on your work,” Morgan said, “I won’t care how many men you capture. Just remember to collect what we need from them.”
Naamah twirled her dress. “Have you begun to doubt my charms, Sister?”
“Not your charms, just your prudence. Our mission is more important than fun. Canaan has aged more quickly than I expected, so he’s already useless.”
“We have the hybrid embryos in the vault. We could always use their genes.”
Morgan propped up one of the wilting plants. “The hybrids are stronger than the purebreds, but not strong enough. We have to keep experimenting until we get the right combination for survival in the world’s new environment.”
“What about your other plan?” Naamah asked. “Any luck finding homes for the spirits?”
“Perhaps. The dragons have birthed several younglings in quick succession. The spirits have repeatedly visited the eldest son at night, and he believes he is merely dreaming. He is already showing signs of giving in to the songs.”
“You decided to use dragons as hosts, after all? I thought you decided you wanted them dead.”
“I do, but I have no way to kill them . . . yet.” Morgan plucked a wrinkled leaf from one of the plants, making its little green face wince. “Still, if my plan works, we will eliminate every dragon, release the Watchers from the abyss so they can live in a dragon-free land, and have an army of Nephilim to conquer the world.”
“I see.” Naamah stroked the stalk of the injured plant. “Home-grown Nephilim instead of dragon-born.”
“Exactly. The Nephilim spirits should eventually break through the dragons’ minds and secure them as hosts, but even if the spirits someday lose their scaly bodies, it will be a small price to pay to create our paradise.”
“I keep hearing about this paradise. When will we get to enjoy it?”
“That’s the hard part, Sister. We have to be patient. I still have to find the abyss. Then, I have to raise up a champion for our cause, a dragon slayer, you might call him. I’ll mold him like putty in my hands, and place him in circles of authority. We also have to conquer the minds of the dragons one by one. Such a scheme can take millennia to accomplish, but we can afford to wait as long as necessary.”
Naamah picked up a plant and gazed into the tiny eyelets of the blinking pod. Its emaciated stalk could barely hold up its oversized head, and it finally keeled over as if gasping for breath. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime” Morgan strangled the plant and ripped it out of the soil “we cultivate, sow, and water until our army is ready to uproot and march.”
Mara gagged. Nausea boiled in her stomach. Still crouching as she cradled her new spawn, she picked up her lantern and tiptoed through the dim tunnel. With so little light, she could easily step on a sharp stalagmite . . . or worse. As the passage grew darker, she slowed, standing straight and probing the blackness, listening to the squeaks of awakening bats. Her spawn’s prickly pod nuzzled her cheek. It was scared, too.
When she approached the magma window, she didn’t bother to put on her coif; she just rushed past it as quickly as she could and slowed again as the tunnel darkened once more. Soon, a flickering beam revealed the oval entryway into her workroom. Clutching her spawn even more tightly, she ran the rest of the way, stopping at the opening and holding her hand on her chest as she caught her breath. She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. She was such a failure! She had to be the only underborn in all of the below lands who was scared of the dark.
“Is there a problem?” a deep voice asked.
Mara dropped her lantern and twisted to the side. A man stood next to her, only inches away. “Mardon!” she cried, her hand on her chest again. “You startled me!”
“My apologies.” Mardon’s egg-shaped head tilted as he held up the scroll she had been reading. “Mara, isn’t it?”
Mara sniffed and nodded. “Yessir.”
Mardon cupped Mara’s chin and turned her head from side to side. Under his closely cropped brown hair, a pair of thin eyebrows arched downward. His coal black pupils seemed to breathe, swelling and deflating as he probed her eyes. “Number fourteen, correct?” He released her chin and combed through her hair as if searching for bugs in her scalp.
“Yessir. Number fourteen.” She hated being called by a number, but at least