Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

“Perhaps you will have a hand in his coming.” Merlin patted Valcor on the back. “Walk with me to the place where you will hide until I summon you again to Blood Hollow. You and Sir Gawain must organize the king’s knights. I am certain now that a rebellion will soon arise, and I will need Arthur’s loyal soldiers to help me put it down.”

Stooping low, Elam smoothed the dirt on top of the grave, picking out each pebble and fleck of debris. As the headstone’s speckled crystals shimmered in the rising sun, he admired the block letters and rugged cross he had carved with his own hand. “Lazarus VII, descendant of Lazarus of Bethany. Rest in Peace.” Following the outline of the etched cross with his finger, he whispered, “Thank you for teaching me. I know we’ll be together again someday.”

He stood and clapped the dirt off his hands as he counted the graves in the family plot the original Lazarus with his tombstone that read, “Lazarus of Bethany, in Heaven to Stay”; Lazarus’s wife, passed away two years earlier; Joseph, father of Lazarus VII; an unnamed girl who died at birth; and a boy named Elam.

The last grave carried no body. Elam had carved the cryptic marker, “Elam the Wanderer,” to answer neighbors’ questions. Whatever happened to that wandering waif who showed up over three years ago? Now they would know. He had moved on to another life.

Elam slung a knapsack over his shoulder and looked behind him at the towering hill, the tor of Glastonbury and the tiny church at its apex. Yes, it was time to leave for good, and best to do so without answering all the well-intentioned questions of the villagers. Firming his chin, he marched around the bordering swamp and followed a damp, muddy trail that led into a forest. Camelot lay ahead, a new home atop a new hill, and this one promised adventures unlike any he had ever known.

As he passed under a lush canopy, he reached into his knapsack and withdrew the Ovulum. The egg was dark today, but that wasn’t unusual. It seemed to warm up and glow only when it had a mind to talk, and that wasn’t very often, maybe a half dozen times over the last three years, and most of those had come when Lazarus was holding it.

Elam rubbed his thumb over the glassy surface. Still, it had spoken directly to him once since that wondrous song during the rainy dance, and he would always remember its short, but passionate plea.

A lad of faith will never fail

Beholding truth and light.

So keep me close and never doubt,

And I will be your sight.

In the dimness of the dense forest, the Ovulum glowed ever so slightly. Elam halted and looked around. There had to be a reason for its illumination, but everything seemed in order. Nothing but trees and undergrowth lined his narrow path. No sounds arose in the woods except a soft rustling from a light breeze announcing the wakening day.

The rustling grew louder. The wind kicked up dirt and leaves and spun them in a tornadic dance. Trees waved back and forth and littered the ground with twigs and moss. Dark clouds rode the wind, drawing a blanket across the sky and sending acorn-sized raindrops in sporadic intervals, sometimes just two or three, then a cascade that quickly dampened the path.

Elam reached back to store the Ovulum, but a lightning flash made him cover his head. The bolt sizzled into a tree, splashing embers in high arcs. One of the streams collected in an elongating arm that reached toward him. It orbited his body once and plunged into the Ovulum, igniting a burst of scarlet within.

Elam clung to the pulsing egg, his fingers clenched around it, his muscles contracting uncontrollably with every colorful, rhythmic throb. His whole body shook. His teeth chattered so hard, his jaws ached. Finally, his fingers relaxed, and the Ovulum fell to the ground, still pulsing.

With large raindrops splashing on his head, he dropped to his knees and touched the Ovulum. Although it still pulsed red, its surface was cool. “What. .” He swallowed painfully. “What happened?”

The red glow slowly faded away. He scooped the egg and wiped it clean with a dry corner of his tunic, then broke into a quick march, keeping his head low as he continued his journey toward Camelot. According to Lazarus, there was only one man who could solve the mysteries of the Ovulum, and he served the king within the walls of the castle.

Elam accelerated, running as fast as the slippery path would allow. He had to find Merlin as soon as possible.

Edward tramped up the dark slope, following Barlow’s lantern as it swung a few paces in front. Well ahead of Barlow, another lantern swayed back and forth in the hands of a short, old man. “Come, come,” the man sang gleefully. “This place of sadness is now a place of joy. I will never fear Bald Top again.”

Barlow picked up his pace on the steepening grade, while Edward stayed close behind, glad his battle-hardened legs had become equal to his captain’s. He grabbed a branch and pulled up to the top of a boulder. “Captain, did the old man say why he was up here that night?”

“Yes.” Barlow stopped and turned around. “He was supposed to meet Goliath at the summit to pay a ransom for his daughter. He didn’t know Devin had already slain him.”

“Ah! I heard about Devin rescuing a maiden. With all the accolades, his head must be more swollen than a pumpkin by now.”

Barlow marched again and gestured for Edward to come alongside. When they were walking abreast, Barlow lowered his voice. “I don’t like Devin, either, but we must admit that his zeal to protect the kingdom is unsurpassed.”

“Perhaps, but this gypsy’s story is too unbelievable to be true, just the mad ravings of a highwayman.”

“Shhh!” Barlow nodded toward the dark figure in front of them. “He’ll hear you.”

“Here we are,” the old man said, dancing on the grassy plain. “Follow me!”

Barlow and Edward ventured out onto the vast summit. “It’s a good thing Goliath is gone,” Barlow said. “Battling him at night would be difficult indeed.” He held the lantern low and began searching through the grass.

“Over here!” the old man cried from about thirty paces away. “Here it is!”

The two knights hurried to the spot. The old man shone the lantern light on a pile of clothes.

Edward picked up a shoulderless dress and held it at arm’s length. “Ugly as a mangy cur’s coat. No wonder it was left here to rot.”

The old man picked up a pair of men’s trousers. “The dragons took the rest. Naked as a rat’s tail, they were, so Merlin gave them clothes. I saw them with my own two eyes.”

Barlow pointed at a splotch of dried mud. “Dragon tracks.” He knelt and set his lantern on the mud, his eyes close to the ground. “At least three different dragons, two females, one male.” He crawled on all fours, then stopped suddenly. “They become human footprints!”

“I told you!” the old man said. “I told you! Merlin transformed them. I saw it with my own eyes. And one of them looked exactly like the king!”

Edward bent down and picked up a saddlebag. “Sir Barlow, what do you make of this?”

Barlow got up and examined the bag. “It’s Merlin’s.” He pointed at a waxy emblem. “See. Here is his signet seal.”

The old man jumped up and down, chortling, “He was here! He was here! I knew it! Merlin performed his black magic right on this spot, just like I said!”

Edward threw the bag to the ground. “You’re starting to annoy me, old gypsy.”

The gypsy pointed at Edward with a long, bony finger. “Because I was right. Say it. I was right. Merlin loves dragons so much, he replaced the king with one. Say it. You know it’s true now.”