Eye of the Oracle oof-1

by Bryan Davis

  The king averted his eyes. “You may assume.”

  “Then I will meet you in the throne room for this council.” Merlin sighed and shook his head. “May God help us all.”

  As the king and Palin departed, Merlin grasped the tallest spine on Clefspeare’s neck. “I fear that this war against Goliath will not stop at the boundary of his influence.”

  “Nor at the boundary of his species,” Clefspeare replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  A low growl created a tremor across the dragon’s scales. “I believe Devin has more on his mind than the conquest of dragons, but time will tell.”

  Sapphira walked to the edge of the pulsating red screen and patted her dress with her palms. “Fire? What are you talking about?”

  Makaidos closed in on the screen from the opposite side. “When we view you through the light, it appears that you are aflame from head to toe. Do we appear the same way?”

  “No,” Sapphira replied. “You and Roxil look like dragons, and Elam and Paili are human, but no one is on fire.”

  Makaidos stepped to Sapphira’s side of the screen and looked through it. “Amazing! Elam is taller and more muscular, while Paili is smaller and emaciated.”

  Sapphira lowered herself to her knees and touched the Ovulum. It was no longer hot. Carefully lifting it, she carried it and the entire screen in her palm. The half oval expanded below her hand into a full ellipse, exactly as long as Sapphira was tall and more than twice as wide as her narrow frame. As she gazed through it, dozens of new details appeared. The fountain gushed; the statues stood erect, polished with a pristine shine; and the brick kilns puffed gray smoke from iron stacks on top. Yet, no one attended the ovens or strolled the immaculate streets.

  “I’m going to try something.” Sapphira walked slowly back toward the portal near the broken fountain. The screen of light added no weight, and it shifted with the slightest turn of the egg, making it easy to keep the viewing screen in front of her. Elam, Paili, and the two “dragons” followed, but they kept silent.

  When Sapphira arrived at the dimensional doorway, she held the Ovulum out as far as she could and gazed at the city. All of Shinar seemed coated in crimson, yet clear a hundred times clearer than before. She could count the sparkling crystals in every marble statue and distinguish between the tiniest leaves on a distant sycamore tree.

  She turned the screen toward the rise where the tower once stood. Her hand trembled. The tower was there in all its glory, an enormous ziggurat, stretching so high, it extended beyond the edge of her screen and out of sight. As she gazed at it, the screen enlarged and seemed to expand over her head and swallow her body, making her feel like she was inside the scarlet halo. The tower grew, and she could see its very top, a tiny point in the midst of the clouds. Looking down again, the tower’s entry portico began magnifying, as though she were flying toward it at blazing speed. The force against her body rippled her muscles, making her arms and legs cramp, and the stiff counter-breeze dried her eyes until they ached.

  The tower’s doors swung open, and she zoomed inside, the sudden turns twisting her body. The planter swung into view along with the dozen surrounding statues, but the tree itself was no longer there. Her body swept into the middle, and her feet settled where the tree once rooted into the soil.

  Now that her journey had stalled, she looked around, expecting to see the saluting forms, but they were no longer statues; they were tall lanterns with flaming wicks. Each flame swayed like a writhing ghost.

  On the museum wall, huge letters burned into the marble, spelling out a message that nearly encircled the entire chamber. Sapphira read it slowly, letting the words sink into her mind. “When a maid collects an egg, she passes it on, giving it to the one she feeds.”

  “It’s a riddle,” she whispered. Suddenly, her body jerked backwards, and she flew in the opposite direction. The tree, the lanterns, and the doorway all shrank, and the screen itself came back into view, as though the halo had spat her out onto the ground. Then, the entire screen flashed off.

  Sapphira’s arms fell limp at her sides, but she managed to hang on to the Ovulum. She was back where she had started, or maybe she hadn’t really traveled at all. The whole city spun around her, so fuzzy and confusing, her legs wobbled beneath her.

  “What did you see?” Makaidos asked. “Your face is as white as your hair!”

  Sapphira could barely whisper. “I know where they are.”

  She felt her body falling and the Ovulum slipping from her fingers. Strong hands lifted her back to her feet. “Fear not, child,” Makaidos said. “I have you, and I picked up the Ovulum as well.”

  Sapphira blinked at a circle of helpers, four lovely, concerned faces. “Help me get to the tower,” she whispered.

  “The tower’s gone,” Makaidos said.

  “No. Where it used to be.”

  With a quick sweep, Makaidos lifted Sapphira into his arms and marched toward the rise. Sapphira laid her head against his shoulder. His powerful muscles felt secure and stable, like the arms of Elohim when he danced with her at the pool. Even though Makaidos bounced up and down with his gait, she knew he wouldn’t drop her.

  “We’re here,” he said softly.

  His voice seemed to awaken her from a dream, and as he set her gently on her feet, her mind snapped to attention.

  “I think this was the center of the tower’s foundation,” Makaidos said.

  Sapphira’s vision magnified all her surroundings, and the familiar sorrow draped a sad curtain across her mind. “It is the center.” She pivoted slowly, trying to see beyond the emptiness that surrounded her. There were supposed to be statues, or maybe lanterns, but nothing appeared.

  Elam stroked his chin. “Something’s here, right? You sense something that we can’t see?”

  “I think so.” She waved her arm in a wide arc. “Statues. Twelve of them, I believe, and they make a circle around where I’m standing.”

  “What makes you think they’re still here?” Roxil asked.

  “I saw them through the Ovulum’s screen, but they looked like lanterns instead of people.”

  Elam raised his hand as if holding a lantern. “You mean like cavern lanterns?”

  “Yes. I think ”

  Paili piped up. “Light them!”

  “Light them?” Sapphira repeated.

  Paili bounced on her toes. “With your fire. . like at home.”

  “How can I light lanterns that aren’t there?”

  Elam lifted her hand. “Light the lanterns with these,” he said, spreading out her fingers. “They feed the hungry and bring light to the darkness.”

  “Okay,” Sapphira said, “I’ll give it a try.”

  She raised her other hand and closed her eyes, imagining where the statues once stood. In her mind, she fixed twelve spots in the space around her. Then, opening her eyes again, she pointed at one of the spots and shouted, “Give me light!”

  A flame burst to life and floated in midair. The fire burned downward, creating a blazing human frame. Without fuel or wick, the flame burned on, its human shape writhing as if in the bonds of torture.

  Makaidos shielded his eyes and leaned back. “What now?”

  Sapphira heaved breathlessly, her hands still raised. What should she do? Light up eleven more people and let them suffer in flames?

  Paili tugged on her dress. “Five more!” she shouted.

  “Five more?” Sapphira looked down at her. “Why?”

  “To make six! Like the wheel!” Paili turned an imaginary wheel.

  Sapphira gasped and cried out, “Of course! The control room wheel!” She pointed at the spot to the left of the first statue. “Give me light!” she yelled. Another flame erupted, again creating a human form with its light. She moved to the next “Give me light!” then the next, until six human-shaped torches blazed in orange brilliance.

  Breathless again, Sapphira lowered her hands. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew the flames out, and six men stood limpl
y atop the blackened marble. As their bodies collapsed to the floor, Sapphira’s companions rushed to help them.

  “Time for nine more!” Sapphira said, waving her arms. “Move those six over here!”

  Groggy and groaning, they shuffled or crawled toward the center. Makaidos gazed carefully into the eyes of the first one, a young man who seemed to be in his late teens, and touched a ring on his finger. He nodded at Roxil and whispered, “It’s Hilidan.”

  Sapphira lifted her hands again and pointed at the next spot in the circle. “Give me light!” Another statue of fire erupted. She repeated the process, this time moving around the circle in the opposite direction. Finally, the ninth fiery form appeared. She lowered her hands, and a new gust of wind snuffed the flames. Eight women and one girl, all dressed in white silk, crumpled to the floor. The four helpers rushed to guide them toward the center.

  A stiff breeze kicked up, swirling around and buffeting Sapphira’s hair. She raised her hands once more, this time closing her eyes.

  “We have all the dragons!” Makaidos shouted. “You did it! You can stop.”

  “We’re not finished!” Sapphira shouted back. “There’s still the number thirteen.”

  She pointed next to the spot where she had ignited the previous lantern. “Give me light!” Yet again, a human-shaped column of fire ignited.

  “One!” Paili called out.

  Then, going completely around the room, Sapphira lit the other eleven, Paili counting out each new lantern as it burst to life. Finally, when Paili’s shrill “Twelve!” was carried away by the gentle breeze, Sapphira opened her eyes and lowered her arms. This time, no gust of wind came to blow the flames out.

  “We need a thirteen!” Paili cried.

  Sapphira spread out her arms. “There aren’t any more places in the circle!”

  Makaidos pointed at one of the flaming forms as it writhed in place. “I think they’re suffering! We have to do something!”

  Sapphira closed her eyes. The portal center once again flooded her mind with grief. Acacia’s terrified face blazed across her inner vision, and her best friend’s muffled splash in the magma river echoed in her mind. As she opened her eyes, she whispered, “There is one more lantern!” She wrapped her arms around herself and, her eyes filling with tears, shouted as loud as she could, “Give me light!”

  Sapphira’s hair erupted in flames. Streams of fire poured down her arms and chest, like magma rivulets coursing their way to her feet. She lifted her arms, and her whole body burst into an inferno, enveloping her in a spinning vortex of fire. When she lowered her arms, a new gust of wind, the strongest yet, nearly knocked her over.

  As the tongues of fire ripped away into the breeze, a heavy weight grew against Sapphira’s chest, a girl leaning on her, completely covered in white, her dress, her skin, even her hair.

  Sapphira draped her weary arms around the girl. “Acacia?” She ran her fingers through the girl’s thick white hair, barely able to breathe a whisper. “Is it really you?”

  Acacia groaned, her face buried in Sapphira’s dress. “Where am I?”

  Sapphira helped her sit down and lifted her chin. “Look. It’s me, Sapph. . I mean, Mara. Don’t you remember me?”

  Acacia’s lips formed the first letter, “M. . M. .” Then, her eyes suddenly brightened, tears glistening in each as she whispered, “Mara?”

  Sapphira grabbed her and hugged her close. “Yes! Yes! It’s Mara!” She rocked Acacia back and forth. “Oh, I missed you so much! I thought you were dead! I thought you were lost forever!” She pulled back and wiped tears from her eyes. “Do you remember what happened? I mean, what have you been doing all these centuries? Or have you been unconscious?”

  Acacia pushed against the floor and rose to her feet. Sapphira rose with her and brushed the grit away from Acacia’s sleeves. “I remember falling and being sucked into something, then” she gestured toward the other twelve girls who were also rising to their feet “I saw my sister spawns all sitting around listening to an old man.”

  “Sister spawns?” Sapphira tilted her head. “I don’t recognize any of them. I don’t see Taalah or Qadar.”

  “You and I didn’t know these sisters. They were the first twelve.”

  “Explain later.” Sapphira took her by the elbow. “Let’s get away from this place. It affects my mind in weird ways.”

  “Me, too.” Acacia followed Sapphira’s lead down the tower mound’s gentle slope. “It feels dark and sad. Does that mean we’re not in heaven?”

  “I’m not sure where we are, and I don’t know much about heaven, only what I read in Mardon’s scrolls.”

  Acacia pushed her hair out of her face. “I don’t think heaven feels so depressing. My teacher told me it would be wonderful.”

  “Who is your teacher?”

  “He never told us his name.” Acacia shrugged. “We just called him Teacher.”

  “Well, I hope he’s right about heaven. I wish I could be sure. Every place I’ve been is pretty depressing.”

  The entire group gathered at the bottom of the slope. Makaidos stood at the center and lifted his hand in the air, twisting the ring on his index finger. “Our rings hold the traditional gem of the dragons, so I believe they are a symbol of the new life our Maker has given us in this place. Many of the dragons who died in or before the flood are here.” He waved for a young girl to come close. She wrapped one arm around his waist and leaned against his side. “Zera, my sister, made it.” He nodded at a young man who was straightening his clothes and another man wearing a bowler hat. “Hilidan and Clirkus, my two young warrior friends, as well.” He nodded again, this time at an older woman. “My mother, Shachar, is here, too.”

  Roxil laid a hand on Shachar’s back and rubbed it tenderly. “But your father is not here. That proves Arramos is still alive.”

  “Arramos could very well be alive.” Makaidos’s jaw tensed. “But that evil dragon who masquerades as my father is not Arramos.”

  Shachar slid her arm around Makaidos’s waist, overlapping Zera’s grip. “Arramos is alive, my son. I do not know how long I have been floating in a senseless limbo, but I always felt his presence, and that made my wandering existence tolerable. If an evil dragon says he is Arramos, rest assured that he is a liar. My mate would never succumb to Lucifer’s song.”

  “And on that truth, I will take my stand.” Makaidos brushed his lips across Shachar’s cheek, ending the gentle caress with a kiss. “Somehow, I will find him.”

  “So what do we do now?” Hilidan asked. He quickly covered his lips with his fingers. “How strange. What kind of accent is that?”

  Makaidos laughed. “You sound like one of the Celts.”

  “I am fond of it,” Hilidan said. “It has the quality of song.”

  “Indeed it does!” Makaidos clapped him on the back. “It seems that the Maker has given us unique human characteristics, including unique voices, body shapes, and personalities.”

  “Unique?” Roxil grimaced. “That was not the word I had in mind.”

  “Roxil, the Maker has given us this destiny, so we would be wise to make the best of it. We should forget the past, rebuild this village, and live as humans until the Maker sees fit to send us elsewhere.”

  The other former dragons nodded their agreement, but Roxil’s face hardened as she stared at the ground. “Have you already forgotten my mother?” she asked. “Have you forsaken Thigocia?”

  Makaidos’s face turned pale.

  Roxil crossed her arms over her chest. “So you have already forgotten her!”

  Makaidos nodded slowly. “Why would that be? How could I forget the love of my life?”

  “Is it because you reject the Maker’s plan?” Roxil asked. “He made you a dragon, and now you want to forget everything about your dragon life, so he stripped away your greatest love.”

  “I reject nothing!” Makaidos spread out his fingers and showed them to Roxil. “Did the Maker not also choose this form for me? I accept any form m
y creator shapes around my mind!” With the Ovulum resting in his palm, he gazed at it and walked back toward the tower portal. “I have to think.”

  When Makaidos passed out of earshot, Roxil glared at Elam and the underborns, her eyes flashing. As she crossed her arms again, a barely perceptible smile grew on her lips. Her voice altered to a slow, Morgan-like cadence. “If this is a place for dragons to rest, then perhaps the humans ought to find another home.”

  Sapphira called up the innocent voice she often used to answer Morgan. “Well, I’m not sure exactly how human we are,” she said. “We’re called underborns. At least most of us are.”

  Roxil held up her ringed finger. “There will be no mixing between dragons and humankind, underborn or otherwise. As long as we have to dwell here in these human disguises, we will keep ourselves pure.”

  Elam strode up to Roxil and looked her in the eye. “Don’t worry, dragon lady. I’ll leave on the fastest camel out of here, but if you get sick of this place in a thousand years or so, don’t be surprised if no one, human or underborn, comes to rescue you.”

  Roxil kicked at the ground, raising a cloud of dust. “Even if this place were to crumble beneath my feet, I would never take aid from a human! Never!”

  “Suit yourself.” Elam turned and waved for Sapphira to follow. “We’re leaving.”

  Without looking back, Elam marched up the rise. Sapphira took Paili’s hand, then Acacia’s, and hurried to follow. The other girls huddled into a group behind them and began walking up the slope toward the portal.

  When Elam reached the top of the rise, Makaidos met him with a raised hand. “Please! I beg you to wait!”

  Elam halted. Sapphira tightened her grip on Acacia’s hand and waited near the crest. Makaidos held the Ovulum in his palm and waved at Roxil. “Come. All of you. I want to tell you something.”

  Roxil lowered her arms to her sides, her face softened by a hint of fear. She and the other dragons ascended the rise and gathered at the top.

  “I must give clear instructions before the humans leave,” Makaidos said. “When they return, I will be gone.”

  “Where will you go?” Sapphira asked.