Eye of the Oracle

by Bryan Davis

  He pulled his head back inside. Since the bird was nowhere in sight, there was no use keeping watch. Even if Ham’s idea could work, the presence of a dragon in the window would surely frighten the raven away.

  Makaidos stared into the ark’s dim interior, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. His vision flashed on to compensate for the change, and the two dim beams locked onto Ham’s chest as he stood next to Japheth. Both men were watching the window.

  Ham swept his hand across the pair of red dots on his tunic, trying to brush them away as if they were bothersome flies. When the dots stayed put, he glanced at Makaidos, a frown taking shape on his face. Without uttering a word, he climbed down the ladder and disappeared through the hole.

  Chapter 4

  The Raven’s Plot

  Something sharp tugged Naamah’s ear. She slapped at it, making it stop for a moment, but when the tugging persisted, she opened her eyes. Shadows waltzed on her bedding, keeping time with the ark’s rhythmic shifts, but little else moved in her quiet sleeping quarters. A flickering lantern hanging from a distant rafter cast a glow around a dark shape as it swayed back and forth, a bird-like phantom perched on the straw next to her head.

  “Lilith?” Naamah whispered.

  “Take care to call me Morgan now,” the raven croaked softly. “Dawn is approaching, and the time for our plan is upon us. Are the seeds of Eden safe?”

  “Yes. They’re hidden in my bed.”

  “Good. You will be able to get them later. For now, take the grapes I put in your hand and follow me.”

  Naamah closed her fingers around a handful of dried grapes, checked the sleeping infant at her side, and tiptoed into the dim corridor. The raven landed on her shoulder. “Follow the moonlight to the window.”

  Naamah obeyed, timing her barefooted steps to match the squeaks of the rocking ark. When she reached the window, the fresh breeze jolted her fully awake. Blinking her eyes, she angled her head toward Morgan. “What now?”

  “It is time for you to take the next step.”

  “The next step? I already had a baby. Haven’t I taken enough steps?”

  “Don’t worry. Having the baby was the most difficult part of your journey.”

  “You’re telling me! He was so big, I thought I was having a whale!”

  “Yes, I expected him to be larger than most. The potion I gave you saw to that. I’m sure you felt the changes it made inside you.”

  “You know how small I am. I could have died having a baby that big.”

  “I watched over you. If you had been in danger of dying, I would have taken this step immediately.”

  Naamah set her fists on her hips. “What is this step?”

  Morgan fluttered to the wooden floor. “To make you immortal.” The raven slowly grew, stretching into a misshapen giant of a bird. Its wings thinned into human arms, and its pointed beak shrank into Morgan’s angular nose. Seconds later, Naamah’s sister stood in the raven’s place, her silky black dress flowing in the breeze.

  “You’re . . .” Naamah caressed Morgan’s face, but it seemed ghostly physical in a way, but not quite real. Her cheeks were sunken and sallow, more like a cadaver’s than those of the beautiful woman who once answered to Lilith. “Are you human?” Naamah asked.

  Morgan took Naamah’s hand. “Not exactly. You might call me a wraith. My body died in the flood, but my spirit lives on in this world on borrowed time. I cannot last much longer without going to a new home my lord has prepared for me. There, I will be restored and live forever.”

  Naamah took a step back on her trembling legs. “And now you want me to be a wraith like you?”

  “You will be young and beautiful.” Morgan caressed Naamah’s cheek with her yellowed, bony fingers. “When you see what I have in store for us, you will jump at the chance.”

  Naamah resisted the urge to grimace at Morgan’s ghostly touch. “Jump at the chance? Why?”

  “Well, let’s just say you can keep your charming ways, stay beautiful forever, and you won’t have to worry about having any more babies.”

  Though Naamah tried not to smile, her lips curved upward. “So what do I have to do to become immortal?”

  “You have to die.”

  “Die?” Naamah’s voice pitched higher. “But immortal means ”

  “Silence!” Morgan glanced toward the sleeping quarters and lowered her voice to the softest whisper. “The potion you drank will restore you, then we can fly to our new home and become like goddesses.”

  “Goddesses?” Naamah’s fear began to melt away. “Are you sure?”

  Morgan spread out her arms. “I drowned in the flood, dead as any other lost soul in the wake of Elohim’s wrath, and yet I stand here before you now. I assure you that my original beauty will be restored soon, perhaps enhanced with even more allure, as will yours.”

  “What do I do?”

  Morgan nodded toward the ark’s window. “You are small enough to climb through and jump. When you drown in the flood, you will be transformed into a flying creature. Then, look for me in my raven form and follow me.”

  This time, Naamah couldn’t hold back her grimace. “I have to drown? That sounds painful.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing.” Morgan laid her hands on Naamah’s cheeks again and purred a melody.

  To Satan we will bring

  The seeds to sow and sing.

  We’ll water plant and root,

  Then pluck the giant fruit.

  Your waking mind abates;

  The sleep of death awaits.

  Rebirth on wings is near;

  Your sleep will cast out fear.

  Releasing Naamah’s cheeks, Morgan blew softly into her eyes. Her breath was cold and dry, instantly evaporating all moisture. Naamah’s eyelids fluttered. “I’m so sleepy,” she said, yawning.

  Morgan interlaced her fingers and set her hands in a cradle near the window. “Then hurry. I’ll boost you before you fall asleep.”

  Naamah yawned again, set her foot in Morgan’s hands, and climbed into the window. As she straddled the sill, she looked down from the dizzying height, her mind swimming as the ark rocked back and forth on white-capped waves. She grasped the window frame with both hands and cried out, “The water’s so far down, I can barely see it. Can’t we wait until morning?”

  Naamah felt a sudden shove. She toppled over and plummeted headfirst toward the sea, screaming. Just before she struck the waves, blackness snuffed her thoughts.

  Makaidos lifted his head. “Did you hear that?”

  Thigocia’s ears twitched. “A scream?”

  “That’s what I thought. But it was brief . . . silenced.” Makaidos raised his body, his weak legs shaking beneath him. “I think it came from the window.” He aimed his eyebeams, casting twin rays toward the ark’s breezeway. The dim rays darted around the walls of the listing ark until they landed on the window. A gust of wind threw open the shutter. It banged against the hull, squeaked loudly as it drew back toward the window, then banged open again.

  “Just the shutter squeaking?” Thigocia asked.

  “No. It was different . . . louder. A human voice.” Makaidos lumbered into the corridor, passing Ham’s quarters. Baby Canaan lay swaddled in the hay, alone. It was Ham’s turn to patrol the lower decks, so it made sense that he was gone, but Naamah only left her bed to eat and take care of personal hygiene, and she usually took Canaan with her. She had always been so possessive of her baby, even keeping him away from his other relatives, it seemed strange to see him lying there alone.

  Makaidos extended his neck and gently nudged the baby with his snout. Canaan squirmed and reached his pudgy arms over his wrappings, stretching his mouth into a yawning oval. The dragon nodded. The baby seemed fine. Perhaps Naamah had thought him old enough to sleep on his own. Maybe she decided to accompany Ham this time. They did not get along well, certainly not like Noah and Emzara, or his brothers and their wives. Spending time working t
ogether with the animals might be just what they needed. But why the scream? Could she have fallen down the ladder?

  Makaidos lumbered to the hole leading to the lower levels and peered down. Although his eyebeams were dimmer than usual, he could still see the deck below. A single lantern hung nearby, casting yellow flickering light on the gopher wood planks. He stretched as far as he could, but the light gave no hint of any awakened animals, except for a few birdcage tenants, including two owls that stared back at him, their eyes wide and curious.

  A strange shadow seemed to crawl along the floor, like fog creeping from one cage to the next. The lantern’s weak glow gave only a hint of the fog’s depth and color shallow and black as it drifted closer to the owls. The other birds seemed to take no notice, and the owls kept their gaze locked on the dragon’s beams, as though the fog were invisible to their probing eyes. One of the parrots, however, shifted back and forth, bobbing its head excitedly.

  A hint of danger crept over Makaidos’s body. After so many months of safety, the subtle tingling that buzzed through his scales seemed like a distant memory, yet alarming all the same. He blinked at the fog. Could that be the cause? It would have to be a powerful evil for his weakened senses to pick it up.

  A loud footstep clumped on the lower deck, and a pair of sandals came into view. As Ham reached for the lantern, his feet swept away the black mist. His glance landed on Makaidos, then quickly averted. “Strange fog,” he mumbled.

  Makaidos shut down his eyebeams. “Exactly my thoughts.”

  Ham waved his hand and kicked at the mist. “It’s nothing, really. It’s been showing up on the lower decks every morning for a week, but no harm has befallen either man or beast.”

  “So the animals are thriving?” Makaidos asked.

  Ham chuckled. “They don’t have much to do, so we’re seeing more births than we expected. In fact, the elephant is about to calve. I was coming up to get Shem or Japheth to help me.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe Naamah was down there helping you.”

  “Naamah?” Ham hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Yes, she’s down there, but she’s too small to help with the elephant.”

  “I see.” Makaidos pulled his head from the hole and aimed his eyebeams into Shem’s quarters. The faithful son of Noah slept soundly, nestled with his wife in their pile of straw. The soothing noises of human sleep drifted into the dragon’s ears, twin sounds of contented, rhythmic breathing.

  Ham climbed up the ladder and stood with his hands on his hips. “It’s a shame to wake them.”

  “Indeed.”

  Ham shuffled in and nudged Shem’s shoulder. “Elephant’s calving. Time to get up.”

  Makaidos slunk toward his stall, listening to the quiet voice of Shem’s wife behind him.

  “Of course I’m coming with you again. Pregnant or not, I can move straw around and clean up the blood.”

  “Okay,” Shem replied, “but be careful on the ladder rungs.”

  Noah stepped out of his quarters with his wife. “So,” he said, “young Madeline must have been with child, er, with elephant, before she came on board.”

  Emzara held out her hand. “Let’s go! I have never seen an elephant birth.”

  Stopping at the entry to his quarters, Makaidos looked back. Shem’s wife walked beside her husband, one hand on her belly and the other holding tightly to his hand. While Shem descended the ladder, she looked back at Makaidos. When their eyes met, she beamed. Such a smile! It would have melted the heart of the stoniest cynic. There was no doubt. Motherhood had dressed her with sheer joy.

  Noah kept a grip on his wife’s elbow as she maneuvered into position on the ladder. When she was safely on her way, Noah let go, straightened himself, and smiled at Makaidos. The old man nodded. “You seem perplexed, my dear dragon.”

  Makaidos sighed. “Watching humans has often perplexed me. They are so strange.”

  Noah stroked his chin and nodded again. “Is that so?” Carefully grasping the ladder, he started his descent, but before his head submerged below the deck, he stopped, and his bushy eyebrows knitted together. “Is love really so strange, Makaidos? Even at my age, after hundreds of years of being together, my wife and I are closer in oneness every day. My heart will always be with Emzara.” Noah then disappeared below deck.

  Makaidos slid into his quarters and gazed at Thigocia. With her eyes wide and her ears rotating, she looked more beautiful than ever.

  “Did you figure out who screamed?” she asked.

  “It could have been a parrot down below. It seemed pretty nervous.” Makaidos crawled to the middle of their stall and kept his gaze locked on Thigocia’s eyes. “There is a dark fog creeping about. That might have spooked the parrot. I felt danger when I saw the fog, but then Ham showed up. I think I might have felt him coming.”

  “I see.” Thigocia lay back down and scooted farther into her corner. “Are you going to sleep?”

  “No.” Makaidos lumbered back into the corridor. He lay on his belly but kept his head high as he turned to Thigocia. “I will wait here until Noah returns, and, if you are in agreement, I would like to attempt the covenant veil again.”

  A sharp chill snapped Naamah awake. She gasped for air, flailing her arms, ready to battle the pounding waves, but rather than the wetness she expected, cool dry air bathed her body. Jerking her head back and forth, she tried to sort out the blurry images. Everything seemed to bounce around, jumping and shaking, but as her senses adjusted, a view of sea waves and foam came into focus below her. Her arms continued to beat the air, each flap taking her farther away from the water.

  Glancing in the direction her hand should be, she caught a glimpse of a wing, a pinion of leather that ended in a wrinkled, sharp-nailed paw. It clutched something, but she couldn’t remember what might be in her grip. In fact, she couldn’t remember anything after Morgan shoved her out the window. Had she really died and turned into a wraith like her sister? But the body she inhabited wasn’t like a raven. Her wings were too leathery, and she had strange fingers instead of talons. What kind of animal had she become? A bat?

  Naamah screeched, but her voice spurted out in a series of high-pitched squeaks that hardly resembled words at all. Cursing to herself, she searched for the raven and found her circling near the window above. The bird looked bigger than before as it straightened in flight and sailed to the other side of the ark.

  Naamah tried to follow. She beat her wings furiously but couldn’t figure out how to fly in a straight line. As she struggled to stay above the churning floodwaters, she continually corrected her awkward meanderings.

  After a wind-blown flight that seemed to take an hour, the raven landed on a mountaintop in a patch of tender grass between two boulders. Naamah, her wings faltering, swerved left and right and finally smacked into one of the boulders before tumbling into the grass. She lifted herself and sat, flapping her wings to keep upright, but with one paw wrapped tightly around her treasure, she kept tilting to the side. She tried to speak again, and this time her squeaks sounded like the voice of a tiny child. “What . . . now . . . Morgan?”

  “Patience, Naamah,” the raven squawked. “Restoration is at hand.”

  Morgan spread her wings and wrapped them around Naamah. As they perched together, black smoke arose on all sides, penetrating Naamah’s nostrils and bringing the foul stench of decaying carrion. As she closed her eyes to ward off the stinging fumes, her body stretched, her head expanded, her wings tapered, and her claws thickened into fingers. When she reopened her eyes, Morgan stood before her.

  Naamah patted her side with her free hand. Something was different. Her fingers seemed to pass through her waist, but not as through smoke. Her body felt more like thick gravy. She raised her hand and stared at her palm, flexing her fingers as they melded into each other. A feeling of horror erupted and spilled out in a loud wail. “What happened to me?”

  Morgan stroked Naamah’s hair. “What matters is
that we’re alive.”

  “So I’m a wraith now?” She closed her hand into a fist, and it congealed into a fingerless club.

  “You are more spirit than substance, but you’ll learn to mold yourself into a variety of shapes. Still, neither of us can last long in this world without a regular visit to our lord’s domain. He must infuse us with power if the light of this world wears our bodies down.”

  “So I can’t go back to the ark?”

  “Once I explain my plan and teach you how to solidify yourself, you may return. Noah’s family cannot be allowed to know you’re missing.”

  Naamah breathed a long sigh. “That’s good.”

  Morgan crossed her arms and squinted at Naamah. “You’re not seriously worried about that baby are you?”

  “No . . . it’s just that . . .” Naamah’s voice trailed off.

  “Don’t worry. If my plan works, Canaan will be yours forever.” She nodded at Naamah’s hand. “Were you able to bring the grapes?”

  “Oh . . .” Naamah opened her fist, revealing five wrinkled grapes. “I forgot about them.”

  Morgan surveyed the mountaintop, a dome that flattened out into about five acres of rocky soil. The floodwaters lapped against the shoreline about two hundred paces upwind, and, beyond that, across a mile or two of arching whitecaps, the ark listed against the pounding waves. She pointed toward a flat area midway between the shore and where they stood. “We’ll plant our vineyard there.”

  “How long will it take to turn five grapes into a vineyard?”

  “Let’s just say that they will grow at a wickedly fast rate, and when Noah plants his own vineyard, the same power will cause his to thrive in stunning fashion. Then, we will graft our vines onto his. The grapes from our grafted vines will be better than the rest, so he’ll be sure to make wine from them.”

  Naamah twirled her ghostly dress. “And that’s when the fun begins?”

  “Yes. The wine will put him into enough of a stupor for you and Ham to get something I want.”