refused to allow the Nephilim to enter your mind, so you could not be trusted.”
Darkness shrouded Makaidos’s vision. As he sighed his last breath, his daughter spoke again, her voice failing. “Father. . . . I am so . . . so . . .” She exhaled and breathed no more.
Makaidos pushed his wing over her body, then darkness washed over his mind.
Sapphira plunged headfirst through the dark, cold air in the mysterious pit, keeping the torch at the bottom firmly set in her sights. She felt no fear. The warmth from the Ovulum seemed to radiate courage into her heart.
As the torch drew closer, the darkness melted, turning the night skies into the fullness of day. Her descent slowed, and her body turned upright, as if someone had pushed an invisible hand underneath her. Finally, she landed next to her torch, both feet thudding against a hard surface, jarring her spine. Her momentum threw her into a roll, but when she came to a stop, she quickly leaped to her feet and hurried back to her landing point.
She picked up the torch and whispered to the flame. “No need for you, now.”
Setting a hand on her hip, she turned from side to side. With a dry fountain to her left and the smashed remains of crates and marketplace carts to her right, this village seemed very familiar ruined, but familiar. In her mind’s eye, she painted in the missing pieces, reassembling the market and filling the fountain with gushing water. She added people, young and old, men and women in colorful clothes
Sapphira snapped her fingers. That was it! This is Shinar! She spun around and gazed at a low rise, looking for the tower, but there was nothing at the top, just a huge gap. She scurried to the crest and peered across the empty expanse. Obviously this was where the tower stood before the museum dropped through the portal.
As she walked toward the center of the tower mound, a sense of grief grew so strong she couldn’t bear to continue. Memories of Acacia again flashed into her mind her frightened eyes, her terrified scream.
Sapphira hustled back to the edge of the crest and looked out over the city. The familiar idols and remnants of the tar pits dotted the landscape. Yet, not a soul stirred anywhere. Setting one hand on her hip again, she scratched her head with the butt end of her torch. How could this be? How could Shinar get physically moved from its place so many centuries ago and show up here? Wherever here was.
As she searched for signs of life, the sun stung her eyes, but she caught a glimpse of a shadow, a human shadow, moving far down the vacant street, back where the laborers used to pile bricks from the kilns. Pulling down her veil, she ran toward a gap between two idols. The stacked stone faces that had once collected votive gifts of flowers and jewels now presided over a broken marble floor with only crushed rocks and mud to appease the goddesses.
Now back at the street level, Sapphira trotted, trying to fix her gaze on the spot she had noticed movement, but her veil flapped against her face, obstructing her vision. As she slowed to furtive tiptoeing, she straightened the veil. Whatever made that shadow had to be around somewhere. But where?
She kicked a pile of crushed rocks, scattering dust around her ankles. The high portico that had once covered the brick-making area had collapsed. Broken beams and marble lay in heaps on the dirt floor. The kilns were now punched through on every side, as though an army of invaders had marched in and ruined everything in sight. Red and gray bricks lay strewn and broken, some pieces thrown as far away as the opposite side of the dirt street. With her courage still flowing, she called out, “Is anyone here?”
A gentle breeze brushed her ears, but nothing else. “Is anyone here?” she called again.
This time, a sharp voice replied. “Who are you?”
Sapphira took a step back. Should she answer? What if this person knew Morgan? Could she risk letting him know her name? She cleared her throat and spoke in her sweetest tone. “I am a lost traveler from another land. Is there anyone here who can help me find my way?”
A head bobbed up from behind one of the kilns, a young male with ragged brown hair. When he caught sight of her, his eyes widened. “Are