Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

A man shouted, “Devin, you son of a leprous jackal! You recreant thief, plucking treasures from dead men’s bones! Come back here and fight like a man!” The sound of evil laughter followed, then, seconds later, the clashing of swords and loud grunting.

The woman gasped. She kept opening the panel farther, then closing it, as if fearing someone might spot her. Finally, she threw it open and dashed into the throne room. Elam leaped to the panel and peeked out. Several knights were carrying a bleeding man and hustling him toward the passageway.

As the group burst into his hideout, Elam ducked back into the cleft and crouched low. Irene led them down the tunnel, a lantern swinging in her hand. “Follow me!” she cried. “We have to get Jared to Thigocia.” In less than a minute, the lantern’s light faded away.

Elam crept into the open and pulled out the Ovulum. “ Fiat lux ,” he whispered. It glowed red, just enough to guide his way through the tunnel. Though it had been hard to believe, Merlin’s amazing stories were all true the coming rebellion, the former dragons, even the secret to calling for the light of the Ovulum.

After quietly closing the panel, he picked up his knapsack and tiptoed in the direction Irene had fled. Now it was time to fulfill the sacred duty Merlin had charged him with, a secret mission he could reveal to no one, at least until the Eye gave him permission. He lowered his head and sprinted. He couldn’t get too far behind, not if he was to find the former dragon named Thigocia.

Jared and Irene huddled around a flickering candle. A tent draped across three short poles acted as their only break against a chill wind. As they rubbed their fingers in the candle’s fragile warmth, their breaths troubled the flame. Jared sat cross-legged on a threadbare gray blanket, watching the changes in her expression the anxiety in her furrowed brow, the fear in her wide eyes, and the pain in her tight bluish red lips. He glanced from time to time at the tent’s entrance, wondering if the occasional snaps of twigs or hoots of owls signaled coming danger.

With his hands clenched over his mouth, Jared took in a deep breath and whispered between his thumbs. “If he is not here soon, Irene, we have to assume the worst. Valcor is no match for Devin.”

Irene placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “He is no match in battle, but my brother is wiser by far. Do not give up hope. I would not have arranged our meeting had I thought this a fool’s errand.”

Jared raised his head. “I heard a nightingale.”

Irene whispered, “It is the signal.” She pursed her lips and blew a warbling bird whistle.

Within seconds, the tent flap flew open, and a man with water dripping from his sleeves bustled in.

Irene grasped the man’s arm. “Valcor! Are you hurt?”

Valcor, stooping under the low ceiling, shook his head, panting. “Devin. . Devin tracked me to the river’s edge, so I swam. . swam upstream as far as I could.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I ran the rest of the way. It will be some time before the dogs pick up the trail again, but we must hurry.” He pulled a scroll from his vest, sat beside Jared, and rolled it out on the blanket. “I found the letter, and I managed to keep it above water.”

Irene glanced upward and clasped her hands together. “Thank the Maker!”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Valcor shivered. “Yes. It is a miracle that I escaped. My bribe must not have been rich enough to keep the guard quiet.” He rolled up his wet sleeves and ran his fingers across the parchment. “But this information is worth all the trouble.”

Jared eyed the letter. “It is lengthy. Please give us a summary.”

Valcor held the letter close to the dancing flame. “It is clear that Devin is now more dangerous than ever.”

“But he failed,” Irene said. “Arthur and Merlin squashed the rebellion.”

“Devin did not fail completely. He took Excalibur, and now Merlin has vanished. Who can predict how powerful Devin and Morgan will become?”

Valcor slid the candle closer to the letter. “This explains what I believe is an even greater danger. You see, Merlin promised to tell Morgan how to restore her wandering spirit to a body. The promise, it seems, has been fulfilled in this letter, which I recently learned was in Devin’s possession.”

Irene shifted to Valcor’s side and draped her shawl across his shoulders. She eyed the letter’s exquisite penmanship. “Why would Merlin make such a promise to a witch?”

Valcor took his sister’s hand. “I asked Merlin that very question before he disappeared. He said the plan is of divine origin and extends well beyond his vision, but we should not worry; God knows what he is doing. In any case, as you may already know, Morgan is not a common variety witch. She is the wife of a Watcher. Her original name was Lilith, a wretched enchantress who lived before the flood. Her husband taught her the evil arts of the fallen angels, but she did not know that practicing these arts would cause her to become a wraith. She actually took on the nature of the Watchers and has no hope of redemption without regaining a body and giving herself in obedience to the Christ.”

A peal of thunder rolled across the sky. Valcor’s gaze flashed toward the tent entrance as he rolled up the letter and thrust it back into his vest. “There is much to explain, and time is short.” He held his hand over his vest pocket. “Merlin told Morgan she needs a hostiam viventem, a living sacrifice, in order to shed her ghostly cowl. That sacrifice has to be a legal, female relative of the king. Morgan had her evil eye on Guinevere, but not even the Watchers’ arts could persuade Arthur to give up his wife. So, it seems that she changed her plan, hoping Devin could take the throne during the rebellion.”

“But how would that further her cause?” Jared asked. “Devin has no wife and no female relatives that I know of.”

“Who would have him?” Irene sliced her hand across her throat. “I would kill myself before I let that piece of filth touch me!”

Valcor smirked. “Even dead, you might still be a target, Irene. Merlin wrote that a deceased woman can be a hostiam providing, of course, the body has not been dead for very long. But Devin would have no need to hunt for corpses. If he had succeeded in usurping the throne, he would have had his choice of women. Morgan would have entered his wife and become queen, and Devin would have the power to rule the world. I believe Devin would have put up with a witch of a wife for a prize like that.”

A distant howl drifted into the tent. Valcor pushed the entrance flap to the side and leaned out for a moment, then ducked back in. “So Devin and Morgan had an understanding. She would provide him with power, with influence in high places, and he, in turn, would use that power to become king, get married, then provide Morgan with a woman to possess. But since his rebellion has failed, Morgan might not wait for him to try again.”

Irene raised a finger to her chest. “But if any legal female relative can serve as host, then I really would be a candidate, would I not, since I am an adopted daughter?”

Valcor nodded. “You would be, yes.”

“Then why does Devin seek to kill me?”

“Because,” Valcor replied, stroking his chin, “he has merely identified you as a former dragon. He hasn’t yet made the connection that you are also in the royal line. So you have peril either way. If you are a dragon, Devin wants you dead. If you are an heir, Morgan would prefer to take your body alive, yet in such a way that you would be better off dead. I believe, however, that Devin’s bloodlust will override his desire to search for Morgan’s hostiam, so he will likely try to kill you until the day he dies.”