Chapter 13
Billy stared at the amazing scene out the copilot’s window. After passing over a dense forest, they flew alongside an enormous chasm, so deep there seemed to be no bottom at all. Soaring high above gave him a panoramic view, the blue wall they had left behind far to his right, a series of colorful meadows, rocky ridges, and majestic forests between the wall and the chasm, and the equally magnificent fields and forests beyond the chasm to his left. No artist could possibly set this beauty to canvas; he could never do it justice.
He glanced at Enoch, sitting in the aisle next to Sir Barlow, but he quickly turned back. He couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the sheer walls that dropped into nothingness and the grass-covered ledges that promised eye-popping, yet heart-thumping views to anyone who would dare to creep that close. “What is this place?” he asked.
“Zeno’s Chasm.” Enoch reached forward and tapped Billy’s father on the shoulder. “Jared, be sure to stay on this side. When you see a bridge, look for a safe place to land.”
“Will do.” He pushed Merlin into a slow descent. After a minute or so, they buzzed just over the treetops, watching the uneven contours of the chasm’s rocky lip zoom past. Three horses—two roans and a palomino—galloped near the ledge, as if racing the airplane in a wild frolic. A bald eagle leaped up from the pinnacle of a tall evergreen and flew lazily away. In a distant field beyond the chasm’s bordering forest, a herd of four-legged animals dashed up to the crest of a hill, but they were too far away to identify.
“What are those?” Billy asked, pointing.
Enoch glanced out. “Unicorns,” he said blankly, as if they were a typical sight in the Bridgelands.
Resisting the temptation to say “Wow!” Billy focused on one unicorn at the top of the ridge, looking toward them as if gazing in the same awestruck delight.
As the ridge passed by on his side, Sir Barlow didn’t bother to suppress his thoughts. “By all that is holy! I have heard of these beasts. They say to ride one, you must be a maiden of impeccable virtue.”
Billy tried to sneak a quick glance at Shiloh sitting across the aisle, but she caught him and gave him a demure smile. Sir Patrick held her hand over the armrest between them. He, too, gazed out the window in wonder.
Soon, another strange scene came into view, a sagging line that spanned the chasm in the shape of a thin smile. With broken boards and frayed rope lining its drooping frame, it seemed old and fragile, and as it swayed precariously in the stiff breeze, it appeared to be unusable, except maybe for campfire fuel.
“That’s it,” Enoch said from the back. “There should be a suitable field just beyond that stand of trees that borders the oval lake you will see in a moment.”
Billy spotted the field. It did seem long and flat enough for landing, a strip of grass that lined a lake so clear, only the ripples on one side proved it to be a lake instead of a hole with a few fish floating in midair near the bottom.
As his father banked the airplane, Billy’s window shifted to the chasm. He focused on the point where the bridge attached to rods on the opposite side.
Something moved. A human shape. No. More than one. Several.
“Enoch!” He thrust his finger toward the window. “People.”
The old prophet didn’t even bother to look. “Not ordinary people. They are Nephilim, and they stand at the edge of the chasm awaiting the opening of the portal.” He rose, his back bent to avoid the ceiling, and sat in an aisle seat in the second row, buckling his belt with surprisingly practiced hands. “I will explain the Nephilim after we land.”
Billy grinned. This man of millennia past seemed as comfortable with modern technology as he was with ancient legends and fabled creatures. After all, hadn’t he already flown with Ashley, disguised as an aging physicist?
A minute later, they sailed over the field and coasted to a smooth landing, the wheels barely jumping at all as they rumbled across the grass.
Enoch unbuckled and scooted into the aisle. “After a brief explanation, I will leave you to your journey. But first, I have something for Jared.” He reached into an inner pocket, withdrew a ring with a mounted red gem, and extended it toward Billy’s father.
He eyed the stone. “A rubellite?”
“It was your father’s. When Devin killed him, he neglected to search for the rubellite embedded between Goliath’s scales. Since he was obsessed with the treasure in his victim’s regeneracy bed, he merely plucked Goliath’s eyes out as his only draconic trophy. When Merlin heard about the slaying, he found the carcass and retrieved the gem. How it came into my hands and then into this ring is another story that I don’t have time to tell.” Enoch placed it in Jared’s palm. “If Goliath had been an honorable dragon, he would have either passed it on to you or given you one of your own when you came of age. I believe the ring is the correct size, and I would like for you to wear it. Yet, if you think such a reminder of his treachery would be too great to bear, I would understand.”
Without a second’s hesitation, he slid the ring over his finger. Instantly, the gem faded to pink, then white. “It will remind me to be a better man … or dragon … whichever skin the Maker calls me to wear.”
“Very well, then, on to my explanation.” Enoch returned to his seat and spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “These Nephilim are evil giants from ages ago. They are waiting for an event to occur in Second Eden. If it comes to pass, the chasm’s portal will open, and they will be able to enter that world safely, for no evil can enter unless one of the Eden dwellers invites it with an act of corruption.
“Since you have a safe flight conveyance, you may enter now. Fly into the chasm and take the airplane into a steep dive. Such a plunge will test your faith, but I tell you, the steeper the dive, the easier your journey will be. When you arrive, you will do well to find your friends, but I ask you to learn whether or not my friend Abraham has returned to his village. If he is still gone, I implore you to do all you can to get him home with all speed. Many lives depend on his presence when his people call for a warrior’s aid in the birthing garden.”
“The birthing garden,” Billy said. “What’s that?”
“You will learn soon enough. Find Abraham. He will tell you all you need to know. But if he is not restored to his people in time, a catastrophe of the greatest proportions will come upon them like a stampede.”
Billy opened the back door and extended the airstair. “Any other last-minute instructions?”
Enoch looked at the stairs for a moment, hesitating. Finally, he turned toward the front of the plane. “I am almost fearful of asking this, because I know how long the young lady’s father suffered while she toiled in misery, but if I could borrow Shiloh, her services would be most beneficial to our cause.”
Shiloh shot up from her seat, kissed her father on the forehead, and, sliding her hand away from his, marched to the back. “Father and I have already discussed this possibility, so I am ready to go.”
“No questions?” Enoch asked. “Do you want to know where we are going or for how long?”
Shiloh put on her coat and gazed up at him, her face beaming. “No questions at all. I am at your service for as long as you need me.” She looked back at her father and waved. He firmed his jaw and waved back without a word.
Enoch and Shiloh descended the airstair and strolled out to the grassy field. Billy closed the door, secured the latch, and walked to the cockpit, hunching to avoid the ceiling. As he passed by, Sir Patrick gazed out the window, his face ashen.
Billy slid into the copilot’s seat and looked out. Enoch and Shiloh stood hand in hand, waving. With her braids bouncing in the wind and Enoch’s white wisps flying up and exposing his nearly bald head, they looked like grandfather and granddaughter getting ready to go on a picnic.
Billy’s father reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Ready?”
He tightened his buckle and gave his father a thumbs-up. “Let’s do it!”
“Indeed!” Sir Barlow said, raising his thumb. “We used this sign back in my day.”
Sir Patrick joined the thumb raising. “May I offer a prayer for protection?”
“Of course!” Billy’s father bowed his head. When Barlow and Patrick bowed theirs, Patrick spoke in a quiet, respectful tone.
“God of Heaven, Maker of all, hear the prayers of your servants. You have called us to bring order to chaos, to divide the world of living sojourners from the wasteland of lost souls. We know that you could do this with a breath, a mere thought, but since you take pleasure in calling your faithful ones to perform extraordinary tasks to build and maintain your kingdom, we humbly submit and place our lives in your hands. We ask you to guide us, protect us, and grant us success. I also ask that you protect my beloved daughter as I leave her in the hands of your mighty prophet to use her in whatever way you command. But if any of us should fall by the sword of our enemies, we ask you to sweep us into Heaven, counting us worthy to stand in your presence because of the character you have created in us through the power of your son, Jesus of Nazareth, the Messiah. Amen.”
Amens echoed through the cabin. Without another word, everyone looked forward as the plane rolled down the makeshift runway.
Barely clearing the treetops, Merlin flew toward the chasm. When the deep scar in the landscape came back into sight, Billy looked down at the giants gathered near the edge, counting them as quickly as he could. He spotted nine, maybe ten, but someone else was down there now, someone small and dressed in red.
“Who could that be?” he asked.
His father banked the plane hard to the right and followed the chasm’s channel. “We’ll fly pretty close when we dive. Maybe we’ll get a better look.”
The plane eased into a downward angle. As the steepness sharpened, they dove past the bridge and into the divide. The person in red had flashed by in an instant, but the breeze pressing the cloak against her curvaceous shape made her gender clear.
“A woman,” Barlow said. “And I don’t like the looks of her. An unsavory hellcat, if you want my opinion.”
Sir Patrick spoke up. “Seeing that she is in the company of the Nephilim, I won’t argue with your assessment.”
“Get ready.” Billy’s father gripped the yoke with both hands. “We’re going to really dive now.”
Billy clutched the hand rests. As the plane tipped forward, he watched the readings on the meter dip toward their nosedive target of ninety degrees—one hundred sixty degrees, one forty, one twenty. His body lifted off the seat, but the belt held him in place. As his ears popped, dizziness washed through his head, and black spots filled his vision.
“Time to go for broke!” his father shouted.
Merlin dove almost straight down. The rocky walls on each side blurred, then dimmed until darkness swept across the plane.
As twilight draped the marsh, Abraham returned to his plan. With his ankles looped by a hangman’s noose, his wrists bound by the nettle-infested cords, and his body dangling upside down from a gallows with his shoulders and head resting in shallow water, escape seemed impossible. Yet, with darkness approaching, his best hope lay only minutes away. When the time came, he would have to work fast, so he had to get his tool and keep it ready.
He shifted his arms to his side and slid a finger behind his belt, digging into the little pouch he had fashioned years ago. His wounded palm ached, but it couldn’t be helped. Yielding to pain wasn’t an option.
Pushing farther, he fished for the bone. He touched it with his fingertip, but just as he hooked his finger around it and pulled it up to the outside of his tunic, a woman approached. He opened his hand and pressed the bone against his belt with his palm.
Tall, hefty, and dark-skinned, the woman stooped and tore a morsel of bread from a small loaf. “Hands washed,” she said as she pushed the morsel into Abraham’s mouth.
He nodded a “thank you” and chewed. The bread was still warm and carried the flavor of honey and highlands barley, a rare treat for the people of the marshes. He gave a more enthusiastic nod, trying to show his appreciation for the kindness.
She smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile. “Drink?” She displayed a mug in her thick hands. “Make sleep. No pain.”
Abraham swallowed the morsel. “I appreciate the thought, but I need to stay awake. Do you have clean water?”
“Turn head. Swamp water clean.”
Abraham blinked, trying to ward away the blurriness that the hours in this position had caused. “You are Greevelow’s Eve, aren’t you?”
“Mantika.” As she mopped his forehead with the hem of her dress, she lowered her voice. “Fear not. My Adam not allow harm to you.”
Abraham studied her serious eyes. Even those few words were many for these people, a tribe his own people called “altered,” not only because of their speech patterns and aggressive attacks when the dragons flew over, but also because of their ability to produce a child without a birthing garden. Obviously she was stretching her verbal abilities in an attempt to be helpful. “Come closer,” he whispered. “I don’t want Flint to hear our conversation.”
As she leaned toward him with another morsel in hand, he continued. “Flint will not harm me, at least for a while. He only wants to keep me here through the next day and night. I believe a deceiver is in my village. If I am not there to persuade her otherwise, she will utter a lie that will bring a great evil into our land. I believe it is one of my own people, and she doesn’t even realize what she is being tempted to do, yet I won’t know who she is until I investigate.”
Mantika glanced back at her village, a collection of low clay huts on the higher ground. As she shook her head, a frown bent her lips. “Flint kill us.”
“That I believe without a doubt.” Abraham tried to see if anyone was looking on, but the growing darkness obscured his view. “Greevelow doesn’t have to risk setting me free. If both of you go to Flint’s home, tell Flint that I have a message for him, that I need to speak to him alone. After we talk, he will return to you. I will cause a disturbance, and when Flint checks on me, he will see that I am gone and that you could not have set me free. When he sends a search party, he will likely include Greevelow, so I ask that you be my guide, because I cannot possibly navigate the marshes at night. Just lead me to the river, and I will find my way home.”
Without another word, she rose and marched away, splashing through the water with heavy steps. Seconds later, she was out of sight.
Abraham regripped the bone. Whether or not Greevelow would decide to help wouldn’t affect his plan. He had to escape, even if it meant wandering in the marshes for hours and stumbling into nests of sleeping muskrats.
As he looked at the bone, the words of the prophecy came back to his mind.
A bone, a stone, meeting atone,
A dragon born in flame;
A shield to wield, marching to yield,
The dragon sheds his shame.
Could this be the bone? If so, what might the stone be? And what dragon could Enoch have been talking about? He let out a sigh. No doubt it would all become clear at exactly the right time.
After several minutes, darkness shrouded his surroundings. He squeezed the bone between his thumb and finger and bent it toward the weeds around his wrists. The tiny thorns dug into his skin. Gritting his teeth, he strained at the bonds, loosening them just enough to force the bone into place.
As he watched for Flint, he sawed the sharp edge against the weed. Pain roared through his arms, but he had to push it out of his mind, concentrate only on the task at hand. It was best only to weaken the bonds, just enough to break free when Flint left … if he would show up at all. Then, he would—
“What are you doing?”
Flint’s voice. As a dark form approached from his side, Abraham closed his grip around the bone.
“I am trying to escape,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Did you expect anything else?”
Using his shirt to protect his hands, Flint pulled on the weeds. “Still tight enough.”
“I noticed.”
Flint opened Abraham’s fingers on his empty hand. “Are you hiding anything sharp?”
“Do you expect me to answer that?”
“I expect the truth, as always.”
“And I will always speak it, but I will not answer every question you conjure. If you think I’m hiding something sharp, feel free to search for it.”
“I am no fool. If you had nothing to cut with, you would have said no, and I would have believed you.” Flint opened his other hand and removed the bone. “Ah! I thought so.”
“Is it a crime that I would try to escape?”
Flint held the bone fragment up in his fingers. It seemed to carry a slight glow. “What is this?”
“A bone, I think. I found it in the tunnel of light, so I kept it.”
“Was there an animal carcass around?”
“None that I could find.”
Flint slowly rotated the bone, still eyeing it. “It looks like a human finger or thumb.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Could it be from one of the shadow people?”
“I found it well inside the tunnel, so I highly doubt it.”
Flint’s voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Oh, yes. You killed all your shadow prisoners at the entrance, didn’t you? I should have remembered the last time I saw Father Abraham exercise his tender mercies, a summary execution shortly after we parted ways.”
“Have you never stepped on a cockroach?” Abraham asked.
“We will not renew this tired old argument.” The bone disappeared into his closed hand. “Why did you send for me?”
Abraham tried to detect any tone that might give away Flint’s mood, but with his face shrouded and the bone enveloped, he had nothing to go by. He would just have to dive straight for the heart. “If you succeed with my imprisonment and thereby gain your army, we might never have an opportunity to speak again, so I waited for your people to settle for the night, hoping you would take the time to at least show me the kindness of conversation. No one is around to impress with bravado.”
“Bravado?” Flint’s voice carried a note of surprise. “Is that what you call my actions?”
“To stab my hand, threaten a boy with a spear to his heart, and imply savage advances on a girl?” Abraham tried to nod, but he only managed to budge his head an inch. “Yes, I would call it bravado, because these actions weren’t necessary to gain what you wanted. You rule by fear and intimidation, but your underlings are not around right now. You know those tactics are ineffectual when only my life is at stake.”
Flint paused for several seconds. Finally, his dark form stooped, and his voice lowered. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I want you to return to us, son. If you will only confess your wrongdoing, we will all welcome you with open arms.”
His voice took on an irritated growl. “I did nothing wrong. You don’t own the people, and you don’t own me. We have autonomous minds, and I am the only one brave enough to stand up to you.”
Abraham kept his voice perfectly calm. “I claim no ownership of anyone. The people freely submit to me.”
“And you kick them out of the village if they don’t bow to your every whim.”
“I offer them a choice,” Abraham said.
“Of course you do. Death by stoning or life in exile. Those options are rather limited, don’t you think? If that’s what you call freedom, I want no part of it.”
“I established our villages, and God gave me the rules of governance through Enoch. I have no choice but to follow them. If one person rebels, keeping him in fellowship not only spreads rebellion, it affirms the practice. If you found approval because you were able to stay in our community, you would never change your heart, and your spirit would be doomed.”
“We are again covering well-trodden territory, Father. I have heard the sermon too many times.”
“I ask you to hear it one more time. You have power over me right now. You could kill me with the stroke of a blade. Yet, I still ask you from the heart of a father to heed my call to return to our love, to submit to our ways, and you will be able to leave this place of exile. That is the third option, and you never considered it.”
Flint splashed the water with his foot. “You never offered it!”
Abraham blinked at the spray and held his tongue. He had already said too much.
“It makes no difference,” Flint continued. “I am in control of my own life here. Why should I go back to a place that offers only chains?”
Abraham held up his bound wrists. “No one in our village wears chains. Every man, woman, and child is free to come and go as they please. Yet, even if I had to wear chains, it would be better to wear them as a servant of the Father of Lights than as a slave to my own passions.”
“Passions?” Flint set his heel on Abraham’s shoulder. “It is control over my passions that keeps me from killing you. Slitting your throat and setting the people free would satisfy my passion for revenge and justice, but I have long-range goals.”
“To rule this world.”
“With justice rather than your tyranny.”
“By force?”
“If necessary.”
Abraham sighed. “And take freedom away from others, the very freedom you say you cherish, as you have taken away mine.”
Flint didn’t answer. Only the chirps of a few mud crickets broke the silence.
Abraham strained to see him, but the darkness was now complete. If not for Flint’s breathing, Abraham wouldn’t have known he was there. Yet, an odd glow caught his eye, the dimmest of lights in the shape of a clenched fist, hanging in the air at the place Flint’s hand would be. Abraham squinted. Could the bone somehow be causing it?
Finally, something tugged on Abraham’s hand, and the binding weeds fell loose. Then, a snick sounded, and Abraham’s feet flopped down into the water.
“There you are,” Flint said. “You are free. I leave you to your god and to the muskrats. You had better hope they are more merciful to you than you have been to me.”
Abraham pushed up to his seat and rubbed his swollen wrists. A dim light arced toward him and fell on his lap. “Here’s your bone. Get out of here before I change my mind.”
Cupping the bone in his hand, Abraham pushed up to his feet. He wobbled on his stiff, tingling legs but managed to stay upright. He was about to say “Thank you,” but the sound of fading splashes announced Flint’s departure.
He opened his hand and stared at the glowing bone. What could it mean? Did the fire from the tunnel leave a phosphorescent residue on it? Did Timothy’s sacrifice cause a reaction that could generate light?
He tucked it back into his pocket and hobbled toward a spot of firelight in the distance, raising and lowering his feet as quietly as his heavy legs would allow. Being set free was a true gift from God, but he needed another gift, a guide. Without someone who knew the marshlands better than he did, he might wander for days.
A dim glow spread across the area. Pegasus had peeked above the horizon, allowing him to see this island in the marsh. Several one-story huts dotted the grassy mound, making an incomplete circle around a plowed field, a rectangle of perhaps three acres.
Spotting the largest of the homes, he continued his painful march. The ground changed to moist earth, then to dry grass. He passed a few stalls housing a mule and a horse, then a cow tied to a wooden fence. He patted the cow on the rump. “Would you care to help me create a distraction, old girl?”
The cow just stared at him and chewed her cud. Keeping his eye on Flint’s house, Abraham picked at the knot that held the cow in place. Soon, the rope fell loose. He scooped a handful of feed from a bucket and led the cow toward a pen that encircled a herd of sleeping pigs, perhaps ten or so. Reeling out the cow’s lead rope, he climbed over the waist-high log fence and tied one end to a fat, sleeping hog. Then, he gave the hog a slap on its hind quarters and lunged back toward the fence.
The pig squealed and tried to run, but the rope held it fast. Abraham scrambled over the fence, but his injured leg gave way, and he tumbled to the ground. As he crawled through the mud, the pigs dashed around in a frenzy of grunts and squeals. The fettered hog lunged. The cow pulled back, bellowing. Lanterns flashed on. People rushed from their huts shouting in their thrifty sentences.
“Get cow!”
“Untie pig!”
Abraham scuffled toward the marsh as fast as he could. When he reached the downhill slope, he rolled into the water and waited in darkness, watching the ghostly forms hurry from place to place.
Soon, two shadows approached, hunched over as they skulked down the hill. They each grabbed one of Abraham’s arms, hoisted him to his feet, and helped him walk deeper into the marsh. Now shielded by a wall of reeds, he nodded at his two helpers.
“Thank you, Greevelow. And thank you, as well, Mantika.”
“Must go.” Greevelow pulled Abraham’s arm, and, leaving the lantern glow behind, the three waded into knee-deep water, pushing thick stalks to the side. With his eyes adjusting and Pegasus now in full view, his surroundings took shape. They seemed to be walking in a narrow channel bordered by short trees that stretched their boughs overhead.
“Muskrats sleep,” Greevelow said. “Must not wake.”
Abraham nodded. “So we stay away from dry ground.”
As they waded, Abraham’s body ached. The water stung his leg wound, and the hole in his palm throbbed. If infection had set in, he would have to get Angel to concoct her anti-bacterial salve, but would there be time to roast the boscil herbs and cook down the broth? He had to deal with the deceiver first, whoever she was.
After a quiet half hour, the channel widened and grew shallower. A rush of water sounded in the distance, a sure promise that the river lay ahead. The trees slowly thinned out, as did the reeds. Soon, as the river’s song grew louder, they walked upslope onto an alluvial plain. The channel fed the main stream, and the merging created a deposit of fine sand. As tiny crystals sparkled in the moonlight, acorn-sized black shapes skittered around, fisher crabs that always came out after floods to sweep through the debris in search of any tasty morsels the receding water left behind.
Abraham bowed. “Greevelow. Mantika. I thank you with all my heart. I can follow the river now and find my way home.”
Greevelow held up a hand. “Wait.” He waded into the marsh again, pushing aside a thick clump of reeds. Then, a few seconds later, he returned, lugging something flat behind him. With a thrust, he slid it across the sand and yanked on an attached rope, stopping it near the river’s edge. “Raft,” Greevelow said.
Abraham stooped and touched one of the twine knots that bound the roughly hewn logs together. No larger than a floor mat, the raft looked sea-worthy enough, but its size gave him little comfort. The river, still engorged by the highland fountains, roared just a few feet away.
He stood and shook his head. “Thank you, but I think I’ll walk. The river is too wild right now for a raft this size.”
Mantika pointed at Abraham’s leg. “Blood call muskrats.”
Abraham looked down. A thin stream ran from the wound in his foreleg. Mantika was right. The muskrats would come in droves. They would smell his blood, even in their sleep.
Nodding, Abraham picked up the rope. “As they say in a land I know, ‘Bon voyage.’”
Without another word, Greevelow and Mantika walked into the channel and, seconds later, disappeared in the darkness of the marsh.
Abraham grabbed a branch on a bitternut tree and broke off a five-foot section. After trimming the slender end and ripping away the leaflets sprouting from the side, he jabbed it into the sand and leaned on it. It would do.
He waded into the shallows. With ice chunks bumping against his legs and frigid water numbing his skin, he pulled the raft into the current and sat on it. He lifted his legs slowly, balancing as he shifted his weight. Then, pushing his steering pole against the sandy bottom, he launched the raft into the swifter flow.
At first, water lapped over the sides, nearly swamping the makeshift boat, but as it accelerated, it kept up with the current and rode higher. Abraham gripped both sides, keeping the pole pressed against the logs. Since the raft was surprisingly buoyant, he hurtled along, having to push against the shoreline at the sharper bends to keep from running aground.
After several minutes, the river slowed and widened, signaling his entry into Nimrod’s Basin, the lower plains where the more courageous hunters sought game. Now safely out of the marshlands, he could hike the slow climb through the meadows to get home, but with his leg in such bad shape, a longer ride on the river seemed appropriate. It would take him in his village’s general direction for a while longer, though at a lower elevation and not at the pace his mind demanded. Haste was called for. His people needed him. They would never be able to identify the deceiver without him.
He looked up at Pegasus. A gray haze floated across its cratered face. Could it be smoke from a fire in the highlands to the north? Maybe. He took in a long breath through his nose. There was no scent of wood smoke in the air, but the hunters often kept their campfires blazing well into the night, so it wouldn’t be unusual. Still, this smoke seemed darker than what the highland timber emitted, and few hunters ventured out the day before or after an eclipse.
As the raft slowed even further, he pulled his knees close to his chest and folded his hands on top. He rubbed the finger that once bore his rubellite ring, still unaccustomed to its absence after twenty years. Maybe someday it would come back to him. Or perhaps its new owner would learn to live in the integrity the gem symbolized. That would make its loss far more than worthwhile.
He pushed a finger into his pocket and withdrew the bone fragment. Earlier he had thought it to be part of a thumb because it was so short, but without the rest of it, who could know? Maybe it was a finger. And if a finger, maybe it was his son’s ring finger. Why not?
He held it higher to examine its gentle curve. Might Timothy’s ring still be in the cave? If so, could it have survived the fire? Obviously he would have to go back and search for it. He had noticed Timothy’s ring while he was alive, but since it carried a white gem, he hadn’t mentioned it, not realizing that it was a transformed rubellite. Of course, Enoch later told him it meant Timothy had lost his dragon essence and had become fully human.
He rubbed his finger again. Then why had his own rubellite, the one he was already wearing when he took his first breath in Second Eden, remained as red as blood?
When the raft reached a sharp bend, the current pushed the edge onto shore. Abraham shoved his pole into the sand, rose to his feet, and sloshed to the grassy beach. After pulling his craft into a flood basin and tying it to a shrub, he looked out over the dark terrain, a grass field that sloped upward as it faded in the distance. Flickering lights illuminated the horizon—his village.
He tried to count the tiny yellow spots, but there were too many. Something was wrong. At this time of night, only the street lanterns and the garden watchmen’s torches should be ablaze.
Pressing the pole into the ground again, he set off, glancing between the lights and the dimly lit ground as he leaned on his crutch with every other step. In the plains, he had few worries—stepping on rabbits, moles, or ring-tailed foxes. Yet, there was one predator that could be lurking just about anywhere. The prairie lions were known to hunt at night when the moon had passed eclipse phase, hoping to snatch any vermin the rising river flushed out of the marshes. With his wounded leg, a lion could easily run him down, but at least his pole would give him a fighting chance.
He felt for the bone in his pocket. It was still there. He pushed ahead, forcing his aching leg to walk faster as he waded through belt-high wild wheat. For Makaidos’s sake, and for the sake of every soul on the planet, he had to make it home in time.