Eye of the Oracle

by Bryan Davis

  That name sounded familiar, but Sapphira didn’t want to let Morgan know. She twisted her face in mock curiosity. “Samyaza? Who’s Samyaza?”

  Morgan turned her sarcastic tone to its maximum setting. “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t been properly introduced?” Her shadowy hand rose to her mouth. “For shame! Samyaza is such a friendly angel. I wonder why he hasn’t told you who he is.”

  The name finally clicked in Sapphira’s mind. Enoch listed Samyaza as one of the Watchers! She squeezed her scroll tightly and slid her free hand into her pocket, groping for the Ovulum. It was growing warm, a soothing kind of warmth. Maybe Elohim was ready to help her battle this witch.

  Sapphira held the scroll high and waved it. “Maybe Samyaza didn’t introduce himself because he knew I learned his name from a certain book you’ve been looking for.”

  Morgan’s voice pitched up. “You found Enoch’s scroll?”

  Sapphira stared at the tightly wound parchment. “Ignite!” she shouted. A vigorous flame burst forth at the upper end, growing larger by the second.

  “No!” Morgan lurched toward her, but Sapphira leaped out of the way. She dashed to the abyss and held the scroll over the edge, poking Samyaza’s image in the nose, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Leave this place forever,” Sapphira said, “and I’ll give you this scroll.”

  Morgan set her fists on her hips. “What good will it do me if it’s just ashes?”

  Sapphira nodded at the scroll. “Enough,” she said, and the flames dwindled away. She rolled it out a few inches and studied the text. “Hmmm. I can still read it.”

  The angel’s image vibrated once again. “She is not holding Enoch’s scroll. I sent Elam to get it. He is preparing to play the role of Judas, just as you had hoped.”

  Morgan’s face lit up. “Ah! Excellent!”

  “Judas?” Sapphira asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Elam is putty in my hands,” Samyaza continued. “Naamah’s song has broken his will, and his temptation to yield to Lucifer’s call is strong. The girl will soon be out of our way forever. Now we merely have to paint the proper portrait of our little oracle of fire.”

  Sapphira kicked a pebble and shouted, “What are you talking about?”

  Morgan pressed a finger over her lips. “Hush now. Fits of impatience are so unbecoming. Little slave girls like you need to learn their place. You’re just an overgrown plant, a freak of nature without a soul. You might as well get used to the idea” she smiled wickedly and poisoned her final word with sarcasm “Mara.”

  Scorching heat surged through Sapphira’s body. The scroll burst into flames again, burning downward until it concealed her hand in fire, but she ignored it as she raged at Morgan. “I am not Mara! I am Sapphira Adi! I am not a freak of nature! I danced with Elohim, and he loves me!” The soothing warmth of the Ovulum caressed her thigh, calming her down. The scroll continued to burn, though not as brightly.

  Morgan cast a glance along the trench. “It is time, Samyaza,” she said softly.

  “Understood,” Samyaza said.

  The scroll’s flames weakened further, and Sapphira’s mind swam in a spinning whirlpool of anger and confusion. “Time for what?”

  “For you to learn the truth.” Morgan shook her head slowly. “Poor, deceived, little Mara. I personally planted your seed, Naamah watered you and sang to you, and I uprooted you and placed you in a growth chamber until you were strong enough to stand. I even helped you take your first step in the spawns’ mobility room. Shouldn’t I know that you’re just a mutant plant who has been created to battle against the sons of Noah? Didn’t you think it odd that I chose you over Acacia? You deserved to die in the chasm, but I sent Acacia to her death instead, because I had a special role in mind for you.” She took a step closer to Sapphira and extended a hand toward her. “Come back to the hovels with me, and we will continue our quest to eliminate what remains of Shem and Japheth. You were wise to turn Elam over to me so I could keep him a prisoner for so long. Now, let’s finish the job.”

  Samyaza laughed. “You used Mara to imprison Elam? How clever of you!”

  “What?” Sapphira glanced back and forth between Morgan and the aura. “What are you talking about?”

  “But,” Samyaza continued, “by your own code, all traitors have to be cast away. If Mara would betray Elam, she would certainly betray you.”

  Morgan stroked her chin. “Of course, you’re right, my love. I had forgotten about that.”

  Sapphira massaged the Ovulum in her pocket. “But I didn’t betray Elam! You kidnapped him from his people.” The flames on her scroll vanished, leaving only a rising string of smoke.

  “I did have him kidnapped,” Morgan continued, “but I would not have known about his trespassing into my room if not for the blossom you left for me to find.” She walked slowly toward Sapphira, her hands swaying hypnotically. “It is time for you to go now, Mara. Your life cycle is over. You betrayed a friend, so no one can trust you.”

  Dizziness swirled Sapphira’s vision, and sleepiness weighed down her eyelids. “But I didn’t . . . leave the blossom for you . . . to find. I hid it . . .”

  “Under a bed? Come now, Mara. I found the blossom but never Enoch’s scroll. You obviously wanted me to find one and not the other.” Morgan grabbed Sapphira’s shoulders. Her icy fingers radiated sheer cold through her tunics, jolting the fog from her brain. Morgan turned toward the trench and smiled. “Did you hear our conversation, Elam?”

  Elam stepped out of the shadows, but the pit’s dim light illuminated only his face. His lips were taut, almost invisible. “I heard it.”

  Morgan shuffled Sapphira to the edge of the abyss. “Did you bring it?”

  He glanced behind his back. “I brought it.”

  “Now you finally know that the songs are true. Sapphira has lied to you and used you.” Morgan kept one hand on Sapphira and extended the other. “By giving me Enoch’s scroll, you will be signifying your rejection of this traitor and condemning her to the abyss. Agreed?”

  Sapphira could barely breathe. Nothing she could say now could possibly outwit Morgan. She was too crafty, too devilish. Would Elam be able to see through her deception? The Ovulum kept getting warmer. Sapphira slid it out and tilted her head upward. Elohim! Give him wisdom!

  “I don’t trust you,” Elam said. “I don’t want you to get close enough to grab me.”

  “Very well. You may leave it there, and I will pick it up.” Morgan started toward him, pulling Sapphira with her.

  Elam raised his hand. “No. Don’t come anywhere near me. I’ll throw it to you.”

  Morgan halted, still near the edge of the abyss. “If you insist.” She held out her hand again. “You may throw it.”

  An urgent call pierced Sapphira’s mind. “Run, child! Run!” She wrenched free from Morgan’s grip and bolted for Elam. Elam reared back and threw something at Morgan, something long and flexible that whipped around and around. As it flew, a pair of fangs glistened at one end. A thick, scaly body slapped Morgan across the face, twisted around her shoulders, and slung her down. She lay motionless inside a huge coil that pinned her to the ground, trapped by her own dead serpent.

  The Ovulum pulsed in Sapphira’s hand, sending hundreds of red rings toward Morgan and the abyss. The halos built up into a crimson screen, a translucent divider that spread from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, separating Sapphira and Elam from the sorceress.

  Holding the Ovulum away from her body, she let it pour layer after layer of red across the new wall. She draped her other hand over Elam’s shoulders and pulled him close. Sobs punctuated her cry. “I’m so glad you believed in me!”

  “She’s a really good liar,” Elam said, “but I never really thought about getting the scroll. I just saw that pit as a good place to toss the snake and shut that demon up.”

  On the other side of the thickening screen, Morgan threw the snake’s body to the side, rose to her feet
, and kicked it savagely into the abyss.

  Elam grinned. “I should have attached a message to it. ‘To the Watcher. With love, from Elam.’”

  Sapphira laughed. “Too bad he can’t send you a thank-you note. I think we won’t be seeing him again for a very long time.”

  As the Ovulum continued to pulse halos, the voice entered her mind again. “Perhaps you will not see him, child, but first you must send the abyss to the lowest of all realms. Prepare to generate the greatest portal you have ever made.”

  Sapphira laid the Ovulum on the ground, took a deep breath, and lifted the scroll high. “Give me light!” she shouted. Flames instantly leaped from the top, jumping and dancing as they consumed the scroll. She waved it in a circle, slowly at first, then faster and faster as the flames expanded into a wide curtain that enveloped Elam and herself as well as the entire chamber. Within seconds, all they could see was the inside of a fiery tornado. The vortex spun so fast, the orange tongues blended together into solid streams of blazing light. The Ovulum’s red pulses mixed in, deepening the orange and tingeing the entire cyclone with bright crimson highlights.

  The voice from the Ovulum shouted out loud. “Now, Sapphira Adi! Shine forth the light of love! Show Elam the joy that only Elohim can give!”

  A rising tide of ecstasy rose in Sapphira’s heart, filling her mind with song, the same song the Eye sang when Elohim led her in holy dance. The words began to pour from her lips unbidden, more beautifully than she ever imagined she could sing.

  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 flames exploded in brightness. Intense heat nearly blistered her skin, but she didn’t care. She just closed her eyes and sang on.

  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.

  Droplets of water sprinkled her cheeks, and the sizzle of cooling stone breezed past her ears. She tossed the remnant of the scroll to the ground and embraced Elam, her eyes still closed, her body still swaying with her song.

  O cast aside the chains of grief

  And reach for heaven’s grace above;

  So son of Shem come dance with me!

  Enfold yourself in arms of love.

  This time, Elam returned the embrace, and as cool water poured from above, the two spun slowly with the whirling breeze. Elam’s head nodded in rhythmic spasms as he wept on Sapphira’s shoulder.

  She patted his back and drank in his wordless song of joy. Elam had found Elohim. Though Elam had not seen his beloved father in centuries, he had witnessed the truth of his father’s stories about God as he endured the injustice and torture of Morgan’s prisons. Now he stood in the presence of the holy, finally feeling the loving caress of Elohim. The same God who scrubbed the world’s filth with a cleansing flood was now bathing him in a shower of mercy.

  As the melody in her heart played on, new words drifted into her mind, sung in the rich voice of the Eye. She listened, wondering if Elam could hear them as well.

  A day will come when you will speak

  My name anew in sacrifice,

  The day you set your heart afire

  And give me all, the only price.

  The voice faded away, and the fire settled to the earth and vanished. In its place stood a steep grassy slope rising to a high promontory overlooking a valley. Rain poured down from a dismal sky, the sun obscured by a curtain of dark, thick clouds.

  Elam pulled away from Sapphira. He gave her a shy smile and nod, then turned his gaze upward, blinking at the sheets of rain. “Any idea where we are?” he asked.

  Sapphira took in a long breath. “No clue, and I really don’t care.” She picked up the Ovulum from the mud, wiped it on her sleeve, and slid it into the pocket of her dampening dress. “I have Elohim’s prophet with me, so I have a guide.” She took Elam’s hand. “And I have a warrior with me, so I have a protector.”

  Elam kept his gaze focused on the ground. “If you say so,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked up at her, his face shining in spite of the gloomy skies. “Even though I’m not the strongest guy around, or the bravest, I’ll be the best warrior I can be.” As his glistening eyes locked on Sapphira’s, he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “But, no matter what happens, I won’t ever betray the girl who risked her life to feed me. That’s a promise.”

  Chapter 8

  Abandoned

  Merlin swung his oar at the serpent, gashing its throat as its body lunged over his dugout canoe. He kicked the snake back into the water, thrust the oar against the muddy bottom of the swamp, and shoved the boat toward shore. Now at a depth of only a couple of feet, he jumped into the water and sprinted toward the grassy beach, splashing through the shallows. When he neared the shore, he vaulted toward the bordering grass and rolled to a stop next to a lush apple tree.

  He clutched his chest and took in long, slow breaths, hoping his heart wouldn’t leap out of his throat. He glanced back at the swamp. The roiling snake bodies had submerged, and the surface was once again calm. Fumbling with the folds of his robe, he uncovered his scabbard and pulled out his sword. He wouldn’t be caught with only an oar in his hand again.

  Merlin sat up and gazed at the castle on the hill, wondering at the familiar constellations riding above the twin turrets. Why would the stars of the living world be in the skies over Hades? He shrugged his shoulders. At least he had finally found her. Tracking Morgan had been much more difficult than he had imagined. It had been a big enough surprise when she transformed into a raven, but when she vanished through a dimensional portal, he couldn’t believe it! A wraith, a sorceress of old, had invaded England with her ancient black magic.

  He rose to his feet and began trudging up the slope. The days of tedious research had finally paid off. Yet, learning who this woman really was proved to be a curse. With her prowess at the dark arts, every inch of his journey could bring a new puzzle to solve . . . or another dangerous trap to avoid.

  After coming under the shelter of a high portico that led to the main doors, he halted. A shadow, small and fleeting, like a child’s frightened ghost, scurried for cover behind a marble column. Merlin watched the column for any sign of movement. It wasn’t just his imagination. In this domain of wraiths, who could tell what evil might be lurking in the shadows?

  Keeping his sword clearly exposed, he strode confidently to the door. If the mysterious ghost had plans to attack, it probably would have done so by now. He grasped the ornate knob, and the force of his hand swung the door noiselessly, opening it about a quarter of the way. He peered into the dim anteroom, then, allowing the sword to lead the way, he squeezed through the gap. When he cleared the door, he pushed it with his backside, but not far enough to engage the latch.

  As he passed under an archway, a single torch hanging on a side wall flickered brightly, allowing Merlin to scan the enormous chamber, perhaps a ballroom or a meeting hall. Dozens of candelabras dangled from a high ceiling, and a huge rectangular table adorned the center.

  Shifting his eyes back and forth, Merlin walked slowly toward the table. Tall chairs surrounded the dark wooden surface, each with padded headrests and elaborate trim. Near the head of the table, a marble chessboard sat at an angle, as though the master of the house had planned to play someone at the adjacent seat. Tall, wooden chess pieces stood around the board in mid-play, awaiting th
eir marching orders. The white king, dressed in a purple-trimmed robe and carrying a rugged cross, sat on a muscular white horse. On the other side, the black king, dressed in red-trimmed mail and a turban of intertwined snakes, rode on an armored black dragon.

  Something moved a shifting shadow seated at the tallest chair. A voice, soft and sultry, rose from the shadow. “Welcome, Merlin.”

  Merlin nodded. “Morgan Le Faye, I presume.”

  She gestured toward the seat next to hers. “You survived my serpents. I’m impressed.” A black cobra-shaped pawn advanced on the board by itself, threatening an opposing rook, but a white knight jumped to the pawn’s space and crushed it into dust.

  Eyeing the enchanted pieces, Merlin slid the chair out and sat, keeping his legs swung to the side. “I prefer to speak without pretense, Morgan. I know who you really are.”

  “Of course you do.” Morgan pulled close to the table and propped her folded hands. “You saw right through my façade in the king’s throne room, yet you refused to give away my identity. Why?”

  A black knight jumped in front of its queen. The orange-eyed horse pawed its square, snorting viciously.

  “You give me too much credit,” Merlin said. “I knew you were not the king’s sister, and I suspected that you were not fully human, but I didn’t guess that you were once called Lilith until I found an ancient scroll that described two wraiths who stalk the righteous in winged forms.”

  “Ah! So in Arthur’s court you only suspected my true identity, did you?” Morgan leaned back in her seat and smiled. “Still, it would have been easy for you to prove my lack of normal humanness, but you chose to suffer embarrassment instead. I must know your reason.”

  The white king advanced one square, slashing in front of him with a gleaming blade. The black knight leaped back to its previous space.