Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Mara noticed splotches of dark red on the king’s fingers. As he withdrew his hand, the king gazed into her eyes again. “What is your name, precious jewel?”

“Mara.”

“Mara?” He looked up at Mardon, frowning. “What kind of name is that for an angel?”

Mardon pinched closed a hole at the shoulder of Mara’s outer tunic, covering the bloodstain underneath. “We give all the laborers names that reflect the sadness of their lot in life. It only makes sense.”

“Well, that will change.” The king’s gentle smile returned. “Child, you will be called Sapphira Adi, for your eyes are sparkling gems, as blue as the endless expanse on the clearest day. Even your pupils blaze like sapphires.”

Mara let that name roll around in her mind. Sapphira Adi. It sounded. . lovely.

King Nimrod stood and brushed his hands together, rubbing reddish powder onto the floor. He lowered his voice as he turned to Mardon. “We have to squelch an uprising in the mountain tribes, so I’ll need more. .” He glanced back down at Mara. “I’ll need another suitable donor.”

“Understood, Father. Do you have one in mind?”

“No. Just find a pregnant prostitute in the temples. They’re always glad to. .” He glanced at Mara again. “Let’s just say they’re willing to stay in a more profitable physical condition.”

A strange smile crossed Mardon’s face. “While making an embryonic donation to our cause?”

The king brushed more of the red powder from his palms. “Exactly.”

Mardon laid a hand on Mara’s shoulder. “Mara. . I mean, Sapphira, is carrying something that might make further conflict unnecessary.”

“Indeed?” The king’s brow lifted. “What is it?”

Mardon gently nudged her forward a step. “Show him.”

Mara withdrew the Ovulum from her pocket and held it up in her palm. Nimrod leaned over and eyed it closely. “And what is this?” he asked.

Mardon pushed it with his finger, making it tilt to one side. “I unearthed it when we dug the foundation for the new fountain, and I thought it little more than a trinket until I took it to the lower world. When I arrived, it spoke in odd verse, declaring that it needed the hands of an intelligent maiden if we wanted to hear from the lips of God.”

“The lips of God?” the king said. “Do you mean Elohim?”

“I assumed it was Elohim, so I wanted to be sure to follow his instructions and avoid his wrath.”

“Why didn’t you seek a suitable girl here?” The king spread out his arms toward the surrounding buildings. “Are there no intelligent maidens in my kingdom?”

“You allow the nobles’ daughters to be educated,” he said, flashing that strange smile again, “but it would be difficult to discern which ones are true maidens.”

The king rubbed his chin. “I see what you mean.”

“But Sapphira has proven an extraordinary intelligence, and until today, I am the only human male who has ever laid eyes on her. She is a maiden, indeed.”

The king picked up the Ovulum and brought it close to his eyes. “Did this trinket speak to her?”

“In an extraordinary way. I believe it is truly the mouthpiece of Elohim.” He gazed up at the tower and angled his arm toward the top. “Imagine it sitting in the temple at the pinnacle of your tower. Everyone from every land will proclaim us the capital of the world. With you holding the gateway to the god of the flood, who would dare oppose you? Your kingdom will be established forever!”

The king handed the egg back to Mara. His eyes widened, and his two canine teeth overlapped his bottom lip. “Make it speak again!” he barked.

Mara stepped back clumsily. The king seemed to be a different person now, gruff, almost maniacal. She held the Ovulum close to her lips, her hands shaking. She wanted to sound like she knew what she was doing, but she had no idea what to say. After clearing her throat, she spoke slowly. “Elohim, god of the flood, speak to us now and” she licked her lips, her eyes darting between the two men who watched with their jaws hanging open “and grant us wisdom regarding how we might please you.” She bit her tongue and glanced up at the king. His eyes were locked on the Ovulum, nearly bulging out of his head.

The red fog appeared again inside the glass shell, forming slowly into an eye. It gazed at her, its pupil a soft crimson hue, but when it turned toward the king, the entire eye seemed to blaze with fire. A loud, deep voice erupted from within.

To Nimrod, hunter, ruler, king,

The man who built a tower,

A jackass heeds a whip and rope,

But you heed only power.

So like a jackass, you’ll be whipped;

Like straw your shrine will burn,

For God has warned from up on high.

But you refused to turn.

Excising children, torn from wombs,

They cry for murder’s cost;

Defiling maidens, forced to serve,

They mourn their virtue lost.

So now the justice due your deeds

Will come in fire and smoke,

To burn your shrine and all your wealth

And clasp you in a yoke.

For when you die, entrapped you’ll be

Within the bowels of Earth,

Until the day the Lord recalls

Your soul to fiery birth.

Nimrod’s lips bent into a vicious frown, and his hand curled into a shaking fist as he raised it to the sky. “No!” he screamed. “You cannot win! I control the hearts of the people! We will fight you from the top of the tower and make heaven rain with the blood of your hosts!”

The fog had disappeared inside the egg, so Mara slipped it back into her pocket and stepped away slowly while King Nimrod raged on.

“If you send fire, I will pierce you with a spear! If you clasp me with a yoke, I will dress you in a mantle of your own blood!”

Suddenly, a stream of fire rained from the roof of the portico, and a flurry of huge wings ripped past the opening.

“Dragons!” Mardon shouted. “Guards! Get ropes and spears!”

The king grabbed a spear from a soldier and ran out to the courtyard. Lunging forward, he hurled the spear into the air. He then ran back to the portico, his face twisted in rage as he screamed toward the tower’s main door. “Herald! Sound the alarm! Call out every soldier.” He snatched up Mara’s coif from the floor, strangling it in his fist as he shook it in front of her. His voice thundered. “You brought Elohim’s curse on us! Dragons are his winged soldiers!” He threw the coif at her chest, and it fell into her hand.

Withdrawing his sword, the king gripped it with both hands and stared at the blade. As he watched it glimmer in the sunlight, the furrows in his brow deepened, and his cheeks flushed scarlet. Raising one hand, he spread out his fingers and screamed, “Mardon! I need more blood!” His maniacal stare fell on Mara, and he stalked toward her. “Yes, of course. A maiden’s blood will do just fine.”

Mardon pushed Mara behind his back. “There are infants in the crowd, Father. I beg you to choose any one of them. I need Mara for my work.”

A blast from a horn made both men spin around. Shaking uncontrollably, Mara quickly retied her coif and pulled out the candlestone. Maybe it would distract the king. Another horn echoed the first from far away, and a third answered, even farther away.

The king shoved Mardon aside and grabbed Mara’s shoulder, squeezing her wound so hard, pain shot down her spine. “I will deal with you soon enough. The temple worshippers would love to get their hands on you.” He shoved her into Mardon’s arms. “Put her in the stocks.” He pivoted and stomped toward a mother with a baby in her arms.

Mara extended the gem in her open palm and cried out, “Look! The lady in black told me to give this to you!”

Nimrod pivoted again and marched back. Mardon grabbed Mara’s wrist and snatched the gem. Both men gazed at it curiously. Light seemed to spin toward it in a whirlpool. “Could it be?” the king whispered.