by Bryan Davis
Gasping for breath, Joran leaped at Tamiel, but the demon sidestepped out of the way. Joran fell headlong into a sea of blue, then jumped to his feet and spun back.
Tamiel called above the chaotic noise. “Stay where you are!”
“Let my sister go!” Joran shouted, his voice hoarse.
“Gladly.” Tamiel snatched the sonic rods from Selah, set her upright, and spun her in place. Holding the rods over her head, he waved the twisted ribbon of sound and wrapped her in a cocoon of rhythmic noise. As she rotated, she thinned out and shrank in place until only the lyre and her hands remained visible.
Seconds later, everything but the lyre vanished. It turned on one of its supports for a moment, wobbling on the blue floor like a faltering top. Before it could fall, Tamiel scooped it up and looked at the strings. “Ah! She is now encased in the A string. She is in the middle, buffered by three strings on each side, so she should be comfortable.” He reached the lyre toward Joran. “I believe this is yours.”
His arms trembling, Joran took the lyre and stared at the A string. It vibrated slightly, as if recently played, and a weak voice drifted into his ears. “Joran? What happened?”
“Selah?” He ran his finger along the string. It seemed of normal tension and composition, though it tingled against his skin. “Can you hear me?”
“She likely can hear you,” Tamiel said, “but I doubt that she can see you. I have done this in order to make sure you carry out the necessary steps to create a key. When you are finished, bring the lyre back to me, and I will release your sister.”
Joran balled a fist. “I ought to—”
“If you try to harm me, I will see to it that she never escapes.” Tamiel laid the sonic rods on the floor, spread out his wings, and backed away. “I will be monitoring your progress, so always assume that I am watching your every move.”
As the demon retreated toward the white door, Joran picked up the rods and pushed them into his leg pouch. Then, setting his lips close to the A string, he whispered, “Selah?” After a few seconds of silence, he plucked the string. It vibrated, emitting the note, as well as Selah’s voice.
“It’s such a dark place, blackness all around. Oh, Elohim, I hear Joran, but I cannot seem to speak to him. I ask for a voice so that we can communicate. Let him know where I am so he can …”
As the string settled, her words faded. Joran plucked it again, harder this time.
“I will fear nothing. I will trust in you, my deliverer from the flood, with all my heart. So if there is any way you can let him know that I am unhurt and waiting for another way of escape …”
Again, her voice trailed off into silence.
Joran plucked the string again and again. As the note strengthened with every pluck, a white aura formed around the string. It brightened and expanded until an image appeared between Joran and the strings—Selah on her knees with her hands clasped in prayerful entreaty. Completely white and radiant, her body pulsed with the strength of the note.
“I know you will watch over me, Elohim, so—”
“Selah!”
She shot to her feet and looked around. “Joran?”
“Yes! I’m here!”
Staring at him, her mouth dropped open. “You’re so big!”
He continued plucking. “You’re trapped inside one of the lyre’s strings. If I keep playing it, you appear in front of me. You look like a miniature Selah, bright and silvery, like mist in the moonlight.”
“How odd!” She set her hands on her hips. “Where’s that wicked serpent who put me in here?”
“Gone. He says he’ll show me how to get you out when I complete the key.”
“The lazy devil. You do all the plowing, and he’ll reap the harvest. And once you complete the key, he’ll probably demand that you give it to him in exchange for my freedom from the lyre. We’ll be trapped in the ovula forever.”
“I don’t think I have much choice. I’ll have to complete the key and figure out how to get us out later.” Still playing the string, Joran sighed. “I’m sorry. I failed.”
“You haven’t failed.” She gazed up at him, her eyes bright and hope filled. “Now you have a chance to try again. You can sing me out of the lyre, and you can prove to yourself that your gifts have been restored.”
Joran’s heart thumped. Her plea stabbed his soul. Of course he wanted to get her out of the lyre. He desperately wanted to. But how could he do the impossible? She might as well have asked him to flap his arms and fly to her rescue. Still, shouldn’t he make the attempt? Even if he failed, he had to let her know that he would try anything.
After clearing his throat, he stopped playing, and Selah slowly disappeared. He fixed his stare on the string. Before the betrayal, he could sing the note at a volume that made the string vibrate and cast out its prisoner. Since then, every effort had failed. The string would vibrate slightly and even glow, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make it do anything else.
He sang the A note, raising the volume a notch every second. Soon the string began to vibrate, and a white aura surrounded it. Selah’s image grew out of the glow until it appeared as it had before.
She clapped her hands. “You can do it, Joran! Keep singing!”
His cheeks warming, he continued, but Selah neither grew nor shrank. She stayed semitransparent, an embodiment of radiant mist.
Finally, he stopped and heaved in a breath. Gasping, he crouched and began plucking the string again. “I can’t … can’t keep it up. … I just don’t have the gift anymore.”
“I understand.” Selah’s head drooped. “Thank you for trying.”
He gripped the frame tightly. “I’ll get you out. I promise. It’s my fault you’re in there, and I’ll do whatever it takes to set you free.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Using a song to fight Tamiel was my idea.” With her hands folded behind her, Selah began pacing slowly in a three-step circuit. “At least we know our songs don’t hurt him, but we’ll have to figure out what can affect him.”
Joran straightened to his full height. “All the Watchers are afraid of dragon fire.”
Selah stopped pacing and looked at him. “True, and we also know that dragon fire releases them from the lyre strings, so maybe fire can get me out.”
“But fire also destroys them as they exit.”
“Except for the one that almost escaped,” Selah said. “It took a second dose of fire to kill him.”
“Right. No matter how you look at it, it’s dangerous. Too little fire won’t get you out, and too much could kill you. Besides, we don’t have a dragon around here anyway.”
Selah shrugged. “So we’re stuck with trying to complete the key.”
“Maybe something will come to light while I’m searching the other ovula.”
“Maybe.” She walked to the edge of the lyre’s base, stooped, and caressed the thumb he braced it with. Although he couldn’t feel the touch, watching her loving gesture raised goose bumps up and down his arm. “You can’t keep playing the string forever, Joran. Just bring me back when you learn something new or want to talk. I’ll be all right. There’s nothing here to hurt me, nothing at all.” She straightened and gave her shoulders another light shrug. “Except maybe loneliness.”
Joran caressed the lyre’s frame. “As soon as I find the next ovulum, I’ll call you back. We probably couldn’t talk inside the purity ovulum anyway.”
“True.” She lowered herself to a sitting position and smiled, her gaze still locked on him. “I love you, Joran. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I love you, too, Selah.” As he plucked the string a final time, he clenched his teeth. “I’ll get you out of there.”
Her image melted away. Wrapping his arms around the lyre, he hugged it against his chest, again caressing the A string. He sucked in a halting breath and added, “Somehow.”
* * *
Matt awoke to darkness, almost complete except for a tiny gl
immer floating near the center of his view. He lay on a cold, hard surface, like concrete or tiles. His wrists were tied in front of him, forcing his arms together, but they could still move freely as a unit. The binding material felt like thick rope, damp, as if someone had wetted the knots to allow them to shrink as they dried. At the ends of his bent legs, rope bound his ankles. Both binding points were so tight, his fingers and toes tingled.
As he pushed to sit up, pain ripped through his left forearm. The sudden pangs sparked a barrage of memories—crawling through the prison fence, watching Mrs. Bannister and Lauren lift safely into the night sky, getting shot in the arm, and being dragged back to the prison.
He lifted his arms to his face and felt for his wound with his chin. His sleeve had been rolled up and a bandage wrapped around his forearm. Although it was too dark to be sure, it felt like a tight medical bandage rather than a hastily tied piece of cloth.
Feeling dizzy, he probed with his hands, found a wall, and leaned his head back. Pain again roared through his arm, forcing a low moan.
“Are you all right?” someone called.
Matt stiffened. The masculine voice seemed caring, though weak and tortured. “Uh … not exactly all right.”
“When they dragged you in here, it looked like you were in pretty bad shape.”
“I think I’m still in bad shape. I got shot in the arm.” Matt winced at the throbbing pain. “I’ve never been shot before.”
“I doubt that it’s something you can get used to.”
“No. I guess not.”
“The guard told me to give you an update when you woke up.” The man’s voice seemed livelier now. “The bullet went all the way through, and there was some damage to the bone, more like a chip than a break, so it doesn’t need a cast.”
“Good news, bad news, huh?”
“Something like that.”
Matt peered through the darkness. The slight glimmer floated above a shadowy outline, a man sitting against the opposite wall. “What’s that light I see?”
“It’s a candlestone hanging from the ceiling. It keeps me weak. They think darkness will also weaken me, which might be true, but it’s nothing compared to the candlestone. It’s like an energy leech.”
“Are you an anthrozil?”
“Yep. Billy Bannister’s my name. What’s yours?”
“Matt. Matt Fletcher.” He imagined a friendly expression on Mr. Bannister’s face, though marred by a slight wince, reflecting his weakness. Still, the mental sketch was vague, incomplete. If Walter was right, then this stranger was his real father and might have some of his own features. And by rights, maybe he should be addressing Mr. Bannister as a son would a father, but having drill sergeants for father figures didn’t exactly make that easy. For now, it would be better to probe for information before accepting Walter’s wild theories. “So, uh, I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I go to a military school, and there’s always talk about preparing for war against Second Eden.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. The officers say the higher-ups persecute anthrozils to keep dragons away. The stuff about trying to find the answer to long life is a scam.”
“Are they saying that any dragon sighting will result in increased torture for imprisoned anthrozils?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m not sure how it could increase.”
“I guess sitting all alone in the dark is like torture. At least you’re not being stretched on a rack or getting water-boarded.”
“As if that would be worse.” Mr. Bannister let out a sigh. “How old are you, Matt?”
“Sixteen. Why?”
“Just wondering if you could understand. You’re probably mature enough.” Mr. Bannister grunted, as if shifting his body to a different position. “Anyway, I got married seventeen years ago to the most wonderful woman ever to set foot on this planet. We had a year of unmatched bliss together, and she gave birth to twins, Charles and Karen. They were the joy springs of our mutual love, and we treasured them as gifts from God. But during their first year of life, the peace between Earth and Second Eden started to crumble. Elam and Sapphira—Second Eden’s king and queen—wouldn’t agree to join Earth’s United Nations or acquiesce to any international laws. In a formal letter to the UN, King Elam stated that Second Eden is separate, unique, and sovereign, and he wouldn’t relinquish any power, rule, or authority to anyone.”
Matt twisted his good arm, trying to get blood to his numbing fingers. “I read about that. It was received like a slap in the face. The UN was furious.”
“I should have guessed you’d be up to speed on your history. What did they teach you about what happened next?”
“The UN president said something offensive about the queen of Second Eden, so the king sent dragons to attack Fort Knox and steal the gold reserves. I saw video of the battle.”
Mr. Bannister laughed softly. “I thought that would be your answer. And did you see how much gold the dragons carried away?”
“We … uh … I mean, the army repelled them, and the dragons didn’t get anything. Not a single bar of gold. But that attack began a cold war that’s lasted fifteen years.”
Another laugh flowed through Mr. Bannister’s reply. “Repelled them. That’s comical.”
“Why is it comical?”
“Before I answer, let me ask you this. Did you see any photos of Fort Knox after the battle?”
Matt shook his head, though Mr. Bannister likely couldn’t see him. “The army ordered a media blackout until about two years ago.”
“I see. So that means it took them more than ten years to rebuild the fort. The dragons really devastated that place, didn’t they?”
“That’s not what I heard. Official reports say there was minimal damage.”
“Official reports!” Mr. Bannister huffed. “Well, Matt Fletcher, let me reeducate you. After King Elam refused the UN’s demands, he agreed to send Queen Sapphira as an emissary to hear a list of grievances lodged against Second Eden. But Elam made it clear that Sapphira was there to seek a remedy, not to be an ambassador who recognized any UN authority or legitimacy. She would come as an agent of peace between two sovereign entities, not in recognition that Second Eden had any obligation to acquiesce to UN demands.”
“I never heard any of this,” Matt said. “It’s like revisionist history.”
“Except that my version is the truth. The media and the educational systems create their own version of history to match an agenda. Anyway, the UN goons kidnapped Sapphira and held her hostage in Fort Knox. They said they would let her go only if Second Eden agreed to abide by international law.”
“That’s insane! You can’t use threats to force someone to a negotiating table. As soon as the threat is over, the party being threatened can just walk away from whatever agreement they made. They would have to hold Sapphira permanently to keep Elam honest.”
Mr. Bannister growled under his breath. “Keep Elam honest. As if the UN cared anything about honesty.”
“So what happened?”
“Elam understood exactly your point and guessed that they would never give Sapphira back, so he set up an appointment to come to the UN in person to negotiate for her release. Of course, the government sent all kinds of troops to New York to make the UN headquarters secure, thinking Elam might bring a squadron of dragons to ensure his safe return. Well, the morning he was supposed to arrive, the dragons launched an attack on Fort Knox to retrieve Sapphira, catching Earth’s forces off guard.” Mr. Bannister grunted again, and his voice weakened as he continued. “The dragons weren’t trying to get gold. They were seeking a greater treasure, and they succeeded.”
“How did the dragons know where to find her?”
“We have computer capabilities that allowed us to search for disruptions in military bases. You see, Sapphira is not a weak little princess. We knew she would cause an unbelievable ruckus, possibly creating an inferno that wou
ld require outside help to extinguish. When our computers noticed a fire department dispatch to Fort Knox from every surrounding station, it didn’t take much more investigative work to figure out where Sapphira was within the compound. They had to put her in a bunker in the tightest security possible.”
“Where they keep the gold?”
“Exactly. So when the dragons attacked, the one video the army released made it look like they were trying to get the gold reserves, so the media had all the proof they needed to turn popular opinion against Second Eden. But they didn’t want to scare the people too badly, so they framed the attack as a failure, saying that the dragons came with all their firepower and caused only minimal damage. The fact is that the dragons devastated the fort so completely, they wouldn’t let anyone outside the military in to see the remains.”
“Actually, that makes a lot of sense,” Matt said. “I never heard a coherent reason for the media blackout.”
“Then, as you might expect, the UN retaliated. They demanded that the US arrest my wife and me as spies, and they took away our children before their first birthday. That didn’t make the TV or newspapers, I’ll bet.”
“Not that I ever heard.” Matt gazed at the sparkling candlestone. Floating in the air about ten feet from the floor, it looked like a trapped star. “So, why haven’t the dragons come to rescue you and your wife?”
Silence descended, a heavy silence that seemed to darken the room. “I don’t know. I have been without communication from the outside for fifteen years. I can pick up information from the guards in puzzle pieces, whenever they care to say anything more than a grunt, and I can guess the reason from what I know about Elam. He is a wise and patient man. He thinks the government would be ready for another dragon attack and not be fooled by a diversion. In fact, this facility is so new, the whole place might be an elaborate setup designed to draw dragons here so they can be exterminated. Elam would probably work in stealth, taking his time to find where we are and hatch a plan to get us out. Since he endured suffering for a lot more years than I have, he might assume that we can endure it as well, that we would gladly do so if it meant preventing war.”
