Eye of the Oracle oof-1

by Bryan Davis

  “Then the slayers will pursue us always,” Hartanna concluded.

  “I fear you are correct. They will continue to sharpen their swords, and the scent of your blood will never leave their nostrils.”

  Arthur walked out of the woods and approached the gathering. “Hail, great council,” he said, bowing. “I salute you who were once clothed in the majesty of your race. As long as I live, I will protect you. I cannot take the slayer’s thirst for your blood out of his soul, but I can deprive him of the means to pursue his quest.”

  Hartanna curtsied, clumsily at first, but with her second effort, as gracefully as any princess. “I trust that you will prove your promises, my king.” She touched Merlin’s elbow. “Master Merlin, if the slayers are unable to destroy us in their lifetimes, they will surely teach their bloodlust to their descendants. How, then, will we ever become dragons again?”

  Merlin took her hand. “Hartanna, it’s possible that some of you will never be dragons again.”

  A rumble of murmurs sounded from the gathering. Hartanna waited for the noise to subside, then clasped Merlin’s hand firmly in both of hers and gazed into his eyes. “How will our race survive? How long shall we live? Shall we procreate? And if we do, what kind of creature shall we beget?”

  Merlin signaled for all the dragons to come close, and when they were within a whisper’s distance, he looked around at the circle of concerned eyes. “You will not be able to procreate with each other,” he said softly, “but you will live long on the earth. I know of no dragon who has ever died of natural causes, but death is part of Adam’s curse. I cannot say how you will be affected.”

  “No progeny?” Hartanna said. “Then all is lost?”

  Merlin shook his head. “No, Hartanna. All is not lost. Listen to a new prophecy.” He lifted his hands toward the sky and began to sing, his voice low and sweet.

  When hybrid meets the fallen seed

  The virgin seedling flies;

  An orphaned waif shall call to me

  When blossom meets the skies.

  The child of doubt will find his rest

  And meet his virgin bride;

  A dragon shorn will live again

  Rejecting Eden’s pride.

  A slayer comes and with his host

  He fights the last of thee,

  But faith alone shall win the war

  The test of those set free.

  A king shall rise of Arthur’s mold,

  The prophet’s book in hand;

  He takes the sword from mountain stone

  To rescue captive bands.

  Merlin lowered his hands. During his song, the former dragons had settled to their seats, and now they waited in silence. After a minute or two, Hartanna gazed up at Merlin. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know, dear lady, but I think the passing of time will disclose every secret.” He sighed and kicked his nearly empty saddlebag. “Now that we have to go to Camelot on foot, there is no need to carry unnecessary baggage.” He bowed to Arthur. “Are you ready for another adventure, my king?”

  Arthur bowed in return. “Lead the way. I will guard the rear.”

  Merlin headed for the woods, marching with Clefspeare on one side and Valcor on the other. “Because of Gartrand’s treachery,” Merlin said, “I must take an extraordinary step in order to oversee the salvation of the dragons. Soon, I will have to depart for a very long time.”

  “Where will you go?” Valcor asked.

  “I only know that somehow I will guide the paths of those God has chosen to fulfill his prophecy.” When they entered the forest and began descending the slope, Merlin grabbed a sturdy stick and leaned on it with every second step. “While we are awaiting my departure, the two of you must prepare. Clefspeare, in order to help me preserve the king’s life and rule, I will ask him to make you a member of his court and family. Valcor, you must go into hiding, in case Devin figures out who Clefspeare really is. A male dragon must be preserved at all costs.”

  “Into hiding?” Valcor asked. “Where?”

  “Do you know where Blood Hollow is?”

  Valcor pointed westward. “The glen in Bowman’s Forest.”

  “Exactly. Meet me there at midnight at the next full moon, and I will show you a place you can stay. I don’t want to mention your hideaway now, because it would be best if Clefspeare doesn’t know where you are.”

  Valcor nodded. “I understand.”

  “I will arrive at Blood Hollow with the king,” Merlin continued. “There is something I must show you and Arthur before I go on my journey.”

  “I trust that you will return soon,” Clefspeare said. “We have few friends besides you.”

  Merlin handed his walking stick to Clefspeare, then draped an arm around each former dragon. “Don’t worry. I will eventually return. . in one form or another. The dragons will not be left without a friend.”

  Chapter 10

  Dragons’ Rest

  As the king paced in front of the throne, Merlin’s cheeks burned, but he kept his voice in check. “A day will come,” Merlin said, “when Morgan will pay for all her sins. I didn’t expose her identity to you at first, because I had hoped that she could be redeemed. I even told her about finding a hostiam, her only path to salvation, and how did she repay my kindness?” He paused, swallowing to control his emotions. “She poisoned my wife with her devilish fruit!”

  The king stroked his chin and strolled in a slow circle around Merlin. “Has it already been three years since that tragedy? I remember very little from my days under Morgan’s spell.”

  Merlin took a deep breath. “Yes, it has been a very long three years to me. I sent my son and his wife into hiding to protect them, so I am alone during the dark, quiet hours.”

  “I can’t imagine the torture,” the king said, pausing to lay a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “but why do you bring it up now?”

  “Because of what I must show you tonight. You see, Morgan’s food robs both life and soul. The meat and meal of devils chokes out life and empties the soul of its vitality. And now I’ve learned that my wife wanders in the so-called Dragons’ Rest, like one of the dragon spirits without a heaven for a true resting place. . or a hell to reap the bad seed they have sown.”

  The king peered from under his downturned brow. “Dragons’ Rest?”

  Merlin sighed. “So much to tell you and so little time.” He stood slowly, bracing his back as he straightened, and strode toward the corner of the chamber. “Come with me on a short journey. It has been one lunar month since the transformation of the dragons, and the time has come to begin the next step in my plan.”

  He pushed on a panel at the back of the throne room, opening a door that blended perfectly with the surrounding wall. The two ducked under the low doorframe and stepped cautiously on a craggy stone floor. Only a tapered shaft of light from the chamber illuminated the room, revealing a narrow passage under a low ceiling. A musty odor filled the corridor, a reminder of abandonment melancholy, but not unpleasant.

  After lifting an unlit torch from a metal wall bracket, Merlin closed the door, shutting out the light from the throne room. His voice echoed in the darkness. “Your Majesty. If you please.”

  A glowing sword suddenly appeared, Excalibur shedding its royal glow, its hilt firmly grasped in the king’s hands. Merlin set the end of the torch against the blade and whispered, “Eshsha.” First as a tiny spark, then spreading across the torch’s fiber and fuel, a flame came to life.

  The two tramped down a slippery stone slope for several hundred yards before leveling off and beginning a climb back to the surface. The ceiling and floor drew closer together until both king and prophet had to stoop to continue. By the time they finally reached a dead end, they crouched on their haunches.

  Merlin handed the torch to the king. With both palms flat on the low ceiling, he pushed up on a wooden panel and placed it on the ground outside. Pressing his hands on each side of the opening, he lifted himself out of the tunnel and
stretched.

  The king followed, his sword still in hand. Merlin put the hatch back in place and covered it with dirt and leaves. “I tamped out the torch,” the king said. “We can use it again on our return.”

  The full moon’s glow framed a dark forest, shedding light on phantasmic oaks that stretched out their branches as if to snatch up unwelcome wanderers. Merlin nodded toward a thin line of dirt that weaved a narrow path through the darkest part of the forest. He took a deep breath, his chest rattling slightly. “This way.”

  As the two stole through the woods, Excalibur’s light leading the way, Merlin whispered, “Remember this path. It is the way to Blood Hollow, a place Devin likely doesn’t know. It is also a meeting place I have designated for one of the former dragons, one with whom I have recently gained a close bond.”

  They waded across a knee-deep stream, then followed a deer path, descending once again through thick brush until they came out into a clearing, an elliptical, rocky space that resembled a miniature amphitheatre.

  Merlin stood at the center, lifted his head, and whistled a nightingale’s call. He then stooped and signaled for Arthur to join him. “The stench of discord taints the wind,” Merlin said. “I believe Devin will soon launch a rebellion, and in order to quell the uprising, I will conduct my greatest, and my last, experiment.” He bent close to the king. “Valcor will be here momentarily. When he comes, you will learn a secret about dragons even the dragons themselves do not know.”

  Bushes rustled. King Arthur rose to his feet, Excalibur at the ready. A man emerged from the darkness with his hands raised. “I am Valcor, unarmed and at His Majesty’s service.” He bowed low.

  The king returned the sword to its sheath and touched the man’s head. “Arise, Valcor. I have not forgotten you so soon. You seem more fit than ever.”

  “Enabling me to serve you with more vigor, my king.”

  Merlin laid his hand on Valcor’s shoulder. “You have learned diplomacy well, my friend.”

  “Not recently, good prophet. Makaidos instructed his offspring in the protocol of human royalty long ago.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised.” Merlin waved his hand across the depressed clearing. “I have chosen this place because the dividing wall between this world and the world to come is as thin as papyrus. Here, creating a portal to that world requires only the paltriest skill.”

  Merlin knelt and placed a gem at the lowest point of the depression. Its crimson glow pulsed, like a dragon opening and closing its eye. “This rubellite belonged to Makaidos. As you know, the gem itself represents the essence of a dragon’s soul, beautiful in form, as is the dragon, yet scarlet, the color of the unredeemed. What you may not know is that when a dragon takes the stone as his own, his soul becomes tied to it, and it transforms into his gateway to the dragon afterlife, a place where humans are not meant to go.

  “If a dragon has one, as long as there is the slightest glimmer of a dragon’s soul remaining, his chosen rubellite will be red, and when he passes through the gateway into Dragons’ Rest, the gem becomes a pulsing beacon, indicating his presence there.”

  Merlin laid his hand on the rubellite, capping its glow for a moment. Then, as he raised his hand, the glow seemed to follow underneath, growing into a vertical column, a rising scarlet pedestal that finally stopped when it reached the prophet’s height. Merlin drew an oval around the pedestal with his finger, and the glow seemed to bleed in all directions, filling up the frame he had drawn until it formed a scarlet ellipse.

  He backed away and joined the king and Valcor as they gaped in silence. He waved his hand at the flaming halo and spoke in a resonant tone.

  O make the passage clear to men

  Who wish to see the gate,

  The path no dragon deigns to cross,

  For death is not their fate.

  From top to bottom, the halo’s red hue faded to pink, then to white. A straw-laden path took shape, and as people crossed from one side of the road to the other, they trampled the straw into a maze of muddy footprints. The scene appeared to be a marketplace. Two young women stood in front of a hut, displaying their handmade wares on the tops of wooden tables; a burly man carried a pole with a deer carcass hanging by its hooves; and a matronly woman bore a fruit basket in each of her meaty arms.

  Merlin took two quick steps forward. “There!” He pointed near the top of the ellipse. “See the woman standing next to the nobleman? The one carrying the scrolls?”

  The king leaned closer. “The gray-haired lady handing him a scroll right now?”

  “Yes! Yes! She’s the one!”

  The king stroked his chin. “She is familiar to me, Merlin. Very familiar.”

  “She should be. She’s my wife.”

  “Your wife? So are we looking upon Dragons’ Rest?”

  Merlin’s fingers hovered over the image of his wife, caressing her face from afar.

  “Merlin?” The king shook the prophet’s arm. “Is that Dragons’ Rest?”

  Merlin tore himself out of his trance and stepped back from the oval. “Yes.” He took a deep breath, now keeping his gaze on the king. “As I told you, Morgan’s food not only kills the body, it drains vitality from the human soul, and this dungeon is reserved for the dead who enter into eternity without a vibrant, human soul. Now my wife languishes in that hopeless village, not knowing who she really is or why she is there.”

  The ellipse suddenly shifted to gray, then black. Darkness seeped out of the oval like a night fog. Billowing smoke crawled along the ground and rose into a column, slowly solidifying into a human form, slender and feminine the shape of Morgan Le Faye.

  King Arthur drew his sword, but Merlin raised his hand. “Not here,” Merlin said. “Not now. She has yet to fulfill her purpose.”

  Morgan, dressed in her usual silky black gown, waltzed up to Merlin, laughing. “I saw you mooning over the gateway. Do you miss your sweet wife, my old friend?”

  Merlin clenched his fists. Serrated words slipped through his grinding teeth. “Leave it to you to attack a man by killing his defenseless wife.”

  “Oh, but Merlin,” she crooned, “there is no more effective tool. Taking a man’s woman is the same as ripping out his heart and pouring his life’s blood on the ground.” She patted his cheek, pursing her lips as though speaking to a child. “And watching you wither over the past three years has been such a joy. It seems that checkmate is at hand.” She turned and gave the king a mock curtsy. “Your Majesty. It is an honor to see my brother again.”

  King Arthur drew back his sword. A brilliant ray erupted from its tip and shot into the sky. “Merlin, step aside, and I will slay this foul witch where she stands.”

  Merlin stayed put. “She is a wraith, more dead than alive. In your hands, the sword would do nothing more than reveal her nature. Killing her requires much more.”

  The king shoved Merlin aside. With a wild swipe, he sliced through Morgan’s waist. Her body absorbed the sword’s light, and her face transformed. A sultry, painted mask melted, replaced by a bloody raven’s head, its red eyes aflame and its mouth locked open in a raging scream.

  Arthur fell to his seat, and the sword’s light died away. Valcor rushed to his side and slid his hand behind the king’s shoulder. Morgan returned to her female form and glowered at the king. “You are all such fools. Knowing about my strategy will not protect your wives now or in the future. All who oppose me will feel my wrath, and no loved one is safe man, woman, or child.”

  Morgan sublimated to black fog and disappeared into the ellipse. Seconds later, the portal cleared to a pulsing red glow.

  King Arthur jumped to his feet. “That sorceress from hell will not kill my queen.” With the sword lighting the way, he sprinted down the narrow path.

  “Your Majesty!” Merlin called. “What of my plan?”

  Arthur halted and spun around. “You have proven your words once again. Bring Clefspeare and Hartanna to me. I will adopt them, as you requested.”

  Timothy brush
ed on a final stroke of paint and read the sign out loud. “Brogan’s Flowers,” he said proudly. He turned and addressed the young man standing next to him. “What do you think?”

  “I think my mother will run the shop,” Brogan said, his Celtic accent breezing through his words, “but it will do. Still, I am not accustomed to my new name. After being Hilidan for so long, Brogan seems foreign to me.”

  Timothy laughed and set the sign on a wagon. “I understand. We had our dragon names even before the great flood.” As he wiped his hands on a paint cloth, he gazed at the new huts that lined the straw-laden path. Two young women bustled around their pottery table, setting out their wares for trading. A matronly woman carrying a fruit basket ambled across a walkway that passed through a garden in the middle of the village square. She smiled and tossed a yellow apple toward the two men.

  Catching the apple with one hand, Timothy returned her smile. “I think the marketplace is complete. With all the new arrivals, we will have a thriving community in no time.”

  “Jasmine is coming,” Brogan said, nodding at the path. “Does your daughter ever smile about anything?”

  “I heard you,” Jasmine’s sharp voice rang out. “How can I smile? New arrivals can only mean that more dragons are being murdered by humans.”

  Timothy took a bite out of his apple. “Are they reporting details?”

  “Only sketchy stories,” Jasmine replied, her tone calming. “They are quickly forgetting their dragon past, just as you hoped they would. They do know that Devin has committed most of the murders, and one reported that Goliath has also been killed.”

  “Goliath?” Timothy nearly choked as he swallowed his mouthful. “Dead?”

  As Jasmine lowered her gaze, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Yes. He should have been here by now.”

  Timothy rubbed her back gently. “Perhaps he is here and has forgotten who he was.”

  Jasmine stepped away from his caress. “I have matched every citizen with the name of a dragon, and neither Goliath nor Arramos is here. With the exception of one woman, all the arrivals knew who they were, though they forget everything quickly. It seems that the three of us are the only ones who still remember most of our past.”