The Forbidden

"We wait," Shabazz replied, finding the shade of a tree to shield him.



"Great, Confucius. But shouldn't we be going after our new Guardian brother?" Rider leaned forward with his forearms on his knees.



Shabazz shut his eyes. "We don't know where he is, man."



"Like that's ever stopped us before." Rider issued Shabazz a sideways glance when he didn't respond. "The man vanishes into thin air like a puff of mist with three old wise men like in some biblical passage, and-"



"It wasn't vampires, dude, so chill," Big Mike said, finding a spot near Shabazz to doze. "We wait. If we move out on a rescue and recovery, and he comes back here, we'll pass him."



"Especially if he is in a time-space differential," Monk Lin said quietly as he sat.



Everyone turned and looked at the aging monk.



"Time is an illusion, space is also that," the monk said in a matter-of-fact tone as though he were describing a blade of grass.



"I cannot wrap my head around that right now," Rider admitted, flopping back on the sand. "All I know is we are in a foreign land, got no water that we're particularly ready to drink without boiling it first and dropping in some purification tablets-which you may have noticed, got incinerated on the plane-cholera and yellow fever shots, notwithstanding, along with food, supplies, we got no papers-"



"We've got papers," Dan said, hosting his backpack off and letting it hit the ground with a wobbly thud. "I was scared so shitless, I never took it off."



Rider and Big Mike chuckled.



"Way to go, newbie," Rider said, offering his fist for Dan to pound.



Shabazz glanced at Marlene. "Sis got her black bag and fighting stick, too. Ma don't travel without it, even through a damned crash." He winked at Marlene as she stretched out on the sand. "But girlfriend's Juju is strong, so if they had gone up in flames, whatever."



"All right, cool," Rider fussed good-naturedly. "So, I stand corrected. We've got papers. But has anyone given any thought to the fact that maybe, in a very short while, this area could be flooded by Ethiopian police that will have questions we cannot answer? They might take us in for questioning, putting us miles away from where we're supposed to be. Then what? And, does anybody know if there are lions or anything around here that we should be concerned about, given we don't have a weapon between us? Holy-water bombs ain't gonna fend off a hungry-"



"Jacob Rider," Father Patrick finally scolded. "After the miracles you have just seen, why do youpersist in being negative?"



"It's his way," Jose said, chuckling. "You knowhombre has to always play devil's advocate and dream up the worst possible scenario. But once he's gone through his battery, he's cool."



"Sort of like my computers," J.L. said, nudging Rider in the side as he plopped down next to him. "The old dude has to run self-check diagnostics before he completely boots up, then he's cool."



"At least someone understands me," Rider said, becoming testy. "I'm not being negative, I'm just being real."



"Words and thoughts have power," Imam Asula said quietly. "Let us focus upon our goal to be reunited with both Damali and Carlos, for now, if we can."



"Let us also not forget to continue our prayers," Father Lopez said, glancing at the others. "It has been our most effective weapon thus far."



"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you," Rider said, slinging his forearm over his eyes.



Damali sat beside Telek, quietly watching the landscape as it passed them in slow-moving still frames of beauty. The open-air Jeep allowed the wind to brush her face, and the dust from the road reminded her that she was alive under an azure, cloudless sky. She'd been told much, but it was all a riddle. Some of it made sense, some of it didn't, but she knew enlightenment was something that would come in time.



She fastened her attention to the small shanty homes that they passed on the hillsides, marveling at the people working, women walking with baskets upon their heads and children strapped to their backs in bright-colored cloths within the rural community. It was as if time had actually stood still, or bypassed this part of the world. People still farmed with hand instruments, but seemed also to possess a profound sense of peace, even in a land devastated by war.



And what was time, really, she wondered. It now seemed to be a manufactured illusion of western culture designed to manipulate people into becoming worker bees trapped within tiny cells that could not appreciate the expanse of time's greatness, rather than something tangible and real. The seasons had her own time, Telek's grandfather had said... rainy season, the dry season, a time to plant, a time to harvest, time with family-invaluable. Time to love, endless. Birth, death, renewal; it was all a circle not judged by time, simply coordinated by it. The beginning of time lived here, as did probably the end of it.



Then, again, what was the end of time, if one considered the infinity of the other realms beyond earth?



Damali clutched the two stones she'd acquired in her palms. In her left hand she held the first one she'd seen on the ground. It was a tiny white stone, worn smooth. Perhaps it was limestone, or something more solid, but it felt like it had once been a part of the great rock formations that had serviced the building of temples, churches, and the monumental obelisks she'd seen. In her right hand she fondled the small quartzlike stone that the sparrow had dropped. What did each mean? What was each for? There were five more days until November 5, and each day a stone would come to her of its own accord, the old man had said, until she possessed seven in all.



The sky, although brightly fired by the sun, offered a warm blanket of sunshine while the breeze gave a mild, balmy fusion to its covering. Balance jumped into her mind as they silently progressed down the bumpy, unpaved road.



Seven rings above mirrored the seven levels below. It was all so well orchestrated, how could one not believe? she mused.



Below, on level one, confused and anxious spirits resided. On the outer ring above, helpful spirits and ancestors with clear purpose and love rested. On level two below, angry, fierce poltergeists screamed and howled and frightened; on ring two above, the ancestors became more focused, gained wisdom and knowledge, and assisted the living in more profound ways. On level three below, jealousy and envy lived in a slithering, vengeful, serpentine world... Carlos had told her that.



Yet, on the third ring of grace, collaboration took place in the arts, sciences, and all manner of creative inspiration that uplifted humankind through beauty, not twisted ugliness. On level five below, raw, primal, murderous aggression lived in the were-demon realms, but above within the fifth ring, the Akashic wisdom and knowledge protectors resided in a place that garnered temperance created from integrated understanding.



Tears made her sniff as she became overwhelmed at the depth of truth within it all. The vampires she'd hunted from the dreaded level six were the shrewdest of all, hardest to kill, fiercest combatants because they possessed all the attributes of the levels of Darkness. It was only fitting that their cosmic match would be warrior angels-huge, strong, bulked entities with glowing silver eyes, those powerful enough to withstand the furnace blasts unafraid, with the ability to manifest, carry messages, and draw a blade, if necessary, to defend a righteous cause. Oddly, both protected their territories with vigilance. The concept gave her pause until she remembered,as above, so below .



It all made so much sense.



"And you were saying I had no reason to worry," Rider muttered, standing slowly with the others, his hands raised above his head as Ethiopian police trudged toward them with guns readied.



The officers motioned with their guns and shouted commands that the teams could not understand.



Father Patrick and Father Lopez slowly pointed to their dirty clerical collars and the crosses they wore, producing instant understanding. Guns were lowered, and the head of the militia stepped forward.



"Foreigners are not allowed to roam freely in the North Country," the officer said, agitated. "A plane went down nearby due to terrorists, and we are still experiencing rebel skirmishes. It is dangerous in the region for unescorted missionaries." He shook his head and stepped forward. "You have papers?"



Dan nodded and motioned toward his bag. "Yes, sir. But two of our members were on board the plane that went down," he added, covering quickly as the officer snatched up his backpack. "That's the only reason we're here."



Rider and the others gave Dan an approving glance.



"You should have gone to us-the authorities. Where are you headed?"



All eyes were on Dan and the officer as his fellow officers cocked their machine guns skyward.



"Uh, Sudan?" Dan said, unsure, glancing at his teammates.



Marlene nodded, but didn't speak, knowing a woman's voice was not going to inspire positive action. Shabazz stepped forward slowly with his hands still clasped to the top of his head.



"If you check the papers, we lost a man and a woman in the crash... and we wanted to search for them before we crossed the border."



"Not possible," the officer snapped at Shabazz and began rummaging in Dan's sack. "Travel to Sudan is very dangerous on the roads. There are war zones, you are aware? Also armed bandits along the way, driven by starvation." He clicked his tongue with open annoyance. "Foolish Americans. Look around. Do you not watch the news? Ethiopia, Eritrea, Egypt, and the Red Sea are Sudan's borders, as is Libya, Chad, Zaire, Uganda, Kenya-fighting everywhere, armed militias beyond all major cities." He waved his arms about. "Especially along our border and Eritrea and Sudan's frontier-so we would be irresponsible to just point you to a road and say, 'Go!' No!"



"Thanks for the heads up, brother," Big Mike said, his low, confident voice soothing the agitated official. "Then, can you give us a best way to get back to a safe zone?"



"We will take you to the airport in Addis Ababa, from there you can fly to Khartoum and check back daily to see if your family's remains have been recovered. I will give you a number; however, we cannot have civilians interfering with police matters or creating a possible embassy issue-since you are Americans."



But as the officer continued his inspection of Dan's backpack, glaring at each team member to accurately match a face with a photo, when he took out Damali's passport, his gaze softened as he stared at her picture. "This was the star from the music," he said, awe covering his face and coating his tone as he rushed toward his men. "Look, look, a very important person has been lost over our land. This is tragic!"



"May Allah be with her," Imam Asula said, through the din of African voices.



The officer looked up at Imam Asula. "I am sorry for your loss, brother. I am Muslim, too, and we revere our fallen." He motioned toward his fellow officers. "Some are Christian with us, as well. We will say prayers, but it is doubtful your people have made it, given the severity of the crash." He sighed and put the safety back on his weapon, tossing Dan his backpack. He stared at Marlene. "The woman who has tears-this was your daughter?"



Marlene simply nodded and looked down.



"See the waters coming together in your mind," the old teacher said as he instructed Carlos before the rushing grandeur of the Blue Nile Falls. "Use the might of Tis Isat and close the cloak about you as though a coat over your shoulders. Imagine yourself somewhere high and safe, using the energy of a river so mighty that it flows from south to north."



Carlos gazed across the four-hundred-meter expanse of rushing water that dropped into an impressive fifty-meter chasm below. His teacher smiled and nodded. Carlos did the math-four plus five, the number nine, like his birthday came out to. The old boys wasn't no joke when it came to breaking the universe down into mathematics. He summoned courage while looking at the continuous spray of rainbow-hued water that created a mist that hovered above it like a ghost to render its name, Tis Isat, the elders had said-smoke of fire.



Still unsure, he tried to take comfort in the comparison as he readied himself for the first real challenge they'd levied. Indeed he'd been through the fire, now it was time to try illusion in the colored bands of sunlight and rise like smoke above what had once burned him. If water could cast the illusion of being a smoking fire, then he could break through the illusion of time and space and go to where the Blue and White Nile met. Yeah right. God was deep; he was just a spec of dust in comparison. Even to his own mind their logic seemed flawed, especially while watching an extreme force of nature thunder around him.



"Are you sure he should go unescorted... so far?" one of the younger teachers asked, glancing around the small gathering of men.



"We have conferred, yet have not taught him all that we must. He should, perhaps, stay with us for the three cycles of seven," the third teacher offered with uncertainty.



The eldest shook his head. "No. I have had a vision of him at the nexus of the rivers,alone . What he must learn to gain in his arsenal cannot be taught or given, but experienced, then he will own the knowing of it." He sighed. "It is the ancient site of Nubia, the genesis location of our male Neterus-from the water, he will merge his disconnected halves, and then go to the desert, six hours, to see the Al-Ahram, the ancient royal city with great pyramids of Meroe. Learn this history, the peoples of Kush, and of the independent Christian kingdoms. That land, Sudan, was also invaded by tiny countries, conquered because they fought within themselves and could not stand united against invaders... British, French, that spawned wars with Muslims in the name of Christ that created bloodshed and famines and genocides in the millions up to present days-but the connection to Addis Ababa was briefly forged that stopped civil war for a time."



The elder teacher opened both palms and then clasped them, symbolically bringing them into a single fist. "This Neteru must bring together many sides. Indigenous plus Christian and Muslim, Nubian and European-all as one. It starts with quenching your thirst for knowledge at the joining of the two Niles, and then you must forge the desert to seek more knowledge."



"What if I wind up drowning?" Carlos said, growing wary. "My landings haven't been exactly on-point so far... maybe I need to practice a few more times?"



"If you drown, you drown. So be it," the eldest said with a wide smile. "There are no accidents within the universe."



Carlos found himself sprawled out on a beach. He jumped up before he even looked around. This wasnot what the old men had told him about. This place didn't lookanything like where he was supposed to be. He froze, and then glanced around slowly, trying not to panic as he recognized where he was.



L.A., Venice Beach. He almost wept from frustration.



"Aw, shit!" He snatched off his crocheted skullcap and threw in to the sand and then clutched his hair. How in the world was he gonna find Damali, the team, or ever sync up with her? His maiden flight in the Light, botched!



He willed himself to take deep breaths and focus. He blotted out the people that were out for a sunny afternoon stroll. Basketball-hoop games thudded in his ears. Laughter, waves, volleyball, all of it made him insane. Dogs ran with joggers; he could hear inline skaters up on the street level. Old men talking trash and playing chess. If the world would just stop spinning for a moment, he'd get off the crazy ride and get back to where he was supposed to be!



"Luck be a lady tonight!" an old man hollered, laughing and standing as he moved a chess piece.



Carlos sighed, picked up his skullcap from the sand, and hit it against his leg before shoving it in his pocket. Beaten, he trudged through the sand. Judging from the sun, it was late afternoon. Maybe his boy, Yonnie, would be around-or most likely they'd both get slaughtered.



"But my queen is going to kick your natural, black ass!" the other contender shouted as he laughed. "Take that, you old Mo Fo. How you like me now? Ain't she purty?"



Carlos had to laugh as he passed the game. It so reminded him of home. Reminded him of his dad and uncles playing cards, before things at home got bad. Maybe that's how he'd messed up and landed on the beach, being so homesick in his heart that no matter what the Neteru teachers had said, he'd ended up here.



Another sigh pushed past his lips as he stopped and watched the game. If he was gonna die, and there were no teachers around, what else was there to do without a cent in his pocket? He had a bank account and number, but no ID on him-so how was he gonna get cash? Right now, he couldn't even bury his mother or grandmother if he wanted to and wasn't sure if he could go to the morgue to even see what the chairman had done. Besides, in what was likely to be his final hours, just listening to these old codgers talk smack gave him some semblance that part of the world was still normal, even if his wasn't. He sure wasn't gonna test his wings again, and possibly end up in Siberia, or some shit.



"See, my brother," the first man teased as a small crowd formed. "You've gotta take risks, is what I'ma show you when I whup your ass."



"You ain't whupping my ass without a fight," the other said, moving a piece and squinting his eyes. "You know me, don't ya? I'm a cat and got nine lives. But like I tol' ya, I can smoke you in seven moves."



Carlos moved in closer to the board, listening harder.



"Aw, hell naw. You ain't gonna do me like that," the first player said. "I got something for ya that you ain't seen befo'. Trust me, gots aces up my sleeve I ain't even used."



Carlos remained very still as the first man picked up his queen and studied her with a smile.



"When I put her down, here, right next to your king, I believe they call it checkmate."



The crowd clapped and passed high-fives and exchanged fist pounds before it slowly disbanded.



"Rematch," the second player demanded. "That wasn't fair!"



"I didn't cheat, just used what I had. You the one with a blind spot that can't see opportunities right before your eyes-so don't be casting no aspersions on me, brother. Besides, what about life is fair any ole way?" The first player looked up at Carlos and winked. "My buddy is a sore loser. Can't stand it when he gets his ass kicked in public." He leaned back as the other player got up from the table and skulked away. "You look like a gamblin' man, young fella... or don't you have time for an old man to show you a trick or two? You play the boards?"



Carlos sat down slowly. "Been known to in the past."



The old man leaned forward. "We ain't talking 'bout the past. If you stay there, I'll kick your young ass for sure."



Carlos chuckled. "Set 'em up."



The old man gathered several pieces and held out his hands. "You better on black or white?"



Carlos's smile broadened. "I used to be better on black... but, I think I'll try white."



"Wise move," the player said, nodding and chuckling. "So, the young buck thinks he's got skills... hmmmm." He blew out his breath and rubbed his hands together.



"Got a few," Carlos said, pushing a pawn forward.



"No. A man needs many," the elderly player said, summarily taking Carlos's pawn.



"Aw'ight," Carlos said, studying the old man more than the chessboard. "Then stop talking yang and school me. Show me whatchu got."



The old man smiled and laughed, then pushed a pawn forward.



This time, Carlos didn't rush his move but sat back.



"You're running out of time," the player said, setting a tiny hourglass on the side of the board. "Any day now, works for me. Unless you're scared?"



Carlos met his eyes. "No, I'm not," he said, moving a piece without looking at the board.



"Good, because I was getting worried." The old man took his knight and shook his head. "Still am, sorta kinda."



"Don't be," Carlos said, and took his bishop.



The old man laughed and scratched his head. "Okay," he said, nodding in appreciation. "So, it's like that?"



"Yeah it is," Carlos said, reaching for the hourglass and flipping it over. "Like you said. Any day."



In a bold move, the old man pushed his black queen forward and waited. "Tempting, ain't she?"



Carlos nodded and the smile left his face. "Thoroughly, but booby trapped."



"Right," the elderly player said, "and I'ma show you how." He moved a knight three hops and then a castle along a short line. "Come for her like that, and I've got your king."



"Game over," Carlos murmured.



"Soooo... maybe you don't go for her like that in a straight line. Pace yourself, but keep moving."



The two men stared at each other.



"The queen you need to protect can protect herself, these days. You need to worry about your king. See all the pieces she has around her?"



Carlos's gaze sought the ocean. "She doesn't need me," he said quietly.



"We talkin' 'bout chess, or a woman?" The old man made a tent in front of his mouth with his fingers.



Carlos stared at his chess partner's ruddy brown face that sprouted hard white whiskers and assessed his raggedy plaid shirt and tattered, blue uniform pants. His semibald scalp gleamed in the sun. Wisdom was coming at him so hard and so fast from so many directions it made his head spin. "Maybe both," Carlos finally said.



"Women are confusing," the old man said with a sly chuckle. "That's why you can't focus. But looky here," he added, removing Carlos's king from the board. "Take out the king, and she's wide open." He did several knock-down moves. "With the king out of position, I could come for the rook, the other knight, the remaining bishop, and march all the way through your fortified defenses to take her down hard." He quickly reset the board. "Do it the other way, and look what happens to the king. Gone in two moves. They both need each other behind the lines."



"Interesting." Carlos rubbed his chin.



"Ain't it just."



"But the king can't move as fast as she can, ya know? Like, he can only go in these little moves, whereas, she can go lateral, vertical, horizontal, and take out everything in her path." He stared at the ocean. "He used to be able to do that, too, but..."



"Different skills. One holds the line; the other does the quick, surgical strikes with motion. A queen has to move fast, cut deep, and be out. The king-"



"Has to hold the shield."



His newfound mentor nodded, his snaggle-toothed grin catching sun rays. "But, uh, I thought you was in a hurry? Ain't you supposed to be somewhere?"



"Yeah," Carlos said, standing. "Thanks for the chess lesson."



"Any time," the old player said brightly. "They didn't tell you 'bout the fourteenth piece you're missing, did they, or you wouldn't be looking so glum."



Carlos sat down again, this time very slowly.



"I didn't think so. They's monks. What do they know?"



The elderly man reached into his pants pocket and then held out his hand, producing a pocketknife for Carlos to inspect. "Lotsa things seem to be one thing, then be somethin' else. But if you looking for her, then, hey, ya needs to be strapped."



Carlos sighed wearily and declined the knife with a glance.



Seeming both amused and perturbed, the old man flipped open the short blade and stared at it. "Impatience is the curse of youth." he said, turning the dull blade to the sun. "But in the right hand, one with a mark of greatness, even this small thing might be of use." He offered it to Carlos again with a sly smile and waited until Carlos finally took it from his outstretched palm.



The moment Carlos held it, the pocketknife extended into a foot-long, golden-handled claw with a three-inch diameter.



"Jesus," Carlos said, turning the clawed weapon from side to side.



"The claw of Heru, to be mo' accurate," the elderly chess player said with a wink. "Put the other hand on the bottom and pull." He sat back and waited until Carlos followed his instructions, and he laughed deeply as Carlos's left hand extended the handle until it disconnected, leaving a thick gold chain between both halves. "Claw on one side, chain in the middle that cannot be broken, and a handle on the other side. I take it you know how to use nunchucks?"



Carlos stared at the weapon, and began to swing the dangling end in a slow circle.



The old man sighed. "You'll need practice. Guess she gonna hafta show you that, too. But, when you need it, you can kick some serious booty if ya swing that sucker right, catch a throat with the chain, bust a skull open with the end, and match fangs for fangs, claws for claws with the sharp end. Like I said, though, ya needs technique and training, but that ain't my department. Alls I know is, put the end back in and put it away until you need it-like ya needs to put your Johnson away until ya need it." He laughed hard and shook his head. "Airport security won't see it, as it comes from a very special place. Just leave it in your pants, got that?"



Carlos couldn't take his eyes off the weapon as he snapped the handle back on and it again became a small, ordinary-looking pocketknife. He put it into his pocket like the old man had told him and stared at the strange individual before him. "Thanks," he said, meaning it with his whole heart. "But I have to find her and need to know about this fourteenth gift. I need to know as much as I can to be able to do what I have to do."



Carlos leaned forward, but the old man held up his hand. "Ain't my place. That's fer her to show you."



"I'm trying to find her now," Carlos said quietly. "Please, man, for real. My head is all jacked up, a lot has gone down, so if you know-"



"See, now, I ain't ask you all of that. That's your personal business. All you had to do was say, 'I'm lost, tryin' to get back on the right path,' then my job is simply to offer directions."



Carlos closed his eyes. "Sir, I'm lost and trying to get back on the right path, honest to God, I am."



"From this point, I can go no farther," Telek said, stopping the Jeep by the side of the road. "There is war along the borders."



For a moment, she just stared at him. "Then we came all this way to turn around? Why?"



"No, we came all this way for you to go to the two Niles."



Damali glanced around. "Okaaaay. But if there's war and you can't drive me... a chopper or-"



Telek shook his head no. "Many problems with crossing borders in unauthorized aircrafts, not wise. Not possible. So, I leave you here."



"What!"



He leaned across Damali's lap and unlatched the door with a smile.



"No way! Out here? By myself? Brother, you know that ain't right, after all the good Samaritan stuff we talked... I told you thank you, right? I haven't offended you, have I? We're still cool, right? Oh, Lawd, man, don't just make a sister walk through a war zone!"



"I'm not going to make you walk," Telek said, gathering her tight fists within his palms.



Damali slumped back into her seat with sudden relief. "Bless you. For real."



He gently opened her palms and his gaze at them made her stare at the stones.



"In your left hand, granite from the ancient obelisks, covered by hallowed ground from the holy shrine of St. Mary of Zion-for spiritual strength. Quartz crystal on the right, for vision and healing... clarity of direction. Your feet, this path, washed clean of the past by Queen Sheba's pool." Telek's voice became soft. "It is time to fly, little bird. Take one stone in each hand and make the arc of Light around you to become the sparrow."



Again, she stared at him, mouth agape. Oh, no, he was not going to go cosmic on her, out here, without real practice, and send her flying through a war zone with rocket-propelled grenades, freakin' land mines, and whatnot. Ohhell no. Damali withdrew her arms and folded them over her chest. He couldnot be serious.



When Carlos opened his eyes, he landed with a thud and stood quickly, his heart pounding so hard that he could barely breathe. He immediately felt the temperature shift from fairly cool to hot and dry as he glanced around the bustling modern city that owned tree-lined streets. It took a few moments to get his bearings and sort out the traffic noise from the roaring falls that still echoed in his head.



Yet he was practically giddy when he realized where he was standing-the White Nile Bridge.He did it ! The old chess player did it. Somebody did it, but it was all good.



New confidence filled him as he walked along the pedestrian and bikers' path gazing at the water. Just like the old days... well, almost. But the fact was he'd concentrated on a location, folded Light in on itself, and had actually walked through space and time without a passport, even if his first attempt was a little ragged.



Savoring the moment, he leaned on the metal guardrail and stared out at a body of water that had once ferried pharaohs. Excitement made the hairs on his arms stand up with electric charge. He had no idea the guys from the Light could pull off a stunt like this. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he self-corrected it. "No stunt, my bad. But this was awesome," he murmured to no one in particular, but to anyone that might be in spiritual earshot.



A small bird shot past him with stones in its beak, and he laughed. Everybody was always in a rush, he mused, delighting in just being alive. Just like the chess player had given him something serious to ponder, there was something that he was supposed to get or learn where both rivers met, so he looked out at the massive body of water, concentrating on their nexus as hard as he possibly could. Nothing came to him but his own inner voice, which was beginning to wrestle with worry again.



A biker whizzed by and his voice floated behind.Shari el-Nil . Carlos stared after the man who was long gone. He repeated the words. Was it a message, or just a greeting in the land's mother tongue? Carlos sighed, knowing there was only one way to find out.



Carlos walked a bit, sidling up to nonthreatening-looking pedestrian with the intention to try out the new words. The man seemed regular enough, like he could be somebody's pop. But with all the bizarre things that had happened, one couldn't be so sure.



The man sported a pair of worn leather sandals, a green plaid shirt, rough-hewn tan cotton pants, and a small burgundy crocheted cap atop his partially balding head. He had an easy gait that suggested he was in no particular hurry to go wherever he was headed. If the unintelligible phrase was a curse word shot by an overly aggressive biker, then Carlos figured he could apologize in English and plead tourist ignorance. However, if it was a greeting, and the locals were friendly, then the reply would give him two new words in his arsenal within this strange land.



Carlos reached into his pocket and quickly put on his crocheted cap. No need in being culturally incorrect to create a barrier.



"Shari el-Nil," Carlos said as pleasantly as possible to the older man once they were side by side.



The man smiled and began speaking a mile a minute in sentences Carlos could never begin to sort out. But the fact that the man was smiling helped a lot. Obviously it wasn't a bad word.



"Wait, wait," Carlos said, laughing. "I only know Shari el-Nil."



"Oh," the man said, shaking his head. "Foreigner. I see. You look for the neem trees to stroll the Blue Nile Corniche? This is what Shari el-Nil is-a place, like a park-or what you call a parkway, maybe."



Carlos smiled. "Yeah... uh... I guess so."



The man tilted his head, seeming amused. "A friend recommended this, yes?"



"Well, not exactly. I heard it and was trying to pick up the language."



The man laughed and stopped walking. "There are more than one hundred languages here. Not easy to pick up. But Arabic is official, but many know English, too, and French."



"Cool. Thanks."



The older gentleman's expression remained pleasant and curious, as though he wasn't ready to end the early morning discussion. "You are new here, so just say,salam aleikum to greet others, or if they say it to you, you answer,wa aleikum as-salam ."



Carlos slapped his forehead and laughed, making the man beside him also laugh harder. "Right! How could I forget something as basic as that-as many brothers from 'round the way say it all the time. Standard!"



"You are also Muslim?" the man asked, his eyes becoming more excited. "You know to tell them in the mosque,ma-atkallam arabi -that you do not speak Arabic, and they will still embrace you as Allah's. No problem."



"No, I... I'm not-"



"You go to the neem trees and think about what you already know and can remember," he said, beginning to walk away, still grinning. "You seem like a man of many languages."



Now he had Carlos's full attention.



"Yo," Carlos said, quickening his pace to catch up with the now spry old man. "Hold up, sir. Please. Why would you say that?"



"You pick up languages so well, like you wanted to go to Shari el-Nil and you listened to the sounds and said it like you were from here." The man cocked his head to the side as confusion wrinkled his brow. "At first glance, I truly couldn't tell you were not from here until I went beyond your vocabulary. Did anyone ever tell you that was a gift?"



"No," Carlos said, truly intrigued. "I'd never thought of it that way."



The older man began walking. "If you follow me, I have to go past there. You should sit, listen to the birds, and think. Maybe there are other things you can do with your life, young man."



Carlos only nodded as he walked quietly beside this newfound friend. Interesting. He was expecting some big power jolt to come surging up from the waters, and instead, this subtle but powerful message had been delivered by an old man wearing baggy pants. This was a new perspective. Nothing like what he'd expected. The Light clearly worked with subtlety, that was for sure.Smooth . They literally let wisdom sneak up on you, seduce you with such silk that if you were unaware, you'd miss it.



Parallels began forming new and open channels in his mind. His old side used cold-blooded power and sheer dark force to draw in prey; this new side was all pro. The Light simply let birds fly by, an old man saunter along, then knocked your head back with an epiphany that was too profound for words.



The quiet revelation almost made Carlos laugh out loud as his kindly guide prattled on about the pharaonic stone carvings and stunning Christian frescoes to be seen within the National Museum. During the easy few-mile walk, Carlos soaked in everything the old man had to say about the great exhibits to witness and the best places to getshai bi-laban , sweet tea with milk, orbi-nana , sweet mint tea, and the stewed white beans,fasooliyya , orfuul , stewed brown beans andtabouleh salad.



One thing Carlos knew for sure, to learn a new culture, one had to learn how the people ate. As above, apparently, so below. There were so many things he had to remember. He just wished his old grasp of languages and knowledge would snap back-that was one thing from his old council seat that would have been a serious benefit, all other issues notwithstanding. But he made his peace with the problem. It was what it was. The Light had shown him some pretty cool new abilities; this old man was making him see parallels that he'd been blind to before. Just like the chess player had reminded him of how to be strategic, but also to take risks. Now if he could just find Damali and get back to the team, many of his immediate worries would be solved.



"Before you go to Meroe, which is a good place for you to see history," Carlos's walking partner said, "be sure to go to the Omdurman Souq." He opened his arms wide and his smile also widened. "That is our largest market, and on Fridays, except during Ramadan," he pointed out with care, "the whirling dervishes dance." He bobbed and swayed and turned around. "It is a sight, if you have ever seen one. They look like great birds and stir the dust high!" The old man danced and pointed to the neem trees above. "Like birds, just like this," he added, spinning and chuckling, and then poof, he was gone.



"Oh, shit!" Carlos jumped backward and almost fell, sending a plume of sparrows airborne. He glanced around quickly and nothing else out of the ordinary was evident. But he remained very still as he double-checked the position of the birds, given that any and everything was fair game to be something other than it appeared to be.



One by one, the birds went back to their branches, flustered and fussing their complaint as they settled down. But one edged near him with its beak filled with stones. At this point, he studied everything so closely that he bordered on righteous paranoia.



"So, I suppose you've got a message for me, since you look like the same chick carrying stones across the bridge a ways back?" Carlos said to the small brown bird, laughing. Oh, yeah, he was over the top. He watched the curious little creature with an overstuffed beak cock its head from side, to side, studying him. Now it was really time to check his sanity. He was talking to birds!



He watched it hop closer toward him, as though begging for food. He laughed and squatted down. "Greedy little thing," he said quietly, amused by its boldness. "You can't eat rocks, and I'm sorry to say that I ain't got nothing but love for ya."



The bird immediately dropped a dusty white pebble and a clear smooth one the size of a lima bean. It chirped a virulent complaint and spread its wings, like it wanted to fight. Carlos burst out laughing and stretched out his palm to see if he could coax it near. "Tough little thing, huh? A bad momma... okay, but I don't have-" Total fascination gripped him as it jumped into his open palm and then flitted away. "Wow... That was so cool."



Before he could stand up, it transformed from the feet up. The surprise knocked him on his butt and he sat on the pavement, sprawled in wonder. "Damali?"



"Yeah-and where have you been?" she said, putting one hand on her hip.



Carlos was on his feet in two seconds. "Boo! Girl! It's you!"



They both laughed as he swept her up and whirled her around. The image of the old man's dance grazed his mind and made tears come to his eyes. She was back, whole, and had shape-shifted, no less! Messages and signs had been all around him. He danced a jig with her like she was a rag doll, laughing and squeezing her harder.



"Oh, my God, D-I was so worried, so much went down. The plane crashed, we all got out, angels came, old seers hijacked me to an island-girl, I have to tell you so much stuff-"



"I know, I know," she said, laughing through the tears. "The Council of Queens kicked my butt, read me hard, sent me into the streets, I was lost-you cool-everybody good? Where is everybody anyway?"



"All right, all right," he said, kissing her face and wiping his with sweaty palms. "I'll fill you in as we walk, you tell me all that happened to you and how you did that awesome bird thing in broad daylight-there's this place up the way where we can get some kebabs andshai bi-laban to get a grub on before we head to Meroe. Cool?"



"Wait," she said, picking up her stones and placing them in her robe pocket while laughing. "Before you even tell me about this new jawn, Meroe-you've been in Khartoum how long, and you know the restaurants and can speak Arabic?"



He threaded his arm around her waist. "Girl, you know I've got mad survival skills. Why you gonna front on me and ask me something like that?" He kissed her temple, making her giggle and shake her head, as he gave her a sly wink. "But, uh, my pockets are a little light right through here, baby. I forgot. You got any money?"



"OH, MAN, what I wouldn't give to check into the Hilton." Rider briefly closed his eyes and rubbed his neck as the teams stood in the long customs line within Khartoum Airport's dense throngs of wayfarers. He glanced at Father Patrick and dropped his voice low enough so that only his teammates could hear him. "Can't you make peace with your people and maybe pull some strings in high places?"



"No," the elder cleric said in a testy tone. "As soon as we go wherever we go, I'm no longer willing to bear this crest," he said, motioning to the knights of Templar insignia on his robe. "I am ashamed of that history. How can I not be, now that I've stood on honest hallowed ground and felt the pulse of truth?" He swallowed hard and looked away, angrily, at the airport crowd. "Reading about it is one thing, feeling it through your bones is another. There is genocide happening here, like it has so many places on so many continents. Almost two million people... But no one with power seems to care to intervene. Again, just like always."



"Dude, I hear you," Rider said, going to the older priest to put a steady hand on his shoulder as the other road-weary members of their group tensed for a potential outburst. "I was just joking about the Hilton," Rider said, making his voice low and calm to invite Father Patrick's to do the same. "Not here, though." Rider's eyes met Father Patrick's and the momentary silence between them drowned out the multinational din around them. "We'll discuss all that later."



Father Patrick reluctantly nodded and looked away as Rider dropped his hand from his shoulder.



"If you want to do the Hilton," Dan said very calmly, "we can do that."



The group looked at him.



"Talk to me," Shabazz said in a quiet tone that contained hope.



"The cash is gone, courtesy of the Ethiopian authorities, for our so-called flight expenses-even though that should have only used a third of the bankroll that was in my backpack," he said with an angry sigh. "But, hey. Road taxes, I suppose."



"It's cool, though," Big Mike offered, his huge shoulders sagging from pure exhaustion. "We're alive and not detained on some bogus formality. So, let's get back to the part about the Hilton, that oasis image I have in my mind of hot water, a bed, and some basic, regulation grub."



Dan reached into the sack and unzipped a compartment, producing an array of gold and platinum credit cards like a card dealer's fan. "Good as cash," he said with triumph in his voice. "The way I see it is, we get through customs, find an AMEX counter in the airport, or whatever, do a cash advance. From here, we call the Hilton and make a reservation and get their shuttle to pick us up. That way, we go in a marked van and don't have to take our chances on the street. Then we check in, and me and J.L. can scout for team clothes-again, using credit to conserve the cash we'll need to help grease local police palms if we get into another jam. We eat, we rest, and then we all get in the same space and try to use our seers to lock in on any locations of the missing."



"You'd bettergo , boy," Shabazz said with deep appreciation in his voice. "All right." He smiled and offered Dan his fist to pound, which Dan did with admiration in his eyes. "You just stepped up."



"No doubt," Jose murmured with respect. "That was an awesome move back there with the authorities, too."