Eye of the Oracle

chapter 3

GABRIEL’S GIFT

January, 1949


Elam fastened a pin on the diaper and poked the baby’s fat little belly. “Feel better now?” The baby made a splurting sound from underneath his diaper and giggled.

“Rupert!” Elam moaned. “Not again!”

A woman’s voice sang from across the room. “I’ll do it, Elam.”

Elam smiled at Mrs. Nathanson as she crossed the enormous nursery, sidestepping coloring books, a plastic baseball bat, and three toddlers snuggling blankets on the soft carpet. He nodded at the snoozing children. “Except for Rupert and those three, all the under-twos are changed and in their cribs.”

“You really are a gentleman!” Mrs. Nathanson said, taking Rupert from Elam. “Just like” she suddenly turned her head “just like always.”

Elam wondered about the strange hesitation but chalked it up to her frequent state of emotional upheaval, the longing for a child that she and her husband had never been able to have. He watched her loving hands as they laid the six-month-old boy down her fingers tender as she caressed the wiggling body, deft as she kept the pins from sticking soft flesh, and playful as she tapped Rupert’s nose and cooed at him.

He let out a quiet sigh. Had his own mother been so loving? Had she protected him from pain and exposure? How many years did she weep for her lost son? Did she die in grief, never able to break free from the pain of a mother’s empty arms?

After four thousand years, only a shadow of his mother’s image remained. Still, this childless woman’s care for orphaned babies brought a familiar warmth, something he longed for that had gone wanting for too many centuries. Even her eyes somehow seemed familiar, like those of a friendly stranger who had smiled for no reason and then walked away, disappearing into the passage of time.

Mrs. Nathanson patted his hand. “Don’t worry about checking the escape tunnels tonight. I don’t think it will rain, so they should stay dry.”

“I’ll check them anyway. I’m trying to memorize all the paths in the maze.”

She gazed toward the ceiling, and her voice changed to a dreamy whisper. “I memorized them a long time ago. It’s fun to explore.”

“You memorized all of them? Why? They’re only for emergencies.”

“I sort of feel at home down there. It’s so peaceful.” She shook her head as if casting off her dream, but she kept her smile. “You’d better hurry to the meeting now. Patrick will want to begin on time.”

“Oh, yeah. Right!” Elam bolted toward the door. “Thank you!”

“Dress warm!”

“I will!” He grabbed a sweater from the back of a chair and rocketed from the room, sprinting down a long, high corridor as he slid his arms into the sweater’s sleeves. Although the mansion seemed designed by a stuffy aristocrat, with marble floors, brass doorknobs, and sculpted columns, neither the master of the house nor his wife would ever scold him for his mad dash down a hallway. After all, with about sixty orphans of various ages, shapes, and sizes living in a human beehive, the house always seemed abuzz with activity. No one would take notice of a multi-thousand-year-old teenager breezing by.

Elam slowed and turned down another corridor, a narrower one with a low ceiling and rough walls. Grabbing a lantern and a matchbook from a shelf along the way, he stopped at an entry to a dark hall. A heavy oak door, usually closed and locked, stood open, probably in anticipation of his arrival.

Striking a match, he touched the flame to the lantern’s wick. The fire crawled across the braided cotton and leaped upward into the glass chimney, giving rise to a beautiful image in his mind Sapphira Adi, her white hair igniting and the flames spreading down her lithe body just before she brought Acacia back to life. Though tears filled his eyes, he smiled. He would find her again someday . . . somehow.

He stepped through the doorway into another corridor. Its ceiling was so low, he instinctively ducked, though he knew he could stand erect without scraping his scalp. A few of the ceiling’s ancient, wooden beams bent toward the floor, and a musty odor hung in the dank air.

The corridor ended at another open doorway that led to a much larger room. He soft-stepped in and found Patrick seated where he expected him to be, in one of seven chairs at a round table set precisely over a circular compass etched into the floor. Two lanterns sat on the table, their wicks burning brightly.

As Patrick tapped his finger on a scroll he had rolled out in front of him, a cold pocket of air filtered through a ragged-edged rectangle in the stone ceiling high above. Several large ravens fluttered from one side of the opening to the other, apparently longing for the relative warmth of the humans’ abode.

Bathed in the eerie glow of moonlight, Patrick buttoned his thick gray sweater, then brushed his hand through his short reddish brown hair. A shadow, stenciled on a green curtain covering a ten-foot-by-ten-foot section of the wall, mimicked his actions.

After blowing out his lantern, Elam approached the table. “I am here, as you requested.”

Patrick rolled up his scroll and motioned toward the chair next to him. “Please sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

Elam slid into the chair and set the lantern at his feet. “Your wife told me you had news from other dragons.”

“I do.” Patrick opened a folded note. His thick eyebrows angled downward as he scanned it. “This is a translation. The original was written in a mixture of Hebrew and an old English dialect. Unfortunately, I have forgotten much of both languages, so I took it to Charles, who translated it for me.”

“Charles? Who’s he?”

“You met him a couple of years ago at an archery tournament. We congratulated him for winning his division. He was a high school senior then, and now he is an extraordinary linguist studying at Oxford, but even he had to dust off some old books to complete the translation.”

Elam leaned closer and tried to read the note, but the handwriting was too scribbly. “Can you trust him?”

“I trust him as far as I need to at the moment. If my investigation of his character proves him worthy, I hope someday to invite him to join my circle of knights at this very table.”

“So, does Charles know about the dragons now?”

“No. The message was in symbolic language, so he wasn’t able to interpret the meaning of the English words, but the project made him extremely curious. I am tempted to explain it to him, but he is young and inexperienced, so I have decided to wait a while.” Patrick flattened the note on the table and pointed at the first line. “Let me read it to you. I had to embellish it a bit to fill in the gaps.”

As Elam leaned back in his chair, Patrick cleared his throat. “The king and queen are still in play, though the two dark knights have lurked through a fortnight. A pawn emerged from the queen’s skirts, enraging the evil pursuers. When the knights finally found the king and queen, the royal pair flew to a new world to mark a trail, leaving the pawn to hide under the shelter of the white knight’s home.”

Elam blurted out his interpretation. “So Hannah and Timothy are alive! And Devin and Palin have been chasing them for fourteen years.”

“Exactly.” Patrick gestured for Elam to continue. “And . . .”

“And they had a baby, so, in order to protect him, they flew to the States, hoping Devin would follow him, and they left their baby here with you.”

Patrick clapped his hands. “Very good! Charles was completely baffled.”

“Well, it’s not so hard when you know the history.” Elam glanced toward the hallway that led back to the main house. “So, does your wife have the baby?”

“Oh,” Patrick said, chuckling, “he’s hardly a baby.”

Elam pointed at him. “Right. Hannah could’ve had the baby years ago.”

“Timothy told me earlier that even though they believed they were already husband and wife because of their dragon ritual, he and Hannah decided to have a legal human wedding before reuniting. As I understand it, the baby was born almost exactly nine months later.”

Elam counted on his fingers. “So if he was born in January of 1936, now he would be . . .” He rolled his eyes upward. “Thirteen?”

“Precisely! Timothy’s and Hannah’s getaway to the States occurred only very recently, so one of my colleagues fled with the child from Glasgow and brought him here.” Patrick slid out his chair and turned toward the green curtain. “Gabriel, you may come out now.”

The curtain moved, parting in the middle. A boy peeked through the gap. “Did you tell him about the” he gestured with his head as though someone were behind him “you know what?”

“Oh.” Patrick winced. “How could I forget?” He turned back to Elam. “Gabriel doesn’t want to frighten you. He has a unique gift passed down to him by his mother, so be prepared for a shock.”

“Uh . . . okay.” Elam folded his hands on the table. “I’m ready.”

Gabriel stepped out from behind the curtain. As he strode toward Patrick, a set of wings unfurled behind him, huge reddish brown canopies that stretched out to each side farther than the boy was tall.

Elam leaned back. He wanted to yell “Dragon wings!” but that seemed too awkward. Instead, he just crossed his arms and nodded. “Those are amazing! Can you fly?”

Gabriel pulled a wingtip forward. “Since I was ten, but I only fly at night when nobody can see me.”

Elam forced himself to maintain a cool aspect, in spite of the strange sight a teenager, half human and half dragon. He pointed at one of the wings. “I’ll bet you have a lot of fun zipping around the sky, right?”

Flexing his lean muscles, Gabriel shrugged. “It’s fun hopping from roof to roof and bombing cats with water balloons, but it gets pretty boring when you can’t show anyone your flying acrobatics.”

“Can’t show anyone?” Elam repeated. “Why not? Do you keep your wings a secret?”

Sadness clouded Gabriel’s face, belying his painted-on smile. He pointed with his thumb. “I stuff them in a hiking backpack like a pair of huge socks. My mother cut holes in the panel that goes next to my back to let my wings fit through, but they’re always trying to escape.”

Elam rose to the balls of his feet, stretching to get a look at Gabriel’s back. “So do you have holes in your shirts, too?”

“Yeah, but it’s a real pain. I have to ”

“Gentlemen.” Patrick gestured toward the table. “Please sit. We can talk about dragon-wing accessories another time, but right now we have more important matters to discuss.”

Elam and Gabriel took seats across from each other. Patrick withdrew a velvet jewelry box from his pocket and opened it as he set it on the table. Inside, a red gem sparkled at the center of an octagonal pendant. “The gem,” he said, lifting it by its chain, “is a rubellite. And not just any rubellite; it belongs to Timothy, Gabriel’s father.”

Elam reached over and tapped the swaying pendant, making it twirl. “But since Timothy is Makaidos, isn’t he your father, too? And wouldn’t that make Gabriel your brother?”

Patrick nodded. “Makaidos was my father, but whether or not Gabriel could be called my true brother, I cannot say for sure. You see, I was born to dragons, and he was born to humans, one of whom was transformed under Merlin’s prophecy and one who was apparently generated, if you will, from scratch. Although the transformed dragons never intramarried, knowing they could not procreate with each other, Makaidos was exempt from that incapacity since he was not part of Merlin’s prophetic group.” He let out a long sigh. “So, as you can see, Gabriel and I have extremely peculiar genealogies, and our relationship is uncertain.”

Elam nodded toward Gabriel. “You said he inherited the wings from his mother. How do you know that? Both his parents had wings.”

“From blood tests. Timothy has no traces of dragon blood in him, while Hannah and I show some unique cellular structures that I don’t yet understand.”

“Why is Timothy different?” Elam asked, but when he saw Gabriel’s gaze tip downward, he regretted his question.

“I wish I knew,” Patrick replied. “I can only deduce that God removed his dragon nature and gave him a human soul.”

Gabriel’s head perked up. “Don’t you have a soul?” he asked Patrick.

“I do, but not a human one. At least that’s what Merlin told me.”

“Merlin told me the same thing about the transformed dragons,” Elam said, glad to turn the examination toward Patrick. “You’re somehow both dragon and human, but without a human soul.”

“Merlin told you?” Gabriel asked, swinging his head toward Elam. “He lived over a thousand years ago, and you can’t be older than a couple of hundred.”

Patrick raised his hands, laughing. “As you both can see, there are many questions to answer, and I will allow the two of you to converse at length some other time. For now, however, we must plan our strategy.” He reached under his chair, pulled out a briefcase, and withdrew a ragged scroll of yellowed parchment. Carefully unwinding it, he laid it across the breadth of the table, giving Elam one of the rollers and Gabriel the other.

Patrick ran his finger along the text. “This is a missive from Merlin to Morgan that I . . . well . . . intercepted from Devin. As you can see, through about two-thirds of the scroll, the lettering is in the old style, but from there until the end, it is written in modern English.”

Elam leaned forward and gawked at the parchment. “Did you write the new stuff?”

“No. When I first read this letter centuries ago, Merlin had not used the entire scroll. I would guess about one foot of parchment was blank. I only discovered this new entry a week ago while I was deciding what I could show to Charles to help him translate the letter from Timothy and Hannah.”

Patrick tapped his finger on the first line. “If you please, Elam.”

Elam nodded and read the new text out loud.


A spawn conceives to bring new birth;

Then lays her hybrid down to rest.

The king’s own son must sacrifice

To purge the dragon in your breast.


Beware of Morgan’s hidden plot

To find an heir to Arthur’s throne.

She lusts to dwell within the veil

And reap the harvest you have sown.


For as Hartanna’s age-old twin,

The seed you sow implants an heir.

A daughter sprouts in walls of flesh

And grows in secret, cloaked in prayer.


Now Morgan learns where Valcor dwells;

She lurks in shadows, patient, still,

Awaiting blossoms from the sprout

To cut and capture, then to kill.


Beware the snake and hide the girl,

But let her live a carefree life.

Instill in her a faithful heart

For only faith endures the strife.


Above all plans, protect the gem,

The key that opens Dragons’ Rest,

For Arthur’s seed must find his way

To rescue captives in his quest.


Take care to learn this secret path

To fertilize the barren land,

For dragons die to shed their scales

And bow before the Son of Man.

Elam breathed a low whistle. “I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means!”

Patrick smiled, but it was a weak, sad sort of smile. “What do you think it means?”

Elam folded his hands and pressed his thumbs together. The part about the hybrid being laid to rest and the king’s son sacrificing seemed to point to Gabriel, but should he mention something so morbid right in front of him? Had Patrick already figured it out? Maybe it was best to focus on another part of the prophecy, at least for now. “Obviously,” he said slowly, “Morgan’s out to get a girl, and . . . uh . . .” He shifted his gaze to the roof where only a single raven remained, preening its feathers. “Is Mrs. Nathanson . . . expecting?”

Patrick tapped a finger on the table. “The exact question I immediately asked myself. You see, we had always thought Ruth was unable to bear a child, so, to soothe her empty arms and fill her great desire to care for abandoned children, we established our orphanage. Yet, when I saw this prophecy, I urged her to get a blood test.”

“And . . . um . . . did the rabbit die?” Elam asked.

“No.” Patrick’s weak smile returned. “I’m afraid the little hopper is alive and well.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I was hopeful, but Ruth is not expecting.”

Elam picked up the rubellite and peered into its crimson center. “Then how can this prophecy be fulfilled? Who’s the daughter Merlin’s talking about? And how can this gem be a key? And what was that stuff about barren land?”

Patrick opened his palm, and Elam laid the pendant in his hand. “As you have so aptly demonstrated,” Patrick said, “there are many questions, and I can answer only one with confidence. The prophecy will eventually come to pass, but it seems that the fulfillment might come in ways we do not expect.”

The raven suddenly swooped down and snatched the pendant’s chain. In a flurry of black wings, it took off toward the hole in the ceiling with the pendant dangling underneath.

“Noooo!” Patrick lunged at the bird but missed.

Gabriel unfurled his wings, leaped onto the table, and launched himself upward. Folding his wings slightly, he squeezed through the hole without missing a beat. One second later, he was gone.

Elam held his breath. Patrick’s gaze locked on the ceiling. After about half a minute, Gabriel dropped through the hole, his wings letting him drift gently to the floor. With his brow furrowed, he shuffled back to the table.

Patrick gasped. “You . . . you didn’t get it?”

Gabriel held up the pendant. “Oh, I got the gem.”

Patrick clutched his chest. “Don’t frighten me like that!”

“Yeah,” Elam said. “You looked like you were mad.”

“I am mad. I grabbed that little buzzard by the neck and yanked the chain from its beak, but when I turned back, a huge bat latched on to my wrist.” He held up his arm, displaying a stream of blood. “It hung on until I let the bird go.”

Patrick cradled Gabriel’s arm and examined the wound. “We can’t take you to the hospital, but we have a nurse on staff who is well versed in these matters.”

“Can we trust her to keep my wings a secret?” Gabriel asked.

“Certainly. She’s my wife.” Patrick took the pendant and laid it back in its box. His brow knitted a trio of deep creases as he sat down at the table. “Elam, have you figured out who the raven is?”

Elam stared at the ceiling’s hole and sat next to Patrick. “Morgan? After all these years?”

“Can there be any doubt?” Patrick shook his head. “Now she knows about Gabriel, she knows who I am and where I live, and she likely recognized you.”

“Do you think she’ll bring Devin here?” Elam asked.

“Perhaps to kill you and Gabriel, but if I understand the prophecy correctly, she’s hoping for me to generate a hostiam for her, so she won’t soon seek my destruction or Ruth’s.”

“A hostiam?” Gabriel repeated. “What’s that?”

“I will explain later. For now, we must get your wound cleaned and find a place for the two of you to hide.”

Elam clenched his fist. “I’m not hiding. I stopped being afraid of that witch thousands of years ago.”

“I appreciate your courage,” Patrick said. “I didn’t expect you to cower behind any skirts. If, however, my wife and I are blessed with a child, I must protect both of them at all costs, and keeping Devin far away is item number one on my priority list.”

Elam drummed his fingers on the table. “Since Mrs. Nathanson isn’t expecting, I say we draw the slayer here now. Get it over with. It’s either him or us.”

Gabriel clapped Elam’s back. “I’m with him. Maybe I’m not as old as the hills, but I’ve been hiding ever since I can remember, and I’m tired of it.”

“I am of a mind to agree,” Patrick said, “but if we summon Devin, all our lives will likely be in jeopardy.” He nodded toward the exit. “Elam, please ask Ruth to come here with her medical bag. Then I would like you to retire for the night. It has been a most stressful evening for all of us.”

Elam laid his palms on the table and rose slowly, eyeing Patrick and Gabriel as he picked up his lantern. “Okay. . . . I can do that.”

Patrick gave him a formal nod. “Thank you, and good night.”

As he marched to the doorway, Elam glared at the shifting shadows. Something was wrong. Patrick had dismissed him too abruptly. He had treated a grown man like a child, literally sending him to bed without his supper. But why? Was he planning to discuss some kind of secret with Gabriel?

As he strode through the corridor, Gabriel’s sad eyes took shape in his mind. Somehow they were too sad, like a . . . a . . . Elam shook his head. He wasn’t sure what Gabriel reminded him of, but it wasn’t good. He mentally kicked himself into gear and ran the rest of the way to the main nursery.

Patrick drew one of the drapery panels to the side and tied it back, while Gabriel pulled the other. With the curtain out of the way, Gabriel backed up to take in the sight. The wall behind the curtains framed a strange window. Without a single streak or reflected image, it looked like a rectangular hole in the wall, an escape hatch to a forest he could leap to without smashing any glass.

He approached the hole and laid a palm on the stone surface. It wasn’t a window at all. The scene on the other side, with its equatorial trees and low-hanging vines, was unlike anything in Patrick’s estate or all of England. Not only that, dozens of lush, fern-like leaflets trembled under a drenching downpour in the dimness of a cloudy day. Of course, that didn’t make any sense, not in the middle of a cloudless night on this side of the window.

“So,” Gabriel said, “it looks like a good day for frogs in there.”

Patrick touched the window lightly. “It seems to rain frequently in that dimension, which, I think, is appropriate for what we have in mind.”

“You mean, send the slayer to Hades so he can soak his hot head?”

“Precisely. And now that Elam has indicated his willingness to fight the slayer, all of the pieces are in place.”

“When are you going to tell him our plan?”

“Tomorrow morning. But first I want to make sure you and I are of the same mind concerning the prophecy. Do you understand what it appears to be saying about you?”

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “If you mean that line about the hybrid and the king’s son, then, I guess I do.”

“If you are the hybrid to be laid to rest, then inviting a battle with Devin could mean your death.”

“I know.” Gabriel turned away from the window. “I just want to do what I have to do and get it over with. If Devin dies, then we’ll celebrate. If I die, that’s okay, too. I’m ready to go.”

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and nodded respectfully. “You have a heart that reflects the selflessness of your savior, but we will do whatever it takes to protect you. Although it seems clear that we must take this step to bring our conflict to some kind of resolution, Merlin’s words frighten me. His prophetic utterances have never been wrong.”

“I know what you mean.” Gabriel pressed his hand against his stomach. “It makes my dinner want to come back up and smack me in the face.”

Patrick clasped Gabriel’s shoulder. “You could go into hiding. God might use a different son of a dragon king. Your mother and father, or another dragon turned human might have another child. You don’t have to ”

“I’m not a coward!” Gabriel said, slapping his wings together. “Why should I risk someone else’s life?”

Patrick stepped back. “Of course you aren’t a coward. I was merely pointing out your options.”

Gabriel sighed and spread out his hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Devin’s the reason my parents are always on the run. I’m not missing this chance for anything.”

Patrick lifted a finger. “I have one further concern. Since you are, shall we say, somewhat of a unique species, I’m not sure where you would go if the worst should occur. That is, I am not confident your soul will go directly to heaven. You might spend some time in Dragons’ Rest.”

Gabriel steeled his jaw. “It doesn’t matter. Whether I ascend to heaven or make my bed in hell, God will be with me.”

“Yes, yes,” Patrick said, nodding, “I know the psalm. Still, you are not a normal human. Such promises are rather vague in your case.”

“Then it’s a new adventure, isn’t it? I’d rather go to war than cower in shadows all my life. My parents think Devin’s hiding in every alley he’s the bus driver; he’s the balloon man at the fair; he’s the principal at my school. The way he gets around, you’d think he was Superman. No one can be that powerful.”

Patrick’s brow creased deeply. “Don’t underestimate someone who has survived for centuries. According to the last word I have, his morbid tally stands at six dead dragons since the transformation. With Morgan giving him power, his prowess likely far exceeds your estimation.”

“Maybe, but he hasn’t found you or my family yet, so I’m not scared of him. If I have to spill my blood to protect the people I love, then I’m ready.”

Patrick laid his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders. “You are a true warrior. I shall not try to dissuade you any longer.”

“A warrior?” Gabriel turned his head to the side. “If you say so. I just hope I have the guts to back up my hot air.”

“I understand.” Patrick slid his hands away and strolled to the table. He picked up the pendant and let it dangle by its chain. As the rubellite twirled at the bottom, its facets glimmered, sending red flashes all around. He caressed the gem with his fingertip. “Why the path to salvation must be coated with blood, I’ll never understand, but of this I’m sure it is the sacrifice of love that will draw the faithful to the Great Key’s threshold.”

Merlin floated along one of the candlestone’s crystalline hallways, his body’s radiant light casting just enough glow to guide his path. Learning how to change the shape of his energy field had made it easy to disguise himself when he stopped by to see the rebellion conspirators. He usually spoke only to the six who had since repented of their crimes. Barlow, Edward, Newman, Fiske, Standish, and Woodrow now professed fealty to the king, though Arthur had been dead for centuries. They were good men unwise to allow themselves to be deceived, certainly, but their basic motivations had been noble.

Merlin gazed at his shining body. Now a spiritual entity, bearing no more weight than a flame, he had far more control over his mind and greater clarity of vision. He looked up and concentrated on a tiny light in the distance, the entry hole that drew him into the candlestone yet still prevented any escape because of the gem’s tractive power. He peered through the opening, willing his vision to enlarge the window ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times like a telescope expanding its light-gathering mirrors. Within seconds, it seemed that the entire outside world had enveloped his body, though he merely stood in place, still trapped in a gemstone prison.

On this particular day, since the sun shone so clearly, Devin had to be wearing the gem on the outside of his vest, a perfect time for opening a viewing port. Merlin guided his radiant hand over the surface of one of the crystal’s inner walls. It flashed with light, showing a bouncing panorama of an English road, the scenery in front of Devin as he walked.

With his enhanced spiritual perception, Merlin peered intently through the wall and gazed toward multiple horizons, taking in the sights and sounds of millions of happenings throughout England and even over the northern border in Scotland. Quickly orienting himself to the landscape, he soon located Patrick and listened in on his conversation with Elam and Gabriel.

Merlin shook his head and sighed a stream of energy. They were trying so hard, yet they knew so little. Bound by their physical bodies, they could only comprehend as far as their senses could reach. And Patrick, though he was reasonably wise, had no teacher to guide him past the more difficult obstacles to spiritual maturity. The man who had served so gallantly as Valcor, a noble dragon for a thousand years, would soon face a mind-bending challenge that would stretch every strand in his moral fiber, call into question everything and everyone he had ever loved, and possibly alter his life forever. The future of the dragon race depended on the choices he would soon make, and he had no idea that such a test was coming.

Merlin whispered in the air, breathing a tiny line of twinkling sparks that rose toward the gem’s entry. “Father, what can I do to help? I have left them only scattered scraps of wisdom in an artless song that begs to be translated into coherent speech. Were I to read it, knowing what they know, I would be pulling my hair out in frustration. When I wrote the song, I knew so little of what I was writing. You spoke through me in mysteries too deep for my limited mind to fathom, and now that I no longer see through physical eyes, I can plunge those depths and uncover mysteries so great, my flesh-bound mind would have burst with joy as it tried to grasp your incomprehensible love, wisdom, and goodness.

“Yet, now that I know the answers to my own rhyming parables, I cannot turn the hearers to the path of salvation from ruin, nor dissuade them from the snake-filled pits that lie under indiscernible cover. They need a guide, someone with more knowledge than they possess, someone who can see what has been hidden from their limited perception. Even in my current state, I cannot see what spirit rules their hearts, so I ask you to provide whatever they need, within or without, to allow Valcor to complete his holy mission.”

Merlin’s energy field flashed with a blue tint. Who could possibly fill this massive void? Every potential helper was either dead or

“Merlin!”

Merlin searched for the source of the voice. It couldn’t have come from any of the conspirators. None of them knew who he was. He glanced up at the entry hole. A shining human shape floated down and gently landed in front of him. Surrounded by a radiant red aura, the elderly man smiled. “You seem surprised to see me, Merlin.”

“Surprised, indeed, and the fact that I don’t recognize you does nothing to diminish my surprise.”

The visitor laughed. “We are both prophets, my friend, so I will not hide my identity. You know that Moses and Elijah were able to make appearances from the spiritual realm. Who else among the prophets might be able to pierce the veil?”

Merlin stroked his chin. “If you are one of those whom God himself buried, whether by earth, by fire, or by air, I suppose you must be Enoch.”

“An air burial is an intriguing metaphor,” Enoch said, “considering the fact that I never really died.”

“Nor did Elijah, but God ended your stays on the earth, so I thought the word choice appropriate.”

“Ah! I see what you mean now.” Enoch’s glow shimmered from head to toe. “In any case, God sent me here in response to your prayer. You asked for a guide for Valcor, and you and I are going to provide one.”

“Then are you setting me free from this prison?” Merlin asked.

“No. You must stay for a little while longer. A prince and princess will arrive here one day, and they will need you to guide them through the valley of the shadow of death, but you will learn about that in due time. For now, you must expand your vision and allow your perspective to follow me. I will take you where your sight has not yet been able to travel and show you how to reach beyond the physical horizons you have already surveyed. Ours is a world of spirit, a sphere of invisible influence, where the forces of light and darkness do battle day and night. As I did through the Ovulum for many centuries, you must provide a window to the world of the living for a God-seeking soul who longs to see the realm of lost loves.”

Merlin bowed. “Although I cannot see how I am to fulfill this great commission, I am at your command, good prophet.”

“I expected you to be willing,” Enoch said, “and I now advise you to be ready for a fight unlike any you have ever seen. In order to complete the creation of the Great Key, we will step into the midst of a climactic battle.”

“The rubellite in the pendant is ready to serve as the Great Key, but who will be the two witnesses?”

Enoch spread out his glowing fingers. “One who will come in a disembodied state similar to ours as well as another witness who is flesh and blood. A number of years must pass before the culmination of that plan, for the dragon king has yet to arrive, and the second witness has yet to find her way.”

Merlin melded his fingers with Enoch’s scarlet wrist. “Is Valcor in as much turmoil as it appears?”

“Without a doubt. He wishes to shelter everyone in his protective wing, yet he knows that God has not called him to cower in the shadows. While Valcor struggles in his mind, the destiny of all dragons hangs in the balance.” Enoch laid his hand on Merlin’s forehead. “Close what is left of your physical eyes and follow me. Since the Oracle of Fire will count on the lessons she has learned through the centuries, our timing must be perfect.”

After poking her head through the neck hole of her fuzzy blue nightgown, Sapphira let the hem drop to her knees. She laid her cross next to Enoch’s scroll at the edge of her floor mat and curled up close to Acacia. Her twin snored lightly, tired from her turn in the village scrounging for food the usual potatoes, cabbages, and beans as well as for books, clothing, and firewood.

All the other scrolls had burned long ago, and the cross’s flames never seemed hot enough for cooking. So if they ever wanted warm food, they had to get fuel, and hauling an armload of wood up to the portal on the steep hill proved to be quite a task. Still, taking turns kept the burden manageable, and the townsfolk thought the same blind girl visited the alleys and dustbins every day probing for castaway remnants. Although they never begged, sometimes their accessories sunglasses, a ragged bonnet, and a walking cane coaxed a bit of monetary sympathy from a few kindhearted souls. The money they collected came in handy for an occasional bar of soap or a newspaper.

Sapphira pulled her blanket to her shoulder. The cavern seemed to get a bit colder every decade, but sleeping had become much more comfortable since the people in the living world began throwing away such treasures as mats and blankets. With only a tiny hole punching through the material here and there, her new bed had provided many nights of comfort without the soreness that her old sand mattress had inflicted, and the threadbare blanket was just enough to ward off the chill.

Still, a mattress alone couldn’t bring complete comfort. Sapphira closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain of a thousand haunting thoughts, but visions of Elam kept flashing in her mind. What was he doing now? Did he get away from Devin back in, what was it, nineteen thirty something? Or was it only a dream? Was he even alive? If he was, had he forgotten about her?

Over the years since Elam stopped appearing on the screen, every time Sapphira surfaced in Glastonbury to hunt for food or other supplies, she took note of every young man she passed. Strangely enough, many of them smiled at her, though they believed her to be blind, giving her opportunity to study their faces. Hundreds of smiling faces later, no Elam. Images of Paili also haunted her. How old would she appear to be now? Twenty-five? Thirty?

As Sapphira drifted into a dream, her age calculations jumbled together into a mass of battling numbers the fives using their little hats as swords to stab the helpless numeral ones, and the zeroes coming to the ones’ defense by bowling over the fives. The eights joined the fives and pounced on the zeroes, breaking them like fragile eggs. More zeroes rolled in and flattened the eights into lopsided infinity symbols.

The digital war raged on and on until, finally, a few surviving numbers lined up into a neat row, creating “6913,” but there seemed no reason for the sequence. Then, the battling numbers crumbled and blew away in the wind, leaving only darkness.

As Sapphira squirmed toward wakefulness, the portal viewer flashed to life in her mind, showing Paili sitting at a table. She appeared in her eight-year-old body, not as the grown woman she had to be by now. With a long dagger, she sliced one of Morgan’s evil fruits and raised a section to her lips.

Sapphira pitched off her blanket and ran to the screen. “No, Paili!” she cried. “No!”

Paili put the wedge into her mouth and chewed. Blood dripped from her lips, and her face wrinkled into a hideous, mummified mask.

“Why, Paili?” Sapphira wailed, as she sank to her knees. “Why did you eat it? You knew better!”

Paili spat out a red seed. As soon as it hit the table, it grew, stretching into a saltshaker-sized red dragon that stood tall and proud. She spat out another seed, then another, until the tabletop was filled with miniature dragons, each one trumpeting and vying for position near Paili.

A final seed passed through her lips, a red-and-white-striped one that fell to the table and grew into a boy with dragon wings. The dragons spewed fire on him, turning him into a spinning column of flames. A dozen tongues of fire erupted from the column and slurped the dragons into the vortex. Seconds later, the table was clear except for one dragon standing at the center.

The dragon molded into the shape of a man and jumped toward Paili. His body merged with hers, leaving Paili by herself again. A moment later, a girl sprang from Paili’s bosom, a beautiful young lady with sparkling blue eyes and blonde-streaked hair. She sat in a chair next to Paili and folded her hands on the table.

Paili cut out a second wedge from the fruit and handed it to the girl. As the girl studied the wedge, Sapphira cried out again. “No! Whoever you are, don’t eat it!” She closed her eyes and wept, unable to look.

When she finally peeked between her fingers, the scene had cleared again, and an image of Elam appeared, then a boy with wings, then a man who oscillated between being human and a dragon, and finally, Morgan. Although she was in human form, Morgan, using talon-like feet, carried Paili high over a huge estate toward a driveway guarded by two of Shinar’s idols. After landing next to Elam and the dragon man, a sword flashed out of Morgan’s mouth and stabbed the winged boy. Suddenly, a little girl appeared, and Morgan flew away with the child locked in her talons.

Acacia groaned. Sapphira opened her eyes. They were both still in bed. Now throwing off the covers for real, she hopped up and spun toward the portal. As usual, its dim orange light whirled in a stoic column, slow and silent.

She snatched up her cross and gazed at Acacia for a moment. No use putting her in danger. Besides, even after all her practice, Acacia still wasn’t as adept at opening portals, and portal manipulation might be the only skill that could rescue Morgan’s potential victims.

Sapphira grabbed her upper-world disguise and hurried silently out of the room. If she failed, she didn’t want to risk losing Acacia again.