Нил Шустерман: The Eyes Of Kid Midas

"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 slope 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.

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:

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

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.