by Bryan Davis
Mara’s throat clenched. She squeaked out, “Where did he go?” But a cheer from the crowd drowned out her tiny voice.
King Nimrod bowed low, pressing his hand against his trim waist. When he rose back up, his gaze met Mardon, then shifted to Mara. He seemed puzzled at first, but he smiled broadly and shouted, “The prince has returned from his journey!” He slid his sword into a sheath that hung from a belt and extended his arm. “Come, my son. Tell us about this pale foreigner you have brought.”
Mardon grabbed Mara’s hand and hustled her to the center of the portico. As she stepped out of the shadow of a statue, the sun’s rays shone through her veil, making her flinch. Fortunately, the roof of the portico blocked out the light again as they hurried across the cool, smooth floor.
Mardon stopped and bowed to the king, and as he rose, Mara felt his hand squeeze her shoulder. “Lift your veil,” he whispered.
Mara brushed her veil up over her head and watched King Nimrod, tall and handsome, stride right up to her. He stooped and gazed into her eyes. “What kind of goddess is she?” he asked, his smile revealing a brilliant set of white teeth. “Her eyes are bluer than sapphires! I have never seen such jewels in all of Shinar!”
A low murmur arose from the crowd. Many had departed, but a hundred or so milled around the portico, apparently to get a close look at this strange visitor.
Mardon laid his hand on Mara’s covered head and spoke in a low tone. “She is an underborn, Father, the oldest surviving female we have in the lower realms.”
The king pinched the tie of Mara’s coif. “May I take it off?” he asked.
Mara nodded, mesmerized at the king’s gentle face and manner. As the covering pulled away, her hair spilled down to her shoulders. The king nearly fell backwards. “Mardon! Her hair is whiter than pearls, whiter than hailstones!”
The crowd murmured again, louder this time, as they began to press closer.
Mardon waved for the guards to push them back, then, with a gentle touch, combed his fingers through Mara’s hair. “After she was uprooted, we altered the hybridization scheme, but once I learned how intelligent she was, I tried to reproduce her. Every attempt failed in the embryonic stage.”
“You cannot repeat perfection!” The king caressed Mara’s cheek and lifted a hand toward one of the columns in the courtyard that surrounded the tower. “She is a goddess sprouted from the earth, flourished in the pull of magnetic harmony, and blossomed in the light of spectral promise!”
Mara noticed splotches of dark red on the king’s fingers. As he withdrew his hand, the king gazed into her eyes again. “What is your name, precious jewel?”
“Mara.”
“Mara?” He looked up at Mardon, frowning. “What kind of name is that for an angel?”
Mardon pinched closed a hole at the shoulder of Mara’s outer tunic, covering the bloodstain underneath. “We give all the laborers names that reflect the sadness of their lot in life. It only makes sense.”
“Well, that will change.” The king’s gentle smile returned. “Child, you will be called Sapphira Adi, for your eyes are sparkling gems, as blue as the endless expanse on the clearest day. Even your pupils blaze like sapphires.”
Mara let that name roll around in her mind. Sapphira Adi. It sounded. . lovely.
King Nimrod stood and brushed his hands together, rubbing reddish powder onto the floor. He lowered his voice as he turned to Mardon. “We have to squelch an uprising in the mountain tribes, so I’ll need more. .” He glanced back down at Mara. “I’ll need another suitable donor.”
“Understood, Father. Do you have one in mind?”
“No. Just find a pregnant prostitute in the temples. They’re always glad to. .” He glanced at Mara again. “Let’s just say they’re willing to stay in a more profitable physical condition.”
A strange smile crossed Mardon’s face. “While making an embryonic donation to our cause?”
The king brushed more of the red powder from his palms. “Exactly.”
Mardon laid a hand on Mara’s shoulder. “Mara. . I mean, Sapphira, is carrying something that might make further conflict unnecessary.”
“Indeed?” The king’s brow lifted. “What is it?”
Mardon gently nudged her forward a step. “Show him.”
Mara withdrew the Ovulum from her pocket and held it up in her palm. Nimrod leaned over and eyed it closely. “And what is this?” he asked.
Mardon pushed it with his finger, making it tilt to one side. “I unearthed it when we dug the foundation for the new fountain, and I thought it little more than a trinket until I took it to the lower world. When I arrived, it spoke in odd verse, declaring that it needed the hands of an intelligent maiden if we wanted to hear from the lips of God.”
“The lips of God?” the king said. “Do you mean Elohim?”
“I assumed it was Elohim, so I wanted to be sure to follow his instructions and avoid his wrath.”
“Why didn’t you seek a suitable girl here?” The king spread out his arms toward the surrounding buildings. “Are there no intelligent maidens in my kingdom?”
“You allow the nobles’ daughters to be educated,” he said, flashing that strange smile again, “but it would be difficult to discern which ones are true maidens.”
The king rubbed his chin. “I see what you mean.”
“But Sapphira has proven an extraordinary intelligence, and until today, I am the only human male who has ever laid eyes on her. She is a maiden, indeed.”
The king picked up the Ovulum and brought it close to his eyes. “Did this trinket speak to her?”
“In an extraordinary way. I believe it is truly the mouthpiece of Elohim.” He gazed up at the tower and angled his arm toward the top. “Imagine it sitting in the temple at the pinnacle of your tower. Everyone from every land will proclaim us the capital of the world. With you holding the gateway to the god of the flood, who would dare oppose you? Your kingdom will be established forever!”
The king handed the egg back to Mara. His eyes widened, and his two canine teeth overlapped his bottom lip. “Make it speak again!” he barked.
Mara stepped back clumsily. The king seemed to be a different person now, gruff, almost maniacal. She held the Ovulum close to her lips, her hands shaking. She wanted to sound like she knew what she was doing, but she had no idea what to say. After clearing her throat, she spoke slowly. “Elohim, god of the flood, speak to us now and” she licked her lips, her eyes darting between the two men who watched with their jaws hanging open “and grant us wisdom regarding how we might please you.” She bit her tongue and glanced up at the king. His eyes were locked on the Ovulum, nearly bulging out of his head.
The red fog appeared again inside the glass shell, forming slowly into an eye. It gazed at her, its pupil a soft crimson hue, but when it turned toward the king, the entire eye seemed to blaze with fire. A loud, deep voice erupted from within.
To Nimrod, hunter, ruler, king,
The man who built a tower,
A jackass heeds a whip and rope,
But you heed only power.
So like a jackass, you’ll be whipped;
Like straw your shrine will burn,
For God has warned from up on high.
But you refused to turn.
Excising children, torn from wombs,
They cry for murder’s cost;
Defiling maidens, forced to serve,
They mourn their virtue lost.
So now the justice due your deeds
Will come in fire and smoke,
To burn your shrine and all your wealth
And clasp you in a yoke.
For when you die, entrapped you’ll be
Within the bowels of Earth,
Until the day the Lord recalls
Your soul to fiery birth.
Nimrod’s lips bent into a vicious frown, and his hand curled into a shaking fist as he raised it to the sky. “No!” he screamed. “You cannot win! I control the hearts of
the people! We will fight you from the top of the tower and make heaven rain with the blood of your hosts!”
The fog had disappeared inside the egg, so Mara slipped it back into her pocket and stepped away slowly while King Nimrod raged on.
“If you send fire, I will pierce you with a spear! If you clasp me with a yoke, I will dress you in a mantle of your own blood!”
Suddenly, a stream of fire rained from the roof of the portico, and a flurry of huge wings ripped past the opening.
“Dragons!” Mardon shouted. “Guards! Get ropes and spears!”
The king grabbed a spear from a soldier and ran out to the courtyard. Lunging forward, he hurled the spear into the air. He then ran back to the portico, his face twisted in rage as he screamed toward the tower’s main door. “Herald! Sound the alarm! Call out every soldier.” He snatched up Mara’s coif from the floor, strangling it in his fist as he shook it in front of her. His voice thundered. “You brought Elohim’s curse on us! Dragons are his winged soldiers!” He threw the coif at her chest, and it fell into her hand.
Withdrawing his sword, the king gripped it with both hands and stared at the blade. As he watched it glimmer in the sunlight, the furrows in his brow deepened, and his cheeks flushed scarlet. Raising one hand, he spread out his fingers and screamed, “Mardon! I need more blood!” His maniacal stare fell on Mara, and he stalked toward her. “Yes, of course. A maiden’s blood will do just fine.”
Mardon pushed Mara behind his back. “There are infants in the crowd, Father. I beg you to choose any one of them. I need Mara for my work.”
A blast from a horn made both men spin around. Shaking uncontrollably, Mara quickly retied her coif and pulled out the candlestone. Maybe it would distract the king. Another horn echoed the first from far away, and a third answered, even farther away.
The king shoved Mardon aside and grabbed Mara’s shoulder, squeezing her wound so hard, pain shot down her spine. “I will deal with you soon enough. The temple worshippers would love to get their hands on you.” He shoved her into Mardon’s arms. “Put her in the stocks.” He pivoted and stomped toward a mother with a baby in her arms.
Mara extended the gem in her open palm and cried out, “Look! The lady in black told me to give this to you!”
Nimrod pivoted again and marched back. Mardon grabbed Mara’s wrist and snatched the gem. Both men gazed at it curiously. Light seemed to spin toward it in a whirlpool. “Could it be?” the king whispered.
Mara swallowed through her tightening throat. “Morgan called it a candlestone. She said the king would know what to do with it.”
Nimrod grabbed the gem and clasped it in his fist, a wicked smile forming on his lips. “This is dragons’ bane!” he yelled. “We shall see whose god wields more power, Noah’s or Morgan’s.” He pushed Mara back into Mardon’s grasp. “Lock her in my chambers. I will deal with her personally later.”
Chapter 10
Forbidden Fruit
Nimrod strode away, snatching a shield from another soldier as he jumped down the stairs to the courtyard. Tears welled in Mara’s eyes. The mother with the baby had fled, so at least the king wouldn’t murder that one. But would he find another? A new volley of flames struck the side of the roof, setting it on fire.
Mardon took Mara’s hand and pulled her to the side of the portico. He knelt and lowered her veil over her eyes. “Hurry back to the portal. The gatekeeper will be gone, so you shouldn’t have any trouble. Remember to get a firebrand and wave it in a circle over your head. I’ll come back as soon as I can.” He rose to his feet and nodded toward the gate. “Now make haste!”
Mara pressed her hand over her pocket to keep the Ovulum in place and ran toward the gate as fast as she could. The sun’s cruel rays stung her arms, and the gravel stabbed her feet, but her eyes felt safe behind her veil. When she reached the gate, the guard was gone, just as Mardon had predicted. Standing on tiptoes, she turned the latch’s dial through its combination of clicks and pushed open the iron door.
She found the grassy path back to the woods and gazed at her shadow as she ran. Though no one followed, she imagined a hundred other shadows closing in on hers, Nimrod and his people, bloodthirsty wolves who would gladly kill the weak and innocent.
When she passed between the two tall rocks, she found the stack of logs, but the fire had gone out. She picked up a long stick and stared at its charred, smoking end. What now?
She dug into her pocket and caressed the egg. Would it know what to do? If it spoke for a god, it would have to. But would it speak without Nimrod or Mardon around?
She pulled out the egg and showed the stick to it. “I need fire to go back home. What do I do?”
The eye appeared again in a soft crimson hue. Its voice was gentle, and it spoke without rhyme or verse. “You are an oracle of fire. Stand in the circle and call for flames. They will come to you.” The eye then quickly faded away.
Mara squinted at the glassy shell, now dark and lifeless. “An oracle of fire? What’s that?”
The Ovulum said nothing.
“How do I call for flames?”
Again, no answer.
She shrugged her shoulders and returned the Ovulum to her pocket, then stepped into the center of the portal circle. “Okay,” she said, holding the stick high. “Here goes.”
Closing her eyes, Mara spoke into the air. “Flames, come to my firebrand!” She opened her eyes again. Feeling a gust of wind and the sudden coolness of a mammoth shadow, she looked up. A big red dragon swooped low, its wings fanning a buffeting breeze that whipped her dress against her legs. She ducked her head, but it didn’t attack. It just turned and headed toward the tower. She mopped her brow with her veil. Had the dragon seen her? Would it come back?
She brought down the stick. The end was ablaze! Had the dragon breathed fire on her stick? She pulled up her veil and searched the skies. Several dragons circled the tower’s midsection, blasting it with torrents of fire. Much of the building had been set aflame, and the wind from the dragons’ orbit began spinning the fire into a flaming vortex, a blazing tornado that wrapped the tower in a mantle of orange.
The tower sank heavily, a third of it dropping below the ground. As the upper portion continued to burn, one of the dragons faltered. Its wings flapped weakly, and it fell to the ground. The flaming tower followed, first leaning, then toppling straight toward Mara.
She raised the stick and waved it in quick circles. Instantly, a spinning curtain of light surrounded her another tornado, but this one of pure green radiance. Her mind spun with it, and she felt a falling sensation, like sliding down a feeder spring into Lucifer’s Pool. Seconds later, the falling stopped and the cavern appeared, still shaded in green and magnified a dozen times. She took a long step and turned back toward the column of light, the portal Morgan had used to send her to the upper lands. The bright shaft flickered, then faded to a weak glow.
Her eyesight returned to normal. The cave was almost completely dark dismal and lonely. She tore the coif from her head and threw it to the stone floor, then dropped to her knees and cried. As her tears flowed, images of the glorious tower passed through her mind. She wondered at all the scrolls that must have filled the shelves of the museum histories, genealogies, scientific journals, technical drawings but now they all burned in the dragons’ flames. Not only that, her visit to the upper world was a fiasco, and Nimrod and Mardon probably blamed her for the collapse of the greatest creation mankind had ever seen. Now she would probably never get to go back, never get to leave the darkness, the torture, the loneliness of the dismal caverns. And, really, it was all because of the dragons.
She pounded her fist on the floor. “Dragons!” she yelled. “Curse those dragons! May they all die in their own fire!”
As she continued weeping, a gentle voice drifted by her ear. “You have learned much, haven’t you Mara?”
Mara leaped to her feet and spun around. A dark silhouette loomed, casting its shadow over most of the chamber. Morgan!
/> Makaidos poured a torrent of fire into the spinning column of flames, beating his wings to fan the cyclone as he wheeled around it in a tight orbit. Shutting off his fiery jets for a moment, he glanced back at a smaller, trailing dragon. “Aim lower, Roxil! The fire feeds upward on its own!”
Roxil blasted a volley of flames at a gap in the twisting inferno, igniting a pair of soldiers with arrows fixed on bows. Another soldier, standing on a staircase above the other two, threw a spear. With a quick reach, Roxil snatched the spear right out of the air with her claws and slung it back at its owner.
“My daughter, the warrior!” Makaidos yelled. A glimmer near the base of the tower caught his eye, and a sense of danger pulsed through his body. Feeling weaker, he pulled away from the doomed tower. It had already sunk to about two-thirds of its original height, and since the base had resettled at an angle, the whole structure leaned awkwardly. “Come, Roxil!” he shouted. “We are done here!”
Roxil’s wings faltered, and she began sinking toward the ground. Makaidos banked hard and dove toward her. As he neared the tower’s foundation, he noticed a man raising something shiny in his hand. Danger once again inflamed his senses. Feeling weaker by the second, he flew under Roxil and pushed up against her body, matching the beating of his wings with hers as he barked out a stroke rhythm. “Up! Down! Up! Down!”
Flying more steadily, but still descending, the two dragons glided away from the tower toward an open farm. Crash-landing in a vineyard, they tumbled and slid to a halt, plowing a deep furrow and squishing hundreds of ripe grapes. Makaidos scrambled upright and helped Roxil to her haunches. “Are you all right?” he asked.