and you would want to do harm to anyone who confronted you. That is one of the powers of the bauble.”
“I must possess it!” Markus roared.
The man moved his hand in a circle, and Markus slid back from the platform a few feet. His legs never moved. He just seemed to slide. “You must stay the distance of the height of a man from the bauble, or it will change you.”
Wide-eyed with fear, Markus looked at his feet. Millions of ants had lifted his feet and had carried him away from the platform. His arms were thick with flies that held him tightly. The old man moved his arm again, and they all vanished, leaving only a shaken but unharmed Markus. “How can you do that?” Markus whispered.
“We, all living things in the valley, work together for our common good. I am but the conduit,” the old man spoke.
As his senses returned, a realization hit him. Markus made a guess. “You are the man who spoke to Alexander the Great.”
“Yes, I am the elder in the village. It has been my honor to watch over the statue and all the others in the valley for many years. It was I who visited with your great, enlightened leader a few nights ago.”
“What are you?” a concerned Markus inquired. “How are you able to control things around you? Are you a god?”
“I am a monk and have been all my life. I serve Buddha. Monks serve all living things, as well. My disciplines are all learned.”
“The girl?” asked Markus as he pointed to her.
“She is the granddaughter of my sister. She is being trained to replace me when the time is needed. I’m afraid that it will be too soon. The hordes are approaching. They are already in the valley, within a few hours’ ride of our village. We will attempt to confuse them, but alas, we can’t stop them.”
“Where are all your people? We need to build a defense,” Markus, the soldier, thought about a battle over the bauble.
“They are here, but they will be as invisible to the hordes as they are to you. Our homes will be destroyed, the statue defaced, and some may die, but most will survive as long as you take the bauble and leave quickly. That is our defense,” the monk spoke solemnly.
“Alexander wants us to take it as well. But how do we carry it if we can’t get close to it without it changing us?”
“Goat’s blood is needed. It must cover the bauble. Then it will be rendered harmless. When the blood dries, it will form a protective shield around the artifact. One of our goats has given a sacrifice of some blood.” He held out a leather pouch for Markus to examine. “We will put it in the pouch for traveling. It will be safe then.”
“How do we get the bauble into the pouch?” Markus asked as he secured the pouch from the old man and looked inside.
“Giri will retrieve it.” The monk summoned the girl to his side. She didn’t seem afraid or concerned about the danger surrounding the bauble. She seemed only determined. “She is pure, knows no fear, and has been raised to know peace. She can remove it from the Buddha and put it in the pouch for you to take to Alexander. She has trained for this moment.” The old man suddenly tilted his head and then nodded as if to acknowledge an unheard message. He motioned with his hand for the girl to move toward the statue. “Quickly, Giri, the hordes have entered the trail to our village. They’re heading this way.”
The girl left the old man and headed for the platform. “Wait,” shouted Tibes. “What can you tell us about the power of this bauble?”
“I explained it all to Alexander,” the monk replied with a frown of concern. “Has he not told you everything?”
The suddenly nervous Markus shook his head, “No.”
“Oh,” the monk exclaimed. The monk turned from Markus so quickly that his robe spread open. He pointed to the girl. “You must hurry, Giri—there is no time.”
Giri athletically leapt onto the platform
and scurried up the statue, alighting on the big nose. She produced a knife made of bone and started gouging out the bauble. The men watched in fascination as her labors became more frantic and the knife thrusts more deliberate. The bauble had an effect on her, as well. A guttural growl rose from her chest. The gentle girl now seemed a tigress. After a few minutes, she let out a howl of triumph and then prepared to leap from the statue. She sprang high in the air and somersaulted toward the men. She landed on her feet with legs spread. She looked bigger and stronger than before. She had also turned into a ravishing beauty of a woman. She had long blond hair, even longer legs, and the small skin clothing that she wore now barely covered her. She had grown in every way. She held out the bauble to put it in the pouch, but it refused to leave her hand. Her eyes became pools of fury, her face a mask of rage. The bone knife was in her right hand. No one knew what to do.
“It’s in the wrong hand. Giri, move it to your right hand,” the old man yelled at the Amazon-like woman. “The powers are flowing through your left hand.” He began running toward her, but he didn’t get there in time.
The hordes, on horseback, picked that moment to enter the village. The monk turned from Giri, looked at them, and waved both his arms in a circular motion. The horses quickly slid to a stop. They threw off all the riders like they were dolls.
The horde consisted of twenty hardened Mongols who had faced many enemies and had always won. The men quickly regrouped around their leader and began walking with a menacing gate toward the small group. Swords were drawn, and with their leather armor and wild hair, they were a frightening sight.
The old man suddenly raised his hand as if to salute. On cue, many animals attacked the horde. Small birds swooped in and pecked at eyes, noses, and even ears. As the Mongols looked skyward to repel that threat, swarms of small animals attacked their naked legs, biting and scratching any open flesh they could find.
A fierce battle ensued. It was hard to know who was winning. The horde chopped at the birds, and some fell to the ground. Several animals lost their heads, but others still attacked. Shock registered on many faces. No one noticed Giri.
“Stop hurting my friends!” Giri roared. She then let out a war cry that sounded like thunder and sprinted toward the battlefield. The Mongols saw her coming. They ignored the animal attackers and formed a wedge with swords pointed at their prey. But she raced toward them as if unafraid.
When she was within a few feet of the wedge, something happened. The swords of the Mongols turned to dust, as did their knives and any metal on their bodies. Giri hit the wedge at full speed. The first three Mongols seemed to leap into the air, flying several yards backward. When they hit the ground, they moved no more. The remaining Mongols tried to rush her with their bare hands. Two more were sent flying. The beautiful woman was fighting like a god among mortals. Then she got serious. Giri punched a Mongol with her left hand. The crack of bone could be heard throughout the valley. Another went down as she twisted his arm into a grotesque position. She then whirled around to face the Mongol leader.
“Stop,” he cried. “We cannot defeat you. We surrender.” He dropped to the ground in a praying position. His men did the same. “We will leave. Let us take our dead.”
“You all must die,” she spit out with vehemence in her voice. “You know of this place and will come back again. I cannot allow that. You have murdered many of my friends. You must die.” She now assumed the pose of a gladiator about to vanquish her foe. Her eyes were intent on destruction and never saw the old man approach. He suddenly opened the pouch of goat blood and forced it on her left hand. The change was instantaneous. Fury dropped from her eyes, her body sagged, and she let go of the bauble. The old man pulled the pouch from her hand and tied a knot at the top. He handed it to the trailing Markus, who stuffed it in his tunic.
Everyone was quiet for a minute. The monk seemed to be consulting with someone who remained unseen. “We have decided to let you leave with your dead and wounded,” the old man croaked. “But you must leave now.”
The Mongol leader considered regrouping and attacking again, but gave it up when he noticed many people materializing around him. He nodded to the monk and began collecting the wounded and dead. People kept appearing and staring at the defeated men as they packed their horses. When they were ready to go, the leader turned toward Giri. She stood with her head down, her long blond hair covering her face. She had hardly moved and appeared sapped of energy since her battle. “You would make a great Mongol warrior,” the Mongol said. “I salute you.”
But Giri replied with a sheepish smile, “We are all one here. We believe in peace. Go in peace, Mongol.”
“Wait,” the monk proclaimed. “I must touch each of you.” He proceeded down the row and placed a hand on every Mongol. He then gestured for them to leave. “My animal friends will make sure you leave the valley. Do not come back.”
As they watched the Mongols retreat from the village, Tibes asked a question. “Why did you touch them?”
“I have cleansed their minds. They won’t remember the battle or even how to find this valley.”
Chapter Three
The animals cleared their own wounded. The villagers collected the dead and went to bury them. Tibes stood looking at the ground where several swords had turned to dust. He slowly bent down and scooped up some of the dust. He then realized that it was actually small stones which were very clear and reflected light. More baubles, he thought as he placed some in another pouch. He would take them to Alexander with the black bauble.
Markus and the old man were tending to Giri. She appeared to be unharmed and very healthy. However, she had changed, and both of the men could see it. Giri was taller and suddenly had curves. Her hair was golden and flowing down her back. Her eyes were now green, her breasts ample. She stared back at the men who stared at her. There was a look of disbelief on her face.
“What’s wrong?” she sheepishly asked.
“You look different,” Markus replied.
“You look different to me, too,” she remarked. “You are a very handsome man.” Her voice was still soft and gentle, but something else lay hidden in her words.
“You are a beautiful woman,” he replied and meant it.
The reaction by the monk was immediate as he looked from Markus to Giri. “Oh no, how could I have been so stupid?” he wailed. “How could I have let this happen to you, Giri?” He covered his face with his hands and began weeping.
“What do you mean old man?” The reply from Markus had an edge of protection toward Giri.
“Don’t you see? Giri has changed, and it is my fault. I considered everything in training her, yet I forgot the most basic of her needs.”
“What is it that you babble about?” Markus rose to protect the beauty known as Giri.
“I raised her to be pure, but I forgot that she would become a woman. A woman has one need—a man.”
“I need you, Markus,” the soft voice cooed.
The monk was distraught and went to his knees. “That was the one flaw in her preparation, the one desire that I could not foresee. When held, the bauble brings out the best in people. It then fills them with an all-consuming desire. It can be hate, it can be vengeance, but it can also be truth, achievement, and physical changes. We had never considered love in our equations. That was my error, and now Giri must pay for my mistake.”
“Pull yourself together,” ordered a now agitated Markus. “What do you mean? Why use the word ‘we?’”
“We are the villagers. We have planned for this day for many decades. The bauble must go, but it needs to be taken to someone who will be wise enough to use it properly. This is why we chose Alexander.”
“What mistake have you made?” Markus continued to inquire.
“Giri must now live with her changes. No one changes back. She must live in the misery that we have created. It is entirely my fault,” he lamented. “The strength and the hatred are gone, but you can see that she has changed, can’t you
?”
“I see the most beautiful woman that I have ever laid eyes on,” countered Markus. “I would not want her to change back.”
“Oh, Markus, I love you,” exclaimed Giri in the sweetest voice he had ever heard. “Can you stay with me always?”
Markus was now truly confused, yet happy. His allegiance to Alexander was challenged by his newfound love. The question was to stay or to go. He chose to stay. The now-woman, Giri, had a full grip on his heart.
“Tibes, you must take the bauble back to Alexander yourself. I am staying here with Giri.” He handed the pouch to the soldier. They had been friends and fellow soldiers for many years, but Tibes didn’t question his judgment and only smiled.
“Good for you, my friend. Alexander will understand.” He clasped the arm of the other soldier and then hugged him Greek style. “But before I take leave, it is important for the monk to explain all about the bauble to us.”
The monk had regained his composure and was able to talk. “Many have tried to understand the bauble. Each person who has held it in their left hand has developed god-like powers of strength, courage, and immunity to harm. It has also brought fear, hatred, and malice, and if it is held too long—insanity and death. It affects the physical side of a human.”
“That’s very important for my report,” Tibes said.
“Holding the bauble in the right hand is much different. It affects the mental side of a human. It has brought out the deepest desires of each volunteer who has touched it. It changes everyone so that they can achieve their greatest desires. My desire was to communicate with all living things. That is why I am the conduit.”
“So you held the bauble?” asked Tibes.
“Yes, I did. But there was no one around then for me to vent and target my fury. I did achieve my deepest desire, and then I was able to drop the bauble from my hand. You see, some others before me held it too long.” He gestured to an approaching young man. The man had only one arm, the right one. “Adamus couldn’t drop the bauble in time, and his left arm turned to dust. The damage stopped when the bauble became separated from his body. Now, however, he can run faster than anyone in the village. Others have lost their lives by exploding. The bauble collects energy from everywhere, especially any metals like gold or silver, and when held in the left hand, the energy continues to grow until the bauble is dropped or the person turns to dust. The time it allows each person is not known—each has a different fuse—but it is never longer than three minutes. If it is held in the right hand, no matter how short the time, the person will become obsessed with their innermost desires. It seems to pass stored energy to whoever holds it. When it’s dropped, they return to normal, except for what the bauble has changed. ”
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