“No crown,” Arramos shouted. “No hood or walking stick. He, too, is neither on Earth nor in one of the afterlife destinations, so I believe he must be here in the Bridgelands.”
As the image faded away, Thigocia heaved a deep breath and stepped out of the pool. The two dragons backed away to a quiet bend in the river where they could talk without shouting. “But why was Makaidos left here? If anyone had faith in the Messiah, it was he.”
Arramos draped a wing over her neck. She flinched but stayed in place. “I cannot answer that question fully,” he said. “Makaidos was unique. He died as a dragon but later left Dragons’ Rest, his natural eternal abode. He was then born into the human race as an adult, the only one with faith in the Messiah already established, so he never aged, and qualified to avoid the curse of natural death.” As he pulled his wing back, his eyes sparkled like polished rubies.
Thigocia swished her tail through the water. She wanted to ask about her own destiny, seeing that she was the only dragon resurrected from the circles to remain a dragon, but it was best for now to keep to the task at hand, finding her mate. “But if Makaidos had faith, he should have gone to Heaven.”
“That part is a mystery to me. I have no answer, only my theory that he was given a unique destination when he was murdered. The oracle says that he is neither in Heaven nor in Hades, so on that we must rely. Soon, you will have an opportunity to question Sapphira, the Oracle of Fire. She can verify that Merlin confirmed this, for he, too, has queried the oracle.”
Thigocia bowed her head. “Up until this point, I had thought you a liar, but your story no longer bears the marks of a lie.” She gazed again at the boulders, now veiled by mist in the distance. “And this oracle seems to have no prejudice; it shows neither pessimism nor false hopes.”
“Yet you still have doubts.” Arramos reached his wing toward her again. “Why?”
“You have to ask?” Thigocia ducked under his wing and backed away, scowling. “Your treatment of Karen was cruel coercion. You stabbed us all with fear.”
Arramos whipped his wing back. “It was the only way to convince you, but it was not cruel, for the child was never in danger as long as you were willing to yield to my God-given authority as king of the dragons.” He extended his neck and looked her in the eye. “You must admit that I tried with gentler methods.”
She jerked her head lower, avoiding his stare. “I admit it, but I reserve the right to continue doubting. A position of authority never gives license to cruelty.”
“As you wish. But when the time comes for battle, you must put your doubts aside.”
“Battle?” She looked up at him. “What battle?”
“The danger I told you about. I am sure you remember King Nimrod’s tower and how Roxil and I helped Makaidos knock it down.”
“I remember.”
“Another tower, far more dangerous and cunning, will soon pierce the skies. This one, constructed by Mardon, the son of Nimrod, threatens the very fabric of the cosmos. It has already brought Earth and Hades on a collision course, and if it is completed, it will destroy the Bridgelands and everyone in it, including Makaidos. There is nothing we can do to prevent the first collision, but we can stop the merging of Earth and Heaven and save the life of your mate … my son.”
Smoke spewed from Thigocia’s nostrils. “So our battle is against Mardon.”
“Yes. When I take you to Roxil, the three of us will create a firestorm to stop the madness as we dragons did in the days of old. At that point, you will have to put aside doubt and trust me, for you will be sorely tempted to change your mind.”
“I am sorely tempted now to reject your command.” Thigocia flashed her eyebeams at him, bouncing them off his snout. “You have never explained how you survived the great flood. God declared through Noah that all flesh died except for those on the ark.”
Arramos turned on his own eyebeams, intersecting hers. “Noah wanted it to appear as if he was the only righteous one on Earth. All of his progeny and all creatures great and small would then be indebted to him for eternity. The fact is that the flood washed away the Watchers and Nephilim who had attacked me, and Michael the archangel carried me here to the Bridgelands until it was time for me to return. He taught me how to open the barriers between the dimensions so I could explore every realm.” Arramos moved his head directly in front of Thigocia’s. His eyes flashed, and his beams brightened. “The truth is really quite simple. Noah lied.”
Thigocia growled and spewed a line of fire between her and Arramos that charred the rocky sand at their feet. “I cannot accept that. Noah was a righteous man.”
Arramos stepped across the line. “And on this shaky foundation you and I must do battle. Makaidos had great faith in mankind—in Noah’s word and in the ideal of dragons serving men—but when man became corrupted, the ideal passed away. You have to admit that their behavior does not shed a kind light on man’s character. Even righteous Noah became drunk and exposed himself, so none of them can be trusted. I intend to invoke the Maker’s wrath upon these vermin and prevent the destruction of the Bridgelands.” He scraped his claws across the sand, obliterating the line. “I must protect my son at all costs!”
Thigocia turned away and gazed into the sky. “I am not ready to believe what you say about Noah, but I will help you destroy the tower. Earthbound man is not ready to ascend into Heaven. That much I know.”
“That is enough for me. Come. We will conduct a brief search for Makaidos, then we must find Roxil.”
She kept her gaze fixed above. “Please wait for me at the top of the ridge. I want to see the image of my mate one more time in private.”
“It is a mere rainbow you see, but I understand. If, however, you want more time to search for him in reality, you must hurry.” Arramos reared up on his haunches and rose into the air, skimming the river as he shot up the falls before disappearing.
Thigocia beat her wings and skittered across the shoals to the oracle’s pool. After stepping into it, she said, “Makaidos.” The image of her human husband again appeared in the spray. She studied it for a moment, trying to memorize every detail. Just before the portrait scattered, she noticed the rubellite ring on his finger. It carried a white gem.
After glancing at the ridge for a brief second, she turned back to the oracle and whispered so softly she could barely hear her own voice. “Arramos.”
The seven colored ribbons painted a new portrait, another human male standing in blackness without a walking stick. This middle-aged man was dressed like Enoch, the tunic and sandals identifying him as an ordinary citizen from the pre-flood days. She took a step closer and looked at the ring on his finger. A white gem graced the shiny gold band.
Thigocia floundered backwards. Flapping her wings again, she righted herself and made her way back to higher ground. What could it all mean? Why was Arramos a human in the oracle and a dragon on Earth? Something was wrong, very wrong.
She launched into the air and hurried to meet the dragon she still doubted, now even more than ever.
Chapter 5
Timothy opened his eyes and blinked at the odd light fixture hanging from the ceiling’s wooden panels. It appeared to be a circle of miniature lanterns sitting on a disc supported by three thin chains. He glanced at the other strange surroundings. Varnished wood railings bordered his bed, and an IV tube ran from his arm up to a wooden rack that looked more like a hat tree than an IV stand. And the hanging dispenser wasn’t the sterile plastic bag or glass bottle he expected. It was a small leathery pouch, rough and brown like a well-worn saddle pack, and the liquid in the tube seemed polluted by the dispenser, tinged with oatmeal-colored strands within the clearer flow. He fingered the exposed needle penetrating the back of his hand.
What kind of hospital is this?
Leaning over to peer through the open doorway, Timothy called out, “Nurse! Can you hear me?”
There was no response. He ran his fingers through his sheets but couldn’t find a button to summon help. “Nurse!” he called again.
A few seconds later, a young black boy wearing a “Lions” sweatshirt ran in, his long dreadlocks bouncing in time with his stride. The moment he saw Timothy, his eyes widened. “You’re awake!” With a big smile, he turned and dashed from the room, yelling, “Mother! He’s awake. The stranger is awake!” His shouts faded with his retreating footsteps.
A little girl, no more than ten years old, peeked around the door. With thin hair dangling over the rough, patchy skin on her gaunt face, she smiled and offered a weak wave of her hand.
As a gush of sympathy washed over him, Timothy returned the smile. This girl was probably suffering from some terrible disease and searching for a new friend in the hospital. “Hello,” he said. “What’s your name?”
She jerked her head away, and the sound of pattering feet echoed from the hall.
Timothy squinted at an analog clock on the wall, but its numbers went up to twenty-four instead of twelve. “I guess it’s about fifteen, thirty,” he said out loud. “This must be a military hospital.”
Pushing the sheet down to his waist, he examined his body. Fortunately, they hadn’t dressed him in one of those awful, drafty gowns with the tie strings in the back. Wearing a loose T-shirt and boxer shorts made a lot more sense. He pulled up his shirt, exposing his stomach and chest. No wounds. No surgical scars. Just flabbier than usual. That meant a pretty long stay. Could he have been in a coma? The boy’s reaction indicated something like that.
He rubbed his chin. No beard. That meant a recent shave. He mentally checked the rest of his body. No pain anywhere except the slight sting where the needle pricked his skin. His toes moved fine, so no spinal injury to worry about. Since the coma was over, it made no sense just to lie around. Maybe he could carry his IV out to the hall and find out what was going on.
Drawing his knees up, he shifted his body toward the side of the bed, but a new voice interrupted his plan.
“Where are you going, Ichabod?”
Timothy jerked his head around, expecting to see a nurse with the same ebony skin he had seen on the boy, but a young white woman smiled at him from the door, her blonde tresses draped over green scrubs. With bright eyes and smooth, radiant skin, her joy dressed her face with beauty.
Timothy settled back in the bed, smiling. “You caught me trying to get up.”
“
Caught
you?” She gave him a blank stare. “I think you are too big for catching.”
He gazed at her expression. Was she joking, or did she really not understand? She was either a great actress or completely clueless. He massaged his thighs, trying to get his circulation going. “I guess a doctor has to make sure it’s okay for me to stand.”
“Your guess is correct.” She strode to his bedside and pulled a multicolored leaf from her pocket. Pinching the stem in her fingers, she dangled it over his face. The yellow near the bottom tip slowly changed to orange, while the red near the top changed to green. “Your energy flow is slightly below normal, Ichabod, but, other than that, your vital signs are perfect.” She returned the leaf to her pocket. “We were never able to find your companion, so it’s no wonder you were out for so long. Most of us thought you couldn’t possibly survive without it.”
“My companion? What are you talking about? And why do you call me Ichabod?”
“That’s the name the Prophet gave you.” She laid a cool hand on his forehead. “You must have amnesia. If you can’t remember your companion, you must have taken a terrible blow to your brain.”
“My first name is Timothy. But I don’t remember a last name or much of anything else. I guess I must have banged my head pretty hard if I can’t even remember that I had a … a companion.” He glanced at a ring on his finger, a gold band with an embedded white gem. Could it be a wedding ring? Maybe. But it was on the wrong hand. “If I do have a companion, I don’t know what happened to her.”
“A companion is not a ‘her.’” She bracketed her hands in front of her chest as if holding an invisible grapefruit-sized ball. Her palms radiated a white glow that passed across the gap between her hands. A translucent egg appeared, slightly smaller than a hen’s egg, almost ghostlike and floating in midair.
“An ovulum!” Timothy whispered.
She lowered her head and peered at him through the egg. “That’s what the Prophet sometimes calls them. We just call them companions, because that’s what they are.”
“‘Ovulum’ just popped into my mind. I don’t know what it is.”
She separated her hands, and the ovulum faded, but its outline remained, barely detectable and floating without any visible means of propulsion. “The Prophet has a special, stationary one he calls ‘Enoch’s Ghost’ that he keeps on a table at his home, but ours are smaller and mobile.” The companion zipped up to her shoulder and perched there, rocking back and forth. “Clearly you remember something about them, or you would not have known its name.”
“I can still see it on your shoulder,” Timothy said, pointing. “It was invisible before.”
“It has always been visible.” She glanced at the strange lamp hanging from the ceiling. “Sometimes the lighting makes it hard to see.”
Timothy shut his eyes. There were just too many new and odd surroundings to figure out. Had he been abducted by aliens, or was this the most vivid nightmare in history? “I must be dreaming,” he said. “Or else I’m losing my mind.”
He felt her fingers comb through his hair, stopping at a spot near the top of his head. A slight twinge of pain blended in with the soothing sensation. “When we first found you, there was quite a lump right here, so it’s no wonder your memory is impaired.”
“How long have I been here? And where is
here
, anyway?”
She laughed gently. “The Prophet said that questions would fill your mind. He anxiously awaits your release so he can answer as many as possible.”
“What does the doctor say?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “Can I leave soon?”
“She says that you may leave. In fact, she insists that you leave immediately. The Prophet’s instructions were clear. Now that you have awakened, you must go to him.”
Timothy opened his eyes and smiled. Her fingers felt heavenly. “I’m guessing that you’re the doctor.”
“You seem to enjoy guessing, and you are correct again.” She pointed at a closet. “You will find your clothes in there. I will send my son in to assist you.”
“I heard him call you ‘Mother.’ Is he adopted?”
Her blonde eyebrows scrunched toward her shining blue eyes. “Of course. Aren’t we all?”
“Uh … No. I don’t think so.”
She set her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Timothy, I think we’ll have to work hard at understanding each other. I get the impression that some words have different meanings where you come from.”
“And we obviously have different customs. Not that I minded, but I was surprised that a child is allowed to come and go as he pleases.” He nodded toward the clock. “Especially in a military hospital.”
She looked up at the clock. “Military? What do you mean?”
“Uh … Army? Navy?”
“Ah!” she said, nodding dramatically. “We do have an army.” She deftly removed the needle from his hand, but as she wound the tube over the IV hanger, a single drop of the gray liquid fell to the floor.
Timothy rubbed the wound on his skin, wondering what kind of alien medicine had been pushed into his veins.
She lowered the bed rail and waved toward the closet. “Take careful steps.” As if demonstrating, she padded slowly toward the door. “We wouldn’t want you to bump your head again.”
Just as she reached the exit, the boy walked in, now wearing a blue “Lions” baseball cap that matched his sweatshirt. “Mother,” he said. “When are we leaving?”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Very soon. I will take Listener home first so we’ll have room to transport our guest. You can stay here and help him get ready.”
The boy tilted his head and rubbed her hand with his cheek. “Will you leave Father’s companion with me, too?”
“No, silly man,” she said, pressing his cap down. “Now that we’re going home to stay, I’m going to put it back on its shelf.”
“May I see it again before you leave?” The boy extended his cupped hands. “Please?”
The doctor smiled at Timothy. “I hope you’ll pardon this interruption.”
“Of course,” Timothy said. “Please take your time.”
She reached into her pocket and withdrew a purple velvet-covered box, similar to, yet somewhat bigger than a ring box. After flipping open the hinged lid, she tipped out a glass egg into the boy’s hands. His eyes widened, as did his brilliant smile. Transferring the egg to one hand, he petted the top with his fingers. The touch seemed to make it glow with a pale yellow hue.
The doctor lowered herself to one knee and stroked her son’s back. “That means your father loves you, and he misses your touch.” As she continued, her voice began to break. “Don’t ever forget what a great man he was or how much he loved you.”
“I won’t, Mother.” A tear passed from his eye to his cheek as he continued to stare at the glowing orb. “Every time I hold his companion, I feel him hugging me.”
After a few more seconds, she held the open box under his hands. “That’s enough for now. I have to take your sister home.”
The boy petted the egg one more time before lovingly rolling it back into the box. His mother closed the lid and nodded solemnly to Timothy. “I will be back very soon.” With that, she swept through the doorway.
The boy turned a dial on the wall near the door, and the flaming wicks above grew brighter. “Do you want me to get your clothes for you or help you walk to the closet?”
Timothy wiped a tear from his eye and sat up, dangling his legs. His bare toes brushed the rough, wooden floor. “Yes, please bring my clothes, if you don’t mind.”
While the boy gathered the clothing in his arms, Timothy glanced out the single, unadorned window. Clouds and filtered sunlight filled the view—no grass, no trees, no parking lot. This room was obviously on a high floor.
The boy dropped the clothing bundle on the bed. Two soft-soled walking shoes tumbled off the top but stayed on the sheet. He placed them side by side and smiled. “I think that’s all.”
“Thank you.” Timothy pulled out his trousers, a freshly laundered and pressed pair of beige khakis. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Candle,” he replied, his grin revealing a lovely set of bright teeth.
“Candle?” Timothy slid his pants over his legs, then lowered himself to the floor and pulled them the rest of the way up. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Candle before. Do other kids tease you?”
Candle’s brow furrowed. “Uh … no. I don’t think so. I know two other boys and a girl named Candle. It just must not be a popular name where you come from.” His brow smoothed back out as a new smile lit up his face. “My mother likes my name because she says I light up a room whenever I walk in.”
Timothy patted Candle’s shoulder. “Well, I certainly agree with that! Your mother chose well.”
“She didn’t choose it. She just likes it.” Candle rubbed his cheek against Timothy’s hand, just as he had done to his mother’s.
“I see.” Timothy slowly drew his hand away, wondering if he might be committing a social blunder by ending his show of affection, but since Candle’s smile never dimmed, this brush of the cheek must have been similar to a quick pat on the back. Timothy pulled a polo shirt over his head and began tucking it in his pants. “I didn’t catch your mother’s name.”
“
Catch
her name?”
“Yes.” Timothy zipped his pants and tightened his belt. “She never mentioned it.”
“Angel. Her name is Angel.”
Timothy sat on the bed and picked up his socks. “How appropriate.”
Candle smiled. “My father thought so, too. He said she’s a gift from Heaven. And my sister is named Listener. She doesn’t talk, but she listens to and remembers everything.”
“Being a listener is a great character quality.” He stretched a navy blue sweater over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. “Is she older or younger than you?”
“Younger.” Candle helped him pull the sweater’s hem down to his waist. “But not by a whole lot.”
After quickly tying his shoes, Timothy reached for the final garment, a heavy collegiate jacket, blue with orange trim. “Is it cold outside?”
“Pretty cold, but no colder than it usually is up here.” Candle flapped his sweatshirt’s long sleeves. “I was comfortable in this.”
Timothy dropped down to the floor again and lifted each leg in turn. They felt heavy, but not too bad. He put on his jacket and smiled at Candle. “Where to now?”
Candle slid his hand into Timothy’s. “To the loading platform. We’ll walk slowly so Mother has time to return before we get there.”
“I would have liked to meet your sister while she was here.”
“She came to your door.” Candle nodded toward the exit. “Didn’t you see her?”
In his mind, Timothy redrew the little girl’s gaunt, scaly face peering around the door frame. “I did see a young girl, but I thought she was a patient here.”
“Well, that was Listener. Mother likes for both of us to come whenever she’s assigned hospital duty.”