by Bryan Davis
When she reached another wall, she touched it with a finger. A new window opened. A scarlet-veiled figure stood on the other side. The flashing redness kept his face obscured except for a scruffy beard lining his chin and cheeks. The man looked at an ovulum-like glass egg and spoke to it. “Jade? Do you have news?” His voice echoed as if originating in a deep canyon.
“I sent the boy to Abaddon’s Lair.” The four-armed woman, presumably Jade, crossed one set of arms over her chest. “All is proceeding as planned.”
“Who sacrificed life energy to open the portal?”
“Darcy, the young woman who arrived with the boy. She died, and the winds of the abyss removed her remains.”
The bearded man lowered his head, and his tone became solemn. “And will you now fulfill your part in our plan?”
“You need not worry.” Jade set her four hands on the corners of the opening. “I always fulfill my agreements, no matter the cost.”
“This is a perilous step. Opening the path to the reservoir is like unlocking the door for a burglar. You know who now stalks the netherworld.”
“I know it all too well. It seems that your friends fell for his trap. He appears to have successfully taken the next step toward achieving his goals.”
“This is unfortunate.” The man’s hands trembled—blood-red as they caressed the ovulum’s glassy skin. “Do you know where he is now?”
“He tried to enter your realm, but your defense shield repelled him. He settled for the realm of martyrs. Since he was in a spiritual state, I was unable to prevent his transport.”
“Then God’s wisdom has been proven faultless once again. My efforts were successful in guarding the reservoir. That is gratifying.”
“Indeed. And Tamiel is quite in a rage. The realm he chose forced him to take on his most ancient physical form, and being physical keeps him locked inside. He will not be able to escape without extraordinary cunning.”
“Cunning is his trademark. We should not underestimate him. Besides his ability to create a dome of silence and knock people away as if he were a battering ram, he is also a master at deception. Everyone must beware of his craft.”
“Let us hope that Lauren’s wisdom grows as she learns the ways of an Oracle of Fire.”
The man nodded. “She must unravel the mysteries on her own. An Oracle must gain the necessary wisdom from above. Otherwise, she will never be as powerful as Sapphira.”
“Agreed. It was Sapphira’s solitude and suffering that enabled her to become what she is.” Jade let out a genial laugh. “And that is why I have kept the secrets from you, my old friend. You are not willing to see this new applicant suffer to earn her passage to the protected realm.”
“I must admit that you are correct. God was wise to choose you as the guardian of these mysteries. You cannot be swayed from divine purposes.”
“And with that, I must bid you good-bye.” Jade drew her hands toward the center and collapsed the window. Spreading out all four arms, she walked to the central column—a rectangular, pedestal-like structure that stretched from its base on the floor to well over her head. As she drew near, a gemstone embedded in her sternum glittered, alternating between green and scarlet.
She sang softly. “He came by water, came by blood, O Son of God, the holy one. The Spirit speaks, and truth is known; the three agree, and all is shown. When Lauren calls to halls above, O let her see the hand in glove, that three lagoons complete a tale; the parched, the dead, the Holy Grail.” Extending one finger on each hand, she reached to all four sides of the column and inserted the fingers into holes. The moment she pushed them in, her face tightened into a grimace, then blackness filled the scene.
Bonnie snapped her eyes open and tried to rise, but a seat belt held her in place. Carly sat just out of reach, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Bonnie exhaled. Recent memories rushed to the forefront. She was in the jet, flying to the portal. But the dream—could it have been real? She had prayed for more oracle dreams. Maybe Matt did survive the abyss. Maybe he did make it to Abaddon’s Lair with Lauren.
And what about Darcy? Bonnie bit her lip hard. After all the disrespect Matt had shown her, had she given her life for him and Lauren? And who was the man Jade was speaking to? His voice seemed familiar, but the dream warped it too much to be sure.
She took in a deep breath and brushed away tears. There was no way to know. She just had to keep walking her own path and trusting God to guide Matt’s. What else could she do? Her song had already deteriorated to a weak hum. Dwelling on what couldn’t be controlled would only make the situation worse.
She settled back and closed her eyes again. “Show us the way,” she whispered. “In these last days I know we will be called to suffer. Just help us endure. No matter what happens, even if we die, I trust that you will carry us into your embrace. In that knowledge, I can rest.”
CHAPTER 8
THE SECOND PUZZLE PIECE
Lauren’s cloak sizzled and flashed in a surrounding arc. She landed on her feet and took three braking steps to halt her momentum. With each footfall, something crunched under her shoes. She pulled the yoke and cloak off and held one of the items in each hand. The cloak material was still wet, and the yoke continued to glow with a blue aura.
Bones small and large littered the landscape—a flat expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by a dark depression, perhaps a hole, about twenty yards away. In the sky, a reddish moon cast crimson light, making the bones look bloody.
Lauren tied the cloak around her waist and looked back. Through a window, the central column pulsed within the sanctum, a way of escape. But she couldn’t take that route. Not yet. She had to figure out how this world might help her solve the reservoir puzzle, and she had to find Sir Barlow, wherever he might be. Whatever had attacked him, the depression seemed to be the only possible hiding place. No sense letting the attacker know she was coming.
Still carrying the glowing yoke, she tiptoed forward, careful to step on the larger bones to avoid breaking the smaller ones, yet even careful steps raised crackling noises that sounded like thunderclaps in this quiet world.
As she drew close, the depression took shape—nearly perfectly round and about the same size as the pool Sir Barlow had fallen into. The moon appeared as a reflection within. Since the light cast everything in red, it seemed impossible to tell what the liquid might be. It looked like blood, but exposed blood would clot, and it wouldn’t reflect the moon. Or would it?
She crouched at the edge and inhaled. A metallic odor rose from the motionless liquid. She leaned forward to see her own reflection, but only redness appeared.
She blinked. How odd. A pool that reflected some things but not others. And neither this pool nor the previous one could be considered a life reservoir. Both were polluted, void of life.
She extended the yoke. When the end touched the surface, circular ripples radiated in normal fashion, though the focal point grew in a strange way, swelling from a pinprick to a fist-sized hole.
A man’s head erupted from the hole. Wet hair covering his face, he sucked in a gasping breath. His arm splashed forth, and he clawed at the brittle bones on the shoreline until he grabbed the yoke. It slipped from his grasp, and she fell to her bottom. The man began sliding back into the pool, still clawing as he gurgled, “Help me, lass!”
Lauren dropped the yoke, dove forward, and grabbed two fistfuls of his tunic at the shoulders. While he crawled, she pulled until he got his footing and surged from the pool. He fell on top of her, crunching the bed of bones and knocking the wind out of her lungs.
He braced with his arms and lifted his body. She sucked in a breath. Thick liquid dripped from his clothes and spattered on her shirt.
With a quick twist, she rolled out from underneath. He collapsed to his side and gasped, coughing and spitting between breaths. “I apologize … for the mess.”
“Don’t worry about
that.” Lauren sat up and patted his back. The liquid dripped from her arms, though it began hardening to a crust. Was it really blood after all?
When Sir Barlow’s spasms eased, he climbed to his feet and helped Lauren rise to hers. He swiped caked blood from his face and scanned the area. “Where did the creature go?”
“What creature?” Lauren followed his gaze. As before, scarlet-shrouded bones covered the landscape from horizon to horizon. “There’s nowhere to go except for that pool.” She pointed at the portal. “Or the sanctum, but I didn’t see any creature in there.”
Sir Barlow inhaled deeply and relaxed his shoulders. “I call it a creature, because I have no name for it. It had a human head attached to an armored body with oddly jointed arms and legs, like a winged lobster that stands upright, perhaps a head taller than myself. When it attacked me, I had only my fists to counter with, so it defeated me in short order.”
“Oh. Right. Your sword.” Lauren slid it out and handed it to him. “How did you end up in the pool?”
“Well, I battled the creature hand to claw for a moment until it pierced my stomach with a spine or perhaps a claw, I can’t be sure. In any case, blood poured from the wound and rushed to the pool like it was being suctioned. The suction carried my body with it, and a hole opened in the pool and swallowed me whole. I tried to swim out, but my hands struck a hard barrier. I couldn’t see in the bloody place, so I assumed that the surface had become a wall. As I tried to break through with my fists, I held my breath for an intolerable amount of time. Then, moments ago, a tiny ray of light appeared, and I was able to break through, though without something to push my feet against, climbing out was still a struggle.”
Lauren looked at the ground where the yoke now lay. “Weird!”
“Indeed. Now I have explored two unsavory pools. I hope to avoid investigating a third.” Sir Barlow opened his shirt, revealing an inch-long vertical gash in his belly just below his solar plexus. Blood trickled from the wound toward his belt buckle. “It seems that I have made a significant contribution to this pool’s contents, but the damage doesn’t appear to be life-threatening.”
Lauren eyed the wound. “No, but you’ll need stitches.”
“Not likely, Miss.” He closed the shirt. “A stitch in time saves nine, but I have had worse wounds that were never stitched. Besides, I have doubts that this is my real body. Why repair a loaner when I am expecting a new model?”
Lauren laughed under her breath. “Trust me. I’m with you there. That’s why we have to solve the puzzle and get restored.”
“I realize that, but perhaps we should contemplate what we have learned while in the relative safety of Jade’s sanctum, assuming it is still clear of lobsterlike creatures. We can return here after we collect our thoughts.”
“That’s fine with me. As long as the beam is still there, we should be able to come back.” Lauren untied the cloak, now sticky from a mixture of blood and water. As it dripped, the blend of liquids streamed along the ground toward the pool as if drawn there. When the stream entered, the surface broke open again. Whispered voices rose—plaintive, mournful, though not as desperate as the ones that chanted the Hades poem.
“Do you hear that?” Lauren asked as she looked at the pool.
“I hear nothing.” Sir Barlow brushed clotted blood from his ears. “Though I am sure that your hearing is far better than mine.”
The voices continued, forming words in multiple languages—French, Spanish, something Oriental, and others that sounded Middle Eastern, African, and Slavic. Finally, an English speaker joined the chorus.
Lauren focused on his words and repeated them for Sir Barlow’s sake. “How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?”
The man spoke the words again, adding a melody that sounded like a Gregorian chant. When the phrase ended, she shook her head. “That’s all. He keeps saying the same thing over and over.”
“I recognize it,” Sir Barlow said. “It’s from the Revelation of St. John. Martyred souls say it from under an altar.”
“Martyrs.” Lauren stared at the bones near her feet. “People who die for a cause.”
“That is one definition. The people who spoke those words in the Bible were described as souls who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they believed. I suppose any Christian who dies under an oppressive hand would be included in the definition.”
Lauren touched a bloodstain on her shirt. “Martyrs’ blood?”
“Perhaps so, Miss. Some of my blood is in there as well, so it could be any blood shed for the sake of others.”
“Hmmm.” She straightened and looked at Sir Barlow. “What else do you know about these martyrs?”
He brushed more blood from his sleeves. “Well, they are given white robes and told to wait until the fulfillment of the martyrdom of their fellows. White robes are a symbol of purity, complete cleansing.”
“What do we have that relates to …” Lauren lifted the cloak. “A robe.” Something pulled against the material. The lower portion lifted, and the blood-and-water mixture streamed toward the pool. The cloak faded from black to white, beginning at the hem and moving toward Lauren’s hand. Seconds later, the pull ended, and the cloak fell limp.
When the final drops entered the pool, the voices silenced. From the point of entry, a shimmer rippled outward. The pool transformed into crystal clear water from edge to edge.
“Incredible!” Sir Barlow touched the cloak. “It is as white as snow and dry as one of the bones.”
Something crackled below. A clear swath ran from Lauren’s feet to the pool, covering the path the water and blood had taken. The swath spread out to each side and dissolved the bones. The ground transformed into a crystalline floor that expanded out of sight in every direction. After a few seconds, it looked like an endless sea of glass. The moon reflected on the shiny surface as if buried deep within the floor. Red drops fell from the moon, and whiteness took its place from top to bottom until it shone like a fiery diamond above.
Wherever the red drops fell, they sizzled. Vapor rose and gathered into waist-level misty streams that flowed toward the pool. Human faces took shape within the lines of fog. At first, they wore frowns. Then the frowns transformed into smiles, as if the movement incited joy.
As a stream passed close to Lauren, a girl’s face appeared, her smile dazzling. She looked so familiar. Could it be Micaela? Yes!
“Micaela!” Lauren called as she reached out, but the stream zipped by without a response.
At the tail end of the stream, a woman’s face took shape as well as a young boy’s. Fear in their expressions changed to delight, and they followed the others into the pool. The vaporous lines plunged through, raising no splash. Seconds later, they were gone.
“Well!” Sir Barlow stood as erect as a statue. “I have witnessed many strange events, but this, as they say, takes the cake.”
“You’re telling me.” Lauren gave the pond another look. Why would mist that looks like Micaela go there? Because it’s clean now?
“This is interesting.” Sir Barlow ran a shoe along the glassy floor. “Names have been etched everywhere.”
“Names?” Lauren stooped and ran a hand across an etching. Each letter was about a foot long and ran deep into the crystal. A gap of a foot or so separated each name. “This one says Justin Martyr. Isn’t that where the word martyr comes from?”
“I believe so, Miss.” Sir Barlow touched a nearby name. “And this one says Joan of Arc.”
“Joan?” Lauren took in a quick breath. This floor had to be some kind of memorial, a tribute to those who had sacrificed themselves. She scanned the other names. Most were unfamiliar, some carved with odd letters or in foreign languages. Finally her gaze came upon Micaela’s name near the portal window. She strode there and found another familiar etching next to it. A capital E began a single-word name.
“Eagle,” s
he whispered.
Sir Barlow picked up the yoke. “Where did this come from?”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you my story.” She quickly recounted the details of what happened after Sir Barlow fell into the other pool. When she finished, he ran a finger along one of the yoke’s indentations.
“It seems strange that it had only one oxbow. They are needed to keep the yoke in place. A missing one would indicate that the partner carried his or her part of the burden willingly, unless, of course, someone unfastened or broke the other oxbow.”
Lauren withdrew the glasses from her shirt pocket. “I also found these computer glasses that my foster father used to wear. They were attached by a chain to his ankle, like they were an anchor to hold him down, but they’re too light to do that. Anyway, I kept them hoping they held a clue to what happened to him. But I was worried about putting them on, because I tend to mess up electronics.”
“Allow me to look. I have often hoped to try one of these.” Sir Barlow took the glasses and put them on. His eyes crossed for a moment, then he blinked, and a look of disgust pinched his face. He jerked the glasses off and threw them away.
“Sir Barlow!” Lauren watched the glasses slide along the crystalline floor. “What did you see?”
As his face reddened, he growled. “Miss, I dare not tell you the details.” His voice spiked with anger. “Any chivalrous man should be outraged at such a display! Women are to be treasured! Honored! Not exposed as fleshly playthings!”
Lauren’s own face heated up. Had her foster father been looking at pornography? With his wife suffering from cancer, had he resorted to …
She clenched her eyes shut. No! Don’t think that way! She inhaled deeply and recalled Nashville memories, those days before this endless nightmare began—days when Fiona and Gaston Hunt were Mom and Dad, days that included croquet in the backyard with Mom while Dad, wearing a greasy chef’s hat and apron, grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. He would sing silly songs as he drummed on the grill with the spatula.