Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Naamah screeched, but her voice spurted out in a series of high-pitched squeaks that hardly resembled words at all. Cursing to herself, she searched for the raven and found her circling near the window above. The bird looked bigger than before as it straightened in flight and sailed to the other side of the ark.

Naamah tried to follow. She beat her wings furiously but couldn’t figure out how to fly in a straight line. As she struggled to stay above the churning floodwaters, she continually corrected her awkward meanderings.

After a wind-blown flight that seemed to take an hour, the raven landed on a mountaintop in a patch of tender grass between two boulders. Naamah, her wings faltering, swerved left and right and finally smacked into one of the boulders before tumbling into the grass. She lifted herself and sat, flapping her wings to keep upright, but with one paw wrapped tightly around her treasure, she kept tilting to the side. She tried to speak again, and this time her squeaks sounded like the voice of a tiny child. “What. . now. . Morgan?”

“Patience, Naamah,” the raven squawked. “Restoration is at hand.”

Morgan spread her wings and wrapped them around Naamah. As they perched together, black smoke arose on all sides, penetrating Naamah’s nostrils and bringing the foul stench of decaying carrion. As she closed her eyes to ward off the stinging fumes, her body stretched, her head expanded, her wings tapered, and her claws thickened into fingers. When she reopened her eyes, Morgan stood before her.

Naamah patted her side with her free hand. Something was different. Her fingers seemed to pass through her waist, but not as through smoke. Her body felt more like thick gravy. She raised her hand and stared at her palm, flexing her fingers as they melded into each other. A feeling of horror erupted and spilled out in a loud wail. “What happened to me?”

Morgan stroked Naamah’s hair. “What matters is that we’re alive.”

“So I’m a wraith now?” She closed her hand into a fist, and it congealed into a fingerless club.

“You are more spirit than substance, but you’ll learn to mold yourself into a variety of shapes. Still, neither of us can last long in this world without a regular visit to our lord’s domain. He must infuse us with power if the light of this world wears our bodies down.”

“So I can’t go back to the ark?”

“Once I explain my plan and teach you how to solidify yourself, you may return. Noah’s family cannot be allowed to know you’re missing.”

Naamah breathed a long sigh. “That’s good.”

Morgan crossed her arms and squinted at Naamah. “You’re not seriously worried about that baby are you?”

“No. . it’s just that. .” Naamah’s voice trailed off.

“Don’t worry. If my plan works, Canaan will be yours forever.” She nodded at Naamah’s hand. “Were you able to bring the grapes?”

“Oh. .” Naamah opened her fist, revealing five wrinkled grapes. “I forgot about them.”

Morgan surveyed the mountaintop, a dome that flattened out into about five acres of rocky soil. The floodwaters lapped against the shoreline about two hundred paces upwind, and, beyond that, across a mile or two of arching whitecaps, the ark listed against the pounding waves. She pointed toward a flat area midway between the shore and where they stood. “We’ll plant our vineyard there.”

“How long will it take to turn five grapes into a vineyard?”

“Let’s just say that they will grow at a wickedly fast rate, and when Noah plants his own vineyard, the same power will cause his to thrive in stunning fashion. Then, we will graft our vines onto his. The grapes from our grafted vines will be better than the rest, so he’ll be sure to make wine from them.”

Naamah twirled her ghostly dress. “And that’s when the fun begins?”

“Yes. The wine will put him into enough of a stupor for you and Ham to get something I want.”

“That’s it? Get Noah drunk and steal something from him? Sounds too easy.”

“Not as easy as you might think. For us to use the child, Noah must curse him and make him leave his family. I’ll tell you how to do it, but it will require perfect timing and your best acting performance.”

“Beguiling men is my specialty,” Naamah said, grinning.

“Patience, Sister. Bide your time as a loving mother and doting wife. First, the grapes must grow, then we will speed the fermentation process. When the harvest celebration begins, wait for Noah to drink, and then. .” Morgan smiled and raised an imaginary cup into the air as if proposing a toast.

Naamah joined her with a cup of her own. “The wine will do the rest!”

A dark mist filtered between the two uplifted arms. Naamah lowered her imaginary cup and searched for the source. A blanket of black fog hovered close to the shore just above the water. A stream of darkness extended from it, reaching out and trying to loop around their bodies.

Morgan closed her eyes. “Do you hear that?”

Naamah kept her head still, concentrating on the surrounding noise. “Just the waves. What do you hear?”

Following the mist’s beckoning arm, Morgan padded her bare feet silently along the virgin grass. “Not waves. Voices. Pleading voices.”

Naamah followed Morgan to the shoreline. As they stepped into the water, the black fog swirled around them, congealing into dozens of dark phantoms that pawed at their bodies like anxious dogs. Naamah couldn’t feel their swiping paws, but a sense of heaviness filled her mind. “Who are they?” she asked.

Morgan smiled and cradled one of the ghostly shapes in her arms. “The spirits of the Nephilim.” She closed her eyes for several seconds as the ghost caressed her ear. When she opened her eyes again, she sighed. “This one tells me that the flood killed their bodies, but their spirits had no place to rest. The human dead went to the circles of seven, and the Watchers were banished to Tartarus, but these hybrid children were prevented from entering either domain. They searched for suitable bodies in the ark, but a strange spiritual force banned their entry into the humans, and the animals in the hold were stupid beasts, unable to open their minds to allow them in. So they wander here as sea fog, unable to walk or breathe, like lost souls in an eternal nightmare.”

“Isn’t there some way we can restore them?” Naamah asked. “Maybe by using Samyaza’s seeds of power?”

“I don’t know. Our little gardening plan is designed to grow new Nephilim, not restore their wandering spirits. Still, there might be a way to find bodies for them. If not from Canaan’s line, then perhaps from another source.”

“Another source?” Naamah tilted her head. “The only animals left in the world were on the ark.”

“Very true, yet there is one animal our lost children have not yet explored, a beast with brainpower rivaling that of many humans, perhaps even surpassing them.”

Naamah tapped her chin. “They weren’t in the animal hold for these spirits to find.”

“And they will be at their weakest when they finally exit the ark.” Morgan laid the phantom in Naamah’s arms. “It will be up to you to teach them a siren’s song.”

“A song to tempt the heart, arrest the guardians of the mind, and open the gates of the soul.” Naamah smiled. “I can do that.”

“I thought so. Who has ever been able to resist your charms?”

A flutter of wings drew Naamah’s gaze skyward. She pointed at a white bird flying overhead. “Look! A dove!”

Morgan followed its flight as it circled their island. “It seems that a certain raven never returned, so Noah has been sending doves out to search for land.” In a puff of smoke, she transformed back into a raven and took to the air. Seconds later, she returned with her claws embedded in the dove, blood dripping from its broken neck. As she fluttered to a landing, dropping the dead bird on the ground, she cackled, “I’ll let the next one live, Noah, after I plant my vineyard. Then it will be time for you to come out. And bring those lovely dragons with you.”