chapter 19
THE OLDEST MEMORIES
Timothy awoke to the smell of roasting herbs, a hearty aroma that stung the back of his throat with a sharp, rousing bite. Sitting at his table, Abraham gazed at Enoch’s Ghost while sipping from a steaming mug.
“Whatever that is,” Timothy said, stretching, “I think I’ll have some, if you don’t mind.”
“It is brownleaf tea, a special blend I concocted many years ago.” He nodded toward a fireplace where a silver kettle hung over fading embers. “Help yourself. There are mugs on the mantle.”
Timothy rose from his straw-stuffed mattress and, still weary from his cathartic experience with the oracle, shuffled over to the fireplace, his companion bouncing up and down with his labored gait. “What does Enoch’s Ghost tell you this morning?” he asked, bringing the kettle back to the table by its wooden handle.
“That you have seen a great vision and carry an even greater burden.”
Pouring the tea, a dark, pungent brew, Timothy sat in the opposite chair but said nothing while the aromatic vapor bathed his face. His companion hovered next to his nose as if taking in the aroma with him.
Abraham pushed his mug against Timothy’s, making a quiet clinking sound. “I am willing to share that burden with you, if you care to move a bundle or two from your shoulders to mine.”
Timothy swirled the tea around in his mug. “I think the greatest burden might be deciding who is reliable.” He took a test sip, but it was too hot to drink. “I guess it’s okay to tell you that the oracle said there’s some kind of deceiver who is going to spread corruption. I’m not sure what she meant by that, but if this deceiver is already lurking, I have to be careful.” He blew on the tea while keeping his gaze on Abraham. Of course, the oracle had said much more, but could he possibly reveal the plan about the sacrifice, even to Abraham?
After taking a long drink, Abraham fingered the mug’s raised design, a dragon in mid-flight. “When a deceiver is in your midst,” he said slowly, “it is difficult to trust anyone. Of course, I hope you will trust me, but if I am the deceiver, my pleas for your trust would be yet another deception. Therefore, until you get your bearings, you cannot reveal your mission to anyone, not me, not Angel, not even Candle or Listener, for a deceiver might pose as a child as easily as an adult.”
Timothy sipped his tea and set the mug on the table. He watched three tiny black flecks spin in the rust-colored liquid. As Abraham’s words sank in, the tea itself took on a new character in his mind. Could even this drink be a ploy?
He picked up the pot and tipped it toward Abraham. “Freshen your cup?”
Abraham slid his mug over. “Please.”
Timothy poured the rest of the tea, and as Abraham drained it without even waiting for it to cool, he scolded himself for his paranoia. His companion scooted in front of his eyes and flashed. The seed for your lack of trust was planted by Abraham. Do not punish yourself for taking him at his word.
Timothy sighed. “You’re right.”
“Right about what?” Abraham asked.
Laughing, Timothy lifted his palm underneath his companion and let it rest there. “I’m not used to talking to these things yet. I have to learn to keep our conversation in my mind.”
Abraham’s fatherly eyes gleamed. “Some of our people speak out loud to their companions. It’s not so unusual.”
Timothy closed his fingers lightly around the little ovulum. “Since it attaches itself to the soul, what would happen if a companion were stolen while its owner was still alive?”
“A shadow person did just that. He took a small boy’s companion. It caused immediate pain, and within minutes the boy’s eyes glazed and he could no longer walk. By the time the news reached me, he was unconscious with a severe fever. Albatross and I hurried to the basin and searched all day until we found the culprit. If not for Enoch’s Ghost, I never would have located the glimmer of light that always indicates a companion’s presence.”
His hands trembling, Timothy leaned closer to Abraham. “So, what happened to the boy?”
“By the time I returned …” Abraham’s voice pitched higher. “He had passed away.”
Timothy hung his head low and tensed his jaw. “Cursed fiends!”
“Now you have more sympathy for my summary justice yesterday.”
“I do.” Timothy released his companion. It rose slowly and floated back to his shoulder. “I feel like I’m one of your people now, like I should just stay here under your rule.”
Abraham raised an eyebrow. “And marry Angel?”
Timothy nodded, keeping his eyes on the table. “Not too hard to figure that one out.”
“Not at all. Your face is still glowing from last night.”
Timothy laid a palm on his cheek. “The light tunnel did that.”
Abraham laughed. “Angel is a fine woman. I would have to look long and hard to find a more worthy lady, if I could at all.”
He looked up at Abraham. “Do you think she’ll have me?”
“Without a doubt. Without a doubt.”
Timothy stroked his chin. “Of course, I have to know for sure that Hannah died and didn’t come back to life, as I did, but how do I find out what happened to her? Can Enoch’s Ghost tell me?”
“Perhaps.” Abraham slid the ovulum between them. “Before we ask that question, there is other vital information you need to know. Now that much of your memory is restored, and now that I know who you are, it is time to fill in the gaps from the beginning.” He waved a hand across the glass egg. “More memories should return as your distant past streams before your eyes.”
Timothy slid his chair close and gazed into Enoch’s Ghost. The fog evaporated, revealing a land awash in a heavy rainstorm. Low clouds swirled around an enormous boat as the downpour fed streams of rising water that rushed around the bow. Atop the deck, a red dragon perched on the parapet while a smaller, tawny dragon looked on from the deck’s rain-slicked boards.
Tiny voices arose from Enoch’s Ghost, giving life to the characters inside. At first, the language seemed odd but quickly grew more familiar. Soon, Timothy was able to translate every word as they sprang from the mouths within.
“I cannot leave my father!” The larger dragon stretched out his wings and lifted into the air.
“We must go!” The smaller one bit his tail and pulled him down.
“Don’t make me fight you!” the red dragon said, jerking his tail away.
Scarlet light flashed all around. While a pulsing ball of fire descended from the clouds, an old man ran onto the deck, saying something, but the sound of rain drowned out his voice. Fingers of crimson flame sprouted from the ball, long tendrils that pierced the ground and gave birth to geysers of muddy water. A peal of thunder shook the ovulum. Torrents of rain veiled the boat, making it impossible to see the dragons or hear their voices.
Abraham rubbed the glass with one hand, seemingly turning the scene as if adjusting a camera angle. Now one of the rising streams came into view. Another red dragon, as large as the one on the boat, floundered in the water, black splotches covering his otherwise red scales. Beams from his ruby eyes pierced the misty breeze and the black clouds above. Shouting a dying call, he roared. “To you, Maker of All, I commit my spirit!” Then, he submerged.
Two winged humans, both bright and shining, descended from the storm. They plunged into the foaming water and lifted the great dragon, but, instead of trying to save him, they seemed to battle over him, struggling in midair while the dragon’s limp wings and legs flopped from side to side.
“Give me the dragon, Michael!” one angel shouted. “You have no use for it.”
“Jehovah’s purposes are beyond your knowledge,” Michael boomed.
As lightning flashed, Michael plunged a hand into the dragon’s chest and pulled out its heart, then, with a flaming burst of power from his four wings, carried the heart away. The other angel shouted something in a different language, indecipherable but clearly words of outrage. It turned and flew in the opposite direction, lugging the huge body under one arm.
The scene in the ovulum faded, replaced by the red fog. Timothy looked up at the Prophet, his eyes blurred, his heart racing.
“Do you know what you just saw?” Abraham asked.
Trying to steady his breathing, Timothy spoke slowly in a near whisper. “I was there. I saw the rain, the red light, the old man on the deck. But I don’t remember the battle between the angels.”
“You wouldn’t. You had already entered the protected part of the boat, Noah’s ark.”
“Noah? I remember Noah. He was a kind old man, gentle and good.”
“Indeed he was. He rescued you and your soon-to-be mate.”
“Thigocia? She was the other dragon?” A tear filled Timothy’s eye. Memories rushed in—flying with other dragons, shooting fire at angelic beings, zooming with reckless abandon with two smaller dragons in playful dives and hairpin turns, then reclining with the tawny dragon, necks intertwined in blissful peace.
“Thigocia,” Timothy said quietly. “My dear Thigocia.” With each repetition of her name, the memories linked themselves together, fashioning a story chain that began thousands of years ago in a dim cave, where the dragon he had seen drowning in the flood boosted him with a loving wing, and the chain led through multiple millennia to this dim room and the chair in which he now rested. Finally, in breathless wonder, Timothy sat back. “I remember so much more! But every thought burns like fire!”
“Memories are the greatest torture of all, and the greatest solace.” Abraham took Timothy’s hand. “Now look into my eyes. What do you see?”
With their fingers locked, Timothy could feel the Prophet’s rhythmic heartbeat. Trying to calm his own heartbeat, he first scanned Abraham’s bushy red eyebrows, then focused on the gleaming orbs just below. The wise man’s black pupils seemed to pulse as well, growing and shrinking slightly with every beat of his heart. The surrounding iris, the same color as his eyebrows, suddenly flushed with a deeper red.
Pulling his hand away, Timothy almost toppled his chair. “The eyes,” he said breathlessly. “The dragon in the flood. The red eyes.”
Abraham stood and leaned forward. “What is my name, Makaidos?”
“I … I do not know your name. I am a dragon, and I am unfamiliar with most humans.” He got up and looked around the room, so confused he couldn’t figure out where he was. “Where is Merlin? He might know who you are.” He shook his head hard. “What am I saying? Who is Merlin?”
“Your memories are spilling together, and now you must speak the bind that ties.” Abraham banged his fist on the table and shouted. “What is my name, Makaidos?”
The image of Angel bowing before Abraham flashed in his mind and the word she used to address him passed from his mind to his lips. “Fa … Father?”
Abraham marched around the table and jerked Timothy into a tight embrace with his powerful arms. “Yes, son, but what is my name?”
Barely able to breathe, Timothy cried out, “Arramos!” Wrapping his arms around Abraham, he laid his head on his shoulder and wept. “My father! Oh, my father!”
Abraham kissed Timothy’s neck and patted him on the back. “Yes, my son. And we will have many more revelations before the end of our journey.”
Timothy slid away. “How did you get here? Is my mother here, too?”
“Since a picture is worth a thousand words …” Abraham gestured toward the table and chairs. “Let us sit again, and I will let Enoch tell the story.”
When they were both seated, Abraham touched the ovulum. Timothy scooted close again and gazed through the glass. As before, the red mist disappeared, and a movielike scene materialized.
Michael cradled the heart, cold and lifeless in his hands, beating his wings furiously as he ascended through the swirling storm clouds, and later, a dense blanket of water vapor. When he broke into the clear, he seemed to be in outer space, surrounded by inky blackness. He began to spin, and the black canopy shattered and swept to the side, as if the wind from his wings blew the pieces away.
When the spinning stopped, Michael, now surrounded by at least ten more angels in an enormous, churchlike chamber, walked reverently to an altar where a human body lay, a man whose motionless chest proved his lifeless state. Tall white candles surrounded him, each one flickering yellow light over his bared skin.
When the other angels joined him, Michael glanced around, his gaze finally landing on the closest one. “Has his world been prepared, Uriel?”
Uriel nodded. “All is complete. Second Eden is ready to receive its king.”
Raising both arms, Michael lifted the heart into the air. “Holy Spirit, breathe life into this creature and fulfill your wondrous plan. May the heart and soul of Arramos guide his people in this new creation and watch over his realm with eyes of wisdom.”
Wind swirled through the room, invisible at first, but as it collected smoke from the candles around the altar, its shape became apparent, a narrow band that weaved its way through the angelic host and then poured into the heart.
Instantly, the heart began to beat. Michael plunged it into the man’s chest, pausing for a few seconds like a surgeon attaching vessel to vessel. The body lurched and began to thrash. Michael withdrew his hands, and with a swipe of his fingers, closed the wound, leaving no perceptible scar.
The body settled down, the chest heaving at first until its breathing stabilized into an easy rhythm. Michael placed a hand over its eyes. “Awake, King of Second Eden, Father of the Forsaken. You will be called the Prophet, but the Holy One has named you Abraham, for you will be a father to the castoffs of the wicked realm.”
Abraham’s eyes blinked open, and he sat up. “Where am I?” His head swiveled as he gazed at each angel.
“At Heaven’s lower altar,” Michael replied. “You died on the Earth as Arramos, but you are not called to ascend into the holy city. You will rule over a world God has created, but now in human form instead of your dragon body.”
Abraham laid a hand on his chest and caressed his smooth skin. “Will I join my family? Shachar? Hilidan? Zera?”
“A day will come when you will be reunited, but for now, I will take you to your new world.”
As Abraham sat up, Uriel laid a bundle of clothing on the altar. “Purity and innocence will not dress you adequately in this Eden,” he said. “It is much colder than the first Paradise.”
Michael and Uriel helped Abraham dress in multiple layers, finishing with a long-sleeved tunic, pants tied at the waist, and soft leather shoes that rose above his ankles. Michael laid an arm over Abraham’s back, and the other angels began to fly around them, orbiting faster and faster until they were a blur of faces and wings.
Soon, their surroundings faded away, and a new scene emerged—a bird’s-eye view of a lush valley with a wide river meandering through thick greenery—grassy areas as well as dense forests. Now carrying Abraham, Michael flew to the ground and set him gently in an expansive basin where long-bladed grass emerged from dark, loamy soil.
“This is your garden,” Michael said, “but you must not plant anything here. You will learn soon enough what fruit is to be harvested.” An egg-shaped glass orb appeared in his hands. “Enoch’s Ghost will teach you what you need to know. Take it. You will learn quickly.”
When Abraham made a cradle with his hands, Michael rolled the egg into his grasp. Then, without another word, he lifted into the sky and flew away.
Abraham stood alone. As a stiff breeze flapped his tunic, he shivered. After surveying the landscape for a moment, he made his way to a nearby woods, marring the wet soil with the first footprint the virgin land had ever carried.
“So,” Abraham said as the ovulum faded, “with only a few puzzling words and a strange glass orb to guide my way, I was commissioned to occupy this ‘Second Eden.’ Yet, I had no Eve to help me populate the world and no pair of trees to give me either eternal life or spiritual death. I had no idea what to do, though one of the first things I did was to name stars in the sky after my lost loved ones, including my mate, Shachar, and you and Thigocia.”
“So that explains the stars.” Timothy turned toward the open door. A pair of villagers passed by, a man followed by a woman on a donkey. “I see you found a way to forge a fine community. I am amazed at their gracious manner and kindness.”
As another shadow crossed the light from the doorway, Abraham rose from his chair. “Angel!” he said, “you arrived almost before the sun! Welcome!”
Timothy shot up and smoothed out his hair and wrinkled clothes. “Yes! Welcome!”
Her head slightly bowed and her eyes trained on Timothy, she walked in, wearing a dress with sleeves that reached the heels of her hands and a skirt so long, its draft swept the floor. Two children followedCandle, his dark face framing his brilliant smile, and Listener, pale and gaunt. Although her eyes sparkled, she neither smiled nor frowned. Their hovering companions also sparkled in the ray of sunlight passing over the three visitors’ shoulders.
Timothy made a quick, silent count of the semitransparent orbs. Four companions? Why would that be?
“You haven’t been introduced to Listener,” Angel said, nodding toward the girl. “Listener, this is our new friend, Timothy.”
Timothy bent to one knee and took her hand. “It’s my pleasure.”
Listener just blinked and said nothing. Two companions whirled around her head and paused, one over each shoulder. The girl’s skin was rough, with shallow lines dividing small leathery patches, even worse than it had seemed at the hospital.
“She doesn’t talk,” Candle explained. “But I think I already told you that.”
“Yes, I remember.” Timothy rose and lifted his eyebrows at Angel, mouthing his question silently, “Two?”
Angel curled her hands into fists. “She came from the pod that way, one companion in each hand. The Prophet tells us it means she has been placed here for a great purpose.”
“A purpose yet to be determined.” Abraham patted Listener on the head, then touched the lace on Angel’s wrist. “You seem to be dressed for seasonal prayers. Have I misread the calendar?”
A slight blush colored Angel’s cheeks as she fanned the skirt. “I just thought you and Timothy might be tired of seeing me dressed for dragon riding.”
“We walked all the way,” Candle said. “Grackle whined like a baby until we got out of sight.”
Listener slid her hand into Timothy’s and walked toward the door, pulling him along. As he followed, he looked back at Angel, raising his eyebrows again.
“Listener?” Angel started toward them. “What are you doing?”
“Angel,” Abraham called. “Let them go.”
Angel halted in midstep and merely followed with her gaze. “I left the bag by the door,” she said to Listener, “if that’s what you’re going to show him.”
Listener glanced back at her mother, but her face stayed somber. When she reached the outside railing that bordered the road, she stopped and pulled Timothy down to his knees. Then, her eyes wide, she stared directly into his, gripping both of his hands tightly.
Timothy caressed the tops of her scaly hands with his thumbs. “What is it, Listener? What are you trying to tell me?”
Her lips trembled, but no words came out. Lifting a hand, she touched his cheek, then looked up toward the sun.
“Oh! You’re wondering why my face glows.” He covered her hand with his. “I saw this magnificent girl, an angel, I think, who told me an amazing story about a sacrificial lamb.”
Listener drew in a quick breath and stepped back. She laid a hand on her chest, rubbing the gingham material.
Swallowing a painful lump, Timothy whispered, “Are you the lamb?”
She returned a single nod.
“Did someone come to you and tell you this?”
Again, a single nod.
Glancing left and right, Timothy leaned closer. “Someone from around here?”
Listener shook her head and pointed at a shoulder bag sitting by the door.
“Do you want me to look in the bag?”
She bobbed her head again.
Timothy hustled to the door and brought the bag. Reaching in, he found a spyglass and raised it to his eye. “Did you see something unusual through this?” With his other eye he caught her affirmative nod once again.
He lowered the spyglass. “Did you see a girl with white hair and a blue cloak over a white dress?”
Listener gasped. This time she grabbed his hand and nodded excitedly. Her two companions seemed to flash, mirroring her emotions.
Timothy glanced at the Prophet’s door. Inside, Angel peered out, but Abraham closed the door in front of her.
Extending his hand slowly, Timothy brushed his finger against one of the companions. More opaque than the other, the faint eyes inside seemed older, weaker. With a quick snatch, he grasped the companion and pulled it behind him. It buzzed furiously in his grip, but he stiffened his fingers and pressed his fist against his back.
Listener shuddered, but instead of an expression of pain, a gentle smile grew on her face. Her skin smoothed, and a healthy blush refreshed her cheeks.
“Do you feel better?” he asked.
Glancing at the door, Listener cleared her throat. At first, her lips parted, and a raspy gurgle came out, but then a whispered phrase. “I … I can talk?”
Timothy raised a finger to his lips. “Shhh …” The companion in his hand heated up, stinging his palm as it lurched to get out. He had to hurry. “Do you want to be the sacrifice for my daughters?”
She formed each word carefully. “Yes. … It is all … I have dreamed of … ever since the … beautiful girl told me … through that tube.”
“But why? You are so young. You have so much to live for.”
“I hurt. … Always hurt.” She angled her body to look behind his back where he held her missing companion. “But not now.” She laid a hand on his chest. “I want to … save your girls … and stop your hurt.”
Timothy wiped a tear from his eye. His throat twisting in a knot, he tried to speak. “Your mother … and your brother … will miss you.”
Listener’s voice strengthened. “The girl in white said … my mommy killed me a long time ago in another world. Angel is my new mommy … Only not really.” She lowered her chin and shook her head sadly. “Her mommy killed her, too, but the girl in white said even our mommies could be forgiven. I was glad to hear that.”
“But why you? Why should a little girl have to give her life for others?”
“It is my choice. The girl in white said if anyone else tried it, her companion would save the life of the one for whom she died, but she would lose her own soul, because she was not given the task.” She held up two fingers. “I can save two lives, and since I already died once, God promised I could go straight to Heaven.” She lifted her gaze. Her sparkling blue eyes seemed a reflection of the oracle’s, dimmer, but still piercing. “So I want to do that,” she said firmly.
Timothy could barely whisper. “And stop the pain.”
Listener nodded. “I want to stop everyone’s pain.”
Timothy brought the companion to the front of his body and opened his hand. It sat on a reddened spot on his palm for a moment before floating up and drifting back to Listener’s shoulder. As soon as it perched there, the color drained from her cheeks. Her skin dried out, and cracks etched crusty new scales. Pain streaked her face, and her lips parted to speak again, but only a rasping whistle blew out.
Timothy swept her into his arms and hugged her close, weeping. “Oh, dear child! Dear, dear child! Your courage is beyond all others!”
Her weak fingers patted his shoulder, and her wheezing breath whistled into his ear. Carrying her back to the Prophet’s door, he whispered, “We have to plan our departure secretly. Do you know how to fly Grackle?”
He felt her nod brush against his cheek.
“After your mother and brother are asleep tonight, bring him to the edge of the birthing garden. I will be waiting for you there, and we will fly to the land of the shadow people.”