The Eye of the Stone

by Tom Birdseye

  “No!” The girl jerked free of Jackson’s grip, but in doing so she fell back, tripping over a bench. Spinning as she went down, she crashed against the plank table with a sharp cry. “Ow!”

  Jackson’s anger dissolved in a great rush of guilt. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?” He hadn’t meant to shout so loud. He hadn’t meant to grab her like that. “Really, I’m sorry. It’s just that …” Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. “It’s just that I … I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

  The girl clutched her side. Her voice trembled as she spoke, but there was steel in it. “What is happening is that you are the answer to our prayers. You can save everything, my life.”

  Jackson gawked. “Save your life? Me?”

  The girl took a deep breath and pushed her long hair back over her shoulders, then straightened herself. Her eyes glistened with intense emotion, and for the first time Jackson noticed, even in the dim light from the fire, how incredibly blue they were, like the sky on a clear autumn day. It was as if he could see through them into her soul. And he realized that despite her nose (which was kind of big) and her freckles (he’d never liked freckles), what he saw there struck him as … yes, beautiful. Not beautiful like Melissa Porter at Timber Grove Middle School, not like those fashion models he’d seen on magazine covers at the Stop and Go Market, but, in some way that he couldn’t put his finger on, beautiful just the same.

  And she was taking one of his hands in hers. “Help us,” she said, her voice now as soft and warm as her fingers. “Please.”

  “Uh—well,” Jackson stammered. Never in his life had a girl held his hand. Girls had always acted like he didn’t even exist.

  The girl stood and moved close to him, her autumn-sky eyes gazing deeply into his. “You have the Power,” she said, grazing his cheek with her fingertips. “I can feel it. Use it to help the people of the Vale and you’ll be a great hero.”

  “A hero?” For a moment the image of himself as someone important, someone famous, filled Jackson’s head. He could see it all: the cheering crowds, throngs of people singing his name, lines of fans begging for his autograph. He’d give anything for even just a day of that. Anything! Imagine the feeling. Just imagine. Wow!

  But then, as if turning a corner to find himself facing a mirror, Jackson almost laughed aloud at his own ridiculousness. This was just more unreal craziness. A hero he was not. Never had been, never would be. He was Jackson Cooper from Oregon, not the Otherworld or wherever she thought he was from. He shook his head.

  “Look,” he said, “I’d like to help—”

  “Wonderful!” The girl broke in, grinning with delight. “Dedron said not to give up hope! He knew!” And before Jackson could say another word, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him right on the mouth.

  5. Jackson Cooper—Jackson Cooper

  At the touch of the girl’s lips, Jackson felt as if a cage door had been flung open and he’d floated out and up into the air. The fear, the anger, the heaviness of only a moment before all vanished, replaced by a lightness so startling it made him dizzy.

  Could it be? Had it really happened? Had he actually been kissed? He’d spent hours dreaming that one day a girl might notice him, want to talk, really talk, something more than “Can I borrow a pencil?” or “What’s our math homework?” He’d imagined them eating together in the cafeteria, meeting at her locker between classes, going downtown for fries at the Dairy Queen after school, or just for a walk by the riv er, or maybe even to a movie on the weekend. But to really actually be kissed? No matter how hard he’d tried, he’d never been able to conjure up in his mind what it might feel like. It had seemed beyond dreaming, unreal.

  And yet now a lovely warm, tingly sensation lingered on his lips. He put his fingers to his mouth. It sure felt real.

  Jackson blinked at the implication. But if the sensation on his lips was real, then that meant he had really actually been kissed. And if he had really actually been kissed, then that meant this particular girl had really actually kissed him. And if this particular girl had really actually kissed him, then that meant this particular girl really actually existed. And if this particular girl really actually existed, then that meant …

  Jackson plopped down on the plank bench, his mind a whirlwind of wonder. He felt as if he were on a roller coaster, hurtling one moment through a dark tunnel, the next out into blinding light. At any second there could be another sudden drop or wild twisting turn.

  A part of his brain kept crying, “Red alert, bozo! No way! Absolutely impossible! You’ve gone crazy, loony, mental, flat-out bonkers!”

  But all the rest of him vibrated with a startling certainty: As unbelievable as it seemed, this particular girl really actually did exist. And if this particular girl really actually existed, then that meant her whole world, the Vale, really actually existed, too. And if the Vale really actually existed, then that meant … well, it had to mean that he was really actually there.

  Before in his life, a conclusion as wild and improbable as this would have filled Jackson with sheer panic. In a heartbeat he would have leaped to his feet and been running blind. Now, though, instead of fear, what he felt was a calm sense of clarity, an acute awareness, like nothing he’d ever experienced. And yet, at the same time, he was also filled with a surprising surge of elation, a sort of wild giddiness. He, Jackson Cooper, had been transported out of his own new-millennium world and plopped down in a very different other!

  “Cool!” he said, shaking his head in awe.

  The girl looked at him with a question in her eyes. “No, it’s warm today. Why do you say it’s cool?” She shrugged. “Whatever the weather, it doesn’t matter to me. You are what matters. You’re here, and it makes me feel like …” A dazzling smile spread across her face. “It makes me feel like dancing!” She grabbed his hands and playfully pulled him into the center of the room. “Would you dance with me?”

  Jackson shrank back. He didn’t know how to dance. What if he made a fool of himself, stepped on her toes, or fell down? Just the thought of such a humiliation knotted his stomach.

  But then the girl began to sing, her voice soft and serene, a lilting wordless melody so soothing that the tension in his stomach instantly melted away. His thoughts floated with the notes of her song as if he were in a dream where he imagined walking with her under a beautiful night sky. In his mind, the stars winked down at them from a domed ceiling of blackness so deep it seemed to vibrate. All around, torches were being lit, first one, and then another, creating a warm pool of light. Musicians sat to one side, holding wooden flutes and pipes of a kind Jackson had never seen.

  One of the flute players sounded a note as soft and serene as the girl’s voice. Another answered the call with a trio of rising tones. Higher pitches joined in, then the lumbering bass pipes beneath it all, until they all burst, clear and strong, into lively song.

  Suddenly couples materialized out of nowhere, all dressed in flowing clothes, spinning and twirling, moving side by side with the music like a school of fish in a familiar stream. And this time when the girl held out her hand, instead of being afraid, Jackson confidently took it. He pulled her to him and danced with her to the music like he’d once seen a handsome man dance with a beautiful woman in a romantic movie. Round and round the two of them whirled in the warm torchlight, the scent of the girl filling him as if he had inhaled spring.

  “You smell like flowers,” Jackson said, the words spilling out as quickly as he thought them. And the next thing he knew, the trance-like dream was broken and he was back in the girl’s house again within closed walls. She was looking up at him with her mouth hanging open.

  Jackson went beet-red with embarrassment. Smell like flowers? What a nitwit thing to say. “Uh … w-well—” he stammered, “what I meant was—” He stepped back. “I’ll bet you always smell—uh—no, not smell, but—” He was starting to panic. “Um, what I really meant was—uh, that you’re—you’re beautiful.”


  The girl’s eyes went watery, and Jackson thought he had really stuck his foot in his mouth. It was probably an insult in this place she called the Vale to compliment someone like that, no matter how true it might be.

  But then her face melted into that dazzling smile again. “Do you really think so? No one has ever said that to me before.”

  Now Jackson was as baffled as he had been nervous. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  The girl shook her head. “No. Neither Timmran nor Yakonan men say such things, but—oh, you are a gift!”

  Jackson grinned with both relief and delight. A gift. She’d called him a gift! Like he’d heard someone say, “God’s gift to women!” He puffed his chest out, reveling in the thought. Man, did it feel good to be talked to like that!

  The girl hurried past Jackson. “We must celebrate!” she exclaimed.

  “Huh?” Startled, Jackson jerked around. “Celebrate what?”

  “Arnica!” The girl strode to a small door Jackson hadn’t noticed in the back of the room and flung it open. “Arnica, come see!”

  A little girl with blond braids looked up from her work at a crude loom made of lashed branches. “He’s all right, then?” she asked, eyes as wide as her smile. “Oh, good.”And she was up and running from the little alcove into the main room, skidding to a stop only inches from Jackson’s feet. “My name is Arnica,” she said, bouncing up and down on her toes. “I am Tessa’s sister!”

  “Tessa?” Jackson shifted from one set of sparkling blue eyes to the other. So the first girl ever to kiss him was named Tessa.

  Tessa’s hand went to her mouth. “Oops, sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Tessandrica, like the wild flowers that grow in the spring. But everyone just calls me Tessa.”

  “That’s because she’s just wild, not a flower,” Arnica said with a giggle.

  Tessa scowled. “I am not wild.” She pushed Arnica, but there was playfulness in it.

  Arnica giggled even louder and pushed her sister back. “Yes, you are. Father and Yed say—”

  “Enough of me and my sister,” Tessa cut in. She turned back to Jackson. “What’s your name?”

  “My name?” It suddenly occurred to Jackson that in this new world he could be somebody different from what he’d always been—a new man, so to speak. Why not have a new name? He could make one up.…

  But as he looked from Tessa to Arnica and back to Tessa again, the impulse left him as quickly as it had come. No way was he going to lie to the first girl who’d ever kissed him, or to her little sister. He cleared his throat and said his real name with newfound pride.

  “Jackson Cooper.”

  Tessa pursed her lips and nodded. “Jackson Cooper.” Then she repeated his name. “Jackson Cooper. It has the sound of—”

  “Jackson Cooper–Jackson Cooper!” Arnica sang with glee, turning it into a little tune. “Jackson Cooper–Jackson Cooper, Jackson Cooper–Jackson Cooper!”

  Tessa glared. “Just Jackson Cooper, not Jackson Cooper–Jackson Cooper. You listen too little and talk too much.”

  Arnica’s smile dropped like a stone. “I’m sorry.” She turned to Jackson. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “It’s OK,” Jackson said, fighting back a chuckle. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind.”

  Arnica nodded but still looked upset. She stuck the end of her long braid in her mouth and began to suck on it like a baby would a thumb.

  Tessa let out a puff of aggravation. “How many times do I have to tell you not to eat your hair? If you’re hungry, get yourself some stew, as well as some for Jackson Cooper, whose name you like to say so much.”

  Arnica glanced over her shoulder toward the big door at the front of the room. “But Father and Yed aren’t here, and they always say that—”

  “Father and Yed say many things,” Tessa said, eyes narrowing for a moment. But then her face softened. “We have an important guest.” She looked at Jackson. “Very important. We eat whenever we choose.”

  “Oh!” Arnica tossed her braid over her shoulder and bounced up on her toes, delight back in her eyes. “What fun!”

  Tessa prodded her sister with her elbow. “It would be even more fun if you went and served some food. Hurry! We’ve got lots to do!”

  Arnica nodded. “Yes. Yes!” She ran to a big iron pot hanging from a tripod over the open hearth and lifted the lid. A wonderful earthy aroma wafted toward Jackson, and suddenly he realized that he was so hungry it felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Three helpings of savory venison stew later, Jackson pushed back from the table with a sigh of satisfaction. If anything proved that all of this was indeed real, the food did. No way could you imagine a flavor as delicious as that, or a full belly and the feeling of contentment that came with it.

  Sure, there were still a ton of things he didn’t understand about the Vale: where it was and when, how he got there and why. It seemed that the black stone he’d found in the cave in Cougar Butte had to have had something to do with it. After all, as soon as he’d picked it up, things had started to get weird.

  Jackson slipped his hand between the two top buttons of his shirt and cradled the smooth oval in his fingers. How it had gotten strung onto the gold chain his father had given him, he had no idea. Had he done that, or maybe Tessa, at some point he couldn’t recall? When he was feeling so woozy? Now it hung from the chain like a pendant. Which was nice, come to think of it. It made the stone easy to touch.

  With his fingertips he traced the drawing of the lion etched into the stone’s surface. Or was it a lion? The grooves felt somehow different than he remembered. He couldn’t really see the carving while he was wearing it. He tilted his head, trying to get a better look, but the chain was too short. Which seemed odd. Hadn’t it fit easily over his head when his dad had first put it on him?

  The thought of his father, then Becky, then his mom and home, surfaced in Jackson’s mind and began to nag at him. What in the world was he doing just sitting there acting like all of this was normal? He should be doing everything in his power to get himself back to Timber Grove.

  But just as quickly as the concerns surfaced, they faded away, and Jackson found himself shrugging. Everything was okay in Timber Grove. Somehow he just knew it. No need to worry. He was right where he was supposed to be, there in the Vale. He ran his fingers over the black stone one more time, then picked up his wooden spoon and scraped the last bit of the thick, rich stew sauce out of the corner of the bowl. Mmm, was it ever good! He could easily get used to that kind of cooking.

  Jackson smiled. Funny, but it seemed like he already was used to it, used to everything. What had started out as the most bizarre and confusing nightmare imaginable had somehow come to feel downright natural, as if he’d been there for months or years. Actually, when he thought about it, it seemed as if he’d known this place and these people—especially Tessa—his whole life. Everything felt so meant to be, so … well, it just felt so right.

  And no wonder! He’d never had such a big deal made over him. He’d been kissed, sung to, danced with, waited on hand and foot, fed like a hero, treated like a king! Who needed a TV or a telephone? If he could just have another cup of that good Ernt and Daru tea, life would be pretty close to perfect.

  He turned toward the hearth to ask for seconds, only to see a tall, muscular young man—maybe eighteen years old—standing in the doorway to the weaving alcove. In his powerful hands he held a bow with an arrow notched to the string.

  The arrow was pointed straight at Jackson.

  6. A Hole in Time

  Jackson’s heart went to his throat.

  “Don’t move,” the bowman said, his deep voice as steady as the arrow aimed at Jackson’s heart.

  Jackson didn’t even breathe. His eyes were riveted to the sharp tip of the arrowhead, which gleamed black and shiny in the firelight.

  Arnica, however, spun around from where she sat by the hearth and leaped to her feet, a big grin on her face. “Yed! I didn’t hear you
come in.” She started to run to him, but he barked, “Stop!” and she halted as if hit. Face stricken, she quickly bowed. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  Eyes and arrow still trained on Jackson, Yed let out a slow sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you, little sister? Father is now Radnor, Chieftain of Timmra. And I am heir to the Chieftain’s Chair. You have to show him, and me, the respect that comes with our positions.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s Tessa?”

  Jackson glanced around, too. Yes, where was Tessa? She’d been there only minutes before. He peered into the weaving alcove. It was empty. There must be a back door he didn’t know about. She’d slipped out when he was busy eating. But why hadn’t she told him she was leaving and when she’d be back? He wanted her there, really wanted her there, right then.

  “Oh, Tessa,” Arnica said. “She’s gone to—” But then she stopped short and shook her head.

  “Gone where?” Yed demanded.

  Anxiety flickered across Arnica’s face. She looked down and began to fidget with her braid, twisting it around her index finger. “Um … gone to tell—to do as Fa—uh, Radnor—ordered. To … uh, get deer antler from Gibron so that she can make more combs for the Market of Vale.”

  Yed studied his little sister for a long moment as she untwisted her braid, then twisted it back again.

  “We won’t be trading combs or anything with the Yakonan anymore,” he finally said, his face grim. “The voice of Zallis came to Radnor again, right after the earth shook. It told him that the Yakonan are to blame for the troubles.” He eyed Jackson for a moment. “There’s to be no contact with them at all. It’s now law, Radnor’s Decree. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Yed,” Arnica said meekly, and bowed again.

  “And you’re not to say ‘the Vale’ or ‘the Market of Vale’ anymore, either. It’s Timmra, so we say ‘the Market of Timmra.’ That’s the law, also. Is that clear?”

  Arnica bowed yet again. “Yes, Yed.”

  Yed nodded, his blond curls bobbing over his eyebrows. “Good. We’ll need to make sure Tessa understands, too, and follows them.” Again he eyed Jackson, then lowered his bow and took the black-tipped arrow from the string. Slipping the arrow into a leather quiver, he leaned both against the wall near the hearth.