by Bryan Davis
“Those are questions I have been asking myself, but I cannot answer them. That’s why I suggested sleeping far apart. While you sleep, I will stay awake with my rifle ready. We don’t know which entry he will use when he returns. If he attacks you, I can shoot him. If he attacks me, I will scream, and you will be able to wake up before he can get to you.”
“No. Let me stay awake while you sleep. I’m a trained soldier, and—”
“And I’m not?”
“Right. I’m sorry. I just—”
“Want to protect me. I know. And I like that.” She kissed his cheek. “You sleep. He will not be able to sneak up on me. I can hear him walking on the ice even from here.”
“I’ll try, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”
“You will. Our nap wasn’t nearly long enough to counter what you endured in the abyss.” She tapped his jaw twice. The transmitter’s tingle ceased. “That should help. Don’t worry. I’ll wake you up soon.”
“Real soon.” Matt looked toward the gap at the end of the wall. “Why do you think he won’t follow the blood trail?”
“The true Valiant would follow it, and that would be fine. If Karrick or Grackle is bleeding, Valiant would help him. If a corrupt Valiant intends to harm us, I don’t think he will venture far since he doesn’t know how long we will sleep.”
“I can’t argue with that, but if a dragon is really hurt, maybe you and I should look for him.”
“We can. After we see what Valiant will do.” She released his hand, rose, and backed away, again glancing at the exit gap. When she returned to her spot on the other side of the fire, she resumed her sleeping position and closed her eyes.
Matt closed his as well, then opened them a slit again. The fire blazed. In the growing darkness, reflected flames danced on the walls. At the compass, the flickering images pointed in the northerly directions—first northwest, then northeast, then due north, then all three at once. They looked like bouncing needles, as if a nearby magnet had skewed the compass readings.
Hot air streamed into his eyes. He closed them to allow moisture to return. In his mind, a negative image of the compass remained, pulsing as the needle shifted from direction to direction. After two revolutions, it stopped on North and stayed there. Soon, consciousness faded away.
* * *
As Grackle descended, Bonnie looked down. Another collection of frozen huts breezed by, probably Founder’s Village. Ahead, a hulking form stood in the midst of dark soil, a huge silhouette framed by a nearby campfire. She leaned to get a better look. That had to be the birthing garden. Could Yereq have risen from the dead?
The moment Grackle landed at the edge of the garden, Bonnie beat her wings, lifted Marilyn, and flew her down. “I think that might be Yereq!” As soon as her feet touched the ground, she broke into a wing-aided sprint. “Yereq! Is that you?”
The shadowy figure held up a hand. “No. I am Mendallah.”
Her heart sinking, Bonnie slowed and walked the rest of the way. As she drew near, Mendallah’s feminine form and long hair became obvious in the firelight. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be someone I knew.”
“Your mistake is understandable.” Mendallah picked up a burning stick and held it close to a small birthing plant. Orange light glimmered on one of the praying leaves. “I have heard about Yereq, and I am honored that you would assume that I am that heroic man.” She chuckled. “Even though I am a woman.”
“Sorry again. It’s getting pretty dark.” Bonnie extended her hand. “I’m Bonnie Bannister.”
Mendallah wrapped her huge hand around Bonnie’s and shook it. “I deduced that. Not many women have dragon wings. They are lovely to behold.”
“Thank you.” Bonnie knelt and touched one of the leaves. “This plant is still young. It won’t release the baby for a few weeks.”
“They grow quickly now. It was little more than a sprout when we found it. I am watching it while Zohar cares for the babies who were born here recently. He is a male Oracle of Fire and is in one of the huts.” She waved the burning stick across the garden. “He melted the ice to expose the plants, but we found only two infant-bearing plants besides this one. Another transformed into a human who was much older than infancy. He left quickly to follow Matt and Listener.”
Bonnie held her breath. “Matt? My son?”
“Yes. Matt Bannister. He is—”
“Bonnie?” Marilyn called as she tiptoed across the garden. “Is it really Yereq?”
“No, but Matt and Listener were here!” Bonnie looked at Mendallah. “And what about Lauren, my daughter? Was Matt carrying her?”
Mendallah shook her head. “The two were alone. They made no mention of Lauren.”
“None at all? Matt said nothing about resurrecting his sister from the dead?”
“I apologize for my ignorance. I was also recently resurrected from this soil, so my knowledge is limited to the past few hours and the stories I have been told. I am sure Zohar knows more. I can go to him and—”
“No.” Bonnie waved a hand. “I can’t do anything about it now anyway. We have work to do.”
After Bonnie introduced Marilyn and Mendallah and provided a summary of what they needed to do, the giantess told her own story in brief, how she and Zohar were rescued by Joran, stayed in an ovulum for years, somehow died, and then resurrected. She also gave more details about the person who resurrected wearing Second Eden garb and followed Matt and Listener.
When Mendallah finished, Marilyn set the pot on the ground and patted the top of the plant’s head. “This is my husband, Jared, soon to be Clefspeare.”
Bonnie leaned closer. The firelight illuminated a tiny mouth at the front of the plant’s head. Now about six inches tall, its omicron stage had come, but at this rate it would take days or weeks for it to grow into its omega stage, a full-grown dragon.
“Mendallah,” Marilyn said, “do you know if any particular place in the garden is more fertile than others?”
“I sprouted not far from here, and it took less than a minute for me to grow. If the soil can produce someone as big as I am, perhaps it can feed a dragon’s growth.”
Marilyn picked up the pot. “Show me.”
Mendallah led them to a place near the edge of the garden, only steps from where Grackle waited, now barely visible in the twilight. She knelt again and patted a disturbed spot in the soil. “Here.”
Grackle blew a sharp whistle. Bonnie looked his way. “Is someone coming?”
He bobbed his head and whistled several short spurts.
“I doubt that he detects Zohar,” Mendallah said. “He would not leave infants unattended, nor would he bring them out into the cold.”
They all stared into the darkness beyond Grackle. A chilly breeze blew past. Ice crunched, but not with the cadence of footsteps, more likely trees or huts shedding the storm’s debris.
“I could use Billy’s danger sense right now.” Bonnie turned to Marilyn. “We’d better hurry.”
Marilyn set the pot down and pushed a finger into the soil. “It’s soft enough, but it’s so cold.”
“I will bring heat.” Mendallah rose and lumbered toward the campfire.
Bonnie stared into the darkness once again. Ice crunched somewhere to the left, then far to the right. A smart stalker would throw chunks this way and that and then step at the same moment they hit the ground. Someone was out there, probably someone with evil intent.
She crouched next to Marilyn and took her hand. “Mom, are you nervous at all?”
“Not too much. More anxious than nervous.” Marilyn petted Clefspeare’s leaflets. “I just want to get this over with. The delays are frustrating.”
“I know what you mean. Waiting is the worst, especially when we’re not sure what we’re waiting for.” A new crackling sound erupted from somewhere close. Bonnie resisted a shudder. “We just have to stay strong. We’ll be all right.”
“I know.” Marilyn compressed Bo
nnie’s hand. “Keep reminding me.”
“And don’t forget …” Bonnie touched Excalibur’s hilt at her belt. “We have some pretty good firepower.”
Mendallah returned with an armful of wood and a burning stick. She let the wood tumble to the ground a few steps away and set the firebrand to it. Within a few seconds, a new fire illuminated this section of the garden.
As the light expanded to the garden’s edge, a small outline gleamed on the soil. Bonnie shuffled closer. It looked like a footprint—white and glowing. She touched it with a finger and traced the outer edge. “How could someone leave a footprint like this?”
Marilyn examined the print. “It’s narrow. Probably a woman’s. Too small to be Mendallah’s.” She ran a finger over the white surface. “It’s warm. Much warmer than the rest of the soil.”
“Maybe something is heating it from underneath,” Bonnie said.
Marilyn dug through the print and began excavating a small area. After a few seconds, she stopped. “I found …” She withdrew a short white object. “A bone?”
Bonnie took the bone and drew it close. Could it be? Makaidos’s finger? “Mom, Sapphira used the bones of Makaidos as a catalyst to resurrect him from the garden. I think this is one of his. I got a good look at it when he resurrected.”
Marilyn took it back. “You mean it was left here in the garden?”
“As far as I know. I don’t remember anyone picking it up.”
“Then we’ll bury it again and plant Jared here. Our fire is close enough, I think.” Marilyn dropped the bone into the hole. She turned the pot over and allowed the plant and the dirt to slide out. Her stare riveted on the task, she meticulously cleared the dirt away from the spindly roots, then lowered them into the hole. Once the plant settled, she used the edge of her hand to slide garden soil around the roots. After packing the soil down to make the plant stand upright, she straightened, still on her knees.
“When we used the bones in the garden,” Bonnie said, “Sapphira warmed them with her flames.”
Marilyn stroked the plant’s stalk upward as if urging it to grow. “Should we call Zohar?”
“If the fire we have doesn’t work, then yes.”
Marilyn sat fully. “So we wait.”
“Yes, we wait.” Bonnie sat and crossed her legs. “And watch. With Excalibur and Mendallah around, I have a feeling that Arramos will attack with something far more sinister than brute force.”
Marilyn slid closer to her. “True. I’m a brute force kind of person myself, but in all the chaos back at the football field, I lost the gun I was using.”
“While you wait here,” Mendallah said, “I will watch the other plant. Call me if I am needed.”
Bonnie nodded. “Sure thing, Mendallah. Thank you.”
When the giantess had walked out of sight, Marilyn picked up the firebrand and set it closer to the plant, though not close enough to risk burning it. “I want to see every change while Jared goes through the stages. He’s at omicron. Upsilon is next. Mardon said that’s when they uproot the spawn and set it in a growth chamber, but he thinks if the growth is fast enough, he will uproot himself and become a full omega without a chamber.”
“Since it took Mendallah less than a minute to grow, shouldn’t we be seeing growth in Clefspeare by now?”
“Maybe.” Marilyn folded her hands in her lap. “Who knows? Maybe dragons are different.”
“For once it would be good to see Mardon. We never figured out the extra information he’s holding back.”
“I hate to say this, but I agree. He’s had time to get here, even on foot.”
Bonnie heaved a sigh. Her breath streamed out in a thin white vapor. The air seemed colder, but the fire would keep them from freezing. If not, she could wrap herself and Marilyn in her wings. “Are you cold?”
“I’m fine.” She caressed one of the plant’s leaflets. “How’s your song doing?”
“Tired. Flat. Barely a hum. Singing for Carly helped, but thinking about her being gone really hurts.”
Marilyn punched the air with a fist. “Then it’s a good time to rev it up.”
“Amazing Grace again?”
Marilyn shook her head. “Let’s shift gears.”
“Okay. What?”
“I think you can guess.”
“Psalm one-thirty-nine?”
Marilyn nodded. “But not the condensed version. I need the original tonight. Every word of it.”
“Will you sing it with me?”
“Of course. Maybe I’ll even add a descant here and there.”
“That’s the spirit.” Bonnie cleared her throat and began. “Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?”
Marilyn joined in on the next phrase, and they sang together.
“If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there. If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.” Bonnie gave her wings a gentle flap. “If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.”
While Marilyn sang a lovely descant, Bonnie picked up the firebrand, lifted it high, and continued. “If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me, even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day.”
They clasped hands and finished together, slowing the melody and stretching out the final words. “The darkness and the light are both alike to thee.”
CHAPTER 20
DREAM ORACLES
“Now look again.” Sir Barlow pointed at the ovulum. “Matt and Listener have bedded down.”
Lauren peered into the red interior and focused on the tiny viewing screen near the center. Matt lay on the ground several steps from a bonfire. On the opposite side of the fire, Listener had curled on her side with her eyes closed. Walls surrounded the area, though dim light shining from above indicated that this chamber lacked a ceiling.
Sir Barlow drew the ovulum back. “If Lauren could tell them of our need for Excalibur, they could find it for us and bring it here.”
“It would certainly come in handy,” Merlin said as he held his staff with both hands, his eyes wary as he focused on the stalagmites. “We could kill those spiders easily if they ever show their ugly little heads.”
“What do you think they’re waiting for?” Lauren asked.
“For us to waver in our diligence.” Merlin leaned against his staff. “But back to finding Excalibur. Our earlier question remains. If Lauren were to enter the dream realm, would either Matt or Listener be there?”
“Matt is my twin,” Lauren said. “Maybe we both inherited my mother’s gift.”
“An intriguing proposal.” Merlin pushed against his staff and straightened. “It is worth an attempt. We have no other solution to employ. Yet, you have not proven that your dreaming gift is functional here. You lost your other powers.”
“True, but I have to try.” Lauren picked up the yoke, hugged it close to her chest, and lay on her side. The cold floor knifed through her shirt and raised a shiver. The warm yoke helped but not much. “This won’t be easy.”
“Here.” Merlin shed his cloak and spread it on the floor. “It is lined with an excellent insulator.”
“Thank you.” She shifted over to the cloak and pulled the edges around her body until it wrapped her in a tight cocoon. “That’s much better.”
The moment she closed her eyes, something tapped her shoulder. “Lauren?”
She opened her eyes. “Yes?”
Merlin knelt close and whispered, “Do you not pray before you go to sleep? The psalmist said, ‘I will lay me down in peace and sleep, for thou, Lord, makes me dwell in safety.’”
“Um … sure.” Heat surged into her ears. “I just—”
“Do not be ashamed, daughter of the light. Very few have battled the storms you have faced.”
“That’s no excuse. I’ll pray.”
Merlin patted her shoulder. “If you wish, I will pray for you. I am a bard, and I will be the psalmist for your slumber. First I will relate a story, and then I will shift to a prayer.”
Memories flooded Lauren’s mind—her home in Nashville, her foster mother’s gentle kisses, and sweet lullabies. She smiled. “You’ll sing me to sleep?”
“It will be my pleasure, and perhaps our good knight will hum along. The melody is quite easy.”
Sir Barlow cleared his throat. “I will certainly try. I have been told that my baritone harmonies are soothing to sleeping babes.”
“Excellent.” Merlin clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now close your eyes, Lauren, and ponder the words. Absorb them. Let the melody carry you away to that realm of alternate reality as you call to Matt. The urgency is great, but you must relax and trust the one who gave you this oracle’s gift.”
Lauren closed her eyes and again pulled the cloak tight against her body. Merlin began humming at a high register, a simple tune that sounded like Brahms’ Lullaby. Sir Barlow joined in with a hum of his own, lower and rougher, but it blended beautifully.
Merlin added words to match the melody.
Awake at night, I search my room;
Awash in tears, I sense the gloom.
The stroke of twelve, the devil’s hour,
The bells declare Satanic power.
A chime for darkness, two for fears,
Three for tyrants’ tortured years;
The tones recount the hurts, the lies,
The tears of grief from captive eyes.
The twelfth leaves echoes strewn about,
Like shattered glass reflecting doubt.
I listen while the echoes fade,
And silence starts a new charade.
Lauren floated on a dark cloud that drifted low above a stretch of pavement. In the light of a hazy moon a platoon of soldiers in dark uniforms herded a hundred or more children into a line of cargo planes. One little girl tripped and fell. As she cried, a soldier kicked her in the stomach, then jerked her up by the hair and threw her back into the crowd. An older boy caught the girl and helped her walk into the rear compartment of the lead airplane. As they climbed in, the boy’s angry scowl drilled into the brutal soldier.
