Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Sapphira slapped the side of the ladder and whispered to herself, “You should have thought of that earlier.” She began climbing the ladder, skipping over the familiar weakened rungs as she scurried upward. At least with this journey, having tried it before, she knew where she was going and how to find her way back, and so far no one else seemed to know about the museum’s exit at the very top.

Sitting on a hearth near a crackling fire, Morgan laid a sword on her knees. “It’s time to put Chereb back into service. My dragon slayer is ready to begin his work.”

Naamah, kneeling in the warmth of the greenish flames, caressed the ornate hilt. “How will you get it to him?”

“Chereb is not for my slayer.” Morgan set the blade next to the hearth and rose to her feet. “It is for the king.”

“Arthur?” Naamah asked, rising with her. “Why?”

Morgan kissed Naamah’s cheek and whispered into her ear. “It’s all part of the grand scheme Lucifer and I have been cooking up for centuries, and it’s finally time to let you in on it.”

Naamah set her hands on her hips. “Because you need me to do your dirty work, right?”

“Don’t worry. You’re perfectly suited for your part in the plan.” Morgan gestured with her head toward the room’s exit. “Follow me.”

Morgan strode across the marble floor of the high-ceilinged room, Naamah trailing close behind. “I have experimented with this sword for centuries,” Morgan said. “Even with the blood covering, it wouldn’t work for Ham or his son Cush. Yet, it flashed its sacred fire for Nimrod.” She paused at the entrance to a dark corridor. “Tell me, Naamah, how was Nimrod different from his ancestors?”

“He was a king.”

“Yes. It seems that kings and leaders of clans, like Noah, are able to summon the sword’s power.” Morgan entered the corridor, walking more slowly now as she passed by a series of heavy wooden doors, each with thick metal bars in their solitary windows. “Nimrod lost his kingdom,” she continued, “because he didn’t bother to renew the blood on his hands before the battle at the tower. The fool relied on the candlestone to defeat the dragons. Arthur, however, won’t need blood. He is a follower of the enemy.”

A low moan emanated from one of the windows. Naamah longed to see the suffering of the prisoners, but even on tiptoes, she couldn’t peek inside. “So, only a king can use Chereb?” she asked.

Morgan stopped at the last door in the hallway and lifted a key ring from a hook on the wall. “I don’t think so. An old prophecy I once read implies that any king’s heir or anyone he designates can use it as well.” She slid the long, slender keys around the ring, eyeing each one. “I wanted Mardon to test the sword to prove my theory, but since he is merely a dead spirit in our caverns, my experiments were probably useless. That’s why I will give it to Arthur. When he gets the sword, he will show it to Merlin, who will certainly know all about its secrets. If Merlin can use Chereb, then I will be certain about the designation theory, and my dragon slayer will make sure I get it back at the proper time.”

“But when you get it back, we won’t have a king or any innocent blood to cover his hands.”

“I have a plan to install a new king.” Morgan pinched a key, letting the rest of the ring dangle. “And we have sources for innocent blood.”

“Sapphira and Paili?” Naamah raised her eyebrows. “Would you dare kill one of them?”

“No. Paili’s presence keeps Sapphira in the lower realms, right where I want her.” Morgan inserted the key into the lock, pausing as she gazed through the bars in the window. “And I cannot take Sapphira’s blood. She is too dangerous, though she has no idea how powerful she is. Every person who spills her blood meets an untimely demise.”

“Yes,” Naamah said, shivering. “I know. We could really use Nimrod right now.”

Morgan nodded. “In any case, Sapphira is unable to thwart my ultimate plan without her twin oracle, and Acacia is long dead, so I don’t mind keeping her around. Her abilities in the control room are quite valuable.”

“I follow your plan so far, but what’s your source for innocent blood?”

Morgan turned the key and slid a heavy bolt to one side. “My prisoner will provide it.”

“Are you sure he’s innocent?”

“Since he was born before the enemy’s visitation, I’m not sure.” Morgan swung open the door. Naamah peeked inside, but all she could see was a tiny, empty room with an open trapdoor in the middle of the stone flooring. Morgan walked in and knelt at the trapdoor’s opening. “Shem dedicated him to God at his birth, and we captured him before the normal age of corruption. He has aged but a little, and since his only companion has been strife, I suspect he qualifies. But with the plan I have in mind, I won’t need his blood.”

“What? I thought you said ”

“Confused?” Morgan laughed. “After we talk to him, you’ll figure it out.”

“So,” Naamah said, spreading out her hands. “Where is he?”

Morgan pointed into the dark shaft. “Exactly where I expected him to flee. The sixth circle. That’s why I moved him to this cell after the Messiah cleared his followers out of the underworld.”

Naamah peered into the blackness. A downward draft pulled on her hair and clothes as it swept into a chasm of apparent nothingness. “Is the village of the dead down there?”

“Yes. What’s left of it.”

“So he’s alone?”

“Come. I’ll show you.” Morgan stood, and her body shrank, quickly transforming into a raven. Naamah spread out her arms. They flattened into leathery wings, and her hands molded into wrinkled claws. Within seconds, she began circling the room in the form of a bat.

Morgan jumped into the hole. Naamah dove headfirst in pursuit, plunging into the cold, black downdraft. Within seconds, the air warmed, getting brighter as they plummeted. Morgan spread out her wings and began to glide in a wide circle. Naamah followed her path, though her fluttering, jerky motions weren’t as graceful.

They landed in a village that looked like a deserted copy of Nimrod’s Shinar, not the marble-coated center of town, but rather the poorer outskirts. Hoofprints marred the muddy streets, and long rows of quaint stone huts stood in disrepair. A gust of wind lifted a broken piece of roof thatching and blew it across the street to a vacant marketplace, scattering straw among the empty carts of the missing vendors.

Morgan and Naamah returned to their human forms. Naamah pulled her hair back, staring into the crisp breeze. “Hades is a lonely place since the Messiah’s visit.”

“Yes,” Morgan said, smoothing out her dress, “but the sixth circle is perfect for keeping prisoners. Elam doesn’t ever seem to need food, so I can’t use hunger to break his will. Yet, this circle will soon be home to spirits that will drive him mad, and Elam will finally do what I ask.”

“Spirits? What kind of spirits?”

“Lucifer’s spies have told me that Elohim has created an abode identical to this one, a parallel home for the spirits of dead dragons. It seems that the two dimensions will intermingle in very interesting ways.” Morgan pointed toward a stack of boxes at the side of the market. “I saw him.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Elam. I saw you. There’s no use hiding back there.”

Elam stood up behind the boxes, revealing his tall, boyish frame. He walked straight toward Morgan, a club in his hand and fire in his eyes. “I was only hiding so I could crack your head open.” With the club ready to strike, he leaped at her.

Morgan raised her hands and thrust them outward. A wall of darkness threw Elam backwards, making him fly to the market. He slammed against the boxes, crushing them under his body. Slowly rising from the heap, he tightened his grip on the club and glared at Morgan. “I will get out of here. Just you wait and see. I’ll make you pay for what you did to Raphah.”