Song of the Ovulum

by Bryan Davis

  He turned his head to his right. His fingers curled around his sonic rod as well as a handful of someone’s clothing, but the person lay so close, he couldn’t see who it was. Selah, maybe? If so, he must have grabbed her tunic during a nightmare, but she seemed undisturbed.

  Letting go of the tunic but keeping the rod, he turned to the opposite side. His other hand lay over a wrist, delicate and feminine. Selah?

  He propped himself on an elbow to get a closer look. It was Selah! She lay on her back, still clutching her sonic rod, her eyes closed as her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm.

  Joran climbed to his feet. He stood on what appeared to be nothing at all, as if he floated in empty air, yet his weight still pressed down on a foundation. This invisible floor had to have some substance.

  The person on his right also lay on his back, but an arm covered his face. Still, he seemed vaguely familiar, like a person one meets only in a dream.

  “Hello,” Joran tried to say, but although his mouth formed the word, and his lungs pushed out the air, no sound emerged, at least none he could hear. Like Selah, this person breathed easily, noiselessly.

  Joran stood perfectly still and listened. How strange! Even in the quietest places, the sound of his own heartbeat always registered. But now? Nothing. Nothing at all. He laid a hand over his heart. It thumped, as usual, but the rhythm seemed faster than normal, as if he had just battled a Watcher.

  A Watcher? The word sparked an image—a winged creature, smaller than the other demons, mysterious, and … silent.

  A flood of memories surged through his mind. Tamiel, the Silent One, stole the purity ovulum, but Joran grabbed his tunic and …

  He looked at his hand, flexing his fingers around the sonic rod as he imagined dragging that creature into the powerful suction that pulled Selah toward the ovulum. It was a desperate attempt to keep Tamiel from stealing the ovulum, and it worked. He had done it.

  Somehow the three of them had traveled into the egg. Father had said each ovulum held a refuge, and since the purity ovulum was crystal clear, it made sense that they would be in the midst of perfect clarity, a world of invisible realities, including a transparent floor that registered white in his eyes.

  Turning back to Selah, he lowered himself to his knees. Maybe he was the only one who couldn’t hear in this place. He had to be as quiet as possible and not waken Tamiel.

  He nudged her shoulder. She blinked, then stared at him. Her mouth formed words, but no sound came out. Her brow bent, and she lifted a hand to her ear.

  Joran read her lips as she tried to say, “I can’t hear.”

  He helped her to her feet and nodded toward Tamiel. She covered her mouth as if gasping, but again, silence reigned. Gesturing toward her back, she mouthed, “Where are his wings?”

  Joran shrugged. Since Tamiel was able to alter his form to that of a young woman, hiding his wings was probably a simple matter.

  Taking Selah’s hand, Joran began walking. Maybe Tamiel could hear, and maybe he couldn’t. In either case, it would be better to stay as far away from him as possible.

  Under their feet, the ground didn’t seem to move at all. Yet, Tamiel drifted away like a raft on a slow current, getting smaller and smaller. Ahead, only whiteness appeared, but not the opaque whiteness of pearls or chalk. The background was perfect clarity, an infinite expanse of blended light.

  Joran searched for a visual anchor. It felt unnerving to have no point of reference, nothing by which to judge space or movement. It seemed that he might topple over at any moment or fall into an invisible chasm. His reflexes signaled warning after warning, and constantly ignoring them dizzied his mind.

  For some reason, his skin felt clean and fresh, no trace of pain from the burns on his back. If they had slept long enough for the burns to heal, why would he feel as though he had just bathed? Wouldn’t his skin be oily and smell of dirt and sweat?

  After what seemed like several minutes, a smudge appeared to the left, slightly off-white and slowly growing. It couldn’t be Tamiel. If they had managed to walk in a reasonably straight line, he lay somewhere behind them, now no longer visible in the expanse. If someone else lurked, who could tell if he or she had evil intent? Except for a few members of their immediate family, most people at home were corrupt and hate-filled, so this place might have residents of the same ilk.

  Soon, the smudge took on color and shape, a vague blue rectangle that grew taller as they drew closer. With every step, it seemed that they might have arrived, but whenever Joran reached out a hand, he couldn’t quite touch the blueness. It just kept growing.

  Finally, the sides of the rectangle extended toward them, and the whiteness faded to blue. Each step raised a company of sounds—swishing clothes, a pair of heartbeats, and two out-of-synch respirations.

  Joran stopped and turned toward Selah. A wash of blue light coated her face, making her look sickly, but her bright eyes reflected excitement, even joy.

  “Can you hear?” He smiled before she could reply. His own voice never sounded so good.

  “Yes.” She set a hand against her chest. “Whew! That was torture. I have never been so confused in all my life.”

  “I felt the same way. What I can’t figure out is why being inside the purity ovulum would cause loss of sound.”

  “Maybe because Tamiel’s there.” Selah lifted her sonic rod. “He knows these won’t do us any good while he’s using his power of silence.”

  Joran glanced at his own rod. “Or maybe the purity ovulum’s song has some properties we don’t understand.”

  “That could be.” Selah’s eyes darted all around. “What do you think this blue light means?”

  “I’m not sure.” Joran looked back the way they had come. A rectangle of white stood erect like an open door. It didn’t make any sense to go back. Nothing was out there except Tamiel, and facing him in an unknown land might be deadly. Maybe they should press on and see where this corridor would lead them. If it led into the blue ovulum, then they would be in a refuge that his father had in his possession. They had no way to know what became of the purity ovulum after they entered. Since it probably vanished, no one would be able to find it.

  A new voice floated through the blue air. “Excuse me.”

  A girl wearing a knee-length dress tied at the waist walked through the white doorway and into the blueness. With long white hair and a white aura, she presented a stark contrast against the darker background.

  “Who are you?” Joran asked.

  She came within a few steps and halted, a bright smile on her face. “I’m so glad you understand my language. Since the fall of the Tower of Babel, many people lost the ability to speak it.” She dipped her knee. “I am Acacia.”

  Joran bowed his head. “Pleased to meet you, Acacia. I am Joran, and this is my sister, Selah.”

  Each girl offered a generous smile.

  “What is the Tower of Babel?” Selah asked.

  “Oh!” Acacia covered her mouth. “I assumed too much. It’s a story for the ages, but I haven’t the time to relate it now.” Lowering her hand, she continued. “I can tell you that its effects on communication are unpredictable. Some people will understand you, and some won’t.”

  Joran glanced again at the white doorway. “Why did you hail us?”

  “I saw you walk in, so I followed. Other than my sisters, I haven’t seen anyone else in the white room, so I was curious and wanted to learn who you are and why you are here.”

  Joran studied her face. Even in this world of blue, her eyes seemed bluer—sparkling, penetrating. She displayed no hint of the corruption he had feared. “We were drawn in by a powerful wind. I heard a voice within the wind, so I think maybe Elohim wanted to rescue Selah from the flood. She dragged me in with her, and I pulled a demon in behind me.”

  “A demon?” Acacia’s brow wrinkled. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Joran cupped a hand. “He held the great purity ovulum,
and I didn’t want him to keep it. The only choice I had was to bring him in with us.”

  “Very interesting.” Acacia swiveled toward the doorway. “Where is he now?”

  “We left him back there. He’s either asleep or unconscious. We were in the same state a few moments ago but were fortunate enough to wake up before he did.”

  “I’m confused,” Acacia said, blinking. “If you escaped the flood, why are you just now awakening?”

  Selah grasped Acacia’s wrist gently. “Why is that confusing?”

  “I entered this place long after the flood,” Acacia said, “and I have been here for centuries.”

  Joran drew his head back. “Centuries?”

  Nodding, Acacia sighed. “That is the way of this world. Perception of time passage is skewed. When one day passes here, perhaps a year has flown by in our home world. In a different colored chamber, a decade might pass or perhaps only an hour. You can never be sure.”

  “Then how do you know you’ve been here for centuries?” Selah asked.

  “In the scarlet chamber where my sisters and I usually stay, we have access to a viewing portal by which we can see events in our home world. Also, a great prophet comes to the chamber on occasion and teaches us, and I hope I can remember all he has said. He told me that when I leave this place, much of what I have seen here will probably be purged from my mind.”

  “Then he expects you to leave,” Joran said. “Did he say when?”

  “Not exactly, but he believes our departure will be very soon, so …” She pushed a hand into her tunic’s pocket and withdrew it as a fist. Slowly uncurling her fingers, she revealed a gemstone—oval and about the size of a small egg, though flatter than any bird’s egg. Hexagonal facets no bigger than an infant’s fingernail covered its surface. A thin beam of white light emanated from one of the facets, dim but easy to notice in the sea of blue. Deep within, the core appeared to be black, about a tenth of the size of the gem itself.

  “During my explorations in my home world,” Acacia continued, “I found this, and I had it in my pocket when I came here. My teacher said it’s called a candlestone and that it absorbs light energy. It became part of a puzzle that helped me create a key that will enable me to escape.” With a nod at the gem, she whispered, “Give me light!”

  The candlestone emanated a brilliant glow, so bright, Joran had to blink to keep his eyes from stinging. “How did this help you find a way to escape?”

  “It was one of the keys. I had to find thirteen, one for me and each of my sisters. You must explore the chambers to find your keys.”

  “Keys?” Joran imagined the keys the Watchers taught some of the merchants to make, but they varied greatly in size and shape. “What do they look like?”

  “A key might not be one that fits into a lock. Mine were sources of light—a torch, a lantern, this candlestone, and others that would take too long to describe. Yours will likely be quite different. If you can find my teacher, you may ask him for more information, but I never know when he will appear. Now that I have found my keys, I can use them to go home with my sisters.”

  “Who are your sisters?” Joran asked. “How did all of you get here?”

  Acacia slid the gem back into her pocket, returning the chamber to a dimmer blue. “I have no time to tell you. Since there is a demon here, I must hurry back to my sisters. He is darkness in a place of light. He will surely try to hinder our efforts.”

  “Is there any way we could come with you?” Selah asked.

  Acacia shook her head sadly. “My teacher says the portal will open for exactly thirteen people, and my sisters and I have been chosen to go. I cannot explain more, because that’s all I know.” She dipped her knee again. “Please excuse me. I don’t want to miss my opportunity to go home.”

  Selah embraced Acacia and whispered into her ear. “May Elohim bless you as you and your sisters return to your loved ones.”

  Drawing back, Acacia brushed a tear from her eye. “Joran and Selah, you have a long, hard journey ahead of you. I will pray for you both.” Then, she turned and ran through the white doorway.

  As if taking a rest in a song, Joran and Selah said nothing through a moment of silence.

  “Explore,” Selah whispered. “It is a word of promise—open-ended, the call of faith.”

  “If Tamiel awakens, it will be a word of danger.”

  Selah turned to him and smiled. “Someday I’m going to change that pessimistic spirit of yours.”

  “It’s reality. Haven’t you thought about it? If the flood is in the past, Father is dead. Except for Noah and his family, all our relations drowned in Elohim’s wrath. The color of mercy is dark, indeed.”

  Selah took in a dramatic breath. “And yet we continue to breathe. If we were not pulled into this place, we would have drowned with the rest. You think I deserved to be rescued and you deserved to die, and now we both stand here alive. It seems to me that the color of mercy might be too bright for you to behold.”

  Joran stared at Selah. The blue wash made her look older, filled with wisdom beyond her years. “Okay,” he said with a sigh, “I won’t argue the point. I suppose we should plan this journey.”

  “Since Acacia said to explore the chambers, that must mean the ovula are all attached somehow, and we just walked into one.”

  “Blue for valor,” Joran said. “Then if we return to the white world and walk in a different direction, we might find other colors.”

  She nodded. “That’s a reasonable guess.”

  “Well, then …” He held out his elbow. “Shall we explore?”

  She hooked her arm through his. “Definitely.”

  They walked together into the blue depths. Soon, the color faded, like fog evaporating in the morning light, and their surroundings clarified.

  A massive corridor materialized, so high even a Naphil mounted on a dragon’s back could pass through, and a dragon’s outstretched wings wouldn’t touch the tapestries and framed paintings mounted on the walls.

  Halting his march, Joran studied one of the paintings. It depicted a battle between a dragon and a man wearing a metal suit. The man carried a shield, a sword, and a hate-filled scowl, while the dragon, red and rearing on its haunches, poured a stream of fire that splashed against the shield.

  Joran touched the painting’s ornate wooden frame. A spark of blue jumped from the point of contact, sending a jolt up his arm. He jerked his finger back and shook it. How strange! Could the treasures in this hall be protected by sorcery?

  “Joran, look at this.” Selah pointed at a metallic suit, similar to the one worn by the man in the painting. It clutched the hilt of a sword with gloved hands. The point of the blade touched the marble stand upon which it stood. “He hasn’t moved. I think there’s no one inside.”

  “It’s just a display of some kind.” He tapped the metal arm with a finger, again raising a blue spark. “We’d better not touch anything. I think witchcraft is at work here.”

  “The floor seems harmless.” Selah walked to the center of the corridor and made a slow turn. “I have never seen such a place. It’s amazing!”

  “A different world. Reality seems warped.” Joran took in a long breath. A dank odor hung in the air, like a cave without a second airway. Maybe no one had been here for a very long time. “Do you see anything that might be a key?”

  She stopped turning and set her gaze on him. “We’re Listeners. My guess is that Elohim would have us use our gifts to find what we’re looking for.”

  “This room looks like a chamber for displaying valuables, but I don’t see anything related to music.”

  Selah walked to an empty, waist-high pedestal standing near the wall. Although dust coated most of the circular, wooden surface, a thin line from one side to the other remained clean. “Something was sitting here recently.”

  “A scroll?” Joran asked as he approached.

  “That makes sense.” She leaned over and examined the t
hin supporting column. “It couldn’t have been anything heavy.”

  Joran blew at the dust. His breath raised a shower of sparks along the surface that twinkled and died out, but the dust didn’t move. “It looks like this stand is bewitched as well.”

  A voice drifted in, a woman speaking in a low tone—agitated, yet concealing her mood with forced congeniality.

  Gesturing for Selah to follow, Joran padded toward the source. At the far end of the hall, a door stood ajar. He skulked to the opening and peeked inside. Standing behind him, Selah looked over his shoulder.

  A woman dressed in black sat in a large chair at the head of a long table. Lines of upright objects, perhaps a foot tall and made of marble, stood on a board in front of her. She stared at them, her face calm and self-assured. The objects appeared to be game pieces of some sort, two lines of white tokens on one side and two lines of black on the other. She held a lyre in her lap and strummed it with a slow, casual hand. With each note, one of the pieces moved, alternating between black and white. At times, one piece took the square occupied by another, causing the usurped piece to disappear.

  Joran focused on the lyre. Although it was the same size and shape as Father’s, the frame’s wood was far more weathered. Maybe the same craftsman had made them.

  After dozens of moves, the woman spoke in an even tone, using an odd language. An echo followed that seemed to translate her words. “The end game approaches, and my black knights have made no progress. It is clear that I will have to provide them with more power.”

  Between her and Joran, a man wearing a dark suit covered with metallic links sat on a low footstool, fidgeting as he looked at her. He ran his fingers along the hilt of a sword sheathed in a scabbard at his hip. He, too, spoke in the unfamiliar language, and the translation took a half second longer. “Morgan, whatever this power is, I vow to use it judiciously.”

  Joran studied the lyre. When they spoke, the strings vibrated slightly. Could it be acting as their interpreter?

  Morgan frowned. “A vow made in ignorance. It is a dangerous device and difficult to control, so your confidence is unwarranted.” Her voice altered to a humming song. “Now that the remaining dragons have become human, locating them will be nearly impossible.”