Eye of the Oracle oof-1

by Bryan Davis

  Pulling Mara along, Morgan walked to the portal and scooped out a handful of energy. After forming it into a ball of pale blue light, she placed it in Mara’s palm. “This will be enough to light your way to your quarters.” She kissed Mara on the forehead, an icy cold kiss. “Sweet dreams.”

  Mara held the ball in front of her and hurried through the tunnel. It tickled her skin, helping her stay awake as she kept her eyes fixed on the path. Finding her coif in the original portal’s chamber, she grabbed it and stuffed it into her pocket, still thinking about the scrolls. Fighting sleep, she turned back toward the tower. Morgan hadn’t exactly said the scrolls were forbidden, had she?

  Cupping her hands around the glowing ball and letting only a little light seep through her fingers, Mara hurried back to the tower. Keeping watch for Morgan, she found the scroll next to the door, tucked it under her arm, and retraced her steps, hustling through the tunnels as they wound their way back down toward the laborers’ hovels. As she neared the corridor leading to the growth chamber room, she slowed. Should she stop and check on her spawn? No. Naamah took care of him. Besides, the light wouldn’t last long enough to feed him.

  By the time she arrived at her hovel, the ball had dwindled to the size of a pebble, spritzing tiny blue sparks on the stone floor as she sat in her dugout. She tried to unwind the scroll, but holding the ball made it almost impossible. She only managed to reread the lines she had already seen.

  THE WORDS OF THE BLESSING OF ENOCH, WHEREWITH HE BLESSED THE ELECT AND RIGHTEOUS, WHO WILL BE LIVING IN THE DAY OF TRIBULATION, WHEN ALL THE WICKED AND GODLESS ARE TO BE REMOVED.

  Paili’s voice drifted over from her own dugout. “Pretty ball!”

  “It is pretty,” Mara said, “but I wish it were brighter.” The ball suddenly blazed, casting a sheet of radiance across the scroll. As Mara tried to read the tiny words again, the light dimmed, finally blinking out and leaving the hovel dark. She tightened the scroll and laid it close to her bed. Probing the darkness with a hard stare, she tried to see if any light trickled in from Elam’s room. Nothing. He was probably asleep by now.

  “Mara stay?” Paili yawned. “Mara not go away?”

  “Yes, Paili. I’m here for the night.” Mara took off her dress and folded it into a pillow. She curled to the side and pulled her sheet up to her shoulders. As she scooted herself into a comfortable position, a lump in her pillow poked her ear. She dug into her dress, withdrew the Ovulum, and held it in front of her eyes. In the darkness, only her fingers could identify the egg that had caused so much trouble in the upper lands.

  Caressing its smooth glass brought an odd sense of comfort, soothing warmth that seemed to wash over her like a long soak in the sulfur baths. She brought the Ovulum even closer to her eyes, hoping to see a glimmer of the red light that had appeared before. What could possibly be inside that could bring both grief to a king and peace to her soul? Could a god actually live inside this thing? Why would a god even want to speak through such a small, seemingly fragile object?

  Drawing it as close to her lips as possible without smudging the glass, she whispered, “Elohim?”

  Paili groaned, but Mara couldn’t tell if she was awake or not. She pulled the sheet over her head and whispered again. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no answer. No glow. The egg felt cold and lifeless in her hand. Chilling sensations traveled through her arms and settled in her mind like unfriendly strangers following her in the darkness. Loneliness. Emptiness. Betrayal. Morgan’s awful words echoed in her mind. “Freak of nature. Ignorant freak of nature.”

  Mara ran her fingers through her hair her stark, white hair that made King Nimrod’s eyes bulge. New tears emerged, and she tried to sniff them back, but they dripped down to her cheeks, her freakish pale cheeks.

  Like the voice of an angry ghost, Nimrod’s words came back to her. “The temple worshippers would love to get their hands on you.” She grimaced at the thought. She had read enough to know what he meant.

  Mara hugged the Ovulum against her chest. Confusing thoughts tumbled like flying ash. Whom should she trust? Nimrod seemed good for a while, but why would he want to kill her, or worse, little babies? Mardon was willing to kill the babies for him, but he also rescued her. Morgan was friendly some of the time, but she gave Nimrod something he needed to kill dragons, and the dragons were Elohim’s friends. One thing was certain, Morgan, Nimrod, and Mardon all hated Elohim.

  And why not? Elohim flooded the world and killed almost every creature on earth. He sent dragons to destroy the tower and the city, and now the people couldn’t even talk to each other any more. But if Elohim was evil, why would he bother saving eight people on the ark? If he was good, it would make sense for him to war against Nimrod, if Nimrod was evil. Still, they could all be evil, and they’d all do anything to get power, even killing everyone by flooding the world. If only Elohim would just talk to her, maybe he could help her make sense of it all.

  She threw the sheet off. Maybe she could warm the Ovulum up and make it work. She rubbed the glass surface vigorously with both hands, waited a few seconds, and looked again. Nothing.

  Mara grumbled under her breath. Elohim had spoken to her before. Why didn’t he want to speak now? Was he just too busy? Or maybe she did something wrong, and he was mad at her.

  She pushed on the top of her head with her hand. There was just too much to think about! It felt like her brains were about to explode!

  She laid her head on her dress and sighed. For some reason, she still wanted to hold the egg close, so she pressed its cool glass against her cheek and nuzzled her dirty pillow. As her mind wandered toward sleep, a low voice whispered in her ear. It was so soothing, she didn’t want to wake up to see if it was real. If it was a dream, she wanted to keep dreaming, imagining that a gentle stranger cared enough to speak to her.

  “Sapphira Adi,” it sang. “You are Sapphira Adi, a gem as beautiful as the clearest sky, and your value to me is greater than any gem in all the world. . Sapphira Adi.”

  Mara smiled and whispered, “Sapphira Adi,” then drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 11

  Elohim’s Bard

  Sapphira closed the scroll and slid it to the edge of the table, pushing aside an embryo jar to make room. With Mardon away for so long, there was no one to dispose of the weaker plants, and she didn’t have the heart to do it herself, so the worktable had become crowded with the new genetic combinations she had tried over the last hundred or so days. She set her chin on her hands and sighed. All she really wanted to do was to climb into the tower shelves and read their literary treasures, but Morgan kept making excuses and giving her more work to do.

  In a sarcastic tone, Sapphira mocked her mistress’s harsh voice. “Not until I find the scroll I’m looking for. If you don’t have enough work to do, perhaps you would like to return to the trenches.”

  She blew out a loud sigh. At least she had one scroll to look at, but only a few minutes each night to read it. She couldn’t risk falling asleep before putting it back in its hiding place, a narrow hole in her mattress. But those few moments of drinking in Enoch’s mysterious story were worth the risk, even though she couldn’t understand most of it.

  A soft, rustling sound made her turn her head. Her spawn had awakened, yawning and smacking his lips. Grabbing a tin full of plant food and her piece of graphite, she shuffled over to Yereq’s chamber and knelt in front of him. “Hungry?”

  Yereq gave her a short nod and grinned.

  She showed him the hunk of graphite. “Do you want this?”

  The little pod’s brow lowered, and a tiny tongue protruded from his lips.

  She laughed and dipped her finger in the food. “How about this?”

  Yereq pulled his tongue back in and opened his mouth.

  Sapphira stuffed the damp morsel in. “I think you’re already smarter than Nabal was. I’m not even going to tell you what I saw him eating once.” As she dipped her finger in again, the control room door opened, and
a little girl peeked in.

  Sapphira jumped up, leaving the food tin on the floor. “Paili! You’re not supposed to be in here!”

  Paili waved her hand frantically. “Come now!”

  Sapphira ran to the door and escorted her out, spinning the wheel behind her. “How did you unlock it?”

  She pointed at the wheel. “I watch you.”

  Sapphira set her hands on her hips. “Okay, what did you want?”

  Paili waved her hand. “Come!” She picked up a lantern next to the door and ran into the tunnel. Sapphira chased her, following the bouncing ball of light through the darkness. Paili turned into a side room, and when Sapphira caught up, she leaned against the doorway to catch her breath. Inside, Paili set the lantern on a flat stone table that dominated the center of the small chamber. Atop the table, various breads, fruits, and vegetables were spread from end to end. The aroma of stew drifted through the room, wafting from a huge pot dangling over an open floor vent against the wall.

  Paili stirred the pot with a ladle nearly as long as she was tall, and the light from the magma stream underneath the kitchen washed her face in an orange glow. “I cook,” Paili said. She skipped over to the table and picked up a red, oblong fruit. “Morgan bring.”

  Sapphira took the fruit and held it in her hands. Instantly, the Ovulum in her pocket stung her leg like a hot poker. She dropped the fruit onto the table and stepped back. “Morgan wants you to put that in the stew?”

  Paili nodded.

  “How did you know to come to me?”

  “I dream.” She pointed at the fruit and stuck out her tongue, grimacing. “That bad.”

  Sapphira wrapped the girl in her arms. “Oh, Paili! You did the right thing! You were so brave to come into the control room and find me.”

  “I knock.” She pushed her finger into Sapphira’s stomach. “You not come.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” Sapphira picked up a knife from the table and tapped it against the stone. “If you don’t put it in the stew, she’ll probably figure it out, and then you’ll be in big trouble.” She chopped down on the fruit and split it in two. Inside, a half dozen tiny red seeds spilled out from the core of the cream-colored flesh.

  Sapphira snapped her fingers. “Is there another pot in here?”

  Paili pointed under the table. “Two more.”

  Sapphira pulled out one of them and hustled it to the bigger stewpot. Transferring ladle full after ladle full, she filled the new pot about halfway with stew. “Okay,” she said, grunting as she lifted the new pot to the table. “Go ahead and put the fruit in the big pot, and I’ll hide this one in our hovel. We’ll pass the word that Morgan’s up to something and warn them not to eat the stew tonight. If anyone listens to us, she can come to our hovel and get something to eat after baths.”

  Paili nodded and picked up the two halves of fruit. “I eat. . our stew. . later.”

  Sapphira patted her on the head. “Good girl.” She let out a long sigh. “But will anyone else believe us?”

  In the darkness of the hovel, Sapphira slurped stew from a ladle. “Ahhh!” she said, handing the dipper to Paili.

  “Good?” Paili asked.

  “Excellent!” Sapphira wiped her mouth on her sleeve, then jerked her arm down. “Oops. I shouldn’t have done that. Now there’s stew on my tunic.”

  “No one come to eat,” Paili said.

  Sapphira nodded slowly. “I know. Not even Taalah. I guess they all ate that fruit.”

  Paili pointed at a light in the mouse hole. “Qatan have lantern?”

  Sapphira pressed a finger to her lips and slid down to the floor. “Elam?” she whispered, “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” came the quiet voice.

  She put her lips near the hole, hoping a whisper could make it through. “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No. I don’t eat until Nabal’s finished. I get whatever he leaves behind. I don’t know if I’ll get anything tonight, though. I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

  Sapphira drummed her fingers on the floor. “Listen. Even if they do feed you, don’t eat the stew. Morgan made Paili put something bad in it, some kind of poisoned fruit.”

  “Maybe it was fruit from the tree in her room.”

  “No. It was from the tower museum. It’s growing in the middle of ” Sapphira paused, furrowing her brow. “Did you say, ‘Morgan’s room’?”

  “Yes. I saw a little tree growing there with blossoms and fruit. She’s using our magneto bricks to give it light.”

  “She let you into her room!? That’s the most forbidden area of all!”

  “She summoned me, so I had to go.”

  “What did her fruit look like? The bad stuff is red and kind of oblong.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was white. As soon as I heard what she wanted, I told her I wouldn’t do it and walked out, so I didn’t get a real good look at it.”

  “What did she want?”

  “For me to do some of her dirty work, but it’s not worth talking about. Besides, I’m in big enough trouble already. Nabal killed the other brick maker, a boy named Raphah, the day after he was called to Morgan’s room. Raphah never told me why he was called, but I think he refused Morgan, too.”

  “If Nabal’s gone, he can’t whip you to death.”

  “True, but there’s always the chasm.”

  Sapphira nodded. “How could I forget?”

  “I’m going to sneak back to her room and see if I can get some of that fruit.”

  “No!” she hissed. “If she catches you, she’ll kill you for sure!”

  “No, she won’t. Before I refused her, she offered me some fruit to. . well, bribe me, I guess. I’ll just say I’m coming back to collect it.”

  Sapphira shook her head. “She won’t believe that excuse. She’s not stupid.”

  “I know, but the tree isn’t the real reason I want to go. While I’m there, maybe I can find something that’ll help me get out of this place.”

  Sapphira tightened her hand into a fist. Who was she to try to keep the poor guy in this awful prison? Her voice spiked with compassion. “Just don’t get caught, okay?”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Hey! Paili made some stew that’s okay to eat, and I have quite a bit. Want some?”

  “Sure, but how?”

  Sapphira glanced around the dim hovel. What could she use to channel stew through such a small hole? Finding nothing, she dipped her fingertip into the lukewarm liquid. A smile broke through. “Uh. . Elam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you heard how the spawns eat when they’re in the growth chambers?”

  “Uh-huh. I think so.”

  She plunged her whole hand into the stew. “Do you mind being a spawn for a few minutes?”

  “I. . I guess not.”

  Sapphira pulled her dripping fingers from the pot and squeezed her hand through the hole, pushing as hard as she could. When it wouldn’t go any farther, she waited. After a few seconds, a wet, tickling sensation brushed her fingertips. Imagining Elam on the other side, she suppressed a giggle, a feeling of warm satisfaction flooding her body.

  She pushed through six finger-loads of stew, trying to handle more with each attempt, but during the sixth feeding, a stern voice penetrated their hovel.

  “Mara!”

  Sapphira whispered, “It’s Morgan!” Using her foot, she slid the stew pot behind Paili and yanked her hand through the hole. Quickly wiping the remaining stew on the back of her tunic, she stood in front of Paili.

  A lantern lit up their hovel, and Morgan’s face appeared in the dugout entry as she leaned in from the corridor. “Mara. You must come with me.”

  Sapphira didn’t even glance back at Paili. She just hoped the lantern’s light couldn’t reach behind the girl’s body. “Yes’m. I’m coming.” She tried to read Morgan’s expression. Could she have discovered their plot somehow?

  “What’s that smell?” Morgan asked, wrinkling her nose.


  Sapphira blocked Morgan’s view and raised her arm up near her mistress’s face. “Stew. I got some on my sleeve.”

  “Rather sloppy,” Morgan said, straightening to allow Sapphira to exit. “I expect better from you.”

  “Yes’m.” Sapphira followed Morgan, watching the lady’s long legs. It seemed strange that she always wore the same clothes, even at night. Most of the girls took off their outer dresses and slept wearing their inner tunics, while some who lived on the hot, lower level just took a sheet to bed, wrapping up in it later as the brick ovens cooled during the night. Morgan, however, seemed to be able to adjust to any temperature instantly.

  Morgan stopped at the control room. The door had been left ajar, so she pushed it open and walked in. Sapphira followed, and when her eyes adjusted to the brighter light, she noticed two men examining the jars on her worktable at the back of the room. The taller of the two seemed familiar, yet not quite recognizable. The other man looked tired and battle-worn, but she knew her supervisor right away.

  “Mardon!” she cried. “You’re back!” She ran toward him, but he held up his hand, halting her. The other man pushed Mardon to the side and slapped her savagely across her face with the back of his hand, knocking her to the floor. Black spots speckled her vision as she laid her hand on her throbbing cheek. Warm liquid trickled through her fingers. Blood.

  Too dizzy to rise, Sapphira lay on the cold stone, listening to the two men babbling in an odd language. With her cheek stinging as if on fire, she pushed up to her knees, and two strong, female hands helped her to her feet. Morgan’s voice interrupted the two babblers. “Stop fighting, you fools!”

  Through blurry vision Sapphira saw Mardon push the other man away, but she still couldn’t tell who he was. She caressed her wounded cheek, smearing blood across her fingers. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Morgan picked up a gray cloth from the table. “Oh, you won’t get an answer,” she said, dabbing Sapphira’s cheek. “It seems, Mara. . Oh, excuse me. It’s Sapphira now, isn’t it? Well, I mentioned this to you before, but it seems that Mardon no longer understands us.” She handed Sapphira the cloth and set her fists on her hips. “He now speaks a crude language I have never heard before, a clucking, guttural language fit for poultry or swine.”