Chapter 6
October 31, 1964
Gabriel swooped low over the Glastonbury Tor and scanned its grassy slopes. Only a few tourists lined the path that ascended the famous hill, making it easy for him to check every face closely. Any one of these sightseers might really be a predator stalking Shiloh, Gabriel’s young ward, as she made ready for a celebratory picnic in a nearby copse.
He guided his energy field in front of a tall, slender woman plodding up the hill and hovered a foot ahead of her, floating backwards at her pace. He gazed into her eyes, searching for a sign of an indwelling evil witch. With all of Morgan’s disguises, she could be any female, maybe even a male the grade school boy with the pea green knickers who trudged behind this woman, perhaps, or the hulking brute holding the boy’s hand.
Gabriel groaned. It seemed hopeless. Morgan could even fly in as a raven, and he couldn’t possibly search for a hint of unusual intelligence in every black bird fluttering in the trees. Even if he could identify the dark sorceress lurking nearby, the only electrical device he could use out in the open was the flashlight Shiloh had packed in her basket. Would lighting it up be enough to warn her in time?
He floated down to a small cluster of trees near the base of the hill. Carrying a folded blanket, his young protectorate searched for a suitable place to sit with her parents. When she found a place under the shade of a lush oak tree, he eased close and checked the basket dangling from a handle on her arm. The flashlight lay inside nestled against an apple and a wrapped sandwich.
As she spread out the satin-trimmed blanket, Shiloh’s gold-streaked hair shone in the setting sun, and her sparkling blue eyes flashed. She seemed like an angel, so innocent and pure. Even her gentle laugh as she sat next to her parents revealed a forgivable naïveté. To her, they were Robert and Sarah Nathanson, not Patrick and Paili. Though she knew about Patrick’s former life as a dragon, she had no idea that her mother was really an underborn almost as old as the civilized world. Yet, because of the stealthy relocating Shiloh had suffered through in her young life, including a recent, month-long visit to the U.S., she knew they were potential prey for a stalker of some kind.
Gabriel lifted into the air and hovered over their heads, watching the boundaries of their tree-filled haven. The magnificent tor towered above them like a protective sentry and cast a shadow that crept closer to the blanket as the minutes ticked by.
Patrick lifted a camera and pointed it at Shiloh. “Smile, birthday girl!”
Shiloh spread out the edges of her white party dress and flashed a cheesy smile. After the shutter clicked, Patrick laid the camera in Shiloh’s basket and all three settled on the blanket in a tight circle.
Paili set a double fudge, two-layer cake in the center. Fifteen candles lined the frosted perimeter. “I know you didn’t ask for a cake,” she said as she struck a match, “but what’s a birthday without cake and candles?” She cupped her hand around the match to keep the cool breeze from snuffing out her efforts.
As soon as the last candle came to life, Patrick and Paili sang a hurried version of “Happy Birthday.” Shiloh then leaned forward and blew out the candles.
Patrick clapped his hands. “All fifteen in one blow!”
Shiloh pushed back her hair and smiled. “I think the wind helped me.”
A twig snapped. Gabriel floated higher and gazed at a nearby thicket. Nothing moved. Maybe the breeze had knocked down a limb. He edged close to the thicket and peered through the leafy branches of a head-high bush. A man crouched behind it, and a raven perched on his shoulder.
Gabriel zoomed back to Shiloh and swirled his energy over the blanket. The flashlight was still in the basket! He dove inside, stretched his energy into a thread-thin line, and penetrated a tiny hole in the flashlight’s casing. He bridged the battery’s current to the bulb several times, making the light flash repeatedly, but how could they possibly notice? He streamed out again and wrapped himself tightly around Shiloh. Maybe somehow he could communicate the danger from mind to mind.
“And now for your gift!” Patrick withdrew a small, velvet-covered box from his jacket pocket, and, carefully lifting the hinged lid, presented it to Shiloh.
As she pulled out a delicate gold chain, a wide smile spread across her face. An octagonal bronze pendant dangled at the bottom of the chain with a marble-sized white stone glimmering at its center.
“Shiloh!” Gabriel shouted. “You have to hear me! Morgan is coming!”
Paili ran a finger along the chain’s links. “Do you like it?” she asked.
Shiloh leaned over and kissed each of her parents. “I love it! Thank you!” She settled back and examined the gem in the pendant’s center. “What is this? A pearl?”
After draping the chain around her neck, Patrick hooked the fastener. “It’s a rubellite, the rarest kind. It was once red, and it suddenly turned white almost a year before you were born. It’s a family heirloom my sister gave me a long time ago.”
Gabriel laid his hands on Shiloh’s cheeks. His fingers flashed like scarlet beacons. “Danger is near, Shiloh! You have to run! Now!”
Shiloh’s eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly.
“Is something wrong?” Patrick asked.
Shiloh lowered her brow. “I’m not sure. I have a funny feeling, like someone’s calling me.”
“Really?” Paili touched Shiloh’s hand. “Is it an audible voice?”
Shiloh closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m probably just tired.” She rubbed her thumb across the smooth stone. “So you got this from Irene? The lady in your stories about the dragons?”
“Yes,” Patrick replied. “It represents our life essence. Irene ”
The man burst out of the thicket. “Stay where you are!” He drew a sword from a scabbard and ran toward the birthday gathering.
Gabriel unfurled his wings in front of Shiloh and flashed his energy field with all the power he could muster, but how would that stop a charging swordsman? Without electricity, he was nothing but an invisible ghost! He scanned the skies. The closest electrical line hung at least a hundred yards away. Too far to tap into its power!
Leaping in front of Paili and Shiloh, Patrick spread his arms. The intruder halted and pricked Patrick’s throat with the point of the sword. Paili jumped up, but Patrick lifted his hand, signaling for her to stay away. He angled his head back. “Palin!” He swallowed hard. “What is the meaning of this?”
A female voice answered Patrick. “You know the meaning, Valcor.”
Stepping aside, Palin lowered the sword. A slender, dark-haired woman appeared from behind a tree. Her ghostly form seemed to float, though her legs moved in a normal cadence. “You didn’t send me a card with your change of name and address,” she said. “I was worried that I would never find you again or meet your lovely daughter.”
Patrick glared at her. “Morgan. How typical of you to pollute the pristine meadows like a walking weed.”
A scowl flashed across Morgan’s face, but she quickly replaced it with a broad smile. “Poetic, as always, my old friend, but your insults are misplaced. I have a wonderful birthday gift for Shiloh, and I would like for her to come with me to receive it.”
Gabriel tried to shove Morgan with his hands, then with his wings, but to no avail.
Shiloh stood behind her father and wrapped her arms around his waist. Patrick grasped her hands in front and intertwined his fingers with hers. “You’ll give her a gift when pigs fly, Witch!”
Morgan’s smile melted into a thin horizontal line. “I thought you would come up with a more original quip, but your denial was expected.”
“Where is your other pet gorilla?” Patrick asked, nodding toward Palin. “Has Devin finally given up hunting for your hostiam?”
Morgan reached for Palin’s blade and pricked her finger on its tip, drawing a bead of black fluid. “Because of your little shooting incident the last time you two met, I thought Devin would not control himself as well this time. If you decided to reject my demands, as I expect you will, Devin would kill you, and all would be lost.” She held out her hand, allowing a drop of thick blood to fall to the leaf-strewn grass. A wiggling brown sliver crawled out of the ground, like an earthworm squeezing up from a narrow hole. As it emerged, it lengthened to the size of a man’s foot, then doubled, constantly growing in girth, and, as it continued to stretch, one end morphed into the head of a snake.
Gabriel tried to grab the snake, but his fingers slipped right through it. He clenched his fists and screamed, “Help me! I don’t know what to do!” But his cry fizzled, unheard. Even the giant hill refused to reply with an echo.
Morgan grasped the snake and wrapped it around her shoulders and torso. Cradling its neck in her hand, she brought the hissing head closer to Patrick as he edged backwards. “So when we finally tracked you down,” she continued, “I sent Devin to make sure the place I prepared is ready for your daughter’s arrival.” She took a quick step toward Patrick, and the snake lunged and latched its fangs onto Shiloh’s forearm.
Shiloh screamed and shook her arm until the snake finally released her and dropped to the ground. Patrick stomped on its head with the heel of his boot, pounding it flat. Paili yanked Shiloh away and hustled her to the nearby oak tree.
Morgan shook her head in mock lament. “What a shame! Now I’ll have to take Shiloh with me.” She picked up the dead snake by the tail. “You see, I have the only cure for the serpent’s venom.”
As Paili tended to Shiloh’s wound, Patrick spat at Morgan’s feet, his face red and taut. “What good is she to you?” he shouted. “She can’t be your hostiam without my approval!”
Morgan wound the snake’s body into a ball and slung it into the thicket. “Don’t worry. I will keep her safe in the sixth circle until you change your mind. I’ll let you decide which is better for her. Will you let me take her body, or will you condemn her to live an eternity of tortured loneliness? For now, though, you have to answer a more urgent question. Will you allow the serpent’s venom to rot her flesh over the next three days until she suffers an excruciatingly painful death, or will you give her to me?”
Patrick shot her a threatening glare. “For healing only. Not as your hostiam.”
Morgan smirked. “I will accept that for now. It will amuse me to see how long it takes you to change your mind.”
Patrick ran to the tree and scooped Shiloh into his arms, whispering as he carried her back to Morgan. “Will you trust me, dearest angel?”
Amid dripping tears, Shiloh nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
As Patrick gazed into her eyes, his own tears fell onto her dress. “Will you remember what I’ve taught you? Never lose faith, no matter how long it takes. Above all, never eat Morgan’s food. God will provide for all your needs.”
Shiloh shook her head. “I won’t forget, Daddy! I’ll never forget!”
Sapphira pointed at the screen. “Palin’s carrying Shiloh up the tor. Do you think Gabriel will be able to follow her?”
“To the sixth circle?” Acacia pinched her chin. “I doubt it. He’d have to cross dimensions again.”
“But Shiloh’s got the pendant with her. Maybe Gabriel can use it somehow to get through a portal.”
“Good point, but we’d better hush and listen. It’s hard to hear them.”
In the viewport, Patrick and Paili charged up the hill behind Palin. Morgan halted, waiting for the pursuers to close the gap. She knocked Patrick flat with a wall of blackness, then shoved Paili with her foot, sending her tumbling to the bottom. Patrick scrambled down and helped Paili to her feet. Now separated by the entire slope of the towering hill, Patrick yelled up at Shiloh. “I’ll send someone to find you. I promise!”
“I know you will, Daddy!” she called back. “I’ll be waiting!”
With Shiloh still draped across his arms, Palin crouched low in front of Morgan as the dark sorceress waved her hand over her head. A blinding light flashed across the viewport and covered the hill with a sparkling blanket of white.
A lump grew in Sapphira’s throat. Was Gabriel close enough to Morgan to follow her through the portal? Would the scene change to the other dimension? After a few seconds, the flash’s glow faded away, revealing the familiar sloping grass of the Glastonbury Tor.
Sapphira stamped her foot. “He didn’t follow!”
“Shiloh’s in big trouble.” Acacia turned to Sapphira. “Why did her father tell her not to eat Morgan’s food? Does he know about her poisonous fruit?”
Sapphira folded her hands in front of her lips. “Probably, but I don’t think Morgan would give it to her. She wants Shiloh to live.”
“So now, if she doesn’t disobey her father, she’ll starve.”
“Not if I can help it.” Sapphira withdrew the cross from her waistband. “I know how to get to the sixth circle.”
“How? When we go through the portal Morgan just used, we come out at our mining level, and the rest of the portals here are closed.”
Sapphira waved her hand across the screen, and it rolled up into a spinning orange column. “Not this one,” she said, nodding at the portal.
“That leads to Morgan’s swamp. I know you love wrestling with serpents, but it’s still not the sixth circle.”
Sapphira tightened her grip on the cross. “I got to the sixth circle from Morgan’s island. I can do it again.”
“Will you be able to get home?”
Sapphira stared at Acacia. The deep lines in her sister’s brow mirrored her own concern. Could she return? To get to the sixth circle, she had plunged through that strange hole in one of the three doors, so there was no way to climb back up. And she left the sixth circle through a portal that led to the floor of the deep chasm, but, even if it still worked, climbing the sheer cliff would be impossible. The only other option was to dive into the boiling magma river, but going through that portal would destroy Dragons’ Rest, if it didn’t destroy her first.
Acacia laid her hand on Sapphira’s cheek. “You don’t know how to get back, do you?”
“No,” Sapphira said, lowering her chin. “I don’t.”
Acacia leaned over and picked up a stack of folded denim next to her sleeping mat. “I guess we should wear blue jeans, shouldn’t we?”
“For what?”
Acacia handed Sapphira a pair of jeans and kept another pair for herself. “For our journey to the sixth circle. Our skirts aren’t exactly suitable for tromping through snake-infested swamp water.”
“Right, but we don’t know how ”
“To get back. I know. A minor detail.” Acacia slipped her jeans on. “We’ll just create a new portal somewhere and see where it goes.”
Sapphira pulled up her own jeans. “But what if it’s dangerous? We can’t risk Shiloh’s life.”
“Easy.” Acacia pinched the snap closed. The faded jeans hung loosely on her narrow hips. “We’ll return by ourselves, and then, if it’s safe, we’ll go back to get her.”
“Okay.” Sapphira fastened her own baggy jeans, castaway pants from a beggars’ bin. “But in case we can’t get back,” she continued, tucking away the cross, “I want to bring her some food that’ll last a long time.” Sapphira ran to the museum and plucked one of the smallest white clusters from the branches, now plentiful in the midst of the lush greenery, some as large as a small melon. As she hustled to the portal, she carefully slipped the fruit into her jeans pocket.
“Do you think you can keep it dry in the swamp?”
“It won’t matter,” Sapphira said. “If she’s hungry enough, she’ll eat it.”
“I’ll be right back.” Acacia hurried to the museum and returned with a thick scroll tucked under her arm.
Sapphira pointed at it. “Is that for opening a portal or bashing snakes?”
“Both.” Acacia opened the scroll a few inches. “It’s one I’ve been saving for portal travel, but if it breaks on a snake’s head, I won’t mind. Besides, we have lots of modern books now.”
Sapphira took Acacia’s hand. “Let’s get going.”
The two oracles walked into the column. As usual, Sapphira’s vision sharpened, enabling her to distinguish the tiniest slivers of radiant energy as they swirled around her head. Fighting the sadness, she grasped a stream of light and pulled. Instantly, the cavern dissolved, and they zoomed upward. A heavy, wet wind buffeted their heads. Sapphira pulled out her cross and shouted through the gusts. “Ignite!” Wind-beaten flames covered the cross and sizzled in the moisture-laden air.
Suddenly, they blasted through the surface of the swamp. Flying upward within a spewing cylindrical geyser, Sapphira wriggled around to get her bearings. The swamp lay about twenty feet below, and she and Acacia were still soaring higher, though their acceleration seemed to be slowing.
Acacia readied her scroll. “Flying is pretty cool,” she said with a deadpan tone, “but I think we’re going to fall now.”
The two girls linked arms and plummeted toward the water. Sapphira pointed her cross downward and shouted, “Give me all you’ve got!”
A narrow fountain of flames roared from the cross and sizzled into the swamp, creating a thrust that slowed their plunge. Erupting from the water’s surface, a dense column of steam struck Sapphira’s buttocks, soaking her jeans with scalding moisture.
Sapphira and Acacia splashed into the swamp and immediately lunged toward shore through its scummy, waist-deep water. “Hurry!” Sapphira yelled, holding her still-flaming cross high.
Acacia trudged at her side with the scroll clenched in her fist. Behind them, the water began to stir. Serpentine scales broke the surface and glinted in the sunlight.
Sapphira slogged through the muddy bottom. Every step seemed an eternity as they waded to thigh-deep, then knee-deep water. Finally, Sapphira began to sprint, but as she splashed toward shore, a horrible scream made her spin around. Close behind her, Acacia limped toward shore dragging a huge serpent that had latched on to her ankle. She fell to her knees and smacked its body with her scroll.
Snatching the scroll, Sapphira pounded the snake’s midsection. When it finally let go, she grabbed it by the tail and whipped it out into the swamp. Pushing her arms under Acacia’s shoulders, she heaved her sister onto dry land.
Acacia’s face twisted in pain. “My leg’s on fire!”
Sapphira brushed a strand of hair from Acacia’s forehead. “It’s the venom. I can see red lines crawling up your skin.”
“My heart!” Acacia gasped. “It’s jumping like crazy.”
Sapphira whispered for the cross to darken and laid it on Acacia’s chest. “Don’t die on me, now. Just hang on.”
Acacia’s voice fell to a whisper as she labored through convulsive breaths. “Morgan said . . . she has the only cure.”
“Morgan’s a liar!” Sapphira dug into her pocket and retrieved the fruit. “Maybe this will help.”
“But we said . . . we weren’t going to eat it unless . . . we were starving.”
“You’re not going to eat it.” Sapphira squeezed the fruit between her palms. Now that it was wet, it smashed easily into a thick, pasty poultice. She held the mash in her palm and picked up her cross again. “I’m going to rub this stuff in, but first, I’m going to open up the wound a bit more to make sure it gets into your bloodstream.”
“What makes you think . . . this will work?”
“It healed the rash on my palm, so I think it’s worth a try.” Bringing the cross near Acacia’s ankle, she whispered, “A small flame, please, right at the tip.” The top of the cross ignited with a conical flame. “Okay,” she said, looking back at Acacia. “This is really going to hurt.”
“Go ahead. It can’t hurt more than it already does.”
Sapphira pushed the tip of the fire into one of the puncture wounds on Acacia’s ankle.
“Aaaauuugh!” Acacia gritted her teeth. Her words barely punched through. “Okay . . . I was . . . wrong.”
“Shhh! The dog might show up.” The flame sliced a nearly bloodless gash, the heat cauterizing most of the vessels as they blistered open. With the wound now raw and gaping, Sapphira rubbed in the poultice, hoping she could massage it into Acacia’s bloodstream.
Her entire body trembling, Acacia bit her shirt and let out a muffled scream.
Sapphira grimaced. “I’m sorry. I have no idea if I’m doing this right. I’m no surgeon, you know.”
“No kidding.” Acacia shook even harder, but after a few seconds, her tremors subsided, and she let out a long sigh.
Sapphira kept her hand over the wound. Heat radiated through the mash and stung her palm. “Is it feeling better?”
“A little. Now it’s more like Nabal’s whip hitting me on the ankle about a thousand times.”
Sapphira lifted her hand. The goop had turned pink, but a small white spot stood out in the mixture. She plucked out a tough, yet flexible bead about the size of a baby’s tooth. Tiny red stripes encircled the bead three times.
“The fruit had a seed in the middle,” Sapphira said, stuffing it into her pocket. “I’ll save it for later.”
“So what are we going to do now? We don’t have any food to give Shiloh.”
“I guess I’ll tell her I’ll come back once I create a safe portal.”
“Okay.” Acacia folded her hands over her waist. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“No. If Morgan doesn’t find you, that dog probably will.”
Acacia pushed up to a sitting position. “Then I’ll go with you.”
Sapphira touched Acacia’s leg just above her wound. “You have to drop through a hole and land pretty hard. I don’t think your leg could handle it.”
“Okay,” Acacia said. “Do you have a plan?”
“I thought of a way you might be able to go home without fighting those snakes again.”
“Go on. I’m listening.”
Sapphira nodded toward Morgan’s castle at the top of the hill. “Remember the three doors I told you about in the dungeon up there? Usually one of them opens to a dimension I’ve been to before. Elam, Gabriel, and I went through a portal we found there and ended up at Patrick’s mansion.”
“So you think I can find the exit portal?”
“It’s easy. A skeleton marks the spot.”
“A skeleton?” Acacia rolled her eyes. “Wonderful. Sounds like a safe place.”
“Don’t worry. It seemed safe while we were there, and I’ll help you.” Sapphira stood and held out her hand for Acacia. “Think you can walk?”
Acacia pulled up on Sapphira’s hand and tested her ankle. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
Sapphira helped Acacia sneak up to Morgan’s house. Sapphira had to climb into the window by herself, but since no one seemed to be home, she unlocked the door from the inside, and the two of them took their time descending the dungeon’s staircase.
As darkness flooded their surroundings, Sapphira reignited the cross. When they arrived at the lantern gateway, she illuminated and extinguished the lanterns in the usual numbered sequence, and the gate creaked open. Acacia leaned heavily against Sapphira as they passed through. Every few seconds, she breathed a muffled groan.
“Are you going to make it?” Sapphira asked.
Acacia sat down in front of the trio of doors and extended her sore ankle. “I’ll rest while you open the doors.”
When Sapphira swung open the first door, the endless field of grass appeared. Stepping over to the second, she turned the handle and opened it more slowly. Behind this one, she found the hole that led to the sixth circle. “Here’s my door,” she said.
As she crept toward the third door, her hand trembled. This had to be the forest! It just had to be! She reached for the knob and slung the door open. Tropical trees arched over a winding dirt path that slipped under dozens of low-hanging vines. She spun around and dramatically swept her arms toward the doorway. “Acacia, I give you the path home.”
Acacia rose slowly to her feet and hobbled toward Sapphira. “Well, it’s not the wardrobe to Narnia, but it’ll do.”
Sapphira helped Acacia limp along the path until she got her bearings. Running ahead, she located the portal and searched through the ferns until she found an extra long bone. She plunged it into the earth next to the skeleton and hustled back to Acacia.
“Okay,” Sapphira said, catching her breath. “When you pass the fifth tree on the right, turn ninety degrees and you’ll see a grassy mound. The portal is about fifty paces on the other side. I stuck a bone in the ground to make it easy to find. Just open the portal and you’ll fall into Patrick’s house. You can take your time, but I want to hurry back and find Shiloh.”
Acacia embraced Sapphira, then pulled away and pressed her finger into her sister’s chest. “Don’t take any chances. If I don’t see you by tomorrow, I’m coming to find you.”
“Fair enough,” Sapphira replied. “Did you bring your sunglasses?”
“No. I don’t have a hat, either.”
“I guess you’ll have to go anyway.” Sapphira combed her fingers through Acacia’s white locks. “With the styles I’ve seen in Glastonbury lately, no one’s going to say anything about your hair. If you keep your head down, maybe no one will notice your eyes. Just walk slowly.”
Acacia grinned. “Yes, Mother.”
Sapphira turned and headed toward Morgan’s dungeon, frequently glancing at Acacia as she limped down the path.
The doorway back to the dungeon seemed to hang in the air, suspended a foot or so from the ground by an invisible force. Sapphira jumped into it and hurried to the middle door. Standing at the edge, she gazed down into the darkness. “Okay,” she said out loud, grasping the cross. “Don’t think about it. Just jump.” Closing her eyes, she leaped in.
Squatting low, Acacia rubbed her finger across a jewel mounted in the skeleton’s belt. How strange that the man’s flesh would rot, while the leather in the belt showed no signs of decay.
A deep voice pierced the silence. “There are many mysteries in the land of the dead.”
Acacia gasped and rose to her feet, keeping her weight on her good leg. A tall, tuxedo-clad man with a pair of umbrellas tucked under his arm stood next to her. “Welcome to the first circle,” he said.
Acacia shuffled to the rear until her heels bumped against the bones. She teetered backwards, her arms flailing, but the man grabbed her wrist and pulled her upright. She pressed her palm against her chest. “Thank you.”
The man smiled and nodded. “You’re quite welcome.”
She slipped her arm away from his grasp. “Who are you?”
“I am Joseph,” he said, bowing. “I am a guide for lost souls in this place.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Joseph.” Acacia extended her hand. “But I can’t stay. I have to get back to the land of the living.”
Joseph took her hand and gave it a gentle shake. “Indeed you do. A terrible tragedy is about to befall a very old friend of yours, and, after it happens, you must bring her to me.”
She jerked her hand back. “Who? Sapphira?”
“Her identity will be revealed in a very short time, but you must bring her the moment you learn of her trouble, or an even greater calamity will result.”
“So you’ll be right here?” Acacia asked, pointing at the ground. “I should come back to this spot?”
“Yes.” Joseph lifted an umbrella. “Dark clouds are rolling in, far darker than you can imagine, but I will be your guide as you and your friend embark on a long journey.”
Acacia glanced at the stormy sky. “Okay, I’ll do my best, but my ankle’s pretty sore, so it might take me awhile.”
“You will have time.” He pointed the umbrella at the skeleton. “But you must go now. The portal’s glow will indicate that it is still open, so you will not need your scroll to return. But make haste. Every portal leading to these circles will soon be closed to all but a select few, and the oracles of fire will be powerless to break through the seal that God will set on the portals. They will remain closed until the new dragon king comes.”
As Elam clopped into the ancient chamber, his footsteps echoed from the distant walls. Ever since Patrick’s adopted cousin moved the round table, no obstructions lay hidden in the darkness, so he marched ahead until he stood directly underneath the hole in the ceiling. A moonbeam shone on his head as he called out into the shadowy chamber. “Robert. Are you in here? It’s me . . . um . . . Markus.”
“Over here.” The voice was sad and low. “But you can call me Patrick again. Morgan has taken my precious daughter. What more can she do to me?”
Elam stepped out of the moon’s glow. “I heard about Shiloh. Is that why you returned?”
“Yes, Paili and I will take the orphanage back immediately. She needs the children’s company to ease her pain.”
“Aren’t you going to fight to get Shiloh back?”
“Fight?” A derisive laugh punctuated Patrick’s tone. “What can a man do against a sorceress? How can a living human track down a prisoner in the land of the dead? If the great Merlin could not retrieve his wife, how can I expect to ever find Shiloh?”
“Paili told me that you promised to send someone to search for her. Who will that be?”
“I made that promise in haste.” Patrick’s voice trembled. “I have no idea what to do. I am confused, and I cannot think straight. I am lost in a wilderness, and darkness has enclosed me. There is no hope at all. None.”
Elam pulled a flashlight from his belt and turned it on. Aiming the beam in the direction of Patrick’s voice, he searched the wall until he found his old friend sitting on the floor next to a cross mounted on a stand. Elam strode up to him and set the beam just under Patrick’s eyes. “Send Sapphira and me,” Elam said. “We’ll find her.”
Patrick squinted at the light. “How? Won’t she be hidden?”
“I’ve been in Morgan’s prisons. I know how to get to them.”
Patrick picked up a lantern and climbed to his feet. Striking a match, he lit the lantern’s wick. “Where are they?”
“You have to go through portals, but I’m not sure which ones lead where anymore.” Elam turned off his flashlight. “We’ll have to experiment.”
“I will go.” Patrick’s tears glistened, reflecting the lantern’s flaming wick. “Just show me what to do.”
Elam shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care about danger!” Patrick clenched Elam’s shoulder. “This is my daughter we’re talking about. She’s my only child, a child of prophecy.”
Elam laid his hand on Patrick’s and gently loosened the former dragon’s grip. “If she’s a child of prophecy, she’ll be protected. That’s why I’m more concerned about your safety than about hers.” He lowered Patrick’s hand. “Let me do it. I have a lot of experience.”
A loud grunt sounded from behind Elam. He spun around and caught a glimpse of a female stumbling through the portal window’s drapes. As she pulled the curtain aside, an eerie glow brightened her outline. She carried a fiery torch and waved her hand at it. “Lights out!” she commanded, and the fire disappeared.
Elam relit his flashlight and pointed it at her. The beam illuminated her white hair, and her eyes reflected the beam, bouncing it back with a blue tint. She lifted her hand, shielding her face.
“Sapphira!” Elam redirected his flashlight and strode toward her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m not ” She winced at the glow from Patrick’s lantern as he walked up to her.
Elam stepped in front of the lantern, casting a shadow across her face. “Why were you in there?”
“First of all, I’m not Sapphira. I’m Acacia. Second” she pulled up her pant leg, revealing a red, oozing wound on her ankle “I’m hurt, so I’d like to sit.”
“By all means.” Patrick helped her down to the floor. “I’ll fetch Paili and our medical bag.”
She sat cross-legged, obviously favoring one of her ankles. “I hope he hurries. I have something important to ask him.”
Elam stooped next to her. “Ask me. Maybe I know.”
“A tragedy is imminent. Do you know of anyone besides Shiloh who might be in danger?”
“No . . . No, I don’t.” Elam sat down and gazed at Acacia. In the glow of the portal, her white hair shimmered, and her eyes sparkled bluer than even Sapphira’s. “So,” Elam began, “uh . . . do you know where Sapphira is?”
“Sapphira and I were trying to find Shiloh.” She extended her wounded leg and rolled up her pant cuff. “One of Morgan’s serpents bit me, so Sapphira had to clean out the wound and send me home.”
“That looks nasty! You’re lucky to be alive!”
Loud footsteps closed in, followed by rapid breathing. Patrick rushed through the doorway, his lantern swinging in one hand and a medical bag dangling from the other. “To be visited by one oracle of fire is amazing enough,” he said, “but two in the same evening is quite a surprise.”
Acacia squinted at him. “Two?”
“That’s why Paili is delayed.” Patrick nodded toward the hallway. “She is speaking with Sapphira in the front den. Sapphira was just leaving, so Paili will be along shortly.”
“Sapphira? How can that be?”
“She said she heard about Shiloh being kidnapped, so she baked some fig cakes for Paili. Apparently they were her favorite treat many years ago.”
Acacia’s eyes flashed. “Don’t let her eat them!”
“What? Why?”
“That couldn’t have been Sapphira! She was with me! She didn’t bake any fig cakes!”
Elam leaped up and grabbed Patrick’s arms. “Paili’s in the front den?”
“Yes! Hurry!”
Elam sprinted from the room, his legs pumping so fast, he felt like he was flying. Careening around corners, he dashed down one hall, then another. Finally reaching the front of the house, he threw open the door to the den. There was Paili! Sitting by the fireplace! He lunged across the hardwood floor and slid on his knees up to her side.
He scanned her body. No sign of the fig cakes. Trying to slow his breathing, he gazed into her eyes. “Paili . . . I mean, Mrs. Nathanson. Are you all right?”
Tear tracks smudged her cheeks. She drooped her chin to her chest and shook her head. “Not all right,” she said, her voice low and thin. “Shiloh gone.”
“I know. I don’t mean that. I mean . . .” He lifted her chin. “What did you say?”
A new tear trickled down her cheek. “Shiloh . . . gone.”
Elam covered his face with his hands. “No! Tell me you didn’t eat the fig cakes!”
She raised a finger. “Only one. But I sick now.” Her eyes closed and her head lolled to the side.
Elam lowered his head to the floor and banged it against the wood as he let out a mournful wail. “Noooo!” He nuzzled her limp hand and kissed her fingers tenderly.
“Paili!” Patrick called.
Elam jerked his head around. Patrick stormed in and scooped Paili’s limp body into his arms. “Come, Elam!” he said as he headed toward the door. “There is still hope!”
Blinded by tears, Elam leaped to his feet and stumbled behind Patrick.
“I’m taking her to the ancient chamber,” Patrick said, grunting as he struggled along the corridor. “Acacia said she might be able to save her.”
“I left my flashlight in the chamber.” Elam surged in front of Patrick. “I’ll get another lantern!” After sprinting down the hall again, he stopped at a table that held two lanterns. He snatched one up, lit it, and waited for Patrick. When he came in sight, his cheeks puffing in time with his grunts, Elam strode ahead, adjusting the wick to provide a strong, vibrant glow.
When they arrived at the chamber, Acacia pushed up from the floor and held out her arms. “Give her to me.”
“Are you sure you can carry her?” Patrick asked as he transferred Paili’s body to Acacia.
Acacia groaned under Paili’s weight. “I’ll do whatever I have to do.” She limped toward the portal window. The glow bathed the two female forms, dissolving their bodies, and absorbed them into the ghostly wash.
The portal suddenly darkened, leaving Elam’s lantern as the only light in the room. He fell to his seat and covered his face with his hands. “Why is this happening?” he cried. “Why would God allow Morgan to kill someone as innocent as Paili?”
Patrick’s trembling grip massaged Elam’s shoulder. His voice quaked. “I . . . don’t know. . . . I just . . . don’t know.”
Elam lowered his hands and looked up at Patrick, who was now sitting on the floor. “I feel like the whole world is coming to an end,” Elam said. “Is Morgan going to win this war?”
Patrick’s face, now as pale as Sapphira’s, seemed old and worn out, like a ghost weary of haunting a troubled home. He firmed his chin, pain and determination stretching his words. “She . . . will . . . not . . . prevail!”