Chapter 2: Museum

"Hey, check out the beard on this guy! Evil-looking eye, too!" Nick said.

Martin looked at the statuette. The figure did have a funky beard, with regular bumps suggesting ringlets. One eye was missing; the other one was vivid red.

Nick went to the next exhibit with interesting glints of gold behind the glass. Mildly intrigued, Martin lingered, reading the label under the statuette.

Akkadian, 2350-2300 BCE, a king, possibly Sargon

Nephrite, Bixbite

The left eye is made of Bixbite, a mineral believed to exist only in the New World. How it appeared in Ancient Mesopotamia is a puzzle. The right eye was missing when the figurine was excavated in 1903.

Martin shrugged. He was getting tired of this trip, and his feet were hurting. The first few rooms were interesting, but there were only so many figurines, vases, and arrowheads he could look at before getting terminally bored.

The teacher in charge of their group, Dr. Samis, was somewhere ahead. Martin could see the doors to an enclosed courtyard. It was a hot May day outside, but the pool at the center of the patio was tempting. Martin went through the French doors towards the pool.

There was nobody in the courtyard. The pool looked dark green and almost opaque. Martin thought he could see a bright coin reflecting a glint of light. The coin was much larger than a quarter and Martin stood on the edge to get a closer look.

The low concrete ledge was unexpectedly slippery, and Martin's foot slipped towards the water. Trying to avoid falling, Martin windmilled his arms, but only succeeded in changing his body position. His legs went into the pool. The back of his head smacked hard against the ledge, and as sharp pain gave way to unconsciousness his body slipped entirely under the water.

It was the middle of a weekday and there were no people in the courtyard. His classmates wandered about the museum; there was nobody particularly keeping track on individual students. After all, what could happen to a sixteen-year-old boy in the middle of a city museum?

Martin's breathing reflexively stopped in the surprisingly cold water, and the diver's reflex tried to delay asphyxiation. However, the concussion kept him unconscious until his oxygen-starved brain started dying.

Nobody noticed that in the nearby room of Mesopotamian artifacts, a jeweled eye flared red for a few seconds. The glow subsided, and a second later the brilliant stone turned dull and then shattered. In days to come, the curator would wonder why a hard and rare jewel turned to dust under a thick glass cover.

As the red glow died away I was gripped by nausea and dizzy from lack of air. Was the smoke suffocating me? I tried to take a breath, but my throat was flooded by water. The red was rapidly being replaced by greenish black, and I felt myself losing consciousness. I struggled desperately to move away from the water, but my arms and legs barely moved. I hit my head on something and the pain joined the nausea. For a moment it seemed easier just to let the water finish killing me, but I did not want to let the Akkadians win. I scratched at the stone wall in front of me with fingers that felt frozen, and with enormous effort knelt upright.

My head broke the surface of the water and my eyes were assailed by brilliant sunlight. My throat was in agony, and so was my head. I remained kneeling for several minutes, trying to clear the water from my chest and throat. I coughed and threw up; each cough made my head ring with pain.

At length I was finally able to breathe shallowly, which reduced the pain both in my throat and in my head. I felt for the residual magic of the spell – it was crafted to help heal the new body. According to Master Hashemal, the disembodied spirit was supposed to heal the body first, then enter it. Something had gone wrong – my spirit had transferred before any healing could occur.

My thoughts seemed nearly as sluggish as my hands. Fortunately, the reserves of magic in the jewel were plentiful; if I had to rely on my own magic I would be dead soon. I directed the healing, first towards my head, and then towards my throat and chest. The pain in my head was lessening, but in its stead I felt a huge wave of memories nearly swamp me. Images of people, huge buildings, metal monsters rushing through the air were swirling, all mixed with early lessons in sorcery, accompanied by beatings by my masters. Akkadian soldiers in my head were displaced by strangely flat spectacles of other men, wearing strange uniforms and carrying weapons that spat smoke and fire.

With an almost physical effort, I pushed down the memories. I would have to return to them, but first I needed to get out of this pool. I could smell the stagnant but relatively clean water and the more acrid smell of my vomit. I carefully washed away the latter and heaved myself to my feet. A fleeting memory warned me of the slippery edge, and I carefully stepped over the stone barrier around the pool, and clambered up onto the cobblestones of the yard.