“That’s it? No context?”
“Only that there are two of them. Perhaps a pair of angels commissioned specifically to infiltrate our ranks and destroy our work from within.”
“I will watch for them.” Lilith lowered the sword. “And when will you become a dragon again and leave the garden?”
As the serpent slithered along Lilith’s arm, she raised her hand to the tree. It coiled around the branch, and its head turned back toward her, its voice echoing like a ghostly whisper. “When I steal the body of a certain dragon, I will be whole once more.” It crawled back into the thicker foliage and disappeared.
Naamah ran from the tree and sidled up to Lilith, crossing her arms again. Lilith chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry, Sister. Yours will be a marriage of convenience. We can dispose of Ham when he has served his purpose.”
Naamah turned her back to Lilith, her arms still crossed. “Then
you
marry him. You seem ready to betray your husband.”
Lilith grabbed Naamah’s shoulder and spun her back around, her eyes turning bright scarlet. “I’m doing this for us!”
The pain from Lilith’s grip made Naamah shake. As she stared at her sister’s fiery eyes, she felt tears forming in her own.
Lilith slowly relaxed her fingers. Stroking Naamah’s hair, she leaned close and whispered, “Lucifer has given me the means to carry out the plan that will save our lives. He knows Samyaza is not likely to cooperate, but I don’t really want to betray my own husband.” She pressed the tip of the sword into the grass. “I won’t resort to draining his power unless I have to.”
“Draining his power?” Naamah pointed at the sword. “With that?”
“No.” Lilith spread out her fingers, showing Naamah her palm. Splotches of purple stained her skin from the heel of her hand to her fingertips. “My seed concoction has many uses, and absorbing potency will come in handy.” Reaching up, she caressed one of the red fruits dangling from the tree. “Speaking of seeds” she plucked the fruit “I think these might also come in handy.”
“For posterity again?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Lilith dropped the apple-sized fruit on the ground and chopped down with the sword, slicing it cleanly in half. Kneeling, she picked through the flesh, collecting six seeds, then, spreading out her fingers again, she let the sparkling red seeds roll around on her stained palm.
“They look like rubies!” Naamah said.
Lilith dropped them into her pocket along with the others. “Much more valuable than rubies, Sister. They are the seeds of corruption. And those who control the corrupting influence wield the power to rule the corrupted.”
Chapter 2
Makaidos unfurled his wings in the stiff, damp breeze. “Thigocia, I still sense danger.”
“As do I.” Twin plumes of smoke rose from the female dragon’s nostrils. “More Nephilim?”
“I cannot tell. The danger is too far away to be sure, or perhaps my nerves are still rattled from the fight.”
“It is not nervousness that troubles me.” Thigocia sniffed the air and stepped on a huge blackened body lying in the midst of the grassy meadow. “The stench of this Naphil carcass is making me ill.”
Makaidos tried to calm himself, but the strange beads of water sprinkling from the dark sky seemed to strum his tightened awareness. The prophets had predicted this “rain,” as they called it, yet knowing it was coming merely enhanced the anxiety it aroused. Black clouds boiled over the mountaintops and streamed above their lush, orchard-filled valley, adding even more gloom to the dismal skies. He breathed a stream of flames toward a nearby fig orchard, brightening the area for a brief moment. “Maybe I sense his brother lurking in the trees.”
“I doubt it. I scorched his arm to the bone. He is likely running home to his demonic daddy.”
Makaidos pawed the moistening soil. “Is the Oracle safe?”
Thigocia unfurled her wing. A lanky old man with thin, frazzled white hair and a ragged beard tripped over her pinion and tumbled to the grass. The man rose to his feet and brushed dirt from his knee-length robe. “If I can avoid killing myself,” he said, “I should survive, at least until the deluge.”
Makaidos nudged the dead giant’s body with his clawed fingers until it rolled faceup. The Naphil flopped its arm on the ground with a heavy thud. Makaidos pricked the arm with a spine on his tail. No reaction, not even a twitch from his massive, six-fingered hand.
“Are you making sure he’s dead?” the Oracle asked.
“Yes. I have never been able to kill any of the Nephilim before, so I thought they might be immortal. But when I saw dark mist streaming from this one’s mouth, I hoped his foul soul was being dragged to the abyss.”
“I torched the other giant,” Thigocia said, “but it barely fazed him, and we both still feel an evil presence.” Keeping her wing over the old man’s balding scalp, she gazed into his eyes. “Can the Ovulum see beyond our senses? Is danger on the horizon?”
The Oracle held up a shining orb, egg-shaped and about the size of a large pear. As it rested in his palm, scarlet halos emanated from its smooth, glassy surface, painting his withered face in their glow. The rings of color radiated all around the entire company, creating an umbrella of light. “A Watcher is lurking,” he said, “but the Ovulum cannot tell me how close he is.”
He mopped his forehead with his sleeve and breathed out a long sigh. “The king chose well to have you two guard me. I had my doubts about the female’s experience, but she has certainly proven me wrong.”
“We are both honored to serve the children of Adam. And you are right about Thigocia.” Makaidos swished his tail toward her. “My father believes she is the most promising young warrior in his kingdom.”
Thigocia closed her eyes and bowed. “Praise the Maker,” she whispered.
The old man sighed again. “Yes . . . promising.” He held out his hand, allowing a thin pool of water to gather in his palm. “Earthly promises are washing away, as are the lives of Adam’s progeny. Life itself fades like withering grass.” He patted Thigocia on her flank. “And warriors must learn other arts . . . at least for a time.”
Thigocia raised her head. “Other arts? What other ”
Makaidos snorted a plume of smoke. “I sense a Watcher close at hand! Guard the Oracle!”
Thigocia wrapped up the old man again, pinning him to her side, and ignited the surrounding grass to create a ring of fire around herself and Makaidos. A mammoth-sized angel with dark red wings appeared out of the thick blanket of clouds and flew to the earth. He stalked around the blazing circle, his radiant robes reflecting the tongues of sizzling fire. “A ring of flames, dragoness?” the angel said. “Not very creative for such a wet, dreary day, but that’s to be expected of a senseless beast like you.”
Makaidos flicked his tail toward Thigocia. “Do not answer him. He is baiting us.”
She growled. “I have fought this demon before. We must be on our guard. He is powerful and crafty.”
The Oracle’s shaggy head pushed through a gap in Thigocia’s wing. “He is drawn to the Ovulum’s power. I can feel his mind connecting with its energy field. There is no use hiding it from him.”
Thigocia reignited a dampening arc in the protective circle. “But how could he have found the Ovulum’s signal among all the decoys?”
“The question is irrelevant,” the Oracle replied. “All our energy must be focused on protecting the Ovulum. Its shield must cover the refuge boat. Nothing else matters.”
Makaidos lowered his voice to a faint rumble. “I will lure him away. I know a ruse he likely has not seen.”
Thigocia whispered back. “Do not try it! Your father wishes that we stay together.”
“He wishes that I protect the Oracle and the shield. That wish trumps all others.” Makaidos unfurled his wings and rose into the air.
“Be careful!” Thigocia shouted. “Other demons might be on the way!”
Makaidos launched his body upward, beating his wings against the stormy breeze. Sharp droplets stung his eyes as he zoomed toward the billowing clouds. Then, gliding just below the dark ceiling, he watched for the demon to give chase, but the cascade of water blurred his view. He could see the meadow and the prophet’s fig tree orchard, but little else. Even Thigocia was just a smudge in the center of her blazing ring.
Makaidos took in a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, pushing a narrow stream of fire into the breeze. Flying awkwardly, like a wounded duck ready to plunge to its death, he allowed the flames to sputter into weak sparks. He glanced down again and caught sight of the Watcher. The demon lifted into the air and glided over the fig trees in a low circle, rising with each arc.
Makaidos laughed to himself. What a fool this demon was to wander into the prophet’s land alone! Was he a scout? A castoff? No matter. That corrupted son of God would soon fry in the abyss.
A heavy mist swirled around Makaidos. He aimed his ruby eyebeams into the fog. Where was the scoundrel now? Had he figured out the ruse and fled?
Two huge creatures in gleaming chain mail suddenly dropped from the clouds, shooting black streaks from their fiery eyes. Makaidos dodged the first volley, but the second splashed against his right flank. He collapsed his wings and plummeted headfirst. He had to get away and warn Thigocia before the darkness spell could take hold.
The burning black resin spread across his scales, climbing toward his face like acidic worms. The field below rushed toward him as a troop of towering demons stalked Thigocia and the prophet. The Ovulum’s scarlet halos pulsed over them like bloody ocean waves.
Makaidos’s sense of danger blared in his mind. He tried to stretch out his weakened wings. Would they be able to pull him up in time? Maybe he could plow into a row of Watchers and die in a blaze of glory. Why not? With the prophesied storm gaining strength, he was destined to die soon anyway.
His wings caught the air, leveling his body. After snorting a barrage of fiery cannonballs, he curled into a sphere and crashed into the evil squadron. As his body rolled, demon after demon toppled over. When he finally came to a stop, he looked up. Samyaza, the leader of the Watchers, towered over him, a derisive smirk spreading contempt across his face.
The Seraph laughed. “A remarkable show, young prince. Your father would be proud.”
Makaidos strained to speak. “He will be proud . . . when I blow you . . . into a million blazing pieces.”
Samyaza kicked Makaidos in the belly. Pain streaked through his body, radiating all the way to his tail. The black worms crawled over his eyes and drew a curtain of darkness across his vision. His ears burned as Samyaza’s mocking voice pierced his brain. “When we kill the Oracle, his shield will collapse, and we will destroy the refuge boat. Now, give in to the darkness. Everything you have worked for is lost.”
As the darkness spell swallowed Makaidos, doubt and despair flooded his mind. He moaned softly. Why had his father trusted him to protect the Oracle? He and Thigocia were too young, too inexperienced to stand against such powerful fallen angels. He had been a fool to take the assignment, too proud to have any doubt in his abilities. Samyaza was right. All was lost.
As he drifted toward unconsciousness, the sound of bestial roars and a flurry of wings sounded in his ears. He released a long sigh, perhaps his last breath. Surely the battle would be over soon. Thigocia would die valiantly. The feeble Oracle would put up a futile last stand and then be crushed by the cruel Watchers. And no one would hear their cries for help.
Heat flared across Makaidos’s body, and a soothing voice awakened his mind.
“Makaidos? Can you hear me?”
Makaidos squirmed. Father’s voice? How could that be? He turned his ears to listen. The voice caressed his senses like the sun’s gentle beams on a spring morning.
“Awake, my son. You have fought well. Thigocia told me of your heroics, and she is now burning away the darkness. Take in her fire. Breathe the warmth through your scales. Restore your strength and renew your confidence. When I chose you to guard the Oracle, I chose well. You have made me proud.”
A flash of heat melted the blackness away from Makaidos’s eyes. Two dragons stood at his side. The tawny one, Thigocia, breathed a stream of fire at his body, melting away the black resin. Arramos, his father, stood at his side, his magnificent red scales reflecting the flames.
Makaidos struggled to his feet, pushing with his tail to balance his wobbly frame. The sky seemed darker, the clouds, thicker, and rain continued to pelt the meadow. The glow from the Ovulum rings had vanished. “The Oracle!” Makaidos cried. “Is he safe?”
Arramos lowered his eyes and shook his head. “Samyaza killed him and destroyed the Ovulum’s shield. Clirkus is flying his body back to his people.”
Makaidos slumped his wings to the ground. “Then all is lost. We have failed.”
Arramos curved his neck, positioning his head directly in front of Makaidos. “Not yet. Hilidan and the others are chasing the Watchers, and I will join them. There is no time to lose, but I wanted to make sure of your safety first.”
“My safety? What about the Oracle’s safety? You would have done well to choose other guardians for him. We failed you.”
“On the contrary, you wounded enough Watchers to allow Thigocia to fend them off until we arrived.” Arramos stretched out his tail and prodded Makaidos’s shoulder. “Spread your wings, Son, so Thigocia can finish her work.”
Makaidos obeyed. A new surge of heat massaged the more sensitive coat under one of his wings. It stung, but each second of burning away the darkness seemed to sharpen his mind.
“We had been tracking them,” Arramos continued, “and we were patrolling nearby, close enough to sense the danger. Now that the Watchers have come out of hiding, we can finish them off for good.”
“For good?” Makaidos bared his teeth, grimacing at the pain of Thigocia’s healing massage. “But the Oracle is dead, and the shield is gone! What good can possibly come from this disaster?”
Arramos thumped his tail on the ground. “Makaidos, the Oracle knew he would die today. All is coming to pass exactly as he had foreseen, and the end of the Watchers is at hand. Now that the shield is down, you and Thigocia must fly immediately to the refuge boat and protect it while we destroy the rest of the demons.”
Thigocia turned off her fiery jets. “Protect the boat? Are you sure we can do it?”
“We would serve you better chasing the Watchers,” Makaidos said, snorting a stream of sparks. “We are both faster than Hilidan.”
Arramos spat a fireball into the air. “No!”
Makaidos backed away, trembling.
“They will split up,” Arramos continued, “and we will not be able to track them all. If any demon eludes us, he will surely go straight to the boat. We need two guardians there, and you must leave now!”
Makaidos unfurled his wings again. Bowing his head, he spoke softly. “If that is your will, Father.” With his gaze on the ground, he noticed the Ovulum, now dark and smeared with mud. He scooped it up in his clawed hand and let the rain wash away the grime. As the scarlet glass cleared, the image of a man’s face appeared deep within the crystal, a ruddy tint blushing his wrinkled cheeks. The man’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Makaidos closed his claws around it. Very strange! But it was a mystery that would have to wait.
He lifted into the air, nodding at Thigocia, and without another word the two young dragons soared into the weeping sky.
Japheth smeared a line of pitch across the joint between two planks . . . the last two planks. Checking hundreds of seams had taken all day, but it had to be done. The huge boat sat in a rocky trench, untested for buoyancy or leaks. Only water, and plenty of it, could prove if the last hundred years of labor amounted to anything more than the biggest waste of time the world had ever known. He, for one, didn’t want to risk the lives of his whole family by slacking off for a single hour, especially now that the final day, the seventh day of the prophecy, was at hand.
Japheth ambled across a sagging rope-and-sapling bridge from the main deck to the rim of the trench and then into the shade of one of the dozen or so tall sycamores surrounding the ark. After wiping his hands with a fibrous rag, he picked up a flask and guzzled a long drink. Ah! He mopped his dripping chin with his sleeve. Water never tasted so good!
Taking his rag and his flask, he walked out onto the bridge again and peered down at his brother Shem about thirty feet below. The main door to the boat, which they called “Eve’s Door,” was wider than an elephant and as tall as a giraffe. It lay open inside the trench next to Shem, like a ramp awaiting more cargo to tromp aboard. A tense crease dug into Shem’s brow as he ran his hand over the hull.
Japheth reached his flask over Shem and poured out a trickle, hoping it would . . . Yes! Right on his head!