by Bryan Davis
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?”