Song of the Ovulum

  “I do not think I could.” Tamara blinked, as if confused. “I am worried about her. When I sing to her now, she no longer … responds as she did. She stays so still, so quiet.”

  Joran gazed at her abdomen. He had seen many pregnant women before. Some babies kicked and rolled so violently anyone could detect the lumps and protrusions. This one, indeed, showed no signs of life. Yet, a faint heartbeat reached his ears, thrumming more quickly than Tamara’s. Her baby was alive, but Tamara needed more proof than the word of a stranger.

  Strumming the lyre, Joran forced an energetic tone. “Maybe if we sing together, she’ll perk up.”

  “Are you a … a minstrel?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He brushed away a few stones from the grass and slid closer to her. “As a Listener, I am able to hear sounds in the wind that others cannot, and I am able to reproduce them with my voice—the joy of springtime, the gloom of decay, even the rage of thunder. My voice might quicken her spirit.”

  Tamara clapped her hands. “There is a song she used to love. I could … teach it to you.”

  “By all means.” Joran plucked the F-sharp string next to the blue G. “I will echo each line you sing.”

  Her smile brimming, Tamara continued caressing her abdomen as she sang. “When younglings play so hard all day.”

  Recognizing the key, Joran nodded and strummed the lyre as he repeated the words. “When younglings play so hard all day.”

  Tamara’s eyes widened again. “How lovely! Your voice is like a … like an angel’s.”

  “Thank you.” He strummed the strings again. Every time he touched the A, the white aura formed, but it didn’t have enough time to expand and summon Selah. “Let’s start again, shall we?”

  “Very well.”

  This time, Tamara sang without pausing, and Joran echoed each line, sometimes altering to a descant, challenging the limits of his tenor range.

  When younglings play so hard all day,

  They need to rest in mother’s care.

  Regain the light your play has spent;

  My bed of gems I now will share.

  So leave your eyes as open doors

  To gather truth, to gather light,

  For truth and light will call as one,

  “Rebuke the false and scatter night.”

  And now I call to you in song;

  Regenerate within my womb.

  Above all gems you are to me,

  I call you from your hidden room.

  When they finished, Tamara looked at her abdomen, her face brightening like a rising sun. “She is moving! I think she is dancing!”

  As Joran watched her belly shift, warmth flooded his skin. “That’s wonderful, Tamara. I’m glad I could help.”

  She gazed at him, her smile trembling. “I pray that my daughter can become a Listener. Such a gift is … is richer than gold, and you have used it to bless us. For that I am forever thankful.”

  Joran laid a hand on his chest. “A mother’s prayer is always from the heart. I’m sure Elohim has heard your request.”

  “I hope so.” Her head dipped low. “No matter how bad things get … Elohim is always good.”

  Joran, too, let his head sag. Except for Selah, everyone he knew was now dead, and she was trapped in a string. Yet, he himself, an unworthy recipient of blessings, lived on. Was this really justice? “I trust that your words are true, Tamara. I hope everything works out all right.”

  She leaned forward and patted his knee, her smile returning. “Let me tell you something Merlin said.”

  “Merlin? I have heard that name before. Who is he?”

  “If you know about my ovulum, and you have heard of Devin, why are you so … unfamiliar with the great prophet?”

  “It would take too long to explain. Please, tell me what the prophet said.”

  She glanced around, then, looking him in the eye, she lowered her voice. “Shachar was the first … dragoness, and she was able to find any … ovulum.”

  He nodded. “I know about Shachar’s gift.”

  “Good, but maybe you do not know that … another will be born with the same gift, a female who will … hear the song of the ovulum in her scales … and find it no matter where it might be.”

  Joran listened again to the song of the orange ovulum. Although he and Selah could hear such songs, they had never tried to track one. Since the sound was so light, so nebulous, it would be a difficult task. “Are all seven ovula accounted for?”

  Tamara shook her head. “I have one, as do … five others. We know not where the missing one is. And no one has seen the great … purity ovulum since the flood.”

  “I see. So the prophesied tracker will be needed, especially for the purity ovulum.”

  “Joran?” Tamara turned her head from side to side, as if looking for someone. “Where did you go?”

  “I’m here, still sitting in front of you.”

  “Joran?” Her voice took on a plaintive tone. “You went away so quickly. Are you … are you really an angel?”

  He reached forward and touched her knee, but his hand passed right through.

  “Greetings!”

  Joran turned toward the new voice. A man wearing a hooded gray cloak strode up the path. Following him, a shorter, stockier man pushed a cart, straining against the two handles as the wheels rolled over rocks and through divots. Filled with clothing, dark bottles, scrolls, and various pieces of furniture, it looked ready to topple at any moment, but the man kept it in check.

  Eyeing the lead man closely, Joran plucked the lyre’s A string multiple times in rapid succession. Selah appeared as radiant mist, lying curled on her side.

  “Selah!” he whisper-shouted. “You need to see this!”

  She pushed to a sitting position, bracing with one hand. “What is it?”

  He turned the lyre toward the merchant. “Does he look like Devin to you?”

  Selah rose to her feet, blinking. “In a way, but his hood shadows his eyes, and a scruffy beard conceals his face. If he were to speak, I would know.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. He said one word, but he seemed to be altering his voice.”

  The merchant stopped next to Tamara and helped her to her feet while the other man wheeled the cart within reach. “The villagers told me you will soon deliver your child. I have just what a young mother needs.”

  The merchant’s gravelly voice penetrated Joran’s mind. Although he tried to disguise it, he couldn’t fool a Listener.

  “He is Devin,” Selah said. “There’s no doubt about it.”

  “So his helper is probably Palin.” Joran set the lyre upright against a stone.

  “You have no weapons!” she called as she faded.

  “I have to do something to stop him.” He charged ahead and halted within reach of Devin, his fist raised to attack. “Leave this woman alone!”

  Devin pulled a small white blanket from the top of a pile of clothing. He spoke again, but now his words seemed nothing more than gibberish.

  “I said …” Joran jumped in front of Devin and yelled into his face. “Leave her alone!”

  Devin never flinched. In fact, he seemed not to notice at all.

  Joran retrieved the lyre and held it while Devin continued his salesman’s pitch. “Cold winds will be here soon. Your baby will need this for comfort.”

  Smiling, Tamara waved a hand. “It would be good for warmth, but I have no silver or gold.”

  “As is true for many in this region. But we can barter.” Devin set his gaze on the leather bag on the ground. “Do you have something you are willing to trade? I see a bag.”

  Joran backed away, passing through Tamara as he gaped at the scene. This deceiver had found his prey. The clucking gossipers had scattered their dirt far and wide.

  Tamara glanced at the bag. “It holds nothing of … of value.”

  “Perhaps not, but the bag itself has some value.” Devin st
epped past her, picked up the bag, and slid out the ovulum. “Ah! What is this?”

  “It is a … an heirloom,” Tamara said, reaching for the ovulum. “I cannot trade it.”

  Devin looked into the orange glass. “I have seen such heirlooms before. In fact, I have one of my own.”

  Palin retrieved a box from the cart and, opening its lid, brought it to Devin.

  “Remove it,” Devin said to Palin, “and tell me what you see.”

  Palin set the box on the ground and lifted the purity ovulum. As he straightened, he gazed into its graying glass shell. “Nothing. It’s too cloudy.”

  “Just as before.” Devin smiled at Tamara. “Would you like to see this one? It changes colors, and it will tell you how pure your heart is.”

  Joran fumed. This devil’s deceit knew no bounds! But what could he do to stop him?

  “I am not … interested. I let God … judge how pure I am.” She reached for her ovulum. “If you will please—”

  Devin pulled it away. “You’re right, of course. God is the only judge of a person’s heart, but surely you can understand that my partner and I cannot see what God can see. We have made a vow that if we find anyone with a pure heart, he or she can choose anything from our cart for free. If you will just try it, I will give you the blanket no matter what color the ovulum turns.”

  “Run!” Joran shouted. “It’s a trap! Forget your ovulum, and just run and scream for help!”

  Tamara looked at the cart, then at the blanket. With every moment’s hesitation, Devin’s smile grew wider. Palin carried the ever-darkening purity ovulum closer and settled behind her, blocking any escape.

  Finally, she shook her head and whispered, “I trust God.”

  “Then trust God to spare your life.” Devin drew a sword from underneath his cloak and pressed the point against Tamara’s abdomen. “If you don’t do what I ask, the blanket will become your baby’s shroud.”

  She turned to run but bumped into Palin. He grabbed her arm and held her in place while balancing the ovulum in his other hand. “I suggest that you do what he says.”

  Trembling violently, Tamara cupped her hands. “If … if I must.”

  Palin set the ovulum in her palms and regripped her arm, helping her keep the egg steady. The shell faded to light gray, then to white, then to crystal clear until it became completely invisible.

  “So she is pure of heart,” Palin said. “She must not be who we thought she was after all. I wonder where she got the orange ovulum.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Palin. How many unmarried, pregnant women do you think we will find with an ovulum in their possession?”

  “My liege, the reason we slay dragons—”

  “The reason we slay dragons is to rid the world of the species. Even if this woman is nobler than the others, the offspring she whelps won’t be.”

  “You are right, my liege.” Palin bowed his head. “As always.”

  Joran kicked at a stone, but his sandal passed through it. Disgusting sycophant!

  Devin shifted the orange ovulum closer. “Now, Palin, tell me what you see.”

  As Palin peered into the invisible egg, he slowly loosened his fingers from around Tamara’s wrist. “I see the colors of the rainbow, like bubbles of light. The orange bubble is much larger than the others, and it swells and deflates like a beating heart.”

  “So when we get close to another egg,” Devin said, “a different color will enlarge.”

  Palin nodded. “That stands to reason, but we will need someone with a pure heart or else we won’t be able to see the colors. Maybe we should take her with us and—”

  Tamara broke free and ran toward her cottage, still carrying the purity ovulum. Seconds later, the cottage door slammed shut behind her.

  “I’ll get her.” Devin handed the orange ovulum to Palin and marched after Tamara, his sword propped at his shoulder. “Stay here if you’re too squeamish. With two victims, I will be able to collect a great deal of blood.”

  Joran followed. What would Tamara do with the purity ovulum? Destroy it? Hide it? As he walked, he looked at the strings. Selah’s image had disappeared, and the C string had turned orange. For some reason, his task here was finished, and he had already collected the second part of the key.

  He stopped and plucked the A string rapidly. Selah took shape again. “Devin’s going to kill Tamara and her baby. I’m like a ghost here. There’s nothing I can do.”

  Devin threw the door open and disappeared inside. An orange hue coated the scene, and the cottage grew fuzzy, as if veiled by tears. Tamara screamed, but her cry ended abruptly.

  Joran closed his eyes. Poor Tamara! She was such a sweet, lovely woman! Her naïve simplicity had dressed her in innocence, but inexperience had kept her from shrewdly defending herself. And her baby, too, must have perished by Devin’s sword. Tamara had wrapped that child in so many dreams, even hoping she would become a Listener, and now every dream had been dashed to pieces.

  Opening his eyes, he backed away. Somehow he had to get out of this place and warn other dragons about—

  He tripped on something and fell backwards. When he rocked to a sitting position, he looked ahead. A flaming orange circle floated in front of him, surrounded by an infinite expanse of white. The geyser of flames spewed, washing over him with warmth, more like a hot breeze than a dragon’s fire.

  Lifting the lyre, he stared at it. Selah had disappeared again, and the C string was still bright orange. Yet, now the frame was no longer weathered and worn. With smooth, polished wood, it looked newer than he had ever seen it. How could he possibly have earned these changes? He had failed to stop Tamara’s murder and failed to secure either ovulum.

  Pushing against the floor, he rose slowly. What could he do but search for the next color? Although his kindness hadn’t helped Tamara, he couldn’t allow that fact to keep him from rescuing Selah.

  He touched the white barrier on his left and broke into a steady run. What color might be next? The violet of generosity? The green of diligence?

  Joran sighed deeply. If it turned out to be the yellow of patience, he would surely fail.

  HEALING TOUCH

  Matt knelt at Bonnie’s side. Ever since the guard slammed the doors, shutting off the beam from his patrol flashlight, the prison cell had been completely dark. Although he couldn’t see his mother’s wound, her labored breathing made her desperate situation obvious. He had already stripped off her jacket and sweatshirt, and now a T-shirt remained, wet and sticking to her chest.

  “Dad! What should we do?”

  “Do you have the candlestone?” Billy asked, still chained to the wall.

  “Right here.” Matt withdrew it and displayed it between his thumb and finger. A thin beam of light emanated from one of its facets.

  “And the knife?”

  Matt touched his pocket and felt the knife’s outline. “Got it.”

  “Cut me and apply some blood to the candlestone. I’m not sure it will work to use her own blood.”

  Matt shuddered. The thought of slicing someone raised a chill. “I might be able to squeeze some blood from my bullet wound.”

  “Then use that. A healer’s blood is even better.”

  Matt pulled out the knife and sawed through the bandage. “Just drip blood over it?”

  “Right. Make sure you cover as much as you can.”

  As he pushed the gem against his arm, blood oozed from the wound and passed across the beam of light, sparkling as it flowed over the surface. The bullet hole was smaller than he expected, apparently another sign of his healing gift. After a few seconds, he turned the gem until blood covered the other half. “Now what?”

  “Tear her shirt open and set the candlestone on her chest near the wound.”

  Matt obeyed, glad now for the darkness as he cut through the T-shirt. He felt for the spot, touching her shoulder before sliding his fingers through the blood. He set the gem in place, holding it the
re to keep her heaving chest from rolling it off. “Got it.”

  “Now we need an energy source.”

  “Okay. What do we use?”

  “Cover the stone with your hand.”

  Matt cupped his hand over it. “It’s covered.”

  Billy inhaled and exhaled several times. “I can feel my strength coming back already.”

  “You mean fire breathing?”

  “Exactly. Move her as close to me as you can.”

  “Wait! The keys!”

  “To the cell?”

  “The key to your chains is probably on the same ring.”

  “I thought you just had the key to the door,” Billy said, “not the whole ring.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t tell you everything. I’m not thinking straight.”

  “It’s okay, Son. Just give me the key ring. I know what the key looks like. I can probably feel for it.”

  Matt grabbed the candlestone, jumped up, and pushed the key ring into Billy’s hand. After a few metal-on-metal clicks, the sound of dropping chains rang through the cell.

  “Let’s go,” Billy said.

  After finding his way back to Bonnie, Matt set the gem on her chest and again cupped his hand over it. “So how do we do this?”

  “I’m building up some strength. In a few seconds, you’ll move your hand, and I’ll blow fire on the candlestone. That should activate its healing power.”

  “Am I supposed to do anything else?”

  “When Ashley healed people, her touch cauterized wounds. She used that gift to save Walter’s life and the life of a girl named Listener.”

  “Great. So how do I do it?”

  Billy touched Matt’s hand. “While I apply heat, I want you to feel for the bullet hole, push your finger in as far as you can, and swab the inside. If the hole is big, you might need more than one finger. If there’s an exit wound on her back, we’ll have to do the same there.”

  “I don’t think there’s an exit wound. I didn’t feel any blood back there when I took her sweatshirt off.”

  “Then you might find the bullet inside. If so, try to pull it out.”

  Matt shuddered again. Now he had to be a surgeon without light or instruments, and his mother’s life was at stake. But he had to stay calm and do this. If Billy could be so cool with his wife in danger, so could he.