by Bryan Davis
She stopped and gaped at the fire, now only twenty paces away. “What is it?”
“Could it be dragon fire?”
She took a step closer and leaned forward. “It certainly looks like it.”
“Should I see if it will burn you out of the string? I can pull you away as soon as you’re free.”
Before Selah could answer, someone called from above. “Bonnie Silver!” The voice was low and growling, more like a dragon’s than a human’s. “Why must you be set aflame?”
Joran held the lyre close to the inferno. It drew so near, heat scalded his fingers, but he had to try. With Tamiel now in the green ovulum, this might be his only chance to set Selah free without the demon’s interference.
Embedded in the wall of flames, the shape of a young woman appeared, as if she, herself, were on fire. At least a hundred feet tall, she lifted her head, stretching to breathe, her face twisting in pain. She called out, her voice tortured, punctuated with spasms. “My … my name … is Silver. All dross … is purged … and my body … is a living … illustration.”
As the flames drew even closer, Joran pulled the lyre back. What could this vision mean? This young woman’s pain, her passion, her resolve seemed to flow from her body, creating the fire, the heat, and the song—the song of the ovulum. “Dross is purged,” he whispered. “That’s what purity means.”
Finally, the flames leaped toward them. Mendallah grabbed Joran and Zohar and jumped over the boundary between white and green and tumbled across the grass before rolling to a stop.
Joran looked back. No whiteness or fire met his eyes, nothing but green grass and a green sky. “The purity ovulum. It’s gone.”
“What does its absence mean?” Zohar asked.
Joran sat up and held the lyre in his lap. “I don’t know. Enoch said he would hide the song in a mobile vessel, but why would the original vessel have to be destroyed?”
“Did the woman in the fire destroy it?”
“I think she was a victim. I heard another voice before she spoke. That was probably the torturer.”
Zohar rose and brushed grass from his tunic. “Do you think it was Tamiel?”
Joran shook his head. “It sounded draconic, not demonic. Besides, Tamiel flew out of the flames right before I heard the voice.”
“Well,” Mendallah said as she climbed to her feet and helped Joran to his, “I assume we should explore this place.”
“I think we have no choice.” Joran plucked the lyre’s A string again. “I’d better let Selah know we’re all safe.”
As always, the string sang out its lovely note, and a white aura expanded into Selah’s form. Smiling, she turned as she looked at Joran, Mendallah, and Zohar. “I see we’re all here, wherever here is.”
Joran angled the lyre toward the sky. “This has to be the green ovulum. We’ll soon have the key.”
“Diligence,” Selah said. “That should be easy for you. You never miss a detail.”
“Details, sure. But diligence also means patience. I’m not always good at that.”
“Mendallah and I know all about patience.” Zohar thumped his chest with a fist. “I pledge my heart, my body, and my soul to the effort. No matter what it takes, we will get your sister out of that lyre.”
Mendallah copied Zohar’s chest thump. “I, too, will do whatever is necessary to rescue the maiden. You have my sacred vow.”
As Joran continued plucking the string, he smiled and nodded at each in turn. “Thank you, my friends.”
“Before you send me back to the string,” Selah said, “remember that you can summon me with your voice. You might need me when your hands are busy.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Call me if you need a song.” Selah set her hands on her hips. “I’ll be waiting.”
“I will.” Joran stopped playing, sending her image into oblivion. Clutching the lyre close, he scanned the field. Far in the distance, something moved. “You have a height advantage,” Joran said to Mendallah. “Tell me what you see.”
Mendallah set a hand above her brow. “A creature with wings. Perhaps a dragon. His back is toward us, so he cannot see us, but there are many humans beyond him who are looking this way. Still, we are likely too far for them to notice.”
“A dragon is good news. Let’s get closer.”
“We must take care,” Zohar said. “I have seen many evil dragons on Timothy’s wall. We do not know this one’s character.”
Mendallah nodded. “He is right. We should approach with stealth.”
“How are we going to approach with stealth? You’re nine feet tall, and he has hair as white as pearls.”
Mendallah lowered herself to her belly. “We can crawl. I am accustomed to being close to the dirt.”
Zohar dropped down at her side. “Come, Joran. If the humans are focusing on the dragon, they might not notice our approach.”
Joran joined them. Reaching around, he laid the lyre on his back and began to pull forward. “Let’s go.”
After crawling for several minutes, Mendallah lifted her head. “It is a dragon, to be sure. I have seen this one on the wall. He is dangerous, indeed.”
The dragon stood about a hundred paces in front of them, still facing away. Tamiel stood next to him, facing in the same direction. Beyond those two, a horde of people looked on as the dragon’s audience, roaring with approval every time he paused. At one side of the crowd, odd-looking metallic devices loomed taller than the people, some with long protrusions on top and others with birdlike wings, though stiff and always spread out.
“I see tanks and airplanes,” Zohar whispered.
“Tanks?” Joran squinted at him. “Airplanes?”
“They are dread fighting machines that can kill with great skill and speed, and these appear even larger and sleeker than the ones I saw on Timothy’s wall. Airplanes are metallic birds that fly through the air, and tanks shoot hard projectiles from those long cylinders. Such projectiles would put a hole through a dragon. If these men are enemies, they will overwhelm us.”
“The carts with large wheels are chariots,” Mendallah said. “The newer war instruments are closer to us, and the older ones are farther away.”
Joran grabbed the lyre from his back and listened to the dragon’s deep voice.
“Since Hades and Second Eden are now joined, you have the opportunity to leave the realm to which you have been condemned. You will march through Second Eden and assault the gates of Heaven itself. There you will satisfy your desire for revenge against the wrathful deity and his angelic host.”
“Arramos,” a man on a black horse at the front of the crowd shouted. “What kind of defenses will we encounter?”
Arramos laughed with a draconic roar. “The pitiful defenses in Second Eden consist of a small cadre of dragons and simpleton villagers. You will squash them like bugs.”
“What about the angels in Heaven? They will not take kindly to a rude knock upon their door.”
The dragon paused for a moment, giving Joran a chance to study the soldiers. The man atop the horse, wearing a suit of black metal rings, spoke with a voice that matched Devin’s perfectly. Also clad in black armor, the men around him carried metallic weapons with protrusions similar to those on the tanks, and the bearers aimed them at an upward angle. Far behind them, other men carried shields, wooden spears, and bows.
“When you successfully take control of the portal to Heaven,” Arramos said, “I will call a host of forsaken angels into battle. Between us and your weaponry, our opponents will not be able to withstand the onslaught. They are vulnerable. I know this from personal experience. You will see.”
Devin bowed his head. “Very well. I agreed to allow myself to be pulled into this place, but the waiting is getting tiresome. How and when do we leave?”
“Semiramis, my servant in Second Eden, is holding this refuge in her hands, and she uses her arts to watch and listen for my signal. Since Second E
den’s wall of fire is gone, all should be ready. Soon, she will break the ovulum, and you will all be cast into Second Eden in a cyclone of green mist. When everyone has assembled there, you will mount your attack.
“I aligned you so that the first wave will consist of the more primitive warriors. That way the residents of Second Eden will think they are the only force we can muster. If we sent the modern weapons first, they might flee into their wilderness, and we would never find them. It is essential that we snuff out every life there.”
“Agreed.” Devin guided the horse around, faced the other humans, and shouted, “Make ready!” The troops, arrayed in a rectangle of columns and rows, turned to face the green horizon, and Devin galloped to the front of the lines. About halfway between the closest and farthest row, a gap separated the two divisions—primitive and modern. From Joran’s perspective, the war machines lined the left side of the modern division—seven tanks and three airplanes.
Joran gaped at the horde. Could he possibly corral them all? Maybe a more realistic goal would be to try to capture only the more modern troops. To do that he would have to carry a sound barrier to the left of the machines while running toward the horizon, turn right and run through the gap between the two divisions, cutting off the primitive troops, then run back on the right side and complete the circuit.
Arramos extended his neck, raising his head high and looking at the distant horizon. “Semiramis? We are assembled. You may open the ovulum whenever you are prepared for our arrival.”
A feminine voice rumbled from the sky. “Soon, my master. All will be ready very soon.”
Joran stood and waved for Zohar and Mendallah to join him. “No one’s looking this way,” he whispered. “We have to stop them.”
“Stop such an army?” Mendallah asked. “How?”
“Diligence.” Joran withdrew the rods from his pouch. “Zohar, you look like what Timothy called an Oracle of Fire. Supposedly, people like you can make things burst into flames.”
“I have seen Sapphira do that,” Zohar said. “I will try.”
“Your first target will be Tamiel and then anyone else who tries to stop us.”
Zohar laid a hand over his chest. “I will do what I can.”
“Take the lyre and one of these rods,” Joran said, handing them to him. “When I lift my rod with my left hand, you lift yours with your right. We’re going to make the biggest trapping net ever. You’ll be my anchor at the closer corner on the left side of the troops’ rectangle. Do you understand?”
Zohar nodded. “Perfectly.”
“Great.” Joran grasped Mendallah’s arm. “I will sing at a concussive level to keep the soldiers from retaliating, but it will affect only those on the opposite side of my sound barrier. If we get any resistance, I’m counting on you for brute strength.”
She laid her hand over his. “My strength is yours to command.”
A loud crack sounded. The ground shook violently, tossing them back to the grass. A jagged crack ripped across the horizon directly in front of them, running parallel to the front row of troops. Rays of normal sunlight spilled through the widening breach and onto the field.
As Joran and his companions scrambled back to their feet, green mist spewed from cracks in the ground and crawled along the grass, raising a low hiss.
“The transporting mist!” Joran called. “Let’s go!” He ran toward the army, stopped a few paces behind Arramos, and, locking elbows with Zohar, lifted a rod. Zohar did the same, holding the lyre in his left hand and the rod in his right. Mendallah lumbered past and stood in front of them, setting her feet and spreading her arms like a shield.
Touching the lyre, Joran sang out an A note, mimicking Selah’s string. The lyre vibrated, and Selah appeared. She sang a warbling melody of notes, and Joran shifted to the lyre’s other six notes, switching among them as he followed her rhythm. If this plan succeeded, he didn’t want anyone absorbed into Selah’s string with her. The song poured out like honey, spreading along the ground and eating away at the mist.
Tamiel whirled toward them. “Here they are, my master. Shall I create a silence barrier?”
“Let it be so,” Arramos growled as he bobbed his head. “Then I will torch them.”
FORGIVENESS
Matt leaned back against the wall, sitting with his knees propped up. Bonnie sat to his left with a wing around his shoulder, while Billy paced the floor in front of them, stroking his chin. The eye bomb rocked from side to side a foot or so in front of Matt. He had long ago grown tired of kicking it across the cell, so he just let it roll wherever it pleased.
Still projecting dozens of laser beams, it provided plenty of light, but it also had grown far more ornery, preventing them from talking about anything important. Whenever anyone tried to type something into the phone or whisper in someone’s ear, the eye bomb let out its warning squeal, as if ready to detonate. Using encrypted speech had become too difficult, since the guards could probably figure out anything simple.
Still, one option remained, a slow option, but it worked, and while they sat close, Bonnie and Matt used it to full advantage.
Bonnie tapped Matt’s shoulder, using Morse code.
As Matt read the combinations of short taps, long taps, and pauses, he pieced the words together. How does this sound?
Bonnie hummed a tune with her teeth clenched, making a buzzing melody. Her transmitter sent it to his own tooth, amplifying the buzz. He nodded. With Lauren’s sensitive ears, maybe she could pick up the noise even with the jamming. If so, she might tune her ears to listen to a coded message … if she understood Morse code.
“Dad,” Matt said. “Take a break. Have a seat next to Mom.”
Billy stopped pacing. “Just trying to limber up my legs. I sat in chains most of the time for fifteen years.”
“Trust me. You need the rest.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
When Billy settled next to Bonnie, she wrapped a wing around him and began silently communicating their new idea. Matt buzzed “Happy Birthday to You” through his teeth, the first tune that popped into his head. After humming it twice, he clicked a coded message with his teeth. Danger. They know you are here.
After he finished, Bonnie took a turn, though she changed the tune to “Amazing Grace” before repeating the message.
Matt nodded. He knew the song. It certainly fit better than his choice. They would need all the grace they could get.
Billy prayed out loud, asking for rescue and giving a pretext for their hums. Even if their captors heard the songs, they probably wouldn’t suspect anything.
Now all they could do was settle back and continue casting their transmissions into the sky, hoping someone would hear.
* * *
Zohar pointed at Tamiel and shouted, “Ignite!” Flames erupted on Tamiel’s clothes. He slapped at them, but they continued to spread. He dropped to the ground and rolled in the grass, but every time the flames began to die, Zohar repeated his command, reigniting the fire.
As Joran held his note at a concussive level, a sound barrier stretched between the rods. This one didn’t need to be designed for a specific demon’s song. It just had to be powerful, and it had to thicken soon.
The soldiers dropped their weapons, clapped their hands over their ears, and closed their eyes tightly. Staggering, they bumped into each other, some dropping to their knees. Arramos blasted Mendallah with a fireball. Swinging her arm, the giant batted it away. Then, with a run and lunge, she leaped at the dragon, grabbed his neck, and wrestled him to the ground.
In the distance, the transporting mist rose into the middle of the primitive division and engulfed them and Devin in a green fog. The mist swirled and carried them out through the breach in the wall. All the while, Mendallah and Arramos continued to wrestle, both roaring, punching, and biting.
Joran stopped his song long enough to shout, “Let’s go!” then took a breath and ran around the corner and alon
g the left side of the rectangle, singing again with the rod held high. The barrier stretched almost to the breaking point, but when Zohar followed, the tension eased. Zohar stopped at the rectangle’s closer left corner and stood with his feet set firmly and his rod high. Selah floated in front of the lyre, singing with all her might.
As Joran ran on, the distance between his rod and Zohar’s lengthened, and the barrier thickened, allowing it to stretch safely. Since the barrier reached from the ground to the top of Joran’s rod, it was over six feet high, plenty of height to corral everyone … he hoped.
The troops farthest away had already disappeared, and those remaining continued their pain-filled lurching, most with their eyes still closed. As Joran ran past the war machines, sparks jumped from the metal, creating a storm of arcing light. When he reached the far left corner of the rectangle, he turned right and dashed along the former gap between the troop divisions, following a path parallel to the fractured green shell. The swirling mist adhered to the sound barrier, making it shimmer with a reflective green coat.
After rounding the horde’s far right corner, he ran away from the crack in the horizon and back toward where he had started. At the original closer right-hand corner, Arramos stood with a claw on Mendallah’s back, pinning her to the ground. She struggled underneath, but with blood splotching her tunic and a broken arm flailing, she was obviously beaten. Tamiel stood next to Arramos, his clothing torn and scorched, and his face sooty, apparently too far from Zohar to catch fire again.
Arramos lifted his claw from Mendallah and shuffled closer to the troops. “Silence the singers!” he shouted in Joran’s native language.
Tamiel followed, and opening his mouth, spewed a cloud of black fog that spread toward the wall of sound.
Joran never slowed. He circled around Arramos and Tamiel, hemming them in with the troops while leaving Mendallah, now lying motionless, on the outside. The dark fog drifted into the wall. Tiny holes appeared in the green fabric, and they quickly grew as the wall continued stretching.