Eye of the Oracle

chapter 11

ELOHIM’S BARD

Sapphira closed the scroll and slid it to the edge of the table, pushing aside an embryo jar to make room. With Mardon away for so long, there was no one to dispose of the weaker plants, and she didn’t have the heart to do it herself, so the worktable had become crowded with the new genetic combinations she had tried over the last hundred or so days. She set her chin on her hands and sighed. All she really wanted to do was to climb into the tower shelves and read their literary treasures, but Morgan kept making excuses and giving her more work to do.

In a sarcastic tone, Sapphira mocked her mistress’s harsh voice. “Not until I find the scroll I’m looking for. If you don’t have enough work to do, perhaps you would like to return to the trenches.”

She blew out a loud sigh. At least she had one scroll to look at, but only a few minutes each night to read it. She couldn’t risk falling asleep before putting it back in its hiding place, a narrow hole in her mattress. But those few moments of drinking in Enoch’s mysterious story were worth the risk, even though she couldn’t understand most of it.

A soft, rustling sound made her turn her head. Her spawn had awakened, yawning and smacking his lips. Grabbing a tin full of plant food and her piece of graphite, she shuffled over to Yereq’s chamber and knelt in front of him. “Hungry?”

Yereq gave her a short nod and grinned.

She showed him the hunk of graphite. “Do you want this?”

The little pod’s brow lowered, and a tiny tongue protruded from his lips.

She laughed and dipped her finger in the food. “How about this?”

Yereq pulled his tongue back in and opened his mouth.

Sapphira stuffed the damp morsel in. “I think you’re already smarter than Nabal was. I’m not even going to tell you what I saw him eating once.” As she dipped her finger in again, the control room door opened, and a little girl peeked in.

Sapphira jumped up, leaving the food tin on the floor. “Paili! You’re not supposed to be in here!”

Paili waved her hand frantically. “Come now!”

Sapphira ran to the door and escorted her out, spinning the wheel behind her. “How did you unlock it?”

She pointed at the wheel. “I watch you.”

Sapphira set her hands on her hips. “Okay, what did you want?”

Paili waved her hand. “Come!” She picked up a lantern next to the door and ran into the tunnel. Sapphira chased her, following the bouncing ball of light through the darkness. Paili turned into a side room, and when Sapphira caught up, she leaned against the doorway to catch her breath. Inside, Paili set the lantern on a flat stone table that dominated the center of the small chamber. Atop the table, various breads, fruits, and vegetables were spread from end to end. The aroma of stew drifted through the room, wafting from a huge pot dangling over an open floor vent against the wall.

Paili stirred the pot with a ladle nearly as long as she was tall, and the light from the magma stream underneath the kitchen washed her face in an orange glow. “I cook,” Paili said. She skipped over to the table and picked up a red, oblong fruit. “Morgan bring.”

Sapphira took the fruit and held it in her hands. Instantly, the Ovulum in her pocket stung her leg like a hot poker. She dropped the fruit onto the table and stepped back. “Morgan wants you to put that in the stew?”

Paili nodded.

“How did you know to come to me?”

“I dream.” She pointed at the fruit and stuck out her tongue, grimacing. “That bad.”

Sapphira wrapped the girl in her arms. “Oh, Paili! You did the right thing! You were so brave to come into the control room and find me.”

“I knock.” She pushed her finger into Sapphira’s stomach. “You not come.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” Sapphira picked up a knife from the table and tapped it against the stone. “If you don’t put it in the stew, she’ll probably figure it out, and then you’ll be in big trouble.” She chopped down on the fruit and split it in two. Inside, a half dozen tiny red seeds spilled out from the core of the cream-colored flesh.

Sapphira snapped her fingers. “Is there another pot in here?”

Paili pointed under the table. “Two more.”

Sapphira pulled out one of them and hustled it to the bigger stewpot. Transferring ladle full after ladle full, she filled the new pot about halfway with stew. “Okay,” she said, grunting as she lifted the new pot to the table. “Go ahead and put the fruit in the big pot, and I’ll hide this one in our hovel. We’ll pass the word that Morgan’s up to something and warn them not to eat the stew tonight. If anyone listens to us, she can come to our hovel and get something to eat after baths.”

Paili nodded and picked up the two halves of fruit. “I eat . . . our stew . . . later.”

Sapphira patted her on the head. “Good girl.” She let out a long sigh. “But will anyone else believe us?”

In the darkness of the hovel, Sapphira slurped stew from a ladle. “Ahhh!” she said, handing the dipper to Paili.

“Good?” Paili asked.

“Excellent!” Sapphira wiped her mouth on her sleeve, then jerked her arm down. “Oops. I shouldn’t have done that. Now there’s stew on my tunic.”

“No one come to eat,” Paili said.

Sapphira nodded slowly. “I know. Not even Taalah. I guess they all ate that fruit.”

Paili pointed at a light in the mouse hole. “Qatan have lantern?”

Sapphira pressed a finger to her lips and slid down to the floor. “Elam?” she whispered, “Are you there?”

“Yes,” came the quiet voice.

She put her lips near the hole, hoping a whisper could make it through. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No. I don’t eat until Nabal’s finished. I get whatever he leaves behind. I don’t know if I’ll get anything tonight, though. I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

Sapphira drummed her fingers on the floor. “Listen. Even if they do feed you, don’t eat the stew. Morgan made Paili put something bad in it, some kind of poisoned fruit.”

“Maybe it was fruit from the tree in her room.”

“No. It was from the tower museum. It’s growing in the middle of ” Sapphira paused, furrowing her brow. “Did you say, ‘Morgan’s room’?”

“Yes. I saw a little tree growing there with blossoms and fruit. She’s using our magneto bricks to give it light.”

“She let you into her room!? That’s the most forbidden area of all!”

“She summoned me, so I had to go.”

“What did her fruit look like? The bad stuff is red and kind of oblong.”

“I’m pretty sure it was white. As soon as I heard what she wanted, I told her I wouldn’t do it and walked out, so I didn’t get a real good look at it.”

“What did she want?”

“For me to do some of her dirty work, but it’s not worth talking about. Besides, I’m in big enough trouble already. Nabal killed the other brick maker, a boy named Raphah, the day after he was called to Morgan’s room. Raphah never told me why he was called, but I think he refused Morgan, too.”

“If Nabal’s gone, he can’t whip you to death.”

“True, but there’s always the chasm.”

Sapphira nodded. “How could I forget?”

“I’m going to sneak back to her room and see if I can get some of that fruit.”

“No!” she hissed. “If she catches you, she’ll kill you for sure!”

“No, she won’t. Before I refused her, she offered me some fruit to . . . well, bribe me, I guess. I’ll just say I’m coming back to collect it.”

Sapphira shook her head. “She won’t believe that excuse. She’s not stupid.”

“I know, but the tree isn’t the real reason I want to go. While I’m there, maybe I can find something that’ll help me get out of this place.”

Sapphira tightened her hand into a fist. Who was she to try to keep the poor guy in this awful prison? Her voice spiked with compassion. “Just don’t get caught, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Hey! Paili made some stew that’s okay to eat, and I have quite a bit. Want some?”

“Sure, but how?”

Sapphira glanced around the dim hovel. What could she use to channel stew through such a small hole? Finding nothing, she dipped her fingertip into the lukewarm liquid. A smile broke through. “Uh . . . Elam?”

“Yes?”

“Have you heard how the spawns eat when they’re in the growth chambers?”

“Uh-huh. I think so.”

She plunged her whole hand into the stew. “Do you mind being a spawn for a few minutes?”

“I . . . I guess not.”

Sapphira pulled her dripping fingers from the pot and squeezed her hand through the hole, pushing as hard as she could. When it wouldn’t go any farther, she waited. After a few seconds, a wet, tickling sensation brushed her fingertips. Imagining Elam on the other side, she suppressed a giggle, a feeling of warm satisfaction flooding her body.

She pushed through six finger-loads of stew, trying to handle more with each attempt, but during the sixth feeding, a stern voice penetrated their hovel.

“Mara!”

Sapphira whispered, “It’s Morgan!” Using her foot, she slid the stew pot behind Paili and yanked her hand through the hole. Quickly wiping the remaining stew on the back of her tunic, she stood in front of Paili.

A lantern lit up their hovel, and Morgan’s face appeared in the dugout entry as she leaned in from the corridor. “Mara. You must come with me.”

Sapphira didn’t even glance back at Paili. She just hoped the lantern’s light couldn’t reach behind the girl’s body. “Yes’m. I’m coming.” She tried to read Morgan’s expression. Could she have discovered their plot somehow?

“What’s that smell?” Morgan asked, wrinkling her nose.

Sapphira blocked Morgan’s view and raised her arm up near her mistress’s face. “Stew. I got some on my sleeve.”

“Rather sloppy,” Morgan said, straightening to allow Sapphira to exit. “I expect better from you.”

“Yes’m.” Sapphira followed Morgan, watching the lady’s long legs. It seemed strange that she always wore the same clothes, even at night. Most of the girls took off their outer dresses and slept wearing their inner tunics, while some who lived on the hot, lower level just took a sheet to bed, wrapping up in it later as the brick ovens cooled during the night. Morgan, however, seemed to be able to adjust to any temperature instantly.

Morgan stopped at the control room. The door had been left ajar, so she pushed it open and walked in. Sapphira followed, and when her eyes adjusted to the brighter light, she noticed two men examining the jars on her worktable at the back of the room. The taller of the two seemed familiar, yet not quite recognizable. The other man looked tired and battle-worn, but she knew her supervisor right away.

“Mardon!” she cried. “You’re back!” She ran toward him, but he held up his hand, halting her. The other man pushed Mardon to the side and slapped her savagely across her face with the back of his hand, knocking her to the floor. Black spots speckled her vision as she laid her hand on her throbbing cheek. Warm liquid trickled through her fingers. Blood.

Too dizzy to rise, Sapphira lay on the cold stone, listening to the two men babbling in an odd language. With her cheek stinging as if on fire, she pushed up to her knees, and two strong, female hands helped her to her feet. Morgan’s voice interrupted the two babblers. “Stop fighting, you fools!”

Through blurry vision Sapphira saw Mardon push the other man away, but she still couldn’t tell who he was. She caressed her wounded cheek, smearing blood across her fingers. “Did I do something wrong?”

Morgan picked up a gray cloth from the table. “Oh, you won’t get an answer,” she said, dabbing Sapphira’s cheek. “It seems, Mara . . . Oh, excuse me. It’s Sapphira now, isn’t it? Well, I mentioned this to you before, but it seems that Mardon no longer understands us.” She handed Sapphira the cloth and set her fists on her hips. “He now speaks a crude language I have never heard before, a clucking, guttural language fit for poultry or swine.”

Sapphira held the cloth over her wound and touched Mardon’s arm. “Thank you for trying to protect me, but I guess you can’t understand that, either, can you?”

Mardon just stared at her, blinking.

“No, he doesn’t.” Morgan waved her hand toward the other man. “His own father, the king, doesn’t understand him.”

As the lantern light flickered on the king’s face, Sapphira finally recognized him. Though one cheek and his forehead were wrinkled with scar tissue, she remembered his deep brown eyes. “King Nimrod!” She dipped her head and curtsied, then looked up at him again, hoping her tears might draw some compassion. “I’m so sorry about that egg ” She covered her mouth with her fingers. “I forgot. He doesn’t understand, either.”

“No,” Morgan said, “but apparently he remembers you all too well. What did the Ovulum do?”

Nimrod slid a ring up and down his finger. Sapphira winced at the sight of the mounted jewel that had ripped her cheek. “The egg said some things I didn’t understand, and then dragons came and destroyed the tower. I guess he thought it was my fault.” She nodded toward the king. “Did a dragon burn his face?”

“From what I can gather. He uses hand signals quite well, so I’m pretty sure a dragon was involved. He also draws pictures when he tries to communicate.”

“Oh.” Mara folded her cloth in half and laid it on the table. “Well, I guess that helps.”

“Yes, and that’s why I called you here. Because of your obvious intelligence, Naamah and I believe you are the one most capable of teaching these two brutes how to speak the original tongue again. In fact, with all the languages now being used in the upper world, Naamah and I also have much to learn. So, we will soon organize a language school, of sorts, and call upon your linguistic talents to make sure we are all proficient in the new tongues. Your first students, however, are Nimrod and Mardon. Even though they are men, they still have a reasonable supply of brainpower.”

Sapphira shifted back and forth on her feet. “I will do whatever you request of me, of course, but may I also ask a question?”

Morgan sighed. “If you must.”

“Did they notice the tower museum when they came through the portal? Were they excited to see that it survived the dragon fire?”

“They have not seen the museum.” Morgan picked up a piece of graphite and handed it to Sapphira. “There are other ways to enter the lower realms, my dear, but we can discuss that later. For now, we had better get to work on something completely different. We are going to advance your spawn to mobility training immediately.”

A new rush of heat surged into Sapphira’s face. “How can he be ready for that? We haven’t even turned down the magnetic field to test his strength.”

“We’ll start him off slowly,” Morgan said. “But since his stalk thickness is greater than any spawn we’ve ever had, I think he’ll be walking in less than a week.”

“And then you’ll replicate him?”

“Yes. We’ll create a whole new race of intelligent and strong giants, and your spawn will be the leader. But right now, he is bonded to you. He cannot be the general we need until you wean him off your emotional support and release him to Mardon.”

Sapphira glanced at Yereq. He grinned at her. “How do I do that?” she asked.

“I will teach him how to hate, and then you will make him hate you.”

“Hate me? My spawn? I could never ”

Morgan slapped her across her unwounded cheek. “You will do what I say, or else! One more word of defiance, and my next blow will find your other cheek.”

Sapphira cupped her hand over her cut. As Morgan’s eyes flamed, Sapphira slowly backed away, nodding. “I’ll . . . I’ll do it.” Blood oozed onto her fingers, and a single drop fell to the floor. As soon as it touched, the stone seemed to sizzle. A tiny string of smoke rose past Sapphira’s knees. The string grew and slowly stretched out toward Nimrod, curling around his waist and then his neck.

With a sudden jerk, the string tightened into a taut gray rope and pulled Nimrod to the ground. Sapphira leaped back. Nimrod screamed, frantically reaching out, grasping for anything within arm’s length. Mardon caught hold of his father’s hand, but the former king sank slowly into the floor as if a sponge were absorbing his melting body. Soon, only Nimrod’s terrified face and an outstretched arm remained, and Mardon finally had to let go. Within seconds, Nimrod was gone.

Sapphira fell to her seat, gaping at a black spot on the stony floor. Mardon dropped to his knees and touched the spot with his fingertips, murmuring a soft lament in his strange tongue.

Morgan glared at Sapphira, her jaw trembling with rage. “You have succeeded in cutting your teaching chore in half,” she growled. “If your careless use of your power also dispatches Mardon, Paili will feel my wrath.”

Sapphira cupped her cheek again, staring at Morgan as she stalked out of the room.

Morgan sat cross-legged at the edge of a deep pit, caressing a leather scabbard on the stone floor at her side. Next to the scabbard lay two gemstones the one Mara had taken from the inner wall of the abyss and a matching stone Morgan had plucked just minutes ago.

As light streamed up from the darkness, Morgan waved her hands across the opening as if warming her fingers over a fire. Leaning closer and allowing the light to bathe her face, she spoke, her voice quavering slightly. “Samyaza. It is your wife, Lilith. If I have finally found you after all these years, I beg you to hear me and forgive my transgressions against you.”

A loud growl sounded from the blackness, then a shout. “Lilith!” The angry cry echoed through the cavern.

Morgan jerked her head back, wincing.

Samyaza continued. “You black-hearted fiend! How dare you offer your sugar-coated words after betraying me with the very arts I taught you!”

She leaned over the pit again. Her voice stayed calm. “It was not a betrayal, my love. If I had not drained some of your power, you would not only be trapped in the abyss, but I would be dead and therefore powerless to help you escape. Instead, I am alive, and I have come to plan your departure from this cursed place.”

Samyaza remained quiet for a few seconds. Morgan smiled, knowing she had cooled his fiery anger. “Since I am but a wraith, I have no body for you to inhabit, so even if I could climb down there, you would not be able to ride back with me. And it’s possible that I could not make it back at all.”

Samyaza’s voice returned, quieter, yet still firm. “I know you, Lilith. You have a plan. What is it?”

“My plan has many complexities, but the ultimate goal is for you and I to rule the world. Of course, the only way to do that is to exterminate every dragon and create an army that will help us conquer our enemies.”

“What is so complex about that?”

“As long as dragons rule the skies, in your weakened condition, you would not be able to fight them.”

Samyaza’s voice crackled with sarcasm. “Weakened, thanks to you.”

“True, but, as I said, I was your only hope. Who else would wish to free you?”

Another pause ensued, then a quiet, “Go on.”

Morgan raised a pair of her long, slender fingers. “We are trying to build an army in two ways. The spirits of the Nephilim are still alive, and they are beginning to indwell the dragon race. They will be powerful allies in our war.”

“But you said you wanted to exterminate every dragon. Why make them our allies?”

“That’s where the plan gets complicated.” Morgan closed her fingers into a fist. “The Nephilim will make the dragon race virulent in the sight of humans, and I will personally incite war between the two species. To crown my achievements, I will raise up a champion who will ensure that every dragon will die.”

“If every dragon dies, then what of our army?”

Morgan lifted a pinch of soil and let it trickle back to the ground. “We are creating another army from the earth. We are genetically engineering a race of giants, hybrids from the seeds of angels.”

“Farm-raised Nephilim? Ingenious.”

“Thank you,” Morgan replied, waving her hands over the streams of light again. “I thought you would approve. The experimentation is tedious, but we have finally created a suitable combination, a fierce, intelligent giant who will be our model for all the others.”

“How long will it take?”

“The plants grow slowly, so it will take many years.”

“Plants? They are not human?”

“They are fully human. We splice a photosynthetic gene into the human genome at the embryonic stage, allowing us to grow them from the earth. It makes them more self-sustaining, able to gather light and power from their environment. Since they have a full set of human genes, they eventually slough off their plant stems and grow into a completely human form.”

“So once the dragons are gone and your army is in place, how will you release us?”

Morgan paused and leaned closer, lowering her voice. “With Chereb.”

Samyaza grunted a contemptuous laugh. “What good will my sword do in the hands of a sorceress?”

Morgan patted down the streams of light as if trying to quell his skepticism. “I told you I learned the secret to its power.”

“So will its power destroy this prison?”

“I believe so, yet escape from the abyss might not be enough. We sit here now in the lower realms, thousands of feet of earth separating us from the skies above, but even up there we would be in one of the circles of Hades. There is no way I know for you to return to the dimension of the living. I am able to go there for a short time, because of my unusual status as a wraith, but I think that dimension would be closed to you.”

“Then your plan is not complete,” Samyaza growled. “We are at a dead end.”

“No. I have been listening to Elohim’s prophets in the world of the living. They say a king is coming who will open up the way of escape from this dimension. I will watch for this king and learn how he opens the gateway.”

“What if this king is the only one with the power to make such an opening?”

“Whatever is done once can be done again. If I have to, I will find another king who will pave the way. In the meantime, I must neutralize the force that Elohim has sent to destroy my plan.”

“What force is that?”

“The oracles of fire two girls we spawned here. They have extraordinary intelligence and insight. I killed one of them, so I think we are safe, but I want to make sure.”

“So kill the other one and be done with her.”

Morgan shook her head. “It’s not so easy. Whoever sheds their blood ends up dying. Even one of my stupid giants, a fool named Nabal, died before I could kill him myself. He whipped one of the oracles, and I found him dead in his hovel that very night. Something similar happened to a foolish king I know. A very powerful force protects that girl.”

“Then how did you manage to kill the other one?”

“By the only method that always works against oracles sent by God. Betrayal.”

“I see. A most vicious and effective weapon. But take care. Such a weapon can be turned against you.”

Morgan sighed and nodded. “Well spoken, my love. But I have chosen my weapon, and he has already forged his way into the heart of the second oracle. He will soon be ready to plunge my final dagger into Mara’s heart.”

“Her name is Mara?” Samyaza chuckled. “This will be a bitter pill indeed.”

“Yes, and don’t be surprised if she comes here. She is the one who found you for me, and knowing her curiosity, she’ll be back.”

“I will be sure to listen for her. What is the name of the betrayer?”

“Elam. He is a special prize, stolen from the family of my greatest enemy. The pain his departure caused his father and grandfather was sweet to witness.”

Samyaza laughed again. “Ah, Lilith! Your conniving genius fills me with confidence. We will wait patiently for your plan to unfold.”

“Yes, Samyaza.” Morgan rose to her feet and withdrew Chereb from the leather scabbard. “Everything has been set in motion,” she said, gazing at the shining blade. “Nothing can stop us now.”

The second week of language training had finally ended. As she trudged back toward her hovel, Sapphira laid her hand on her aching head, Mardon’s shouts still ringing in her ears. He caught on pretty quickly, but his patience was as thin as her coif veil. Whenever a new word flustered him, he screamed louder than Nabal ever did. At least Nimrod wasn’t around anymore. He would surely have made the training sessions much worse.

Exhausted, Sapphira slipped quietly back into her hovel, a dim lantern in hand. Paili snored gently, her angelic face peaceful under the glow of the flaming wick. After setting the lantern on the floor, she whispered toward the hole. “Elam? Are you there?”

There was no answer.

She pressed her uninjured cheek against the floor and whispered again. “Elam?”

Again, no answer.

The lantern’s light revealed something new, an object resting in the hole to Elam’s chamber. She reached in and caressed something soft and delicate. Pulling the object out, she laid it in her hand, a large flower that covered most of her palm. Though the light was too dim to tell for sure, its seven petals looked white, each one protruding from a golden center. The petals felt as soft as the pod of a newborn spawn. She held the blossom by its thin green stem, turning it in the dim glow. It had to be from the tree in Morgan’s room. She pressed her ear against the cold wall. Obviously Elam got out of Morgan’s room safely, but where was he now?

Feeling the sting in her cheek again, Sapphira set the blossom on her bed and stepped quietly back to the hovel entrance. The oozing cut seemed to get worse and worse, even though she had washed it every evening. Tired as she was, it had to be washed again. There was probably time to hurry to the spring and still get a few hours of sleep later.

After shuffling sleepily through the corridor and into the spring’s cavern, she set the lamp at the edge of the sulfur pool and gazed into the still waters. The flickering light cast waves of orange over the mirror-like surface, a glare that shimmered across her reflection. Sliding the lantern farther away, she kept her eyes on the water until she could see her image clearly. She touched her wound, feeling the ugly gash that scarred her face. Seeing her cheek made it sting even worse. It was more than a physical blemish; it seemed to expose her soul, an ugly rut in her smooth skin that undressed her wounded heart.

Sapphira pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. The empty cavern reminded her of her cruel slavery. Morgan hated her. Naamah wasn’t much better. Mardon seemed to view her as a science experiment that could be thrown away whenever she was no longer useful. Even her spawn now glared at her in disgust, learning more hate from Morgan every day. And the king of all the upper realms, who once sang the praises of her beauty, had delivered a cutting blow, scarring that beauty forever.

Taking a handful of water, she dabbed the cut, tears beginning to flow as heat surged through her face, making it feel as though a bat had dug its claws into the wound and was tearing it wide open. Now, every lash, every cut, and every bruise Nabal and other slave drivers had gouged into her skin began to throb. She pulled down the shoulder of her dress, exposing the whip laceration Nabal had delivered just before Acacia died. It burned like fire.

She knelt again at the pool and gazed at her tear-stained face. Resting her hands in the shallows, she sighed. Who could ever love an ugly little slave girl, an underborn who scarred her body chiseling rocks all day in dark, lonely caverns? She wasn’t a king. She wasn’t a scholar. She knew nothing more than what she read in dusty scrolls salvaged from haphazard piles and squirreled away for clandestine reading during the chilly hours of the night.

While shivering at her own memories, she imagined Morgan catching her out of her hovel after bedtime. In her mind’s eye, the swinging hand of King Nimrod appeared in the pool’s reflection as it ripped across her cheek, pounding her to the floor in agony. As she writhed at Nimrod’s feet, the sound of Morgan’s haunting laughter echoed, joining a chorus of others as they chanted in mocking hatred. The pitiful girl in the pool could only gaze up at her conquerors and cry.

Sapphira slapped the surface of the water. “You deserved it! You’re nobody! You’re just a dirty, ugly slave!” As her reflection began to congeal again on the surface, she pointed at her rippled image. “You’re not Sapphira Adi. You’re just Mara, an ignorant underborn! Nobody loves you! Not Morgan. Not Mardon. I’ll bet even Elohim hates you!” She spat into the water. “If you had been alive back then, he would have kicked you off the ark, and you would have drowned in the flood with all the others.” Covering her face with her hands, she wept bitterly, her body heaving in wave after wave of sobs.

As her convulsions began to ease, a familiar warmth penetrated her thigh and radiated slowly across her skin. Still kneeling, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the Ovulum. It pulsed, sending crimson halos toward her that expanded into fiery rings all around her body. The rings stroked her arms, like the baking rays of the sun in the upper lands, chasing away every chill. In the pool reflection, her skin blazed with fire, flames leaping from her face and hands, as though the halos had kindled an unworldly power within.

Some of the rings passed over the water, sending ripples across the pool that deepened with every stroke of the caressing red light. Soon the water seemed to dance, thousands of droplets jumping high and falling back to the pool like silvery baitfish fleeing a predator. A swirling breeze buffeted the flying waters, sending a spray across Sapphira, sprinkling her hot cheeks with soothing coolness.

She gazed at the sight in wonder, inhaling deep draughts of the fresh, cool air. As the droplets grew and began to coat her face, she spread out her arms, the Ovulum still pulsating in her hand as she whispered into the breeze. “Let the rain fall, Elohim. Let me drown and join all the others. I am Mara, a worthless slave, and I deserve to die.”

The rain dampened her hair and trickled down her forehead. The Ovulum’s warmth radiated through her arm, and as the heat approached her body, the sound of singing drew near, a man’s voice that seemed to travel along with the warm sensation. The voice crooned in her ear.

“Sapphira Adi,” it sang softly. “You are a precious gem. You are loved more than you will ever know. Bask in the warmth of Elohim’s love. Feel his pleasure in the coolness of his soothing rain, for this is not the rain of floods and destruction; it is living water that will heal your heart.”

Sapphira trembled. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Who . . . who are you?”

With the cadence of a herald’s proclamation, the voice resonated in the cavern. “I am the Eye of the Oracle, the prophet who first told of the great flood. I am Elohim’s bard, the singer who foretells blessings and curses upon generations to come. And now I have a song for you.”

Sapphira swallowed hard, barely able to speak. “A song of blessing?” Her lips trembled. “Or a curse?”

A gentle laugh flowed through her mind, then a whisper. “Listen to the words of Elohim . . . and believe.” The voice sang again, this time in a beautiful tenor.


In days gone by the water fell

And draped the world in silent death;

A rain of judgment drowned the earth

Demanding life and snatching breath.


But now the raindrops fall afresh

On hearts rejecting hate and sin,

In blessings crowned with love and grace

To heal the wounds of soul and skin.


The one who loves is Elohim,

Rejoicing now in song and dance;

I shout for you to come and play,

Enjoying love, the great romance.


So dance, my child, and feel my love

In rain, the healing drops of life.

Forsake your cares, your toils and pain,

The wounds and scars of slavish strife.


O cast aside the chains of grief

And reach for heaven’s grace above;

Sapphira Adi, dance with me!

Enfold yourself in arms of love.

As the song died away, the rain began pouring down, drenching her hair and clothes. The coolness penetrated her skin and seemed to wash away every sorrow, every pain, every image of slavery that tortured her mind. She peeked at her shoulder, now exposed as the water weighed down her dress. The wound had vanished without a trace. Cool drops of tingling water trickled over her cheek. She touched the spot where the wound had festered, now soft and smooth, and pain free.

Clutching the Ovulum tightly, she lifted her arms and laughed, allowing the swirling breeze to catch her body and spin her in a slow pirouette. Lights twinkled through the prismatic mist, spraying her with a dazzling splash of rainbow colors. She closed her eyes and felt loving arms taking her into a tender embrace, and she returned the favor, hugging her image of Elohim, the God of love. As the bard’s song returned, repeating each phrase amidst the sounds of tumbling waters, she drank in every word, allowing her body to flow with the leading of her gentle lover.

And Sapphira Adi danced.