Enoch's Ghost

by Bryan Davis

  He glanced down at the abrupt end of the path of red and muttered, “Should I just go in the exact direction the path is pointing?”

  A deep voice replied. “That would make the most sense, son of Shem.”

  “Who said that?” Elam swiveled his head, searching for the source of the voice. “Where are you? How do you know me?”

  No one answered.

  He gazed up at the sun, avoiding a direct stare, then swept his foot across the grass, searching for any odd creature that might have spoken. Finally, he wiped his brow. “I must be going nuts!”

  He glared at the last red flower on the path. “Okay,” he said, reaching down and plucking it, stem and all, “I don’t know if you’re the one who spoke or if you’re just the victim of my newfound insanity, but you’re coming with me.” He marched forward, his eyes picking out one of the taller blades of grass and, once fixed on it, he watched its waving head of seeds as the breeze continued to blow. When he reached it, he locked his gaze on another seedpod farther ahead, then another, as he kept to a straight line.

  After a few hours, the sun broke free from its lazy perch and began drifting toward the horizon. He laid the flower on his ear, drew out the spyglass again, and searched ahead. A low dark rise loomed in the distance. Finally! Could it be a line of trees? The Forest of Molech?

  He stuffed the glass into the bag and clutched the flower. “I’d better get there before dark,” he said, breaking into a jog.

  The sun slid down the sky, and evening draped itself across the field, but not before the forest came into view of Elam’s naked eye. Minutes later, just as darkness began settling over the land, he arrived within a few yards of the edge. The grass ended abruptly, giving way to damp black dirt, pockmarked with squatty orange toadstools. The soil reeked of decay—rotted leaves and mold, and maybe even carrion mixed in somewhere.

  He peered into the forest. With only a few stars twinkling above, he couldn’t even distinguish one tree from another. As he continued to stare, tiny red lights blinked on and off deep within the woods.

  “Eyes!” Elam said out loud. The pairs of red points gathered together, drawing closer by the second. Now dozens of eyes approached the edge of the forest, their glowing beacons shining brighter, harsh and hateful.

  He backpedaled into the grass and crouched, holding his breath. The eyes closed in, then halted at the tree line, but there seemed to be no shape or silhouette, no head or body surrounding the lights. The darkness blended every movement into warped shadows.

  He exhaled as slowly and silently as possible, but they must have heard him breathe, or maybe smelled his breath. The crimson eyes began bouncing up and down, as if they were owned by excited monkeys. Grunts and shrieks erupted, but the creatures stayed put at the tree line. Soon, the din grew to a fevered pitch, and the creatures howled, some with pained wails.

  Elam crouched even lower. Could they be fighting?

  The howls suddenly stopped, and a strange soft light filtered into the trees. He glanced at the horizon to his right. A full moon peeked over the field, sending its yellowish beams across grass, flowers, and forest.

  White vapor arose between him and the trees, like steam from a heated pot. It coalesced into a humanlike phantom with long, elastic arms that reached toward the woods. The eyes scattered, blinking off as the creatures turned and ran.

  Staying low, Elam caught a glimpse of what looked like human or apelike legs in retreat, so whatever these things were, they must have been bipeds. But what could that vapor be?

  As the moon’s full disc appeared, the phantom dispersed, and the entire scene brightened. The trees looked like tall hardwoods with bushy tops and trunks stripped of branches to about head height. A few moonbeams illuminated the forest floor, which seemed bare, perhaps leaf-strewn, except for a strange lump at the base of one of the trunks. He studied the lump but couldn’t figure out what it was. Another mystery, but it would have to wait for morning.

  Using his cloak as a pillow, he lay down in the grass and folded his hands on his chest, still clutching the red flower. Although the surrounding air was still warm from the daytime heating, a tingle crawled along his skin, making him shiver. The strange creatures in the woods, their ghoulish red eyes, and their bestial wails were enough to give anyone a chill. Not only that, with its long, gaseous arms, the phantom had looked more like a ghost than a random cloud of gas, and anything that would frighten away those forest devils had to be more than just a passing vapor.

  Elam closed his eyes and nestled deeper in his cloak. “It’s still safer out here,” he murmured. “It would be crazy to go in those woods in the dark.”

  As he closed his eyes and drifted toward sleep, a soft voice whispered in his ear. “Yes, son of Shem. When danger is near, always stay in the light.”

  Chapter 4

  The Prism Oracle

  Thigocia kept her eyes trained on the red dragon in front of her, the creature calling himself Arramos. Staying above the clouds, they had flown rapidly for over an hour, faster than she had traveled since before her days as a human. To this point, her questions about their destination and time of arrival had been answered with, “You will soon learn,” giving her good reason to believe what her sense of danger continued to blare—trouble lay ahead.

  Arramos finally slowed and flew side by side with Thigocia. As their wing tips nearly brushed each other in their synchronized downstrokes, he blew a short burst of fire. “I must now use my flames to create a hole in the dimensional fabric that will take us to your mate’s dwelling place.”

  Trying to keep her distance from the larger dragon, Thigocia descended a few feet and skimmed the tops of the clouds. “You said we would find Roxil and search for Makaidos with her.”

  “We shall. First we are going to the Bridgelands, the place where I believe him to be. Although I have scoured many of the fields and forests of that land, I have not been able to locate him. But the place is so large, it is impossible for one dragon to complete a search, especially since he could be on the move.” He dropped down to Thigocia’s level and flew close again. “Perhaps with your help and Roxil’s, I can find him. Before we contact Roxil, however, I want to show you what is occurring in the Bridgelands so you will better understand our mission.”

  Thigocia set her gaze straight ahead. “Very well. Lead on.”

  Shooting another stream of fire, Arramos wheeled to the left, keeping a sharp angle as he traced a tight circle and aimed his flaming jets at a center point. As the fire stretched downward into a tornadic funnel, Thigocia kept pace with him, her own wings fanning and twisting the flames.

  Arramos flew faster and faster. Thigocia strained to keep up. The flaming tornado grew wider, hotter, brighter, slurping the clouds as it twisted. Soon, at the focal point at the top of the spin, the sky ripped open, a small hole at first, but as the cyclone expanded, the surrounding air crumbled into the hole, widening it into a black chasm.

  “Follow me!” Arramos ordered. He dove into the dark void.

  Thigocia flew around the flames, slowing her speed. Should she follow? Was it mad to dive into the unknown, trailing a mysterious, sadistic dragon that kept her danger alarm trumpeting? As she slowed, the hole began to contract, so she beat her wings faster, trying to keep the chasm entry open. What choice did she have? She said she would follow, and, besides, she didn’t even know where she was or how to get back to Ashley. It would be unthinkable to give up on this mystery now.

  Taking a deep draw from the sun above, she steered into the blackness. Instantly, the air supporting her wings vanished, and she floated in a vacuum, yet she still sensed forward movement at a dizzying rate of speed. After what seemed like several minutes, air began to fill her nostrils and billow under her wings. Light also returned, dim at first, but soon, a field of grass appeared below and a red dragon standing near a pool of water.

  She descended in a wide circle, scanning the area for any movement, but Arramos remained the only
sign of life. Purple flowers dotted the field, raising a sweet aroma, but with her danger alarm still pricking her brain, this was no time to savor any simple pleasures.

  When she fanned her wings out to land, Arramos thumped the ground with his tail. “I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to renege.”

  Thigocia settled her claws in the soft grass skirting the pool and collapsed her wings. “Yet you waited.”

  “It was a mere passing thought. I have not so soon forgotten your integrity.”

  Thigocia dug her claws deeper into the turf. “It is sad that you have forgotten your own.”

  “A sharp tongue is unbecoming of a dragon queen, but I will overlook your indiscretion. Your fighting spirit will be of great benefit.”

  “I will not argue the point.” She scowled, twitching her ears for emphasis. “Just get on with it.”

  “Very well.” Arramos brushed the ground with the tip of a wing. “We are in the Bridgelands, a connecting byway between Earth and Heaven as well as between Heaven and Hades. It is likely impossible to conceive with finite minds like ours, but you might think of it like this.” He dipped a claw into the pool. Black ripples scattered from the entry point, creating a dark expanse across the surface. “I brought you here so that you could see the plans of God and men. Many pools in the Bridgelands reflect invisible realities, but this one reveals the structure of the dimensional cosmos.”

  A Saturn-like shape appeared on the pool’s dark canopy, but instead of rings around a planet, a large flat disc surrounded a smaller, nebulous white orb. Three tiny moons adhered to the outer edge of the disc as it revolved slowly around the orb. “The center sphere is Heaven, a realm that contains the holy city, the angels, and the saints. The wider disc around Heaven is where we stand now—the Bridgelands, a flat territory that connects Heaven to Earth and Hades, which are represented by those two smaller spheres on the edge of the disc. At one time, Dragons’ Rest was also a sphere on the edge, but it no longer exists.”

  He set the tip of his wing near two of the outer spheres. “As you can see, Earth and Hades are very close to each other right now, dangerously close. The wall of separation between them is fragile and ready to collapse.” He touched the pool again, and blackness swallowed the image.

  “I saw a third sphere on the edge,” Thigocia said, “on the opposite side of Heaven from the Earth. What was it?”

  “Another world. I have never been there, but Enoch told me it is uninhabited. It may eventually be part of the Maker’s grand purpose, but I am not privileged to know.”

  “So is Makaidos somewhere on the disc?” Thigocia asked. “The flat part?”

  “He cannot be anywhere else. I have checked the Prism Oracle myself, and he has not entered either Heaven or Hades, and he is no longer on Earth.”

  Thigocia twitched her ears. “The Prism Oracle? Is that some sort of list of who is where?”

  “Not really a list—a query. Access to this information is no secret in the realms of the dead, at least to those who know where to look.” Arramos unfurled his wings. “Come. I will show you.”

  As he lifted into the air, Thigocia followed, staying close enough to listen to any further explanations but far enough back to watch from a safe distance. Clear skies allowed for brisk flying and easy scanning of everything on the ground. Beautiful meadows and forests abounded, with bubbling streams and clear pools nourishing the landscape for miles and miles. The male dragon descended and glided over a stream, casting his red eyebeams over its muddy shoulder. “Look closely, and you will see human footprints—fresh, not more than three days old.”

  Thigocia scanned the mud with her own eyebeams. “I see them. Two different sizes. What does it mean?”

  “It proves that the Maker has placed humans here, though I have not seen any besides one I will tell you about in a few moments. Perhaps my son is also here in his human form, and he has found a companion.”

  She flicked off her beams. “A companion?”

  “It is only a guess. He might also be alone somewhere else. For all I know, this pair of inhabitants could have human feet and the head of an ostrich. In any case, they hide well. And considering that we are likely a fearful sight to them, their scarcity in the open is no wonder.” Arramos ascended again and flew on.

  Thigocia beat her wings and caught up. “May we come back to this place and search?”

  “We shall see. I have to make sure we meet Roxil on time.”

  After passing over a hilly plane that stretched from horizon to horizon, they plunged into a deep canyon where a raging river careened around a bend. After it straightened farther down its path, it hurtled into a steep ravine and splashed against a pair of huge boulders, sending up billowing clouds of mist.

  The boulders diverted the river to one side but allowed a stream of water to feed a shallow pool on the opposite side where Arramos and Thigocia stood. As the river beat against the stone obstacles, water flew over the tops and drizzled in front of the dragons. Light sparkled in the prismatic droplets and painted a strange, full-circle rainbow—a halo with seven color bands that hovered in the midst of the spray.

  “This is the Prism Oracle,” Arramos shouted, competing with the roar of splashing water. “The concept is quite simple, though I have no idea why it works. While gazing at the oracle, you walk into these shallows and speak a name. Because of your touch, the oracle knows the identity of the one about whom you are inquiring, and the colors merge to create his or her image. The appearance of the image tells us where the person is.”

  Thigocia peered at the marblelike boulders framing the halo and returned his shout. “How did you figure out the purpose of this oracle? I see no signs or symbols to explain it.”

  “What do you remember about Enoch?” he asked.

  “In his battles with the Watchers, he proved himself a prophet of the highest order.” Thigocia looked up at the sky, allowing the droplets to drizzle into her eyes. Their touch was cool and soothing. “I was very young when he left the Earth,” she continued, still speaking loudly, “but the impression he left on me will last forever. I revere him and Merlin as the two greatest prophets I have ever known.”

  “Then you will have no problem with trusting this oracle, for Enoch himself established it. During one of my searches here, he hailed me as I flew over. When I landed, I recognized him immediately, and my heart leaped for joy at finding my long-lost friend. He already knew why I was here and showed me how the oracle could provide the insight I needed, the proof that my search in the Bridgelands was not in vain.”

  “What else did he say? Had he seen Makaidos?”

  Arramos shook his head. “As human prophets often are, he was mysterious, and he said very little. After he explained the oracle to me, he seemed to melt into the river and flow away.”

  Thigocia moved her head closer to him, searching for a hint of deception in his eyes. “That story has the ring of myth. Who would ever believe such a tale?”

  “Believe what you wish.” He nodded at the calm pool at the edge of the splashing water. “But if you try it, you will know that I could not have conjured what you will see with your own eyes. Say the name of someone you believe to be in Heaven, then one in Hades, and then one on the Earth. You need not shout, as I am doing. The oracle will hear you.”

  Thigocia stepped into the water and stared at the splashing chaos. How could a river striking a pair of boulders create an oracle that could see through the veils of the afterlife and show them to anyone who might ask? It made no sense. Still, the prophets had spoken of miracles just as strange, a donkey speaking to a mad prophet, and a voice in a burning bush commanding Moses to free the Hebrews in Egypt. Could the Maker also prepare such an oracle in this strange land? Who could deny his ability to do this miracle as well?

  After thinking for a moment, Thigocia took a step closer and said, “Noah.”

  The colored bands broke away from the halo and mixed in the center. Then, as if pai
nted by an invisible brush, a man appeared, the image of Noah at the age he had been while on the ark, the time when she knew him best. Backed by a golden sky and wearing a dazzling white robe and a crown of gold, he smiled, then faded as the colors streamed back to the edge and re-formed the halo.

  Arramos raised his voice again. “He is in Heaven. According to Enoch, white and gold are the colors of Paradise, and the crown proves that the Maker has forgiven his many sins.”

  Thigocia glared at Arramos but decided not to challenge his criticism of the great ark builder. The task at hand was too important to allow for delay. She thought for another moment and said, “Ham.”

  The colors once again painted the image of a man, this time the son of Noah standing in front of an orange background, wearing a tattered orange tunic that barely fell past his hips and covered his loins. A black execution hood rested on his head as if placed there in preparation for the gallows but not yet pulled down over his face.

  “He is in Hades,” Arramos said. “Orange and black are the colors of destruction, and the hood is the symbol of all who will someday be cast into the Lake of Fire.”

  “Now someone on Earth,” Thigocia said quietly. With a sad tremble in her voice, she whispered, “Ashley.”

  Within seconds, a perfect duplicate of Ashley stood within the mist. Dressed in jeans and a gray Montana-emblazoned sweatshirt, she carried a walking stick and hiked in place in front of a blue sky, moving but never leaving the oracle.

  “She carries the symbol of one still on a journey,” Arramos explained. “Whenever the oracle displays an Earth-dweller, he or she is always walking, for their path is not yet complete. Since you knew Enoch, you may speak his name. As one who never died, he has not yet established his abode, for he is God’s dimensional itinerant.”