Enoch's Ghost

by Bryan Davis

  “I’ll watch for you!” came the wind-blown reply.

  The fresh breeze forced Timothy’s hands back into his pockets. “Candle is a delightful young man,” he said, trying not to shiver.

  “Yes, I know. He learned a great deal from his father in a short amount of time.”

  “He mentioned that your husband died. May I ask what happened to him?”

  Angel gave Timothy an inquisitive look. “My husband? I’m not familiar with that word.”

  “Uh … your mate? Your man?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh! My Adam.”

  “My Adam? You mean his name was Adam?”

  “His name was Dragon, because he was bold and fearless, but he was my Adam, and I was his Eve”—she interlocked her fingers“—man and woman joined together until death. But since he was killed in the last war and his spirit has passed beyond the Bridgelands, and since it is not wise to raise a son without the guidance of a father, our laws require me to seek another Adam, if possible, before three years have passed.”

  Timothy shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it shouldn’t be hard for a beautiful woman like you to find one.” As soon as those words spilled out, he regretted them. Obviously she hadn’t remarried, and he was too ignorant about this place to know why.

  She gazed at him. A hint of tears glistened in her eyes, and her face flushed pink. Turning quickly, she nodded toward the village. “The Prophet instructed me to bring you here as soon as you recovered your senses.”

  “I’ve committed enough social errors to prove my senses aren’t quite up to snuff, but I’ll do my best.”

  She repeated her inquisitive stare. “Snuff?”

  “‘Up to snuff’ is an idiom. It means … um … ‘working normally.’”

  “I understand,” she said, nodding. “Perhaps the Prophet can help you reach snuff. He is a wise and powerful man.”

  Timothy stifled a laugh. “Then, please lead me to him.”

  She turned to the dragon and whistled a few low notes, then a melodic warble. Grackle gave a short whistle in reply.

  “He will wait for us.” Angel folded her hands at her waist and scanned Timothy from head to toe. “Your attire is suitable, but I perceive that your unfamiliarity with our customs will make people very curious.”

  Timothy straightened and copied her suddenly formal manner. “I think that is wise to assume.”

  “Then I will instruct you as the need arises.” Angel pressed her palms together in front of her chest. “This is our prayer posture. We must walk this way or the people will stop us.”

  Timothy mimicked her position. “Like this?”

  “Excellent.” She pointed toward a well-worn path in the woods. “Walk in front of me, and I will tell you which way to turn.”

  Timothy headed toward the path, walking slowly to make sure Angel kept up. “Why would the people stop us?”

  “They are friendly and will want to know all about you. Your pose is a polite request to allow you to proceed without distraction. They will smile and bow their heads as we pass, and we should do the same.”

  “That should be easy enough.” Timothy followed the path through the increasingly dense forest until he came to a fork.

  “To the right,” Angel said.

  Timothy veered right and maintained his slow pace. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to lead the way?”

  “Easier? Yes. Proper? No.”

  He kept his eyes focused ahead and his mouth closed. It probably wasn’t a good time to ask about gender roles. He would likely just stick his foot in his mouth again.

  “We are coming into the village,” Angel said. “When we clear the tree line, walk on the right boundary of the road and double your speed. We will avoid stares if people don’t have a chance to notice your lack of a companion. After passing the center circle, proceed along the street lined with wooden rails and look for a small house on the left, one with a dragon banner on each side of the door.”

  “Is that the Prophet’s house?”

  “It is.”

  Timothy reached the clearing and quickened his pace. “What is the Prophet’s name?”

  “Many call him ‘Father’ when addressing him, and the elders call him Abraham, but when we speak of him in conversation, it is always ‘The Prophet.’” She cleared her throat and whispered. “Let us be silent now.”

  Passing over the road’s hardened beige-colored clay, Timothy marched near a long rail to which three donkeys were tied, one on his side of the street, and two on the other. An occasional gap in the rail allowed for entry into a much narrower, parallel walkway that crossed in front of the doors of the humble homes.

  Only a few people walked by, smiling and bowing as Angel had predicted, each one with a companion hovering somewhere over his or her shoulder, some more visible than others.

  Timothy responded with smiles and head nods, hoping he wasn’t committing any unintentional faux pas. A young lady coming out of a stacked-stone house stared at him, but when her companion orbited close to her ear, she quickly smiled and bowed, her face reddening.

  As they neared the end of the street, the village’s center came into view. More people streamed into it from the eight identical roads that intersected at a central roundabout. Families walked in groups, a man and woman linking elbows, and one to four children tagging along in no apparent order. Two families stopped and congregated, laughing and chatting. One couple walked in the prayer posture, marching quickly without interruption. Another man led a young woman riding a donkey. They stopped and talked with another couple while three children petted the donkey.

  “The woman on the donkey,” Angel whispered, “is betrothed to the man leading her. Adams and Eves stay side by side. A woman leading a man indicates that the man is her suitor in a courtship arrangement.”

  “I am leading you,” he whispered back. “Will people think we’re betrothed?”

  “I am not riding a donkey!”

  Timothy shook his head and mumbled, “I have so much to learn!”

  He circled the roundabout, staying to the right as he navigated through the intermixing streams of people. Companions hovered all around. Sometimes it was impossible to tell which ovulum belonged to whom, but as he passed close to one teenaged boy, he caught a glimpse of something inside the boy’s companion, an almost imperceptible pair of eyes. As it passed around from ear to ear, the ovulum’s gaze never wandered from its apparent owner.

  Although the mix of adults, teenagers, and children seemed normal enough, no one appeared to be more than thirty years old. Not a gray hair or a wrinkle marred the head or face of man or woman.

  When he reached the opposite side of the circle, he came upon another road lined with rails. Donkeys stood tied to them, waiting in front of various homes. He searched the houses on the left and spied the dragon banners on each side of an open door. The hut was no more than an adobe shack with a thatched straw roof, smaller than any other home on the street.

  A man bowed at the doorway, apparently in homage to someone inside. Rising again, he walked to a donkey at the hitching rail and extended a hand to the woman who followed. As Timothy and Angel approached, the man smiled while helping the woman mount, then led her away.

  Timothy paused at the low doorway, gazing at the colorful banners, red dragons on blue backgrounds, each breathing streams of fire through mouth and nostrils as if aiming at each other or at anyone passing into the house.

  “Just walk in,” Angel said, her voice rising above a whisper.

  Timothy ducked his head and entered the dim one-room hut. Near the back, a man sat on a chair facing the door, gazing at an ovulum on a small table in front of him, larger than the hovering companions and much easier to see. A soft red aura surrounded the glassy egg, a glow that feathered out and disappeared a few inches from the shell.

  The man looked up. Along with his reddish, neatly trimmed beard, a gentle smile decorated his ruddy face. “Angel,�
� he said cheerily, “you have brought our stranger. I thank you for your labors.”

  Angel bowed low and pulled Timothy into a bow with her. “It is always an honor serving you, Father.”

  As they straightened, the Prophet tapped the surface of the ovulum. “Enoch tells me that your home has need of your presence, though I don’t know the reason. You must hurry there immediately.”

  Angel’s brow furrowed, but, as her hovering companion nuzzled her cheek, no other hint of concern broke through. She bowed again and walked backwards toward the door. “I am at your service, Father.” Once she reached the threshold, she turned and ran.

  The Prophet motioned toward a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Sit, friend, and we will talk. I have long awaited this opportunity.”

  Timothy slid into the chair. He fidgeted, pressing the toes of his shoes against the dirt floor. He fumbled with his hands before deciding to fold them on the table. A beam of light from a small hole in the roof struck an array of dangling crystalline beads on the adjacent wall, giving the entire room a rainbow-spattered glow and coloring his nervous fingers with dancing hues.

  “There is no need to be anxious,” the Prophet said, covering Timothy’s hands with his own. “You will find no evil in my home.”

  “I detect none.” Timothy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am perplexed by mystery. I remember my name … Timothy … but little else.” He quickly scanned the space around the Prophet’s head, but the strange lighting must have kept his companion hidden in shadows.

  “You may call me Abraham.” The Prophet caressed the glass egg as its glow flooded his fingers in red light. “I think I might be able to help you learn more about yourself.”

  “Okay,” Timothy said, flattening his hands on the table. “I’m all ears.”

  Abraham chuckled. “That is a fine idiom. I will remember to teach it to my people.”

  “I noticed that they use idioms I’ve heard before, but some of mine are foreign to them.”

  “That’s because as I learn them, I pass some along and keep others to myself.” Abraham pressed his finger on the glass. “But I learn much more than simple idioms. I taught my people several languages, finally settling on English as it became the language of a certain prophet on Earth I used to watch. Also, most of our technology comes from what I was able to copy by studying what you have in your world.”

  Timothy pointed at himself. “My world? I’m not from this planet?”

  “I believe you come from another realm and dimension, one that I have watched for countless years.” Abraham gazed into the red glass. “But the fact that another world exists should not shock you. Many authors in your realm have speculated such things, so the idea is not foreign to your people.”

  “Maybe not so foreign, but reading about a new realm feels a lot safer than suddenly showing up in one.” Timothy leaned closer to the ovulum. “You can see my world in there?”

  “And much more.” With a curled finger, he signaled for Timothy to peer into the strange egg. “This orb is called Enoch’s Ghost. It is the twin of one the great prophet Enoch possessed long ago, and he now often speaks through this very glass to give us a window to other worlds—to your world, to worlds of the afterlife, and to Heaven itself. It also replays the annals of times gone by.”

  Timothy looked inside. “I see a dark chamber and a girl with white hair and brilliant blue eyes.”

  “I have seen her many times,” Abraham said, “almost always in that dark room. I don’t know why Enoch shows her to me from time to time, but I perceive greatness in her. She has suffered cruel treatment over the years, but she has overcome every challenge.”

  Entranced by her sapphiric eyes, Timothy drew closer. “She is mesmerizing. Do you know her name?”

  “Only through a brief song Enoch sings about her on occasion.”

  Timothy pointed at the glass. “The ovulum sings to you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Abraham laughed softly. “Before any rooster considers crowing, Enoch makes sure I arise bright and early with a song, and he grants me encore performances throughout the day.”

  The image of the girl faded, leaving only a swirling red fog within. Timothy settled back in his chair. “Can you sing the one about the girl?”

  Abraham cleared his throat. “My voice is no match for Enoch’s, but the song is short enough to keep you from seeking a rock to hide under.” He took a breath and sang in a rough tenor.

  To see beyond the veil of men

  Demands a child of piercing sight.

  Sapphira Adi, born of earth,

  Is now a daughter of the light.

  Timothy let the name roll quietly off his tongue. “Sapphira Adi.”

  “A lovely name, isn’t it?”

  “It is lovely … and familiar.” Timothy leaned forward and gazed at the chaotic swirl within Enoch’s Ghost. “Sapphira Adi,” he whispered, “For some reason, I think we have met before, and I believe we are destined to meet again.”

  Chapter 6

  The Endless Staircase

  Holding Excalibur in front, Walter scampered down the uneven, rocky steps, occasionally skipping one or two as he hurried along.

  Ashley hustled to keep up, but each echoing footfall brought new reminders of her recent upwelling of frightening recollections. The dark staircase felt like an old nightmare come to life, a deepening vision of vague, shadowy dreams that had haunted many troubled slumbers. The last thing she wanted here was to be alone. “Slow down!” she called, trying to catch her breath. “I can’t see where I’m going!”

  Walter stopped and looked back. “Sorry. I just want to get there as fast as possible.” The light from the blade shone on each side wall. The stairway was so narrow they had to descend single file to keep from scraping their shoulders on the rough stones. “Besides, who wants to stick around this creepy corridor?”

  “I know what you mean.” She unzipped her jacket and flapped it to cool her body. “I’m getting kind of claustrophobic, but we can’t hurtle into the unknown at ninety miles an hour. Who knows what might be down there?”

  He pointed the sword at the stairs below. “If it’s something dangerous, then we should go even faster. Karen needs us.”

  “But we’ll be exhausted when we get there.” She leaned against the wall. “Don’t forget. Going down is a lot easier than coming back up. If Karen can’t climb, it might take all day to get back.”

  “Good point.” Walter exhaled loudly and rested his back on the opposite wall. After a few seconds his eyebrows lifted. “Have you wondered how a dragon can make a hole like this open up? I mean, is that a weird dragon power we haven’t heard of yet? Can some of them make things move with their minds?”

  Ashley pushed a shock of wet hair out of her eyes and wiped the perspiration on her jeans. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we started down this hole. I doubt that dragons can defy the laws of physics. They’re limited to using their natural traits, just like humans are, and creating a hole and a staircase like this out of the blue isn’t anywhere close to natural.”

  Walter’s eyes gleamed in Excalibur’s weak glow. “So, what’s your conclusion, Miss Mighty Mind?”

  A twinge of pain pinched Ashley’s heart. She expected Larry to zing her with barbed nicknames, but not Walter. She tried to hide the sting with a laugh. “Didn’t I ask you to stop joking about me?”

  “But it wasn’t a joke.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “Uh …” His eyes averted, finally fixing their gaze on the stone wall. “A term of endearment?” Even in the low light, the redness in his cheeks was obvious.

  She smiled and sighed. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  Walter’s gaze stayed locked on the wall. “That’s kind of weird.”

  “What’s kind of weird?” Ashley followed his line of sight and searched the bare stone. “What are you staring at?”

  “You can’t see it at first,” he replie
d, rubbing his finger along a darker spot, “but if you concentrate, you can make out a design.”

  She leaned closer. “What kind of design?”

  “Kind of like letters, but it’s pretty ragged.” He brought Excalibur near the wall. Its glow poured into the crags, revealing a series of odd shapes that ran head high and parallel to the sloping staircase, staying within a hand’s-breadth range. “You can see it pretty easily now.”

  Ashley ran a finger along the stone. “It’s too broken to make out, but it’s definitely a string of words of some kind.” She tapped her jaw and spoke into the air. “Larry, are you still listening in?”

  “Your signal is weak, O Anthrozilic Angel, so I will boost my power and extend the auxiliary antenna.”

  “Yeah, right. And increase the volume on your annoying alliterations.” She reached into her duffle bag and pulled out her handheld computer. “I have my tracker turned on. Are you monitoring us?”

  “You are still at your former residence in Montana, but your elevation has changed. You are now at only one hundred and twelve feet above sea level, four thousand and six feet lower than before.”

  “I hope we don’t hit water,” Walter said. “I didn’t bring my swim fins.”

  She set the computer close to the wall. “I’m sending a scan. It’ll be pretty rough, but see if you can clean it up and read it to me.”

  “Ready for transmission.”

  Holding down a button on the side, Ashley guided the computer along the etching and stopped after a few feet. “That should be enough of a sample.”

  Several seconds later, Larry’s voice buzzed through again. “I compared the phrase to several dictionaries and calculated the most likely rendering. It says, ‘ Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate. ’”

  Ashley slid the computer back into her pocket. “Sounds like Italian.”

  “Affirmative. It repeated a few words before the transmission ended, so I considered the extra verbiage dispensable.”

  “Yeah, it looks like the same message over and over.” Ashley laid her hand on the letters again. “What does it mean?”