Eye of the Oracle oof-1

by Bryan Davis

  The door was locked, as usual, but a barred window up above allowed a breeze to flap the inner draperies. A thick vine grew along the side of the door, leading past the window on its meandering climb over mossy stones.

  The short steeple in the center of the castle’s roof cast a long shadow over her, providing some cover for her familiar climb. She grasped the vine and began scaling the wall, poking her toes into the tiny cracks between the stones as she pulled her way up the slippery surface.

  After swinging herself to the window’s ledge, she pushed her head between the bars, then grunted softly as she forced her torso into the elaborate bedchamber.

  Sapphira pushed her veil up and tiptoed into the corridor. The waning sunrays streamed through a stained glass window on one end, red and blue panes filtering the orange light and casting eerie colors across her path. She glanced both ways and leaned against a railing that overlooked the lower floor. No one was in sight. She had seen Morgan twice during her other visits here, and Naamah once, but she had managed to avoid them. . barely. Getting caught meant certain death for her and probably for Paili as well.

  Sidestepping the creaky boards, Sapphira scooted down the stairs, then hurried along a maze of corridors until she found a thick wooden door slightly ajar, as usual. Picking up an unlit torch from a nearby basket, she nudged the door open wide enough to squeeze through. She descended the stone steps, and the tiny sliver of light from the doorway above faded.

  Gripping the torch more tightly, she whispered, “Grant me fire to light my way.” The top of the torch flickered, then blazed with light. Sapphira grimaced and whispered again. “Not so much!” The fire died down, giving just enough light to illuminate each step as she continued the deep plunge.

  When Sapphira reached the bottom, she padded quietly across the hard dirt floor, following a glow of wavering lights in the distance. Twenty lanterns, some lit and some unlit, hung on each side of a pair of iron gates that blocked a rectangular entryway through a solid wall. The gaps between the black bars were too narrow even for her to squeeze through. The first time she had tried, her head had become wedged, and she spent nearly an hour freeing herself. Finding no way to get in that night, she finally gave up and went home. Since then, however, she had figured out how to pass. It had taken years of thought, but she finally deciphered the code and had since made it through the gate many times. The secret was in remembering Mardon’s control room combination.

  Waving her arm across the field of lanterns, she whispered, “Sleep!” and every wick fell dark. Then, pointing at the first lantern on the left, she said, “Awake!” and it flashed to life. After repeating the command to the next five lanterns, Sapphira leaned her head toward the gate’s locking mechanism. A faint click sounded. She waved her hand at the lanterns again. “Sleep!” They all darkened.

  She sidestepped toward the lanterns on the right and pointed at the first nine in order, commanding them to awaken. Then, after listening for the lock to click, she waved them back to darkness. Finally, moving to the left again, she lit thirteen lanterns. The lock clicked more loudly and the iron frame swung open a few inches.

  Sapphira quickly restored the lanterns to their original condition and entered the gate, closing it behind her, careful not to let the lock reengage. Still carrying her torch, she padded into the dungeon’s anteroom, a huge chamber with rocky walls all around and a high ceiling, reminding her of the caverns in the lower world. Except for the gate behind her, three wooden doors, much like the one at the top of the stairs, stood as the only way out.

  It was at this point that Morgan’s sorcery and Mardon’s scientific wizardry always baffled her. Every time she came, the doors led to something different a pit that plunged into darkness; a winding path through a dismal, uninhabited tropical forest; an endless meadow with deep hoofprints as the only sign that anyone ever journeyed through the grassy expanse; and a deserted, rocky wasteland with a gorge that carried a flaming river at the bottom. Since her vision cleared as she approached a door, and sadness shrouded her mind, she knew the doors were portals to other dimensions that somehow stayed open for anyone to stumble through, perhaps to be lost forever.

  Sapphira regripped her torch. It was time to choose a door, maybe for the last time. But why should the portal reveal anything new? Exploring the strange lands over and over had never turned up a soul, living or dead. Still, there was one place she hadn’t searched, the dark pit. Sapphira shivered. Falling into the unknown took more courage than she had to offer.

  She reached for the door on the left and opened it, revealing the huge meadow. She sighed. Nothing new there, just dried horse dung fertilizing a million acres of grass. After closing that door, she strode ten paces to the right and opened the second. A rocky ledge overlooked a deep chasm and a lava river, much like the one in her cavern back home, but this one was outside under the sun and sky in a land that held nothing more than lava pots and squealing lizards, a place an imprisoned boy could never survive. Finally, she pulled open the third door, revealing a dark hole, the pit she had never dared to explore.

  She dropped to all fours and peered into the hole. It reminded her of the abyss she and Paili had dangled over, but this one breathed no streams of light and had no gems lining its walls. Still, an odd wind seemed to try to suck her downward, whipping at her dress and coif as she leaned over the precipice.

  She whispered to her torch. “Give as much light as you can.” As the fire blazed, she reached it into the hole, extending it to one side, then the other. Nothing. Just blackness as far as the eye could see.

  Pulling up and resting on her knees, she looked back at the iron gate and the dark path home. She set her torch on the ground, allowing the fiery head to blaze over the pit. “I failed,” she muttered. “I said this was my last try, and there’s nothing new.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Elam’s probably long dead anyway, so what’s the use?”

  A sudden gust caught the torch and nudged it off its perch. Sapphira lunged for it as it sailed into the hole, but her hands grasped empty air. The torch fell into the darkness, a shrinking light beaten about by changing crosswinds. And then it stopped. The tiny flame flickered steadily, yet far away.

  Sapphira leaned her head into the hole. There was a bottom to this pit after all, but who could ever survive such a plunge? As she studied the distant light, a strange sound entered her ears, a rough, rumbling growl. She jerked her head up and spun around on her knees. Stalking toward her, a huge dog bared its teeth, a rainbow of colors shimmering across its body from the tips of its triangular ears to the end of its pointed tail.

  Sapphira tried to stand, but her knees collapsed, and she fell to her seat. She pressed her hands against the floor and slid backwards, but with the pit only inches behind her, she couldn’t go much farther.

  As the dog approached, taking one stalking step at a time, its growl deepened. The lanterns at the gate threw the beast’s shadow over her, yet with her vision crystal clear, she could see every pulsing capillary in its bloodshot eyes.

  Sliding back another inch, she teetered on the edge of the pit. The image of Paili’s face flashed in her mind. Who would take care of her? Who would protect her when Morgan led her to the edge of the chasm? Would another innocent underborn suffer Acacia’s fate?

  A sense of heat radiated against her thigh the Ovulum in her pocket, emanating a soothing warmth for the first time in centuries. That was all the answer she needed.

  With a final push, Sapphira fell backwards into the pit.

  Arthur and Edward stopped their horses at a low ridge overlooking the troops as they lined up only a stone’s throw away. The skies had darkened, and light rain dampened their heads. The king nodded at a scarlet-robed old man standing in front of the regiment. “It looks like we’re too late to ask Merlin about the sword,” Arthur said. “I will have to learn to use it in battle.”

  As the rain grew heavier, Merlin paced in front of the soldiers, his hands behind him and his robe swishing. His powerful
strides belied his wild, white hair and wrinkled face, and his resonating voice matched his vigor. “Men and dragons,” he shouted, “we are not here today to cross blades with men of equal stature. Though their men stand taller and their armor repels our sharpest arrows, though their numbers make them seem as thick as rats in a latrine, in the end, they are lesser men than we.”

  A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and large raindrops plastered Merlin’s hair against his forehead. “As they have marched from village to village,” he continued, “these barbarians have murdered children and committed unspeakable acts against every female, from the very young to the very old. And they have attacked at night, cowardly spearing the fighting men in their slumber and rolling their severed heads into the middle of the streets, laughing as they committed their crimes against the women and children in the public squares, thinking the God of the universe could not see their abominations or will not lift up his iron fist and smash their vermin bodies with one mighty blow.”

  Arthur’s men shook their fists and shouted. “Smash the vermin!” The dragons thumped their tails on the ground, plumes of smoke rising from their nostrils as they clawed the muddy path.

  “You are better men than they,” Merlin continued, lifting his voice even higher. “You follow Arthur, the king who has given his life and rule to the greatest king of all, Christ, the Lord!”

  The men shouted, “Christ, the Lord!” and began clanking their swords against their shields. The dragons remained silent, though they continued to paw the ground restlessly.

  “Yes!” Merlin yelled. “With the word of God as your sword, and faith as your shield, you cannot fail!” As another loud clap of thunder echoed his shouts, Merlin stripped off his robe, revealing a suit of silver chain mail and a scabbard attached to a strap on his back. “So march!” He pulled a sword from the scabbard and lifted it high. “We will send these rats back to their latrine, and they will learn what it means to offend the heart of the living God!”

  Merlin strode ahead on the path. The men followed him, waving their swords and shouting huzzahs. Barlow raised his new shield and marched side by side with the prophet. At the far end of the pack, Sir Devin walked alongside Palin, the king’s scribe. The two inclined their heads toward each other as if in conversation and drifted farther back in the lines.

  The dragons lifted off the ground, two without riders, one reddish and one beige. Edward blew a shrill whistle through his fingers and waved his arm. “Thigocia!” he shouted. “Over here!”

  The beige dragon circled back and grabbed Edward right off his horse with her tail. With a quick flip, she slung him into the air, then dove underneath and caught him on her back, wedging him perfectly between two spines. Edward grasped the spine in front of him and hung on, unable to breathe.

  Arthur shouted into the sky through his cupped hands. “That’ll teach you to call for a dragon as you would a dog!”

  Edward exhaled and shouted forward. “I apologize, dragoness. I am not aware of every aspect of dragon protocol.”

  A sly grin broke through on Thigocia’s draconic lips. “Apology accepted, but it was necessary to give you an in-flight mounting lesson before the battle begins. Makaidos already gave Newman his.”

  “Really? How did he do?”

  “Except for a spine ripping the back of his trousers, he did quite well.”

  As the troops marched closer to Weary Hill, the dragons rose toward the dark clouds, shielding themselves from sight in the swirling rain. Flying low enough to pierce the mists with their eyebeams, they guarded the right flank while staying out of sight.

  Edward blinked at the sharp, stinging raindrops. “What do you see?” he shouted.

  Thigocia aimed her beams at the ground. “Merlin and Barlow are charging. They must have spotted the enemy.”

  Edward mopped his brow with his sleeve, but it didn’t help much. “Is anyone coming on the right? Do you sense anything at all?”

  “No sign of them. The enemy seems concentrated on the direct attack.”

  Edward pointed downward. “Then let’s help on the front lines!”

  Thigocia turned off her eyebeams. “Makaidos? Did you hear the young knight?”

  “Yes,” Makaidos replied. “You and I will join the battle, along with Legossi, Valcor, and Hartanna. Clefspeare will stay and guard the flank.” He swung his head back toward the riderless dragon. “Is that well with you?”

  Clefspeare nodded. “I am at your service, my king.”

  As the five dragons glided toward the lowest layer of clouds, Thigocia drifted closer to Hartanna. “You know Clefspeare better than I do. Can he handle the flank by himself?”

  Hartanna’s ears twitched rapidly. “No one really knows him, Mother, but they say he is the greatest warrior since Arramos himself.”

  “Why does he refuse a rider?”

  “I asked him once,” Hartanna replied. “He says he works best alone, and with his dangerous maneuvers, he would prefer not to bring peril to a human.”

  “I see,” Thigocia said, blinking away the droplets. “I have more questions, but that is enough information for now.”

  Makaidos surged to the front of the line. “Form an arrowhead!”

  The dragons fanned into formation, Makaidos at the tip and two dragons trailing him on each side.

  Thigocia flew just behind her mate’s left wing, and Edward clutched her spine until his knuckles turned white. Chill bumps covered his arms, and his biceps twitched. The battle was about to begin.

  Makaidos nodded at Hartanna’s rider, Dirk, a bearded man with his helmet pulled low on his wrinkled brow. “The command is yours, my good knight.”

  Dirk raised his age-spotted hand. “Valcor!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Take the enemy on the left and thin their ranks. Makaidos, go for the center. Hartanna and I will blast the right. Legossi, run a torch on the back lines to prevent retreat. We will not let a single child killer escape. We will fly over the enemy in a continually cycling column, making sure that one or more of us faces their troops at all times, thereby guarding each other’s blind sides.”

  Dirk stared directly at Edward and his dragon. “Thigocia, I have heard that you are a healer. Guard the king at all costs. Let him fight bravely, but if he is wounded, you must be there to heal him.”

  “I have never healed a human,” Thigocia said, “but I will do what I can.”

  “All dragons!” Dirk continued. “Listen to your riders! They know the wiles of men better than you do.”

  Dirk lowered his hand and pointed toward the ground. Gradually pulling in their wings, the dragons angled downward, picking up speed with every second. Edward hung on to Thigocia’s spine, but seeing Dirk clenching both fists prompted him to let go.

  The rushing wind and approaching shouts of battle pumped energy through Edward’s muscles. His heart beating wildly, he clenched his own fists, an unbidden battle cry bursting from his lips. As they dropped into a near vertical dive, he grasped the hilt of his sword.

  While the other dragons dove toward their assigned positions, Thigocia headed straight for the battle line. Merlin and Barlow fought back to back, each man wielding his sword with perfect precision. Nearby, Arthur slashed Excalibur into a crowd of men. Each time the blade struck a shield, the silver edge seemed to flash and spark, slicing through metal and leather and cutting flesh and bone and leveling savage after savage.

  Thigocia spewed a stream of bluish white fire, making a wide semicircle around the king. Dozens of enemy soldiers erupted in flames, flailing their arms as they tried to run for safety. With rain continuing to beat down, steam rose from every burning soldier, and a stiff breeze blew the vapor throughout their ranks, creating a foggy quagmire as their feet slogged through the mud. A fifth of the enemy troops stampeded back, scrambling over the slippery terrain, but they ran right into a wall of fire ignited by Legossi and the other dragons.

  Edward patted Thigocia’s neck. “Well done!” he shouted. “This will be
easy!”

  “Too easy. I sense grave danger. Something sinister is afoot.” Thigocia landed in the space she had cleared and slapped two of the remaining savages with her tail, sending them flying. With her eyes flashing, she stormed in front of the king, her wings fully stretched as she spewed fire in a long arc toward the enemy’s retreating lines.

  Arthur thrust Excalibur’s blade through a soldier’s shield and into his chest, then pulled it out. The bloodstained blade glowed, and as he raised it high, the barbarian’s blood sizzled and burned away. Arthur lowered the sword and gazed at it in wonder. “Merlin!” he called. “Do you know anything about this weapon?”

  Merlin ran to the king’s side and grasped his wrist. “This is Chereb!” he exclaimed. “The sword of Eden!”

  Arthur turned the hilt, showing the prophet the other side of the blade. “The Lady of the Lake named it Excalibur, and it seems to breathe fire when I call upon its energy, like a dragon made of polished steel.”

  Thigocia extended her neck toward the king. “Your Majesty! Something wicked is coming, a horrible disaster looming in my mind like the rising of the devil himself!”

  Arthur waved his hand toward the retreating troops as they burned in the dragons’ fire. “But we are winning handily! Your winged wonders are cleaning up every last savage.”

  Merlin pointed his sword at the boiling sky. “Three dragons!” he shouted.

  Edward looked up and spotted two red males and a smaller tawny female diving toward them. “More help?” he asked.

  “No!” Thigocia yanked Edward off her back with her tail and dropped him next to Merlin and the king. Stretching her wings, she wrapped all three into a tight huddle and ducked her own head underneath. A wall of flames screamed past them, and the sound of beating wings whipped by, followed by a stiff breeze.

  Thigocia lifted her wings and jumped into the air. “It’s Arramos! And he has Goliath and Roxil with him!” She circled over the trio of humans, shooting balls of flame at the huge red dragon as he glided high above. Goliath and Roxil beat their wings in sync with Arramos, one on each side, and easily dodged Thigocia’s volleys. They flew in a wide circle, Arramos taking the lead as they began to form an attack arrow.