Merlin tore himself out of his trance and stepped back from the oval. “Yes.” He took a deep breath, now keeping his gaze on the king. “As I told you, Morgan’s food not only kills the body, it drains vitality from the human soul, and this dungeon is reserved for the dead who enter into eternity without a vibrant, human soul. Now my wife languishes in that hopeless village, not knowing who she really is or why she is there.”
The ellipse suddenly shifted to gray, then black. Darkness seeped out of the oval like a night fog. Billowing smoke crawled along the ground and rose into a column, slowly solidifying into a human form, slender and feminine the shape of Morgan Le Faye.
King Arthur drew his sword, but Merlin raised his hand. “Not here,” Merlin said. “Not now. She has yet to fulfill her purpose.”
Morgan, dressed in her usual silky black gown, waltzed up to Merlin, laughing. “I saw you mooning over the gateway. Do you miss your sweet wife, my old friend?”
Merlin clenched his fists. Serrated words slipped through his grinding teeth. “Leave it to you to attack a man by killing his defenseless wife.”
“Oh, but Merlin,” she crooned, “there is no more effective tool. Taking a man’s woman is the same as ripping out his heart and pouring his life’s blood on the ground.” She patted his cheek, pursing her lips as though speaking to a child. “And watching you wither over the past three years has been such a joy. It seems that checkmate is at hand.” She turned and gave the king a mock curtsy. “Your Majesty. It is an honor to see my brother again.”
King Arthur drew back his sword. A brilliant ray erupted from its tip and shot into the sky. “Merlin, step aside, and I will slay this foul witch where she stands.”
Merlin stayed put. “She is a wraith, more dead than alive. In your hands, the sword would do nothing more than reveal her nature. Killing her requires much more.”
The king shoved Merlin aside. With a wild swipe, he sliced through Morgan’s waist. Her body absorbed the sword’s light, and her face transformed. A sultry, painted mask melted, replaced by a bloody raven’s head, its red eyes aflame and its mouth locked open in a raging scream.
Arthur fell to his seat, and the sword’s light died away. Valcor rushed to his side and slid his hand behind the king’s shoulder. Morgan returned to her female form and glowered at the king. “You are all such fools. Knowing about my strategy will not protect your wives now or in the future. All who oppose me will feel my wrath, and no loved one is safe man, woman, or child.”
Morgan sublimated to black fog and disappeared into the ellipse. Seconds later, the portal cleared to a pulsing red glow.
King Arthur jumped to his feet. “That sorceress from hell will not kill my queen.” With the sword lighting the way, he sprinted down the narrow path.
“Your Majesty!” Merlin called. “What of my plan?”
Arthur halted and spun around. “You have proven your words once again. Bring Clefspeare and Hartanna to me. I will adopt them, as you requested.”
Timothy brushed on a final stroke of paint and read the sign out loud. “Brogan’s Flowers,” he said proudly. He turned and addressed the young man standing next to him. “What do you think?”
“I think my mother will run the shop,” Brogan said, his Celtic accent breezing through his words, “but it will do. Still, I am not accustomed to my new name. After being Hilidan for so long, Brogan seems foreign to me.”
Timothy laughed and set the sign on a wagon. “I understand. We had our dragon names even before the great flood.” As he wiped his hands on a paint cloth, he gazed at the new huts that lined the straw-laden path. Two young women bustled around their pottery table, setting out their wares for trading. A matronly woman carrying a fruit basket ambled across a walkway that passed through a garden in the middle of the village square. She smiled and tossed a yellow apple toward the two men.
Catching the apple with one hand, Timothy returned her smile. “I think the marketplace is complete. With all the new arrivals, we will have a thriving community in no time.”
“Jasmine is coming,” Brogan said, nodding at the path. “Does your daughter ever smile about anything?”
“I heard you,” Jasmine’s sharp voice rang out. “How can I smile? New arrivals can only mean that more dragons are being murdered by humans.”
Timothy took a bite out of his apple. “Are they reporting details?”
“Only sketchy stories,” Jasmine replied, her tone calming. “They are quickly forgetting their dragon past, just as you hoped they would. They do know that Devin has committed most of the murders, and one reported that Goliath has also been killed.”
“Goliath?” Timothy nearly choked as he swallowed his mouthful. “Dead?”
As Jasmine lowered her gaze, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Yes. He should have been here by now.”
Timothy rubbed her back gently. “Perhaps he is here and has forgotten who he was.”
Jasmine stepped away from his caress. “I have matched every citizen with the name of a dragon, and neither Goliath nor Arramos is here. With the exception of one woman, all the arrivals knew who they were, though they forget everything quickly. It seems that the three of us are the only ones who still remember most of our past.”
“I am beginning to forget, too,” Brogan said. “I barely remember what it was like to fly.”
“I will never forget being a dragon.” Jasmine crossed her arms tightly. “I refuse to forget.”
Timothy pointed at her. “Remember if you must, but do not torture the others. It would be better for them to live at peace here.”
“On that issue, I do agree.” She breathed a long sigh. “In fact, I will encourage them to forget, but at least one of us has to keep the memory of our species alive.”
Timothy held up his hand, displaying his pulsing rubellite ring. “These rings are surely a sign that the Maker has not forgotten who we are. Horses and other animals have appeared out of nowhere, as did a crop ready for harvest. God knows we are here, and he will not abandon us forever.”
Jasmine rubbed her ring’s gem. “That woman I mentioned doesn’t have one. She also has white hair, so I thought she might be an underborn.”
“Many humans have white hair,” Timothy said, “especially the older ones.”
“She is older, to be sure, and she is also very intelligent, though she remembers very little of her past. I put her in charge of archiving scrolls until I had an opportunity to ask you about her.” Jasmine nodded at the path. “Here she comes now.”
An elderly woman with a sweet smile extended a scroll to Timothy. “Here is the harvest inventory, Captain Autarkeia.”
“Captain?” Timothy laughed. “Am I now a Captain?”
“My designation for you as king of the dragons and founder of this town,” Jasmine explained. “I am establishing a hierarchy using a military system. I thought it best to maintain an orderly governing body.”
“I see.” Timothy bowed his head toward the newcomer. “What is your name?”
“Sarah.” She dipped her knee. “Pleased to meet you.”
Timothy leaned over and studied her face. “We have met before, have we not?”
Sarah rearranged the stack of scrolls in her arms and smiled again. “Not that I can remember, Captain.”
“I know we have,” Timothy said, tapping his forehead, “but memory loss seems to be affecting me.”
A popping sound made Timothy pivot. A red glow, an elliptical aura, much like the one created by the Ovulum, arose from the garden in the town’s central circle. Bordered by the only two idols remaining from Shinar’s ruins, it vibrated a tune as if strummed by a skillful hand. Entranced, Timothy walked slowly toward it.
“Where are you going?” Jasmine called.
Timothy pointed. “To the red glow.”
“What red glow?”
He stopped at the edge of the garden and spread out his arms. “Right here. Right in front of me.”
Brogan ran up to his side and whispered, “Timothy, perhaps you have been working too hard. There is nothing here but tulips and daffodils.”