She lowered her gaze on him, a knowing snippet of a smile on her lips. “Don’t you think two and a half centuries have been long enough?”
“Huh…?” It took Volk a moment to compute her allusion to his celibacy. “How’d you—? That was a mistake. I’m not the same cupid, okay?”
“What changed?” Grace asked. “Nothing ever changes here.”
“Oh, but it does. It’s just that the change is so incremental that you don’t notice.”
“I’ll have you know that there are a lot of great cupids who’d give a wing to be in your place right now. Hall of Famers. Cupids far more renown than you, Captain.”
“We don’t have wings, Grace.”
“It’s just an expression, dummy.”
“An expression of their insincerity,” Volk rejoined. “They would give anything to be with you because they don’t believe there is anything to lose. They only care about the boast that they could make about having been with the most desirable celestial in Heaven. They have taken on the same mentality as the humans.”
“You think that lowly of me, Captain?”
“Quite the contrary, Grace. It’s because I think so highly of you.”
“Captain Cyrus once told me the same thing. You are two peas in a pod. Two cracked peas. So what changed, Captain? What makes you and Cyrus so different from the rest? What do you think you know that the other cupids don’t?”
“We know who we are, and that’s all I have to say.”
“So many secrets, my Captain. Like the one concerning your friend, Cyrus.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m told that Eros is displeased,” she said. “That he asks why Cyrus continues to defy him. Eros will not stand disobedience, not even from his best cupids.”
“Disobedience? Bullcrap. Eros didn’t make that match, the Academy did. Eros has never ordered—” He caught himself. “Hasn’t ordered a match for centuries.”
“You know the penalty for insubordination,” Grace warned. “I’d hate to see our amusing friend banished, and I know you would too.”
“It will never happen. Not while I’m still here.”
“Good, because no matter what love may grow between us, my darling Captain, I could never associate with the friend of an apostate.”
“Drop it, Grace. Cyrus will complete his mission, as he has done ten thousand times before. And I will complete mine.”
“Yours?”
“The Seven Rungs of Righteousness and joining the Immortals.”
“You would leave me behind?”
“Absolutely.”
“What?” Grace exclaimed, bolting to her feet. “How could you be so selfish!”
Volk retrieved the blanket that had slipped to the floor and tied it around Grace’s waist. “The ladder exists for everyone, Grace. For me, for you, and for the humans. I offer you my hand and my heart, but taking them is up to you.”
Grace smirked. “My silly Captain, you know no greater strumpet than I walks the hallowed halls of Heaven.”
“I know the stories, Grace.”
“Then you know I am an Incorrigible, and that my fate, such as it is, is determined solely by the whim of Eros and the Academy.”
“Like I said, I know the stories.”
Grace turned to Volk and searched his stern, shrewd eyes. “You would make a saint out of me, then? Are you that naive?”
“You don’t have to be a saint to have a share in the world to come. You went to bed last night and awoke this morning, didn’t you?”
“Clearly.”
“Well, this attests to the fact that our merciful Maker deemed you worthy of another day, and another chance.”
“Truly?” Grace said, her silvery eyes full of hope.
Volk nodded. “There is a little blessing that the ancients used to recite each morning upon opening their eyes. Do you know it?”
She shook her head. “Teach me.”
Volk recited the blessing in the ancient Hebrew tongue. “‘I thank you living and eternal King, for You have mercifully restored my soul to me. Great is Your faithfulness.’”
“Do you recite that every morning?”
Volk nodded. “What better way to begin each day than thanking the Almighty for another chance to serve Him, and to participate in His blessings?”
“So, every day is a test? Is that what you are telling me?”
“Tests are good, Grace.”
“Good?”
“As long as we have tests, we know we have a chance. As awful as we may have behaved until now, upon opening our eyes in the morning, we are being told that the Almighty still deems us capable of teshuva, repentance, and for meriting a place in the world to come.”
“Even me?” she said, skeptical.
Volk held his hand over Grace’s head in the same manner that Cyrus practiced.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Your neshama.”
“My what?”
He removed his hand. “You aren’t nearly as rotten as you think you are, Grace. Do the right thing for the right reason at even the hardest of times, and you will be fine.”
“And when will that be?”
“It’s every day, Grace. But some days the tests are bigger and more consequential than others. Trust me, you will know when it appears.”
“You are a strange one, Volk. Nobody talks like that.”
“Cyrus does.”
“Well, you are both a couple of weirdos.”
He smiled. “I suppose we are.”
Grace contemplated Volk’s sincere, azure blue eyes, and patted him daintily on the cheek. “My cracked little pea,” she said with a sigh.
14
Remembrance Day
Captain Cyrus sat in the archives at a large, wooden table cluttered with ancient scrolls and texts. He read aloud, translating from the ancient tongue:
That love is writ in oil; Mine is writ in stone.
That love is scattered like soil; Mine is chiseled in bone.
Hearken to the love that calls from sight unseen.
Betray me not; spot my mark.
Emuna in you is emuna in Me.
Cyrus looked up in deep contemplation, pondering the meaning of the passage.
I stepped out of the shadows and approached him. “The Emuna Chronicles,” I said. “Psalm twenty-nine.”
“Very good, Kohai.”
“That I snuck up on you, or that I know the psalm?”
“I knew you were there, but nice try. The passage, do you know what it means?”
“It’s clear, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“One must never disobey a match made by Eros.”
“I see. And is that what you think I’m doing, Kohai?”
“Captain Cyrus, Sir, I know that you above all would never—”
“Kohai, even Eros would be judged by the Most High.”
“‘Would,’ Sir? I don’t understand. How could—?”
“Soon, Kohai. Study. Train. Meditate. Pray. ‘The eagle’s eye soars in the heights of adaequatio,’ remember?”
“Emuna Chronicles, psalm seventy-four.”
Cyrus smiled and patted my head. “Come. It’s time for you to enter the Midrasha.”
“The what?”
I followed Cyrus out of the archives into the garden. We continued along a cobblestone walk to the back of the building, and then across a meadow of buttercups to a grove of very old-looking olive trees.
“People are saying—” I began.
Cyrus paused at the edge of the grove and put his finger to his lips. He pointed up at the sky. I tilted my head back and saw a lone eagle circling high above.
“Put your mind up there with him. Not—” He snapped his fingers, drawing my attention to a worm squirming for cover under a leaf, “not there, with him.”
We proceeded into the grove and walked until we came to the center, whereupon Cyrus stopped at a particularly old tree. He bent down be
side it and cleared away a loose layer of soil and leaves. He found what he was looking for—a thick, iron ring about the diameter of my hand. He gave it a good yank, revealing a heavy wooden hatch.
“Cool!” I said.
The captain started descending a stone staircase saying only, “Close the lid on your way down.”
As soon as I closed the hatch, a spiral of torches along the lichen-mottled walls of the staircase blazed forth. I counted seventy steps before we reached the bottom. We walked another twenty yards and came to a massive, granite block. There were no handles or levers of any sort.
Cyrus said, “Give it a push.”
I did, but it didn’t budge.
“Put some shoulder into it, Kohai,” he commanded.
I did as told, and pushed with all my might. Nothing. I may as well have been pushing against a mountain.
The captain motioned to me to stand aside. He set the palm of his hand gently on the block, murmured some words I could not make out, and with a steady, light push, the granite door eased open without a fight.
“How—?”
“Later, Kohai. Captain Volk will teach you the password.”
Password? Cool…
I stepped into a large chamber. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all made of polished, chocolate-colored granite, perfectly hewn and smooth as glass. On opposite sides were two small, rectangular openings about four inches in diameter, which, I assumed, were shafts that provided outside air.
Cyrus pushed closed the massive stone door. I expected to be in pitch-black darkness, as there were no lights anywhere in the room. Instead, I found that a cloud-like, firmamental luminescence saturated the chamber. I had never seen any light like it before.
“How long has this place been here?” I said in amazement.
“No one knows, but at least as long as there have been cupids.”
“And how long is that?”
“As long as there has been love.”
“What is this place?”
“The Cave of the Midrasha. It’s where you will learn the art of memory.” He pointed to the center of the room. “Sit.”
I sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor. Cyrus knelt behind me. He placed one hand on the crown of my head; his other hand reached around to cover my solar plexus.
“Close your eyes. Relax and breathe, slowly and deeply.”
“Is this—?”
“Shush! Your questions will soon be meaningless anyway.”
“But—”
He popped me on the head.
“Ow! Okay, okay…”
“Allow what I am about to tell you to permeate your consciousness,” he began, his voice serene, heat emanating from his hands. “Don’t think—hear. As I speak you will become more and more relaxed…
“We are sinking into a deep calm. Without thoughts, without words. We are lifted on the wings of eagles and hover circling above the clouds. The north and the south are ours; the east and the west are ours. We are bigger—much bigger—and greater—much greater—than we ever thought. Our soul is an immense sail. It billows as we are silently sped through space and time…
“Memory is our greatest asset, Kohai; an educated will, our greatest weapon. Look and see. Hear and listen. Touch and feel. Taste and savor. Smell and know the essence. We are here. We are there. The four corners spread before us, wrap around us, and meet as a point of light in our forehead. … Behold! We have arrived.”
“Whoa!” I exclaimed. Before me, stretching to the ends of Heaven was row after row of glistening, starlike jewels. “It’s so…big and sparkly.”
“Shh… Good. We are now within the Midrasha. The archive of archives. Anything that has ever made an impression on any sentient being, present or past; here we can know it. Every crystal is the book of someone’s life. It contains within it every thought, word, deed, and experience—good or bad—that he or she knows or ever knew.
“From here we can access every person’s life down to the tiniest detail. Their trials. Their triumphs. Their sorrows and jubilations. We can know these moments as he or she knew them when they happened.
“Everything has been recorded, and continues to be recorded, right up to the last beat of his or her heart. The memory may be long forgotten by the person, as distant and speck-like as the furthest star, but here it lives on for eternity.
“Come the end, come judgment day: this is what accompanies the humans to the Court of Courts. It is their testimony, witness, and evidence; their accuser and defender both.
“Now you know why Captain Volk and I made you study and memorize all those tracts and texts. And this is why we guided you through all those psalms and prayers and meditations. It was for this moment, Kohai. With the Midrasha, you have all the knowledge you’ll ever need to understand your divine duty and fulfill your destiny.”
“Captain, to access the Midrasha, must I always come to this sacred place?”
“Here is where the connection is strongest. In time you will acquire the knack for accessing it from anywhere at any time, just as you learned to whirl without the help of locations of sacred geometry. How quickly you achieve the knack is up to you and your progress. Now, stick close and follow me. I’ll show you how it works.”
15
Flying Pig
“I thought I’d find you here,” Professor Matterson said.
Ellen Veetal looked up and smiled. She had been meticulously jotting down notes from a book onto lined index cards. She flipped back her satiny black hair and pushed up the puffy sleeves of her white, turtleneck sweater.
“You were looking for me?” She offered him a chair by kicking out from underneath Captain Cyrus the one across from her. “I’m flattered.”
The professor closed the door and sat down. Cyrus moved to another chair between them. In front of Ellen was a tall stack of books. Chauncey separated the pile into two so that he had an unrestricted view of Ellen’s pretty face.
“One doesn’t have to look very hard, Ellen. If you’re not in your office, odds are that you’re here, right?”
‘Here’ was the university library, inside a small study room for faculty and teacher assistants only. Cream-colored, cottony-textured wallpaper ran floor to ceiling, and the only window was the frosted glass in the door. The room contained two pinewood tables that sat four each, and on a small desk in the corner rested a computer and wireless printer. The pungent smell of new carpeting lingered in the air.
“Am I that predictable?” she asked.
“Your work ethic, anyway,” Chance replied with a smile. He pulled a box of orange juice from his tweed coat and placed it on top of one of the piles of books. “I thought you might need some nourishment.”
“No food or drinks allowed inside the library, Professor. Naughty, naughty.”
“Yes, well, ‘Doctor Danger,’ that’s me.” He winked.
“Thanks.” Ellen tore away the mini straw from the side of the box and punched it into the small, foil-covered hole.
Chance nodded towards the two mountains of books between them: books on psychology, Greek and Roman mythology, ancient Egyptian and Babylonian religion, Gnosticism, and Neoplatonic philosophy.
“So, this is where your studies are leading you?” he asked.
“I think they will lead to things much further out than what these books contain.”
Matterson frowned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What you’re afraid of,” Ellen rejoined, “is how having approved my thesis will reflect upon your reputation.”
“I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind.”
Ellen cleared a path between the mountains of books, and reached for Chance’s hand. “Danger looks good on you, Doctor.”
“Yeah?”
Ellen nodded and took a sip from her juice. “Mm-hmm,” she purred, fixing her flirtatious eyes on the professor’s.
“Whew,” Cyrus said. “Time to stick a fork into these two. They are goners. Why was I even called in
for this one?”
He reached behind with both hands and withdrew two dove-feathered, gold-tipped arrows from his quiver. He held them out across the table, ready to plunge them into Chance and Ellen’s hearts, and seal the deal.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Ellen said. “I haven’t submitted the paperwork yet.”
“And if I did,” Chauncey said, “you’d just use your charms to dupe another pathetic sap into signing on as your advisor, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And this,” he nodded towards their playful, intertwining fingers, “would come to an abrupt and humiliating halt?”
“Is that the sort of woman you take me for, Doctor Danger?”
“I don’t know you well enough to say one way or another, to be quite frank.”
“And how might we remedy your lack of discernment?”
“Dinner, for starters.”
“Now?”
“Why not? It’s not too late. Come on. I’ll carry your books.”
“What if someone in the department saw you carrying such moonshine?”
“Ellen, it’s nearly nine o’clock on a Friday night. I think you’re the only person left in the library.”
“Funny,” she said, “because I haven’t felt alone.”
Cyrus withdrew his arrows from striking position. He rested them horizontally across his shoulders.
Chance hid his uneasiness with a chuckle. “Yes, well, libraries do have a way of making a scholar feel in good company.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Ghosts?” He sighed.
“No, but…never mind.”
“Ellen, really, all this reading is wreaking havoc on your imagination. If you are going to believe in spirits or angels or other such hooey before you even examine the evidence, that’s not very scientific. Do that and you are liable to believe in almost anything, like Bigfoot or God. For believers, no proof is necessary.”
“And for disbelievers, no proof is sufficient,” she rejoined.
“Rather than mocking me and the grand scientific method, how about coming up with some concrete, undeniable evidence for the paranormal. Can you do that?”
Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Book 1: Hell-bent (Shooting Eros Series) Page 8
