The Stone of Destiny

by Jim Ware

  “Morgan!” she said, her voice a fragile wafer of sound floating in the thick, heavy air. “You’ve come! I’m so glad to see you!”

  He slipped up to the bedside and took her hand. “Rev. Alcuin told me you’d been asking for me. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. I’ve been—”

  “Don’t!” she said, beaming at him as if her delicate features would break with the strain. “Just let me look at you. I feel as if I could eat you up! My beautiful freckle-faced boy!”

  Morgan felt his neck burning. “You don’t have to get so mushy,” he said, rubbing his nose. “I’ve been busy, that’s all. Working on something to help you—”

  “Hush. Not another word until you’ve heard what I have to say. Working on something!” She laughed lightly, but her laughter quickly became an extended fit of coughing.

  When she was able to go on, she said, “You’re always working on something, aren’t you? Always something to help me. That’s what I wanted to say to you, Morgan. Why do you love me so much?”

  He stared at her in shock. She was smiling, but there was a look of sincere wonder and mystification in her eyes.

  “Y-you’re my mother!” he stammered.

  “Any woman can be a mother. I don’t think very many are so deeply loved. That’s what has me puzzled. Why me? What have I done to deserve it? I never had time to ponder it before—I’ve been too busy working. But these last few days …”

  Her voice trailed off, and her eyes strayed to the window. Morgan sat holding her hand. After a few minutes she started again.

  “Have you ever noticed, Morgan? Rev. Alcuin and the others are forever telling us how important it is to love. Love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. They’re right, of course. But I haven’t heard them say a whole lot about the staggeringly beautiful and impossible and life-changing marvel of being loved! Have you? What does it mean? Where does it come from? Who can explain it? Lately I feel so blessed that sometimes I’m afraid I’ll die of pure happiness. That’s why I wanted to ask you to forgive me.”

  “Forgive you? I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  She took both of his hands in hers and looked him in the eye. “If only I’d realized it before! Think of the years we’ve had together. What a gift! I don’t believe I ever told you, Morgan. I didn’t help you to understand. I never understood it myself. But life is a miracle! Love is beyond comprehension! If only we knew this! If only we really felt it, we could have paradise on earth, right now, today! Forgive me for not helping you to see this!”

  “Mom, I …” Morgan faltered, but his voice faded into silence. He was at a complete loss. Loneliness and fear were gathering like chill, stagnant water in the hollow spaces inside his chest. He was beginning to feel as if he didn’t know this person.

  A nurse came in with a tray containing Jell-O, chicken broth, a cup of tea, a pitcher of water, and a clear plastic cup. Morgan stood aside as she set it on the little table beside the bed and began adjusting his mother’s IVs.

  “This is my son,” his mother said proudly with a smile that lit up the whole of her colorless face.

  The nurse smiled too. “Yes, I know. We’ve met. How are you today, Morgan?”

  Morgan blushed and looked at his shoes. “Good, I guess,” he said.

  “He’s not ‘good,’” his mother said decisively. “He’s better than good. He has a loving heart.”

  The nurse smiled again and nodded kindly. After taking his mother’s temperature, checking her blood pressure, and consulting her other vital signs, she sat down and recorded all of her data on a clipboard at the foot of the bed. Then she looked up and said, “Is there anything more I can get for you, Mrs. Izaak? Are you comfortable?”

  “I’m fine,” said Mavis. “Morgan’s here, and we have lots to discuss.”

  “Good. You two have a good talk. The doctor will be in to have a look at you as soon as visiting hours are over. Until then, just ring the nurse’s station if you need anything.”

  “I have everything,” said Mavis. “Everything and more. Thank you.”

  All this while Morgan was standing and looking intently at the cup and pitcher on the little tray. When the nurse had gone, he sat down beside the bed, picked up the pitcher, and poured out some water. Then he drew the flask from his pocket.

  “Mom,” he said in a low voice, his eyes on the door. “Do you trust me?”

  “I know that you love me,” she said.

  “This is what I’ve been working on,” he said. “I want you to try it. Until you do, I can’t be sure of its powers. I followed the instructions precisely—everything, from collecting the dew right down to the final steps of distillation and coagulation.”

  Mavis’s smile faded. “Morgan,” she said, “I thought we talked about your father’s books and instruments.”

  “We did! But what do you expect? I can’t just let you lie here and die. Not while there’s something I can do! Something that might actually help! Besides, this isn’t the only thing I’ve brought!”

  Uncorking the flask, he carefully shook a small amount of his white powder into the cup. Immediately the clear liquid began to boil and swirl with snaking corkscrews and spirals of maroon and vermilion. Violet bubbles collected along the sides of the clear plastic, then rose to the surface and burst with a light effervescent fizz. Morgan took it in both hands and held it out to his mother.

  “It contains all the power of the stars! It’s the Elixir Vitae—the Elixir of Life. And that means it can heal diseases. All the books say so!”

  Mavis frowned. She looked down at the cup, and a confused, bewildered expression took possession of her features.

  “Won’t you just try a little? For my sake?”

  He leaned across the bed and put the cup of red liquid into her hand.

  “You know I’d do anything for you, Morgan,” she said. “Anything I could. But sometimes there are things we can’t do. Not for ourselves or anybody else. Sometimes we just have to pray and trust. We have to trust that we’re loved.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. Morgan cast another nervous glance at the door. When he turned back to his mother, he could see that the cloud of confusion was dissipating and the light was dawning again in her face. She pushed back against the pillows, and as she did so her hand—the hand that held the cup of Elixir—drooped nearer to the bed-sheets.

  “We have to trust,” she continued, “that the One who loves us knows what’s best for us, and that He’s doing everything that can be done. Haven’t I told you all this before?”

  “Yes, you did, but—”

  “I know I did!” Her eyes grew bright, and a warm glow rose from her neck into the hollows of her cheeks. “I told you that life is a miracle and that love is paradise on earth!”

  The footsteps drew closer. His stomach churning, Morgan tried to motion to her to hurry and drink the cup, but she closed her eyes and allowed her hand to fall a little further.

  “Do you remember,” she said, “what I told you the last time you were here? About longing to follow the sunset down over the edge of the world? Well, I don’t feel that way anymore. What I think now is that today, this very moment, is all I need. One day, one hour, one minute is more than enough.”

  As she spoke, Morgan heard the door open. He turned to see the nurse coming back with the doctor just behind her. When they saw that Mavis was not merely talking with her son, but actually speaking with great fervor and intensity of feeling, the two of them stopped and stood listening.

  “All my life,” Mavis was saying, “I’ve been surrounded by God’s beauty and glory. I’ve experienced the miracle of being loved without deserving it. I never understood why. Even now I don’t understand it. I know it sounds silly, but I never even noticed it until they brought me here. I wish I could—”


  At that, her hand dropped to the bed and the cup tipped sideways, spilling the entirety of its precious contents into the potted ficus. She laid her other hand across her heart and sighed deeply.

  The doctor stepped to the bedside and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Izaak,” he said. “How are you feeling today?”

  As he spoke, the nurse took Morgan by the arm and drew him gently to the door. “I think it would be best,” she whispered, “if you go on home now and let her get some rest. As you can see, it’s—well, it’s beginning to affect her mind.”

  Morgan nodded. He searched for something to say, but words failed him. The nurse opened the door, and he stepped out into the hallway. But before turning to go, he took one last look at his mother where she sat conversing quietly and earnestly with the doctor. What he saw caused the breath to catch in his throat.

  The ficus tree had withered, and its crumpled leaves were already falling to the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jacob’s Ladder

  Ding!

  The elevator doors slid open, and Morgan stepped out into the hospital lobby, his mind a barren wilderness, his emotions a maelstrom of darkness and light, heat and cold. The sun was shining in through the front windows, glaring off the highly polished floor. Momentarily dazed by its brilliance, he staggered uncertainly toward the exit. But before he was halfway across the room, someone came up from behind and touched him on the shoulder.

  “I had a feeling you’d be here.”

  He turned and found himself face to face with Eny. Her brows were knit, and there was an urgent light in her eyes. She brushed a few coppery strands from her face and jammed a forefinger into his chest. “All day long at school I was looking for a chance to talk to you, but you kept slipping away. Are you avoiding me?”

  Morgan forced a laugh. “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Why?”

  “Look, Eny, I don’t have time for this right now, okay?”

  He turned, but she grabbed him by the sleeve. “Don’t walk away from me! You have to listen!”

  “Listen to what? What’s your problem?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I told you and my mom last night?”

  “Of course I did. What about it?”

  “I’m not lying, Morgan, and I’m not out of my mind! I know it’s hard to believe, so I don’t blame you for laughing, but there’s a lot more I have to say. Things my mom wouldn’t understand. But you would, and you need to, so you’ve got to hear me out!”

  “Why me?”

  “Because it concerns you. It concerns you more than anybody else I can think of!” She brushed a tear from her nose and glanced over her shoulder. Then she whispered, “I’m convinced of it now. Your Madame Medea is the Morrigu.”

  “My Madame Medea!” scoffed Morgan. “She’s just a stupid alchemist!”

  “No, she isn’t. I’ve seen her in her true shape. I know what she’s all about. She’s not just a shopkeeper. She’s … something else. I felt her power. I saw what it can do. She killed my friends! She destroyed a whole village! And it was all because she was trying to catch me. What’s worse, I’m afraid she hasn’t given up yet!”

  Morgan ran the tip of his tongue over his braces. “And that’s my problem because…?”

  Eny’s eyes flared. “What a thing to say! I thought we were friends! But if you want to know, I’ll tell you. What she’s really after is Lia Fail—the Stone of Destiny. Because whoever possesses the Stone of Destiny gains the power to rule everything.”

  “Uh-huh,” Morgan said dully. “I seem to have heard that before.”

  “Well, what you haven’t heard is that the Stone is useless to the possessor unless it’s under the care of a young girl—a pure and blameless young maiden like Eithne. For some reason, she thinks I’m that girl!”

  “Funny, huh?” said Morgan. But no sooner had the words passed his lips than he heard the voice of Rev. Alcuin rising up unbidden at the back of his mind: “A maiden of perfect purity and perfect chastity … having renounced all things false.…” In that moment Morgan suddenly knew in his heart of hearts that faithful, honest Eny could very well be that maiden.

  “It’s not funny,” said Eny. “And it’s not the only thing I have to tell you. Maybe you don’t care about anybody but yourself. But if that’s the case, then you should know that, in my opinion, she’s after you as well.”

  “Me?” Again Morgan tried to laugh, but the result of his effort sounded more like an asthmatic wheeze. “What for?’

  “I’m not sure. I only know that, for some reason, she dragged the two of us into this thing together. She seems to think that you’re looking for the Stone of Destiny too, and that you know something about it. She said so the very first time we met her. Maybe you understand what she meant, but I don’t. My guess is that it has something to do with your dad and his books and your alchemy experiments.”

  Suddenly Morgan felt as if he were about to choke. “She was talking about the Philosophers’ Stone,” he spluttered. “You should know that, Eny. I’ve told you a hundred times!” He coughed and yanked himself free of her grasp. “Look, I’d love to continue this discussion, but I really have to go. There’s a lot to do at home. I’ll see you later.”

  With that he spun on his heel, walked out the front door, and jumped on his bike. As he pedaled down Vista Del Mar, it occurred to him that the sky was clear and the sea sparkling for the first time in days.

  On one point Morgan had been entirely truthful with Eny. He did have a lot to do at home. The last day of school was less than three weeks off, and there were tests to study for, reports to write, and homework to finish. If he didn’t buckle down, Moira would know, and Moira would tell his mother. It was crucial to make a good show of hitting the books. So when he arrived at the duplex, he ducked his head in at the Ariellos’ and told George that he wouldn’t be joining them for dinner. Then he boiled some water, whipped up a pan of instant macaroni and cheese, and got down to work.

  Once summer vacation comes, he told himself as he grappled with a particularly difficult algebra problem, I’ll start all over again. I’ll build my own athanor. I’ll follow Flamel’s recipe this time. Morrigu or not, Madame Medea’s no alchemist. How could I let myself be fooled by such a quack?

  After dark he put his homework aside and ran across the street to St. Halistan’s, intending to spend the rest of the evening searching his father’s books for answers to the questions crowding his brain. Who knows? he thought, reaching into his pocket for the little brass key—I might even sleep in the lab tonight. But when he opened the door at the base of the tower, a sound drifted out that stopped him dead in his tracks. The sound of fiddle music on the stairway.

  Eny and Simon. Again. Morgan groaned. Who died and made them owners of the tower stairs? Holding the door open just a crack, he stood hesitating on the threshold, peering into the dimness within, trembling somehow at the thought of facing her again. This is ridiculous, he thought, shaking himself and slipping quietly inside. She probably won’t notice me anyway. She’s got her music—and her new friend—to keep her busy.

  But she did notice. No sooner had he closed the door and stepped onto the mat than the music suddenly ceased. In the dusky, empty silence a single light shone above the stairs, faintly highlighting the reds and blues in the stained glass window and casting a crown of pale luminescence over the heads of the two musicians. They were sitting together, just two steps below the landing, their fiddles on their knees, their eyes fixed expectantly on his face. Morgan wished there were another way to get to his lab.

  “Well, now,” said Simon with a tip of his bow. “Mr. Morgan Izaak. I’m glad to see you. Very glad indeed. I told you once that I came here in need of your help, and I have a feeling that tonight is the nigh
t.”

  Morgan advanced a few paces into the shadows. “Help with what?” he asked. But before Simon could answer, a sharp jolt shook the tower, sending a small cascade of loose mortar, plaster, and gravel skittering down the stony face of the front wall.

  Someone whistled in the darkness. Footsteps echoed from the door leading to the sanctuary. Then a diagonal beam of light sliced the gloomy air and lingered over a large patch of broken masonry high up in the corner above the street entrance.

  “We aren’t taking this step a moment too soon,” said the voice of Rev. Alcuin. “Sorry as I am to have to say it.”

  Morgan looked over his shoulder and saw George, Moira, and the Reverend standing in a huddle about ten steps to his left. Rev. Alcuin was squinting up at the wall while George kept the light trained on the cracked stonework.

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” said George. “These tremors are a bad sign. We could get a really big one any time, and we don’t want that to happen when we’ve got people in here.”

  “No, no,” sighed Peter. “Of course not. I suppose it’s all for the best. Maybe the Lord Himself has sent Mr. Knowles to minister to our needs in this time of distress.”

  Moira clucked her tongue. “God’s ways aren’t that mysterious,” she said.

  Simon waved his bow at them from the top of the stairs. “A good evening to you, folks!” he called. “Now don’t you worry, George. I’ve given that window a good cleaning”—he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Jacob’s Ladder—“and finished the scrubbing and buffing in the main hallway, too. This is just a bit of a break we’re having. The little lady has agreed to scrape out a few tunes with me over my dinner hour. Then it’s straight back to work.”

  “I hope so,” said George, “because we’re really slammed with work. Cleaning out the tower is job number one for the rest of the week. We’ll have to start tonight if we’re going to finish in time. Everything goes, and that means everything. They’ve given us until Monday. Then the wreckers are moving in.”