Song of the Ovulum

by Bryan Davis

  Joran raised and lowered his feet in the green grass. Except for the red wall to the left, and the marching fire now well in front, the verdant meadow spread out as far as the eye could see.

  Strumming the A, he summoned Selah and showed her the two rescued plants. After introductory bows among the new acquaintances, and a quick explanation of recent events, Joran looked at Mendallah and Zohar in turn and studied their faces. Zohar’s skin carried the fairness of Seraphina’s, perhaps even paler. His nose seemed as small as a child’s, and his eyes shone so blue, they looked like the sky on the clearest of days. Mendallah’s nose flared, and as her full lips stretched into a smile, a breeze tossed her wild, wiry hair. They both bore the aspect of people who possessed great knowledge and wisdom. These two had been close enough to Timothy’s viewing wall to watch and listen to all the events portrayed there day after day. It was no wonder they could understand so much and speak so well.

  Joran smiled at his two traveling companions. “With the grass so green now, I’m wondering if we’re already in the green ovulum.”

  “It could be,” Mendallah said, her voice deep and melodic. “Shall we explore?”

  Zohar pointed at the flames, still moving ahead, perhaps fifty paces away. “May I suggest that we follow the fire?”

  “Agreed.” Still playing Selah’s string, Joran walked parallel to the red viewing wall on his left, while Mendallah lumbered at one side and Zohar stepped lightly at the other. The wall changed from red to a full-color scene, moving at their pace and allowing them to watch the action as it unfolded. It related the story of Second Eden and its founder, Abraham, the former Arramos. It told of a Second Eden resident named Angel, her adopted daughter Listener, and a usurper’s attempt to gain control of the realm and force Angel to become his wife. Abraham turned into a wall of fire that encircled the usurper’s territory and cut him off, and Angel joined Abraham in the flames, strengthening the protective barrier.

  Joran glanced ahead. The flames continued burning, still advancing at the same pace. It seemed that hours passed, perhaps days. In this world of skewed perspectives, who could tell? How long had he and Selah been here now? Thousands of years? And, like Timothy, they had eaten no food, drunk no water, and slept not at all. All bodily needs seemed dormant, and only needs of the mind and heart stayed active. Not only that, ever since this newest journey began, he had plucked the A string almost continually without tiring. This place never ceased to grow more puzzling.

  Soon, the wall of fire stopped, as if waiting. When Joran, Mendallah, and Zohar drew close, words emanated from the flames. “You have arrived at a new portal, a gateway to the purity ovulum.” The voice sounded like a blend of two, both male and female. “Yet, you are unprepared for the next step in your journey.”

  Joran straightened himself, squaring his shoulders. “What do I need to do to prepare?”

  “You must watch one last event on the wall, a story involving Elam and his two traveling companions. One is a horse named Dikaios, and you will recognize the other. We do not expect you to fully understand the significance of this story immediately. It will take some time to digest.”

  Joran turned toward the wall. “That sounds easy enough.”

  “So you say.” The flames drew back a few paces. “When the scene fades, come close to us again.”

  On the wall, a young man appeared, reclining on his back in a meadow of green grass and red flowers. Beyond him, a horse lay on its side, apparently asleep as well.

  Joran stepped closer, reciting their names—Elam and Dikaios. He had seen Elam before, but not this close.

  To the right, a small woman crawled toward Elam on hands and knees. Her chest heaved, as if she were gasping for breath. She wore an oversized cloak, its hood back, exposing her dark hair and hungry eyes. As she drew near, she opened her mouth wide, exposing a pair of fangs.

  Joran gulped. Naamah! He wanted to shout a warning, but, of course, it would do no good. It seemed that Naamah had ignored the command to sin no more, and now she was ready to plunder another innocent soul.

  Laying a hand softly on Elam’s chest, she set her mouth close to his neck, ready to bite. Then, she paused, an odd expression on her face. Concern? Remorse? She was difficult to read. Finally, she drew her mouth away.

  Elam’s eyes opened. He jumped to his feet and stepped back, shouting, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Dikaios leaped up. “What? What did she do?”

  Joran gasped. A talking horse? Could this be real?

  Naamah straightened, her cheeks flushed scarlet. “I … I was trying to get close to you. I woke up all alone, and I was scared, so I wanted …” She covered her face with her hands and wept.

  “She was after your life’s blood!” Dikaios yelled. “She was using her harlotries to seduce you so she could steal your eternal life for herself!”

  Elam glared at her. “Naamah? Is that true?”

  Staying on her knees and clasping her hands, she shuffled toward him. “No, Elam! Please believe me. I just wanted to be close to you. You’re the only one who ever showed me any mercy.” She grabbed his ankles and bowed low. “I confess that I thought about stealing your life while you slept, but I didn’t do it. Even as my lips drew near to your throat, I changed my mind and decided just to rest at your side.” She wiped his sandaled feet with her hair. “Please forgive me!”

  Dikaios wagged his head. “The only reason she didn’t steal your life is because you awakened before she could strike! She has used your goodness against you, Elam. She gained your trust only to get close enough to drain your life. She is the worst of harlots! She is a deceiver! A betrayer!”

  Elam stepped back, pulling free from Naamah’s grasp. “What should I do?”

  “The harlot must die. If you let her live, she will only seek your life again. She is insatiable and can never change.” Dikaios kicked a stone near Elam’s foot. “You must do away with her. Stone the wretch and cast her into the eternal fire.”

  Elam picked up the fist-sized stone. As he tightened his grip around it, he glared again at Naamah. “You have been a deceiver all your life. You tortured both Sapphira and me and lots of other laborers in your slave pit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do what Dikaios says!”

  “No, Elam!” Naamah raised her folded hands. “You must believe me! The angel said a man would cover me and offer me life. Other men came by, but they did the opposite. They talked of Jesus, but it wasn’t the Jesus I knew. It wasn’t the Jesus I met in Palestine. He offered me freedom from Morgan’s spell, but I refused. He was kind and gentle, not like those fools. They mistreated me and counted me as nothing but a harlot, a worthless harlot.”

  Her eyes grew wide, and she gasped for breath. “But you … you covered me, so I knew you were the one who had life. All I had to do was somehow get it, but I thought when I came to the mountain face I would be unable to make the drawing change, and you would send me away. So, in my vain imaginings, I wondered if I could take the blessing before you learned of my inability to serve you. But I didn’t do it, I …” She lowered her hands and gazed at him. As tears dripped down her chin, she curled into a trembling ball. “I am still a foolish harlot. Do to me what you must. Even for thinking about betraying you, I deserve worse than stoning.”

  Dikaios nudged Elam’s arm. “She has finally spoken the truth. Take back your cloak, which she has defiled with her filthy body, and cast her into the Lake of Fire. One stone well-aimed will take care of this witch once and for all!”

  As Naamah trembled, a melody poured from her lips—lamenting, forlorn, and plaintive.

  O who will wash the stains I bear

  The harlot’s mark of sin I wear?

  Exposed and shorn of all I prized,

  And now I beg for mercy’s eyes.

  O Jesus, look upon my strife

  And spare this foolish harlot’s life.

  I bow, surrender, pour my tears;

  Forg
ive my sins and draw me near.

  She finished with a whisper. “However many moments you allow me to live, Jesus, I will go and sin no more.” Then she covered her head with her hands.

  Joran looked at Elam for any sign of change. Since he didn’t have a Listener’s ears, he likely didn’t hear Naamah’s final whisper. And he probably had no idea that she had sung the same tune after Jesus showed her mercy. No matter how beautiful the melody, no matter how many tears she shed, she didn’t deserve to be believed.

  Dikaios snorted. “Her words have proven vain, Elam! She cannot be trusted. Take your vengeance now!”

  While Naamah shivered, Elam stood in front of her, glancing between the stone and the horse. Finally, as her tremors heightened, Elam dropped the stone and laid a hand on her back. “You asked me to forgive you, Naamah. Who am I to refuse?”

  She looked up at him, wet strands of hair plastered to her dirty face. “Do you mean, you …?”

  “I forgive you. That’s really the only life I have to offer … yours.”

  Reaching out with trembling fingers, she took his hand and rose to her feet. When he released her, she stared at her palm, now smeared with blood. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak.

  Elam kicked the stone away. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anything at all.” He nodded at Dikaios. “If you will lead the way, good horse, I will follow. What Naamah does is up to her.”

  As Dikaios plodded away, Elam marched behind him, glancing back at Naamah every few seconds. She continued staring at her hand, and as the distance between them widened, the entire scene drew back to show their shrinking forms in the seemingly endless meadow.

  Elam walked up a gently rising slope. When he reached the top, he and Dikaios halted. Still facing away from Naamah, Elam raised a fist and stared at it for a long moment. Then, turning slowly, he opened his hand and extended it toward Naamah.

  She leaped up and ran toward him, her bare legs and feet kicking up the cloak’s hem. As she narrowed the gap, the viewing wall brought the scene closer again, as if Joran and company were riding on a dragon and zooming toward them.

  When she reached the slope’s summit, she dropped to her knees. She grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, crying, “You won’t regret this, Elam. I promise, you won’t regret your mercy.”

  He raised her to her feet and looked into her eyes. “To be wanted and not lusted for. To be loved and not pitied. To be asked and not commanded.” After passing his fingers over her tangled hair, he slipped his hand into hers and touched their palms together. “Is that right?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and a shy smile emerged. Her white teeth dazzled, now void of fangs. “And to be believed, even after all my lies.”

  As the two walked on, now hand in hand, the wall faded to red, then to white.

  Joran backed away a step. Elam believed her! Even after she was ready to bite him with those devilish fangs, he still believed her!

  “A beautiful sight to behold,” Mendallah said. “I am thankful that someone believed in me enough to take my hand.”

  Zohar nodded. “I agree. If not for Joran’s faith in what two feeble plants could become, we would have burned in the fire. Elam demonstrated the same kind of love and mercy.”

  “But …” Joran pointed at the wall. “Didn’t you see what Naamah was about to do?”

  Mendallah smiled. “I saw. With such a flood of mercy overwhelming her, I doubt she will do it again.”

  Joran glanced between Mendallah and Zohar. Both had seemed helpless and worthless, but neither was as wicked as Naamah. Neither had conspired to kill his sister and steal her voice. Neither had threatened to bite the neck of a sleeping companion. It just wasn’t the same. Still, Elam showed mercy when he was her intended victim. Why would he do that? She would probably just try again later.

  He looked at Selah. With tears in her eyes, she looked back at him, saying nothing. She needed no words. Obviously she agreed with Mendallah and Zohar.

  “Let’s go.” Joran strode toward the wall of fire, now several paces away. When he arrived with Mendallah and Zohar, he took in a deep breath and spoke to the flames. “What do I do now?”

  The wall replied with the same blend of voices. “Did you understand the revelations provided by the wall?”

  “Not all of them. Naamah mentioned changing a drawing and something about an angel.”

  “These were earlier events that are not crucial. You saw everything you needed to see.”

  Joran nodded. “I think I understood. My companions helped me.”

  “Very well. Now the three of you must jump through the fire to enter the purity ovulum.”

  Joran looked around at the field of green. “Where are we now?”

  “You are on a path that would eventually lead to the green ovulum, but in order to understand the ultimate purpose of your journeys, you must first return to the land of white.”

  “What will happen in Second Eden?”

  “Those who wish to overthrow the residents of Second Eden will be released, but these foul usurpers are merely fodder for the enemy who uses them for his evil designs. Your real enemy is gathering a much greater horde of trained warriors, and he plans to destroy the people of Second Eden. After that, he hopes to launch an assault on a portal leading to Heaven itself. It will be up to you and Selah and your two companions to cripple his forces.”

  As Joran continued plucking the string, he looked at Selah, Mendallah, and Zohar in turn. Although Mendallah was huge, she probably wouldn’t be able to defeat more than five or six warriors at a time. “How can the four of us stop such a horde?”

  “Simply follow the path set before you,” the voices said. “Walk with faith and courage. Be willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill your calling, even if it means death.” The voices lowered to a whisper. “Come closer, Joran.”

  Joran stepped within inches of the flames, warming his ear and cheek.

  “The two whom you rescued from the yellow grass have been chosen to help you in the last ovulum. They cannot, however, travel to your world with you. When you complete the key, leave them in the green ovulum. They will be preserved there until God has need of them. Do not worry about their fate. They have learned patience and will be content.”

  “I understand.” As Joran stepped back, he glanced at his former-plant companions. Both gave him hopeful looks, obviously ready to jump at his command. It would be a shame to have to leave them behind.

  The voices in the flames continued, now loud enough for all to hear. “It is essential that you jump through now, for our flames will not harm you. Other flames can do you harm, so from this time forward, you must be wise in discerning those that heal from those that hurt.”

  “What about you?” Joran asked. “Will you let us know who you are?”

  “You will learn all you need to know very soon. Go now.”

  Joran stopped playing the string. As soon as Selah disappeared, he nodded at Mendallah and Zohar. “Are you ready?”

  Zohar clenched a fist. “I am.”

  “We will leap at your side,” Mendallah said.

  “Then let’s go.” Joran jumped through the flames. For a moment, a flash of orange blinded him, but when his feet touched solid ground, the orange faded away. He stood between Mendallah and Zohar in an expanse of pure white. Even the area behind him displayed no hint of the wall of fire.

  He reached out but felt only empty air. Without the purity ovulum’s shell to guide their way, walking in a straight line would be nearly impossible. Yet, what choice did they have but to try?

  Joran opened his mouth to say, “Follow me,” but no sound came out. He touched each of his companions and nodded in the direction he thought they had been traveling. Then, trying to show confidence in his gait, he marched into the whiteness.

  Mendallah and Zohar caught up and walked with him, one on each side, both with smiles that exuded enthusiasm. It felt good to have the
se fellow travelers, two souls who had suffered for so long, not only through their fiery deaths in Mardon’s domain, but also through countless years of hopeless stagnation. Now they had something to live for besides bare survival.

  After what seemed like an hour, a line of green came into view, but not a small gateway this time. The line stretched from left to right as far as the eye could see, as if the purity ovulum’s distant boundaries had melted away.

  As they drew closer, the line deepened, expanding into a field of what looked like green grass. Even the sky directly above the boundary line altered from white to green, extending down to the far horizon.

  “I wonder,” Joran whispered.

  Zohar turned toward him. “I heard you.”

  “So did I,” Mendallah said.

  Joran stopped at the edge of the grass and looked back into the whiteness. A high wall of flames crawled toward them, now crackling, as if devouring the silencing effect. Although there was no fuel for the flames to consume, they marched on, so tall there seemed to be no apex. The flames had a familiar color and consistency, more like dragon fire than flames that burned grass or wood.

  He touched the lyre’s A string. Dragon fire had often been a tool to release someone’s spirit from a lyre. Maybe this was a gift from Elohim that could set Selah free. “This fire might be useful.”

  “Remember the warning,” Mendallah said. “We cannot be sure that this flame will not harm us.”

  Joran kept his gaze on the fire. “I remember. We’ll go in a minute.”

  High above, a flying man shot from the flames and zoomed past the boundary of white and green, smoke trailing from his wings. After a few seconds, he became a dark speck against the green sky.

  “When the rats flee,” Joran said, “you know the fire will burn.”

  “Shall we run into the field?” Mendallah asked.

  “You two can go ahead. Now that we have sound, I want my sister to see this.” Joran played the A string, again generating Selah’s image. She paced back and forth, her head tilted downward. “Selah,” Joran called. “Take a look!”