Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

“Uh. . okay.” Elam folded his hands on the table. “I’m ready.”

Gabriel stepped out from behind the curtain. As he strode toward Patrick, a set of wings unfurled behind him, huge reddish brown canopies that stretched out to each side farther than the boy was tall.

Elam leaned back. He wanted to yell “Dragon wings!” but that seemed too awkward. Instead, he just crossed his arms and nodded. “Those are amazing! Can you fly?”

Gabriel pulled a wingtip forward. “Since I was ten, but I only fly at night when nobody can see me.”

Elam forced himself to maintain a cool aspect, in spite of the strange sight a teenager, half human and half dragon. He pointed at one of the wings. “I’ll bet you have a lot of fun zipping around the sky, right?”

Flexing his lean muscles, Gabriel shrugged. “It’s fun hopping from roof to roof and bombing cats with water balloons, but it gets pretty boring when you can’t show anyone your flying acrobatics.”

“Can’t show anyone?” Elam repeated. “Why not? Do you keep your wings a secret?”

Sadness clouded Gabriel’s face, belying his painted-on smile. He pointed with his thumb. “I stuff them in a hiking backpack like a pair of huge socks. My mother cut holes in the panel that goes next to my back to let my wings fit through, but they’re always trying to escape.”

Elam rose to the balls of his feet, stretching to get a look at Gabriel’s back. “So do you have holes in your shirts, too?”

“Yeah, but it’s a real pain. I have to ”

“Gentlemen.” Patrick gestured toward the table. “Please sit. We can talk about dragon-wing accessories another time, but right now we have more important matters to discuss.”

Elam and Gabriel took seats across from each other. Patrick withdrew a velvet jewelry box from his pocket and opened it as he set it on the table. Inside, a red gem sparkled at the center of an octagonal pendant. “The gem,” he said, lifting it by its chain, “is a rubellite. And not just any rubellite; it belongs to Timothy, Gabriel’s father.”

Elam reached over and tapped the swaying pendant, making it twirl. “But since Timothy is Makaidos, isn’t he your father, too? And wouldn’t that make Gabriel your brother?”

Patrick nodded. “Makaidos was my father, but whether or not Gabriel could be called my true brother, I cannot say for sure. You see, I was born to dragons, and he was born to humans, one of whom was transformed under Merlin’s prophecy and one who was apparently generated, if you will, from scratch. Although the transformed dragons never intramarried, knowing they could not procreate with each other, Makaidos was exempt from that incapacity since he was not part of Merlin’s prophetic group.” He let out a long sigh. “So, as you can see, Gabriel and I have extremely peculiar genealogies, and our relationship is uncertain.”

Elam nodded toward Gabriel. “You said he inherited the wings from his mother. How do you know that? Both his parents had wings.”

“From blood tests. Timothy has no traces of dragon blood in him, while Hannah and I show some unique cellular structures that I don’t yet understand.”

“Why is Timothy different?” Elam asked, but when he saw Gabriel’s gaze tip downward, he regretted his question.

“I wish I knew,” Patrick replied. “I can only deduce that God removed his dragon nature and gave him a human soul.”

Gabriel’s head perked up. “Don’t you have a soul?” he asked Patrick.

“I do, but not a human one. At least that’s what Merlin told me.”

“Merlin told me the same thing about the transformed dragons,” Elam said, glad to turn the examination toward Patrick. “You’re somehow both dragon and human, but without a human soul.”

“Merlin told you?” Gabriel asked, swinging his head toward Elam. “He lived over a thousand years ago, and you can’t be older than a couple of hundred.”

Patrick raised his hands, laughing. “As you both can see, there are many questions to answer, and I will allow the two of you to converse at length some other time. For now, however, we must plan our strategy.” He reached under his chair, pulled out a briefcase, and withdrew a ragged scroll of yellowed parchment. Carefully unwinding it, he laid it across the breadth of the table, giving Elam one of the rollers and Gabriel the other.

Patrick ran his finger along the text. “This is a missive from Merlin to Morgan that I. . well. . intercepted from Devin. As you can see, through about two-thirds of the scroll, the lettering is in the old style, but from there until the end, it is written in modern English.”

Elam leaned forward and gawked at the parchment. “Did you write the new stuff?”

“No. When I first read this letter centuries ago, Merlin had not used the entire scroll. I would guess about one foot of parchment was blank. I only discovered this new entry a week ago while I was deciding what I could show to Charles to help him translate the letter from Timothy and Hannah.”

Patrick tapped his finger on the first line. “If you please, Elam.”

Elam nodded and read the new text out loud.

A spawn conceives to bring new birth;

Then lays her hybrid down to rest.

The king’s own son must sacrifice

To purge the dragon in your breast.

Beware of Morgan’s hidden plot

To find an heir to Arthur’s throne.

She lusts to dwell within the veil

And reap the harvest you have sown.

For as Hartanna’s age-old twin,

The seed you sow implants an heir.

A daughter sprouts in walls of flesh

And grows in secret, cloaked in prayer.

Now Morgan learns where Valcor dwells;

She lurks in shadows, patient, still,

Awaiting blossoms from the sprout

To cut and capture, then to kill.

Beware the snake and hide the girl,

But let her live a carefree life.

Instill in her a faithful heart

For only faith endures the strife.

Above all plans, protect the gem,

The key that opens Dragons’ Rest,

For Arthur’s seed must find his way

To rescue captives in his quest.

Take care to learn this secret path

To fertilize the barren land,

For dragons die to shed their scales

And bow before the Son of Man.

Elam breathed a low whistle. “I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means!”

Patrick smiled, but it was a weak, sad sort of smile. “What do you think it means?”

Elam folded his hands and pressed his thumbs together. The part about the hybrid being laid to rest and the king’s son sacrificing seemed to point to Gabriel, but should he mention something so morbid right in front of him? Had Patrick already figured it out? Maybe it was best to focus on another part of the prophecy, at least for now. “Obviously,” he said slowly, “Morgan’s out to get a girl, and. . uh. .” He shifted his gaze to the roof where only a single raven remained, preening its feathers. “Is Mrs. Nathanson. . expecting?”

Patrick tapped a finger on the table. “The exact question I immediately asked myself. You see, we had always thought Ruth was unable to bear a child, so, to soothe her empty arms and fill her great desire to care for abandoned children, we established our orphanage. Yet, when I saw this prophecy, I urged her to get a blood test.”

“And. . um. . did the rabbit die?” Elam asked.

“No.” Patrick’s weak smile returned. “I’m afraid the little hopper is alive and well.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I was hopeful, but Ruth is not expecting.”

Elam picked up the rubellite and peered into its crimson center. “Then how can this prophecy be fulfilled? Who’s the daughter Merlin’s talking about? And how can this gem be a key? And what was that stuff about barren land?”