Sapphira pulled her blanket to her shoulder. The cavern seemed to get a bit colder every decade, but sleeping had become much more comfortable since the people in the living world began throwing away such treasures as mats and blankets. With only a tiny hole punching through the material here and there, her new bed had provided many nights of comfort without the soreness that her old sand mattress had inflicted, and the threadbare blanket was just enough to ward off the chill.
Still, a mattress alone couldn’t bring complete comfort. Sapphira closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain of a thousand haunting thoughts, but visions of Elam kept flashing in her mind. What was he doing now? Did he get away from Devin back in, what was it, nineteen thirty something? Or was it only a dream? Was he even alive? If he was, had he forgotten about her?
Over the years since Elam stopped appearing on the screen, every time Sapphira surfaced in Glastonbury to hunt for food or other supplies, she took note of every young man she passed. Strangely enough, many of them smiled at her, though they believed her to be blind, giving her opportunity to study their faces. Hundreds of smiling faces later, no Elam. Images of Paili also haunted her. How old would she appear to be now? Twenty-five? Thirty?
As Sapphira drifted into a dream, her age calculations jumbled together into a mass of battling numbers the fives using their little hats as swords to stab the helpless numeral ones, and the zeroes coming to the ones’ defense by bowling over the fives. The eights joined the fives and pounced on the zeroes, breaking them like fragile eggs. More zeroes rolled in and flattened the eights into lopsided infinity symbols.
The digital war raged on and on until, finally, a few surviving numbers lined up into a neat row, creating “6913,” but there seemed no reason for the sequence. Then, the battling numbers crumbled and blew away in the wind, leaving only darkness.
As Sapphira squirmed toward wakefulness, the portal viewer flashed to life in her mind, showing Paili sitting at a table. She appeared in her eight-year-old body, not as the grown woman she had to be by now. With a long dagger, she sliced one of Morgan’s evil fruits and raised a section to her lips.
Sapphira pitched off her blanket and ran to the screen. “No, Paili!” she cried. “No!”
Paili put the wedge into her mouth and chewed. Blood dripped from her lips, and her face wrinkled into a hideous, mummified mask.
“Why, Paili?” Sapphira wailed, as she sank to her knees. “Why did you eat it? You knew better!”
Paili spat out a red seed. As soon as it hit the table, it grew, stretching into a saltshaker-sized red dragon that stood tall and proud. She spat out another seed, then another, until the tabletop was filled with miniature dragons, each one trumpeting and vying for position near Paili.
A final seed passed through her lips, a red-and-white-striped one that fell to the table and grew into a boy with dragon wings. The dragons spewed fire on him, turning him into a spinning column of flames. A dozen tongues of fire erupted from the column and slurped the dragons into the vortex. Seconds later, the table was clear except for one dragon standing at the center.
The dragon molded into the shape of a man and jumped toward Paili. His body merged with hers, leaving Paili by herself again. A moment later, a girl sprang from Paili’s bosom, a beautiful young lady with sparkling blue eyes and blonde-streaked hair. She sat in a chair next to Paili and folded her hands on the table.
Paili cut out a second wedge from the fruit and handed it to the girl. As the girl studied the wedge, Sapphira cried out again. “No! Whoever you are, don’t eat it!” She closed her eyes and wept, unable to look.
When she finally peeked between her fingers, the scene had cleared again, and an image of Elam appeared, then a boy with wings, then a man who oscillated between being human and a dragon, and finally, Morgan. Although she was in human form, Morgan, using talon-like feet, carried Paili high over a huge estate toward a driveway guarded by two of Shinar’s idols. After landing next to Elam and the dragon man, a sword flashed out of Morgan’s mouth and stabbed the winged boy. Suddenly, a little girl appeared, and Morgan flew away with the child locked in her talons.
Acacia groaned. Sapphira opened her eyes. They were both still in bed. Now throwing off the covers for real, she hopped up and spun toward the portal. As usual, its dim orange light whirled in a stoic column, slow and silent.
She snatched up her cross and gazed at Acacia for a moment. No use putting her in danger. Besides, even after all her practice, Acacia still wasn’t as adept at opening portals, and portal manipulation might be the only skill that could rescue Morgan’s potential victims.
Sapphira grabbed her upper-world disguise and hurried silently out of the room. If she failed, she didn’t want to risk losing Acacia again.
Chapter 4
Elam stood on a driveway leading to Patrick’s mansion and leaned against one of two stone columns that supported an open, wrought iron gate, the entrance to the expansive manor. Standing in front of him, Gabriel fidgeted while Patrick unfastened his backpack. “I apologize for my clumsiness,” Patrick said, pulling the pack away, “but you’re free now.”
“Thanks.” Gabriel spread out his wings and shook each of them in turn. “That’s a lot better. It felt like two elephants were hopping on pogo sticks back there.”
Patrick withdrew a small handgun from the pack and slid it into his pocket. “Perhaps they were jumpy because of my revolver.”
“Could be. More likely because I’m as jumpy as a cricket in a frying pan.”
Elam pointed an unlit torch at the backpack. “Are your wings always uncomfortable when you stuff them in there?”
“You get used to it.” Gabriel lifted each shoulder in turn. “Well, sort of.”
Elam backed away from the gate’s supporting column. Chiseled with eight vertically stacked hideous faces, it looked like a prop from a bad horror movie. He had recognized these remnants of Shinar’s idols when he first saw them bordering the driveway, but he hadn’t remembered to ask Patrick about them. He poked one of the faces with the torch. “How’d these get here?”
Patrick pointed toward his mansion. “The portal we plan to use to get rid of Devin is the very same portal from which Makaidos escaped Dragons’ Rest. It was in a depression called Blood Hollow, and I bought this property with the sole purpose of protecting that point, which now happens to be at the back wall of the compass room. When Makaidos emerged, it seems that these columns came with him. The force of their expulsion apparently propelled them all the way from the back of the property grounds to the front entry. Since I found them to be practically indestructible, I decided to keep them as souvenirs. They make excellent sentries, don’t you think?”
“It’s a great advertisement.” Gabriel held his hands out as if displaying a sign. “Wanted: Ugly guards. Apply within.”
“You’re quite the jester today.” Patrick rubbed his finger across a narrow, engraved plaque wedged in the lips of one of the stone faces. “But they actually do carry a sign. As you can see, I managed to embed my home’s address in the mouth of this particularly ugly woman.”
Elam touched the numbers with his fingertip. “Sixty-nine thirteen? Why do you have such a high number? Yours is the only house in sight.”
“I picked it myself,” Patrick replied. “Six is the number of man. In order to get the second number, add three, the number of God. That represents the union of God and man in the Messiah. Finally, the thirteen honors both the Messiah and Merlin. The Messiah, of course, guided twelve unruly disciples and transformed all but one into holy saints. Merlin brought twelve dragons to Bald Top to be transformed, and stood as our ally, a thirteenth dragon, if you will, and transformed all but one into new creatures. The number thirteen has long been considered a symbol of transformation from one state into another, a dying to an old way of life, and many leaders of twelve have walked this earth to deliver that transformation, promising to return to their followers someday. I still trust that both the Messiah and Merlin will return at exactly the time we need them.”