Eye of the Oracle

chapter 12

IN HIDING

Jared and Irene huddled around a flickering candle. A tent draped across three short poles acted as their only break against a chill wind. As they rubbed their fingers in the candle’s fragile warmth, their breaths troubled the flame. Jared sat cross-legged on a threadbare gray blanket, watching the changes in her expression the anxiety in her furrowed brow, the fear in her wide eyes, and the pain in her tight bluish red lips. He glanced from time to time at the tent’s entrance, wondering if the occasional snaps of twigs or hoots of owls signaled coming danger.

With his hands clenched over his mouth, Jared took in a deep breath and whispered between his thumbs. “If he is not here soon, Irene, we have to assume the worst. Valcor is no match for Devin.”

Irene placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “He is no match in battle, but my brother is wiser by far. Do not give up hope. I would not have arranged our meeting had I thought this a fool’s errand.”

Jared raised his head. “I heard a nightingale.”

Irene whispered, “It is the signal.” She pursed her lips and blew a warbling bird whistle.

Within seconds, the tent flap flew open, and a man with water dripping from his sleeves bustled in.

Irene grasped the man’s arm. “Valcor! Are you hurt?”

Valcor, stooping under the low ceiling, shook his head, panting. “Devin . . . Devin tracked me to the river’s edge, so I swam . . . swam upstream as far as I could.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I ran the rest of the way. It will be some time before the dogs pick up the trail again, but we must hurry.” He pulled a scroll from his vest, sat beside Jared, and rolled it out on the blanket. “I found the letter, and I managed to keep it above water.”

Irene glanced upward and clasped her hands together. “Thank the Maker!”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Valcor shivered. “Yes. It is a miracle that I escaped. My bribe must not have been rich enough to keep the guard quiet.” He rolled up his wet sleeves and ran his fingers across the parchment. “But this information is worth all the trouble.”

Jared eyed the letter. “It is lengthy. Please give us a summary.”

Valcor held the letter close to the dancing flame. “It is clear that Devin is now more dangerous than ever.”

“But he failed,” Irene said. “Arthur and Merlin squashed the rebellion.”

“Devin did not fail completely. He took Excalibur, and now Merlin has vanished. Who can predict how powerful Devin and Morgan will become?”

Valcor slid the candle closer to the letter. “This explains what I believe is an even greater danger. You see, Merlin promised to tell Morgan how to restore her wandering spirit to a body. The promise, it seems, has been fulfilled in this letter, which I recently learned was in Devin’s possession.”

Irene shifted to Valcor’s side and draped her shawl across his shoulders. She eyed the letter’s exquisite penmanship. “Why would Merlin make such a promise to a witch?”

Valcor took his sister’s hand. “I asked Merlin that very question before he disappeared. He said the plan is of divine origin and extends well beyond his vision, but we should not worry; God knows what he is doing. In any case, as you may already know, Morgan is not a common variety witch. She is the wife of a Watcher. Her original name was Lilith, a wretched enchantress who lived before the flood. Her husband taught her the evil arts of the fallen angels, but she did not know that practicing these arts would cause her to become a wraith. She actually took on the nature of the Watchers and has no hope of redemption without regaining a body and giving herself in obedience to the Christ.”

A peal of thunder rolled across the sky. Valcor’s gaze flashed toward the tent entrance as he rolled up the letter and thrust it back into his vest. “There is much to explain, and time is short.” He held his hand over his vest pocket. “Merlin told Morgan she needs a hostiam viventem, a living sacrifice, in order to shed her ghostly cowl. That sacrifice has to be a legal, female relative of the king. Morgan had her evil eye on Guinevere, but not even the Watchers’ arts could persuade Arthur to give up his wife. So, it seems that she changed her plan, hoping Devin could take the throne during the rebellion.”

“But how would that further her cause?” Jared asked. “Devin has no wife and no female relatives that I know of.”

“Who would have him?” Irene sliced her hand across her throat. “I would kill myself before I let that piece of filth touch me!”

Valcor smirked. “Even dead, you might still be a target, Irene. Merlin wrote that a deceased woman can be a hostiam providing, of course, the body has not been dead for very long. But Devin would have no need to hunt for corpses. If he had succeeded in usurping the throne, he would have had his choice of women. Morgan would have entered his wife and become queen, and Devin would have the power to rule the world. I believe Devin would have put up with a witch of a wife for a prize like that.”

A distant howl drifted into the tent. Valcor pushed the entrance flap to the side and leaned out for a moment, then ducked back in. “So Devin and Morgan had an understanding. She would provide him with power, with influence in high places, and he, in turn, would use that power to become king, get married, then provide Morgan with a woman to possess. But since his rebellion has failed, Morgan might not wait for him to try again.”

Irene raised a finger to her chest. “But if any legal female relative can serve as host, then I really would be a candidate, would I not, since I am an adopted daughter?”

Valcor nodded. “You would be, yes.”

“Then why does Devin seek to kill me?”

“Because,” Valcor replied, stroking his chin, “he has merely identified you as a former dragon. He hasn’t yet made the connection that you are also in the royal line. So you have peril either way. If you are a dragon, Devin wants you dead. If you are an heir, Morgan would prefer to take your body alive, yet in such a way that you would be better off dead. I believe, however, that Devin’s bloodlust will override his desire to search for Morgan’s hostiam, so he will likely try to kill you until the day he dies.”

“If he ever dies,” Irene added.

Jared lifted his brow. “If? Why do you say if?”

“Haven’t you noticed his new youthfulness?” Irene brushed her finger across her calf. “He shows no sign of the leg wound I gave him when I fought with him. If Morgan’s evil handiwork has given him healing power, then who knows how long he might live?”

“So,” Valcor said, “the presence of a seemingly deathless stalker means that we must go into hiding permanently. The farther apart we live and the less we communicate with each other, the more difficult it will be for Devin and Morgan to find us all.”

Valcor began to rise, but Irene pulled on his sleeve. “Wait. I have something for you.” She opened her palm. Two spherical red stones rolled to the edge of her hand, looking like a pair of polished cranberries at the peak of harvest. “When you gave me Makaidos’s rubellite, it reminded me of its meaning to the dragon race, so I went back to Bald Top to search for other rubellites. I assumed they fell to the ground when we were transformed, so I thought they might still be up there.”

Irene seesawed her hand, letting the gems roll from side to side. “I found two in the grass, the lighter of these gems and another one I put away in a safe place.” She plucked the darker of the two stones from her palm and gave it to Valcor. “Dear brother, this is our father’s, the one you gave to me, and I ask you, as his son, to take it back.” She handed the other stone to Jared. “Always remember what we once were. If you ever procreate, pass yours along to your progeny at the appropriate time.”

Closing his fingers around his rubellite, Jared nodded. “I will. You can count on it.”

Valcor’s lips parted as if to speak, but, as his face reddened, he just lowered his head.

Irene’s blue eyes sparkled. “As these gems reflect the vitality of your mortal essence, may you always reflect the nobility of our race through your courage, your integrity, and your sacrifice.”

Valcor stood and bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He rolled a tear onto his finger and held it out for Jared and Irene to see. “How rare were the tears of a dragon. We once lived in Paradise, and because of the corruption of an angel disguised as a dragon, all the world was cast into darkness. Now, as humans, we shed many tears for what was lost, for what might have been, and for the end of friendships. Good-bye, my true friends.” He bowed again and hurried from the tent.

Jared held the tent flap open for Irene. “We had better go, as well.”

She raised a finger. “We must wait for his signal that all is clear.”

Jared paused, listening so intently he could hear a faint sizzle from the candle’s wick. Another howl pierced the night. He wet his fingers and snuffed the flame. “That is a good enough signal for me.” He and Irene shuffled from the tent and folded it with the blanket.

After tucking the bundle under his arm, Jared inhaled deeply. “It is a new world, Hartanna, if I may call you that one last time. We will now be alone and friendless, perhaps for many years.”

“Before I go into hiding,” Irene said, “I must tell my mother what has happened. She will surely be Devin’s prime target.”

Irene turned to leave, but Jared grabbed her hand. “I have one regret,” he said softly.

She tilted her head. “Regret? What regret?”

He sighed and caressed her fingers with his thumb. “That I was never able to become Hartanna’s mate.”

As Irene gazed into his eyes, her tears glistened in the dim light. “You would have made a magnificent king, Clefspeare.”

He kissed her hand tenderly. “May the Maker grant you safe passage.” He bowed and marched quickly into the forest.

In the gloom of night, Elam sat in front of the hut, watching the undulating glow of firelight as it danced inside the open window. Cautious voices from within drifted to his ears.

“Do not tell me where you are going, Irene. It is better that I do not know.”

“But you are my mother. How will I ever find you again?”

“Have faith. The Maker will see to our reunion . . . someday.”

“At least choose a new name and tell me what it is. Thigocia will not serve you as a proper name in this land.”

Elam scooted closer to the window.

“At first I chose Emzara, because, like Noah’s wife, I am the mother of all who remain of my kind, but I decided it was too uncommon and obvious. Devin would guess it easily. So, I have chosen to answer to the name of Hannah.”

“Hannah is a fine name. It is easy to remember and not conspicuous at all.”

“You should go now, precious daughter. The longer you stay in this country, the more danger you will be in.”

Elam rose to his feet, picked up his knapsack, and tiptoed to the edge of the surrounding forest. Leaning against the wide trunk of a tree, he slid back down to his seat and watched Irene leave the tiny hut. She and Hannah embraced, then, after holding her mother’s hand for a moment, Irene strode into the shadows and disappeared.

Elam pulled the Ovulum from his bag and whispered, “Fiat lux.” A faint glow emanated from the glass. He smiled and spoke softly to it. “Thigocia seems to be safe for now, so I guess I’ll just sleep here until she decides to go somewhere else.”

The orb pulsed but gave no reply.

Giving the smooth surface a gentle rub, Elam continued. “Sometimes I wish you’d talk to me more. I want to do a good job watching over Thigocia, but I feel like I’m just guessing what I’m supposed to do.”

The Ovulum’s glow brightened, and its pulsing frequency increased, but it stayed quiet.

Elam let the Ovulum rock back and forth in his palm. “I believe Sapphira gave you to me for a reason, and I guess I’ll figure it all out as I go, but maybe it would help if I knew how long I’m supposed to keep track of Thigocia.” He drew the Ovulum closer to his face. “Will you tell me when the slayers die?”

The eye slowly congealed inside the glass. Its crimson-coated image pulsed in time with the orb’s glow. “For the sake of your curious mind, Elam, son of Shem, I will reveal what I know.” The eye seemed to retreat, and the entire face of an elderly man appeared. “I am Enoch, the first oracle. When God took me up from the earth, he gave me the task of overseeing a certain portion of his redemption plan. I reside in a spiritual realm, and my window to your world is the humble egg you hold in your hands, a dimensional viewer that is passed from oracle to oracle. Methuselah inherited the oracle title from me, but the flood created the need to pass the Ovulum to Sapphira Adi, a special kind of oracle whose true mission has not yet begun. Now that she has been set on her path, the Ovulum is yours, and as my descendant, you are the rightful heir.”

Elam pointed at himself. “So am I an oracle?”

“That mantle is yours to be grasped, but time will tell if you are able to wear it with authority.” Enoch’s face seemed to back away even farther. Robed in scarlet, he sat on a stool next to a table. “For now, I will address your immediate question, but there is no simple answer. Morgan’s arts could keep the slayers alive for many years, so the time of fulfillment of your task is uncertain. Just stay close to Thigocia and stay hidden.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard. I don’t eat, and I don’t get older. All I need is some sleep now and then.”

“It may be harder than you realize. The mother dragon is stalked by a monster who will stop at nothing to murder her. Guard her well.”

Elam nodded. “I will. You can count on that.” He breathed a sigh. “Good night, Enoch.” After pulling the knapsack under his head, he held the Ovulum close to his chest and drifted off to sleep.

Sapphira stepped back from the rectangular screen of light and waved her hand across it, dimming it to a soft glow. “That’s enough for a while. Elam’s just going to sleep.” The screen shrank from a dragon-sized aura back to a spinning orange column, the portal to the snake-infested swamp up above.

Paili bounced on her seat in the center of a pile of straw. “More!” she chirped.

Yara, sitting next to her, wrapped her arms around Paili’s neck and pulled her into a strong hug. “You need to sleep, too.”

Sapphira sighed. “We all do. Elam’s so busy, just watching him makes me tired.”

“It was so strange,” Yara said. “He looked right at us when he said good night to Enoch.”

“I saw that. It’s almost like we’ve been looking through Enoch’s eyes ever since Elam left.”

Paili rubbed her stomach. “Can we eat before bed? I’m hungry.”

Sapphira laid her hand over her own stomach. “Did Acacia bring more food?”

“A couple of hours ago,” Acacia called, waving from the museum.

Sapphira walked toward her sister and peered through the doorway. “Looking for something new to read?”

Acacia held open a scroll. “I’m studying the map again. When I was sneaking back with the food, I overheard Mardon talking about the digging project.”

“Any idea if the giants are getting close to the surface?”

“That’s why I’m checking the map.” She pointed at a drawing of the uppermost floor. “I think they started here, and the legend says that point is about two thousand feet below the surface.” She rolled up the map. “But I have no idea how long it will take. If they hit bedrock between here and there, it could take a thousand years.”

Awven brought each of the twins a jar. Acacia opened hers, dipped her fingers in, and pulled out a gob of black gunk. “But as long as the worm farms hold out, we’ll have their yummy guts to eat for years to come.” She pushed the gob into her mouth, then grimaced as she swallowed. “Not a good batch. Must have had a grub worm in the mix.”

As the two girls walked back toward the portal, Sapphira opened her own jar. “Everything’s going to change when they finally break through,” she said, “but if they don’t do it pretty soon, and if we don’t figure out how to open a portal” she pinched a clump of worm guts and winced at it “I might just choose to starve.”

“Elam never eats,” Paili said, wormy gunk spilling down her chin.

Sapphira stared at her. “What did you say?”

“Elam never eats,” Paili repeated. “Haven’t you noticed?”

Sapphira set her jar down, not bothering to recap it. “I already knew. He ate the fruit from the other tree.” She ran back to the museum, rushed past the statues, and knelt where Morgan’s tree once grew. It had taken days to uproot the awful thing and burn it, and the smoke had filled their chamber with a putrid odor for weeks, but it was worth it. As soon as Paili stopped handling the fruit, her speech improved dramatically.

“Paili,” she shouted. “Do you know where I keep my blossom?”

Paili appeared at the museum’s doorway. “Under my old bed?”

“No.” Sapphira pointed at a bookshelf near the door. “I moved it to that shelf I cleared out. Please bring it to me.”

Finding the blossom, Paili cradled it in her palms, and carried it to the bed of soil.

Sapphira wrapped her hands around the petals and folded them up into a ball. She gouged the soil with her fist and laid the blossom in the hole. “We’ll make a growth chamber right here. There ought to be enough magnetite bricks lying around.” Scooping dirt from around the blossom, she covered it up under a mound.

Acacia strolled into the museum, her arms crossed over her chest. “How do you know it will germinate? It can’t have seeds yet, can it?”

Sapphira looked up at her. “Do you remember hearing Merlin’s prophecy when the dragons transformed?”

“Remember!?” Acacia laughed. “You woke me up, screaming, ‘Look at the portal! Look at the portal!’ I was kind of groggy, but I remember watching.”

Sapphira got up and grabbed a scrap of parchment from a nearby shelf. “I wrote down the prophecy.” Pressing her finger on the parchment, she read the poem.


When hybrid meets the fallen seed

The virgin seedling flies;

An orphaned waif shall call to me

When blossom meets the skies.

Sapphira raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Well,” Acacia said, “we’re all hybrids, virgins, and orphaned waifs.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s worth a try. Maybe that blossom will somehow sprout and touch the sky.”

Sapphira smiled. “Good rhyme, Acacia.”

Acacia smiled back at her and slid a scroll from one of the lower shelves. “Speaking of poetry,” she said, her mouth stretching into a yawn. “I think I’ll read some. It’s time for us all to get to bed.”

“Great,” Sapphira said. “I could use a good bedtime story.”

“Then you’ll join us?” Acacia asked.

Sapphira nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Acacia gave her a worried-mother look. “You okay?” she asked.

Tightening her lips, Sapphira nodded again. She leaned against the museum doorway as her twin oracle walked back to the girls, who had gathered in a circle around a small pile of scrolls near the portal. Although the museum had once housed thousands of documents, the modest heap represented a precious share of their diminishing fuel supply.

Acacia pointed at the pile and ignited it, then jumped back in mock alarm. The other girls laughed, and as Acacia squeezed in between Paili and Awven, she glanced back at Sapphira, smiling in a sad sort of way before unwinding the scroll and settling down to read.

Sapphira strolled back to the planter and lowered herself to her knees in front of the mound she had piled over the blossom. She gazed up into the dark reaches of the cavernous library. The portal at the museum’s upper crossbeams no longer worked. The orange portal where the girls gathered probably still led to the nest of vipers in the swamp. The whirlpool portal at the bottom of the chasm was now unapproachable. The magma had become so hot, it scalded their faces even as they stood on the ledge, warning them that a plunge into its current now meant certain death. And the portal down in the mining trench where the abyss used to be had fizzled soon after it was created.

Still, any untested doorway could lead somewhere worse than their present location. She couldn’t go to the dimension of dead dragons and risk destroying their new home. Dwelling in the land of the living was out of the question; the people would think she was a freak and put her on display. And showing up at Morgan’s castle would be the worst idea of all.

Sapphira sighed. She and Acacia would just have to be content watching the upper lands from afar, cut off from everything that really mattered from Elam and his dangerous task, from the dragons and their new adventure, and, worst of all, from Elohim and his loving embrace. They would have to consider, however, what to do with the other girls. Since they looked like normal humans, they could find homes up above, and they would be a lot more comfortable there, having access to beds and blankets and something better to eat than worm guts. Of course, getting them there safely would be the hard part. Maybe she could somehow reopen the trench portal. Since it likely led to the hill near the church of Michael, she could find homes for the girls and then go back to the lower realms.

She leaned over and smoothed out the dirt on top of the planter’s hopeful womb. She felt as though she had entombed herself, Sapphira Adi buried alive in a God-forsaken hole. The girl Elohim had used and thrown away had died, and Mara the slave girl had come back to life, a girl trapped in a dismal prison with no rescuers in sight.

She rocked back and forth on her knees, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Maybe, just maybe, that blossom would root and grow. Who could tell? If dragons could become humans, maybe a freak of nature could become something beautiful, something that could be loved, not just used for a while and cast back into the darkness, but loved and treasured forever.

Sapphira lifted her head and gazed at Lazarus’s cross, nailed to the wall next to the shelf where she kept Enoch’s scroll. The dark-grained wood, burnished by the flames that spun her back to the lower realms, sparkled from afar, reflecting a lantern hanging near the museum door. The dazzling gloss seemed to flicker in rhythmic flashes, reminding her of the Ovulum’s pulsing cadence, yet radiating white light rather than red.

Bowing her head again, she raised her clasped hands under her chin. “Elohim,” she whispered. “I hope you’ll give me another chance. I . . . I guess there’s still something I don’t understand, or maybe I did something wrong, and that’s why I have to stay down here . . . but that’s okay. I know Acacia and the other girls need me right now.”

She tucked her lips in, trying not to cry. “I didn’t really mean what I said about wanting you to leave me alone. I was tired and scared, and losing Elam and the Ovulum made me feel awful. It was like I died inside, twice in the same day.” She looked up at the cross and blinked at its dancing glitters. As the sparkles rode the grain from top to bottom and side to side, it seemed to laugh with joy. She fixed her gaze on the dazzling display and sighed deeply. “I hope you’ll come back someday and show me how to dance with you again.”