The Stone of Idris

*All characters are a minimum of 18 years of age. 'Marriageable age' means at least 18 years of age.

The Stone of Idris.

Prologue:

The battle within...

It's one of those pointless, meandering, and increasingly ridiculous discussions students of psychology, philosophy, the arts, and even law, get into regularly:

If you could have just one superpower, which one would you choose? Why would you choose that power?

At least two or three students will raise the usual ill-thought-out and facetious arguments that all power corrupts and that ultimate power corrupts ultimately. Therefore no one should ever be given superpowers because they would always misuse and abuse them.

While it is true that power does corrupt, it's not for the reasons usually argued. It is not having power that corrupts. It's being able to use it unfettered, unmonitored and unchecked. This lack of control or restraint dehumanises the user.

Being human is to live a life of constant constraint and restraint. The rules of your family, the laws of the community you grow up in, the rules at school, the practices of your religion, and the regulations of your country's government are all designed to constrain and restrain our more savage impulses so that we can live together in relative harmony, peace, and safety.

Without them, we would be no better than the other predators on the savannah we evolved from.

As a Philosophy professor, I'm often asked by students to agree with them when they say that any religion or ideology is bad.

They are, but not for the reasons they all believe.

I point out that religion was invented by man (the male-gendered of the Homo sapiens species), for man, to control man. And that, indeed, anything that helps to control and moderate a man's more savage and fundamental nature is a good thing. Or were they suggesting we allow men free rein to express their natural animal savagery?

It's always interesting to watch the feminist students grapple with this concept.

But, getting back to the point.

What power would you choose?

If you believe the students, choosing the ability to fly made you a megalomaniac who wants to be above the rest of humanity. Wanting the power to flash fire people with your eyes means you were a serial killer in the making. Having the ability to control other people's minds means you were a control freak that wanted to rule the world and probably a rapist.

Then there's the power of invisibility. If you want this, you are definitely a weirdo and a rapist. Why else did you want to go sneaking about unseen? If not so that you could perve on unsuspecting women and creep into their bedrooms?

No woman would want the power of invisibility the women in the class would airily tell each other.

I'd wager at least a few did, but peer pressure is often a terrible thing.

Here's a question: What if you had access to almost limitless power? Power to do anything and everything you desired, but that this power came with stringent controls and constraints?

Maybe there was some overriding council of other super beings that monitored and moderated its members and punished those that overstepped the bounds of what was acceptable.

Or maybe the power itself had some kind of inbuilt moral control feature. Use it to save or help people, and it worked exceptionally. Use it to hurt or harm or destroy, and it would rebound back on its user and obliterate them.

Would it be safe to give that power to a human individual now?

I don't know.

I don't have superpowers. I don't even have a cape or delusions that one man, even one super type man, can change the course of history and stop humankind from destroying itself.

These stories are just more examples of American imperialism. Why else is Superman's outfit red, white and blue? Why is Wonder Woman's the same?

What I do have is a stone. It was bequeathed to me by my great-great-grandfather as his eldest living male heir.

My great-great-grandfather lived to a remarkable 136 years of age, outliving his son, grandson, and great-grandson in the process.

Why haven't you heard of him? He never visited a doctor's or hospital. It wasn't his age that killed him. He fell off the roof of his three-story mansion.

The housekeeper said he told her that he had finally unlocked the stone's ability to fly and that he was off on a surprise visit to his mistress' place because he knew she was fucking his driver.

At 136, I'm not sure there was a screw left that wasn't loose.

I was 49 years old when I received the stone.

The Idris Stone: The Power to Corrupt.

I hadn't had much to do with my great-great-grandfather over my life. My father would, begrudgingly, take me, his only son, to the family events where the traditions of the Smithson family were upheld and passed on.

I was an only child.

When I was a child, and we were on the way to these events, dad would always admonish me to stay as far from Eldrick, my great-great-grandfather, the eldest male of the clan, as I possibly could.

There were rumours that his mother was still alive and in the house's attic, but they had to be just rumours, right?

"If he tries to get you alone or give you anything, you run to me just as fast as your little legs can carry you, okay?" Dad would say.

I didn't come face to face with Eldrick until the day of my eighteenth birthday.

He arrived in a big black DeSoto and stood outside our front door on the footpath. When he was ready, he had his driver knock.

I answered. Eldrick held something in his hand against my forehead. The world swam away, and it seemed a choral chorus sang.

My mother snatched me away, "Get away from him, you disgusting old bastard," she screamed. "You cannot have him!"

I thought he must've been a gay paedophile pervert.

"He's the one!" Eldrick carped to my father when dad reached the door. "He's the one. He'll have to wait. I'm not ready yet! I'm not ready yet!"

Cackling like a loon, Eldrick capered down the footpath to the car.

"You cannot have him!" My mother screamed at him. "I'll see you dead before you get your hooks into my son!"

Eldrick looked back at her, and I was convinced that I saw a look of glee pass over his face.

"You'll be dead before morning's light, my dear," he informed her, suddenly seeming very sane. "How will you stop me?"

My mother and father paled and grabbed each other.

"No!" dad whispered in anguish.

"He's said it. You know it must be true," my mother answered despairingly.

My mother spent the night trying to give me all the advice she thought I would ever need.

My father had locked himself in his study.

Stupidly, I thought, 'If I just stay awake with her, she can't die. He won't be able to take her if I'm watching.'

My eyelids slid shut around 4.00 am. I swear they were closed for no more than a minute or two. When I opened them, she was gone.

A massive brain aneurism, they told my dad and me. There was no way of telling or stopping it or doing anything about it.

I knew Eldrick had killed her.

When dad passed, I refused to go to any more of the clan's gatherings. I didn't trust myself to not try and kill Eldrick for killing my mother.

Besides, it was 2007. Who the fuck still has extended family gatherings where old traditions are taught and handed down these days?

When Eldrick died, I didn't attend the reading of the will, either, even though there was a letter asking for me specifically.

'Fuck him,' I thought.

The reading was for precisely 1.00 pm (1300) on 'Black Friday', Friday the 13^th of September, 2013.

At precisely that time, my great-great-grandfather's big black DeSoto pulled up at the bottom of my driveway.

I blinked because I was sure I hadn't seen it before it suddenly appeared in my driveway.

Great-great-grandad's driver got out, tipped his top hat to me, and then walked briskly up the drive.

He handed me a small yellow envelope.

"Eldrick left one last instruction for me to deliver this to you on his death, Mr Smithson," he said. "My duties are complete, and I can go to my rest now."

What the fuck did that mean?

It occurred to me that he was the same driver who had knocked on my door on my eighteenth birthday. He was old then, 31 years ago.

He got back in the car and left.

I looked down at the envelope. I almost decided to bin it and walk away.

I looked up, and the car had gone. Perplexed, I walked to the end of the drive, only about 20 metres. The DeSoto was gone, not driving away, not around the corner. It was gone.

I walked up the drive and into my home.

As I entered, still holding the envelope, Beatrice Garcia, my Filipino housekeeper, was leaving.

Beatrice was the granddaughter of my father's housekeeper. Twenty-seven years old and stunningly beautiful. She had done well in the Miss Universe, Philippines, 2012 pageant, placing inside the top ten. No offers of modelling contracts or film roles came her way afterwards, so she took up her Grandmother's offer of work and a place to stay and came to California.

"If you can't be a movie star, you can move here and marry one," Beatrice's grandmother told her.

Instead, she got stuck with me when her grandmother's knees got so bad she couldn't complete her housekeeping duties anymore.

I liked Janela, Beatrice's grandmother, a lot. She had stayed on to look after the house and I after dad had passed. I told her she had no reason to look elsewhere for work or accommodation, and that she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted.

Janela was as close to family as I had now. Dad had passed some 25 years after mum. I'd never been married, nor had I even gone close. Having her, and now her granddaughter, around the house was far better than being alone.

Beatrice and I must both have been distracted because we bumped.

Bea, as she likes to be called, is tall for a woman at almost 5 ft. 9 in. (175cm), but I am 6ft. 4 in. (193 cm). Her forehead hit my nose and broke it.

Blood gushed.

"Oh my God, Mr Muzz! I'm so sorry," Beatrice exclaimed.

She and her Grandmother always called me Mr Muzz. My name is John Murray Smithson, the same as my father's. As dad was John, I became Murray or 'Muzz'.

"Idth thokay," I tried to tell her through my broken nose.

But it wasn't. I felt light-headed and about to pass out.

I held my hands to my nose, the envelope was between my fingers and against my forehead.

"Thy with that hathn't thappenthed," I groaned.

The world swam out of focus, and a choral choir sang.

'I've got a concussion,' I thought as I drifted off.

It seemed only a few moments later that I came to with Beatrice looking concernedly down at me.

"You okay, Mr Muzz?" she asked. "You seem to have taken a fall."

"I'm okay," I told her, then got up.

Wait! That sounded normal. Didn't I have a broken nose?

I put my hand to my nose. It was untouched, unmarked, and not bleeding.

Looking around, I could see the sun had begun its slow dive into the Pacific Ocean. Four hours had somehow passed.

"I thought I had bumped into you, Bea?" I said.

"When?" she asked.

"As I came through the door. You were coming out, and your forehead hit my nose."

"This is some kind of joke, right, Mr Muzz? I don't get American humour."

What the fuck? Right?

"Yes, Bea," I said, "just a poor American joke. Better not tell that one to your friends."

"If you're okay, Mr Muzz," Bea said, "I'll leave you to it. I have an acting lesson tonight."

I put the hand holding the envelope to my nose again, making sure it wasn't broken.

"I wish you'd stay," I muttered to myself.

Janela goes to Bingo tonight. It would have been nice to have someone to chat with over dinner.

The sound of singing was much quieter this time.

"You don't look well, Mr Muzz," Bea told me. "Hang on."

She got her phone out and cancelled her acting lesson.

"Come into the kitchen, Mr Muzz. I'll make you a pot of coffee and some dinner. My lesson can wait, I think."

"No, no. Don't be daft," I told her. "I'm fine. Go to your lesson."

As her grandmother does when she thinks I'm being foolish, Bea ignored me and held my arm across the lounge, into the kitchen, and onto a seat.

Knowing there was no point arguing, I sat and watched as Bea bustled around the kitchen making coffee and some dinner. Lamb chops, new potatoes, and a fresh garden salad were on tonight's menu.

She had taken a tiny slice off one of the two lamb chops for herself to share with me. I didn't mind.

Drinking my coffee, I tipped the stone out of the envelope.

It was a dark green tinged amber with what looked like an infinite number of miniature stars sparkling and swirling through it.

My brain clearly told me that stars could not be moving inside the stone. It was merely a trick of the light.

It seemed to weigh a lot more than something that size should weigh. The stone was barely 4 inches by 2 inches by an inch.

I believe it had been rectangular a long time ago, but many, many years of handling had rounded it to an uneven oval shape.

I looked into it, and it seemed to sweep me away. I could hear a vast choral chorus singing, and in it, I saw worlds form, grow and explode in a vast, panoramic rush around me. Whole galaxies coalesced, lived, thrived and then imploded as I watched, weeping.

Civilisations formed, grew, flourished, and then fell into tyranny and chaos as I wept along with the mothers of the sons sent to futile wars to try and keep them propped up for a few more years.

"What is that?" Beatrice asked, putting her hand gently on the back of my neck. "Why are you staring at a bit of rock? Or is it a lump of coal?"

"You can't see the sparkles and swirls in it, Bea? Do your eyes need checking?"

"Let me see," She said.

I gave it to her.

As soon as the stone was out of my hand and into hers, I could see that she was right. It looked like a piece of coal.

"Another American joke, Mr Muzz?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know," I told her. "Just for a moment there, I thought it was something else."

Handing me back the stone, Bea said, "You sure you okay, Mr Muzz? That fall didn't knock anything loose in there?"

As soon as Bea placed the stone in my hand, the joyous singing started again, and the tiny lights began to swirl. The stone's colour changed back to amber. The stone, somehow, was happy to be back with me.

"Hush," I said to the stone absently, trying to process what was going on. "You're distracting me."

The stone flashed a startled red, and the sound snapped off.

I was like, 'What the...'

Now, Bea is beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. I could not believe she had only placed sixth in the Miss Universe, Philippines pageant.

I may be a 'stodgy middle-aged university professor', but I have wants. I have desires. I had wanted Miss Beatrice from the moment I had been introduced to her by her grandmother. I knew I was no chance, but even so.

"It would be nice if you felt a little warm and wanted to take most of your clothes off, Miss Bea," I said, to her, but mainly to the stone.

The stone sang joyously.

"It's a little warm in here with everything shut up, Mr Muzz," Beatrice said. "Would you mind if I strip down to my bikini? I was going to catch some rays after my lesson down on Venice Beach."

Completely unselfconsciously, Bea took everything but her tiny bikini off and folded them onto the lounge.

"That's better," She said and finished preparing dinner.

Her bikini was white. Against her tanned skin, it looked divine. The top barely covered Bea's nipples. Her bikini bottom showed she was waxed clean below. There was only a thin strip of material between her ass cheeks.

She was 'flossing her ass' my dad would have said.

I turned some 70s disco music on, 'Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive...' came rocketing out.

"Would you like to dance for me, Miss Bea?" I asked.

"I sure would," Bea answered as the stone spun its magic.

"Maybe you would dance better if you were naked, Bea," I said.

"I think I would, too, Mr Muzz."

So here I am, an overweight, stodgy, middle-aged University professor, with one of the world's most beautiful women dancing naked for me.

The stone seemed to peal a warning. I looked at the clock. It was 9.30 pm. The car I'd just heard would have been the cab with Bea's grandmother.

"I think you'd better race off and put your clothes back on, Miss Bea," I said. "You wouldn't want your grandmother to catch you."

"Fuck," Bea muttered and bolted for her bedroom grabbing her clothes as she ran.

The door opened, letting Janela in.

"Hello, Mr Muzz. Did Beatrice decide to stay and make you dinner?" She questioned.

"I had a bit of a dizzy spell, Janny," I told her. "Bea was worried, so she stayed on to make sure I was okay."

Being a typical older Filipino woman with a young female relative in her care, Janela's eyes missed nothing. Her gaze flicked across my tented crotch, and they caught the straps to Bea's bikini hanging out of her shoulder bag as Beatrice walked back into the lounge.

"I'll stack the dishes in the sink and take care of them in the morning. Beatrice, you will go to bed. You need to take your grandma to church tomorrow morning at 8.30. You haven't made your confessions for over a week." Janela told Beatrice.

Rolling her eyes, Beatrice said, "Yes, mammy."

To my shock, she gave me a conspiratorial wink as she left.

Janela stared daggers at me.

Desperate, I brought the stone out.

"You're happy about me playing with your granddaughter, Janny," I said.

The stone sang its song of compulsion again.

Janela smiled, "Every young woman needs an older, more experienced man to help her discover herself, Mr Muzz. Don't break my granddaughter's heart, okay?"

Janela moved slowly across to her rooms.

She had three rooms in the back left of the bottom floor. A bedroom she shared with Beatrice, a lounge/kitchen/dining room area and a combined shower, toilet and laundrette.

I sat back at the kitchen table and studied the stone. 'What the fuck are you?' I thought. 'What can you do?'

I looked inside the envelope. There was a small folded piece of paper inside I hadn't noticed. I took it out and carefully unfolded it.

The paper looked ancient. It was covered with small spidery writing on both sides. I couldn't read it as it wasn't written in English.

Spanish was my guess. I got my laptop out and brought up Google Translate. I took a picture of the front of the note so I could blow it up to read.

La Piedra de Idris was the underlined heading (The Stone of Idris).

The Stone of Idris: Power Unfettered.

Cuidado con todos los que me usan porque soy poder.

Beware all that use me for I am power.

Mi fuerza solo está limitada por lo que puedes creer que es possible.

My power is only limited by what you can believe is possible.

Úsame para el mal, y te enfermaré.

Use me for ill, and I will make you sick.

Úsame para bien y tus sueños se cumplirán.

Use me for good, and your dreams will come true.

Si no tienes cuidado, devoraré tu alma.

If you are not careful, I will devour your very soul.

The rest of the note appeared to be warnings that the stone never be used. It would destroy the user and make them mad, demented and ill before eventually killing them and taking their souls.

Well, great-great-grandad was definitely mad and probably demented, but 136? If the stone was killing him, it was taking an awfully long time.

I put the stone back in the envelope, put the envelope on my dresser, and then went to bed. I would search the University's library in the morning to see what information I could find.