by Bryan Davis
“I am beginning to forget, too,” Brogan said. “I barely remember what it was like to fly.”
“I will never forget being a dragon.” Jasmine crossed her arms tightly. “I refuse to forget.”
Timothy pointed at her. “Remember if you must, but do not torture the others. It would be better for them to live at peace here.”
“On that issue, I do agree.” She breathed a long sigh. “In fact, I will encourage them to forget, but at least one of us has to keep the memory of our species alive.”
Timothy held up his hand, displaying his pulsing rubellite ring. “These rings are surely a sign that the Maker has not forgotten who we are. Horses and other animals have appeared out of nowhere, as did a crop ready for harvest. God knows we are here, and he will not abandon us forever.”
Jasmine rubbed her ring’s gem. “That woman I mentioned doesn’t have one. She also has white hair, so I thought she might be an underborn.”
“Many humans have white hair,” Timothy said, “especially the older ones.”
“She is older, to be sure, and she is also very intelligent, though she remembers very little of her past. I put her in charge of archiving scrolls until I had an opportunity to ask you about her.” Jasmine nodded at the path. “Here she comes now.”
An elderly woman with a sweet smile extended a scroll to Timothy. “Here is the harvest inventory, Captain Autarkeia.”
“Captain?” Timothy laughed. “Am I now a Captain?”
“My designation for you as king of the dragons and founder of this town,” Jasmine explained. “I am establishing a hierarchy using a military system. I thought it best to maintain an orderly governing body.”
“I see.” Timothy bowed his head toward the newcomer. “What is your name?”
“Sarah.” She dipped her knee. “Pleased to meet you.”
Timothy leaned over and studied her face. “We have met before, have we not?”
Sarah rearranged the stack of scrolls in her arms and smiled again. “Not that I can remember, Captain.”
“I know we have,” Timothy said, tapping his forehead, “but memory loss seems to be affecting me.”
A popping sound made Timothy pivot. A red glow, an elliptical aura, much like the one created by the Ovulum, arose from the garden in the town’s central circle. Bordered by the only two idols remaining from Shinar’s ruins, it vibrated a tune as if strummed by a skillful hand. Entranced, Timothy walked slowly toward it.
“Where are you going?” Jasmine called.
Timothy pointed. “To the red glow.”
“What red glow?”
He stopped at the edge of the garden and spread out his arms. “Right here. Right in front of me.”
Brogan ran up to his side and whispered, “Timothy, perhaps you have been working too hard. There is nothing here but tulips and daffodils.”
Timothy pointed again. “Look! I see Merlin on the other side. And there is King Arthur. I also see a third man, but I do not recognize him.”
“Father,” Jasmine said, sliding an arm around his elbow, “you need to rest. Come with me.”
Timothy pulled away and tromped right into the flowers, reaching for the aura.
“Father!” Jasmine called.
Timothy touched the crimson surface, raising a splash of sparks. The radiant energy crawled along his hand, then up his arm, and covered his skin with vibrating red embers. When the energy reached his eyes, a dazzling flare of scarlet enveloped everything in his field of vision.
Jasmine screamed. “Father! Do not leave me!” Her voice sounded distant and warped.
Timothy felt himself being drawn into the aura, swallowed whole, as if becoming part of its pulsing red field. The town disappeared in a foggy sea of scarlet, leaving only the two idols intact as they seemed to join him in the sparkling radiance. Distorted words drifted past his ears, like a woman’s desperate cry blown about by the wind.
“Father!” the voice called. “I love you!”
Merlin strode to the portal and set his hand on top. Pushing down, he squeezed the aura into the rubellite on the ground below. As it compressed, a stream of energy popped out. It spun around Merlin and Valcor three times, then shot into the sky like a frazzled lightning bolt. Two balls of energy followed and launched over the trees in a high arc.
“What were those?” Valcor asked.
Merlin laid his hand on top of his head. “I have no idea!”
“Is it a sign? Part of the prophecy?”
“I will seek wisdom on this mystery, but for now” Merlin picked up the gem “I want you to take this rubellite. Keep it safe. When I have set the plan of redemption in order, I will make sure the way to use this gem is added to the king’s chronicles.” He laid the stone in Valcor’s palm. “I will call it the Great Key, for through it the dragons will be able to leave their prison and find a true resting place.”
Valcor drew it closer to his eyes. “Master Merlin! The rubellite is no longer pulsing.”
Merlin rocked the gem with his finger. “Makaidos! His spirit has either died, or. .” He gazed at a vapor trail vanishing in the sky. “He has escaped.”
“My father? Escaped?” Valcor lifted his head upward. “What will happen to him? Where will he go?”
“I’m not sure. He died before the transformation, so he has no body in which to reside. Unless he finds a way to reanimate his dragon carcass, he will be a wandering spirit.”
Valcor held the gem in his fingertips. “Shall I tell Clefspeare and Hartanna about this? After all, Makaidos was Hartanna’s father and Clefspeare’s grandfather.”
“Yes,” Merlin said, “but guard what you say. Tell Hartanna that the rubellite once belonged to her father, that it reflects the vitality of a dragon’s mortal essence, but keep the rest to yourself. Since we don’t know what really happened to Makaidos, speculation about his fate would be foolhardy.”
Valcor peered into the gem. “What about the village we saw inside? And what about the other dragons? Should I tell Hartanna about that?”
Merlin shook his head. “Until the dragon messiah comes to set the dragons free, the gateway to Dragons’ Rest must remain a secret from everyone else.”
“To keep the dragons safe from Morgan?”
“Morgan cannot harm those already dead. What’s important is that the dragon messiah finds his way to Dragons’ Rest, and, according to the word God gave me in a dream, he must do so only through a special messenger whom God will prepare at the proper time.”
Valcor closed his hand around the rubellite and gazed at the moon, now hazy behind a veil of thin clouds. “May God bring that messenger soon!”
“Perhaps you will have a hand in his coming.” Merlin patted Valcor on the back. “Walk with me to the place where you will hide until I summon you again to Blood Hollow. You and Sir Gawain must organize the king’s knights. I am certain now that a rebellion will soon arise, and I will need Arthur’s loyal soldiers to help me put it down.”
Stooping low, Elam smoothed the dirt on top of the grave, picking out each pebble and fleck of debris. As the headstone’s speckled crystals shimmered in the rising sun, he admired the block letters and rugged cross he had carved with his own hand. “Lazarus VII, descendant of Lazarus of Bethany. Rest in Peace.” Following the outline of the etched cross with his finger, he whispered, “Thank you for teaching me. I know we’ll be together again someday.”
He stood and clapped the dirt off his hands as he counted the graves in the family plot the original Lazarus with his tombstone that read, “Lazarus of Bethany, in Heaven to Stay”; Lazarus’s wife, passed away two years earlier; Joseph, father of Lazarus VII; an unnamed girl who died at birth; and a boy named Elam.
The last grave carried no body. Elam had carved the cryptic marker, “Elam the Wanderer,” to answer neighbors’ questions. Whatever happened to that wandering waif who showed up over three years ago? Now they would know. He had moved on to another life.
Elam slung a knapsack over his sh
oulder and looked behind him at the towering hill, the tor of Glastonbury and the tiny church at its apex. Yes, it was time to leave for good, and best to do so without answering all the well-intentioned questions of the villagers. Firming his chin, he marched around the bordering swamp and followed a damp, muddy trail that led into a forest. Camelot lay ahead, a new home atop a new hill, and this one promised adventures unlike any he had ever known.
As he passed under a lush canopy, he reached into his knapsack and withdrew the Ovulum. The egg was dark today, but that wasn’t unusual. It seemed to warm up and glow only when it had a mind to talk, and that wasn’t very often, maybe a half dozen times over the last three years, and most of those had come when Lazarus was holding it.
Elam rubbed his thumb over the glassy surface. Still, it had spoken directly to him once since that wondrous song during the rainy dance, and he would always remember its short, but passionate plea.
A lad of faith will never fail
Beholding truth and light.
So keep me close and never doubt,
And I will be your sight.
In the dimness of the dense forest, the Ovulum glowed ever so slightly. Elam halted and looked around. There had to be a reason for its illumination, but everything seemed in order. Nothing but trees and undergrowth lined his narrow path. No sounds arose in the woods except a soft rustling from a light breeze announcing the wakening day.
The rustling grew louder. The wind kicked up dirt and leaves and spun them in a tornadic dance. Trees waved back and forth and littered the ground with twigs and moss. Dark clouds rode the wind, drawing a blanket across the sky and sending acorn-sized raindrops in sporadic intervals, sometimes just two or three, then a cascade that quickly dampened the path.
Elam reached back to store the Ovulum, but a lightning flash made him cover his head. The bolt sizzled into a tree, splashing embers in high arcs. One of the streams collected in an elongating arm that reached toward him. It orbited his body once and plunged into the Ovulum, igniting a burst of scarlet within.
Elam clung to the pulsing egg, his fingers clenched around it, his muscles contracting uncontrollably with every colorful, rhythmic throb. His whole body shook. His teeth chattered so hard, his jaws ached. Finally, his fingers relaxed, and the Ovulum fell to the ground, still pulsing.
With large raindrops splashing on his head, he dropped to his knees and touched the Ovulum. Although it still pulsed red, its surface was cool. “What. .” He swallowed painfully. “What happened?”
The red glow slowly faded away. He scooped the egg and wiped it clean with a dry corner of his tunic, then broke into a quick march, keeping his head low as he continued his journey toward Camelot. According to Lazarus, there was only one man who could solve the mysteries of the Ovulum, and he served the king within the walls of the castle.
Elam accelerated, running as fast as the slippery path would allow. He had to find Merlin as soon as possible.
Chapter 11
The Conspiracy
Edward tramped up the dark slope, following Barlow’s lantern as it swung a few paces in front. Well ahead of Barlow, another lantern swayed back and forth in the hands of a short, old man. “Come, come,” the man sang gleefully. “This place of sadness is now a place of joy. I will never fear Bald Top again.”
Barlow picked up his pace on the steepening grade, while Edward stayed close behind, glad his battle-hardened legs had become equal to his captain’s. He grabbed a branch and pulled up to the top of a boulder. “Captain, did the old man say why he was up here that night?”
“Yes.” Barlow stopped and turned around. “He was supposed to meet Goliath at the summit to pay a ransom for his daughter. He didn’t know Devin had already slain him.”
“Ah! I heard about Devin rescuing a maiden. With all the accolades, his head must be more swollen than a pumpkin by now.”
Barlow marched again and gestured for Edward to come alongside. When they were walking abreast, Barlow lowered his voice. “I don’t like Devin, either, but we must admit that his zeal to protect the kingdom is unsurpassed.”
“Perhaps, but this gypsy’s story is too unbelievable to be true, just the mad ravings of a highwayman.”
“Shhh!” Barlow nodded toward the dark figure in front of them. “He’ll hear you.”
“Here we are,” the old man said, dancing on the grassy plain. “Follow me!”
Barlow and Edward ventured out onto the vast summit. “It’s a good thing Goliath is gone,” Barlow said. “Battling him at night would be difficult indeed.” He held the lantern low and began searching through the grass.
“Over here!” the old man cried from about thirty paces away. “Here it is!”
The two knights hurried to the spot. The old man shone the lantern light on a pile of clothes.
Edward picked up a shoulderless dress and held it at arm’s length. “Ugly as a mangy cur’s coat. No wonder it was left here to rot.”
The old man picked up a pair of men’s trousers. “The dragons took the rest. Naked as a rat’s tail, they were, so Merlin gave them clothes. I saw them with my own two eyes.”
Barlow pointed at a splotch of dried mud. “Dragon tracks.” He knelt and set his lantern on the mud, his eyes close to the ground. “At least three different dragons, two females, one male.” He crawled on all fours, then stopped suddenly. “They become human footprints!”
“I told you!” the old man said. “I told you! Merlin transformed them. I saw it with my own eyes. And one of them looked exactly like the king!”
Edward bent down and picked up a saddlebag. “Sir Barlow, what do you make of this?”
Barlow got up and examined the bag. “It’s Merlin’s.” He pointed at a waxy emblem. “See. Here is his signet seal.”
The old man jumped up and down, chortling, “He was here! He was here! I knew it! Merlin performed his black magic right on this spot, just like I said!”
Edward threw the bag to the ground. “You’re starting to annoy me, old gypsy.”
The gypsy pointed at Edward with a long, bony finger. “Because I was right. Say it. I was right. Merlin loves dragons so much, he replaced the king with one. Say it. You know it’s true now.”
Barlow clamped his huge hand over the old man’s mouth. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think we have to believe Devin’s story. Merlin’s love for dragons has apparently driven him mad.”
Edward furrowed his brow and nodded. “So what do we do?”
“What choice do we have?” Barlow replied, shrugging his shoulders. “In order to be true to the king, we have to join Devin in opposing Merlin.”
Edward let a smile break through. “Exposing the fraud and rescuing the true king would be quite a feat, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but don’t forget,” Barlow said, wagging his finger. “This isn’t about obtaining honor. It’s about loyalty to His Majesty.”
Edward shook his head. “You’re right, as usual. Keep reminding me.”
Barlow released the gypsy. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone else, you will die a traitor’s death. Understood?”
“Oh, yes,” the old man cackled. “Not a word.”
Barlow tromped toward the summit’s edge. “Come then. We have to meet with Sir Devin.”
Edward followed, but the gypsy stayed put. “Aren’t you coming?” Edward asked.
The gypsy pointed toward the other side of the summit. “My family is that way. Mustn’t keep them waiting too long.”
Barlow stopped and raised a finger at him. “Don’t forget. Not a word.”
The old man lifted his lantern in front of his wrinkled, leathery face. “My lips are sealed!”
Barlow and Edward turned and headed down the slope. “So how does one expose a powerful wizard?” Edward asked.
“I have no experience in that area, so we’ll just leave it up to Sir Devin.”
“I’m sure I can get Newman to join us,” Edward said. “Do you have friends you can count on?”
“A few. My nephew Fiske is sure to do whatever I ask.”
A loud flapping sound breezed by them. Barlow whipped out his sword. “What was that?” he asked, raising the blade high.
Edward pointed into the air. “A bat! The biggest I’ve ever seen!”
Keeping his sword in front of him, Barlow marched ahead. “We shouldn’t dawdle in haunted places. Bald Top still holds dark secrets, and we’d best get off its slopes.”
The two men hurried down the hill, staying quiet for the rest of their journey.
Clefspeare, I dub you Jared, son of Arthur.” The king tapped the bowing man’s shoulder lightly with a gleaming sword. “By this decree, I name you my son, though you have already become closer than any of my natural offspring.” He turned and tapped the lady’s shoulder, touching the flowing blonde hair that draped her sparkling white gown. “And you, dear Hartanna, I dub Irene, for your very presence brings peace to my soul. You are now my daughter, a treasured princess, who, I hope, will always find peace within the walls of my palace.”
King Arthur lifted Excalibur from Irene’s shoulder and handed the blade to Merlin who stood with him on the platform. The sword maintained its faint white glow, strong enough to illuminate Merlin’s wrinkled hands, yet it seemed no more than the brightest candle among the dozens that lined the throne room. When Merlin slid the sword into its sheath, the ornate scabbard swallowed the glow.
Arthur picked up a scroll from the table at his side. “For your protection, I have entered your names as Reginald Bannister and Tabitha Silver in the official records as my adopted son and daughter. Hide your identities well, for if your enemies discover them, you will be chased by bloodthirsty hounds for centuries to come. I suggest choosing different surnames for yourselves for the time being, though you may return to Bannister and Silver to protect your inheritance when the time comes.”