by Bryan Davis
Thigocia thumped her tail and scowled. “As it should be! I would prefer to marry my best friend over some sniveling suitor who fancies flying over romantic vistas. Give me a male like you who would rather fight in a bloody battle any day!”
Makaidos snorted. “Marrying you would be like marrying my little sister!”
Thigocia lifted her head and stared at Makaidos eye to eye, her voice pitching up. “My father married his sister, and I am no crybaby youngling. When we blasted that Watcher in the Valley of ”
Noah laughed so hard he could barely speak. “That’s enough!” He wiped a tear from his eye and draped an arm over each dragon’s neck, grinning like a proud father. “There is no other reasonable option. The existence of the dragon race depends on it. You are to be wed immediately.”
A flicker of light caught Makaidos’s eye. Noah’s son Ham walked by the dragons’ stall with the late-arriving raven perched on his shoulder. A twinge of pain pinched Makaidos’s gut. He winced at the danger signal. Was it real this time?
Months on the ark had dulled his senses. He had no gems for building a bed to produce the conic shroud of light dragons needed to regain their strength. Such a regeneracy dome was crucial for a dragon’s health, as his father had taught the day they first built a dome together. “Some gems give us strength,” Arramos had said, extending a single red stone in his open claws, “but this one gives us identity. It represents your vision, your passion, and your sacrifice, and one day, it will be a door to freedom. Take this rubellite and wear it always. It is the key to our everlasting union as father and son.”
Makaidos lowered his head and flashed his eyebeams at his underbelly. Pressed deep into a gap between his scales, a small red gem reflected his beams, his rubellite, a protective shield placed at his most vulnerable point. Even after all his battles, even after all those long days and nights on the ark, the rubellite stayed with him, reminding him of his father’s gift to all his progeny. Thigocia, of course, had one, too. All the dragons of old would find a rubellite for each son or daughter, a dragon symbol for all generations.
He raised his head again, and a dull pain throbbed from ear to ear. With only the glow of a dozen lanterns swinging from the rafters, darkness had sapped him dry. The rain had eased several months ago, so he had hoped for a quick end to the tedious sea voyage, but it was not to be. With the ark’s lower hull wedged in the peaks of an underwater mountain range, they had to withstand the constant rocking of waves splashing against the sides.
Makaidos kept his eye on Ham as he disappeared down the ladder toward the second level. It hadn’t taken long to learn that Ham’s brothers considered him a scoundrel. He performed his chores adequately, but there was something not quite right about him. Even as he obeyed Noah, his eyes seemed to defy every word.
Makaidos rose slowly to his feet, hoping not to awaken Thigocia. She lay near the back of the stall on a deep bed of clean straw, her head tucked under a wing. Since he kept his own pile of straw near the front, he was able to slip through the open door without a sound.
From the corridor, he glanced back at her. Thigocia’s wing had moved, uncovering her noble brow and graceful snout. Makaidos couldn’t help but stare. He had never really noticed before how beautiful she was. She had been a playmate as a youngling and a fellow warrior in recent years, but he had never noticed anything beyond her ability to spin a one-eighty at top speed or to scorch a Naphil with one breath. Now she looked. . well. . lovely. His gaze wandered to the space between her bed of straw and his own. He sighed quietly and followed Ham’s path down the corridor.
The ark’s frame croaked a dirge of grunts, creaks, and moans from the weakened planks, masking Makaidos’s heavy steps. He passed the sleeping human families, Noah and his wife hand in hand on a pile of straw, Japheth and his wife in a smaller stall next to his father’s, then Ham’s wife sleeping next to a swaddled newborn baby Canaan, they had named him. The last stall, Shem’s, was empty. It was his turn to patrol the animal decks, and his wife always went with him. But why would Ham be up so early in the morning when he didn’t have to be?
When Makaidos reached the ladder that led to the lower level, he peered down, stretching his neck as far as he could. Below, a flickering lantern revealed Ham sitting on the floor next to a birdcage. Shem and his wife were nowhere in sight, probably on the lowest deck, the level for large mammals and non-sentient reptiles.
As the raven on Ham’s shoulder pecked at a heap of seeds in his palm, he spoke to it in a low tone. “So what is your plan?”
The raven croaked into Ham’s ear, but too quietly for Makaidos to distinguish any words.
“The air vents are too small for you to escape,” Ham said. “Even after the flood subsides, Father probably won’t let any birds go until he is sure they are healthy and mating.”
Again, the raven answered in an indecipherable voice.
“Yes,” Ham replied. “My father has already spoken about that. We will need a land scout soon.”
The bird spoke again, this time loud enough for Makaidos to hear its squawking words. “Send me.”
Ham shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? Since we have two other ravens, he’ll think you’re expendable.”
Makaidos pulled his head back through the door. Although his sense of danger pinched his nerves again, the conversation between Ham and the raven seemed innocent enough. He had heard birds talk before, even ravens, and this one seemed to be trying to figure out how to escape. Who could blame it for wanting to go free? Still, something felt wrong. . very wrong. Weren’t ravens simply mimics rather than reasoning creatures? He would have to keep an eye on this suspicious crow.
The raven flew up through the hatch and into the rafters, carrying a dried grape in its beak. It landed on a high beam and set the grape next to another one. As Makaidos pondered the bird’s strange behavior, he shuffled back to his stall and found Thigocia awake.
“Patrolling?” she asked, stretching her legs and wings.
Makaidos stayed out in the corridor and spoke softly. “It is difficult to sleep when my mind replays my father’s death.”
Thigocia stepped to the stall’s entry and reached her wing over Makaidos’s neck. “I apologize for what I said about your sister.”
“My sister? What did you say about her?”
“I implied that she was a crybaby. I had forgotten that she would also die in the flood.”
Makaidos cocked his head and let his voice grow a bit louder. “You said that months ago. Why do you bring it up now?”
Thigocia lowered her gaze to the floor. “I was unable to think of any other reason you might be angry with me.”
“I am not angry with you! I told you I do not know why I could not pass through the veil.”
“Shhh!” Thigocia warned. “The humans are sleeping.”
“I was sleeping!” Noah stepped out of his quarters and stretched his arms. “Is there a problem?”
Makaidos grimaced. “Pardon me, Master Noah. I apologize for my outburst.”
Noah walked slowly toward them, balancing against the rocking boat. “Think nothing of it, my friend. After so many months in close quarters, we are all on edge.”
“Not just on edge. Thigocia and I are weak from lack of light. When we were adrift, we could absorb the rays that came in through the window, but now we are wedged at an angle that does not allow the sun to enter. The lanterns and vents in the rafters help, but we cannot survive much longer without direct sunlight.”
Sympathy creased Noah’s brow. “The doors are sealed. By God’s command I cannot open ”
“Yes, Master Noah. I know. I did not mean my explanation to be interpreted as a complaint against you.”
Ham climbed up from the lower deck. “Father,” he said, bowing his head as he approached. “I overheard your conversation. May I suggest something?”
Makaidos felt a twinge of warning again. This was the most respect Ham had shown his father the entire journey.
Noah retur
ned a head nod. “Certainly.”
“Since mountaintops are visible in the distance, you suggested last week that there might be land close by in one of the directions we can’t see. Why not send out a bird to test that theory. If it comes back, there is likely no place to land.”
“I have thought of that.” Noah pressed a finger to his cheek. “We have very few birds to spare, but I was thinking we could release one of the doves we brought for sacrifice.”
Ham shook his head. “No need. We can send my raven out. She’s expendable, and she can let us know if there is dry land nearby.”
Noah laughed. “I heard that raven grumbling about grapes the other day. I thought I was finally losing my mind.”
Ham pointed at the black bird as it perched in the rafters. “I’ve been talking to her for months, and she’s learned quite a few words, so I trained her to fetch things, like crickets for the snakes or raisins for the monkeys. She could find something on land and bring it to us.”
Makaidos gazed into Ham’s eyes, searching for a hint of a lie. He had seen him talking to the raven, so that part was true enough, but the raven spoke back to him. Would Ham mention that, too?
Noah stroked his chin. “But there will be no crickets or raisins to find. Everything will be dead and washed away.”
“True, but before the grapes dried out, I taught her the difference between the purple ones and the green ones. I’ll just ask her to bring us something green. Maybe new seedlings have sprouted by now.”
“An interesting theory,” Noah said. “I think it’s worth a try. We’re all anxious to get our feet back on solid ground.” He shuffled into the anteroom, a noticeable stagger in his step. He opened the shutters, allowing a stiff breeze to sweep through the cabin.
Ham whistled toward the rafters, and the raven fluttered down to his shoulder. “Go to my father,” Ham said. He then whispered something in the bird’s ear.
Makaidos snorted to himself. That whispering was more than words of comfort. Something devious was going on.
With two flaps of its ebony wings, the raven jumped to Noah’s shoulder, its feathers ruffling in the wind. Ham hustled down the ladder toward the second level. “I’ll be right back,” he called.
“What’s going on?” Japheth stepped into the corridor, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you opening the window so early?”
Noah nodded at the raven on his shoulder. “An experiment, of sorts.”
“Ham’s raven? What could it ”
“Here it is!” Ham said, climbing back to the top level. He held a green anole in his hand and showed it to the raven. “Green,” he said, stroking the lizard’s skin. “Bring me something green.”
Noah turned his shoulder toward the window, and the raven leaped for the exit, its wings beating against the breeze. Noah left the window open and limped toward his quarters, his back bent. “I will pray with Emzara for the raven. Perhaps this long journey will end soon.”
Makaidos lurched toward the window and extended his neck through the opening as far as he could. The ark listed to one side, clearly stuck on something beneath the white-capped waves that constantly punished the hull. To his left and only several feet below his level, the main deck’s blistered planks led away from Adam’s door.
From his vantage point, the deck seemed to be an observation platform where someone standing at the parapet could look out over the dark blue sea. A few distant mountaintops peeked through the endless expanse of water, too far away for any possibility of reaching them against both wind and waves. The only hope lay on the other side of the ark, but that view was out of reach, even for a long-necked dragon.
Makaidos opened his eyes wide and drank in the sun’s rays. Pure luxury! His neck scales cried out for joy, but even this splendor was nothing more than a tease. He and Thigocia needed much more energy, a recharge that only a full sunbath could bring, and the rays at this angle, not quite enough to sneak into the window, provided only a glancing exposure.
He pulled his head back inside. Since the bird was nowhere in sight, there was no use keeping watch. Even if Ham’s idea could work, the presence of a dragon in the window would surely frighten the raven away.
Makaidos stared into the ark’s dim interior, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. His vision flashed on to compensate for the change, and the two dim beams locked onto Ham’s chest as he stood next to Japheth. Both men were watching the window.
Ham swept his hand across the pair of red dots on his tunic, trying to brush them away as if they were bothersome flies. When the dots stayed put, he glanced at Makaidos, a frown taking shape on his face. Without uttering a word, he climbed down the ladder and disappeared through the hole.
Chapter 4
The Raven’s Plot
Something sharp tugged Naamah’s ear. She slapped at it, making it stop for a moment, but when the tugging persisted, she opened her eyes. Shadows waltzed on her bedding, keeping time with the ark’s rhythmic shifts, but little else moved in her quiet sleeping quarters. A flickering lantern hanging from a distant rafter cast a glow around a dark shape as it swayed back and forth, a bird-like phantom perched on the straw next to her head.
“Lilith?” Naamah whispered.
“Take care to call me Morgan now,” the raven croaked softly. “Dawn is approaching, and the time for our plan is upon us. Are the seeds of Eden safe?”
“Yes. They’re hidden in my bed.”
“Good. You will be able to get them later. For now, take the grapes I put in your hand and follow me.”
Naamah closed her fingers around a handful of dried grapes, checked the sleeping infant at her side, and tiptoed into the dim corridor. The raven landed on her shoulder. “Follow the moonlight to the window.”
Naamah obeyed, timing her barefooted steps to match the squeaks of the rocking ark. When she reached the window, the fresh breeze jolted her fully awake. Blinking her eyes, she angled her head toward Morgan. “What now?”
“It is time for you to take the next step.”
“The next step? I already had a baby. Haven’t I taken enough steps?”
“Don’t worry. Having the baby was the most difficult part of your journey.”
“You’re telling me! He was so big, I thought I was having a whale!”
“Yes, I expected him to be larger than most. The potion I gave you saw to that. I’m sure you felt the changes it made inside you.”
“You know how small I am. I could have died having a baby that big.”
“I watched over you. If you had been in danger of dying, I would have taken this step immediately.”
Naamah set her fists on her hips. “What is this step?”
Morgan fluttered to the wooden floor. “To make you immortal.” The raven slowly grew, stretching into a misshapen giant of a bird. Its wings thinned into human arms, and its pointed beak shrank into Morgan’s angular nose. Seconds later, Naamah’s sister stood in the raven’s place, her silky black dress flowing in the breeze.
“You’re. .” Naamah caressed Morgan’s face, but it seemed ghostly physical in a way, but not quite real. Her cheeks were sunken and sallow, more like a cadaver’s than those of the beautiful woman who once answered to Lilith. “Are you human?” Naamah asked.
Morgan took Naamah’s hand. “Not exactly. You might call me a wraith. My body died in the flood, but my spirit lives on in this world on borrowed time. I cannot last much longer without going to a new home my lord has prepared for me. There, I will be restored and live forever.”
Naamah took a step back on her trembling legs. “And now you want me to be a wraith like you?”
“You will be young and beautiful.” Morgan caressed Naamah’s cheek with her yellowed, bony fingers. “When you see what I have in store for us, you will jump at the chance.”
Naamah resisted the urge to grimace at Morgan’s ghostly touch. “Jump at the chance? Why?”
“Well, let’s just say you can keep your charming ways, stay beautiful forever, and you won’t have to
worry about having any more babies.”
Though Naamah tried not to smile, her lips curved upward. “So what do I have to do to become immortal?”
“You have to die.”
“Die?” Naamah’s voice pitched higher. “But immortal means ”
“Silence!” Morgan glanced toward the sleeping quarters and lowered her voice to the softest whisper. “The potion you drank will restore you, then we can fly to our new home and become like goddesses.”
“Goddesses?” Naamah’s fear began to melt away. “Are you sure?”
Morgan spread out her arms. “I drowned in the flood, dead as any other lost soul in the wake of Elohim’s wrath, and yet I stand here before you now. I assure you that my original beauty will be restored soon, perhaps enhanced with even more allure, as will yours.”
“What do I do?”
Morgan nodded toward the ark’s window. “You are small enough to climb through and jump. When you drown in the flood, you will be transformed into a flying creature. Then, look for me in my raven form and follow me.”
This time, Naamah couldn’t hold back her grimace. “I have to drown? That sounds painful.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing.” Morgan laid her hands on Naamah’s cheeks again and purred a melody.
To Satan we will bring
The seeds to sow and sing.
We’ll water plant and root,
Then pluck the giant fruit.
Your waking mind abates;
The sleep of death awaits.
Rebirth on wings is near;
Your sleep will cast out fear.
Releasing Naamah’s cheeks, Morgan blew softly into her eyes. Her breath was cold and dry, instantly evaporating all moisture. Naamah’s eyelids fluttered. “I’m so sleepy,” she said, yawning.
Morgan interlaced her fingers and set her hands in a cradle near the window. “Then hurry. I’ll boost you before you fall asleep.”
Naamah yawned again, set her foot in Morgan’s hands, and climbed into the window. As she straddled the sill, she looked down from the dizzying height, her mind swimming as the ark rocked back and forth on white-capped waves. She grasped the window frame with both hands and cried out, “The water’s so far down, I can barely see it. Can’t we wait until morning?”
