Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  “I-I don’t know. Anyone!” Danaos pointed towards Perseus and Jason. “How about one of them? They’re clearly brave enough.”

  “Not that Jason fellow,” Busiris protested. “He may be brave, but he’s also insane.”

  “Ahem!” Minos cleared his throat, demanding an obeying silence. He looked past the judges towards Grace, who sat blinking innocently, a bud of a smile in the corner of her mouth. “Madam, you are dismissed. Please leave us.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” She stood and gracefully pranced down the bleachers. She bowed to the judges and strolled off in the same direction as Commander Sett.

  Minos turned to Hermes. “Professor, we’ll be in touch. Thank you.”

  Hermes bowed. “My honor, Your Honors.”

  The professor hiked up his drooping pants, made sure the electric fence was turned off, and opened the gate. He shuffled down the field to inspect the charred remains of the dispatched yetzers.

  “Let’s stick around, boys,” Captain Volk said. “This might get interesting.”

  Virgil said, “It still amazes me that they can’t detect us. They are judges, after all.”

  “That’s cupid thinking, Virge. Academy thinking. Not angel thinking.”

  “I know, but these guys are old. They were around when we still knew that we were angels of HaShem. They ought to know better. Right, Captain Volk?”

  “Even prior to the Civil War when these old men were about my age now, those of us who still knew our true identities had already been forced underground. Minos and Laban certainly knew something about our traditions, but having chosen power over service to God, they discarded what little emuna they might once have had, and so HaShem turned His face from them. The void created a forfeiture of HaShem’s favor and their angelic powers. Over the centuries, the glory of the past shrank away, and along with its evaporation, all memories of it.”

  “It’s the same with the humans. Right, Captain?” I said. “We mirror each other.”

  “Yes, Kohai. But as bad as things are here, it’s even worse down there. Here, the Academy and its judges still understand that there is something divine about the universe and their place in it. They have just forgotten what it is. HaShem no longer exists for them.

  “The humans, on the other hand,” Volk continued, “they go out of their way to despise God. They openly mock, and even curse Him. They are militant in their atheism, complacent in their agnosticism, and even those dwindling few who still acknowledge Him are too often fraudulent in their belief. The humans are irrational. Their intellectuals insist that there is no God, and then curse Him for not existing. They say Got cannot exist, but are at a loss to explain the very existence of existence.”

  Virgil said, “So why doesn’t HaShem just, you know, start over?”

  “He did that once, as you know,” Volk said. “He is merciful and He stays His hand for the sake of the righteous and their forefathers. It is written in the Talmud that there are not less than thirty-six tzaddikim in the world who receive the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence. They are the ‘Nistarim,’ the concealed ones. It is said that as long as the world contains a minimum of thirty-six righteous persons, HaShem will permit it to muddle along.“

  “The Lamed-Vavniks,” I said.

  “The what?” Virgil said.

  “The two Hebrew letters for thirty-six are the ‘lamed’ (ל), which is thirty, and the ‘vav’ (ו) which is six,” I answered. “The thirty-six righteous ones are often called the ‘Lamed-Vav Tzaddikim,’ or just, ‘Lamed-Vavniks.’”

  “Well, why don’t these thirty-six tzaddikim get together?” Virgil asked. “Maybe together they could do something.”

  “Because,” Volk answered, “a Lamed-Vav Tzaddik doesn’t know he is one, and he doesn’t know who the others are either. Such persons would be too humble to even say so. Furthermore, it is said that should anyone proclaim himself a Lamed-Vavnik, that would be proof that he isn’t.”

  “So what do these Lamed-Vavniks do?” Virgil asked.

  “They live good, holy, and righteous lives, and they pray for the world,” Volk said. “They are the spiritual glue that keeps the world from flying apart. HaShem takes great pleasure in their righteousness and prayers. They justify the world in His eyes.”

  “Cool,” Virgil said. “Say, was our friend the Baal Shem Tov a Lamed-Vavnik?”

  “He never said so,” I said.

  “So, what would happen if the world were to lose its Lamed-Vavniks?”

  “We don’t want to find out,” Volk said.

  “Do the yetzers know who they are?” I asked.

  “The yetzers are incapable of grasping their significance,” Volk answered. “But they know them by their righteousness.”

  “What do you mean?” Virgil asked.

  “The more righteous and holy the person is, the more powerful the yetzers are that come to corrupt him. Such persons are attacked and tempted every day, but at least thirty-six Lamed-Vavniks are righteous enough to defeat them.”

  “So, in a way they act like roach motels,” I said, referencing a twentieth century ad for roach control. “The yetzers check in, but they don’t check out.”

  “Exactly,” Volk said. “The Lamed-Vavniks have probably destroyed more yetzers over time than all cupid commandos combined.”

  “What about Anteros or the judges?” Virgil asked. “Would they know about the Lamed-Vavniks, or who they are?”

  “No,” Volk said, “and they must never learn of them either. The three of us are the only ones here who know of such things, and it’s imperative we keep it that way. Got it?”

  Virgil and I nodded, fully cognizant of the disaster such knowledge in the wrong hands could inflict.

  Judge Pelops, whose corpulence had had enough of the uncomfortable bleachers, squawked, “So, what do we do about the commander?”

  Minos replied, “Leave him to me. But in the meantime, nothing.”

  Danaos said in his crumbly, wispy voice, “I don’t like it. This upsurge in treason. I don’t like it. Not one bit. First, that Cyrus. Now, Sett. Our top soldiers! Something stinks. Not good. Not good!”

  “And don’t forget about that floozy celestial, what’s-her-name,” Laban said.

  “Grace,” Busiris said.

  “Yes, Dis-grace,” Laban snorted. “I don’t trust that strumpet. She seems to be everywhere. Since when does a celestial have this sort of privilege and influence?”

  “Captain Volk!” Pelops exclaimed, his double chin jiggling with righteous indignation. “He’s the one who is behind all this. He’s the common denominator. He’s the link.”

  “Pelops is onto something,” Busiris said. “And if Volk is the mastermind, that means his apprentice is in on this too.”

  “All of them must go!” Laban demanded.

  “Uh-oh,” Virgil said.

  Captain Volk held up his hand signaling silence.

  Judge Busiris said, “Look, we all agree that these budding conspiracies must be extinguished, but what you all seem to be forgetting is that it is we who provoked them.”

  “We?” Danaos bleated in disbelief, infuriated by the younger judge’s affront.

  “Don’t play stupid with me, Danaos,” Busiris retorted. “I’m talking about Anteros and the asinine Solow Accords. The cupids learned of them and are outraged. Can we blame them?”

  “For once I happen to agree with Busiris,” Pelops chimed in. “We raise these soldiers to kill fear demons, and suddenly they are being handed ludicrous new rules of engagement, asking them to put their own lives in danger? They learn that we are working with the traitorous Anteros cult to broker a deal with fear demons? They are confused. What should we expect?”

  “We expect them to follow orders!” Laban said, incensed, chopping at the air with his liver-spotted hand. “It is not their place to question us! They weren’t supposed to know any of this. It’s that damn Hamanaeus, he stabbed us in the back!” Infuriated, Laban turned his ire towards Judges Minos and Danaos. “
You incompetents never said anything about Hamanaeus training fear demons and incorporating them into his army!”

  Judge Pelops pounded his beefy hand on the bleachers. “We stabbed ourselves in the back!”

  “Gentlemen!” Minos shouted, stamping his cane, silencing the others. “May I remind you all that we had no choice. The fear demons have grown too powerful. If Anteros could find a way to live among them, why can’t we? We need their help.”

  “But what about Hermes’ spleen guns?” Busiris said. “Maybe those can help us turn the tide so that we don’t have to go this way.”

  “Those ridiculous toys can’t stop the demons,” Minos said. “We only held that absurd demonstration to keep up morale. Now listen up, don’t you men start going wobbly on me. We are very close to a deal with Anteros. Very close.”

  “What kind of deal?” Pelops said. “And why are you only telling us this now?”

  Minos said, “You all knew well that Danaos and I were conducting back channel talks. And may I remind you that you gave us your full support. Now I am telling you where we stand. Some details must still be worked out, and will be very soon.”

  “So what have ‘we’ agreed upon?” Busiris said.

  “Very well,” Minos said, seeing that the time had arrived to disclose his plan. “First, we are granting a full pardon to Hamanaeus—”

  “What!” Laban exclaimed.

  Minos held up a silencing hand and stated even more boldly, “—and with it amnesty for all Anteros soldiers. We are turning over to Anteros half of our estate here, as well as allowing them full participation in the Academy. Their fine researchers and scientists will work alongside ours. We will also be combining our armies. Once this treaty is signed, we will be stronger than ever. Our bench will be expanded to ten judges, and Hamanaeus and I will serve as dual head judges.”

  “And in return?” Busiris said, barely able to keep his head on.

  “In return, Anteros allies with us against the fear demons. Hamanaeus has assured us that the fear demons will be contented with half of humankind, allowing us to continue our work here.”

  “That’s it?” Pelops said, mystified.

  “That’s plenty,” Minos rejoined coolly.

  Busiris exploded. “Their word? Their word is worthless!”

  The elderly, decrepit Danaos said, “Their word is good. Good enough for me.”

  “Danaos,” Laban shot back, “the braying of a donkey would be good enough for you, you senile old fart. This is not the deal we spoke about. This treaty is a prescription for suicide!”

  “This treaty,” Minos retorted, “is our only hope! We have to stabilize the situation. We have to buy more time. And this is the only way to do it. Trust me.”

  “We’ve trusted you for too long,” Laban said. “It is your beetle-headed policies that got us into this mess in the first place!”

  “You are out of order, Laban,” Minos said angrily. “Everything done since I have been serving as head of this body was done with your approval. With all of your approvals. Now, time is running out. Hamanaeus has made it clear that this is his final offer, that it is take it or leave it.”

  Busiris said, “Hamanaeus is bluffing. What makes him so sure that he could survive the fear demon onslaught better than we?”

  “Gentlemen,” Minos said, softening his tone to one of reason and common sense. “Those reports from that celestial lady and Commander Sett were not fabrications. I too thought so at first. But clearly they were meant as messages to us. The Anteros cupids have found a way to train and enlist fear demons to do their bidding. Hamanaeus is telling us that he is in control, and that he can handle the fear demons.”

  Laban, the eldest of the judges, so old that no one on the bench could remember him as anything but ancient, glowered. Despite his great age, and unlike the doddering Danaos, Laban’s white hair and saggy, lentigo-stained skin seemed to exude a kind of black-magical youth and vigor. He wasn’t opposed to talks and a treaty, but something deep within him was repulsed by what he considered chicken-hearted surrender. The deal that Judge Minos described reeked of complete and total submission, and that provoked his sense of honor, such as it was.

  “Do you think we are that witless?” he exclaimed. “What Hamanaeus is signaling is that he can just as easily turn his demon army against us! You are asking us to sign our own death certificate, Minos. You are inviting the fox into the hen house. Gentlemen, what does Anteros really want? Have you asked yourselves this?”

  “They want what we want,” Danaos said. “To live!”

  “No, you old fool!” Laban retorted. “They want to dominate. They think they have us in the palm of their hands. If they can get what they want without losing half their army, then all the better. They know that once they are established here, they will push and push until we give them everything, or they take it by force.”

  “Judge Laban,” Minos said. “Did you not hear me? Do you not understand our situation? This war is lost! We cannot defeat the fear demons by ourselves. We need help. Anteros might be our enemy, but once upon a time they were just like us—cupids. United we stand, divided we fall. When they are back with us they will remember.”

  “Platitudes!” Pelops snorted.

  Laban, equally outraged, scoffed. “Do you think I was born yesterday, Minos? I was already a senior lecturer at the Academy when the war with Anteros broke out. The rest of you were little more than snot-nosed freshman who spent the war pissing your pants in underground bunkers. Hamanaeus and the rest are true believers. Anteros was a prophet to them, and his martyrdom only fueled their fanaticism. They will not stop until they fulfill his prophesy of domination. To their minds, they need us like they need an oak tree up their asses.”

  Busiris said, “Judge Laban knows of what he speaks. I move that no treaty be signed without all our signatures. I move that Judge Laban attend the negotiations with you, and that he be allowed to interrogate the Anteros representatives.”

  “I second the move,” Pelops said, thrusting his flabby arm into the air.

  Seeing that he was outnumbered three to two, Minos said, “Very well. My respect for Judge Laban is well known, and if he would like to join Judge Danaos and I in our negotiations, I see no reason not to avail ourselves to his sage insights. Judge Laban, will this satisfy you?”

  Laban nodded.

  “Good,” Minos said. “Then we will call it a day. I will have the current draft of the treaty sent to the good judge tomorrow. Adjourned!”

  Judges Pelops, Busiris, and Laban walked off together, speaking to one another in hushed voices. Minos and Danaos lingered behind.

  Danaos said, “If we lose Laban we lose the treaty.”

  “We will not lose Laban,” Minos assured him. He caught the attention of a young cadet in the distance and waved him over. “Now, you go ahead. I have some matters that I’d like to discuss with Captain Perseus and Lieutenant Jason.”

  Danaos nodded comprehendingly.

  A cadet sprinted up to Judge Minos and saluted. “Cadet Hector, Sir!”

  “Cadet Hector, please walk Judge Danaos over to our chambers.”

  “Sir, yes, Sir!” The cadet offered Danaos his arm and the old judge toddled off.

  Minos passed through the gate, stabbing at the ground with his cane as he walked. His head down in contemplation, he strolled over towards Perseus and Jason, who were still examining the charred and gooey remains of their victims.

  16

  Trigger Happy

  Bang! Bang! Bang! Click.

  “That’s it, sorry.”

  Malkah snapped her fingers insistently. “Give me yours.”

  Gideon smiled and handed Malkah his rental gun, an HK 45. She turned back to the target and fired.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Click.

  “Okay, now we’re definitely done,” he said.

  “Another half hour,” Malkah pleaded.

  “That’s enough for one day. I think you’ll be surprised how sore you are go
ing to be tomorrow. Come on, outside around back there’s a picnic area where we can get something to drink.”

  He pushed a button and her target, a picture of a gun-wielding thug, zipped flapping over to them across the course. He ripped it off and handed it to her.

  “Ouch. This guy won’t be bothering you anymore,” Gideon said, pointing to a bullet hole in the man’s crotch.

  “Let that be a warning to you, buddy,” Malkah joked, folding the target and stuffing it into her daypack.

  “Duly noted.”

  They left the indoor shooting range, returned their ear guards to the front desk, and meandered outdoors to the snack bar and picnic area. Malkah grabbed a table a comfortable distance from a cylindrical stove-like outdoor heater as Gideon fetched them coffees.

  Malkah took in the view of the meadow and its surrounding forest and mountains. It was lovely and peaceful. To reach the shooting range was an hour and a half drive beyond the city limits. She hadn’t been out of the city for almost six months—a spontaneous trip to one of the European city-states—and it felt good. She chuckled to herself, recalling Gideon’s patience with her, and his surprise at the sight of her target.

  Suspicious by nature and experience, Malkah was worried that she still knew little about the man who strolled into her life seemingly out of the blue. When they were together last, she had done all the talking. He had a disturbingly professional way of turning every conversation to be about her. Malkah wasn’t sure if it was his natural charm, or something deliberate, even devious. She was determined to remedy that.

  She had to admit to herself, however, that it was rather refreshing, as most of the guys she met seemed to only want to talk about themselves, as if they were walking résumés. On the other hand, what was he hiding?

  Gideon returned with their coffees and an order of fries and onion rings. He set them down on the table and sat on the bench across from her.

  “Thanks.” She picked up a fry and blew on it.