Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

“If you keep your mind on your work,” Morgan said, “I won’t care how many men you capture. Just remember to collect what we need from them.”

Naamah twirled her dress. “Have you begun to doubt my charms, Sister?”

“Not your charms, just your prudence. Our mission is more important than fun. Canaan has aged more quickly than I expected, so he’s already useless.”

“We have the hybrid embryos in the vault. We could always use their genes.”

Morgan propped up one of the wilting plants. “The hybrids are stronger than the purebreds, but not strong enough. We have to keep experimenting until we get the right combination for survival in the world’s new environment.”

“What about your other plan?” Naamah asked. “Any luck finding homes for the spirits?”

“Perhaps. The dragons have birthed several younglings in quick succession. The spirits have repeatedly visited the eldest son at night, and he believes he is merely dreaming. He is already showing signs of giving in to the songs.”

“You decided to use dragons as hosts, after all? I thought you decided you wanted them dead.”

“I do, but I have no way to kill them. . yet.” Morgan plucked a wrinkled leaf from one of the plants, making its little green face wince. “Still, if my plan works, we will eliminate every dragon, release the Watchers from the abyss so they can live in a dragon-free land, and have an army of Nephilim to conquer the world.”

“I see.” Naamah stroked the stalk of the injured plant. “Home-grown Nephilim instead of dragon-born.”

“Exactly. The Nephilim spirits should eventually break through the dragons’ minds and secure them as hosts, but even if the spirits someday lose their scaly bodies, it will be a small price to pay to create our paradise.”

“I keep hearing about this paradise. When will we get to enjoy it?”

“That’s the hard part, Sister. We have to be patient. I still have to find the abyss. Then, I have to raise up a champion for our cause, a dragon slayer, you might call him. I’ll mold him like putty in my hands, and place him in circles of authority. We also have to conquer the minds of the dragons one by one. Such a scheme can take millennia to accomplish, but we can afford to wait as long as necessary.”

Naamah picked up a plant and gazed into the tiny eyelets of the blinking pod. Its emaciated stalk could barely hold up its oversized head, and it finally keeled over as if gasping for breath. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime” Morgan strangled the plant and ripped it out of the soil “we cultivate, sow, and water until our army is ready to uproot and march.”

Mara gagged. Nausea boiled in her stomach. Still crouching as she cradled her new spawn, she picked up her lantern and tiptoed through the dim tunnel. With so little light, she could easily step on a sharp stalagmite. . or worse. As the passage grew darker, she slowed, standing straight and probing the blackness, listening to the squeaks of awakening bats. Her spawn’s prickly pod nuzzled her cheek. It was scared, too.

When she approached the magma window, she didn’t bother to put on her coif; she just rushed past it as quickly as she could and slowed again as the tunnel darkened once more. Soon, a flickering beam revealed the oval entryway into her workroom. Clutching her spawn even more tightly, she ran the rest of the way, stopping at the opening and holding her hand on her chest as she caught her breath. She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. She was such a failure! She had to be the only underborn in all of the below lands who was scared of the dark.

“Is there a problem?” a deep voice asked.

Mara dropped her lantern and twisted to the side. A man stood next to her, only inches away. “Mardon!” she cried, her hand on her chest again. “You startled me!”

“My apologies.” Mardon’s egg-shaped head tilted as he held up the scroll she had been reading. “Mara, isn’t it?”

Mara sniffed and nodded. “Yessir.”

Mardon cupped Mara’s chin and turned her head from side to side. Under his closely cropped brown hair, a pair of thin eyebrows arched downward. His coal black pupils seemed to breathe, swelling and deflating as he probed her eyes. “Number fourteen, correct?” He released her chin and combed through her hair as if searching for bugs in her scalp.

“Yessir. Number fourteen.” She hated being called by a number, but at least he remembered her name this time.

“Did you cut your hair again?” he asked.

“Weeks ago, but only because it got caught between some rocks.” She ran her fingers through the tangled ends. “Paili had to slice off a bunch to get me loose, and then I had to cut the rest to make it even.”

“It’s acceptable. Just remember to tuck it in your coif while you’re working. I’m just checking for signs of biological degradation, and hair loss would be a big concern, as would loss of muscle tone.” He laid his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Pain ripped through her body, and she couldn’t hold back a tight grimace.

Mardon quickly lifted his hand. “Did that hurt?”

Mara squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. “Nabal’s whip. It’s an old wound, but it never seems to heal.”

Mardon pushed the collar of her dress to the side, exposing her shoulder. Shaking his head and whispering “Tsk, tsk,” he covered her wound again. “Make sure you scrub that out tonight, or it could be dangerous.”

Mara opened her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t cry. “I will.”

“Your muscles are quite firm,” he said, grasping her other shoulder. “Actually, overall, you’re a very lucky girl. Have I ever told you what happened to the first twelve females?”

“Yessir.” She smoothed down her hair. “But you talk to so many underborns, it’s no wonder you’ve forgotten.”

“Not so many. There are only twenty-one surviving females at my last count. Morgan has a habit of tossing the insubordinates into the chasm when she gets angry, including number thirteen, an excellent specimen.” Mardon tapped his head with his finger. “Actually, I’ve been so busy, I seem to be getting a bit absent-minded. I don’t remember everything I tell people.”

“Yessir.” She sniffed hard. Thinking about lost underborns was sure to make her cry, so she tried to change the subject. Steadying her voice, she nodded at the scroll. “I was just borrowing that. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mardon stared at the scroll, his eyes widening as if startled that it was still in his hand. “Oh, you mean this.”

“Yessir. Your library isn’t forbidden, so I thought it would be okay to read it.”

“Of course. I was just wondering why it was in the hearth. I didn’t think mice could read.”

Mara pointed a thumb at herself. “But I can!” She immediately felt stupid for saying it. Being smart wasn’t exactly cheered among the other laborers.

“Yes, yes, I have heard. You’re the only one who can, aren’t you?”

“Yessir. I kind of taught myself how.”

Mardon cupped her chin again and gazed into her eyes. “Remarkable!”

Mara swallowed and lifted her plant. “My spawn is ready. Do you want to check the magnetic field?”

He tucked the scroll under his arm and headed toward the alcove. “I already have. Your workmanship is flawless.” He held out his hands for the potted spawn. “Please don’t ever cross Morgan. I can’t afford to lose you.”

“Don’t worry. Making her mad is the last thing I want to do.” Mara handed him the spawn and smiled. That was the first kind word she had heard in weeks. As Mardon grasped one of the spawn’s stalks, she propped her hands on her knees and leaned forward. She didn’t get to see implanting very often. “Is this a good spawn?” she asked.