Eye of the Oracle by Bryan Davis Page A

pinion of leather that ended in a wrinkled, sharp-nailed paw. It clutched something, but she couldn’t remember what might be in her grip. In fact, she couldn’t remember anything after Morgan shoved her out the window. Had she really died and turned into a wraith like her sister? But the body she inhabited wasn’t like a raven. Her wings were too leathery, and she had strange fingers instead of talons. What kind of animal had she become? A bat?
    Naamah screeched, but her voice spurted out in a series of high-pitched squeaks that hardly resembled words at all. Cursing to herself, she searched for the raven and found her circling near the window above. The bird looked bigger than before as it straightened in flight and sailed to the other side of the ark.
    Naamah tried to follow. She beat her wings furiously but couldn’t figure out how to fly in a straight line. As she struggled to stay above the churning floodwaters, she continually corrected her awkward meanderings.
    After a wind-blown flight that seemed to take an hour, the raven landed on a mountaintop in a patch of tender grass between two boulders. Naamah, her wings faltering, swerved left and right and finally smacked into one of the boulders before tumbling into the grass. She lifted herself and sat, flapping her wings to keep upright, but with one paw wrapped tightly around her treasure, she kept tilting to the side. She tried to speak again, and this time her squeaks sounded like the voice of a tiny child. “What . . . now . . . Morgan?”
    “Patience, Naamah,” the raven squawked. “Restoration is at hand.”
    Morgan spread her wings and wrapped them around Naamah. As they perched together, black smoke arose on all sides, penetrating Naamah’s nostrils and bringing the foul stench of decaying carrion. As she closed her eyes to ward off the stinging fumes, her body stretched, her head expanded, her wings tapered, and her claws thickened into fingers. When she reopened her eyes, Morgan stood before her.
    Naamah patted her side with her free hand. Something was different. Her fingers seemed to pass through her waist, but not as through smoke. Her body felt more like thick gravy. She raised her hand and stared at her palm, flexing her fingers as they melded into each other. A feeling of horror erupted and spilled out in a loud wail. “What happened to me?”
    Morgan stroked Naamah’s hair. “What matters is that we’re alive.”
    “So I’m a wraith now?” She closed her hand into a fist, and it congealed into a fingerless club.
    “You are more spirit than substance, but you’ll learn to mold yourself into a variety of shapes. Still, neither of us can last long in this world without a regular visit to our lord’s domain. He must infuse us with power if the light of this world wears our bodies down.”
    “So I can’t go back to the ark?”
    “Once I explain my plan and teach you how to solidify yourself, you may return. Noah’s family cannot be allowed to know you’re missing.”
    Naamah breathed a long sigh. “That’s good.”
    Morgan crossed her arms and squinted at Naamah. “You’re not seriously worried about that baby are you?”
    “No . . . it’s just that . . .” Naamah’s voice trailed off.
    “Don’t worry. If my plan works, Canaan will be yours forever.” She nodded at Naamah’s hand. “Were you able to bring the grapes?”
    “Oh . . .” Naamah opened her fist, revealing five wrinkled grapes. “I forgot about them.”
    Morgan surveyed the mountaintop, a dome that flattened out into about five acres of rocky soil. The floodwaters lapped against the shoreline about two hundred paces upwind, and, beyond that, across a mile or two of arching whitecaps, the ark listed against the pounding waves. She pointed toward a flat area midway between the shore and where they stood. “We’ll plant our vineyard there.”
    “How long will it take to turn five grapes into a vineyard?”
    “Let’s just say that they will grow at