Last of the Nephilim

by Bryan Davis

  “I prefer to avoid hurting his feelings. Maybe I could tell him I will choose permanent servitude status. That is allowed for widows who pass the allotted time.”

  Angel searched for Emerald’s companion but couldn’t find it. It must have nested in her hair. “I had no idea that you had servitude in mind. That’s a noble choice.”

  “But servitude is not my choice. I want to be married, just not to Cliffside.”

  Angel set a hand on her forehead. “Emerald, you’re confusing me. It sounds as if you want to speak words to Cliffside that aren’t in your heart.”

  “I know!” Even in the shadows, her eyes seemed to glitter as they widened. “Something happened today that has never happened to me before, but I have been fearful of telling anyone.”

  “You have no need to fear me. I have no authority over you, and we’ve been friends for many years.”

  Emerald glanced left and right before focusing on Angel again. She leaned close, whispering so softly, Angel could barely hear. “I met a talking dragon today in the field beyond the birthing garden. It was so strange. He seemed more shadow than solid, as if he had no substance.”

  “Like a spirit?” Angel asked. “As in the stories the Prophet has told at campfire?”

  “Yes, and he asked me why I seemed downcast. I had heard the Prophet’s stories about talking dragons being wise and good, so I told this dragon of my dilemma. He suggested that I avoid hurting Cliffside’s feelings by telling him a lie. He called it a white lie, whatever that means.”

  Angel tried to repeat the word “lie,” but her lips tightened. She couldn’t bear to say it. Although the word itself had passed into her ears before, it came only during worship lessons, in tales about other worlds and the dangers of forbidden speech. She never dreamed that any of her people would consider uttering a real lie.

  “Emerald,” she replied slowly, “I hope you haven’t taken this notion seriously. Speaking words that aren’t in your heart is wrong. Not only that, it would get you banished … or worse.”

  Pulling in her bottom lip, Emerald glanced around again before continuing. “The dragon said if no one knows of the lie, then banishment would never come. Wouldn’t it be better to speak kind words that are not in my heart, words that would not injure Cliffside’s feelings?”

  Angel shook her head hard. “Feelings are not as important as truth. If you dare to bring such shame on our people, I will reveal your plan to the Prophet myself.”

  Emerald’s face drooped into a pitiful frown. “I believed you to be my friend. Your harshness makes me think otherwise.”

  “I am your friend. That’s why I give you harsh words. They will keep you out of danger.” Angel stood on tiptoes and scanned the village. Not a soul stirred except for Paili, still waiting patiently near the lantern. Angel raised a finger close to Emerald’s face. “Do not listen to that dragon again. Whoever he is, if he is tempting our people to lie, he doesn’t have goodness dwelling within.”

  Emerald nodded. “I will think about it.”

  “Think about it?” Angel turned Emerald to the side. “Where is your companion?”

  Emerald backed away, a hand over her pocket. “It is …”

  “In your pocket?” Angel grabbed Emerald’s wrist and pulled. The ovular crystal leaped out of the pocket and zipped in front of Emerald’s eyes, flashing wildly.

  With every flash, Emerald’s head drooped an inch until her chin nearly touched her chest. “You’re right. I’m ashamed that I would consider such a foolish idea.”

  As if sighing, the companion’s light slowly faded. It floated to her ear and buried itself in her hair.

  “I apologize,” Emerald said, her gaze lifting toward Angel. “I have set my standards for a man so high, while I, myself, am so low. I am such a foolish child, I actually dreamed I could be—” She pressed a hand over her mouth.

  “Could be what?”

  Emerald let her fingers slowly fall away from her lips. “The Prophet’s Eve.”

  Angel whispered sharply. “Father Abraham’s Eve?”

  With a slight nod in return, Emerald shuffled back. “I have said enough foolish things. I will go now.”

  Angel watched Emerald’s companion push out of her hair and rub against her ear. What might it be saying? A word of comfort? That such thoughts weren’t so foolish?

  A familiar tickle in her own ear raised goose bumps. Angel’s companion was ready to speak to her mind. Verbal compassion for Emerald would be appropriate, Angel, for ideas such as hers have also entered your thoughts.

  Very true, Angel replied. What woman would not want to be Father Abraham’s Eve? He is the wisest of us all. Yet, aren’t such thoughts foolish? He has told the elders that he can never take an Eve.

  Her companion floated up to her eye level. Were those really his words?

  In a manner of speaking. He quoted a prophecy about burning in flames before he could take an Eve. We all interpreted that as “never.”

  Quite reasonable. As her companion floated back toward her ear, its whispered voice faded. Still, foolish or not, compassion is in order.

  Very well. Angel touched Emerald’s arm. “Don’t think yourself foolish, my friend, when you yearn for a wise Adam. The Father of Lights is pleased when we desire wisdom to surround us.”

  Emerald allowed a trembling smile to break through. “Thank you.”

  “When I go to the garden, I will tell Cliffside of your dilemma. His feelings could still be injured, but your temptations will be eased.”

  Before Emerald could answer, Angel hurried away and reached for Paili’s hand. “Come. We must go with all haste.”

  The two ran into the village center, dashed around a low circular berm that enclosed a plot of grass, a small courtyard with a bell on a pole standing in the middle, and headed down the street on the opposite side. One man standing near a door to a hut gave them a curious glance but remained silent.

  When they reached the end of the street, Angel and Paili slowed their pace and quick-marched through the forest that marked the boundary between the village and the birthing garden. As soon as they approached the clearing, a man stepped in front of them, tall and broad-shouldered. With a thin mustache and beard dressing his stern expression, Cliffside looked more vicious than he really was. “Greetings. What brings you to the garden at this hour?”

  Out of breath, Angel lifted the bag of bones and stepped into the moon’s glow. “I am on a mission. I have to—”

  “Ah!” His face brightened. “Angel of Peace Village. Your children have already entered.”

  “Yes, Cliffside. I have been sent by the Oracle of Fire herself to deliver this to the garden.”

  “By all means.” He squinted at the bag. “May I ask what this is?”

  She tried to offer a smile, but it felt weak on her lips. “You may ask, but I will not answer. I have not been given leave to reveal the mysteries of the Oracle. Perhaps when she arrives, she will explain it to us all.”

  Cliffside stepped away from the path. “Very well. I will be patient.”

  Just as she lifted her foot to continue, Angel stopped and reached for his hand. “You are a patient man, dear Cliffside, but I have something to tell you that will test your patience further.”

  His brow furrowed, but he smiled and nodded amiably. “Speak, Angel. I fear no words from the lips of a friend.”

  As she rubbed her thumb along his knuckles, she tried to strengthen her own smile, but her lips wouldn’t obey. “Emerald is so concerned about injuring your heart, she cannot bear to tell you that she doesn’t want to be betrothed to you. I volunteered to tell you in her stead.”

  His smile withered, but after a second or two it perked up again. “If she cares so much for my heart, then her love for me is real. It is merely dormant and needs to be awakened.”

  Angel gazed into his hopeful eyes. How could she argue with him? She had neither the will nor the time to engage in a debate. And now Emerald’s desire not to hurt this fine man�
�s heart became as real as the charred bones weighing down her bag and the sacred duty that awaited her. “I will make an effort to speak to Emerald again and relay your thoughts. For now, I must do the Oracle’s bidding.”

  “I thank you for your kindness,” Cliffside said, waving her on.

  Angel studied him again. The innocence of pure virtue glowed from within, honest, trustworthy, serene. Emerald truly needed to rethink her doubts.

  She touched his arm. “When you patrol the garden, you will see what we have done, but you must not disturb our work. I have the Prophet’s orders.”

  He bowed. “Your word is as good as his, my lady.”

  “Come, Paili.” Angel took her hand and marched across the grassy field, the wide expanse between the narrow forest and the garden. With Pegasus still high, a yellowish glow illuminated the rows of plants only a dozen or so paces away. Now that they were out of the forest, the cold breeze blew unhindered from the western border of the field where Hilidan and Zera, two massive fir trees, stood guard as gate standards for a head-high wall. The leaf pairs in the garden, enclosing precious fruit in their praying hands, waved slowly back and forth as if greeting the visitors with silent blessings.

  Following a path between garden rows, two small figures ran toward Angel and Paili. “Mother!” Candle called. “What caused your delay?”

  “Matters of the heart, but all is well.” When they gathered at the edge of the garden, she set the bag on the path next to Candle and stooped in front of Paili. “Is there any instruction as to how the bones should be spread?”

  Paili nodded. “Enoch has given me many words for this world, and most are in song.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up at the moon, humming softly before singing a lilting melody.

  Scatter them near, scatter them far,

  Scatter them to the wind.

  Better to trust, better to hope,

  Better than plans of men.

  After opening her eyes again, she pointed at the bag. “I think we just throw them into the garden.”

  “But what of the plants?” Angel asked. “A miscast femur could damage them.”

  Listener touched Angel’s hip. “Mother, Paili’s words are from Enoch. If he says to scatter them and trust, then all will be well.”

  “A sentiment of true faith,” Angel said as she lovingly caressed Listener’s cheek. “Do I have a second companion now? One who walks like a little girl yet speaks as a sage?” She unraveled the bag’s strap and spread out the skin, then scooped up two handfuls of smaller bones and faced the garden.

  As she looked out over the swaying plants, she imagined the little baby each one held in its grasp. Maybe some already clutched a companion and were being taught the laws of the Father of Lights, preparing them for birth in a climate of cold, now enhanced by the bitter winds of rebellion in both man and beast.

  The thought of new companions brought back the image of Dragon’s once dormant companion as it rose to claim Timothy as its new charge. She smiled at the mental picture, yet sighed at the irony. Now she would cast his remains into the garden that brought soul and conscience together, a man stripped of flesh joining with the dust of the earth that the Great Father used to fashion his body.

  “Dear Timothy,” she said, her voice quavering, “in the name of the Father above, and in obedience to his command, I scatter your bones to the soil of new birth.”

  With a great heave, she threw the bones as far as she could. As they flew, the moon shone on them, bathing their white shapes in a yellow glow. A fresh breeze collided with the bundle and sent the smaller bones flying in every direction. When they disappeared on the surface, she reached for one of the larger bones in the bag. “Come children. This is a sad chore, but a necessary one.”

  As Candle and Listener gathered bones, Paili sang again, this time in a mournful tone.

  Forsake me not, O God of love,

  And ne’er forget my tomb.

  I lie and wait in cold, dark earth,

  A melancholy womb.

  After a few minutes, the job was done, except for one final bone. Paili lifted it, a femur, scorched and cracked. Reaching back, she heaved it into the air. It swung around three times and fell to the ground with a dull thud.

  As the wind played a soft whistle, Listener took Candle’s hand. He reached for Paili’s, linking the three children as they looked up at Angel. “What now?” Candle asked.

  Angel joined in and formed a circle. “We obeyed the Oracle, so our task is complete.” She looked up at the sky, then shifted her gaze to the distant hills, rolling contours on the dark horizon that signaled higher terrain far beyond. Even with the aid of a son of Pegasus, how could Father Abraham and the others possibly arrive before dawn? And if they had to scale the northern boundary of the Shadowlands, who could tell how long their journey might take? Was the Oracle’s presence necessary for this scattering of the bones to have an effect? Did this rite they performed have something to do with the warrior chief and Father Abraham’s desire to rid the world of the altered tribes?

  She jerked up the empty skin, grasped Candle’s shoulder, and looked him in the eye. “Fly Grackle to our village,” she said. “Take Listener and Paili with you. Give them each a bowl of warm soup and put them both in Listener’s bed.”

  His shoulders drooped. “Yes, Mother. As you wish.”

  She set a finger under his chin and lifted his head. Smiling, she added, “After I speak with Emerald, I will come home, and you and I will fly Grackle together until we find Father Abraham and the others.”

  Candle leaped into the air and let out a whoop. He rounded up the girls, and the three hurried toward the dragons’ launching field.

  As they faded into the darkness, Angel turned her gaze back to the sky. Pegasus had passed its zenith. In about two hours it would set, and without a second moon they would have to search over a land of shadows, the desolate highlands, and maybe even the forbidden marshes in complete darkness. She shivered and rubbed her arms. And every minute of that search would take place in the bitter cold of the approaching season of death.

  Billy sat back in Merlin III’s copilot seat and opened one of Professor Hamilton’s notebooks, a light brown one with “Notes for William” in block letters on the first page. With the airplane’s headset on, and the volume control turned just loud enough to hear background static, the propeller’s buzz barely seeped into his ears.

  He glanced at the passengers behind him. Shiloh, sitting in the first row’s aisle seat, leaned against her father’s shoulder, asleep. Sir Patrick’s head lay propped against the window, his mouth open as he slept. On the other side of the aisle, Sir Barlow stared out the window, wide-eyed. He had already made a thousand comments about the scenery below, but now he just gazed quietly, apparently mesmerized.

  Billy settled back again. With Dad at the controls, hundreds of miles to go before they reached Montana, and everyone else occupied, now would be a good time to read this notebook. Although the inscription on the title page had piqued his interest, the thought of actually turning the page sent chills up his spine.

  Reading Prof’s words would be like listening to a ghost, as if the professor himself would lay a hand on his shoulder in the same gentle way he always did and once again provide the kind of wisdom he had dispensed so many times before. An emotional catharsis would be sure to follow, a crippling state he wanted to avoid in order to keep his wits about him. Still, with a few uninterrupted flight hours ahead, maybe he could recover in time for the adventure that lay in store.

  He turned to the first page of notes and read the lovely script.

  William, I plan to use this notebook as a collection of all my journal entries that concern you in particular. I will transfer them from my other journals along with enough context to allow for comprehension. My hope is to give this to you when our adventures together come to a satisfactory conclusion. If, however, I suffer an untimely demise, I have already included instructions in my will that bequeaths all my
journals to you, save a similar collection that I am making for my daughter, Elizabeth.

  I trust that these notes will help you understand more about the history behind my search for you as well as the deep, abiding love that developed as a result of our friendship and the many adventures we had together. I will never forget the day I handed you Excalibur on the floor of a collapsing underground laboratory and asked, “What now is your weapon?” I am sure that you will never forget your reply.

  “Truth,” Billy whispered. “Truth is my sword.”

  And when I asked, “What now is your defense?” your answer sang in my ears as the loveliest melody ever to play in heaven’s choir.

  “Faith.” Billy swallowed down a hard lump. “Faith is my shield.”

  And now, William, as a child of the King of kings, I trust that you understand how our fellowship will never end. Even if we part at the end of our journey, we will meet again at heaven’s gate, and we will rejoice together in the light of our savior, Jesus Christ. May the Lord bless you with wisdom as you turn the page and relive these adventures.

  Billy took a deep breath. Tears were already welling. As he wiped them away with his knuckle, his father glanced over at him but said nothing. He just nodded and shifted his eyes back to the front.

  After turning the page, Billy began reading about Professor Hamilton’s meeting with the Circle of Knights when they commissioned him to search for Arthur’s heir in West Virginia. Page after page flew by, each one generating new tears as they retold tales of sword battling, crossbow shooting, and dragon riding. Although each tale was familiar, the professor made them come alive once again and create fresh images in Billy’s mind, this time from the scholarly bard’s point of view rather than his own.

  In addition to the lively accounts, the professor had also provided illustrations of many new discoveries along the way—a pencil sketch of Clefspeare along with detailed anatomical notes, a map of the Circles of Seven based on Billy’s description, and two photographs of Excalibur taped to a page showing each side of the great sword. Next to the photo, the professor’s careful lettering described many of Excalibur’s features, including the two fighting dragons etched into the blade. In giving details about the hilt, he noted a peculiar concern.