The Eyes Of Kid Midas Page 2

  "The Divine Watch," he said, "is a mountain of mystery, a place with roots dating back thousands of years." Kirkpatrick turned to look at the dark peak, its shade of violet getting deeper and deeper. "It was sacred to the Native Americans. They called it 'The Eye of God.'"

  Now Kevin began to pay attention. When he squinted, he could make out Kirkpatrick's face across the fire. He was leaning into the center of the circle, drawing everyone into the story.

  "The Native Americans believed that the sun-god peered off the top of the mountain each morning to drive back the forces of darkness and clear a path for the coming day. They feared that if he slept through dawn and didn't fight back the darkness, the sun would never rise again, and the world would be thrown into chaos."

  ***

  Kevin reached into his pocket and pulled out a badly scratched eyeglass lens. He peered through it at the mountain. Its face was completely black now—an absolute ebony against a sky filling with stars.

  Kevin began to forget his swollen mouth and black eye as he listened to Mr. Kirkpatrick weave the ancient legend.

  "There's a prophecy," said Mr. Kirkpatrick, "that goes something like this."

  The flames began to leap higher as he spoke.

  In the balance of dark and day,

  The endless battle; the lasting peace,

  Our lives are born of the dying dream,

  In the balance of dark and day.

  "What does it mean?" someone asked.

  "It means," said Nicole Patterson, who always knew what everything meant, "that if morning never came, we would sleep forever and never wake up."

  "Something like that," said Mr. Kirkpatrick, raising his eyebrows.

  Bertram tossed a plastic fork into the fire.

  "Dumb Indians," said Bertram. "What do they know?" The plastic fork twisted to a slow, painful end in the flames.

  "I think they knew quite a lot, Bertram," said Mr. Kirkpatrick, "because that's not where the story ends." The last glow of twilight was gone from the sky now, and the fire played on Mr. Kirkpatrick's face. That and his crazy gum-shorn hair made him look like a shaman—an Indian medicine man.

  "There's another place," he said, "fifty miles to the west, called the Devil's Punch Bowl. It's a huge bowl a mile wide, carved into the stone like the crater of a meteor, and in the very center of the bowl is a tall spike of rock, hundreds of feet high. That spike is called the Devil's Chair."

  "So?" said Hal.

  "So," said Mr. Kirkpatrick, "about a hundred years ago, two astronomers discovered something incredible! They discovered that the shadow of the very tip of the Divine Watch rests on the Devil's Chair at dawn, twice a year!"

  "When?" asked Josh.

  "I know!" Kevin blurted out. "In the balance of dark and day.' That must be the spring and fall equinox—it's the only time when both the day and night are exactly twelve hours long!"

  Mr. Kirkpatrick gave a broad shaman's smile.

  Josh smiled back at him, calling his bluff. "How conveeeeenient," said Josh, "that tomorrow is September twenty-first—the fall equinox. C'mon, Mr. Kirkpatrick—the whole thing's a bunch of baloney, isn't it?"

  "Yeah," Bertram agreed, greatly relieved. "I knew it. I knew it all along."

  "Maybe," said Mr. Kirkpatrick. "And maybe not." With that, he got up from the circle and poured a bucket of water on the flames. "Pleasant dreams," he said as the steamy smoke rose to meet the heavens.

  ***

  The moon peeked its full, round face from behind the Divine Watch, casting a pitch-black shadow of the mountain across the forest.

  There were more stars in the sky than Kevin had ever seen before. Enough to make the sky seem impossibly deep, and the universe impossibly large. Kevin had done a comprehensive ten-page report on the universe last year. There were supernovas and giant quasars out there at the far reaches of existence. There were billions of stars in each galaxy, and there were more galaxies than people on the face of the earth. Just thinking about it could make a person realize how small and insignificant his own problems were.

  But not Kevin.

  "Are you coming in, or what?" asked Josh. He had already satisfied his interest in the majesty of nature and was now in the small tent they shared, reading a comic book. The tent was gradually filling with mosquitoes and moths that flew in holding patterns around Josh's flashlight. Kevin, who stood just outside the tent, had left the zipper on the mosquito net open.

  Kevin couldn't turn away from the mountain because he had the uncanny feeling that it was watching him. A soft wind rasped through the trees, and Kevin imagined if a mountain was a living thing—if it could breathe—this is what it would sound like.

  "Put a leash on that imagination," his mother's voice said in his head, "before it drags you across the lawn."

  Kevin broke his trance and stepped into the tent.

  "Listen to this," said Josh, flipping a page in his comic book. "The Steroid Avenger gets sucked into a black hole, travels back forty years in time, and accidentally kills his father."

  "Can't do it," said Kevin, "because then he'd never get born."

  "That's the thing," said Josh. "Now the only way he can get born is if he becomes his own father."

  "Gross!" said Kevin. "It means he has to marry his mother."

  Josh shrugged. "That's what you get for messing with time and space."

  Kevin zipped the mosquito netting closed. Considering the events of the day, Kevin idly wished he could be sucked into a black hole and end up in some other universe entirely. He slipped into his sleeping bag and stared up at the peak of the tent, wondering if the mountain could still see him through the thin blue vinyl.

  As Kevin lay there, an idea began to boil in his mind, until he had to open his mouth and let it overflow.

  "I'm gonna climb the mountain," said Kevin, not yet knowing how serious he really was.

  "In your dreams," said Josh, returning to his comic book.

  Kevin ought to have left it at that, but the thought nagged at him as much as the pain in his eye and mouth did. As much as the sounds in his head of kids laughing.

  "I'm climbing it tonight," said Kevin, "and I don't care if I get in trouble. I'll be the one there at dawn—and I'll stand at the top, waving down to everyone. I'll even give Bertram the finger."

  Josh turned his flashlight into Kevin's face, and Kevin squinted. "You're serious, aren't you?"

  "You can come if you want," said Kevin.

  Josh held the flashlight on Kevin's face a moment longer, and when Kevin didn't break out laughing, Josh turned off his light. The tent seemed much smaller in the dark, and their words seemed much more important.

  "You think Mr. Kirkpatrick's story was real?" whispered Josh.

  "I don't know. But there's only one way to find out; be there at dawn. In the balance of dark and day."

  Josh took forever to think it through.

  "Why do you want to do this?" he finally asked.

  Kevin shrugged. "Because it's there," he said. But that wasn't it. "Because no one thinks we'd have the guts to do it," he added. But that was only part of it. The rest was something far bigger. It had to do with the way the mountain stared at him—the way it just wouldn't leave him alone. Its dark face had gravity that was pulling Kevin toward it.

  "Because," said Kevin, "if there really is magic in this mountain, then I want to be the one to find it."

  ***

  Kevin and Josh waited, fully dressed, in their dark tent, listening to the voices of the other kids as they settled down for the night. Then they listened to the teachers, who sat around complaining about the principal the way the kids complained about their teachers. Finally there were no voices—only the chorus of crickets and the rustling of leaves.

  They began the trek sometime around midnight; the very excitement of the climb propelled them through the quarter mile of woods to the great stone face of the Divine Watch.

  "We'll have to walk around to the other side," said Kevin. "The eastern s
lope should be a cinch."

  "This is nuts." Josh sighed. "Someone oughta reach in through your ears and slap that shrimpoid brain of yours."

  The mountain breathed a chilling wind down the face of the cliff, and Josh looked up. Kevin could see concern building up in Josh's eyes. Josh wasn't the worrying type, but on the rare occasions, when he did find something worth worrying about, he would worry himself silly.

  "People die climbing mountains, Kevin," said Josh. "Bears bite their heads off, and vultures pick at their bones. I just thought you should know."

  "I'm not turning back."

  Josh zipped the last few teeth of his jacket zipper until he was as warm as he was going to get.

  "Are you scared, Kevin?"

  "I've never been so scared in my life," Kevin said with a smile. Kevin Midas never knew it could feel this great, being this scared.

  3

  THE BALANCE OF DARK AND DAY

  As anyone who has done it can tell you, most of the really important mountain-climbing lessons are learned the first time. Kevin's and Josh's first lessons were, in fact, five of the most important ones:

  1. Mountains are a heck of a lot larger than they look.

  2. Granite is just as hard as you think it is.

  3. Just because trees might be growing on a slope, that doesn't mean it ain't steep.

  4. Flashlights are useless unless you've got a whole lot of batteries.

  All of this added together equals the biggest, lesson of all:

  5. Never, ever climb a mountain at night.

  None of this, however, was going to stop Kevin and Josh.

  It took them over an hour to make their way around the face of the mountain and find a point where they could begin climbing. Another hour later, their flashlights could only create dull brown patches on the ground that wouldn't help an ant find its way.

  Halfway through the night, lit only by the bright moonlight, Kevin and Josh were beginning to stumble. Their legs were getting scratched and bruised through their jeans, and the soles of their Nikes were fraying and going bald faster than Mr. Kirkpatrick.

  And there was the ever-present sense that they were not alone on the mountain.

  With nothing but forest sounds and the monotonous padding of his own aching feet to occupy his mind, Kevin's vivid imagination began to conjure up all sorts of dark mountain terrors. Bigfoot to the left, mountain lions to the right, and up ahead the fluttering of bats. Vampire bats. Big ones that could swarm over you and suck you dry in seconds, the way piranhas could devour a horse. And vultures would pick at our bones, thought Kevin.

  Kevin knew Josh was thinking the same sorts of things, but he wasn't saying anything. As long as they didn't slow down and didn't talk about it, everything would be fine. The farther they got, the harder it was to turn back—especially with all those sounds echoing behind them.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the trees became fewer and farther between, until they finally gave way to prickly bushes and jagged rocks. The moon was a pumpkin on the horizon, and dawn gently hinted on the opposite side of the sky. It was sometime around five thirty when they finally dared to rest on a flat granite plateau.

  Kevin looked up at the mountain summit as he dumped sand and pebble from his ruined shoes. It still appeared far away.

  "I don't know who's dumber," said Josh, "you for coming up with this stupid idea, or me for coming with you!"

  Kevin leaned back against the cold rock, trying to catch his breath. "We're almost there," he said. Now dawn was wasting no time. Kevin could already see a blurry ribbon of red where the sun would eventually rise.

  "You know, I've been thinking," said Josh. "Maybe . . . maybe if something does happen up there at sunrise . . . maybe we're not supposed to see it."

  "I thought you didn't believe the story," said Kevin.

  "I don't," said Josh. "But still..."

  Kevin imagined some of the things that might happen. Their hair could turn white. They could be blinded for life. At almost six in the morning, after a sleepless night, Kevin could believe almost anything.

  "Naah," said Kevin. "Anyway, if we weren't supposed to be here, something would have stopped us by now."

  "Killed us, you mean," corrected Josh.

  That's when they heard it again—more clearly than before. The steady padding of feet, and a hint of heavy breath—like an animal—a huge animal on four feet. Kevin and Josh froze as they looked down the slope into darkness.

  Kevin smelled it before they saw anything—a sickly sweet smell, like rotting fruit. Kevin instantly knew the nature of the beast by its smell.

  "It's Bertram!" said Kevin.

  And thirty-some-odd yards down the mountain came a distant, surprised voice. "Who's that?"

  Kevin and Josh could see more clearly now—there were two of them. Hal and Bertram had dared to climb the mountain together, and now they stared at Kevin and Josh with jaws dropped halfway to their knees.

  Bertram clenched his fists and gritted his donkey teeth. "Midas," he screamed, "if you and Wilson get to the top before we do, you die!"

  That was all Kevin needed to hear.

  "Let's go! Move your butt!" Kevin nearly dragged Josh up the mountain with him. This was their climb, and Kevin would rather die than let Bertram and Hal muscle in on it.

  The top of the mountain, which had seemed so far away before, now looked close enough for Kevin to touch. It came to a sharp peak, like a witch's hat, but the very top was flat, and just big enough, perhaps, for someone to stand on it.

  That someone is going to be me! thought Kevin as he lifted his aching feet one after the other, getting higher and higher.

  There were no more bushes to grab on to, only sharp stone. "Dead meat!" yelled Bertram. "You guys are both dead meat!"

  Kevin didn't care. Chills ran down the length of his body, and his fingertips began to tingle. He had actually climbed a mountain! Suddenly Kevin no longer felt exhausted, no longer felt the fear of the climb. All that remained in him was a burning desire to touch the top of the Watch. He reached down to help Josh, and Josh helped push Kevin higher when there wasn't anything to grip. They were a perfect team, and now Josh was filled with the same determination Kevin felt. Kevin almost had to fight to stay in the lead.

  "If we do this, Kevin," said Josh, "we'll be legends. We'll be legends forever."

  Bertram and Hal were closing in, right on Josh's tail. Screaming at each other, blaming each other for not moving fast enough.

  The four boys found themselves clinging to the mountain at the steepest part of the climb, and for the first time Kevin could see how high and dangerous this climb was; one slip and he would crash down onto hard rocks hundreds of feet below. The fear only added to his excitement. Wouldn't his parents just roll over and die if they saw him now? He would have laughed—if he could catch his breath.

  The crimson horizon had bloomed into a bright blue streak of dawn, and the night raced away with a howling wind that tore at the boys as they scaled the last few feet of the Divine Watch. In moments the sun would peer over the horizon, marking the balance of dark and day. Bertram and Hal were in line right below Josh and had given up trying to get there first. Now they would settle for getting there, period. It was as if the rest of the world had vanished, and all that remained were four boys, and the brutally steep mountain.

  The wind chilled Kevin to the bone, buffeting his exhausted body. It blew into his face, making his eyes wet and cold. Above him, the clouds changed shape and danced by faster than any Kevin had ever seen before.

  He reached out his right hand, stretching it as far as he possibly could, and finally, after a whole night climbing, his fingertips touched the flat top of the Divine Watch. He reached up his left hand and pulled himself up so that he could gaze across the top.

  As Kevin's eyes cleared the top of the Watch, the first rays of sun shot from the horizon behind him, growing more powerful with each passing moment. They hit his back, warming his ice-cold neck. The bri
ght light cast the shadow of Kevin's curly blond head across the smooth tabletop surface of the Divine Watch. Yes—that's what it was like—a polished stone tabletop, smooth and round, no more than three feet across.

  Even with his fuzzy vision, Kevin could tell that the view was spectacular. The mountains before him gave way to rolling hills and then an expanse of desert, still cloaked in shadow. Beyond the desert was a blur that could have been anything to his nearsighted eyes.

  "What's it like, Kevin?" yelled Josh over the sound of the wind.

  "Do you see anything up there?" yelled Hal.

  Kevin looked at the smooth surface. There was something there! Something small and shiny; a ball of light grabbing the sun, changing its color and scattering it across the mountaintop, but the glare from the sun made it hard for Kevin to see what it was.

  "Well, what's happening up there, Midas?" yelled Bertram. "We ain't got all day!"

  Kevin squinted his eyes and pulled himself up another inch, until his head eclipsed the sun, and the object was trapped in his shadow. The object, which seemed so formless before, now had a definite shape that Kevin recognized immediately.

  "It's . . . it's a pair of glasses!" said Kevin.

  "Aw, you've got to be kidding!" cried Hal.

  "No, really!" It was a pair of sunglasses, dark, sleek, and smooth. Its lenses were a single visor-like blade suspended from a black-and-gold half frame. The dark, silvery lenses seemed to shimmer with colors, like the northern lights.

  Someone must have been here before, thought Kevin. Instead of carving their initials, they must have left the glasses to stake their claim.

  As Kevin stretched out his arm across the Divine Watch, toward the glasses, the wind screamed in his ears, and the reality he'd been fighting back all night suddenly took hold.

  What was he doing here? He could fall! He could die! What was he thinking? Panic screamed at him, like a thousand voices in the wind, demanding he leave this dangerous place now and get back to the campsite this very instant.