Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Book 1: Hell-bent (Shooting Eros Series)

by Benjamin Laskin

  “Huh?” Cyrus said. “Me? No…”

  “Look, Sam, our little angel here is blushing.”

  “I am?” Cyrus said, touching his face.

  “Well,” Sam said, “she is pretty, I’ll admit that much. And, to my estimation, I think Cyrus here is a better match than that wet blanket she’s with.”

  “I disagree,” Sara said. “Cyrus can do much better than her. He needs a real woman, not some plastic Barbie doll.”

  “Someone like you, right?” Sam teased.

  “Exactly, but I’m happily taken, thank you very much. But give me a little time and I’ll find him the right woman,” she said confidently.

  Cyrus chuckled. “I’m really not looking for anyone. I am pretty busy these days.”

  “Ah,” Sara said. “That’s just when love has a way of finding you. Cupid’s arrow tends to find its mark when the person least expects it.”

  Cyrus pondered her comment. In hindsight, it did seem a fairly accurate observation. “You know a thing or two about cupid, do you?” he said with a smile.

  “More than you, I’m sure,” Sara answered. “Trust me, she is not your type.”

  Ellen Veetal speared a steaming ravioli with her fork and blew on it. “I don’t like that woman,” she said.

  “You said that already,” Chauncey replied, pulling away a piece of lasagna from his plate, watching the cheese unreel like a fishing line. It snapped free and dispatched a speck of tomato sauce onto his red polo shirt.

  “Aw, shoot,” he said. He dipped the corner of his cloth napkin into his glass of ice water and dabbed at his shirt. “Good thing I wore red. I thought this might happen.”

  “You planned ahead for that possibility?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ellen chuckled and took a bite from her ravioli. “So, do you think they are talking about us right now?”

  “Probably.”

  “I wonder what they are saying.”

  “Who cares? I didn’t know you were so sensitive about what other people may think of you.”

  “I didn’t know you were so sensitive about a little tomato sauce,” Ellen rejoined.

  “That woman got under your skin, didn’t she?”

  “She didn’t get under yours?”

  Matterson took a sip of wine and patted at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

  “What do I care what a couple of rubes think about me? What I don’t understand is how anyone could fall for that guy’s story. He’s a phony, and I can hardly wait to unmask him.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Absolutely. The second he mentioned God, I knew we were dealing with either a simpleton or a nutjob. Who today mentions such a thing to complete strangers?”

  “To be fair, once upon a time such a thing wasn’t considered so outlandish.”

  “True,” Matterson said. “Around the same time that burning people at the stake was considered a civic duty.”

  “Who is under whose skin?”

  “Do you really buy into that charm charade of his?”

  “I never said he was charming,” Ellen said, a bristle to her voice.

  “You called him a perfect gentleman.”

  “I say the same about you…most of the time.”

  Chauncey Matterson put down his fork, pushed his plate forward a couple of inches, and patiently set his folded hands on the table.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “This evening got off to a bad start and I’ve made it worse every step of the way. I apologize. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a little jealous. I admit that he is good-looking as hell, and of course, you are one beautiful woman. I let my baser instincts get the best of me.”

  “No,” Ellen said, exasperation trailing from her voice. “I plead just as guilty. And there’s no need to be jealous, really. I’m sorry too. I’ve been acting childishly all evening.”

  She kissed and raised her fingertips. He did the same and they touched fingers. Chauncey refilled their wine glasses. He lifted his as in a toast. “Shall we start the evening over?”

  Ellen nodded. “Let’s.” They clinked glasses and sipped. “Tell me more about your friend’s cabin.”

  44

  Stairway to Heaven

  Grace looked up from the wooden bench she was lying on and blinked Volk into focus.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Where are we?”

  “In our yeshiva.”

  Grace frowned, not knowing where or what that was. “How long have I been out?”

  “Not long.”

  “I feel nauseous.”

  “It’ll pass in a minute.”

  Grace’s hand shot out and slapped Volk across the face.

  He grinned. “Feeling better already, I see.”

  Grace sat up and set her feet on the wooden floor. She looked pale and disheveled, but somehow it only added to her beauty. Volk sat down beside her.

  She said, “How did you do what you did? You need a disgronifier to travel like that.”

  “Evidently not.”

  “Explain yourself,” she commanded.

  “I already have.”

  “You’ve done no such thing. Who are you, and what do you want from me?”

  “I’m an angel of God. Same as you, Grace.”

  “You’re nothing like me,” she snapped. “You’re a cupid and I’m a celestial.”

  “Semantics,” Volk said. “We are angels of the Most High. You have your job, and I have mine. You forgot who you are, and I remembered who I am. That’s all. The cupids at the Academy, they have forgotten too. If they were to remember, to repent, to seek the Almighty with all their heart and all their mind, they’d be able to do what I did. And they would know this place.”

  “You are speaking gibberish, Captain. What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to remember.”

  “My memory is perfect,” she retorted.

  “As far as it goes, perhaps.” He stood and offered Grace his hand. “Come on, I want to show you around.”

  She hesitated, but Volk pulled the celestial to her feet. He escorted her down a broad corridor lined with bookshelves and cabinets containing thousands of ancient scrolls, maps, and other artifacts dating back thousands of years. Oil lamps magically lit up before them as they walked.

  “How do you do that?” she asked.

  “I don’t. They light up on their own, and always have.”

  Halfway down the hallway Volk opened a heavy wooden door revealing a large circular room overflowing with more relics from the ancient past. Imbedded in the walls and spaced evenly apart were twelve large, exquisitely crafted stained glass windows. Each window told a story.

  “These windows are beautiful,” Grace said. “What are these scenes from?”

  “Each window depicts a scene from the Torah.”

  “The what?”

  “The five books of Moses, from the Bible.”

  “Who?”

  “The greatest prophet that ever lived. Look…” Volk pointed at the windows one by one. “Adam and Eve trying to hide from God. Noah exiting the ark after the deluge. Abraham standing on the mountain overlooking the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham spotting the ram in the thrushes after passing his test. The blind Isaac blessing his son Jacob. Jacob’s vision of the ladder and the angels going up and down. Joseph being sold into slavery to Potiphar. Joseph in prison deciphering dreams. Moses and the burning bush. Moses leading the Hebrews out of Egypt. Israel hearing God speak to them at Sinai. Joshua leading Israel into Canaan.”

  “I’ve never heard of any of these stories,” Grace said.

  “I know.” He waved his hand for her to follow him. “Come on.”

  Volk led her into another vast room bursting with the ancient past, and twelve more stained glass windows depicting more Biblical scenes. Then another room, and another.

  “This place is huge!” Grace exclaimed.

  Volk led her through a maze of corridors until they reached anot
her room, this one with a stone slab as a door. He laid his hands upon the door, whispered a phrase Grace could not understand, and the door opened as if by its own volition.

  Lights blazed forth, but not from the usual oil lamps. Unlike the other rooms, this room contained no scrolls, books, or other dusty artifacts. It was empty but for three startlingly beautiful objects.

  “Oh my,” Grace said, unable to hide her awe. “They are gorgeous. What are they?”

  “That,” Volk said, pointing to the source of the light, an eight-foot, seven branched, golden candelabrum, “is the sacred menorah that was used in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. It was created from a talent of gold by the young, God-inspired craftsman, Betzalel, as described in the Book of Exodus.”

  He motioned to Grace to follow him. “Over here is the choshen, the Breastplate of Judgment with its twelve gemstones arranged in three rows, worn by the Kohen Gadol, the Holy Temple’s high priest. It contains the Urim VeTumim, which were used for divination. The twelve gemstones represent the twelve tribes of Israel. They would light up in a way that would give an answer to a question.”

  Volk led Grace around the menorah to a golden, rectangular box about the size of a sailor’s sea chest. It had two golden cherubim on top, the angels’ faces turned to each other, inclined slightly downward toward the cover.

  “And this,” Volk said, “is the Aron Habrit, the Ark of the Covenant, which, like the other two artifacts, were also fashioned by Betzalel according to God’s instructions. Inside are the stone tablets containing the Ten Statements that Moses brought down from atop Mount Sinai.”

  “Wild,” Grace said, approaching the ark for a closer look. She reached out to it.

  “Don’t touch it!” Volk exclaimed, yanking her back.

  “Why not?” Grace said, startled.

  “Just don’t.”

  “What, is it going to strike me dead or something?” she scoffed.

  Volk said humorlessly, “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  Grace eased back a step. “What are these things doing here? Why aren’t they down there where they belong?”

  “They are. These are exact copies. Everything holy below exists above. If, God forbid, they had been destroyed, this room would be empty. Those on Earth are hidden or buried for now. They will be revealed when the time is right.”

  “Captain, I graduated at the top of my class at the Academy, and we were taught nothing of what you speak.”

  “Then how do you explain everything you have seen so far?”

  “Maybe you drugged me and I am dreaming.”

  Volk chuckled. “The only dreaming going on is that over at the Academy.”

  “Then why not bring Judge Minos here? Let him see with his own eyes?”

  “Even I don’t have that kind of strength or know-how.”

  “What do you mean? You brought me here.”

  “You’re light, airy—good. There is righteousness in you, Grace. I wouldn’t have been able to bring you otherwise.”

  Grace cocked her head and looked Volk in the eyes, trying to see what he saw in her.

  “This is not the first time you paid me such an undeserved compliment, Captain. Why do you say such silly things?”

  “Because they are true.”

  “But you know me. You know my past. You’ve heard the stories about me, and how I’ve risen among the ranks. How can you believe that there is anything good in me?”

  Volk set his hands on Grace’s shoulders and peered into her silvery eyes.

  “I give no credence to the crowing of cupids. It is not for me to judge you, Grace. You must do that yourself, so that God need not. There is no double jeopardy; you will not be judged twice for the same offense. Give your life a shake and see what falls out. Examine your wrongs, your weaknesses, and your sins. Beg forgiveness, and then do right. ‘Return to me,’ said the prophet Malachi, ‘and I will return to you.’”

  “But what you say is so foreign to me,” Grace said.

  “It seems that way now, but every step you take towards God, He takes two towards you. ‘I will listen’ He said, ‘for I am compassionate.’”

  “Why are you coming to me with all this now?”

  “Because time is running out. The world is at the tipping point, and the whole thing can slide into permanent darkness and despair at any time. The humans need us more than ever, and we both need HaShem.”

  “Who?”

  “The Name. God.”

  “But you said there are other angels, ones mightier than us. Why can’t they do it?”

  “All angels have their own missions. Ours is different from theirs. Only we can do what we do. Bringing man and woman together, fomenting love, bringing new, innocent life into the world—that is our job, and we’ve failed miserably.”

  “Well, why can’t this God of yours just step in and fix it all Himself?”

  “We cannot ask God not to be God,” Volk said. “He gave the humans free will, and he gave us a job to do.”

  Grace said, “Even if I were to believe you, what could you possibly do? You are outnumbered thousands to one. Judge Minos would banish you in a second if he knew what you were up to, and Sett commands total loyalty from his troops of cupids. It’s a fool’s errand you’re on.”

  “Then I guess it is true that fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” He grinned. “Come on, I want to show you one more thing.” He knelt down and tapped his shoulder. “Hop aboard the Captain Volk express.”

  Grace sighed and slumped over the captain’s shoulder.

  Volk began to twirl, Grace’s legs and long, silvery hair whipping around like a helicopter’s blade.

  “What’s that music I hear?” she shouted into the vortex.

  “Angels. Still your mind and maybe you will even see one…”

  They vanished, and then the lights of the menorah dimmed.

  45

  The Four

  Virgil sat studying at one of the old wooden tables inside the yeshiva archives, deep in concentration. He felt a breeze and glanced towards the window, but it was closed. The breeze stiffened into a whirlwind in the center of the room.

  “Kohai…?” Virgil said, pinning down the flapping pages of his manuscript. He pointed at a swirling vortex. “What the heck is that?”

  I smiled, my hair tossing in the wind. “Incoming,” I said.

  Moments later, Captain Volk touched down, ending with a few downshifting revolutions. Over his shoulder he held a semi-conscious Grace.

  “Hello, boys.”

  Virgil bolted to his feet and saluted.

  “At ease, Cadet,” Volk said. “And get the lady a chair, would ya?”

  Virgil hustled over a wooden, straight-backed chair from the far end of the table.

  The captain gently set Grace onto the chair and gave her a soft pat on the cheek. “You okay?”

  She came to and said, “How do you do that?”

  “Cool, isn’t it?” Virgil said. “A lot more fun than the disgronifiers. I can’t wait till I learn how to do it.”

  “Who is he?” Grace asked Captain Volk.

  “Cadet Virgil.”

  Virgil snapped to attention and saluted Grace. “At your service, Ma’am.”

  “And you remember Cadet Kohai.”

  I stood and waved. “Hi, Grace. Nice to see you again.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, puzzled. “My, you have matured considerably since I last saw you.” She turned to Volk, “How could someone change so much in such a short time?”

  I beamed proudly because I could read Grace’s mind. What she almost said was, ‘What happened to the geeky little weakling that I met?’ Then I heard Captain Volk’s scolding voice in my head. Kohai, back it off. Show the lady a little respect. I flashed him a guilty smile. Sorry, Captain. I withdrew my mind from hers.

  “He discovered his angelic essence,” Volk explained. “What you see is the confidence that radiates from the understanding that you are a creation of God. It is the transformati
ve knowledge of HaShem. It is the bracing tonic of emuna.”

  “Emuna? What’s that?”

  “Deep faith,” Virgil said.

  “Cadet Virgil,” Grace said sternly, “does Judge Minos or Commander Sett know you are here?”

  Virgil gulped. “No, Ma’am.”

  “I see. And are you aware of the trouble you would be in if they should find out?”

  Virgil nodded cautiously. “Big trouble, Ma’am.”

  Grace turned to me, a grave expression on her face. “Cadet Kohai, your privilege of studying with Captain Volk does not extend to the encouraging of insubordination by other cadets.” She did not demand an explanation. Instead she turned to Volk and said, “Where are we, Captain? What is this place?”

  “We are still at the yeshiva,” Volk said. “This is the beit midrash, the house of learning. It is here where we reclaim our past.”

  Grace rose and stood at the end of the table. “And how do you do that?”

  “Study, contemplation, debate, and prayer.”

  “And are these the texts you plan to study, Virgil?” Grace said, walking over to him and picking up one of the tomes from the table.

  “Those I’ve read,” he answered. He pointed to a shelf behind her. “Those too.” He set his hand atop a short stack of books in from of him. “These are next. But it’s just a drop in the bucket.”

  “How long has it taken you to ingest these works?” she asked.

  “A few days.”

  “That’s impossible,” Grace contended.

  “I thought so too,” Virgil replied. “But Kohai showed me some tricks.”

  “Tricks? What kind of tricks?”

  “The art of memory,” I said. “Essentially, once we fully accept that we are angels of God, our studies become a long remembering. When the Almighty created us, we were imbued with all the knowledge we needed to do our job. It is already within Virgil. Now all he has to do is remind himself of it. Everything he reads and studies now is really just a recalling of what he already knows. It’s like one continuous déjà vu.”

  “Are you telling me that all cupids possess this concealed knowledge?”

  “As do you,” Captain Volk said.