“In his battles with the Watchers, he proved himself a prophet of the highest order.” Thigocia looked up at the sky, allowing the droplets to drizzle into her eyes. Their touch was cool and soothing. “I was very young when he left the Earth,” she continued, still speaking loudly, “but the impression he left on me will last forever. I revere him and Merlin as the two greatest prophets I have ever known.”
“Then you will have no problem with trusting this oracle, for Enoch himself established it. During one of my searches here, he hailed me as I flew over. When I landed, I recognized him immediately, and my heart leaped for joy at finding my long-lost friend. He already knew why I was here and showed me how the oracle could provide the insight I needed, the proof that my search in the Bridgelands was not in vain.”
“What else did he say? Had he seen Makaidos?”
Arramos shook his head. “As human prophets often are, he was mysterious, and he said very little. After he explained the oracle to me, he seemed to melt into the river and flow away.”
Thigocia moved her head closer to him, searching for a hint of deception in his eyes. “That story has the ring of myth. Who would ever believe such a tale?”
“Believe what you wish.” He nodded at the calm pool at the edge of the splashing water. “But if you try it, you will know that I could not have conjured what you will see with your own eyes. Say the name of someone you believe to be in Heaven, then one in Hades, and then one on the Earth. You need not shout, as I am doing. The oracle will hear you.”
Thigocia stepped into the water and stared at the splashing chaos. How could a river striking a pair of boulders create an oracle that could see through the veils of the afterlife and show them to anyone who might ask? It made no sense. Still, the prophets had spoken of miracles just as strange, a donkey speaking to a mad prophet, and a voice in a burning bush commanding Moses to free the Hebrews in Egypt. Could the Maker also prepare such an oracle in this strange land? Who could deny his ability to do this miracle as well?
After thinking for a moment, Thigocia took a step closer and said, “Noah.”
The colored bands broke away from the halo and mixed in the center. Then, as if painted by an invisible brush, a man appeared, the image of Noah at the age he had been while on the ark, the time when she knew him best. Backed by a golden sky and wearing a dazzling white robe and a crown of gold, he smiled, then faded as the colors streamed back to the edge and re-formed the halo.
Arramos raised his voice again. “He is in Heaven. According to Enoch, white and gold are the colors of Paradise, and the crown proves that the Maker has forgiven his many sins.”
Thigocia glared at Arramos but decided not to challenge his criticism of the great ark builder. The task at hand was too important to allow for delay. She thought for another moment and said, “Ham.”
The colors once again painted the image of a man, this time the son of Noah standing in front of an orange background, wearing a tattered orange tunic that barely fell past his hips and covered his loins. A black execution hood rested on his head as if placed there in preparation for the gallows but not yet pulled down over his face.
“He is in Hades,” Arramos said. “Orange and black are the colors of destruction, and the hood is the symbol of all who will someday be cast into the Lake of Fire.”
“Now someone on Earth,” Thigocia said quietly. With a sad tremble in her voice, she whispered, “Ashley.”
Within seconds, a perfect duplicate of Ashley stood within the mist. Dressed in jeans and a gray Montana-emblazoned sweatshirt, she carried a walking stick and hiked in place in front of a blue sky, moving but never leaving the oracle.
“She carries the symbol of one still on a journey,” Arramos explained. “Whenever the oracle displays an Earth-dweller, he or she is always walking, for their path is not yet complete. Since you knew Enoch, you may speak his name. As one who never died, he has not yet established his abode,