Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Ignoring the pain, Makaidos landed and blew pinpoint lines of fire, igniting the villains as they fought hand to hand or sword to sword with Joseph and his company. Within seconds, the battle was over. Three attackers fled on foot, dropping their weapons behind them. Makaidos stretched out his wings to follow, but Joseph grasped his foreleg, straining to hold the dragon back. “No, my friend. You are injured. It is time to rest and recover.”

Joseph’s arm brushed against one of the protruding arrows. Makaidos cringed and fell to his haunches.

“Those cowards won’t be back anytime soon.” Joseph stooped next to the wound. He pushed his thumbs against the adjacent scales, and his deeply creased face contorted. “Hmmm. It is not shallow. We will need to get it out soon. The edges of your scales are already cutting through the arrow’s shaft.”

“Go ahead and pull it,” Makaidos said. “I heal quickly.”

As his fellow travelers gathered around, Joseph nodded at one of them. “Lazarus, take Trophimus and whomever else you need and find suitable lodging.” Lazarus bowed and laid a saddlebag at Joseph’s feet.

Joseph stood and gripped the shaft. “I am glad God sent you, but I would like to know why you risk your life for our cause. Your faith is the most unusual I have ever seen.”

“My family and I want to follow wherever you go.” Makaidos felt the pressure on the arrow and spoke through clenched teeth. “You have taught me so much about the Messiah, but I need to learn more.”

“Yet when will you learn that I am human, and you are a dragon?” Joseph gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow, grunting, until it finally came out. He held it up for Makaidos to see, a bloody shaft with a pointed, barbed end. He nodded at it, his white hair blowing in the dry, dusty breeze. “I have told you many times that Jesus bled and died to save human souls. Of course, it’s an argument from silence, but I have my doubts as to whether the atonement includes dragons.”

A woman removed her white headscarf and tied it around Makaidos’s leg wound. Makaidos nuzzled her shoulder gently. “Thank you, Salome.” He raised his head and twitched his ears toward Joseph. “Dragons have souls. We must. The soul of Arramos has gone to another place, for I cannot believe the evil dragon who calls himself my father really holds the true spirit of Arramos. And I cannot believe the Maker would put a soul in me and not provide a way to save it.”

“If, indeed, it needs saving.” Joseph laid his hands on Makaidos’s chest just below another protruding arrow. “Your race was not included in Adam’s curse, and I have never known a soul as spotless as yours.”

Makaidos braced for another round of pain. “My mistakes have cost me my eldest son and daughter as well as others in my brood. My eyes were too set on the Maker’s commands, and I missed the signals that might have helped me see the rebellion before it was too late.”

Joseph yanked out the arrow, but this jolt was far less painful.

“Dear Makaidos,” Joseph said with a soft chuckle. “Listen to yourself. Too obedient to God? Might have helped? These are not sins; they are limitations. You cannot see and know all. Don’t condemn yourself for lacking God’s attributes.”

Salome borrowed a headscarf from another woman and blotted the chest wound. Makaidos cringed. Now it hurt! He exhaled, trying to ignore the pain as he stretched his neck toward Joseph and lowered his voice. “You have proven that I still have more to learn. Let me come with you to the islands of the North and protect you until you find a safe place to house the Holy Grail. Then I will come back and bring my family to live wherever you dwell.”

Joseph raised the second arrow, blunted on the tip and less bloody. “Of course you may come, and I welcome your protective shield. Who am I to tell you what to do?”

“My wounds are minor,” Makaidos said, pushing his weight down on his bandaged leg. “I will be ready at dawn.”

Joseph shook his head and laughed. “As old as you are, you still remind me of a young man I encountered in Ephesus Timothy, a disciple of Paul the apostle.”

Makaidos rotated his ears. “How so?”

“Well, he is enthusiastic and wishes to follow his mentor wherever he goes.” Joseph raised a finger. “But he is also learning the same lesson you must learn.”

“What lesson is that?”

“One that I must drive into your brain so you will never forget it.” Joseph spread an arm out toward the sea. “Since we are sailing on a Greek vessel tomorrow, I want you to remember a Greek word. Autarkeia .”

“ Autarkeia ? What does that mean?”

“It means ‘contentment’.” Joseph stooped, reached into his saddlebag, and withdrew a small wooden goblet. He held it in his palms as if swirling liquid inside. “A vessel that seems destined for common use can transform into a great treasure when touched by the finger of God. Whether dragon or human, we must be content with who we are and be patient as we wait to see what God will make of us.” He laid a gentle hand on the dragon’s long, narrow jaw. “You are not human, Makaidos. Be content with the fact that God made you a dragon for a reason. Rest in God’s will for you, serve him with all your might, and he will transform you into what he wants you to be.”

Makaidos lowered his head and closed his eyes. The word did pierce his brain, painful and deep like one of the arrows, yet there were no scales to blunt its penetration. He sighed and nodded. “ Autarkeia . . I will remember, Master Joseph.”

“Excellent.” Joseph patted Makaidos’s good leg. “It will be a pleasure having dragons in the northern islands.”

Circa AD 490

Morgan bent forward and stroked the man’s rugged chin, her eyes flaming red. “Are we agreed then?” she asked. “Your perfect allegiance to me in exchange for immortality?”

“Without question, my lady.” The man, sitting straight on a low footstool, picked up a black helmet from his lap and tucked it under his mail-clad arm. “Although the king has outlawed dragon hunting, I trust that you will prepare the way.”

Grasping the hilt of a beautiful sword, she leaned back in her throne-like chair. The dim chamber echoed every squeak of antique wood, the sounds bouncing off an open balcony encircling the airy lower floor. A dank odor of disuse hung in the air, as if neither door nor window had been opened in years.

As Morgan fingered the sword’s hilt, lantern light glimmered on the shiny, etched blade. “I will prepare the way. Makaidos and his followers have had over four hundred years to endear themselves to the people of the North, but the spirits of the Nephilim are guiding another brood of dragons to our shores. Goliath and his company will repulse human hearts with their, shall we say, onerous behavior. In any case, I will personally see to Arthur’s enchantment. The laws against dragon hunting will soon be only a memory.”

The man rose to his feet and set the helmet next to a chessboard at the end of a long table. “And what of Merlin? He is not so easily enchanted.”

“Leave Merlin to me.” She ran her thumb along the edge of the blade and smiled. “There are many ways to skin an old gray fox.”

The man reached for one of the chess pieces, but Morgan slammed the flat of the sword on the table. “Don’t touch that!”

The man jumped back and smoothed out the banner draped over his mail shirt. “Oh! Sorry. . well. .” He cleared his throat nervously. “My squire has been of great service to me. Shall I tell him of our plans?”

Morgan pulled the sword back and propped it against the chair’s headrest. “Only that you are ridding the world of the dragon menace. Tell him nothing of our plot to overthrow Arthur until the time comes. He will gladly fill his moneybags and enjoy unnaturally long life while keeping his questions to himself.”