Enoch's Ghost

by Bryan Davis

  The doctor lowered herself to one knee and stroked her son’s back. “That means your father loves you, and he misses your touch.” As she continued, her voice began to break. “Don’t ever forget what a great man he was or how much he loved you.”

  “I won’t, Mother.” A tear passed from his eye to his cheek as he continued to stare at the glowing orb. “Every time I hold his companion, I feel him hugging me.”

  After a few more seconds, she held the open box under his hands. “That’s enough for now. I have to take your sister home.”

  The boy petted the egg one more time before lovingly rolling it back into the box. His mother closed the lid and nodded solemnly to Timothy. “I will be back very soon.” With that, she swept through the doorway.

  The boy turned a dial on the wall near the door, and the flaming wicks above grew brighter. “Do you want me to get your clothes for you or help you walk to the closet?”

  Timothy wiped a tear from his eye and sat up, dangling his legs. His bare toes brushed the rough, wooden floor. “Yes, please bring my clothes, if you don’t mind.”

  While the boy gathered the clothing in his arms, Timothy glanced out the single, unadorned window. Clouds and filtered sunlight filled the view—no grass, no trees, no parking lot. This room was obviously on a high floor.

  The boy dropped the clothing bundle on the bed. Two soft-soled walking shoes tumbled off the top but stayed on the sheet. He placed them side by side and smiled. “I think that’s all.”

  “Thank you.” Timothy pulled out his trousers, a freshly laundered and pressed pair of beige khakis. “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Candle,” he replied, his grin revealing a lovely set of bright teeth.

  “Candle?” Timothy slid his pants over his legs, then lowered himself to the floor and pulled them the rest of the way up. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Candle before. Do other kids tease you?”

  Candle’s brow furrowed. “Uh … no. I don’t think so. I know two other boys and a girl named Candle. It just must not be a popular name where you come from.” His brow smoothed back out as a new smile lit up his face. “My mother likes my name because she says I light up a room whenever I walk in.”

  Timothy patted Candle’s shoulder. “Well, I certainly agree with that! Your mother chose well.”

  “She didn’t choose it. She just likes it.” Candle rubbed his cheek against Timothy’s hand, just as he had done to his mother’s.

  “I see.” Timothy slowly drew his hand away, wondering if he might be committing a social blunder by ending his show of affection, but since Candle’s smile never dimmed, this brush of the cheek must have been similar to a quick pat on the back. Timothy pulled a polo shirt over his head and began tucking it in his pants. “I didn’t catch your mother’s name.”

  “Catch her name?”

  “Yes.” Timothy zipped his pants and tightened his belt. “She never mentioned it.”

  “Angel. Her name is Angel.”

  Timothy sat on the bed and picked up his socks. “How appropriate.”

  Candle smiled. “My father thought so, too. He said she’s a gift from Heaven. And my sister is named Listener. She doesn’t talk, but she listens to and remembers everything.”

  “Being a listener is a great character quality.” He stretched a navy blue sweater over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. “Is she older or younger than you?”

  “Younger.” Candle helped him pull the sweater’s hem down to his waist. “But not by a whole lot.”

  After quickly tying his shoes, Timothy reached for the final garment, a heavy collegiate jacket, blue with orange trim. “Is it cold outside?”

  “Pretty cold, but no colder than it usually is up here.” Candle flapped his sweatshirt’s long sleeves. “I was comfortable in this.”

  Timothy dropped down to the floor again and lifted each leg in turn. They felt heavy, but not too bad. He put on his jacket and smiled at Candle. “Where to now?”

  Candle slid his hand into Timothy’s. “To the loading platform. We’ll walk slowly so Mother has time to return before we get there.”

  “I would have liked to meet your sister while she was here.”

  “She came to your door.” Candle nodded toward the exit. “Didn’t you see her?”

  In his mind, Timothy redrew the little girl’s gaunt, scaly face peering around the door frame. “I did see a young girl, but I thought she was a patient here.”

  “Well, that was Listener. Mother likes for both of us to come whenever she’s assigned hospital duty.”

  “She seems like a friendly girl.” Timothy pressed his lips together. It was probably best not to keep asking about Listener, though her pitiful appearance raised plenty of questions.

  As he guided Timothy out the door, Candle smiled and squeezed his hand more tightly. “I hope Valiant can meet you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He is my village’s leader.” Candle turned the dial by the door. The lanterns in the hanging fixture winked out. “Valiant was worried that someone without a companion might be altered.”

  Timothy looked for Candle’s companion. He caught a glimpse of it floating near his shoulder. “Altered?”

  “Yes.” The boy’s dark eyes seemed to dance. “But you’re not one of them. I can tell.”

  As they walked down the hallway, Timothy marveled at Candle’s noble innocence, feeling free to walk in public hand-in-hand with an adult male. Was he twelve years old? Thirteen? A few boys his age might hold hands with a father, but probably not with a stranger.

  The dim corridor was unlike any hospital he had ever seen—roughly hewn beams instead of tiles for floors, a single hardwood bench serving as a waiting area instead of sofas surrounding a television, no visitors carrying flowers or balloons, no nurses with trays of medicines, and no patients lying in gurneys awaiting transport to the next battery of tests. The place felt more like a rustic log cabin than a hospital.

  Passing room after room, all with closed doors, Timothy gazed down the seemingly endless hall. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice echoing.

  Candle pushed their clasped hands into a gentle swing. “Mother will meet us on the transport deck. We’re almost there.”

  “No. I mean the patients. It feels like we’re alone in here.”

  “We are. You’re the only patient, and I’m glad. Now Mother and Listener and I can go back to our farm.”

  Timothy looked down the hall behind him. The end seemed at least a hundred yards away. “Such a huge hospital, and I’m the only patient?”

  Candle turned into a short hallway that led to a double door. “The last war was almost three years ago, and nearly every room was filled. We even took care of some of the altered tribe.” He pushed open the swinging door. “Here we are.”

  A frigid breeze swirled into the hall. The doorway led to a concrete platform that ended abruptly about fifty feet out, a dead end at the cloud-filled sky. There was no apparent driveway up to that level, and the platform was too small for a helicopter to land safely, especially in this wind. The thick overcast made it impossible to see any surrounding buildings, and even the ground below was hidden in a gloomy mist that enveloped everything.

  Candle held the door. “Aren’t you going through?”

  Timothy zipped up his jacket and stepped out onto the ledge. His fingers immediately stiffened, and his lips dried out. As his teeth chattered, he buried his hands in his pockets and bounced on his toes. “It must be … below zero … out here.”

  Candle joined him, seemingly unaffected by the cold. Now his companion was easy to see as a stream of vapor formed around the egg and blew away with the wind. As his black dreadlocks flapped under his cap, he held the bill to keep it in place. “Here comes the transport,” he shouted, pointing up.

  Following Candle’s finger, Timothy spotted a huge winged creature among the clouds, closing in as it disappeared and reappeared, p
assing from one cloud to the next. “A dragon?” he asked.

  “What else is big enough?” Candle half closed one eye at him. “You don’t ride on birds, do you? The altered tribe uses birds.”

  Timothy tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a frozen grimace. “I have … never flown … on a bird.”

  With a powerful beating of its wings, a huge dragon landed. The splendid creature flashed purplish scales and breathed a thick vapor that crystallized and rained to the landing platform in icy pellets.

  Three seats had been tied in single file to the dragon’s back, fastened with wide straps that wrapped under its belly. As the dragon lowered its head, the rider waved at them. “Hurry aboard! Ichabod looks cold!”

  His teeth still chattering, Timothy nodded at the female rider, Angel, now wearing a black leather jacket and corduroy pantaloons instead of green scrubs.

  “Ever since Father died,” Candle explained, “Mother has had to fly our dragon herself.” He stepped up the dragon’s spiny stairway. “Come on,” he called back, waving. “Grackle will warm you up.”

  Still burying his hands in his pockets, Timothy climbed the neck, trying to keep his balance in the stiff breeze. When he made it to the top, Candle and his mother reached out their hands. He finally had to expose his frigid fingers again as they guided him to the seat in the middle.

  As soon as he sat down, Angel shouted. “Give us a bit more heat for our guest.”

  A soothing radiance rose from Grackle’s scales, instantly thawing Timothy’s fingers and toes. The dragon swung his head close to Angel and blew a series of high-pitched whistles.

  Twisting her body, Angel reached for a belt attached to Timothy’s seat. “Grackle wants to know if you’re comfortable now,” she said, fastening the belt over his waist.

  Timothy unzipped his jacket halfway. “I’m fine. In fact, it’s quite warm.”

  “I’ll tell him to lower the heat a notch.” Turning back to the dragon, Angel whistled a sweet, warbling tune. Flashing a set of eight sharp incisors, Grackle nodded and stretched out his wings.

  Candle tapped Timothy on the shoulder. “Hang on! Grackle loves to give new riders a thrill!”

  Timothy gripped the back of Angel’s seat. “Thanks for the warning.”

  As Grackle lifted off, Timothy looked back at the hospital, expecting to see the usual high-rise building shooting up from a medical office complex. Instead, a narrow, single-story, tubelike metal rod hovered in the sky.

  “How does it float like that?” Timothy asked.

  “It’s not floating,” Angel replied. “It’s flying. We keep the hospital moving to protect it from the altered tribe. A circuit of magnets on the ground keeps it in motion.”

  “I don’t remember anything this advanced. How long was I out?”

  “Candle found you in the birthing garden about a month ago. We don’t know how long you were there already.”

  Suddenly, Grackle plunged. With his stomach pressing into his throat, Timothy rose an inch from his seat, but the belt kept him from flying away. Still, he felt no fear, only a sense of exhilaration, even joy.

  Candle lifted his hands and belted out an ecstatic cry. As the flight leveled, he called forward. “Good dive, Grackle! Maybe the best one yet!”

  Releasing Angel’s seat, Timothy laid a hand on his chest. “That was good,” he said. “An excellent ride.”

  Grackle flew around a village, a group of low buildings nestled in a thick forest of tall evergreens. Thatched roofs of bright yellow covered the majority of the humble cottages, while a few carried dark reddish tiles on sharply angled decking. To Timothy the hamlet looked like a cross between an African tribal community and a low-income development in urban America.

  They passed over a massive garden, a field of black soil and spots of greenery that lay just outside the village boundary. Several rows of tall, bushy spruce trees encircled the garden, like sentries protecting the harvest. As the dragon descended, a grassy meadow came into view beyond the village’s opposite border. A fruit-filled orchard lay between the grass and the village, and a mountain ridge hemmed the meadow in on the far side.

  The dragon settled into the lush field, spreading his wings gracefully and landing with hardly a bump. After unbuckling his belt, Timothy stood and stretched his arms. The air, though still crisp and cold, was far more tolerable than at the hospital, more like temperatures he remembered from somewhere in his past. Could he have lived in a village like this? It certainly didn’t seem familiar.

  After waiting for Angel to disembark, Timothy stepped down the dragon’s neck, followed by Candle. As the boy skipped from one spine to the other, his egg-shaped companion bounced along with him, slightly more visible now.

  While Angel reached under Grackle to loosen the buckles that held the seat straps in place, Timothy slid his hands into his pockets and watched her companion slowly orbiting her head. It paused for a moment at her ear as if whispering a secret. She flashed a smile, then laughed gently.

  “What did it say, Mother?” Candle asked.

  Angel tweaked Candle’s nose. “A privacy. A funny one, but still a privacy.”

  “Why doesn’t my companion ever tell me a privacy?”

  “Because you’re too young.” She gestured toward a path in the forest. “On our way down, I saw Whetstone climbing a tree. I’m sure you can find him.”

  Candle reached for one of the straps. “I’ll help you with the seats first.”

  “No need.” She nodded at Timothy. “Our new friend will likely offer his help.”

  Timothy jerked his hands out of his pockets. “Of course. Glad to.”

  “Thank you, Mother!” Candle dashed away, followed closely by his companion.

  Timothy watched Angel guide the first seat down the dragon’s flank and copied her motions, pulling on the strap attached to the middle seat. “Do your ovulums speak to you often?”

  Angel set the front seat down and shook her hair out of her eyes. “Your words are a confusing blend to me, IchabodI mean, Timothy. You speak as one who has never known the joy of a companion, yet you continue to say their ancient name as if you knew them in the days of our genesis.”

  “I’m sorry.” He laid the seat next to hers and kept his gaze fixed on it. “I’m just trying to communicate the best I can. I don’t mean to be so ignorant.”

  “No fault of yours. Your brain is injured, but surely it will mend soon.” She combed her fingers through his hair until she found the bump. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Not much.” He wanted to finish his job, but her gentle touch gave him reason to pause. “Does the bump feel smaller?” he asked.

  She lowered her hand and smiled. “Much smaller.”

  Timothy pulled down the final seat and set it with the others. “Where do you store these?”

  “Store them?” She withdrew a bottle from her pocket and poured thick goop on a cloth. Reaching under the dragon’s belly, she massaged the spot where the buckle had rubbed against his body, smearing the goop and pushing it between the scales. Grackle responded with a deep-throated purr. “Why would we store them?” She looked up at him while continuing the dragon’s treatment. “They are not affected by the wind.”

  He spread his arms over the seats as if covering them with a tarp. “To keep them safe from rain and thieves.”

  She pushed the cloth and bottle back into her pocket. “I have heard of rain from the Prophet, but I have never seen it, and we have no thieves among our people.” She rocked one of the seats back and forth. “They will be safe here.”

  Timothy searched a nearby ridge for any sign of a cave. “Where do you keep Grackle?”

  “Keep Grackle?” She gave him a surprised look. “Do you mean as a captive?”

  The dragon snorted, spewing ice crystals that scattered across Timothy’s feet.

  He jumped back and stumbled over one of the seats, landing on his backside. Angel rushed over and hoisted h
im easily, her strong arms almost lifting him right off his feet. “You must be careful,” she said. “Grackle knows many words.”

  Brushing the grass from his pants, Timothy glared at the dragon. “I think I’d better keep my distance until I get to know your ways better.”

  “At least from him,” Angel said, shaking a finger at Grackle. “He enjoys humor at the expense of strangers.”

  Timothy bowed toward Grackle. “I apologize. I should have known that dragons aren’t held against their will.”

  He bowed in return and whistled a cheery sounding note.

  “Grackle is free,” Angel said, “but you can always find him close to home, unless you come during mealtime. Then he will likely be hunting in the rabbit fields just over the ridge close to where my village lies.”

  Timothy eyed the ridge and imagined another village beyond it much like the one he had seen from the air, perhaps bordered by a field teeming with rabbits being chased by a purple dragon. A lone eagle crossed the ridge, flying rapidly toward them. Timothy pointed at it. “That’s the first bird I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”

  “An eagle!” Angel clutched his forearm tightly. “Does it have a black underside?”

  As it flew closer, the predator’s details became clear—long brown wings, white head and tail feathers, and a coal-black breast. “Its underbelly is black. It looks kind of strange.”

  “Because it carries an altered one. Since he is out in the daylight, he must have come from a surprise attack somewhere.”

  “Should you warn anyone?” Timothy asked. “Can someone chase him?”

  As Angel watched the eagle, her grip on his arm loosened. “It’s too late. He is on his way to the basin of shadows.” She lowered her chin. “We will likely hear bad news very soon.”

  A happy shout sounded from the forest. Candle and another boy clung to branches near the top of a tall spruce and waved down at them.

  Angel waved back and yelled, “I will meet you here later!”