by Bryan Davis
The other sparkling masses streamed toward the pendant and vanished. Merlin fought against the flow like a fish struggling upstream. It was no use. The force elongated his body and slurped him toward the pendant.
He tried to watch the confrontation between Devin and Jared. They seemed to be fighting. Jared fell to the floor, but that was all Merlin could see before the room vanished. He tumbled down an avalanche of pure light, hurtling toward a black sphere. He plunged into it, feeling no pain, only a sinking sensation as darkness enveloped him. His body seemed to settle and stop, as though he stood on an endless floor. Twelve masses of sparks stood nearby, huddling close and flashing green, yellow, and red.
Merlin tried to sort out all the amazing images and evaluate his situation. He and the traitors had been transformed into light energy and absorbed into the candlestone as it hung around Devin’s neck. Now they were trapped inside a crystalline prison, riding within the candlestone’s walls as the dark knight’s prisoners, though Devin likely had no idea they were there.
When Merlin tried to speak to the others, a stream of light energy carried his thoughts. “Barlow?” His voice seemed to buzz through the darkness. “Edward?”
“I am Barlow,” one of the sparkling masses replied. “Edward is next to me . . . I think.”
“Yes.” Edward’s energy field turned bluish white. “I am here, a young fool at your service. May I ask who addresses us?”
Merlin decided to keep his anonymity, at least for the time being. “You are, indeed, a fool. What helped you learn your lesson so quickly?”
“As soon as Merlin raised Excalibur and its holy light passed over my body, it was as though I could see everything the prophet’s integrity, Devin’s plot, and my own stupidity.” Edward’s energy shrank to a quivering ball of purple light. “I am but a fool. My dear mother will die in disgrace, and I will never be able to wear my father’s name. He deserved better than the stooge who masquerades as his son.”
Merlin’s mass of sparks grew bright white. “Hear me, Edward, son of Edmund. Remember what you learned in the light and never doubt it even if you have to spend years in the dark. Heed my words, and you will eventually earn a place of honor and regain your father’s name.” His energy dwindled back to normal, and he willed himself into motion. “Think about what I have said. I will see you again.”
Elam scooted back into a dark cleft of the secret passageway, watching the beautiful lady as she stooped low, peering out of the slightly open panel. He had already learned her name by listening in on her adoption ceremony Irene, the king’s new daughter. Quiet and cautious, she spied on the happenings in the throne room.
A man shouted, “Devin, you son of a leprous jackal! You recreant thief, plucking treasures from dead men’s bones! Come back here and fight like a man!” The sound of evil laughter followed, then, seconds later, the clashing of swords and loud grunting.
The woman gasped. She kept opening the panel farther, then closing it, as if fearing someone might spot her. Finally, she threw it open and dashed into the throne room. Elam leaped to the panel and peeked out. Several knights were carrying a bleeding man and hustling him toward the passageway.
As the group burst into his hideout, Elam ducked back into the cleft and crouched low. Irene led them down the tunnel, a lantern swinging in her hand. “Follow me!” she cried. “We have to get Jared to Thigocia.” In less than a minute, the lantern’s light faded away.
Elam crept into the open and pulled out the Ovulum. “Fiat lux,” he whispered. It glowed red, just enough to guide his way through the tunnel. Though it had been hard to believe, Merlin’s amazing stories were all true the coming rebellion, the former dragons, even the secret to calling for the light of the Ovulum.
After quietly closing the panel, he picked up his knapsack and tiptoed in the direction Irene had fled. Now it was time to fulfill the sacred duty Merlin had charged him with, a secret mission he could reveal to no one, at least until the Eye gave him permission. He lowered his head and sprinted. He couldn’t get too far behind, not if he was to find the former dragon named Thigocia.
Chapter 12
In Hiding
Jared and Irene huddled around a flickering candle. A tent draped across three short poles acted as their only break against a chill wind. As they rubbed their fingers in the candle’s fragile warmth, their breaths troubled the flame. Jared sat cross-legged on a threadbare gray blanket, watching the changes in her expression the anxiety in her furrowed brow, the fear in her wide eyes, and the pain in her tight bluish red lips. He glanced from time to time at the tent’s entrance, wondering if the occasional snaps of twigs or hoots of owls signaled coming danger.
With his hands clenched over his mouth, Jared took in a deep breath and whispered between his thumbs. “If he is not here soon, Irene, we have to assume the worst. Valcor is no match for Devin.”
Irene placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “He is no match in battle, but my brother is wiser by far. Do not give up hope. I would not have arranged our meeting had I thought this a fool’s errand.”
Jared raised his head. “I heard a nightingale.”
Irene whispered, “It is the signal.” She pursed her lips and blew a warbling bird whistle.
Within seconds, the tent flap flew open, and a man with water dripping from his sleeves bustled in.
Irene grasped the man’s arm. “Valcor! Are you hurt?”
Valcor, stooping under the low ceiling, shook his head, panting. “Devin . . . Devin tracked me to the river’s edge, so I swam . . . swam upstream as far as I could.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I ran the rest of the way. It will be some time before the dogs pick up the trail again, but we must hurry.” He pulled a scroll from his vest, sat beside Jared, and rolled it out on the blanket. “I found the letter, and I managed to keep it above water.”
Irene glanced upward and clasped her hands together. “Thank the Maker!”
Wrapping his arms around himself, Valcor shivered. “Yes. It is a miracle that I escaped. My bribe must not have been rich enough to keep the guard quiet.” He rolled up his wet sleeves and ran his fingers across the parchment. “But this information is worth all the trouble.”
Jared eyed the letter. “It is lengthy. Please give us a summary.”
Valcor held the letter close to the dancing flame. “It is clear that Devin is now more dangerous than ever.”
“But he failed,” Irene said. “Arthur and Merlin squashed the rebellion.”
“Devin did not fail completely. He took Excalibur, and now Merlin has vanished. Who can predict how powerful Devin and Morgan will become?”
Valcor slid the candle closer to the letter. “This explains what I believe is an even greater danger. You see, Merlin promised to tell Morgan how to restore her wandering spirit to a body. The promise, it seems, has been fulfilled in this letter, which I recently learned was in Devin’s possession.”
Irene shifted to Valcor’s side and draped her shawl across his shoulders. She eyed the letter’s exquisite penmanship. “Why would Merlin make such a promise to a witch?”
Valcor took his sister’s hand. “I asked Merlin that very question before he disappeared. He said the plan is of divine origin and extends well beyond his vision, but we should not worry; God knows what he is doing. In any case, as you may already know, Morgan is not a common variety witch. She is the wife of a Watcher. Her original name was Lilith, a wretched enchantress who lived before the flood. Her husband taught her the evil arts of the fallen angels, but she did not know that practicing these arts would cause her to become a wraith. She actually took on the nature of the Watchers and has no hope of redemption without regaining a body and giving herself in obedience to the Christ.”
A peal of thunder rolled across the sky. Valcor’s gaze flashed toward the tent entrance as he rolled up the letter and thrust it back into his vest. “There is much to explain, and time is short.” He held his hand over his vest pocket. “Merli
n told Morgan she needs a hostiam viventem, a living sacrifice, in order to shed her ghostly cowl. That sacrifice has to be a legal, female relative of the king. Morgan had her evil eye on Guinevere, but not even the Watchers’ arts could persuade Arthur to give up his wife. So, it seems that she changed her plan, hoping Devin could take the throne during the rebellion.”
“But how would that further her cause?” Jared asked. “Devin has no wife and no female relatives that I know of.”
“Who would have him?” Irene sliced her hand across her throat. “I would kill myself before I let that piece of filth touch me!”
Valcor smirked. “Even dead, you might still be a target, Irene. Merlin wrote that a deceased woman can be a hostiam providing, of course, the body has not been dead for very long. But Devin would have no need to hunt for corpses. If he had succeeded in usurping the throne, he would have had his choice of women. Morgan would have entered his wife and become queen, and Devin would have the power to rule the world. I believe Devin would have put up with a witch of a wife for a prize like that.”
A distant howl drifted into the tent. Valcor pushed the entrance flap to the side and leaned out for a moment, then ducked back in. “So Devin and Morgan had an understanding. She would provide him with power, with influence in high places, and he, in turn, would use that power to become king, get married, then provide Morgan with a woman to possess. But since his rebellion has failed, Morgan might not wait for him to try again.”
Irene raised a finger to her chest. “But if any legal female relative can serve as host, then I really would be a candidate, would I not, since I am an adopted daughter?”
Valcor nodded. “You would be, yes.”
“Then why does Devin seek to kill me?”
“Because,” Valcor replied, stroking his chin, “he has merely identified you as a former dragon. He hasn’t yet made the connection that you are also in the royal line. So you have peril either way. If you are a dragon, Devin wants you dead. If you are an heir, Morgan would prefer to take your body alive, yet in such a way that you would be better off dead. I believe, however, that Devin’s bloodlust will override his desire to search for Morgan’s hostiam, so he will likely try to kill you until the day he dies.”
“If he ever dies,” Irene added.
Jared lifted his brow. “If? Why do you say if?”
“Haven’t you noticed his new youthfulness?” Irene brushed her finger across her calf. “He shows no sign of the leg wound I gave him when I fought with him. If Morgan’s evil handiwork has given him healing power, then who knows how long he might live?”
“So,” Valcor said, “the presence of a seemingly deathless stalker means that we must go into hiding permanently. The farther apart we live and the less we communicate with each other, the more difficult it will be for Devin and Morgan to find us all.”
Valcor began to rise, but Irene pulled on his sleeve. “Wait. I have something for you.” She opened her palm. Two spherical red stones rolled to the edge of her hand, looking like a pair of polished cranberries at the peak of harvest. “When you gave me Makaidos’s rubellite, it reminded me of its meaning to the dragon race, so I went back to Bald Top to search for other rubellites. I assumed they fell to the ground when we were transformed, so I thought they might still be up there.”
Irene seesawed her hand, letting the gems roll from side to side. “I found two in the grass, the lighter of these gems and another one I put away in a safe place.” She plucked the darker of the two stones from her palm and gave it to Valcor. “Dear brother, this is our father’s, the one you gave to me, and I ask you, as his son, to take it back.” She handed the other stone to Jared. “Always remember what we once were. If you ever procreate, pass yours along to your progeny at the appropriate time.”
Closing his fingers around his rubellite, Jared nodded. “I will. You can count on it.”
Valcor’s lips parted as if to speak, but, as his face reddened, he just lowered his head.
Irene’s blue eyes sparkled. “As these gems reflect the vitality of your mortal essence, may you always reflect the nobility of our race through your courage, your integrity, and your sacrifice.”
Valcor stood and bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He rolled a tear onto his finger and held it out for Jared and Irene to see. “How rare were the tears of a dragon. We once lived in Paradise, and because of the corruption of an angel disguised as a dragon, all the world was cast into darkness. Now, as humans, we shed many tears for what was lost, for what might have been, and for the end of friendships. Good-bye, my true friends.” He bowed again and hurried from the tent.
Jared held the tent flap open for Irene. “We had better go, as well.”
She raised a finger. “We must wait for his signal that all is clear.”
Jared paused, listening so intently he could hear a faint sizzle from the candle’s wick. Another howl pierced the night. He wet his fingers and snuffed the flame. “That is a good enough signal for me.” He and Irene shuffled from the tent and folded it with the blanket.
After tucking the bundle under his arm, Jared inhaled deeply. “It is a new world, Hartanna, if I may call you that one last time. We will now be alone and friendless, perhaps for many years.”
“Before I go into hiding,” Irene said, “I must tell my mother what has happened. She will surely be Devin’s prime target.”
Irene turned to leave, but Jared grabbed her hand. “I have one regret,” he said softly.
She tilted her head. “Regret? What regret?”
He sighed and caressed her fingers with his thumb. “That I was never able to become Hartanna’s mate.”
As Irene gazed into his eyes, her tears glistened in the dim light. “You would have made a magnificent king, Clefspeare.”
He kissed her hand tenderly. “May the Maker grant you safe passage.” He bowed and marched quickly into the forest.
In the gloom of night, Elam sat in front of the hut, watching the undulating glow of firelight as it danced inside the open window. Cautious voices from within drifted to his ears.
“Do not tell me where you are going, Irene. It is better that I do not know.”
“But you are my mother. How will I ever find you again?”
“Have faith. The Maker will see to our reunion . . . someday.”
“At least choose a new name and tell me what it is. Thigocia will not serve you as a proper name in this land.”
Elam scooted closer to the window.
“At first I chose Emzara, because, like Noah’s wife, I am the mother of all who remain of my kind, but I decided it was too uncommon and obvious. Devin would guess it easily. So, I have chosen to answer to the name of Hannah.”
“Hannah is a fine name. It is easy to remember and not conspicuous at all.”
“You should go now, precious daughter. The longer you stay in this country, the more danger you will be in.”
Elam rose to his feet, picked up his knapsack, and tiptoed to the edge of the surrounding forest. Leaning against the wide trunk of a tree, he slid back down to his seat and watched Irene leave the tiny hut. She and Hannah embraced, then, after holding her mother’s hand for a moment, Irene strode into the shadows and disappeared.
Elam pulled the Ovulum from his bag and whispered, “Fiat lux.” A faint glow emanated from the glass. He smiled and spoke softly to it. “Thigocia seems to be safe for now, so I guess I’ll just sleep here until she decides to go somewhere else.”
The orb pulsed but gave no reply.
Giving the smooth surface a gentle rub, Elam continued. “Sometimes I wish you’d talk to me more. I want to do a good job watching over Thigocia, but I feel like I’m just guessing what I’m supposed to do.”
The Ovulum’s glow brightened, and its pulsing frequency increased, but it stayed quiet.
Elam let the Ovulum rock back and forth in his palm. “I believe Sapphira gave you to me for a reason, and I guess I’ll figure it all out
as I go, but maybe it would help if I knew how long I’m supposed to keep track of Thigocia.” He drew the Ovulum closer to his face. “Will you tell me when the slayers die?”
The eye slowly congealed inside the glass. Its crimson-coated image pulsed in time with the orb’s glow. “For the sake of your curious mind, Elam, son of Shem, I will reveal what I know.” The eye seemed to retreat, and the entire face of an elderly man appeared. “I am Enoch, the first oracle. When God took me up from the earth, he gave me the task of overseeing a certain portion of his redemption plan. I reside in a spiritual realm, and my window to your world is the humble egg you hold in your hands, a dimensional viewer that is passed from oracle to oracle. Methuselah inherited the oracle title from me, but the flood created the need to pass the Ovulum to Sapphira Adi, a special kind of oracle whose true mission has not yet begun. Now that she has been set on her path, the Ovulum is yours, and as my descendant, you are the rightful heir.”
Elam pointed at himself. “So am I an oracle?”
“That mantle is yours to be grasped, but time will tell if you are able to wear it with authority.” Enoch’s face seemed to back away even farther. Robed in scarlet, he sat on a stool next to a table. “For now, I will address your immediate question, but there is no simple answer. Morgan’s arts could keep the slayers alive for many years, so the time of fulfillment of your task is uncertain. Just stay close to Thigocia and stay hidden.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. I don’t eat, and I don’t get older. All I need is some sleep now and then.”
“It may be harder than you realize. The mother dragon is stalked by a monster who will stop at nothing to murder her. Guard her well.”
Elam nodded. “I will. You can count on that.” He breathed a sigh. “Good night, Enoch.” After pulling the knapsack under his head, he held the Ovulum close to his chest and drifted off to sleep.
Sapphira stepped back from the rectangular screen of light and waved her hand across it, dimming it to a soft glow. “That’s enough for a while. Elam’s just going to sleep.” The screen shrank from a dragon-sized aura back to a spinning orange column, the portal to the snake-infested swamp up above.