Last of the Nephilim

by Bryan Davis

  Angel scanned the marsh below. Indeed, with the sun now surfacing above the horizon, the fog was burning away, revealing the vast field of reeds, short trees, and motionless water. Her first pass earlier in the night had proven futile, not a hint of movement or light except in Flint’s village, and her later flight over the northern highlands had yielded only a very frightened pair of hunters from her own village. The father and son had tracked a giant boar to a plateau, and their campfire had brought Angel and her dragon diving down in a flurry to investigate.

  Angel laughed to herself. The two had reminded her of Dragon and Candle when they went out on the traditional father-and-son initiation, a dedication time for a boy’s tenth birthday. The hunters’ looks of surprise and then delight would be etched in her mind forever.

  With light spreading across her field of vision, a new surge of energy buzzed through her body. Now maybe she’d be able to find Father Abraham, but she couldn’t afford to fly close to Flint’s village again. Without the cover of darkness, she’d be a target of his warriors’ arrows.

  She blinked her weary eyes, stifled a yawn, and focused on the swiftly moving ground below. The river was nowhere in sight. She must have shifted to the inner sector, far away from Father Abraham’s most likely path. She would have to bend to the east for quite a while to—

  “I see someone!” Candle shouted.

  Angel jerked around. “Where?”

  Candle pointed behind them. “Back there. We passed him.”

  “Father Abraham?”

  He shook his head. “Younger. Hurry. I think he’s in trouble.”

  Elam raised his spear, aiming at a pair of snarling beasts that blocked his path, the only gap in the reeds that would keep him going in the direction Flint had indicated. He could opt to escape through another gap, but similar growls from within had warned him to stay away.

  When Abraham and Flint had mentioned muskrats, he had pictured two-pound beaverlike rodents he could shoo away with the shaft of his spear, but these bear-sized balls of fur and fangs seemed to want him for breakfast, and they didn’t flinch at the sight of his weapon.

  It seemed as if they had a strategy. Staying a few feet apart from each other, one would lunge a step, then draw back, baiting him. Yet, if he threw or thrust his spear at it, he’d be easy prey for the other one.

  “You can’t outsmart me,” Elam said, growling to intimidate them.

  As if prodded by Elam’s words, one of the muskrats charged. Elam dodged and jabbed as it shot past, but he missed. The other lunged low and snapped at his leg. He leaped over it and sprinted toward the gap in the reeds, but tripped in the mud and toppled forward into a slide. Water and mud splashed into his face and jetted up his nose. Twisting, he flipped to his back, thrusting his spear upward just in time to clip a muskrat’s side with a glancing blow. It splashed to the ground, yelped, and scampered away.

  The other muskrat leaped on Elam’s chest, clamped on to his unguarded wrist, and dug in with needle-sharp teeth.

  “Arrrgh!” Elam thrashed his arm, but the snarling rodent hung on. Screaming in agony, Elam slid his hand up his spear and jabbed at the muskrat’s side, but he didn’t have enough strength to pierce its tough hide.

  Finally, he jerked the beast closer and bit its nose as hard as he could. As soon as its jaw loosened, he wrenched his arm away and leaped to his feet. Then, blood dripping from his fingers, he ran, splitting two stands of reeds.

  After splashing through a narrow channel, he broke into a clearing but stopped in his tracks. In the middle of the twenty-foot-wide shallow pool sat at least fifteen huge muskrats, all with their beady eyes trained on him.

  Elam gulped. He spun around. The first two had followed and blocked the way out of the clearing. Now with only one spear and a wounded wrist, he would have to dodge, jab, or even dance his way past the whole lot of them.

  As the first two lowered their heads and prowled toward him, the other fifteen slinked through the water from the other side and spread out, surrounding him in a tightening circle of snarls and gleaming teeth. Elam searched for a gap on the other side of the clearing. If he pole-vaulted over the smallest one, he could—

  Suddenly, something clawed his back. His shirt tightened. The ground shot away from under his feet. Still clutching his spear, he looked up. Purple scales blocked his vision, purple scales and … wings? A dragon?

  A woman’s voice called from above. “Hang on, Elam! We’ll find a safe place for Grackle to land!”

  “Angel! Great timing!” Elam flinched at the pain of the dragon’s claw as it dug into his shoulder, but he stayed as still as possible. Better to bleed now than to be a meal for muskrats.

  He scanned the brightening marsh. When would she find a safe place? There was nothing but water and grass for miles, and wandering muskrats here and there. It was a good thing those hungry rodents were morning feeders. Facing them in the middle of the night would have been deadly.

  In the distance, the land rose into a meadow of browning grass. He searched for hoofprints, hoping Dikaios had been speedy enough to outrun and leap over the predators. Yet, he found no sign of a horse anywhere.

  As soon as they reached the field, Grackle descended and set Elam down, but not as gently as he had hoped. He fell headlong into a wild somersault and slid through the grass on his bottom. When he came to a stop, he jammed his spear into the ground and pushed himself to his feet. The dragon landed several paces in front of him, beating its wings and scampering on its short, muscular legs.

  Candle leaped off first, jumping from his seat all the way to the ground. Wearing a broad grin, he hustled to Elam’s side and grabbed his free hand. “You can take my seat. Mother says I get to ride on Grackle’s neck!”

  “Thank you. That would be better than—”

  “You’re bleeding!” Candle jerked away and shook blood from his fingers. “My mother is a doctor; she’ll know what to do.”

  Yawning as she walked, Angel approached. She reached for him with an open hand, a look of distress in her eyes. “You’re hurt!”

  She touched his cheek, making him wince. He couldn’t figure out what hurt the most—his cheek, his wrist, or the dragon claw wound on his back. “I’m okay,” he said with a nod. “Did you see Dikaios or Acacia or Father Abraham?”

  Her brow shot upward. “I was going to ask you where they are.”

  “Flint captured Father Abraham, but Dikaios and Acacia escaped. Flint set me free to find the way on my own.”

  Angel looked out over the marsh. “Flint is challenging us. He craves a war, but he knows he cannot win if Father Abraham is here to lead our people.”

  “Won’t his abduction cause your people to rise up in anger? Doesn’t Flint fear an army fueled by rage?”

  Looking back at him, Angel shook her head. “Without the Prophet here to call for Enoch’s help, my people will be like dragons without riders. They won’t know what to do.”

  “Will Flint attack?”

  “Not today, I think. He is likely to reestablish his alliance with the shadow people and attack with all his forces under the cover of night. Whether he could be ready by this evening, I don’t know.”

  Elam cast his gaze back over the marsh. Flint said he had to wait two days for his allies to come. Did he mean the shadow people? Maybe. But how could anyone know whether or not Flint was telling the truth? He also might have been lying, hoping Abraham’s people wouldn’t be ready for an immediate attack. Either way, wouldn’t it be better to prepare for them to show up sooner?

  “Is there any chance of rescuing Father Abraham before nightfall?” Elam asked.

  Angel shook her head. “No raiding party could penetrate the marshes. Even from the air with the five dragons willing to carry us, we would be too few.”

  “Then we have to get ready.” Elam clenched his fist and strode toward Grackle. “Come on. There’s no time to lose.”

  Angel grabbed his sleeve. Nearly falling as he spun back toward her, he wrapped his bl
oody fingers around his spear and leaned on it. “Yes?” he asked.

  She gazed into his eyes. “You are truly the warrior chief we have awaited for so many years.”

  He nodded. “I appreciate your confidence. I hope I can—”

  “No!” she cried, a large tear streaming. “You don’t understand. When I first saw you, I feared that Enoch sent a boy to do a man’s job. I doubted you. I thought we would have to wait for another.” She gripped the spear, wrapping her fingers tightly around his as she drew her face closer. “But now I see a fire in your eyes and wisdom beyond your years. I watched you face more than a dozen wild muskrats, and you proved yourself a warrior as strong as Valiant himself.” She wiped her tear, then pulled so close her cheek brushed against his. As she nuzzled his ear, she whispered. “You are my warrior chief, and I will fight with you to the death.”

  Goose bumps crawled across his skin. He let her stay close for a moment, unsure of how to react. This culture’s affectionate ways felt good, but they would take some getting used to.

  “Okay,” he said, pulling back. “First we have to find Dikaios and Acacia. Then we should see about talking to Enoch.”

  “May I suggest consulting Enoch first? Perhaps he can tell us where the great horse and the Oracle are.” She covered her mouth with her fingers. “But who am I to tell the warrior chief what to do?”

  Elam tried to keep a straight face, but a grin broke through. “Make all the suggestions you want. I’m new at this warrior chief business.”

  Chapter 11

  Healing Fires

  Ashley marched into a field of grass, her arms stiff at her sides and her fists tight. Walter followed a few paces behind, looking back at the village before focusing on Ashley again. Since she was in her mad-at-the-world posture, it was best to stay quiet. They had already searched for her mother back at the spot they had last seen her. Now the dragon launching field was the only place they knew to look. At least this was the only option the villagers would suggest.

  When Ashley reached a point about a hundred feet into the field, she looked up into the sky and called out, “Mother! Where are you?”

  Walter cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Thigocia! The meeting’s over! We have some information!”

  “Information?” Ashley repeated. “You call what just happened ‘information’?” She reached into her hair and grabbed two fistfuls. “Ohhh! Those people practically drove me crazy! I wonder how they even dress themselves without consulting ‘the Prophet’!”

  Walter stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I can’t say I blame them. We’re strangers. We wear odd clothes. We brought a talking dragon. Why should they tell us what they know about their garden?”

  Ashley let out a huff and flapped her arms at her sides. “I know. I know. It’s just that it’s life or death. Abigail is missing, and now so’s my mother. If either one needs healing, I can help. But I can’t heal what I can’t see.”

  Walter reached back to his scabbard and touched Excalibur’s hilt. “I guess I should test the beam. It didn’t always work in Hades.”

  “Right. We might need it for healing and as a weapon.”

  Walter withdrew Excalibur and lifted it toward the sky. As he gazed at its point, something dark appeared close to the horizon, flying erratically. “Is that a dragon?” he asked, aiming the sword at it.

  Ashley stood on tiptoes. “I think so, but it’s darker, maybe even black. It isn’t my mother.”

  They watched the winged form draw closer and closer. Soon three riders took shape, one high on the neck and two in seats strapped to the dragon’s back. They circled once, then, as Walter and Ashley backed toward the edge of the field, the dragon, purple and smaller than Thigocia, landed in a flurry of wings and churning legs.

  As soon as the dragon lowered its head, the passenger on its neck, a black boy with bright eyes and a wide smile, scampered down the stairway and hurried toward the village. “I’ll run for help!” he called without turning back.

  A woman and a teenaged boy began to dismount, both half staggering.

  Walter rushed over and extended a hand toward each of them. They gladly accepted his help as they stepped off the dragon’s neck. The boy looked like death warmed over. With blood oozing down his cheek and fingers, and a nasty laceration showing through a rip on the back of his shirt, he had to have been the loser in a fight with a bear … or worse.

  Stifling a yawn, the woman curtsied. “Welcome, stranger. I am Angel. The boy who ran into the village is my son, Candle. You must be from a distant village, for I do not recognize you.”

  “Very distant,” Walter said, “but it’s kind of hard to explain. We—”

  “Walter!” Ashley marched straight to the boy and touched his wounded cheek. “It’s Elam!”

  “Oh, yeah!” Walter patted his back, careful to avoid the slice in his shirt. “Sorry. I only saw you once when that giant lassoed Heaven, and you don’t exactly look yourself now.”

  “It’s okay.” Elam smiled, but his weariness showed through in his sagging shoulders. “Where’s Sapphira?”

  Ashley massaged his wound lightly. “She’ll be coming later. At least, we hope she will, and with more helpers.”

  Elam’s head sank. “I hope so, too.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he laid his fingers over Ashley’s. “What did you do?”

  Ashley pulled her hand back. “Does it feel better?”

  “Yeah. A lot.” He dabbed the wound, now smaller and oozing less blood. “The cut’s still there, but the sting is gone.”

  “What happened to you?” Walter asked Elam. “Were you in a fight?”

  “Just some big muskrats and a sadistic guy with a spear, but that can wait. Acacia, Dikaios, and Abraham are missing, so we came here to consult Enoch.”

  “My sister is missing, too,” Ashley said, “and the people here said someone named ‘the Prophet’ could ask Enoch where she is. But why can’t we ask him ourselves? The people were pretty mysterious about it, something about talking to an egg, but when I heard that, I just shut down. I felt like I was in the middle of a nightmare.”

  Angel raised her fingers to her lips, hiding a smile. “The egg is Enoch’s Ghost, Father Abraham’s ovulum. Since he was not born here, it is the only companion he has.”

  “Too much information!” Ashley laid her palms on the sides of her head. “My brain is about to choke. I need to—” She jerked her head upward. “I sense something … a strange call. … Distressed. … Urgent.”

  Walter searched the sky. Flying low across the meadow, a dragon closed in on the field, its wings faltering as it descended.

  Ashley pointed. “Mother’s coming!”

  Thigocia beat her wings against the cool breeze, tossed back and forth as if unable to combat the crosswind. A blue cloak and white hair flowed behind her passenger, but the girl’s face was hidden. She was leaning her cheek against a spine, both arms clutching it loosely.

  “The Oracle, Acacia, is riding,” Angel said as Thigocia extended her claws for a landing, “but she appears to be hurt.”

  “Come on, Mother, you can do it!” Ashley angled her body, as if mentally guiding Thigocia to bank left to keep her white-haired passenger from falling. She landed heavily, her mangled wings beating hard as she tried to keep her balance. Acacia wobbled. With her eyes blinking wearily, she tipped over and tumbled down Thigocia’s side.

  Elam lunged and caught her in his arms. The sudden load made him stagger backward, but Walter and Ashley braced him before he could fall. Elam let Acacia down to her feet slowly, making sure she could stand on her own.

  Heaving for breath, Thigocia pulled in her wings and settled to the ground. Puffs of black smoke punctuated each labored word. “I found the girl … and her horse … surrounded by men with spears. I recognized her … caught her up … knocked the men out of the way. … The horse escaped … A man jabbed … a spear into me. My wings were insufficient to avoid it.” She rolled partway to the side, re
vealing a wide gash in her unprotected belly.

  “Mother!” Ashley bolted to her and laid her hand on the wound. As she scooted on her knees to brace her body under her mother’s belly, sparkling blood oozed between her fingers and dripped to the ground. “Can you tell how bad it is?”

  Thigocia wagged her head back and forth. “It must be bad. … I have no energy … to heal myself.” Her red pupils flashed, then faded. With a thump, her head dropped to the ground.

  “Walter!” Ashley yelled. “Light up the sword!”

  “Stand back, everyone!” Walter drew out Excalibur and lifted it high. He concentrated on the blade, sending the usual mental energy, but it merely glinted in the sunlight. Letting out a loud groan, he shook the sword. “It’s not working!”

  Ashley pushed the sides of the wound together, but blood continued to flow. “What can we do? My touch isn’t helping!”

  “Another energy source.” Walter pointed the sword at Acacia. “Can you whip up a fire like your sister can?”

  “When I am healthy.” Acacia gave him a weary nod. “I will try.”

  Ashley waved frantically. “Come over here and wrap your arms around me.”

  Taking wobbly steps, Acacia obeyed. She draped her body over Ashley’s kneeling form and reached both arms around her. “Like this?”

  “Yes. Now turn on your fire. Just a little at first. I don’t know how it’s going to affect me.”

  “A little might be all I can manage.” Acacia took in a slow breath, then let it out in a whisper. “Give me light.”

  Starting at her hands, a rippling fire spread along her arms, then across her body. The flames seemed weak, no more than a half inch high, but they soon covered Acacia’s dress and cloak, as well as her dirty face and legs.

  As the flames spread over Ashley’s clothes, she gasped. Her eyes opened wide. Heaving and exhaling in rapid bursts as the fire coated her body, her face tensed. Her hand pressed tighter against her mother’s wound. After a few seconds, a weak white light emanated from her eyes. She moved her hand out of the way and rotated her head to shift the light to the deep gash.