by Bryan Davis
This time Angel’s head shifted slowly back and forth. “No, Father Abraham. Enoch made no such request.”
The sky grew darker. The clouds boiled, and the wind shifted, gusting and swirling. Valiant turned his gaze toward the ground. The stiffening breeze tossed his curly dark hair and buffeted Candle’s dreadlocks. Listener lowered her spyglass again. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at her mother.
Billy eased up to Elam’s side and whispered, “I just wanted you to know. The dragons and I sense danger.”
Elam nodded. “Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
As Abraham’s pant legs flapped, he folded his arms, clutching his biceps. “Then do you, Angel, admit that you lied?”
She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her voice grew so strained, it barely survived the wind’s buffeting. “Yes, Father Abraham. … I lied.”
A rumble sounded from above. Dark clouds raced across the sky, washing the blue with sooty gray. Nickel-sized raindrops splattered here and there. One splashed on Abraham’s face, but he didn’t flinch as he raised his voice to compete with the howling wind. “Can you tell us if the lie was for the purpose of saving a life, or was your motivation selfish in nature?”
Angel’s chin trembled, but her voice stayed serene. “I could claim that I wanted to save my Adam’s life, but that, too, would be a lie, for he was already dead. I wanted to fill my aching arms with his presence and give a father back to my children. If these are selfish motivations, I leave that conclusion to your wise judgment.” She held her hand out toward him, her palm exposed. A crystalline egg lay there, motionless and dark. A raindrop splashed on its surface, but it had no effect. Angel’s companion seemed no more than a lifeless glass bauble. Her voice shook so hard, she could barely speak as she sobbed through her words. “But I know… the answer. I … I have no excuse. … My companion tried to tell me. … But I didn’t … I didn’t listen. Now … now when I try to talk to it … it won’t answer. I think … I think I killed it.”
A tear trickled down Abraham’s cheek, joining another raindrop as it dripped from his chin. His voice, too, trembled as if shaken by the wind. “Your confession has been heard by these witnesses, and we all know the penalty for your crime.” He reached down and picked up the stone he held earlier. “Since I cannot change the laws handed down to me by Enoch himself, I can only offer you the mercy of exile. Flint has said he will take you to his domain where you will have food and shelter. If you wish to go with him, you may do so now.”
Flint took a step toward Angel and held out his hand. Goliath gazed at her, his eyes a softer red than the flaring beacons he had flashed during battle.
Turning toward her children, Angel wrung her hands together, weeping. Candle just stared, his mouth half open. Listener let her spyglass droop to the ground. She sniffed and squeaked, “Mommy?”
Angel fell to her knees. Dipping her head, she spread out her arms and cried, “Father, I commit my body to your judgment. If my only options are stoning or going with this man into exile, then I choose to bear the weight of every stone you might hurl, for it is better to bleed and die by your righteous hands than to live in shame in the arms of a rebel.”
Abraham set his feet and lifted the stone higher. “Valiant,” he said. “You know what we have to do.”
“The children have served as witnesses to her crime,” Valiant replied, his eyes wide with alarm. “Will you have them also witness her execution?”
Abraham squeezed the stone tightly. “It is essential that they see how justice is carried out. No crime of this magnitude must ever go unpunished.”
Elam swallowed down a lump. He scanned the onlookers. Billy had turned his head, as had Clefspeare and Thigocia. Even Goliath looked away, though perhaps he did it to conceal a gleeful expression. Only Roxil maintained her stare. An irritated scowl twisted her scaly face.
The raindrops thickened. Lightning flashed. A loud clap of thunder shot across the sky. Candle and Listener covered their heads with their arms and shivered.
As Angel bowed lower, rain drenching her hair, a recent memory roared into Elam’s mind. Naamah had struck this exact pose when he held a stone over her, ready to strike her down at Dikaios’s command. She had deserved to die, yet he had offered her a hand of mercy.
Although Abraham’s arm stayed flexed, ready to throw, tears continued to stream down his face. “This is rain,” he cried out, “a weeping of the skies, the first in the thousands of years I have been a shepherd of this realm. It testifies against you, for you have brought the Nephilim into our land, and, as God sent flooding rain to Earth because of the evil they provoked, he is doing the same here.”
Valiant picked up a stone, though smaller than Abraham’s. He, too, wept as he drew his stone back. “Give the word, Father. I await your command.”
Flint stepped closer. He uttered no words, but his face spoke volumes. He was conflicted. Obviously he hoped for a wedge to drive between Abraham and his people, and this could well be the opportunity he was waiting for. Yet, a hint of sadness sagged his features.
Raising his stone higher, Abraham shouted, “Let mine be first, but strike well, for there is no need to make her suffer!”
Lightning ripped into the birthing garden. Arcs of electricity ran along the ground, making the bones glitter and the soil glow. A gunshot clap of thunder shook the earth, and, as the garden’s glow faded, rain poured, heavier than ever.
Abraham stared at the garden’s residual light, his arm lowering with the weight of his saturated sleeve. The light cast a rainbow over him, a short arc that seemed to drape him from shoulder to shoulder. At each end, a tiny light flashed inside an egg-shaped crystal at either side of his neck. Red pulsed from one, blue from the other, back and forth, as if arguing. Abraham’s glance shifted between them, yet so subtly, Elam almost didn’t notice.
Angel lifted her eyes and cried out, “Let the rain be a rain of stones upon my head, Father of Lights, for I am the guilty one! Do not bring a flood to purge the land! Do not punish my children for the sin that is mine alone!” She bent her body forward. Now only her head and back could be seen as sheets of rain drenched every inch of her sackcloth shroud.
As she waited, shivering violently, Abraham brushed his shoulder as if shooing away an annoying bug. Then, lowering his arm to his side, he shook his head. He dropped his stone and ripped off the bandage, exposing the palm that Flint’s arrow had pierced. A trickle of blood still oozed from the wound.
Elam swallowed again. Would his act of mercy with Naamah be replayed in front of him? Would he witness a living echo of what he had done in the Bridgelands? But why? How could his action, seen by only the accuser, the accused, and a horse for a witness send its ripples into another world?
Abraham touched Angel’s head. She gasped and jerked up. With rain plastering her hair across her eyes, she blinked at Abraham.
He extended his wounded hand. She took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. With his lips thinning out, he nodded toward Candle and Listener and spoke quietly. “Go to your children.”
When she pulled away, the companion in her grip fell out and landed in the wet grass, still lifeless. She snatched it up, pushed it into her pocket, and reached for her children. Candle and Listener leaped into her arms. Weeping harder than ever, she smothered their cheeks with kisses. “Oh, my children! Oh, my sweet children!”
Flint stomped toward Abraham. His boots splashed as he stopped in front of him, nearly nose to nose. “By what right or law can you show her this mercy? You showed me none!”
As the rain eased to a steady drizzle, Abraham looked him in the eye. “It is not my duty to explain our laws to you. You chose exile, so you have no right to know.”
“Are you saying that you would have forgiven me if I had chosen stoning?” His words sprayed into Abraham’s face.
“I am saying nothing of the sort. In fact, I have no intention of saying anything more to you at all.”
/> Flint raised a fist. Elam grabbed him by the collar and jerked him away. “You made your petition,” Elam said, drawing his sword and setting its point against Flint’s chest. “Now go back to your swamp.”
Goliath reared up, but Clefspeare shot a jet of fire that glanced off Goliath’s face. “If you dare to attack,” Clefspeare said, “we will destroy you.” Billy blew a stream of fire at Goliath’s feet, a punctuation mark on his father’s warning.
Stretching out a wing toward Flint, Goliath growled. “We have Roxil. Let us gather our winnings and return to our army.”
Flint grabbed the wing and hoisted himself up. As he climbed Goliath’s neck, he scowled but said no more.
While keeping an eye on Roxil, Goliath beat his wings. “Come,” he said. “Fulfill your vow.” He then leaped into the air and caught the damp breeze with his powerful red wings. Within a few seconds, he was circling overhead in a low, tight orbit.
Roxil glanced at Elam, then launched into the sky. After making a single circuit, she caught up with Goliath. As the larger dragon made another pass, he swooped low, caught Angel in his claws, and bent back toward the sky, shouting, “If you follow us, Clefspeare, I will kill her.”
With the back of her dress snagged in the dragon’s grip, Angel reached out her hands. “No! My children!” As she zoomed upward, the wind smothered her voice.
Clefspeare rose to his haunches, but Roxil tapped him on the head with her tail as she swept past. “Do not doubt Goliath’s word,” she called, swinging her head back toward him as she flew. “He has no fear of man or the Maker.” She lifted higher and followed in Goliath’s wake.
Candle and Listener just stared at the shrinking dragons, their mouths hanging open. Valiant withdrew his dagger and clutched it so tightly, the muscles in his forearm rippled. “Will the noble horse take me to Flint’s village?”
Dikaios trotted up to Valiant and nudged him with his nose. “I am ready, brave warrior.”
“Can you take us both?” Abraham asked. “She is my responsibility, and I know Adam’s Marsh, and Flint, better than Valiant does.”
Dikaios bowed his head. “For the lady and her children, I would carry a dragon into battle.”
“Take my sword,” Elam said as he removed his scabbard belt. “I will get another one.”
Pushing the sword away, Abraham embraced Elam and whispered, “We will go through the village first and tell the elders that you are in command, to respect you as they have respected me. If I do not return, then appoint Valiant as my successor, for I see this journey as one that will demand more than the blade of a sword can provide.”
As their embrace lingered, Elam felt Abraham’s trembling hands against his back. Elam whispered, “Do you intend to return, Father Abraham?”
“I think I have discerned the meaning of a prophecy, but there are still many questions. First, there is something I must do, and whether or not I return depends on the decisions of another.” Abraham drew back and looked Elam in the eye. The rain, now just a sprinkle, had matted down his hair and traced the few wrinkles in his face, making him look older than his earlier thirty-something appearance.
Abraham held out his hand and collected several raindrops in his bloodstained palm. “This rain signals a revolution, Elam. You and I have lived for thousands of years, and even though our faces have stayed the same, our eyes have witnessed countless changes over the centuries, yet likely nothing compares to what will soon take place. It is time to fully assume your role. I believe every pain you have suffered will be revealed as merely the blow of a chisel on the warrior God has sculpted through the ages.”
Elam grasped Abraham’s shoulder. “If I cannot fight at your side, I will fight in your name, with your wisdom as my guide, your courage as my inspiration, and your love as my motivation.”
“Thank you for your confidence in me,” Abraham said, “but there is something else I would like for you to do first.”
“What?” Elam tightened his grip. “Just name it.”
“Be sure to call my sons and daughters … my dragon sons and daughters. Tell them my world needs their help, for I don’t see how we can defeat Flint’s army with our current soldiers. I’m not sure how you can do this, but the volcano portal might be a way.”
“I will move mountains if I have to.” Elam let go of Abraham and mopped his brow with his sleeve. “Anything else?”
“Get some rest. Tell my people to rest, as well. I think Flint is waiting for me, and he will not soon attack our village.” Abraham turned to Candle and Listener, who stared at him with longing gazes, as if searching for a reason to hope. He stooped and gathered them into his embrace. Forcing a strong, vibrant voice, he spoke. “There is no need to fear, my children. The Father of Lights will always provide.”
Listener pulled away. “Will Mother come back today?”
“I cannot make that promise.” Arching his brow, he touched her playfully on the chin. “How do my little ones show their faith?”
She sniffed hard and puffed out her chest. “No tears, no fears.”
“That’s right.” He raised his hand and showed his palm to both children. Candle pressed his darker hand against Abraham’s, and Listener joined in with her slender pale hand over her brother’s. “Say it with me.”
The three spoke in singsong, Abraham’s deeper tones harmonizing with the two thinner voices, all three strengthening as they continued.
With jaws of steel we face our fears;
With eyes so bright they shed no tears.
The night will end, the sun will rise;
Our troubles fade when darkness dies.
He kissed each child on the forehead and limped to Dikaios. With help from Valiant, who had already mounted, and from Elam, Abraham swung his leg over the horse’s back and settled in. Then, without another word, the two rode Dikaios toward the village.
Smiling at the children, Elam clapped his hands. “Do you want to help your mother?”
Candle’s eyes widened. “Yes! How?”
Giving Candle a wink, Elam turned to Billy. “Billy Bannister! Would you like to go on an important journey?”
Billy hurried to Elam’s side. “You name it!”
Refocusing on Candle, Elam creased his brow. “Father Abraham mentioned a volcano called Mount Elijah. Do you know where it is?”
Candle nodded vigorously. “In the highlands. It’s pretty far, but my father took me there on a hunting trip. I could find it again.”
“Billy,” Elam said, patting him on the back, “there’s supposed to be a portal within this volcano’s cone. Acacia will know for sure, so I would like you to take Acacia and let Candle guide you there. Abraham said the portal leads to a dangerous place, but I have an idea that we might be able to use it to recruit a few more dragons into our army. If Acacia can get through safely, have her try to call for the former dragons. Tell them the real Arramos calls for them to join him in battle. I’d send a dragon with you, but with two healthy ones in the enemy camp and only one healthy one here, I can’t afford to lose that firepower … or icepower from the local ones.”
“How about Walter? He could go with us. We make a great team.”
“I saw that. I was impressed.” Elam suppressed a grin. Had Billy even noticed that his old buddy Walter had become a self-chosen protector of all things related to Ashley Stalworth? It wouldn’t be a good idea to ask Walter to go and make the poor guy agonize over the decision. “No,” Elam said. “I really need him here. He and Ashley make a good team, too, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that.” Billy set a hand on Candle’s shoulder. “It’s all good. We can do it without him.”
Candle rubbed Billy’s hand with his cheek. “I will take us to my village first and make supply packs.”
“I should go, too,” Listener said. “I can see things through my spyglass that no one else can. Maybe I could see through the portal.”
Candle reached for her hand. “May I take her with us? We�
��ve been on long journeys in the highlands before.”
“I don’t see why not,” Elam said. “With an army of giants breathing down our necks, she’d probably be safer with you out on the trail than here. But take enough food and water, just in case something happens and you’re gone longer than you expect.”
Listener bounced on her toes. “Let’s take ginger sticks! And blister beans! And berry bread!”
“Just bread and water,” Candle said. “It’s less than a half day’s journey each way, but if something happens, there are enough berries and nuts on the trail to last a long time.”
Billy cocked his head toward the village. “We could fly in our airplane. I just need a long, flat place to land.”
“Through the air?” A wide grin spread across Candle’s face. “I would love it, but I don’t think I could see the trail markers from the sky, especially the ones deep in the woods.”
“Turn left at Wolf Hollow,” Listener chimed in. “Follow Singer’s Creek upstream until it bends to the right. Then take the crooked trail that goes around—”
“I get the picture,” Billy said, laughing. “We’ll walk.”
After saying good-bye to his father, Billy set out with Candle and Listener to gather Acacia and their supplies. Now only Elam, Clefspeare, and Thigocia remained at the threshold to the birthing garden.
Clefspeare’s ears twitched as he scanned the garden. “Something is amiss.”
Elam stood at his side and surveyed the area. Many healthy plants remained, though several damaged ones had been propped up by stakes and tied in place, victims of the giants’ trampling feet. In the center, where the staircase had landed, a large section was still void of life except for the open pod from which Roxil likely had experienced her rebirth. Crushed and charred bones lay around the pod as did strips of tarlike goo that had trapped Angel at the foot of the staircase.
Thigocia’s ears mimicked Clefspeare’s, a second pair of miniature satellite receivers tracking an unseen source. “I believe you are sensing something far beyond this realm. If this garden gave new life to Goliath and Roxil, then it is a doorway for both good and evil.”