her palm. The half oval expanded below her hand into a full ellipse, exactly as long as Sapphira was tall and more than twice as wide as her narrow frame. As she gazed through it, dozens of new details appeared. The fountain gushed; the statues stood erect, polished with a pristine shine; and the brick kilns puffed gray smoke from iron stacks on top. Yet, no one attended the ovens or strolled the immaculate streets.
“I’m going to try something.” Sapphira walked slowly back toward the portal near the broken fountain. The screen of light added no weight, and it shifted with the slightest turn of the egg, making it easy to keep the viewing screen in front of her. Elam, Paili, and the two “dragons” followed, but they kept silent.
When Sapphira arrived at the dimensional doorway, she held the Ovulum out as far as she could and gazed at the city. All of Shinar seemed coated in crimson, yet clear a hundred times clearer than before. She could count the sparkling crystals in every marble statue and distinguish between the tiniest leaves on a distant sycamore tree.
She turned the screen toward the rise where the tower once stood. Her hand trembled. The tower was there in all its glory, an enormous ziggurat, stretching so high, it extended beyond the edge of her screen and out of sight. As she gazed at it, the screen enlarged and seemed to expand over her head and swallow her body, making her feel like she was inside the scarlet halo. The tower grew, and she could see its very top, a tiny point in the midst of the clouds. Looking down again, the tower’s entry portico began magnifying, as though she were flying toward it at blazing speed. The force against her body rippled her muscles, making her arms and legs cramp, and the stiff counter-breeze dried her eyes until they ached.
The tower’s doors swung open, and she zoomed inside, the sudden turns twisting her body. The planter swung into view along with the dozen surrounding statues, but the tree itself was no longer there. Her body swept into the middle, and her feet settled where the tree once rooted into the soil.
Now that her journey had stalled, she looked around, expecting to see the saluting forms, but they were no longer statues; they were tall lanterns with flaming wicks. Each flame swayed like a writhing ghost.
On the museum wall, huge letters burned into the marble, spelling out a message that nearly encircled the entire chamber. Sapphira read it slowly, letting the words sink into her mind. “When a maid collects an egg, she passes it on, giving it to the one she feeds.”
“It’s a riddle,” she whispered. Suddenly, her body jerked backwards, and she flew in the opposite direction. The tree, the lanterns, and the doorway all shrank, and the screen itself came back into view, as though the halo had spat her out onto the ground. Then, the entire screen flashed off.
Sapphira’s arms fell limp at her sides, but she managed to hang on to the Ovulum. She was back where she had started, or maybe she hadn’t really traveled at all. The whole city spun around her, so fuzzy and confusing, her legs wobbled beneath her.
“What did you see?” Makaidos asked. “Your face is as white as your hair!”
Sapphira could barely whisper. “I know where they are.”
She felt her body falling and the Ovulum slipping from her fingers. Strong hands lifted her back to her feet. “Fear not, child,” Makaidos said. “I have you, and I picked up the Ovulum as well.”
Sapphira blinked at a circle of helpers, four lovely, concerned faces. “Help me get to the tower,” she whispered.
“The tower’s gone,” Makaidos said.
“No. Where it used to be.”
With a quick sweep, Makaidos lifted Sapphira into his arms and marched toward the rise. Sapphira laid her head against his shoulder. His powerful muscles felt secure and stable, like the arms of Elohim when he danced with her at the pool. Even though Makaidos bounced up and down with his gait, she knew he wouldn’t drop her.
“We’re here,” he said softly.
His voice seemed to awaken her from a dream, and as he set her gently on her feet, her mind snapped to attention.
“I think this was the center of the tower’s foundation,” Makaidos said.
Sapphira’s vision magnified all her surroundings, and the familiar sorrow draped a sad curtain across her mind. “It is the center.” She pivoted slowly, trying to see beyond the