Chapter 20
Riding atop Clefspeare’s back, Billy pointed to his right. “Is that the lake?”
Acacia, hanging onto his waist from behind, shouted, “Probably. It looks like a flat icy area.”
“We shall see,” Clefspeare said as he banked that way. They had been flying north with a tailwind, which had made for speedy travel and tolerable breezes, but with the shift into a crosswind, bitter cold returned with a vengeance.
Billy felt Acacia’s shivering body, but she offered no complaints. When he had asked her to go, she jumped at the chance, and the sparkle in her brilliant blue eyes returned. Still, her silence through most of the journey and her shaking arms proved that her exhaustion lingered. He would have to keep a close eye on her.
Patrick had also wanted to come on the journey. After all, Shiloh was his beloved daughter. But Clefspeare told him that a third rider would make the burden too great, and bringing another dragon into unexplored territory was unwise. What Clefspeare did not say, but later confirmed to Billy, was his concern for Patrick’s age and the bitter cold they expected to encounter. Disappointed, but eager to help, Patrick opted to pack the supplies for the boundary guards and draw an excellent map based on directions Semiramis supplied the night before.
Of course, her escape had set everyone on edge. Elam wondered about a possible ambush and questioned the wisdom of continuing with the search plan, but, in the end, it seemed best to go ahead. Clefspeare would see to their safety.
When they flew over the snow-covered expanse, Billy pulled a scrap of parchment from under his cloak and looked at Patrick’s map. The lake, the final landmark before Shiloh’s prison, was roughly elliptical with at least five wiggling streams that protruded to the north like gnarled fingers. These, too, were frozen. The season of death, the worst Valiant could remember, had taken its toll here as well.
Billy glanced back and forth between the map and the landscape below. The widest stream bent away on the northeast side. That would lead them to the valley, their final destination. Since they were now heading east, they would have to adjust.
“Head left about forty-five degrees,” Billy called. “Follow that river with the cluster of evergreens on each side.”
Clefspeare’s eyebeams flashed on. After making a slow turn, skimming the bottom of the low cloudbank, he followed the river upstream, but it soon disappeared under a deep blanket of snow. Keeping the same heading, they traveled over a ridge and then a valley on the other side. A few trees and large boulders managed to find daylight above the snow’s surface, marring the smooth blanket of white.
“What is that?” Acacia asked.
Billy looked back. She pointed toward something glimmering to the east. With barely any sunshine leaking through the clouds, whatever it was had to be huge to capture the light and reflect it. “It looks like a curtain of glass.”
“I sense a portal,” Acacia said. “If it’s behind that glass, it must be enormous for me to feel it from so far away.”
“It is less than a mile,” Clefspeare said as he turned toward it. “Get ready. We will be landing in a moment.”
With a great beating of his wings, Clefspeare settled to the ground between a high snowdrift and a dragon-sized boulder, about ten paces or so from the glass. Billy jumped down and helped Acacia dismount Clefspeare’s neck.
All three hurried to the glass, Billy arriving first. With the surface curving slowly away in each direction, it seemed to be a huge cylinder. It would probably take at least fifteen minutes to walk around it.
Snow had piled in drifts against the glass except at one three-foot-wide section where it seemed that someone had recently cleared it away, allowing Billy to walk right up to the partition and peer through. On the other side, the landscape looked more like a desert than a snow scene. A few scrubby trees dotted the area here and there, and some old buildings stood in the distance. The closest one seemed very familiar. This place definitely looked like the old town in the sixth circle of Hades.
Standing in knee-deep snow, he pressed a finger against the glass, but it left no mark. “This is really weird, Dad. What do you make of it?”
Clefspeare set his snout close to the window and blew twin flames, narrow and orange, and kept them there for several seconds. When he pulled away, Billy touched the spots. “Cold. Cold as ice.”
Acacia pushed her body against Billy’s side and shivered harder than ever. “I will try my fire, but first we should see if we can call Shiloh. If our voices won’t penetrate the glass, maybe she can hear us knocking.”
Billy rapped on the window with his knuckles and shouted, “Shiloh! It’s Billy! Can you hear me?”
He pressed his ear against the glass. “I don’t hear anything, but the wind’s in my ears, so that doesn’t mean much.”
Clefspeare swung his tail and whipped the partition. A loud thwap rocked Billy’s eardrums. Although the glass shimmered slightly, it showed no sign of cracking.
“It is clear,” Clefspeare said, “that Semiramis’s story has proven true to this point. Perhaps we should also assume that Shiloh is, indeed, trapped in there, which would give me reason to make a more strenuous attempt.”
“A full-speed body slam?” Billy asked.
He focused his eyebeams on the glass. “With white-hot blasts of fire aimed at the collision point immediately before I strike.”
Billy touched the scarlet target. “I can help with that. I’ll blast it with my fire while you’re on your way.”
“Look!” Acacia laid a palm on the window and pressed her nose next to it. “I see someone.”
A girl peeked around one of the buildings. She seemed hesitant, frightened, and too far away to be recognized.
“It’s Shiloh,” Acacia said. “My vision is so sharp, I can see her wounded hand.”
Billy rapped on the glass again and waved. “Shiloh! It’s me, Billy!”
Shiloh crept around the corner, easing one foot in front of the other. Suddenly, she burst into a sprint. With her blond-streaked hair flying behind her and a beautiful smile decorating her lovely face, she looked exactly like Bonnie.
Swallowing down a lump, Billy shouted again. “Can you hear me?”
Shiloh stopped a few feet away from the glass and mouthed something, but he couldn’t read her lips. She pointed at her ear as if to indicate that their voices weren’t coming through.
Acacia narrowed her eyes. “I think she said, ‘Do you know Mars code.’”
“Probably Morse code,” Billy said. “She wants us to tap out our words.”
“I learned it long ago.” Clefspeare touched the partition with a wing tip. “If a tap vibrates the glass enough to transmit sound, then why do our voices not penetrate?”
“It’s a barrier between dimensions,” Billy said, “probably not real glass at all. Maybe she’ll watch our taps and figure them out, or, then again, maybe it responds somehow to physical touch.”
“If that’s the case …” Acacia stripped off her rabbit-fur cloak and handed it to Billy. Then, spreading out her arms, she flattened her body against the partition. Her white hair streaming in the breeze along with her long woolen skirt, she called, “Ignite!”
Starting at her bare hands, two-inch-high firelets crawled along the sleeves of her leather tunic. Although the flames looked hot enough, they didn’t burn her clothes or even raise a puff of smoke. Soon, her body blazed.
Laying her cheek against the glass, she called out, “Shiloh! Can you hear me now?”
Shiloh stepped closer. A smile trembled on her lips. “Yes! Yes, I can!” Her voice seemed far away, like a call from a distant canyon.
Billy stood directly behind Acacia. The warmth from her body thawed his frozen cheeks. “Shiloh, do you know of any spots in this wall that look weak? Clefspeare and I want to try to break through.”
Shiloh shook her head. “I walked every foot of this thing and hit it with a big hammer until it wore me out. It’s tougher than steel.”
“Then we might as well try here,” Billy said. “Stand back.”
As Shiloh stepped away, Acacia did the same. At the spot where she had pressed her body, the glass seemed darker, as if smoke-stained.
Billy touched it. The surface felt warm, but not hot. “Let’s concentrate here, Dad. Acacia might have made the dimensional barrier thinner.”
“Then perhaps she should try a portal opening cyclone,” Clefspeare said. “We have enough firepower.”
Billy looked at Acacia. “Could you?”
Acacia spread out her arms. “It feels like the portal wraps around the entire town she’s in. To open it, I would probably have to make a vortex at least as big, but with your father’s help, perhaps we could do it.”
Billy read her sincere expression. She seemed so weak, yet she wanted to help. But should she? Did it make sense to drain her energy if they didn’t have to? Yet, allowing her to use her gifts might be the emotional boost she needed. “Dad,” Billy said, “let’s try brute force first. If it doesn’t work, we’ll give Acacia a shot at it.”
“Very well.” Clefspeare launched into the air and flew in a wide circle, gaining altitude with every second. When he turned back toward the window, Billy pushed Acacia behind him and, taking a deep breath, blew a narrow stream of fire at the target. The flames bounced to each side and spilled to the ground, melting the surrounding snow.
He slid to the side to give Clefspeare room to attack. As he took another breath, a volley of flames rocketed out of the sky and blasted the same spot. Billy added his jet again. With steam rising and water streaming at their feet, he glanced at Shiloh. Bouncing on her toes, she folded her hands at her chest, the bloody bandage obvious over her stub of a finger.
Seconds later, Clefspeare stormed through the fire and, his wings now folded, slammed the side of his body into the partition. With a thunderous smack, he bounced to the side and slid through the snow. The wall trembled for a moment but quickly settled down.
Billy ran to where his father lay. With his tail turned one way, his neck turned the other, and his head lying motionless near a spine on his back, he looked dead. “Dad! Are you all right?”
A puff of smoke rose from each nostril. “I think so. I feel no broken bones, but I will likely have a very large bruise.”
Billy touched Clefspeare’s side. Some of the reddish scales had already turned purple. “Can you get up?”
“I will try. Perhaps you should speak to Shiloh while I gather myself together.”
Billy ran back to the wall. Acacia was already standing in front of the impact point, touching the glass with a fiery hand as she spoke. “Shiloh, I am going to try to envelop as much of this area as I can. If it looks like the wall is deteriorating, try to walk through it.”
Shiloh nodded and backed away again.
Her facial features sagging, Acacia lifted her hands high and called out, “Flames! Come to my fingers!”
Instantly, two enormous fireballs, twice the size of beach balls, erupted in her palms. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath and began waving her arms in tight circles. The fireballs expanded and stretched out horizontally until they merged into a sphere the size of three elephants. Acacia appeared to be a diminutive Atlas carrying the world in her little hands.
With her face tense and her lips pursed, she continued to swirl her arms, letting out high-pitched grunts every few seconds.
As the ball continued to grow, Clefspeare shuffled close to Billy. “I am concerned for her,” Clefspeare said. “She is likely too weak to undertake such an enormous task.”
“Yeah. Me, too. It hurts just to watch her.”
Acacia slid her feet through the mud and again pressed her body on the window. Like a bursting bubble, the fireball broke apart. Flames spread across the glass, crawling in every direction. Acacia rubbed her palms on the surface in wide circles. As if propelled by her motions, the flames continued to spread up and around the cylinder.
“It is time to add more fire,” Acacia called. “And fan it with your wings!”
Clefspeare raised up on his haunches. “Son, climb aboard and come with me. We will both add fire from the air.”
Billy ran up his father’s tail section and along his back, dodging the longer spines. As soon as he seated himself at the base of the neck, he shouted, “Let’s do it!”
Beating his wings, Clefspeare rose into the air. The wing on the bruised side seemed to falter, making him tilt for a moment, but he soon righted himself and began an orbit around the transparent cylinder.
“You aim low,” Clefspeare shouted, “and I will aim high.”
Angling his neck toward the sky, he sprayed a flood of orange from his mouth and both nostrils. Billy joined in, bending over to strike the glass several feet lower. As soon as the flames met the partition, they spread out in the same way Acacia’s did, and gusts from Clefspeare’s wings added to the momentum.
It took a few minutes for Clefspeare to complete one orbit. When they passed Acacia, she was still leaning against the glass and still moving her hands in circles, though she seemed slower, and her eyes were now tightly shut.
Billy continued shooting fire into the storm. With each splash, the flames made a whooshing sound as they joined in with the rest of the fire. Breathing in cold air, then blowing out hot, he pressed on, though each barrage grew weaker.
Clefspeare’s fire remained strong, but his flight angle tilted again. The bruise on his side was definitely taking its toll.
The glass shook. As if boring holes through the partition, fire spilled to the inside and dribbled downward. A slight dizziness swam through Billy’s head, likely a touch of hyperventilation, but he couldn’t stop now. Something was happening. Maybe it was working.
As they approached Acacia again, the entire wall dissolved, and the fire dropped to the ground like a burning curtain. Her flames ceased, and she stumbled through and fell into Shiloh’s arms. Shiloh sat down and, cradling Acacia, called, “She’s okay! Just exhausted, I think.”
Clefspeare and Billy shut off their jets. As they glided toward the snow, Billy shouted, “Yes! She did it!” But before his final word passed through his lips, the village began to fade.
“Dad! Get on the ground! Quick!”
As soon as Clefspeare landed, Billy jumped down. Sliding in the snow, he dashed toward Shiloh and Acacia, but the scene vanished before he could get there. They were gone.
He stumbled forward and plowed into a drift. As he rolled, snow pushed into his mouth, cooling the sensitive skin inside. When he came to a stop, he looked up at the cloud-blanketed sky and rested for a moment. His heart thumped. His head pounded. Every part of his body ached.
“Son!” Clefspeare called. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” Slowly rising to a sitting position, he looked at his father. Now his heart pounded even harder. Tears came to his eyes, and the chilly wind pushed them back toward his temples. They had failed. Not only did they not rescue Shiloh, they lost Acacia, an Oracle of Fire, no less, probably a great asset in the battle if Abraham’s protective wall should ever fail. She had the best chance of opening the portal at Mount Elijah. Now what would they do? Could a dragon open it? With no good place to land, it wasn’t likely. And poor Shiloh. Within seconds of being rescued, her hopes were dashed.
He rose to his feet and batted the snow from his pants. Or maybe they weren’t dashed after all. Could she have transported to a safe place, away from those who wanted to slice her into pieces? Maybe Shiloh’s captors had no idea where she ended up.
Sighing deeply, he pushed through the drift until he worked his way back to the muddy section. He leaned against his father’s side and draped an arm over his neck. “Now what’re we going to do?”
Clefspeare picked up Acacia’s cloak with his teeth and laid it over Billy’s shoulders. “We will go back to the village. What choice do we have?”
“We could try to open it again. You know, create another circle of fire.”
“We can, and we will, but not in my weakened state. I will return later with Hartanna, and we will see what we can do.”
Nodding, Billy looked up into his father’s eyes. “Any speculation?”
“If you mean their destination … no. When the firestorm toppled the Tower of Babel, the bottom third transported from Earth to Hades, so it seems that these portal jumps are unpredictable, at least for us who have no knowledge of the cross-dimensional paths.”
Billy touched Clefspeare’s bruise. “How does it feel? Going back will be mostly against a headwind.”
Clefspeare bent his neck until his head hovered in front of the purple blotch. “I would not want to do battle for a while, but I am confident I can make it to Founder’s Village.”
“If we go another route, maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“I assume you mean that you still want to check on the wall of fire and deliver the supplies.”
“Right. Do you think you could make it that far? I can go with Hartanna later.”
“I see value in going now. The warrior chief will be glad to get a report, and the men could be hungry.” Clefspeare shuffled to the large boulder. “But first, I want to create a landmark to ensure that we are able to find this place in the future.” He heaved in a breath. Then, with a narrow, laserlike stream of fire, he chiseled into the boulder’s surface. As he guided the stream, smoke shot out, veiling his mark, but after several seconds, he finished, and the breeze cleared the smoke, revealing a letter X about the size of a human head.
“X marks the spot?” Billy asked.
“Indeed. It is a simple but well-known symbol.”
Billy laughed, “Mom used to put an X on maps when we played Treasure Island together. She would even put one on the ground at the place where she buried …” He let his voice dwindle away.
They stayed silent for a moment until Clefspeare breathed a sigh. “I know, Son. I miss her, too.”
After resting for a few minutes, Billy remounted Clefspeare and the two rode southeast to the north side of the Valley of Shadows. A wall of flames stood before them, rising from the ground on the northern border of the valley, through the clouds and out of sight.
As they passed around to the northeastern side, Billy looked back at the river. Before the start of the season of death, one of Valiant’s warriors tried to cross into the valley by diving into the cold water, a test to ensure that no one could come through from the other direction. Under the surface, the water boiled at that point, but most of the flow passed through, proving that this was a vulnerable spot. The same was true where the river exited the walled-in zone. So Valiant stationed armed guards at each point. Even if the enemy breached the wall, they wouldn’t be able to get more than one soldier through at a time, making them easy prey for the guards.
Billy spotted two men wearing thick coats and huddling under a makeshift shelter, more of a lean-to than a hut. With a spear in hand, one faced the river while the other appeared to be sleeping under a pile of blankets.
After delivering a fresh supply of food and clothing to the guards, Clefspeare and Billy took off again and rounded the valley’s eastern boundary. Billy looked down at the rugged terrain. Snow dressed the trees in skirts of white, though the depth whittled down with every inch closer to the wall, until only mud and scorched trees lined the area nearest the flames.
Several minutes later, Clefspeare flew around a bend and reached the south side just beyond Adam’s Marsh. When the river came into sight, Billy patted his father’s neck. “I see the guards.”
His wing obviously faltering again, Clefspeare angled down and landed in a deep drift near the eastern side of the river. As he slowed, he toppled over, spilling Billy, and then slid into the water.
“Dad!” Billy jumped up and splashed into the chilly flow. His father’s wings splayed over the surface, and his head had disappeared underneath. Chunks of ice bounced against Billy’s thighs as he waded deeper, pumping his arms and churning his legs. Finally, in waist-deep water, he plunged in, hooked his arms around his father’s neck, and hoisted his head above the surface.
Shivering, Billy listened. Was he breathing? The river’s rush made it impossible to tell. But his father was definitely unconscious. How could he possibly drag him out?
Loud splashes sounded behind him, then a voice. “Hold on, Billy! Help is on the way!”
He twisted around. Two men waded in, a tall and hefty man in front carrying a rope. Billy heaved in a shaking breath and let it out through chattering teeth. “Thanks … uh … Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“Name’s Stout.” He threw the rope over Clefspeare’s back, dove under the water, and resurfaced with the end in hand. After shaking away droplets from his hair, he tied the rope in place. “Just keep his head above water, and Frank and I will haul him out.”
Billy looked at the other helper, a short, skinny man with a thick beard. “Frank” seemed like an odd choice for these folk who were usually given names based on their personalities.
The two men charged back and forth with the rope, looping and tying until they had fashioned a makeshift harness. Then, with each man pulling on an end, they began hauling Clefspeare to the river’s western shore.
Still holding his father’s head, Billy trudged along with them. For a few seconds, they moved into deeper water that rose to his neck, but soon they angled up and slid Clefspeare up to the snow.
Frank shook his body and shivered. “We’d better get a fire going here. The dragon is likely dead already, but until we’re sure, we should do what we can.”
“Just b-bring wood.” Billy’s teeth chattered so hard, he could barely spit out his words. “I c-can light it.”
While the two men hustled to their camp, Billy knelt and set his ear close to his father’s nostrils. A wheezing breath warmed his skin. It sounded awful, but it was still music to his ears.
After a few minutes, Stout and Frank had set piles of split logs around Clefspeare’s body. Billy moved from pile to pile. The intense cold had chilled his belly, making his fire weak, but as he ran around, reigniting each log as it burned low, he managed to get them all blazing nicely.
With warmth now spreading all around, melting the snow underneath and around his father’s body, Billy sat down and rested. His father’s breathing had grown deeper and even, but he showed no signs of waking up.
Stout and Frank stood on the other side of one of the fires, Stout now holding a spear. “What brings you to this guard station?” he asked.
Billy pulled his wet clothes away from his skin. “We were checking the wall’s security. I wanted to get a report to Elam.”
Frank slapped Stout’s arm with the back of his hand. “The warrior chief lacks trust in us.”
“Lacks trust?” Billy untied the second box of supplies from Clefspeare’s back and shoved it into Frank’s chest. “Elam sent this for you.”
Frank staggered back but regained his balance. “What is it?”
“Food, socks, clean underwear, compliments of your distrusting warrior chief, though they probably aren’t dry now.”
Stout took the box from Frank and set it on the ground. “I apologize for my partner’s frivolous words. We are grateful for Elam’s concern. Please let him know that all is well, and there have been no breaches.”
“I also apologize,” Frank said. “I fear that listening too often to the concerns of other villagers has skewed my thinking.”
Billy squinted at him. “Concerns? Other villagers? What are you talking about?”
Stout nudged Frank with an elbow, but Frank didn’t seem to notice as he rattled on. “Some believe that Elam is unqualified. First, he is a foreigner and does not understand our ways. Second, he seemed to force Angel to lie. Why would he do that? Third, he commanded the singing girl to change the words to her song, and that brought the giants and the evil dragon into our world. Quite a number of our people died as a result. Now our great prophet is gone, we have strange weather that paralyzes us, and a constant threat looms beyond this fiery wall. And it seems that each one of these problems can be attributed to—”
“Hush!” Stout batted Frank with his huge hand. “You have said far too much.”
Frank stepped back, his eyes wide. “Oh, I do not believe this blather myself. Heaven forbid! I merely said that it skewed my thinking, and this noble knight asked me to explain.”
Billy scowled at Frank. “Has anyone suggested to these doubters that Angel’s lie, and not Elam’s decisions, led to all these problems?”
Frank parted his lips to speak, but Stout clamped a hand over his mouth. “I have spoken to several, Billy. Most are merely frightened. Doubts do exist, to be sure, so we should be wary. If doubt is allowed to fester, idle talk can cause it to spread, and seditious talk can set it on fire. Fortunately, Flint has been the only seditious influence in our villages, and he is now on the other side of this wall, so we need concern ourselves only with idleness. Discipline and purposeful hard work will surely be of great benefit to everyone and will silence the mouths of the busybodies.”
As soon as Stout lowered his hand, Frank added, “Including the dragons. People think they are not working hard enough.”
Stout gave him another punch. “Remember what you said when you are eating the food this dragon nearly died to deliver to you.”
Billy looked back at Clefspeare. His breathing was steady and strong. The firelight had to be helping his photoreceptors recharge, but was the bruise a sign of internal bleeding? Would his photoreceptors promote healing fast enough? Maybe a healer could get the process moving faster.
“If you don’t mind,” Billy said, “could one of you go back to the village and ask Thigocia to come out here? And one of the other dragons, like Hartanna, Legossi, or Firedda.”
Frank pointed at himself. “I will go. Stout is stronger than I, but I am swifter. In these conditions, Stout might take until next week to arrive.”
“He speaks the truth, as usual,” Stout said, laughing as he delivered another punch to Frank’s arm, “but he could learn a bit of diplomacy.”
“Thank you.” Billy reached back and touched Excalibur’s hilt, but his arm felt stiff, and a hard shiver shook his body. “I can take Frank’s place here till he gets back.”
“You will need dry covering.” Stout hurried to a tent, returned with a thick blanket, and draped it over Billy’s shoulders. “Now you will be much more comfortable.”
While waiting for the guard to return, Stout provided Billy with a long and eloquent account of the history of the two villages, at least what he could remember. Since he was only one hundred twenty years old, his recollections didn’t reach as far back as some of the elders. Still, he recalled tales that Abraham had told, as well as some of Valiant’s adventures. With Abraham gone, Valiant was now the oldest citizen in either village, but no one knew exactly how old he was, and he would never tell. Some said six hundred years, some said well over a thousand, but his physical vigor and mental acuity had not faded in the slightest.
During the stories, Clefspeare shifted his body from time to time and let out a low groan. The bruise spread farther across his scales, red giving way to purple from just above his right foreleg all the way back to the base of his tail. It looked bad, very bad.
After a few hours, a booming call sounded from above, a dragon’s trumpet, then another. Billy looked up. Two dragons slashed through the lower layer of clouds and angled toward them. As they drew closer, their identities became clear, Thigocia and Legossi, both with wings folded in and diving fast.
The next few minutes seemed like a blur. With barely a word, Thigocia snuffed out the surrounding fires and covered Clefspeare with her body and wings while Legossi coated her with flames. Under the barrage, Thigocia’s scales slowly turned from beige to reddish orange. Again and again Legossi applied new coats until Thigocia called out, “Enough!”
She lay motionless, save for the normal rise and fall of respiration. As her glow diminished, Clefspeare began to stir. Thigocia rose and stepped out of the way, giving him room.
“He will soon rise,” she said.
Billy knelt at his father’s side. The bruise had diminished to the size of a grapefruit, and even the color of his healthy scales seemed bolder and brighter than ever.
Soon, he blinked and lifted his head. His blazing red eyes shifted to each onlooker in turn. With a low rumble, he murmured, “It seems that I have taken a spill.”
Billy patted him on the neck. “You just went for a swim in the river, that’s all. You seemed kind of cold, so I called in a heating specialist.”
Clefspeare draped a wing over Billy’s back. “A healing?”
His throat tightening, Billy nodded. “It looked pretty bad for a while.”
Clefspeare climbed to his haunches and spread out his wings. “I am still quite sore, but I think I will be able to fly back to the village.”
“No riders for you,” Thigocia said. “I will carry Billy.”
Legossi shuffled close to Stout. “And I will remain with this guard until the other returns. Frank is not fond of riding dragons, so he chose to walk back.”
“I welcome your presence,” Stout said, bowing low. “As an amateur historian, I would like to learn more about dragonkind from your world.”
After a minute or two of stretching and testing his wings, Clefspeare lifted into the sky and flew in a wide circle, apparently without difficulty. Billy climbed up Thigocia’s tail and settled at the base of her neck. Seconds later, she joined Clefspeare, and the two dragons headed back to the village, slowly but steadily.
As they ascended to just under the cloudbank, Billy watched his father’s flight, his eyebeams aimed straight ahead. He seemed to be in deep thought. Was he thinking about his vulnerability? His relative weakness in this place of cold and so little sunlight? How long could these dragons maintain their power?
Billy’s thoughts turned to his conversation with the two guards. Apparently, Elam had vulnerabilities of his own. Stout’s words came back to mind. If doubt is allowed to fester, idle talk can cause it to spread, and seditious talk can set it on fire.
Sure, Flint was gone, but could there be another source of sedition? Semiramis definitely talked a good talk, but it seemed that everything she was involved in turned into a disaster. Because of her, a new plant was growing that was a spawn of Arramos, and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. Her discovery of Shiloh’s prison led to Acacia’s disappearance. And even her help with healing Listener could be explained as a stealthy way of gaining trust rather than a truly caring gesture.
Billy lowered his head to get out of the stiff breeze. The coming weeks, months, and maybe even years would seem so long, especially without Bonnie around to talk to.
Bonnie stood near the waterfall in the Valley of Souls and looked into the pool. Her rippled reflection, a human-shaped statue of flames stared back at her. It was all so strange, good in a way, yet awful in another. It was like the passions in her heart burned on the outside of her body—love, faith, zeal—but was it always the best idea to show these feelings to everyone so plainly?
Two other flaming people joined her, one on each side. To Bonnie’s right, The Maid’s French-flavored voice sang out. “Do not fear.” She dipped her toe in the water. Although the girl’s skin and the outline of her foot clarified, the fire kept burning. “Nothing is able to extinguish your flame, unless you allow it.”
Standing on Bonnie’s left, Sapphira looked at the waterfall. “Can we try to go back through the portal?” She let her fire die away. “I can try it by myself and see what happens.”
“Oh, please do not,” The Maid said. “Abaddon has already warned me that this portal is closed at the other side by thick layers of rock. You would drown if you made the attempt. And if you wish to perish by water, the pool would be more efficient. It would be easier to retrieve your body.”
“Thanks,” Sapphira said, “but that’s not exactly comforting.”
The Maid withdrew a dagger and set it on the ground next to Bonnie. “Abaddon said you must take this.”
Sapphira stared at it. “It’s the staurolite dagger! How did you get it?”
“It washed down from your world, and Abaddon found it. I can only assume someone threw it into the portal.”
“I did that,” Sapphira said. “It’s evil. It tried to get me to kill myself.”
“I see.” The Maid picked it up again and looked at it. “Perhaps its evil nature has been purged. Since Abaddon insisted that Bonnie keep it, the dagger must be safe. He is quite adept at exorcising an evil spirit.”
Bonnie took it from The Maid. “I don’t have a sheath for it.”
“That is easily remedied. I think we will be here long enough to make one.”
Sapphira pulled the ovulum from the pouch and stared at the clear glass.
“Still no Enoch?” Bonnie asked.
Sapphira pushed it back in place. “I think we’re on our own.”
“The heavenly viewer will work here,” The Maid said. “There is likely a problem on the other side.”
“That’s not good news,” Bonnie said. “If Enoch’s in trouble, then everyone else is, too.”
The Maid laughed. “There is no need to fear. An Oracle of Fire surely understands this.”
Bonnie stared at her hands again. Somehow she could see the outline of her fingers a little better. It was almost like being in the candlestone. When she first dove into the stone, she was just a mass of energy, but over time her details grew clear.
She looked at The Maid. She, too, seemed to be clearer. Her eyes were sharp and piercing, and her hair flowed behind her, clearly blond, even within her fiery shell.
Yet, The Maid had been there for years, so the reason for her clarity had to be a sharpening in Bonnie’s vision. Would they soon be able to see each other plainly? Could The Maid already see every detail in Bonnie’s face and form?
Bonnie sat down and dipped her feet in the water. Although it felt neither warm nor cool, it was refreshing. “How much warning will we have if we’re about to be called?”
The Maid stooped beside her. “Abaddon receives word of possible callings at least an hour in advance, by Earth’s reckoning, but with the will of man as part of the equation, it is rarely certain. He sometimes prepares, and the call does not occur. Only when the call is a fulfillment of prophecy is he ever certain.”
After a pause, The Maid added, “But since you are an Oracle of Fire, I am sure you suspected this.”
“Why do you keep saying I should know these things?” Bonnie asked. “I’ve been an Oracle of Fire for what? Three days?”
“Do you mean to say that you did not know these things?” The Maid cocked her head, a curious expression behind her flaming aura. “Do you not know that God would give you time to respond to a resurrection call? That there is no need to fear the future? If not, then how can you be an oracle?”
“Okay, I did know those things.” Bonnie shook her head sadly. “Now I’m not sure why I thought I might not have known. I feel kind of foolish.”
“It is because you have lived so long among people who love their slavery. Although the key to the lock has been provided, they refuse to employ it, even those who verbally profess the same faith. They hold on to the chains, because a faithless life seems easier to them than the sacrificial suffering that you and every other oracle is called to live. They even drag these chains and moan about their weight, yet they still refuse to let them go, even though they are told time and again that every lock has been rendered powerless by the Lord Christ. Such is the madness of this generation of mankind.”
“And living among them,” Bonnie said, “I guess I caught the mind-set and got used to the language.”
“Even though you threw away the chains long ago.” The Maid’s fiery hand touched Bonnie’s. “Speak the truth. Live the truth. Be the truth. Never let the faithless ones change any of those three principles. Remember that you are an Oracle of Fire, as is every faithful follower of our Lord. For all true disciples possess the pure silver, purged of all dross, and the fire of God’s love burns within, an everlasting flame that others, even those who give lip service to the truth, will never comprehend until you are able to pass along that fire from heart to heart.
“The essence of such an Oracle is spiritual in nature. After you leave this place, you will not create fire with your hands, yet fire will burn in your heart with far more boldness and passion than ever before. As an Oracle, you will look through portals to the hearts of those lost in shadows, you will feel the heavy sadness of their lonely and dark estates, and you will possess crystal-clear vision that will allow you to see what will bring them deliverance from their sorrows. In trying to bring this deliverance, you will say and do things that will make them shake their heads in pity. ‘That poor girl,’ they will say. ‘Her passion has addled her brain.’ Your confidence, they will call arrogance. Your faith, they will call wishful thinking. Your purity, they will call self-righteousness. Your firm standing, they will call pride. Yet you will know, because of that fire within, that they are the ones dwelling in darkness, and you must touch your lighted wick to their darkened lamps.
“While you are here, I will remind you of these things daily. Not only that, I will train you in the art of the sword, both the physical art and the spiritual.”
Bonnie felt warmer all over. The Maid’s touch seemed so real, so energizing. And her words made the inner flame burst into an inferno.
“Have no fear,” The Maid continued. “For as long as you stay here, you will neither hunger nor thirst, and you will always walk in the light. Since Jehovah has called you to this place, you must believe that all is well.”
Bonnie let every syllable sink in. They felt peaceful and good as they filtered through, like hot soup poured into a cold belly. After a few silent moments, she nodded. “I am an Oracle of Fire, so I know without a doubt that God will not forsake me in this place. I will rise again.”
From the Ashes