Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Sapphira sat cross-legged on her mat, worn to a thin pad from hundreds of nights of tossing and turning. Acacia’s mat lay beside hers, its blanket pulled back for her should she ever return. Between the two mats lay her cross. She picked it up and stared at it. Why didn’t it work anymore? Had it lost its power?

She pointed it at herself. “Have I lost my power?” she asked out loud.

She cringed at the sound of her voice. It had been months since she had spoken, months since she had vowed never to speak again until she could be reunited with Elam and tell him. . tell him. .

She flopped down on her back. Not those words! They were too sad to utter, even in her mind.

Holding the cross upright on her chest, she gazed at its dark wood, now weathered and worn. Strange that it had always stayed smooth when she used it to open portals. As she traced her finger along its edges, an image from long ago appeared in her mind Elam walking into an Easter service at a church in Glasgow, and a cross decorating the front of the sanctuary. One of the songs played like an enduring echo, a song of death, resurrection, and victory.

Sapphira winced at the lyrics. The song didn’t make any sense. There was no joy in getting mocked and abused, living a life of torture, then dying a cruel death. So what if a messiah died and rose again? What good did it do? Elohim didn’t resurrect Gabriel’s body after he sacrificed it for a friend. He didn’t whisper in Paili’s ear to warn her when the devil’s mistress gave her the food of death. And he didn’t seem to care any longer about a freak of nature buried alone under thousands of feet of rock.

She sat up and slung the cross at the portal screen. It agitated the light as it passed through and bounced across the rocky floor on the other side. She flopped back down and, sliding her hands behind her head, squeezed her eyes closed. She sniffed and spoke out loud, her words pouring forth in a lament. “Elohim, please tell me you’re not just another Nimrod. Tell me you aren’t a king who just uses people for what you can get out of them.” She extended her open hand upward and shouted through her sobs. “You danced with me! Don’t you care about me anymore?”

She rolled over and stuffed her blanket into her mouth, biting it hard as she cried on and on.

Circa AD 1988

Gabriel floated high over the Drake residence, surveying the dim, moonlit landscape. The remote cabin sat alone at the top of a rural mountain, so strangers had no reason to venture the long, narrow road that ascended the steep incline. From his vantage point, he would be able to see any car headlights as far away as Flathead Lake at the base of the tree-filled slope. So far, no one was in sight.

Since Hannah and Timothy had gone to a movie in Kallispell, leaving Isaac Stalworth, Timothy’s “adopted” father, to babysit Ashley, Gabriel paid closer attention to his job than ever. Isaac was a trustworthy old man, but could he handle an attack by a slayer? Vigilance was in order for other reasons as well. Ever since he had created that telegram, it seemed that his parents had been shadowed by a mysterious stalker, making that form of communication too dangerous to continue.

Gabriel flew lower and peered in through the window. Isaac bounced little Ashley on his knee, making her straight brown hair sway across her back. She pointed at him, apparently saying something, but her voice didn’t penetrate the glass.

After filtering in through a narrow slit under the window, Gabriel drew close. Isaac rested his leg and patted his chest, wheezing. “I’m getting tired. Can’t we do something else?”

Ashley slid closer and laid her hand over his. “Do your lungs hurt, Dada?” she asked.

“Strange.” Isaac lifted his palm. “They did hurt, but they feel better now.”

She crawled back out on his knee and slapped his thigh with her little hand. “Then one more ride before I tuck you into bed.”

“Tuck me into bed? Don’t you want me to read to you?”

“No!” She crossed her chubby arms over her chest. “You never want to read what I want to read!”

“Look, young lady,” he said, shaking a finger at her, “I endured Lord of the Rings, but I’m not cracking open War and Peace. I’d be asleep before the second page.”

She spread out her hands, and her smile dug a dimple into each of her cheeks. “Then you go to bed, and I’ll read it to you.”

Isaac nudged her chin with his finger. “You’re only two years old! You shouldn’t be filling your head with all those war stories.”

“Why not?”

He tapped her head. “You know what your mother says.”

“Don’t say it!” Ashley covered his mouth with her hands. “I won’t let my brain choke.”

“If you’re not asleep when Mommy and Daddy get home,” he said, mumbling between her fingers, “I’ll be in big trouble.”

Ashley pressed a fingertip on his nose. “You’re too big to spank!”

A sudden popping noise pricked Gabriel’s senses. He peered out the window. A car rolled into the gravel driveway, its headlights dark. The car’s doors opened, and two shadows skulked toward the house.

Gabriel flew up to the ceiling and jammed his finger into an empty socket in a hanging light fixture. The shock sent him flying into the hallway, and the bulbs in the other sockets exploded.

Isaac scooped up Ashley and hunched over her, protecting her from the shower of glass. “Not a sound!” he said. “You know the plan.”

Ashley pressed a shushing finger over her lips and nodded.

Isaac scrambled to the back door, but when a beam of light flashed through the adjacent window, he pivoted and ran toward the hall, whispering to Ashley. “Remember how we practiced jumping out the window?”

Ashley nodded again. Isaac stomped right over Gabriel, and the two disappeared into a bedroom.

The front and back doors flew open. Bright beams slashed the living room, each one finally landing on the other’s source and illuminating the intruders’ faces. Dressed in chain mail and draped with surcoats, Devin and Palin drew out their swords.

Devin, the candlestone swinging over his chest, pointed his sword at the hall. “That’s the only way he could’ve gone!”

Palin resheathed his sword and ran. Gabriel plugged his fingers into a nearby outlet. Instantly, pulsing energy swelled his body. Palin set his feet, but his momentum carried him into Gabriel’s glowing field.

Palin’s face lit up, and streaks of electricity spewed from his mouth. Devin grabbed Palin’s hand and pulled. The current arced into Devin’s body, but with a backwards lunge, he yanked Palin free.

Lying on the hallway floor, Palin pointed at Gabriel. “Who is that winged boy?”

“It must be that mongrel I hunted back in England.” Devin rose slowly to his feet. “I think his name was Gabriel. Morgan told me he’s Thigocia’s son. It seems that he survived his execution.”

Gabriel unplugged himself. His energy field collapsed, but jolts of electricity continued to sizzle across his body.

Palin rose slowly, wobbling on shaky knees. “What is he made out of?”

“It looks like electrical sparks of some kind.” Devin kicked at Gabriel’s dwindling energy. “But whatever he is, he doesn’t appear to be physical, and it doesn’t look like he can move.”

As the sparks dissipated, shadows enveloped the two slayers. Only the moonlight from the living room window illuminated their dim frames. Palin nodded toward the bedroom. “Should we try to find the old man?”

“He was alone, wasn’t he?”

Palin flicked on his flashlight and ran its beam along the hallway floor. “I didn’t see anyone else.”

“As soon as we prepare Thigocia’s welcome home surprise, we’ll look around, but he’s not likely to be able to warn her from out here in the middle of nowhere.”