Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Sapphira closed her eyes, and the portal’s soul-sinking influence weighed down her mind. “Will he die?”

“I don’t know.” Elam pointed at the window. “Can we send him back in there?”

As a flood of pure sadness drowned her spirit, Sapphira could only shake her head. “He doesn’t want to go.”

“How do you know?” Elam asked. “Is he speaking to you?”

Sapphira shuddered, trying to fight off the gloom. “In a way. It’s like a stream of thoughts or feelings. He says he doesn’t want to be trapped in there.”

“He’d rather be out here without a body?”

“He says he planned to sacrifice himself to fulfill the prophecy, so he’ll just wait to see what happens. It’s better than being trapped all alone in the world of the dead.” Sapphira spied something on the floor. The pendant! She scooped it up and showed it to Elam. “It came back through with Gabriel, but it stayed physical. And the gem’s white now.”

“How could that be?” Elam touched the gem with his fingertip. “It’s still glowing.”

Sapphira drew her fist close to her mouth and bit her thumb. “We. . we have to get outside and see if we can help Patrick and Paili, but we can’t just leave Gabriel here!”

Elam took the chain from Sapphira and draped it around his neck. “We don’t have much choice.” He took a step and stood between her and Gabriel. “I guess you’re in front of me somewhere, and I hope you can hear me. We’ll try to come back with Patrick as soon as we can. Maybe he can figure out what’s going on.”

Elam took Sapphira’s hand. “Come on.” With the fire of the cross lighting the way, they dashed out of the room, sprinted through the maze of corridors, and burst out the front doorway into a drenching downpour. Sapphira extinguished the cross and tiptoed behind Elam as he crept toward a rhododendron shrub. Hunching over, they both peered through the breaks in its foliage. The pounding rain smothered every other sound.

Across a wide expanse of grass, Paili knelt on the driveway, cradling Patrick in her arms. Morgan and Devin were nowhere in sight.

“Let’s go!” Elam whispered. He leaped out into the open and sprinted toward Paili. Sapphira followed, her bare feet splashing through the squishy lawn. As they approached, Paili looked up. Pain warped her face, and a trickle of blood oozed from under her nose and dripped onto her lips.

Elam fell to his knees at Patrick’s side. “Is he. .” He swallowed hard, unable to finish.

Paili shook her head. As tears and raindrops poured down her cheeks, her pain-streaked voice barely penetrated the wall of rain. “He’s. . alive. I think. . he’s asleep.”

“Asleep?” Sapphira knelt next to Paili and clasped her hand. “What happened?”

“You disappeared.” Paili nodded toward the idols. “Then a stream of red fire came out from your flames and. .” She mopped her brow with her trembling fingers. “And it went right into Patrick’s chest. He lit up for a few seconds and then fell to the ground.”

Sapphira pushed Paili’s hair out of her eyes. “What happened to Morgan and Devin? Where did they go?”

Paili took a deep breath. “Morgan picked up the sword and said, ‘Only one more step on my stairway to heaven,’ and they both disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

April, 1949

Holding a dim lantern at his side, Elam tiptoed into the ancient chamber at the back of Patrick’s mansion. As he neared the central table, the lantern’s weak flame twirled in the cool draft descending from the hole in the roof, giving just enough light to cast a glow over a figure sitting in a high-backed chair. Patrick’s crumpled outline hunched over the table, his head buried in his arms. Elam reached to touch Patrick’s shoulder, but just before his fingers alighted, Patrick lifted his head.

Elam backed away a step, his voice low. “Sorry. I just wanted to check on you.”

Patrick’s lips spread out in a frail smile. “You heard the news, I assume?”

“Yes,” Elam replied, his tone like the gong of a death knell. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Patrick’s smile abated. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Morgan will wait until the child is older, perhaps a teenager, before she makes her move, but we have to begin preparations now. Of course, we’re assuming the baby will be a girl, but I have little doubt.”

Elam pressed his palm against his chest. “Just let me know what to do. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Of that, I am certain.” Patrick’s gaze wandered, finally settling on the lantern in Elam’s hand. “We will have to be extremely creative if we wish to fool Morgan. In order to keep her searching elsewhere, I’ll begin spreading the news that my cousin Stanley will take over the orphanage, and my cohorts will plant stories of Patrick Nathanson, his wife, and Elam moving to various towns in England. Paili and I will change our names and relocate to another house, but we’ll likely stay near Glastonbury so Paili can keep track of the children.”

Elam watched the lantern’s flame waltz in Patrick’s eyes. “So Stanley will take care of them?”

“Yes. He is not my natural cousin, of course, but I adopted his last name after becoming good friends with his family. In any case, he and his wife will move into this house. They have four children of their own, so they are well versed in the practice of child rearing.”

Elam pulled out a chair and sat next to Patrick. “Do you want me to stay here and help? I know this place inside and out.”

“I was hoping you would volunteer.” Patrick clasped Elam’s shoulder. “I’m sure Paili would be comforted knowing you’re here. Since Morgan has her evil intentions set on our child, I don’t think she will bother you.”

“True,” Elam said, setting the lantern on the table, “but I wouldn’t mind changing my name, at least to use for business matters. Elam isn’t exactly common anymore.”

“Certainly. Do you have a preference?”

Elam folded his hands on the table and pressed his thumbs together. “My shipyard manager in Glasgow died to save my life. I’d like to take his name.”

“You would do well to honor him that way. What was his name?”

“Markus.” Elam patted his chest. “I even have a shirt with Markus embroidered on it, so I’ll wear it when I’m in public.”

“Well, then, Markus,” Patrick said, clasping Elam’s shoulder again, “I hope you live as many years with that name as you’ve lived with your previous one.”

Elam adjusted the lantern to expose more of the wick. “What will your name be?”

Patrick folded his hands next to Elam’s. “I chose Robert. It’s a simple name that won’t raise eyebrows. We can’t use Ruth any longer, and Paili couldn’t decide on a new name, so I chose Sarah for her.”

“Sarah? Why Sarah?”

“It was Merlin’s wife’s name. Merlin seemed to die inside when Morgan poisoned his wife, so I wish to honor them by resurrecting her memory. It’s a small token, but it’s meaningful to me.”

“I understand.” Elam leaned back in his chair and sighed. Pain and sorrow had visited the homes of prophets and dragons all too often Merlin’s lost wife, murdered dragons, a threatened pregnant mother and unborn daughter, and now he had to raise another troubling issue that promised more heartache. Elam drummed his fingers on the table. “I met with Sapphira today.”

Patrick’s gaze seemed locked on his folded hands. “You did?” His reply was halfhearted, as if he hadn’t heard Elam’s comment.

Elam pushed the lantern closer to Patrick, trying to awaken his attention. “She saw Gabriel.”

Patrick lifted his head higher. His eyes seemed to flash with a burst of hope. “She saw Gabriel?”