Eye of the Oracle oof-1

by Bryan Davis

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “I was hoping you would think so. It will make your job more pleasant. You will sing songs of doubt and treachery into his mind, but this isn’t the time or place to explain.”

  Elam threw down his club. “I’m not going to stand here and be gawked at.” He began stalking away. “If you have anything to say to me, I’ll be at the kilns.”

  Naamah chuckled. “He’s got spunk. That’s for sure.”

  “Yes, and we’ll use that against him.” Morgan raised her arms and began transforming to a raven. “Come now,” she said, her voice changing to a squawk. “It’s time to return.”

  Naamah reverted to a bat and followed Morgan upward, leaving the light of the world below and plunging into darkness. As they rose, they battled the downdraft that swept air from the prison cell above, now a tiny light in the distance.

  Finally, they burst through the current and landed in the cell. Naamah flittered around for a moment, then planted her sharp claws before shifting to her human form. Brushing her hair with her fingers, she watched the raven stretch upward and reshape into the tall, slender frame of Morgan.

  “If you wanted Elam’s blood,” Naamah said, “why didn’t you just take it from him instead of holding him prisoner?”

  Morgan shook her hair back behind her shoulders. “I already told you. It’s not his blood I want. He will just provide the way to get Sapphira’s.”

  “But why don’t you just get Anak to kill her? He’s expendable.”

  “Because he is not able to kill her. Lucifer’s spies learned that an oracle of fire cannot be murdered unless she is betrayed by someone she loves. Sapphira didn’t speak up for Acacia when she took the bread, so Acacia lost her protection.”

  Naamah smiled and winked. “So you have to get Sapphira and Elam to fall in love?”

  “No. Romantic feelings have nothing to do with it. We need absolute trust and sacrifice. Only complete trust generates the brutality of real betrayal.”

  Naamah knelt at the edge of the trapdoor and gazed into the darkness. “But with Elam down there, how will you get them to love each other like that?”

  “When someone eats out of the hands of another, both the giver and the taker trust each other without reservation.” Morgan eased the trapdoor past Naamah’s head and closed it with a loud thud. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes. I was surprised that you let them get away with that.”

  “It’s all part of the plan,” Morgan said as she headed for the exit. “And now we need a singer of dark lyrics to break that trust, little by little.”

  Naamah rose and followed her. “Not a problem,” she said, winking again. “The words are already forming in my mind. If this song doesn’t make him doubt, then nothing will.”

  Edward sat uneasily on Thigocia’s back, shifting his weight to keep the tough scales from pinching him. To his right, his friend Newman sat on Makaidos, looking even more uncomfortable as he adjusted his breeches while balancing his body with his shield. To his left, four other dragons waited, three of them with riders who sat tall and motionless, the trio of elderly warriors that Makaidos had brought out of retirement.

  In the distance, a blanket of mist shrouded a huge swamp, and a high mound protruded from the waters like a swollen womb. A small building sat on top, a humble, thatched-roof house of worship with a rugged, stone bell tower at the front. Far to the left, a smaller hill rose above the swamp, its western slope stretching to the mainland. Weary Hill, they called it, the resting spot for Joseph of Arimathea after his long journey from Jerusalem. The bridge that once spanned the two hills was gone, destroyed by the invaders, and wood fragments still floated about the swamp, occasionally washing to shore.

  The mist hovered in place, not a breath of wind to stir it, a perfect shield for the enemy troops that might approach again from the north. Edward nodded toward the water’s edge. “Newman, stop pulling on your pants. The king’s coming.”

  King Arthur marched toward the line of dragons, his sword and shield in hand. He stopped in front of Makaidos and bowed. “Your presence is most welcome, King of the Dragons.” As his eyes met those of the aged warriors, he smiled. “I recognize these human heroes of my childhood, but please tell me the names of your dragon soldiers so that I may properly address them in battle.”

  Makaidos nodded toward the others. “In order from your left to your right, the king has at his service, Thigocia, my mate; Valcor and Hartanna, twins born to us since my arrival here; Legossi, a daughter of Maven; and finally, Clefspeare, Goliath’s and Roxil’s only son.” Each dragon bowed in turn.

  “Greetings, noble dragons, and welcome.” Leaning over, Arthur sketched a map in the drying mud with his sword. “Sir Devin’s scout tells us that the Saxons are massing behind the great tor, and they seem to be migrating toward Weary Hill.” With rapid strokes, the king drew a credible likeness of the two hills and the surrounding swamp. “We will counter them here,” he said, stabbing one side of Weary Hill.

  Sir Devin pointed at the map with his own sword. “But wouldn’t that open up our flank to a water passage between the hills?”

  Arthur scratched a line next to Devin’s blade. “The dragons will be able to sense any approach, so they will guard that side.”

  “Your Majesty,” Devin said, sliding his sword back into its scabbard, “I beg you to fortify all sides with humans. I know you do not trust the dragons as much as you appear ”

  “King Arthur!” Makaidos interrupted. “I sense danger!”

  Arthur straightened, raising his sword with a tight grip. “How near?”

  “It is strange,” Makaidos said, his ears twitching rapidly. “Somehow the danger lies between the two of us, yet there is no one here.”

  “An invisible enemy?” Arthur asked. He sliced his sword through the air, then back again. “If he is here, he has no body that my sword can cut. Perhaps a ghost?”

  “Even as you move the blade,” Makaidos said, “the focal point of danger seems to move.”

  Arthur held up the blade and squinted at it. “The sword is dangerous?”

  “I have heard of swords that seem to have a life of their own,” Makaidos said. “Where did you get that one?”

  Arthur held it close to the dragon. “This is the very sword I pulled from the stone as a lad, but it is no more alive than the stone was.”

  Edward cleared his throat. “Sire, if I may be so bold. .”

  Arthur nodded. “Speak, squire.”

  “While you were scratching the mud, I think I noticed a slight quiver in the blade. Could it have been damaged during this morning’s skirmish with the enemy’s scouts?”

  Arthur gazed at Edward curiously, then bent down and banged the sword against the ground. The blade broke cleanly away from the hilt.

  Makaidos stretched his neck and sniffed the broken blade. “Yes, that must have been the danger.”

  Arthur shook his head. “If this had happened in battle, I would have been helpless.” He rose and bowed to Makaidos, then to Edward. “I am in debt to both dragon and squire,” the king said.

  Edward took in a deep breath, swelling his chest. He couldn’t resist the feeling of pride. He had made another step toward proving himself worthy of his father’s name. Now, if he could only get another shot at Goliath.

  The king threw the worthless hilt on the ground. “It seems that I need another sword.”

  Instantly, the sound of a dozen swords sliding out of their scabbards rose into the air. Edward thrust his forward first. “Take mine, Your Majesty.” His words echoed from the lips of every knight within earshot of the king.

  Arthur laughed. “My good soldiers, I cannot take any of your weapons. Then you would be disarmed and ”

  A haunting moan drifted in from the swamp, starting with a loud hum that slowly formed a stretched-out call. “Arthurrrrrr!” The voice seemed to stir the mist with its breathy echoes. Every man and dragon shifted toward the sound, the swords swinging away from the king and tow
ard the shadowy water.

  Near the shore, a ghostly female form hovered over the swamp, her long hair and gown flowing as the mist swirled all around her. With her body veiled, she seemed a phantom, perhaps even an embodiment of the mist itself. She raised her arm, holding an indistinguishable object in her hand.

  Edward shifted his weight on Thigocia’s neck, trying not to tremble. The sound of murmuring filtered through the ranks.

  Arthur raised his hand. “What are we? A pack of boys playing at war? Where is your courage?” He turned to Makaidos, his eyes alternately fixed on him and the phantom. “Do you sense danger from her?”

  “Without a doubt, Sire. If she is not a demon, then she is something akin to one.”

  “But she bears a gift,” Thigocia added, “and it is something holy.”

  “How do you know?” the king asked.

  “I can sense it.” Thigocia turned on her eyebeams and pointed them at the apparition. “Her aspect gives her away. She holds the gift as if it is abhorrent to her essence, as if its goodness invades her nature like a foreign army.”

  The voice drifted in again, louder and more pleading. “Arthur, I have been called to give you the ultimate weapon.” With a mighty heave, she threw the object toward them, a sword spinning end over end until it pierced the ground near the shoreline.

  Devin stepped forward. “Shall I fetch it for you, Sire?”

  Arthur laid a hand on Devin’s chest and called out to the floating specter, “Who are you, and why do you offer this gift?”

  “You may call me the Lady of the Lake. You will need this sword to conquer your greatest foes. It is called Excalibur, for it can cut both steel and stone. You will also learn to use its most powerful secret, the secret of holy fire.” The mist created a whirlpool of fog over the surface of the water that seemed to absorb her ghostly form. “Beware of those who call themselves friends,” she said as she sank lower, “for ambitious usurpers will bide their time with smiles and bows while they await their chance to take your throne.” She disappeared, and the swirling mist settled to complete stillness.

  Arthur marched toward the swamp, waving his arm. “Edward,” he called, “come with me. The rest of you move to the front lines, and I will join you there as soon as possible.”

  Edward pointed at himself, mouthing his own name.

  Newman kicked his ankle. “You’re the only Edward around here! Get your carcass down and follow the king!”

  Thigocia lowered her neck, and Edward climbed down as he had been taught, stepping across the first three spines, then jumping the rest of the way. He looked back at the dragon and nodded respectfully. “I think you’d better go with the others. The king made no exceptions.”

  “Very well,” Thigocia replied, dipping her head.

  Makaidos stretched out his wings. “Leave a horse tied for each of them, and we will be on our way.”

  Edward hustled to join the king and marched side by side with him, trying to catch his breath. “I apologize. . Your Majesty. I didn’t. . consider myself worthy to ”

  “Exactly why I called you,” the king said, clapping Edward’s shoulder. “When the lake spirit said to beware of my counselors, the truth of her words resonated in my heart. I have long believed that someone is plotting to wrestle away my throne, so I need to take action to prevent it.”

  “Will you trust this spirit, Sire? The dragons warned that she is dangerous.”

  “Dangerous to them, perhaps.” He stopped and looked back at the dragons as they circled low over the departing ground troops. Sirs Devin and Barlow led the way down a path toward Weary Hill.

  Arthur lowered his voice. “Dragons cannot always distinguish the target of danger, and Thigocia declared that the sword appears to be holy.”

  Edward eyed the leading knight, clad in dark mail and marching quickly. “Do you believe Sir Devin? Are all dragons possessed by evil spirits?”

  The king continued toward the edge of the swamp, slower now as the mists surrounded them. “I don’t know whom to believe, so I brought you here to ask your help. I will make a formal pronouncement later, but you are now a knight. I want you to befriend both Sir Devin and the dragons. Get them to trust you. Learn their secret counsels, and report your findings to me.”

  Edward tried to keep a proud smile from bursting forth as he walked beside the king, but he couldn’t calm his breathless voice. “And what of Merlin? He is your closest advisor.”

  “Merlin would never turn from me, but he would also never act as a spy. He trusts Makaidos without question, so you must make sure you hide your efforts from him.”

  “I will be sure to avoid him.” Edward shook his head. “I have never understood his loyalty to those creatures.”

  With the mists now completely enveloping them, Arthur stopped again and laid a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Your distrust of dragons is warranted, but you will do well to keep your mind from prejudice. I just want the truth.”

  Edward glanced at the gloved hand, his smile now breaking through. “Yes, Sire. I understand.”

  Both men turned toward the water’s edge and closed in on the lady’s gift. The sword stood on its point, about a third of its length driven into the moss-speckled loam. Edward knelt close to it and examined its hilt and blade. “It’s magnificent! The workmanship of a master craftsman!”

  Arthur grasped the hilt. “At least this one isn’t in stone.” He pulled, withdrawing the blade easily. “It seems that the Lady of the Lake had no scabbard for me,” he said, holding the blade high.

  “Or instructions, Sire.”

  “Indeed. The lady’s mention of secret fire reminds me of a legend I heard as a child. Such a weapon could mean the difference between victory and defeat in the coming battle.” The king turned the hilt around in his hand. “But I have no idea how to use it.”

  “May I suggest inquiring of Master Merlin? I can fly to the castle with Thigocia and bring him back.”

  “No need. He will be on the front lines by now, exhorting the troops. We’ll meet him there, but we’d better hurry. He won’t wait to command the march if he believes God has given the word.” Arthur slid Excalibur into his old scabbard. “If the sword’s fire is as powerful as I have heard, maybe today will prove that we won’t need the dragons ever again.”

  Chapter 3

  The Hidden Portal

  Sapphira stood on the top rung of the ladder, stretching to reach the upper edge of the highest shelf in the museum’s library. Grabbing it with her fingertips, she pulled herself up and slid her feet in the usual spaces between stacks of scrolls. With a muffled grunt, she swung her body up on top of the shelf. Fortunately, Anak stood guard on the other side of the museum’s wall, out of sight and out of hearing range.

  Resting for a moment, she looked out from her lofty perch. Her vision had already become sharper, the first sign that a portal was near, the clue that had helped her find this one years ago when she was searching the top shelf for something new to read. For some reason, this portal was invisible, not a column of light like the others in the below lands, maybe because it originated in the world above.

  Darkness veiled the distant floor, but with her enhanced vision, she could still see the ring of twelve statues saluting the focal tree. Not far above, the room’s ceiling arched to a peak at the center a dome covered with crisscrossing lattice. Two horizontal support beams intersected beneath the dome, one of them attached to the wall next to Sapphira.

  Since the curved ceiling began its upward arch near the wall, she had to crawl along the beam to stay beneath the dome, but as she slid out toward the center of the room, she was able to straighten and eventually rise to her feet. Inching toward the intersection, she spread her arms to keep her balance. A sense of sadness crept into her mind, darkness and loneliness, the second clue that had helped her find the portal that lay ahead.

  The feeling of sadness grew, pure despair invading her mind, images of Acacia plummeting into the chasm, Nimrod’s hand swinging toward her
unguarded cheek, and Morgan’s twisted face as she cried, “Freak of nature!”

  Finally reaching the intersection, she withdrew a stick from her pocket and looked straight up, holding it high. She whispered, “Flames, come to my firebrand.” Instantly, a lively flame ignited the end of the stick. Curling her toes around the edge of the beam, she swung the torch in a slow circle and closed her eyes, imagining a swirl of warmth enveloping her as it did on that night long ago when she danced with Elohim.

  As soon as the sensation of heat sank to her fingers, she opened her eyes again and watched the flame expand as it fell around her body and spun into a cone. Within seconds, the cocoon of fire enveloped her, and sparks of light flashed all around. Then, as she slowed her torch, she lowered it, allowing the flames to dissolve. Now, instead of the high reaches of an ancient tower, a castle stood at the top of a steep hill. Apple trees and gardenias grew all around, and their fragrance wafted past on a gentle breeze. Off to the right, the sun settled low on the horizon, casting her long thin shadow across the grass. She sprinted to the closest apple tree and ducked behind the trunk, away from the view of the castle, and, she hoped, away from Morgan’s piercing eyes.

  She laid her stick at the base of the tree and glanced at the swamp behind her, shivering at the thought of the horrible serpents lurking beneath the deceptively peaceful surface. During a previous visit, stopping to wash her face in the shallows had almost proved fatal. If not for her proximity to the portal and resulting sharp vision, she would have been a wiggling belly lump at the bottom of the swamp.

  As she skittered up the hill toward the castle, she pulled her veil down and bent low. Several flat terraces interrupted the slope, like a giant’s grassy stair steps. As she approached the dark building at the hill’s apex, she slowed her pace. Sneaking past a pair of turrets, she imagined a watchful guard peering out of one of the tiny windows. After circling around to the back of the castle, she stopped at a heavy wooden door, painted black and speckled with mildew splotches.