Eye of the Oracle

by Bryan Davis

  Merlin tightened his grip on his sword. “The king would have demanded Excalibur from me and executed you on the spot. He suffers no sorceress to live in his domain.”

  “The king would have demanded nothing of the sort. A potion I gave him saw to that. He was so strong, it took a triple dose, but his brain was sufficiently muddled in time for the council of war.”

  Merlin sighed. “I thought he seemed rather confused that day.”

  “Still,” Morgan continued, “you sacrificed your standing to keep me safe. Why do you care if I live or die? What am I to you?”

  He glanced between Morgan and the chessboard’s black queen. Both flashed shining red eyes. “According to my research,” he said, “you could be more human than you realize. You still have a soul a dark, corrupt soul, but a soul, nonetheless.”

  “And you, in your vacuous perception of the higher moral ground, want to save my soul.” Morgan sneered at him. “How noble of you.”

  Merlin folded his hands on the table. “I’m not seeking nobility, but if you wish to learn how to be redeemed, there might yet be a way. First, however, you would have to obtain a new body.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Morgan stood and rubbed her hands along her hips. “I can mold this body into any shape I choose.”

  “Shape without substance is a mere shadow. I know you want more.”

  She stood and slinked toward him. “Of course I do. I always want more, and I always get what I want.” She touched the top of his head and swirled his hair around her finger.

  Merlin shot to his feet, toppling his chair as he stepped back. “You cannot have what belongs to another.”

  Morgan laid her hands on his shoulders and pouted. “Why can I not be your Gwendoloena, at least while you’re here?” Her hands slid toward his cheeks, and she pursed her lips. “After all, what happens in the circles of the dead remains a secret forever. No one needs to know what you do here.”

  He grabbed her wrists and glared at her purple-stained palms. “My wife’s name is Gwendoloena only in my songs, for I would never tell you her real name, and no power-draining spell is going to make me betray her.”

  Morgan’s arms melted into wisps of smoke, and she backed away, laughing. “Everyone has a price of betrayal, Merlin. I just have to find what your thirty pieces of silver is.”

  Merlin banged his fist on the table, toppling half the chessmen on the squares. “I am no fool, Morgan. It is not my wife you seek to betray.”

  “And that is why I will let you live.” Morgan waved her hand over the board, and the pieces aligned themselves in their beginning positions. “You are the only one wise enough to gain the full trust of the dragons and help me eliminate them from the face of the earth. That would be the ultimate betrayal.”

  “You dribble the drool of an imbecile. No price would tempt me to betray the dragons.”

  “Oh, but you do have a price, Merlin.” Morgan laid her hands on her chest. Her body slowly softened into a gel-like state and reshaped itself into a slightly shorter woman with wider hips, a careworn face, and graying hair. She slid her hands slowly from her chest to her hips. “Does the image of your wife please you?”

  Merlin blinked rapidly, but he forced himself to stay calm. “What are your intentions?”

  “My intentions?” She withdrew a gold ring from her pocket and held it out to him, her eyes flashing redder than ever. “For you to join me in my battle against Elohim and the dragons. With my power and your intimate knowledge of the enemy, no one could stop us. Just say, ‘I do,’ and we will be united in purpose forever.”

  Merlin glared at the ring. “And what are the consequences when I refuse?”

  She drew a dagger from her belt and plunged it into her chest. It sank into her jellied skin, fell through her body, and clattered on the floor. Waving her arms, she quickly changed back into her original shape, laughing again. “Need I say more?”

  Heat scalded Merlin’s cheeks. He curled his hands into fists but kept his voice in check as he spoke slowly and clearly. “I found what I came here for. Now that I know for certain who you are, I will inform my king.” He tightened his belt with a quick tug. “That is, if I am able to leave this God-forsaken place.”

  “You may already know the law of passage in the circles of seven. Since you willingly entered, you may willingly leave. You will be a valuable tool for me, so I will not prevent your departure.”

  Merlin cocked his head toward the exit. “The serpents in your swamp and the beast that lurks in the shadows might have other ideas.”

  “Beast?” Morgan chuckled. “Oh, that’s just Naamah, or Elaine, as you know her. She always inspects the men who stumble onto our little island. She won’t bother you, and I’ll make sure my serpentine pets are asleep during you journey home. I’m looking forward to this new adventure, and I’m confident that you will do what I’m asking. Your dear wife is too young to die.”

  Keeping his eye on the chess pieces, Merlin picked up the toppled chair and set it back on its feet. “I get the impression that you desire a battle of prophetic foresight.”

  She picked up the black king and twirled it in her fingers. “Yes, Merlin, but more than that, a battle between your god and mine, a chess match that allows for no stalemates.”

  “Understood,” Merlin said, lifting the white king into his palm. “Till death do us part.”

  With the rain diminishing to a light sprinkle, Sapphira scanned the grassy slope, her vision again crystal clear. “This must be a new portal, so I guess we should be able to use it to get back home. The scroll’s gone, so I just need to find something that will burn.”

  “I am back home.” Elam spread an arm toward the misty valley. “See the glow from the fires? This is the real world, the land of the living.” He took in a deep breath and let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Even the cattle and goats smell good.”

  Sapphira closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “It’s an odd smell,” she said, opening her eyes again. “It makes me feel warm inside.”

  He pointed at the small building behind them on top of the hill, a thatched-roof structure with two boards nailed to the wall a vertical board about as long as Nabal was tall, and a horizontal one crossing over the vertical about two thirds of the way up. “I saw a lantern in that window. People must live there. Real people.”

  “Do you want to stay?” Sapphira asked. “I mean, where would you go? Everyone you ever knew has to be long dead, and the people here won’t even speak the same language you did.”

  “I know, but . . .” Elam shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t want to sound mean or anything, but I don’t belong down there with the underborns. Besides, I’d be the only male, and that would be . . . well . . . difficult.”

  “Not with you always being such a gentleman. We would all trust you.”

  “Trust me or not, it would still be difficult.” He retied his belt, though it didn’t seem to need it. “I guess you wouldn’t understand.”

  Sapphira folded her hands in front of her and lowered her chin. “I think I do.”

  Elam lifted her chin with his fingers. “That’s actually a compliment, you know.”

  She gave a slight nod and whispered, “I know.”

  Turning to the side, Elam nodded toward the valley. “Besides, Elohim gave me an important assignment here. Now that you and the other girls are safe, I can do it.”

  “Elohim gave you an assignment? When? How?”

  “When we were dancing, he sang a song, and the words keep repeating in my mind.

  O son of Shem, so brave and true,

  Come learn of love’s fulfilling vow.

  The land of life calls out to you,

  The blood of Christ your refuge now.

  ’Tis dragons you will find and serve,

  But first take care of what you need,

  To root and sprout and grow and bloom,

  And Lazarus provides the seed.

&nb
sp; “Whew!” He wiped his sleeve across his brow. “That’s a lot better than the other song I kept hearing.”

  “You’re right,” Sapphira said, nodding. “You have to stay here.”

  Elam lowered his head. “It sure looks that way.”

  “And I’ll stay with you.” She hooked her arm around Elam’s. “At least we’ll have each other, and I might know the language here. After the tower fell, I had to study a long time to figure out Mardon’s, so Morgan used me as a sort of translator over the years for all the new languages she came across.”

  “What about Paili? Who’ll take care of her?”

  “Acacia and the other girls are there, and I could go back and visit whenever I wanted to. It’s not like I would be abandoning them.”

  “You can’t live up here.” Elam set a finger under her chin again. “I mean, look at you! With your hair and eyes, if the people are anything like what they were before, they’ll think you’re some kind of angel.”

  Sapphira touched the ends of her hair. “An angel?”

  “Or a demon. Most people I knew were superstitious. They attacked anything they didn’t understand, and they would never understand how someone so different can be . . .” Elam chewed on his lip and shifted his weight again.

  “Can be what?”

  “Can be . . . so kind . . . so thoughtful.” He lowered his gaze to the ground. “So perfect.”

  Sapphira took Elam’s hand. “As long as you’re with me, I don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

  A man’s voice shouted from behind them in an odd language.

  “What did he say?” Elam asked.

  Sapphira whirled toward the source. “He said, ‘Who’s there?’”

  Elam stepped in front of Sapphira. “Can you translate for me?”

  “Yes. I know this language. Morgan made sure we trained especially hard for this one.”

  As Elam whispered to her, Sapphira spoke the translation in a loud voice. “Sir, if we are trespassing, we are very sorry and will leave immediately. Allow us to go our way in peace.”

  Lantern light flashed across Elam’s eyes, and the voice calmed. “There are no trespassers in Christ’s courtyard. All true seekers are welcome.” The shadowy form of a man ambled down the slope, keeping one leg stiff to brace against falling. The light revealed a generous smile on his narrow, aged face.

  As Sapphira quickly translated, Elam pulled her close beside him. “Hide your eyes,” he whispered.

  She jerked out her coif and tied it on, pushing her hair underneath and veiling her eyes.

  “Two of you, eh? We can make room. Are you two married?”

  Sapphira shook her head, then Elam did the same.

  The man pointed at his face. “I was wondering, with the veil, you know, maybe she was a new bride. Are you brother and sister?”

  Sapphira whispered the words to say. Elam tried to parrot them, but they came out skewed. “No,” Elam said in the man’s language. “We are just . . . together.”

  “Oh. . . . I see. Well, I can’t say that I approve, but I guess you foreigners have different customs. You’re welcome to stay the night, but I’m a Christian man, so we’ll have to separate you. The girl can sleep with my wife, and you and I can push some bedding together on the front room floor. It’s not the most comfortable place to sleep, but we’ll be warm and dry.” He extended his hand. “My name is Lazarus. What’s yours?”

  Elam jerked his head around to Sapphira. “I didn’t understand any of that, but I thought I heard him say Lazarus.”

  “He did.” Sapphira stepped up and curtsied. “His name is Elam, and mine is Sapphira.” She nodded toward the building. “What is this place, if I may be so bold?”

  Lazarus gestured toward the boards on the wall. “See the cross?” he said, pulling a smaller wooden replica from under his belt. “It’s a church, dedicated to Michael.”

  Sapphira translated for Elam, then asked Lazarus, “Michael, the archangel?”

  “Yes, indeed.” The man leaned toward her and blinked his friendly old eyes. “Obviously you have heard of him in your country.”

  Again, she translated, then, as she readied another reply, Elam pulled off her coif. Her hair spilled to her shoulders, and she stepped back, wincing at the lantern light.

  “An angel!” Lazarus dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “What do you request of your humble servant? I am ready to do your bidding.”

  Elam pointed at Lazarus. “Sapphira, tell him you’re a special messenger called an oracle of fire, and now that you have brought me here to his church, your work is done.”

  Sapphira shielded her eyes with her arm. “But ”

  “Tell him!” Elam ordered, stuffing the coif into her pocket.

  Sapphira translated the words and lowered her arm. “What now?”

  He pointed at Lazarus’s cross. “Ask him if I can use it.”

  Sapphira asked.

  Lazarus laid the cross in Elam’s palm. “By all means!”

  Elam wrapped Sapphira’s fingers around the cross and covered them with his own. “Go home, now. We’ll see each other again. I know we will.” He helped Lazarus to his feet and stepped back, pulling him along.

  Sapphira drew in her bottom lip and bit it hard. She yearned to be with Elam, but he was right. This world would never accept her. No matter how much love a precious few people showed to her, she would still be a freak of nature in the eyes of everyone else. And who was she to expect Elam to live buried in dark hopelessness, trapped in the dimension of the dead, with a bunch of plant girls, no less? He had a vision from Elohim, and she should spur him on, not drag him back.

  As she gazed at Elam slowly climbing the hill with Lazarus, she looked past him and, with her sharpened vision, read a sign on the church’s wall. Jesus saith unto him, “Feed my sheep.” The riddle on the museum wall came back to her mind: “When a maid collects an egg, she passes it on, giving it to the one she feeds.” Sliding her hand into her pocket, she felt the Ovulum, now cold and lifeless. She knew it was time to obey.

  “I’ll go,” she called, withdrawing the Ovulum, “but . . .”

  Elam pivoted and stood on a flat terrace several paces up. “But what?”

  She held the Ovulum in her palm. “But only if you take this. I think you’ll need it more than I will.” She tossed it to him, not wanting to give him a choice. He caught it with both hands and pressed it close to his chest.

  Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she raised the cross high in the air. As tears blurred her vision, she shouted, “Give me light!” The cross ignited, burning with lively yellow flames from an inch above her hand to the very top. She began to swirl it in a slow orbit.

  Lazarus lowered himself to his knees again and lifted his hands. “May God be praised. I have seen another miracle!”

  Elam nodded at Sapphira, the glow of the cross shining in his eyes. “Go on, now,” he said softly. “I’ll learn the language soon enough.”

  Swirling the cross faster, she steadied her voice and spoke as clearly as she could. “I love you, Elam, son of Shem.”

  Tears rolled down Elam’s cheeks. “And I love you, Sapphira Adi, sparkling gem of perfection.”

  As the flames danced in a curtain all around her, Elam, Lazarus, the grassy slope, and the church incinerated in her sight, like a painted canvas burning from top to bottom. When the fire died away, the mining trench appeared. Competing shadows crisscrossed the dark furrow, some cast there by a column of purplish light spinning around her, the underworld exit point of the new portal. Dimmer shadows tripped around the flickers of the lantern Elam had left behind next to the corridor’s new dead end a stone wall the Ovulum had erected with its layers of crimson light, blocking Morgan’s entry into the girls’ home.

  Sapphira tightened her grip on the smoldering cross and stepped out of the column. After picking up the lantern, she shuffled back toward the elevation platform, kicking black pebbles all along th
e way. Why hurry? She had all the time in the world to climb that long rope and rejoin her spawn sisters, then years and years to sit and wonder what Elam was doing up in the land of the living.

  When she reached the platform, she stared at the rope and the black void above. Everything seemed so empty, so hopeless. Elam was far away up there, separated from her by much more than space. He was in a completely different dimension, probably happy now to be away from this God-forsaken hole in the ground.

  She leaned against the wall and slid down to her seat, staring at the trench, the pathway back to the world above. Setting down the cross and lantern, she slid her hand into her pocket. She felt only her coif. The Ovulum was gone.

  She grasped a handful of dust and threw it toward the trench. God-forsaken was right. Now everything and everyone from the living world had escaped, and they were all probably glad of it. This was a place of torture and sorrows, and those born here were destined to live here alone, separated from God forever.

  Now she knew what Elam had meant. Having something and then losing it was a lot worse than never having it at all. At least now Elam could find new parents or maybe somebody else to show him love and care.

  Sapphira pressed her trembling lips together. She had nothing, and what she had lost would never return.

  She scrunched up her face, trying not to cry, but tears flowed anyway. Her voice quaking, she looked up at the dark, blank ceiling. “I guess you got what you wanted out of me, didn’t you? You destroyed the tower, you rescued Elam, but you left me here to rot.”

  Lowering her head, she let her tears drip into the dust. “Why didn’t you just let me be Mara, the slave girl? Why did you have to show me so many wonders of the living world, only to trap me down here again?” She rose to her knees and, balling her fists, she screamed, “Why didn’t you just leave me alone?”

  She fell prostrate and wept, sobbing and heaving, not caring how dirty, ugly, or ridiculous she looked. Who would ever come around to see her? Nobody cared . . . nobody.

  After a few minutes, something soft touched her head. “Sapphira?”

  Sapphira jerked up and stared at the female form, a girl with white hair, sparkling sapphire pupils, and a burning torch in her hand. Sapphira rubbed her eyes with her filthy knuckles. “Acacia?”