Song of the Ovulum

  “The Watcher is close.” Selah nodded toward the setting sun. “The rhythm is wild and inconsistent.”

  “Chasing or being chased?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  “Do you want to hide or face him?”

  Her brow bent low, and an uncharacteristic growl spiced her voice. “Face him!”

  “Then we’d better get ready.” Joran set his bow on the ground. “How close is he?”

  “It’s hard to tell.” Selah detached her scabbard and laid it next to Joran’s bow. “But he’s definitely coming this way.”

  “How do your lungs feel?”

  She unhooked the lyre and held it at her waist. “Tired, but I can manage.”

  “Good.” Joran scanned Selah’s body. She had removed all metallic items from her clothing, as always. With the exception of the rods themselves, the sound barrier would destroy any metal it touched. “We’ll need to use standard base range. Have you detected the rhythm?”

  Taking faster breaths, she nodded. “It’s the same Watcher. He has murder on his mind.”

  “I hear his threats.” After stripping off his quiver, Joran reached into a pouch on the side of his trousers just below his hip and withdrew a pair of metal rods about the width of his finger and as long as his forearm. “You set the beat,” he said as he gave a rod to Selah. “I’ll do the probe. I won’t know the exact notes until I hear how the Watcher reacts to my guesses, so you’ll have to adjust as I do.”

  “Okay.” She swallowed hard. “We’ve never tried a face-to-face wall before.”

  “Today we live. Tomorrow we die.” Joran positioned himself to her left, both of them facing west. As he raised his rod over his head with his left hand, she lifted her rod with her right. They hooked their free arms together, supporting the lyre, and listened. The demon’s song grew slowly louder. The terror their father called “unholy wrath” would soon arrive.

  Selah’s body trembled. Joran tightened his lock on her arm. Her anxiety wouldn’t last. The upcoming clash would bring about her usual battle-hardened poise.

  Inhaling deeply, he took note of the sparse collection of sycamores in front, many of them stripped of leaves. The recent battle between Makaidos and the demon had transformed this part of the forest into a clearing, leaving only a few unbroken trees within a range of twenty paces.

  Ahead, the dark orange sun bathed them in warmth, but it also posed a threat. Fully illuminated and partially blinded, he and Selah stood as easy targets, but that couldn’t be helped. They needed an unobstructed line for their voices.

  He cleared his throat, hoping to quell any sign of nervousness. “Now, Selah. Interpret the demon’s song. Replace the obscenities with something else.”

  “With what?”

  “Anything. Just use the same word over and over. I’ll understand.”

  Blinking, she gave him a nod and turned toward the sunset. “Closer … closer … closer.” Her words flowed in a moderate rhythm, taking on a hum as she stretched them out. “Hatred … evil … murder … closer … closer … closer.”

  Joran sang out, alternating notes in time with Selah’s rhythm. The music rippled through the air, probing the path ahead. Seconds later, an echo sounded, his own voice, yet warped and off-key.

  His rod vibrated. The captured sound entered his hand, shot down his arm, and coursed through his and Selah’s bodies. Her rod did the same. As they absorbed the altered music, a new tune entered Joran’s mind, the solution to the demon’s attack, and the key to his undoing.

  He pulled Selah closer. “I have it. Are you ready?”

  Her lips pressing together in a thin line, she nodded.

  “I’ll wait until the last possible moment. We don’t want to give him any warning.”

  Another growl rumbled in her reply. “Let’s make him shrivel.”

  As the roar of a dragon pierced the air, the Watcher flew into sight, his dark form looking like a winged smudge at the center of the sun. Another winged form took shape behind him, Makaidos giving chase, his red eyebeams clear even from so far away. The Watcher zipped around trees like a weaver’s thread, and the young dragon dodged every obstacle while shooting fireballs that either missed or grazed the zigzagging demon.

  The Watcher’s eyes shifted toward Joran and Selah, turning black as he drew near. His flight path straightened, and Makaidos’s flaming blasts stopped, apparently to avoid striking his human allies.

  Joran tried to loosen his tightening throat. At this speed, the Watcher would arrive in seconds. “Start the rhythm again. Use the demon’s words.”

  Selah’s voice erupted in a rapid singsong chant. “Strike them, kill them, shatter their spindly bones. Beat them, grind them, hurtle them to the stones.”

  Joran let out a wailing song, a series of connected notes that followed Selah’s rhythm. She joined in with a perfect harmony, still interpreting.

  “Closer … closer … cut their throats … spill their blood.”

  The rods vibrated so hard, they seemed to churn the colors in the air. A wall of sound spread between the metallic poles, thick and warped, making the sun and forest ripple in their view.

  “Human fools … closer … closer … now you die.”

  Dark beams shot from the demon’s eyes. Joran pushed all his energy into the song, strengthening the wall. The blackness splashed against their shield. Gooey resin splattered from one rod to the other and disintegrated.

  The Watcher slammed into the barrier and froze in place, the wall of sound absorbing his momentum. As big as the Naphil, he jerked and squirmed. His huge bare feet slapped the ground, his white robe and golden sash sizzled against the barrier, and his massive reddish-black wings beat the rods, but Joran, Selah, and the shield held firm.

  As Makaidos angled away and landed with a slide, Selah shouted, “Let’s wrap him!” She unhooked her arm from Joran’s and set the lyre on the ground, plucking the G string before rising again. The note flowed up toward the barrier, visible as a serpentine ripple in the air, and attached to the barrier’s bottom edge. The active connection between the barrier and the lyre kept the string vibrating, allowing the G note to continue feeding sound upward.

  Still singing, Joran ran around the demon. Like a banner flapping on a staff, the wall of sound encircled their captive and hemmed him in. When Joran completed his orbit and reached Selah’s opposite side, she shifted her rod to her other hand and again locked arms with him, the lyre standing to her left.

  After taking a quick breath, Joran continued the song. His lungs ached, but the job was almost finished.

  The Watcher screamed. The barrier captured his shrill voice, thickening it. With every grunt and groan, the demon’s limbs thinned, his face wrinkled, and black vapor flowed from his mouth into the lyre’s G string. Like a predator serpent, the barrier constricted, squeezing the substance out of its victim.

  Soon, the Watcher shriveled into a wisp, leaving only a prunish head and a gaping mouth. With a final scream, his frame dwindled to a black string and flowed into the lyre.

  Joran exhaled. Selah did the same. Both gasping for breath, they unlocked their arms and set their rods on the ground. The barrier of sound wiggled and writhed, stirring up leaves and twigs until it settled and faded away.

  Taking in a cleansing breath, Joran picked up the lyre and allowed himself a gratified smile. “It’s full now. Seven demons locked up.”

  “Now will you sing them out?” Selah asked, her expression hopeful. “I’m sure Makaidos would enjoy greeting them with fire when they show their ugly faces.”

  Joran let his smile wither. Selah’s emphasis on now wasn’t meant to be a slap, but it stung all the same. He looked at the strings. This lyre, one of only two in the world that could entrap a living being, had been passed down by Adam himself, the first human on the face of the Earth. And Joran, the elder of the two surviving Listeners, was the only living human who had the power to extract the demons … that is, until th
at fateful day.

  “I can’t, Selah.”

  “Why not? You said—”

  “Never mind what I said.” He set the lyre on the ground and backed away. “Let’s just burn it where it stands. That will kill the demons and save a lot of time.”

  Selah gasped. “Burn Father Adam’s lyre?”

  “We’re all going to die tomorrow anyway, and Noah’s family doesn’t know how to use it.” Joran turned to Makaidos. “Good dragon, will you please do the honors?”

  With a flap of his wings, Makaidos scooted toward them. When he stopped, he sat on his haunches between the lyre and Joran, looking him in the eye. “Since I perceive no need to save time,” Makaidos said, a sparkle of red in his pupils, “I wonder if there is an alternative reason for this decision to destroy a family heirloom.”

  Joran stared at his sandal as he brushed a toe across the leafy debris. This dragon had no idea how many times he had tried to sing a demon out of a string, and Selah had heard only excuses for years. Even she had never seen a successful singing extraction, only a few executions by fire. Finally, he firmed his jaw and shifted his gaze back to Makaidos, his tone assertive but controlled. “Just do as I say, or I will have to report your insubordination to Arramos.”

  “Joran?” Selah leaned close and whispered, “His question is reasonable. Why are you threatening him?”

  “He is a servant to humans. It isn’t his place to question me.” He met her gaze. With a fist on her hip and her brow bent low, her stance was clear. She was right, and she knew it. She wasn’t about to back down.

  Heaving a tired sigh, Joran gave both Selah and Makaidos an apologetic nod. “I shouldn’t have been so terse. I’m exhausted, and it takes a lot of energy to sing a demon out of a string, and extracting seven is just too much. The lyre will be destroyed in the flood anyway, so, if you don’t mind, Makaidos, I would appreciate it if you would make up for my weakness.”

  Makaidos bowed his head. “Very well, Joran. Your weariness is quite understandable.” He curled his neck and aimed his snout at the lyre. “Stand back.”

  “One word of warning,” Joran said. “When a demon comes out, he’ll be enraged. The screams will be nothing like you’ve ever heard before. Don’t let the noise distract you, or he’ll get away.”

  Makaidos puffed a plume of smoke. “A blast of fire will silence any escapees.”

  “You think it will,” Selah countered, “but this is your first execution. You have no idea how resilient these demons can be.”

  “It seems that I will have to learn quickly. Your brother has made his decision.” With his pointed ears pinned back, Makaidos gave her a firm nod. “Let us proceed.”

  Joran scooped up the sonic rods and slid them into their pouch. Taking Selah’s hand, he backed away slowly. With their sensitive ears, the screams would be horrific, but they couldn’t retreat too far. If one of the demons escaped, they might have to corral him again.

  Twin streams of fire shot from Makaidos’s nostrils. They encircled the lyre and engulfed it in flames. As it burned, a squeal erupted, then another, both cries saturated with obscenities. Selah covered her ears, wincing. Joran glanced at the rods’ pouch. He probably should have kept the sound barrier active, which would have allowed him to shield Selah from the verbal onslaught and quickly capture an escaping demon, but it was too late now.

  While Makaidos continued blasting the lyre, several thin trails of black mist rose from the strings.

  “Makaidos!” Joran called, pointing. “The mists are the demons. Scorch them!”

  The dragon’s river of flames shifted to the rising trails, intermixing tongues of orange in a violent swirl. One trail broke away and expanded into a body, dark and winged. As the demon took shape, it slowly solidified. Its robe smoldering and its face blackened, it let out an ear-splitting scream as it beat its wings and tried to escape from the swirl.

  Makaidos’s eyes darted toward it, but he couldn’t move the fire again lest he allow the other six to escape.

  Silence deafened every sound, even the Watcher’s cries. The lyre exploded noiselessly, shooting flaming shards in every direction. Joran and Selah flew backwards like hurled stones. They landed on their backsides, tumbled into reverse somersaults, and sprawled prostrate.

  Joran scrambled to his feet and helped Selah to hers. Makaidos blew a raging river of flames at the escaping demon. Now a winged, fiery silhouette, the Watcher swelled in size and straightened to his full height. He staggered toward Joran and Selah, waving his flaming arms as he cursed in his hellish language.

  “Run!” Joran grabbed Selah’s wrist, but just before he could turn, the Watcher burst open. Black-streaked flames spewed from his side. Joran threw Selah to the ground and covered her with his body. Sizzling lava-like globules rained down, some pelting his back. Scalding heat bit through his tunic. He clenched his teeth, but he couldn’t roll away. He had to protect Selah.

  Something swiped against his back. The burning pain eased. Angling his head, he looked around. Makaidos stood over him, batting the smoldering flames away with a wing.

  “I apologize,” Makaidos said. “I miscalculated the Watcher’s capacity. If you wish to report my inadequacies to my father—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Joran climbed to his feet and helped Selah rise. “I’m the one who said we had to burn it.”

  Selah brushed off her trousers. “No need to blame anyone. All is well.”

  Joran flapped his tunic, allowing cool air to waft over his scorched back. A flurry of reasons why all was not well died on his lips, including his usual complaint that he and Selah were risking their lives to protect an ark that would soon float away to safety without them.

  After glancing at the lyre’s remains, a pile of gray ash and scattered strings, he offered Makaidos a conciliatory head bow. “The Watchers are dead, we’re alive, and we rescued the ovulum. That’s all that matters.”

  “I appreciate your mercy.” Makaidos’s ears perked up. “But I am not sure all is well.”

  Selah scanned the clearing. “Do you sense a Watcher’s song in your scales?”

  “That is my mother’s talent,” Makaidos said, keeping his voice low. The tip of his tail twitched, and his head swayed. “I am able to detect danger, not songs.”

  Joran followed the dragon’s line of sight. Up until recently, they had ridden Shachar, Makaidos’s mother, and her ability to detect the evil songs had been helpful. This young dragon had more deficiencies than expected. “Can you tell if the danger is close?”

  “The sensation is weak,” Makaidos said, “so I assume it is far from us. I will let you know if it increases.”

  “Then we have a spare moment.” Selah withdrew the ovulum from her pouch and displayed it again in her palms. Its glow emanated beyond the glass exterior, painting her hands blue. Its song rode the smoky air, inaudible to most dragons and humans, but loud and clear to angels, demons, and, of course, the two Listeners.

  As the energetic tune pumped through his mind, Joran hummed along. The vigor seemed out of place. One day remained before Elohim would send a flood to kill every creature with the breath of life. This was a time for sadness, a day of grief.

  Letting his hum wither, Joran swallowed through the tightness in his throat. Without a doubt he, himself, deserved to die. His sins had been many, especially the one great sin that likely cost him his soul. Even Father and Arramos seemed unable to forgive him for what he did to Seraphina, and if she were still alive, she probably wouldn’t forgive him either. He didn’t deserve forgiveness, only death. But Selah? She deserved life, eternal life beyond this doomed world. She, like their sister Seraphina, possessed a flame that could not be extinguished.

  As he looked at Selah’s eyes, they reflected the ovulum’s radiance. With her love and purity, she was more like an angel than a human, and every bit as righteous as Noah.

  Joran shook his head. No. It just wasn’t right. Somehow he would convince Fa
ther to use his prophetic influence and get Selah on board the ark. At this point, nothing else really mattered.

  Another sound rode the breeze—a voice, elongated calls of “Joran” and “Selah.”

  “Did you hear that?” Selah asked.

  Joran stilled his body, trying to identify the voice, a deep tone, fragile, like that of an elderly man. “Father?”

  “That’s what I thought.” She returned the egg to its pouch. “We’d better get this back to him. Maybe he’s calling because the anchor ovulum needs support.”

  “Although I heard nothing,” Makaidos said, “I agree that leaving is a good idea. The danger sensation is growing.”

  Joran kept his ear trained on the wind, but no more calls drifted their way. Selah was right. Father’s ovulum was the most important of the seven ovula, but its energy shield couldn’t protect the ark by itself for very long. Although Arramos and his dragon family even now pursued the Watchers who stole the other five, who could tell when or if they would succeed in time to augment the protective anchor?

  A low groan sounded from somewhere nearby. Selah sidled up to Joran and nodded toward the giant. “He’s alive.”

  Joran let out a shushing sound. “Mount. Immediately.” While he backed toward their weapons, Makaidos lowered his head to the ground, and Selah quietly climbed his neck, dodging the spines protruding from the central ridge.

  Stooping slowly, Joran collected his bow and quiver, grabbed Selah’s sword and scabbard, and attached each one to his belt. The giant sat up and shook his huge, hairy head, as if casting away a dizzying spell. Makaidos straightened and curled his neck, ready to shoot fire, but Joran jumped in front of him and shook his head sharply. They couldn’t risk another battle. Time was short, and they had accomplished their mission.

  As the Naphil rose to his feet, Joran ran to Makaidos’s flank, leaped up his scaly side, and with help from Selah’s outstretched hand, vaulted to his seat in front of her.

  The giant charged. Makaidos launched from the ground and smacked him with his tail as he zoomed toward the sky.