The Stolen Karma Of Nathaniel Valentine (The Books Of Balance Book 1)

by Justin Bloch

  “We don’t have any choice,” he growled. “There are greater matters at hand and we cannot afford to delay. You said that the beast sleeps. Perhaps we will be able to slip by unnoticed. If not. . .” He paused, then said, “I am a knight of the choirs. Very little is beyond me.”

  The girl’s slim body slumped. Nathaniel could see her resignation in the face of the policeman’s determination. “The sprites give you leave to tread this forest, and we shall no longer hinder your path to the Cathedral.” She paused, and Nathaniel thought he glimpsed wetness in the corners of her eyes. “I shall lead you there myself.”

  As they walked, she explained that, although the Cathedral was really just a short distance away, they would be taking a roundabout route in order to avoid a swamp that had sprung up in the last several months. The river, she said, was getting bigger.

  Nathaniel watched her up ahead, slipping almost soundlessly through the trees and shrubs. She was singing in some language that reminded him of the French he had taken in high school, but she sounded as if she were forcing the tune. Her dress continued to change, though he found that no matter how closely he watched, he could never see it happen. Somewhere along the path she had picked up a broken branch which she swung back and forth like a little girl pretending to be a warrior princess. Like her clothing, Nathaniel witnessed no transformation, but suddenly the stick was gone and she held a staff identical to the one Sol had broken.

  “If the Cathedral is so dangerous,” he asked after awhile, “why don’t we just bridge back to my world, then bridge back to this one? Try again, I mean. Maybe we’ll end up closer to a Spiral.”

  The karma policeman shook his head. “No. I’d rather risk the Cathedral. There are places far worse than this”

  The sun was strong overhead, but the forest remained stubbornly gloomy. The air hung heavy and still around them, suffused with the wet smell of decomposition and alive with the drone of thick swarms of flies. Huge toadstools clung to the bases of trunks like bloated tumors, and leprous tree limbs rotted off the trunk. Roots had pulled out of the soil and lay in bunched tangles atop it, as if the trees abhorred the earth and were trying to free themselves from it.

  The light grew brighter just ahead, and Nathaniel glanced behind him, caught Sol’s eye, and pointed. The girl waited for them to catch up, twisting her small hands over the smooth wood of her weapon, her knuckles white.

  When they had reached her, she turned and declared, “Behold, the Cathedral of the Spire,” like a tree crashing to the forest floor.

  The building was massive, set in the center of the clearing. The walls were formed from huge slabs of rough, mottled gray rock leaned against one another to create a hulking, shapeless mass. The stone had an oily sheen to it that gleamed in the flat glare of the sun. Nathaniel guessed that the shortest wall had to be nearly fifty feet high, and the structure was at least three hundred feet long. At the far end, the black spire he had seen cutting across the moon sliced upward to a height which defied logic. Even as far away as he was, Nathaniel could see that the circular spire was constructed with the same awkward architecture as the main building and even seemed to zigzag back and forth in places. The Cathedral looked like a clumsy house of cards, built perhaps by drunken giants. None of it should be standing, he thought. It should not exist.

  Not just the Cathedral, though. . .none of this should exist, the stubborn voice inside him argued, awake for the first time that day.

  No, but it does. It is all real.

  Nathaniel waited for a moment, but no one inside his head retorted. He brushed his hair back from his eyes and stared across the clearing to the dark maw that served as the doorway to the Cathedral.

  Sol stepped forward past the trees and into the open space. “Come,” he whispered, glancing back over his shoulder. He headed toward the entrance of the great building, Sylvia behind him. After a moment, Nathaniel followed as well.

  The grass here was withered, pale, sickly yellow. As he caught up with the girl, he could see the tortured expression on her face. Her dress was again the tunic she had worn when she faced the policeman on the bridge, but for the first time it was a solid color, dull citron that nearly matched the grass. Nathaniel reached out and touched her shoulder, and she turned.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, trying out a smile. He found that it didn’t fit very well and saw that she could tell.

  “Perhaps. But I dread the waking of this evil.”

  He waved a hand ahead of them, at Sol. “He’s a. . .” He paused, searching for the right expression. “A knight of the choirs. Everything’ll be okay.”

  “Yes,” she said, unconvinced, and pity welled up inside him. The forest was her responsibility, and she was being forced to watch it die. “Yes, I’m sure it will.”

  The karma policeman had reached the Cathedral and trailed a hand along one rough wall as he walked toward the doorway. He stood in front of the shadowed arch, peering in, until Nathaniel and the girl reached him.

  “There is no way I may persuade you to leave this venture?” the girl asked with unmistakable hope.

  Sol turned to her. “No. My duty takes me inside, and I have no choice but to follow it. We will gain the Spiral, of that you may be assured.” He reached into one of his jacket pockets and withdrew a tiny flower bulb. “It is a stardust orchid,” he said, handing it to the girl. “For all of your aid.”

  She made no move to take what the karma policeman offered, staring at it instead with an expression of awed veneration. “It is too great a gift for one who defied you.”

  “No, it is well earned.” He bowed his odd bow once more, and Nathaniel did the same. “We will take our leave of you now, milady.”

  She took the bulb reverentially, cupping it in her hands like a girl receiving her first communion. “Fare thee well, knight. Stand true and go with haste.” She took a quick step forward, lifted up on her tiptoes, and kissed Nathaniel’s cheek lightly as the brush of moth wings. “Fare thee well, Nathaniel,” she said, smiling.

  “Goodbye, Sylvia.”

  She spun on her heel and flitted back across the clearing. The moment she passed the first tree he lost sight of her, her cloak blending perfectly with the woods. “What was that business about the flower bulb?”

  “The stardust orchid is a very rare flower, found only in one location on this world. The wood sprites brew a tea from the blooms which they believe opens the cosmos before them. They are able to map their destinies based on the stars and constellations.”

  “Sounds like a psychedelic.”

  The karma policeman nodded. “The flowers are a door to another layer of perception.” He fell silent, staring off into the forest. After a moment, his voice low, he said, “Nathaniel, listen closely. I don’t know what manner of demon has taken up residence here, but if it can bring this devastation to the forest, then it is to be feared. We’ll try to make it across the nave and to the Spiral without notice, but if it is roused, I want you to run as fast as you can for the altar. Behind it should be the entrance to the spire, and that is where you should wait for me if I am forced to combat the creature.” He turned and looked into the shadows of the doorway, and Nathaniel thought he could see worry hidden behind the cop’s features. Sol went on. “I will lead. Stay close to me. If we are ambushed, I cannot protect you if you are too far away, and you are too important to lose. Do you understand everything I’ve told you?”

  “Yes,” Nathaniel replied. He was surprised by the strength in his voice, despite his rapidly beating heart. Adrenaline surged through his blood.

  “Good.” The karma policeman unbuttoned his jacket and reached into an inner pocket. He withdrew his hand, flicked his wrist, and the straight razor shot out with a crisp sound. “Let’s go then.”

  Nathaniel nodded and Sol turned and strode into the darkness of the arched entrance, his black jacket bleeding into the shadows cast by the stone walls. Nathaniel followed close, and together they disappeared into the Cathedral, where some na
meless evil slept.

  Chapter IV

  “There’s nothing here,” Nathaniel said after several moments staring out across the Cathedral. They were standing at the edge of the nave, concealed within the shadows of the entryway. Sol, still beside him, made no response to his comment, just watched, evaluated.

  Beyond the entrance, the space opened into an expansive, ruined spectacle. The walls soared above them, nearly vertical, then angled in to form the point of the roof. It was supported by no columns, no beams, and this should have made the massive stones seem weightless. Instead, Nathaniel had the impression of tremendous strain, subconsciously hunching his shoulders beneath the pressure of the rock above him bearing down. The building felt like it was collapsing around them at glacial speed.

  The floor was made of huge blocks of darkly reflective stones, cut precisely in heptagons and placed flush to the mica-flecked walls. Nathaniel was confused by it, this perfection juxtaposed with the walls, until he looked closer and realized that the lay of the huge wall stones was not as haphazard as it appeared. High above, Nathaniel could see ledges, balconies almost, crowded with the dark shapes of rooks, watching the intruders with malice: this was their place, and it was being invaded. Between the ledges there were regular openings where the wall met the roof that let light slice down into the great space, and threads of sunshine lit the floor like sutures across a wound. Bordering each side of the center aisle were rows of pews, nothing more than long slabs of stone sitting atop chunks of rock. Many were cracked in half, left to sit like derelict seesaws. Far ahead the altar loomed, barely in view, lost in deep, slanting shadows.

  “Come on,” Sol whispered. “There is no point in wasting time here.”

  They set off, moving cautiously. Halfway across the nave, a rook cawed, suddenly and a single time, from behind them. They both spun, startled, but nothing else moved. The Cathedral was still and empty, and Nathaniel began to wonder if the wood sprites’ sleeping evil was nothing more than a superstition.

  He turned back and saw what Sol was already considering, a small wooden, pedestal table sitting in the gloom just in front of the steps that rose to the altar. Chairs sat on either side and several tiny objects were placed on top of it, too distant to identify.

  “That wasn’t there when we came in,” said Sol.

  “Are you sure? It’s dark down there, maybe we were too far away to see it.”

  “No, it wasn’t there.” The policeman tightened his grip on the razor, his eyes darting around the Cathedral. “Something wakes.”

  “What do we do?” he asked, swiveling his head, trying to catch any movement, any threat. “What do you want to do, Sol?” He paused briefly. “Sol?”

  He faltered, confused, took two steps forward, stopped. He spun in place, looking for the long jacket, the white blond hair, checked down a few rows of pews, peered up at the rooks for a moment as if they might be to blame. And then he could deny it no longer, and panic reached into his chest and squeezed his heart with cold fingers.

  The karma policeman was gone.

  He forced himself to calm down and catch his breath. He had been betrayed, but that wasn’t the issue at the moment, it had happened and now he had to deal with it. He had to think. As far as he could tell, there were only two ways out of the Cathedral: the entrance and the Spiral. He was the same distance from both. If he could make it to the entrance, then he could flee to the forest. If Sol wasn’t there, waiting like a coward, maybe he would be able to find Sylvia again. But Sol had mentioned that there was a Spiral in London, and if Nathaniel could make it past the altar, he could make it back to his own world. He would just have to figure out how to use the Spiral and he would be safe and sound, back home.

  Home, he thought. No more demons or karma police. Home.

  He turned toward the altar and froze with one foot hanging in midair. There was an old man hunched over the little table, carefully arranging the tiny objects. Nathaniel lowered his foot, then slipped it behind him. The old man hadn’t noticed him yet and Nathaniel thought he could slide away, duck behind a pew, stay in the shadows, and make his way to the entrance of the Cathedral. The Spiral was not worth a confrontation with a man who had appeared as suddenly as Sol had vanished. There were other Spirals in this world. He could take one of those.

  He turned gradually, trying to move with as little actual movement as possible. There was no sound but the soft click of stone on stone as the grizzled old man bent over the table, arranging. Nathaniel bit his lip, took his eyes off the demon and faced the entrance.

  The entrance wasn’t there.

  The old man sat in front of him at the table, ramrod straight, his hands folded in his lap, apparently satisfied with the set of the objects. He raised his eyes to Nathaniel’s and smiled.

  Nathaniel’s mouth dropped open, and he looked back over his shoulder. The entrance was behind him, and he weighed his options again, wondering if he could still make a break for it now that he’d been seen.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t even bother if I was you,” said the man, chuckling good-naturedly. “It’ll just be me again if you turn around.”

  Nathaniel hesitated, then spun on his heel and broke into a run for the entrance. He went four steps before he could jerk himself to a halt, arms pinwheeling to stay on his feet.

  The man was in front of him again. His grin widened, became a cemetery of yellow, tombstone-shaped teeth.

  “Come on over,” the old man called, pushing the empty chair away from the table with his foot. He indicated the table, the objects arranged atop it. “Tempt you with a game of chess?”

  Nathaniel pulled the chair further away from the table and sat down, keeping his eyes on the old man, who sat and watched him patiently. His face was etched with deep wrinkles the way a desert wind carves troughs in the sand, and a fine white stubble covered his cheeks. He wore a round-crowned, flat-brimmed black hat that reminded Nathaniel of a preacher from the Bible Belt, a white shirt that looked homespun, and a black suit coat, plain, with a tarnished white pin on the lapel. He struck Nathaniel as a friendly neighbor, the kind who kept a little vegetable patch behind his house and grew tomatoes he would be happy to share with you right off the vine. The old man lifted a hand and tilted his hat back off of his forehead. The shadow from the brim crawled upwards across his face and revealed his eyes, jaundiced and bloodshot.

  “Pleased to meet you,” the old man said, offering his hand. He spoke with a pleasant drawl. “Glad to have you here, always like a spot of company after a nap.” He smiled again, full and frightening. “What’s your handle, son?”

  “Nathaniel.” He ignored the gnarled hand hovering over the game board. He was scared, terrified of what the old man might actually be, and worried that his own shaking hand would give his fear away. “Who are you?”

  “Oh, I got a couple names. When you get to be my age, you start collecting ‘em like the obituaries of friends you’ve outlived.”

  “Who are you?”

  The old man thought for a moment, regarding Nathaniel with his wan eyes. “A name’s a private thing, son. Time was, you gave your name away, you gave your power away as well. Gave your opponent control over you.”

  “I told you my name.”

  “That you did, and at your own peril.” He paused, rubbed his hand over the stubble on one cheek, making a sound like someone doing a chalk rubbing of a grave marker. “I suppose Anopheles will be good enough for our purposes.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Just a game of chess. Not really such of a much. So few people come to the Cathedral of the Spire nowadays. Gets lonely for an old man with no visitors to help pass the time. And I do love a good game.”

  “What are the terms?”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “When I win, you’ll become an avatar of my power and go forth into the world to spread my influence.”

  “Who are you really? What are you?”

  The old man grimaced, pointed a thick finger across the table. �
��Y’know, I’m trying to be hospitable to you, youngin’, but I don’t appreciate your lip. If you keep pushing me, I’m gonna push back, and I can guarantee you ain’t gonna like it.”

  “Fine,” he said, and raised a hand in apology, “then what happens if I win?”

  “If you win, I’ll release you from the Cathedral. You can use the Spiral or the front door, it makes no nevermind to me. But to be quite honest, I don’t reckon you have much of a chance against me, son.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  The old man grinned. “Who says you have a choice in the matter?”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “A choice? Free will’s a myth, son. The Source sees to that.”

  “I thought it was the Source that was responsible for free will,” Nathaniel replied.

  The old man laughed like the rooks cawed and gave no other response.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Nathaniel said, “even if I win, you’ll just go back on the deal.”

  Anger flashed across the old man’s face and was gone in an instant. “Deal’s a deal, boy. I won’t go back on my side of it, and you won’t on yours. You could run, try to hightail it out of here. But I’d kill you before you could make it past five rows of those pews, and it would not be a pleasant death. Play and you got a chance at life.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “Nor should you, I’d warrant. But I never renege. Chess is a game of kings, a game of conquerors, and at least at this, I am a man of my word.”

  Nathaniel was quiet, weighing his options. He could make a break for it, but he had a feeling Anopheles was not exaggerating when he said he could strike him down before he could get anywhere close to the entrance of the Cathedral. And he had grown up with chess, it was something he knew, something he could understand. His father had taught him as a boy, and some of his most pleasant memories were of the two of them bent over a chessboard. When his father was otherwise occupied, Nathaniel spent long nights playing against his computer in the absence of any friendships. “I choose to play, then.”