Song of the Ovulum Read online

  “Call for a dragon. Enoch told me that he fears us, though we are not sure why. Perhaps he is cowardly in the face of fire, but I suspect there is something more.”

  “What if no dragons are around or they can’t get to me in time?”

  “This is another reason I visited. You should not be alone. It is far more difficult for a beguiler to deceive more than one person at a time, because the tool he uses to mesmerize one person might not affect the other. Besides that fact, the songs of two Listeners should be effective on all demons, which is one of the reasons your father always insists on you and Selah going into battle together.” Arramos’s tone deepened, mixing with a low growl. “And why you and Seraphina battled together.”

  Joran nudged a pebble with his foot. This conversation had taken a bad turn. “I … I’m not sure what to say. I know how close you and Seraphina were, so—”

  “What is done is done,” Arramos said. “I apologize for allowing my feelings to invade my words. My emotional turmoil was incited by my love for Seraphina and my grief over her loss. I hold no ill will toward you. You were young and inexperienced. I will say no more about that tragic day.”

  Joran’s ears burned. If only youth and inexperience were the real reasons for the tragedy.

  “In any case,” Arramos continued, “I believe in an afterlife for humans and dragons alike. Seraphina lives again in another world. Perhaps I will be reunited with her soon.”

  “Soon? But you’re going on the ark.” Joran pointed at the ground. “You’ll keep living in this world, and dragons live for so long—”

  “I am not going on the ark, nor is Shachar.”

  Joran blinked. “You’re not?”

  “Makaidos and Thigocia will take our places. They are young and strong, so they are good choices. They have trained as a team in the past, and with the expected final assault from the Watchers, I will need them to protect your father while he uses the ovulum to protect the ark.”

  “But Makaidos is … well …”

  “Inexperienced. I know. He told me of his failure during your most recent battle, and I commend you for your refusal to report his mistake.” Arramos’s eyes flashed, then slowly dimmed. “We all have needed second chances, have we not?”

  Joran lowered his head. “Definitely.”

  “Then let us hope for a Second Eden, a second chance for all humanity.” Without another word, Arramos beat his wings and launched into the sky. After orbiting the area once, his eyebeams sweeping the ground, he flew toward the western ridge and disappeared into the night.

  Joran let his shoulders sag. Every hour seemed to bring another reminder of his dark past. Yes, Father had forgiven him, and Arramos didn’t seem to hold an outward grudge, but what would Seraphina say if she stood in front of him now? At the moment of betrayal, she seemed so disappointed, her face a portrait of bafflement. Those wide eyes haunted every dream. Shame was his prison, and only Seraphina held the key.

  Lifting his gaze toward the sky, he whispered, “Elohim, is there any way I can let Seraphina know how I feel? If she were here, I would beg her to forgive me. I was a stupid brat who wouldn’t listen to her wise counsel, and she is the one who had to suffer.”

  Again, he let his head droop. Why would Elohim want to listen to a condemned sinner? His life would be over soon. It was too late to appeal to the executioner for a final apology to the victim of his crime.

  He looked at the tent and listened to the rhythmic sounds of contented sleep. Although Arramos was right to warn against being alone, what harm could come from staying out a little while longer? Death awaited at dawn. Could dying at the hands of a demon be worse than drowning?

  Holding the top of the bag closed with one hand and tucking the lyre under his arm, he strolled past two tall boulders and stopped near the campfire embers. In the midst of the faint sizzles, new dragon conversation reached his ears. The cool air must have allowed their voices to carry from the ridge, a bit unusual considering that the communications seemed to be whispered. Maybe they were closer, just out of sight. With the moon so brilliant, a shifting shadow would give them away.

  A hint of movement caught his attention. Near one of the boulders, a shadow of what looked like a wing bobbed slowly, as if waving an invitation. Joran cocked his head and listened. Since no Watchers’ songs spoiled the air, maybe this was the same dragon he had noticed earlier.

  Stepping on the grass carefully so as not to arouse Selah’s sensitive ears, he walked around the boulder and leaned against it. He set the ovulum bag next to his feet and began playing the lyre, using the tune that was supposed to summon images. Maybe, just maybe, he could gain a measure of Father’s ability. Couldn’t he have inherited the bard’s talent?

  After he played the family’s tune several times, the white aura reappeared. An image took shape in front of the strings, a miniature woman in battle togs riding a dragon, a quiver of arrows on her back and a bow attached to her belt. Although the dragon appeared to be flying, its wings beating and its tail acting as a rudder, the image stayed in place about two handbreadths away from the lyre. As the woman’s hair and clothing flapped in the wind, she smiled, apparently enjoying the flight.

  Joran studied the pair. Although the white glow made the details indistinct, the woman looked a lot like Seraphina and the dragon like Arramos. Since they were inseparable as a battle team, the lyre showing them together made sense.

  Ghostly trees appeared, and the dragon landed in their midst. The woman dismounted and hugged the dragon’s neck, a lengthy embrace, much longer than a typical human and rider exchange. With his ears twitching and his tail swishing, the dragon seemed to enjoy the affection.

  Soon, the dragon flew away, leaving the woman in the dim, foggy woods. She pushed her hair back from her ears and looked around, as if watching and listening for something. Then, moving slowly, she withdrew an arrow from her quiver and set it to the bowstring.

  Although she was nothing more than a white semitransparent specter and no taller than a forearm, her identity became clear. Seraphina stood ready for battle, apparently focusing on an out-of-view opponent.

  Joran stared at her lovely face. Was this the past, a replaying of an old tale, or might this be a present event in her new world? Maybe that dragon wasn’t really Arramos but rather a look-alike in another realm.

  “Seraphina,” Joran whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  She took no notice. Her eyes stayed focused on her target. The lyre’s strings began to vibrate, giving sound to the scene.

  “Joran,” Seraphina said, looking around as if searching for an ally, “why did you bring them here? I told you never to show anyone our hideout.”

  A boy appeared, followed by a petite woman and a winged man. Also glowing white, the boy was clearly Joran at the age of twelve, and the woman was Naamah, back when he thought of her as little more than someone who seemed unusually friendly to male villagers.

  “We are no danger,” Naamah said in a strained, raspy voice. “Do not chastise your brother. I convinced him to bring us here. Our presence is for good, not for evil.”

  Seraphina lowered her bow and eyed the strangers. “Is that so?”

  “It is so,” the winged man said as he bowed. “I am Tamiel, a Cherub who shares the duty of guarding the Tree of Life, and I have come to help you in your battle against the fallen ones.”

  Seraphina’s face took on a skeptical slant. “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “With this.” Tamiel produced a fruit and displayed it on his palm. “Take and eat, and you will be indestructible.”

  Seraphina’s face slackened, and her tone shifted to a whispered monotone. “Joran, did you eat any of that fruit?”

  “No,” the projection of Joran said. “He told me you and I should eat it together. That way—”

  “Never mind. It is time to fight. We must begin the battle song.”

  “The battle song? But why? This is an angel. The Watc
hers all look like—”

  “Do not judge based on appearances!” Seraphina barked as she aimed the arrow at Tamiel. “Sing now, Joran! Sing with all the passion in your heart!”

  “Beware!” Tamiel raised a hand. “I am an angel of Elohim. Elohim’s wrath against those who refuse his gift will be terrible indeed.”

  “You can fool a child, but you cannot fool me.” Seraphina shot an arrow. It ripped into Tamiel and embedded in his chest.

  “Seraphina!” young Joran shouted. “You shot an angel!”

  Tamiel jerked the arrow out and looked at it, a blend of pain and annoyance in his expression. “Your aim is excellent, but your wisdom is sorely lacking.”

  Seraphina spewed her words. “Joran, if you don’t start singing right now—”

  “It is too late,” Tamiel said. “Now neither of you will be able to sing.” Dark vapor flowed from Tamiel’s wound and spread toward Joran.

  Silence fell upon the scene. Although Seraphina appeared to scream, no sound emanated from the lyre’s strings. She lunged toward Tamiel, but Naamah tripped her, making her fall headlong. With a twisted smile, Tamiel plunged the arrow into Seraphina’s back. She screamed again, and her lips clearly formed the words, “Run, Joran! Run!” Her neck slackened, and her face fell to the grass.

  Young Joran shouted, “Seraphina!” but no sound emerged from his lips.

  Tamiel reached deep into Seraphina’s mouth, withdrew a shining sphere, and gave it to Naamah. Then, turning to Joran, he broke the silence. “I know you are unable to answer me, young Listener, so just hear and remember what I say. As I told you, I am an angel. You do not understand what I have done, but someday you will learn. Tell your father to retrieve your sister’s body here. I will do no more damage to it.”

  Young Joran ran from the forest and disappeared. Tamiel and Naamah walked away together, leaving only Seraphina’s corpse and the phantom trees in the scene. Soon, the lyre’s strings stopped vibrating, and the image faded.

  Joran sat down heavily, his back against the boulder. How many times had he relived that nightmare? How many times had he wept over ignoring Seraphina’s orders not to bring anyone to their forest hideout, the only place Arramos would leave her unguarded? And why didn’t he sing as soon as she commanded? When silence descended, it was too late.

  Cocking his head, Joran replayed that part of the scene in his mind. At the time, the silence felt like a manifestation of his fear, but now, it was clearly real rather than imagined. Could Tamiel have created the silence? Might he be the Silent One? Of course, he had claimed to be an angel, but since the Silent One was “Lucifer’s craftier brother,” he probably wouldn’t hesitate to lie about his identity.

  Tamiel did tell the truth about one thing. He left Seraphina’s body in that forest unmolested, though somehow he had robbed her of her voice, likely symbolized by the bright sphere he removed from her throat. It seemed so odd that he would give that precious treasure to a common prostitute who would soon die in the flood. The benefit he gained from stealing her voice seemed minuscule compared to the risk he took. Yet, if his only objective was to cripple Seraphina’s brother, he had achieved that goal. Hearing Naamah sing never failed to enrage him, and it seemed that his own song suffered, smothered by grief and anger. It never held the same power again.

  Joran strummed the lyre, taking care to pause after each string, giving it time to fully sing its note. If only he could find Seraphina in the other world Arramos mentioned. Then she could hear his grief and listen to his pleas for forgiveness.

  Again, an aura coated each string, but no image floated next to the lyre. Instead, a strange glow emanated from an area about ten paces in front of him, a grassy plot between two sycamore trees. Like radiant fog, the glow floated a few inches above the grass and extended upward to the height of a normal human.

  Joran rose slowly, picking up the ovulum bag as he straightened. The fog congealed into the shape of a woman. Her features slowly clarified, her skin taking on a pale hue and her hair turning yellow, as if gathering invisible sunlight. Moonlight shone through the arching tree boughs, making her face glow.

  Still touching the lyre’s strings, Joran stared at the amazing sight. Might Enoch’s instrument be doing even more than he had wished for? Could it really be bringing Seraphina back from her new world?

  After a few seconds, the process completed, and Seraphina stood before him. Dressed in the same battle clothing and gear she wore that tragic evening four years earlier, including a quiver on her back and a bow in her hand, she glanced from side to side, as if lost. “Where am I?”

  Joran’s throat clamped so tightly, he could barely breathe. She was alive! And her voice had been restored! He ached to rush forward and embrace her, but that might startle her. “You’re …” He swallowed hard. “You’re in the eastern basin, where Father likes to camp.”

  She stared at him, her head tilting. “You look very familiar.”

  He set the lyre and bag down and took a step closer, spreading out his arms. “I am your brother, Joran.”

  “Joran?” She marched toward him and stopped within reach, her expression and posture staying aloof. “Joran, my little brother?”

  Now shaking all over, he nodded. “I guess I’ve grown up quite a bit, haven’t I?” He leaned forward, hoping she would receive his embrace.

  Her brow furrowed. “You needed to grow up. Your foolishness cost me my life.”

  Pain stabbing his stomach, he lowered his empty arms. “I know. And I have grown up.” He clasped his hands tightly. “I was stupid. I shouldn’t have brought Tamiel to our refuge. I should have obeyed the moment you told me to sing. I don’t have any excuse. All I can do is say I’m sorry, and I beg for your forgiveness.”

  She crossed her arms in front and averted her eyes. “Words are easy. Deeds are difficult.”

  “Deeds? What deeds? There’s nothing left for me to do here. Selah and I have been killing demons together ever since you died, and the flood is coming tomorrow. There’s no time to do anything else.”

  “Maybe there is a way for you to prove your repentance, though perhaps not here.” She refocused on him, her expression softening. “If you could come back to my world with me, you and I could battle evil forces there. Of course, I wouldn’t put my life into your hands at first, but I would give you a chance to prove yourself.”

  He loosened his hands. “That sounds perfect, but how do I get there? And how did you get here?”

  “I was chasing a demon who stood on the opposite side of a stream, and just as I raised my bow, I heard a call, a desperate song so real and powerful that it seemed to pull my body. Then everything around me turned dark, and this world appeared.”

  Joran picked up the lyre. “Could this have called you?”

  Seraphina’s eyes brightened. “Grandfather’s lyre! I have heard that its notes can call across the worlds.”

  “But can it …” As he stared at her, confusion swirled, as if the fog from which she appeared had entered his brain. “Can it take us to your world?”

  Seraphina caressed the lyre’s frame. “I don’t think so. Only Father’s ovula have such power. The purity ovulum, especially, is a gateway to other worlds, but it was stolen by the Watchers. Even if he had it, I don’t think he would let you see it, much less use it to leave this world. In fact, I have never seen it myself.”

  “Well, seeing it isn’t a problem. We got it back.” He set the lyre down and picked up the bag, letting the ovulum at the bottom sway in front of her eyes. It glowed so brightly, light shone through the material. “It’s right here. All we have to do is ask Father. Since he doesn’t want Selah and me to drown in the flood, I think he’ll let us try. And he’ll be overcome with joy to see you again.”

  When he turned to go to the tent, she grabbed his arm. “Wait. There is no need to disturb him.”

  Joran swiveled back. “Why?”

  As the glow in her face strengthened, her smile be
came dazzling. “I assume he suffered greatly at the news of my death. Why put him through the torture of separation again? We will see him in Heaven someday, and then we will all laugh about the trials of our earthly dwellings.”

  Confusion again fogged his mind. Even the simplest thoughts seemed almost impossible to hold in the forefront. “If we don’t wake Father, how will we learn to use the ovulum?”

  “I know how. Father showed me with his red ovulum when I was about your age.” She wrapped her hand around the throat of the bag. The ovulum inside grew brighter than ever. “Give it to me, and I will show you. We will go together to a wondrous land. You will escape the flood, and we will once again battle evil forces together and purify a new world, free from the threat of drowning.”

  He let his fingers slowly loosen. “What about Selah?”

  “What about her?”

  She began pulling the bag away, but he retightened his grip. “She’s the one who deserves to escape the flood, and the three of us would make the best demon-fighting team possible. Her gifts are amazing! She can hear almost anything, and she sets the rhythm for our songs perfectly. Without her, I couldn’t have killed any demons at all.”

  Seraphina’s eyes darted for a moment before settling. “Very well. Give me the ovulum. While you fetch Selah, I will see if I can open a doorway to the other worlds.”

  “Okay.” Joran blinked. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. What could it be? “Maybe I should stay here and watch—”

  Seraphina’s tone sharpened. “Do you want to prove yourself or not?”

  “Of course I do. I just—”

  “Then give me the ovulum and let me open the door.” Her brow lifted. “Or will you continue the stubborn disobedience that cost me my life?”

  Her words knifed into his heart, and every muscle slackened. She was right, of course. His disobedience did cost her her life, but if she wanted him to earn his way back into her graces, why was she resurrecting his failures, stabbing him with a dagger of memories? How could mercy be so cruel?

  “Okay,” he said, loosening his fingers again. “Take it.”