by Bryan Davis
She pulled the bag away. “Take care to be quiet. We wouldn’t want to disturb Methuselah.”
Joran cocked his head. Methuselah? Why would she use Father’s given name? Only the other elders called him that.
He glanced at the lyre. Its strings, now dark, didn’t vibrate at all. Seraphina wasn’t a vision, of course. Her ability to touch and hold things proved that. Yet, this slip of the tongue had to mean something. “Seraphina?”
“Yes?” she said as she opened the bag and gazed into it.
“Do you have a father in the other world?”
“An adoptive father.” She looked up. “Why?”
“Do you call him by his first name?”
“Oh, I see.” She gave him a disarming smile. “As a matter of fact, I do call him by his first name, Manichen. We are all on a first-name basis there. The authority structures are not the same.”
Joran let her words and tone repeat in his mind. Earlier, there was no cause for suspicion, no reason to test the quality of her voice. But now? With such an odd alteration in her normal manner, it seemed right to measure everything, and she began to sound less and less like Seraphina with every word she spoke.
“Is something wrong?” Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Aren’t you going to get Selah?”
“Well …” Again, Joran measured her words and countenance. Yes, he was delaying, but so was she. Why wouldn’t she go ahead and take the ovulum out of the bag? Might her touch reveal something she wanted to hide?
The fog in his mind now dissipating, his old sharpness returned. “I was waiting to see what you would do to open a door.”
She half closed one eye. “I am getting the impression that you lack trust in me.”
“Should I? You look like my sister, but you haven’t acted much like her.”
“Seeing how you are begging me to believe in you after what you did to me, you should know that people can change.”
“Of course, and our hope is that we change for the better. We want the sun to rise and dispel fog and darkness.” He copied her skeptical pose, bending his brow and half closing an eye. “Darkness is a mask that will always be exposed.”
“Perhaps, but a mask that has achieved its purpose is no longer needed.” She put her hand into the bag and began withdrawing the ovulum. “Revealing the truth to you now will make no difference. I have what I came to acquire.”
She dropped the bag and held the ovulum in both hands. As she stared, it darkened with each passing second. “Concealing its song is ineffective unless I take advantage of someone’s carelessness. And you, dear Joran, cared more about yourself and Selah than about your guardianship of this ovulum.”
Joran lunged, reaching for it, but she leaped to the side as he passed. He stumbled headlong, his chin and hands digging into the grassy turf. With a spin and jump, he leaped back to his feet.
“Still clumsy,” Seraphina said, laughing. “Just as clumsy as when I met you at the outskirts of the Garden of Eden. You were a stupid twelve-year-old then, and you are a stupid sixteen-year-old now.”
Tightening his fists, Joran growled. “Who are you?”
“As if you have not guessed.” Like a cocoon, Seraphina’s form stripped away and crumbled, leaving behind a familiar-looking man. Dragon-like wings emerged from his back, stretching out farther than his height. His scant frame appeared to be that of a preadolescent, calling to mind Selah’s form, though as tall as some adults. His hair, dark and curly, touched the base of his neck, and his knee-length tunic, battle trousers, and sandals appeared weathered and dusty.
Now holding the black ovulum in one hand, he spread out his free hand, as if gesturing for Joran to look. “Now do you remember?”
Joran stared. Yes, he remembered. Tamiel, the so-called angel who killed Seraphina, had once again made a fool out of him.
He lunged, but Tamiel grabbed his wrist and slung him against the boulder, smacking his head on the stone. Pain ripped along his spine and down to his toes.
His vision blurry, Joran tried to focus on Tamiel. With such strength in a small body and with the ability to take on Seraphina’s appearance, he had to be a supernatural being of some kind. Since he emanated no song, maybe he really was the Silent One.
“Staring is not considered polite with your race, son of Methuselah.” Tamiel’s voice resonated, taking on a deep, masculine tone. He caressed the ovulum’s shell, peering at it intently, as if searching for a flaw. “I suppose you are wondering how I assumed your sister’s form. I am able to take on the appearance of any human I kill. She is not the first.”
Blinking away the mind fog, Joran rose slowly to his feet. How could he battle this demon? His sonic rods lay in the tent, but running there might endanger Selah and Father. “What are you going to do with the ovulum?”
Neither smiling nor frowning, Tamiel gazed at him with deeply set eyes. “You are going to die tomorrow.” His lips barely moved, and the small nose on his narrow face flared slightly, as if sniffing. “Why should I tell you?”
Something stirred back at the tent. Joran forced his eyes to stay focused on Tamiel. He had to protect Selah at all costs. Yet, without her help, this wicked monster would escape with the ovulum. “Since I’m going to die, what harm would it do to tell me?”
With a soft flap of his wings, Tamiel glided closer. “There is still time for you to spoil my plans.”
Joran stepped back, but the boulder blocked his way. Tamiel halted and settled on the ground, so close, the breeze from his wings wafted across Joran’s face. “Perhaps I should kill you now. Waiting for Elohim to kill you in the flood is too great a risk.”
Pushing as much venom into a whisper as he could, Joran replied with a hiss. “If you try, you despicable serpent, you’ll be in for the fight of your life. I have killed demons a lot more powerful than you.”
“Verbal courage ignites passion, but it makes the mouse clutched in the eagle’s talons sound like a fool.” Tamiel added a laugh. “Instead of killing you now, perhaps it would be better for me to store you inside the ovulum. Your gifts are valuable, and I might be able to use you at a later time. Besides, a battle would likely raise too much noise. I would have to create a shell of silence.” He paused, glancing upward for a moment. “Creating one is likely a good idea no matter what happens.”
Tamiel wrapped both hands around the ovulum. Completely black in his grasp, it veiled his face in a shadow. “If you do not resist, this will be easier for both of us. At least you will survive beyond tomorrow.” As he stared at the glass shell, it began to wail softly like an awakening infant.
“Joran!”
He looked around the boulder. Selah ran toward him, the two sonic rods in her hands. “What have you done?” she shouted as she arrived. “Why did you give it to a demon?”
He pointed at Tamiel who now glared at them with a pensive frown, as if considering his options. “He was disguised as Seraphina!”
“Seraphina is dead!”
“I know, but if you had been here, you’d understand.”
She shook a rod at him. “You should never go anywhere without me, not when demons might be around! Neither of us can overpower them alone.”
“Silence!” Tamiel hissed as he extended the ovulum. “I have succeeded in opening the doorway. Now is your chance to escape Elohim’s wrath.”
A fierce wind kicked up, flapping their hair and clothes, but it made no sound, not even a whistle as the gust swept across the boulder. The ovulum’s dissonant song quieted, and light swirled toward its shell.
Selah sneered at him. “I would rather be dead in Elohim’s hands than live in a refuge that you hold.”
Tamiel replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Then you will come against your will.”
“Makaidos!” Selah shouted as she scanned the horizons. “Come help us!”
“Your cries will not be answered. I have placed a shield of silence around us. Every sound will be absorbed.”
Selah opened her mouth, but the eerie silence expanded and swallowed every word. Joran tried to sing, but the effort felt like trying to blow down a tree. Something powerful blocked his breath.
Finally, a calm, quiet voice emanated from an invisible source. “Selah, the time has come.”
Joran kept an eye on Tamiel. He didn’t say that. Who could it have been?
Like invisible tentacles, the wind swirled around Selah and dragged her toward the ovulum. Screaming, but unable to produce a sound, she hung on to Joran’s wrist.
He returned her grasp and pulled with all his might. The suction lifted her feet and drew her closer to the egg. With their left hands and wrists locked, Joran dug in his heels, but he managed only to plow a divot in the turf.
A blast of wind blew under Joran’s tunic and clawed at his wounds. Yelling without a voice, he dropped to his knees. His fingers gave way, but Selah held on. As the vacuum continued its pull, drawing her legs into the ovulum, she mouthed a new call, phrases she had spoken not long ago. “I will never desert you. We will live and die together.”
Her silent words pumped energy into his muscles. Using the same hand that held the sonic rod, he grabbed Tamiel’s sleeve. The demon’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move.
Like a lion’s maw, the ovulum expanded until it enveloped all three. An awareness of falling took over, a plunge into pure darkness. Then, Joran smacked into something solid, crumpling his body. Pain tore through every nerve.
Gasping for breath, he regripped Selah’s wrist. She tightened hers in return. Selah was alive. They were together. All was well.
Exhaling, he gave in to the pain and drifted into unconsciousness.
HEARING THINGS
Matt skulked through a forest, his head low. Even though an overstuffed backpack and a coil of rope weighed Walter down, keeping up with him was more difficult than running PT drills. He was like a Navy SEAL on steroids.
At least this hike was better than facing Victoria at the pizza social. Dealing with a love-struck girl wasn’t exactly part of his training. And since Dr. Carter hated all dragonkind, he’d be sure to persecute an anthrozil in his midst. There was no going back.
After scaling a cliff and negotiating two dry ravines, Matt tromped through thorny brambles in a bug-infested forest. Wearing boots, gloves, black cargo pants, and a hooded jacket, he was ready for anything, and today’s revelations provided plenty of fuel to go on. The whole evening was like a Twilight Zone rerun, especially finding out that his would-be mother was trapped in a prison torture chamber because she’s an anthrozil, and that he, himself, might have dragon traits. Getting to the bottom of all these mysteries couldn’t wait.
Matt vaulted over a boulder and landed deftly on the other side. This wooded plateau near the Kaibab National Forest would have made his ecology teacher wax poetic. The trees thinned out, and deep ruts scarred the soil, sure signs of mankind’s plundering of the forest ecosystem, or so he would say.
As Matt continued jogging, he sniffed the air. The scent of pine mixed with the odor of decaying leaves filled his nostrils, kicking in a memory from today’s weather report. Late fall had brought a brisk wind that portended a blizzard by tomorrow, possibly beginning as light, frozen precipitation before midnight, which would arrive in about an hour. With heavy snow on the way, this might be their last chance to break into the prison for quite a while. It was a good thing there were plenty of granola bars aboard the airplane. Since he had stuffed himself with at least five, his furnace would probably stay stoked.
Ahead, the trees gave way to a precipice. Walter slowed his pace and glanced from side to side. Matt followed suit, staying several steps behind. One more factor spurred him to go on this insane mission. During the ride to the airport, Walter had said something about a second dragon trait, something even more valuable than danger-sensing. Learning what it might be could make all this effort worthwhile.
Finally, in the light of a bright moon, Walter threw the rope to the ground, dropped to his belly, and signaled for Matt to drop beside him. As soon as Matt slid into place, Walter pulled off his baseball cap, releasing a mop of hair that fell over the top half of his ears and partially hid the camouflage paint on his forehead. Shining a penlight, he unpinned a tiny chip from the cap’s bill and pinched it in his fingers. “Open your mouth.”
“What?” Matt squinted at the chip. “Why?”
“It’s a transmitter. Remember what I said about staying in touch? If I’m going to monitor you, you’ll have to wedge this between your teeth. If you get it in there right, you should be able to tap your jaw to toggle it on and off.”
Matt shook his head. “Look, Mr. Foley, I’ve gone along with this crackpot story this far, but I don’t want to plug in a silicon wafer and be your robot boy.”
“First of all, like I said before, call me Walter. Mr. Foley makes me sound like an old goat. Second …” He pointed ahead where the ground and greenery suddenly dropped out of sight. “We’re at the cliff that overlooks the research wing of your mother’s prison, and maybe your father’s, too, but I’m not sure of that yet. This is where we’ll prove what I’ve been telling you about your heritage, so when you rappel down that cliff, we need to be in constant contact. And I can also use the chip to track your location. Your life might depend on it, and my life, too. Anyway, this is the only possible entry point, because in other places, the woods are loaded with tripwires that’ll snag you like a bug in a spiderweb.”
He stopped, took a breath, and smiled, using the pen to light up his face. His teeth looked gleaming white against the black and green paint. “You can do it. I’ve done lots of stuff more dangerous than this.”
Matt half closed an eye. “Really? Like what?”
“Well, using a dragon’s tail to mount his back while in mid-flight qualifies.”
“What? How do you do that?”
“If you’re falling through the air or standing on the ground, and a dragon tail comes by, you grab it, and the dragon flips you forward with the tail. Then, if your timing is perfect, you land on his back, but you have to be careful not to sit on one of his spines. That’ll ruin your day.”
Matt shook his head. “It sounds like you’re reading a fantasy bedtime story.”
“Everything I’ve told you so far has been proven right. Right?”
“Well … not exactly. The danger-sensing stuff is on target, but Bonnie’s journal doesn’t prove she’s my mother. One of her entries says she lived in Montana, and my records say my mother was born and raised in Detroit.”
“Listen,” Walter said, pointing at him, “the reason Sir Patrick, God rest his soul, had one of his agents hack into the computer to alter your records and your sister’s records was to protect you from dragon haters, but the agent was killed before he could report what he did, and we lost track of both of you. Everything you know about yourself is a lie. And I know about lying. I’ve been posing as my own worst enemy for a while. And it made me feel like a Judas when I stopped visiting your mother and my wife. When I heard about your carnival-ride escapade, I couldn’t risk seeing them.”
“Right. Your wife and the mind-reading thing.”
“Exactly. They say when they’re under sedation, the Healers are getting information, so if I leak anything, the quack doctors might eventually hear it.”
“I get all that, but it doesn’t prove that I’m Charles Bannister.”
“I couldn’t take the time to do a genetics test. I’m hoping when you see your mother, you’ll be convinced. Besides, I’m risking my life to protect you. And since you could report me to the Enforcers, I’m putting everything on the line. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Matt grinned. “It could mean that you’ve played soldier in the Holodeck a few too many times, if you know what I mean
.”
“Okay,” Walter said, returning the grin. “You get points for humor, but you have to give me a break. After following me for six miles, you know I’m more than a couch potato. I am who I say I am, and you are who I say you are.”
“Maybe, but what parent these days calls their kid Charles? I mean, seriously. What were they thinking?”
“Charlie, Chuck, Chucky, take your pick.” Walter shifted the light away from his face. “On second thought, throw out Chucky, but you could use your middle name. It’s Reginald.”
“Reginald?” Matt winced. “Where did they get those names? From a medieval phone book?”
“Closer than you realize. But you could go with Reggie. That’s not so bad.”
“No, but I’ll stick with Matt, at least for now.”
Walter pointed his penlight at his watch. “We have fifteen minutes till my friend shuts down the power.”
“You mean, the giant?”
“Right. Another name you won’t like. Yereq. Giants are good at absorbing power.”
“If you say so.” Matt rolled his eyes. “Fairies are probably good at it, too.”
Walter’s face hardened. “What does your sergeant do when you pull that eye-rolling excrement?”
“I don’t do it in front of him. I’d be marching the grounds till doomsday.”
Walter climbed to his feet and pulled a Glock from a shoulder holster. He popped out the ammo magazine, glanced at it, then slapped it back in place. “I didn’t risk my life to bring you all the way out here to play parent versus spoiled brat.” He shoved the gun back to the holster and glared at him from under his bushy brow. “Got it?”
Matt steeled himself. He couldn’t show fear. Not now. But Walter was right. He deserved a lot of respect. Besides, he was as cool as ice. How many nonmilitary guys could set up a break-in like this? “I got it. I’ll stop acting like a jerk.”
“Good.” Walter handed him the penlight. “Still got the layout memorized?”
“Better than my own barracks. I put the map in my pocket, just in case.” Matt rose to his knees, stuffed the penlight into his pocket, and extended his hand. “Let’s have the chip.”
