When the last note faded, Merlin folded his hands and watched the rain through the portal window. “After the song, Enoch left to join Acacia and Paili at the altar, but I could not follow, for I still have important business to take care of inside the Great Key.”
“You mean creating the covenant veil for the dragons?” Elam asked.
“Yes. And then I will go to Heaven with my wife and never return to the Earth.” Merlin clasped Elam’s shoulder. “When you find Enoch, Acacia, and Paili, they will divulge the rest of the plan to stop Mardon and his schemes. I suspect, however, that there is much more going on than meets the eye. Mardon is, as were Devin and Morgan, a mere pawn in the devil’s ultimate plot, so watch for something more sinister behind what you can see with your eyes.”
“So you don’t know what the rest of the poem means, that stuff about someone wanting to drink my life, bringing the ark, and marching to war?”
“I have ideas, but uninformed speculation is wasted effort. You will have to ask Enoch.”
Elam shook his head. “Please pardon my frankness, Master Merlin, but sometimes I don’t understand prophets like you and Enoch. Why can’t you just speak plainly instead of using songs and poems?”
Merlin chuckled. “Sometimes we don’t even understand the verses ourselves. We frequently offer our own reasoned soliloquies, but once in a while we speak exactly that which God bids us speak, word for word. Occasionally he reveals his thoughts in riddles and parables so that those who earnestly want to know the truth will seek it with all their hearts, even if it means struggling through dangerous journeys.” He tightened his grip on Elam and gave him the gentlest of shakes. “This is how we prove the confessions of our lips.”
Elam sighed, warmth flooding his cheeks. He let a timid smile break through. “I’ll take that spiritual slap on the hand and get on my way.”
“And I never saw him again,” Elam whispered to himself.
While it was in reality only a few days ago, it now seemed like months had passed since that meeting. Time in the Circles of Seven was confusing at best, sometimes so sluggish even seeds from the heads of grass stalks seemed to fall to the ground in slow motion, while at other times life zoomed at a frenetic pace. Wildflowers sprouted, grew, and blossomed in seconds, and the sun raced the clouds across the sky.
Today seemed long. The warm sun perched at the zenith and stared at him like a big orange eye that refused to blink. Still, a cool breeze blew across the field, drying the sweat on his brow and making the grass wave and the flowers nod their colorful heads.
Rising to his feet with his cloak over one shoulder and his bag over the other, Elam pulled out Enoch’s spyglass and pointed it toward the field for the hundredth time. Still nothing but grass and flowers, grass and flowers, and more grass and flowers.
He glanced down at the abrupt end of the path of red and muttered, “Should I just go in the exact direction the path is pointing?”
A deep voice replied. “That would make the most sense, son of Shem.”
“Who said that?” Elam swiveled his head, searching for the source of the voice. “Where are you? How do you know me?”
No one answered.
He gazed up at the sun, avoiding a direct stare, then swept his foot across the grass, searching for any odd creature that might have spoken. Finally, he wiped his brow. “I must be going nuts!”
He glared at the last red flower on the path. “Okay,” he said, reaching down and plucking it, stem and all, “I don’t know if you’re the one who spoke or if you’re just the victim of my newfound insanity, but you’re coming with me.” He marched forward, his eyes picking out one of the taller blades of grass and, once fixed on it, he watched its waving head of seeds as the breeze continued to blow. When he reached it, he locked his gaze on another seedpod farther ahead, then another, as he kept to a straight line.
After a few hours, the sun broke free from its lazy perch and began drifting toward