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

by Justin Bloch

  “Let’s go,” Sol whispered from behind him, where he already held the door open.

  “Good luck,” Nova said, and eased the door closed once they were outside. Nathaniel and the cop stood in the hallway for a moment, silent, then began walking toward the elevator.

  It was colder outside than Nathaniel had expected, and he was immediately glad he’d chosen his pea coat. The wind stung his face and ripped the door out of his hand, sent it crashing against the brick wall several times before he could grab and close it. The rain pelted them, and they made a dash for the car, leaping inside as soon as Nathaniel could get the doors unlocked. He wrapped the scarf around his neck a second time and made a mental note to thank Nova again, and more properly, as soon as they returned.

  He started the car and turned down the radio until the music was only a quiet hum beneath the steady drumming of the rain upon the roof. He flicked on the lights and set the windshield wipers at their fastest setting, then pulled out of the spot and up to Brierhill Road. A man with a banana yellow aura walked by, strolling as if it was a bright spring day. He carried an umbrella, but it was collapsed and he was using it as a walking stick.

  He put on his signal and pulled out, splashing through a puddle near the storm drain. Sol was quiet beside him, and Nathaniel left him to his thoughts. If Sol had things on his mind, Nathaniel wouldn’t bother him, especially since he figured that anything the cop was thinking about probably had to do with him.

  The car slid along at a modest thirty miles-per-hour. He was in no hurry, and if he killed them both in a car accident, they wouldn’t be much good to anyone. The thought gave him pause, and he wondered if the karma policeman even could be killed. He supposed it must be possible, but when he thought back to Bertha’s story about Lucifer’s rebellion, her description of the desert after the war had contained plenty of blood but no mention of a single fallen body. He snuck a quick glance at Sol and at his reflection in the passenger side window, and decided to shelve the question for the time being.

  Traffic was slow because of the downpour, and he paced the minivan in front of him, trailing by three car lengths. Sol roused himself and began to give directions, and they rolled along curves and hills, through trees and trailer parks. The road opened up, wound past warehouses and an industrial plant belching out voluminous columns of thick white smoke.

  They neared the entrance to the military base and Sol sat up straighter, cleared his throat. “The third left,” he said, pointing.

  Nathaniel slowed the car and turned onto the little paved drive. Storage units stretched out on the right hand side, a field of asphalt and white metal surrounded by a tall, barbed-wire fence. On the left, a single house.

  It looked like any other, not a bit out of the ordinary. The yard and flower gardens were well-tended and a row of magnolia trees stretched along the road. There was a concrete patio with a basketball hoop and a big, old-fashioned well constructed of river stones and dull, splintered wood. A dogwood tree sat next to the well in full bloom, a burst of brilliant white against the miserable day.

  The house itself was a one-story rancher. It had blue siding, but the colors on different sections didn’t match perfectly, as if additions had been put on. There was a tiny porch by the front door and two big windows in what Nathaniel thought was probably the living room. They stared at the house for almost a minute before the karma policeman roused himself and said, “All right, let’s go.”

  Nathaniel flipped the collar of his pea coat up and opened his door, grasping it tightly so that the wind couldn’t steal it. He leapt out, slammed the door and ran for the porch, tilting his head forward to keep the rain from stinging his face. When he reached the porch and looked up, Sol was already standing there, brushing water from his dark jacket. At the edge of the concrete porch were four pairs of handprints, a family name, and date. Nathaniel wondered whether a family had ever lived in the house, or if it had always been a cover.

  The karma policeman looked at him seriously. “I must warn you, Nathaniel, the Shine are a malevolent force. They are liars and charlatans, and the more pain they can inflict, the more amused they are. Do not take anything they say too seriously.”

  When Nathaniel nodded, the karma policeman swiveled on one heel and twisted the knob just as he hit the door with his shoulder, bursting into the house which, as the door swung on its hinged arc, Nathaniel saw was not really a house at all.

  Instead of a foyer, the area just past the door seemed to be a cave. The rough, tight walls were lit by the light spilling in through the open door, although only dimly. Nathaniel eyed the doorway.

  “Nathaniel,” snapped the karma policeman. “Come on.”

  He held his breath and stepped forward through the door. There was a curious spinning sensation, not as if his body was moving, but as if the world around it was, and then he was standing beside Sol. The cop reached around Nathaniel and shoved the door closed. It stood, a white door embedded in rock.

  The small cavern was murky and shadowed; water dripped steadily from somewhere. Stalactites and stalagmites had sprouted from the ceiling and floor, and the space was so faintly illuminated that the stone appeared purple. A tunnel led away from the room on a slight downward slope.

  “Follow me and stay close,” whispered Sol as he set off, and Nathaniel fell into step behind him. The path led to a much larger room, the ceiling hidden in deep shadows. Crevasses ran up and down the walls, and Nathaniel could feel the Shine hiding in the darkness all around him. No matter where he looked, however, he could not see a single one, and he began to feel the first twinges of fright. He ran a finger over the ‘p’ between his index finger and thumb.

  “Make yourselves known,” spoke the karma policeman, and his voice was strong and clear, even in its softness.

  Silence. A soft giggle, quickly stifled.

  “Make yourselves known,” he repeated, his voice echoing. “You must obey.”

  Another giggle, and another, another, another, each coming from a different shadow in the room. Nathaniel’s gaze shot from place to place, trying to pin a voice to an owner. None could be seen.

  “We obey no one. We are the children of Loki, seraph. It is not in our nature to obey,” said the Shine in a high voice from a crack in the floor a few feet from Nathaniel.

  “You will obey me. I am a karma policeman, and you are given no choice if you wish to continue your mischief.”

  “Free will, policeman,” giggled a stalactite. “Always a choice,” said a low shadow.

  Sol reached into his jacket and withdrew a small, blue velvet bag. The karma policeman held it high in the air, and the tittering of the Shine ceased immediately. “Valhalla,” he whispered. “More ashes of your precious Valhalla. Would you pass them up?”

  “Give them” “to us.” “We want” “them. We will take them from you.”

  “No,” he replied. “You will not take them. You haven’t the power to stand against me. If you want them, you will palaver for them.” He dropped his hand and put the drawstring bag back in his jacket, making a show of it.

  A hush.

  “What do you” “wish to know?” “We will tell you want you want.” “Give them to us.”

  “What do you know of the Allamagoosalum?”

  “Evil.” “Malicious.” “Wonderful.”

  The room erupted in giggles and Nathaniel covered his ears to shut out the lunatic noise. Sol turned to him and shook his head, then made a motion across his throat with his flattened hand. Forget it, I quit, the gesture said. “Fare thee well, Shine,” he said, and headed up the path to the entry room.

  “No!” the voices shrieked in unison, seeming to come from every dark place in the cavern. Nathaniel sensed a drawing closer, and he took sly glances to his left and right. He found that if he didn’t try to look directly at them, he could see hints of the creatures out of the corners of his eyes. He wondered how many of them there were, how many hidden, insane creatures.

  “You had your chance,
Inhabitants,” Sol said without looking back.

  “It kills in circles,” from a pockmark in the wall. “It begins and ends where it began and ended before its creation,” from behind an outcropping of purple rock.

  Nathaniel couldn’t see the sense in any of what the Shine said and turned to see how the karma policeman would scathe them this time, but the cop stood motionless, facing the room, his lips parted slightly and a look of dawning comprehension on his face. “Sol?” Nathaniel asked. “Do you know what they mean?”

  Sol ignored him, withdrawing the bag from his jacket and stepping back into the room. “You are positive?” he asked.

  “We are the Shine,” every voice answered, which wasn’t any answer at all.

  “Do you know where the creature is now?”

  “Loosening a bikini top.” “Teasing a fat girl.” “Icing a walkway.”

  The karma policeman scowled. “You know that is not what I meant.”

  “We count many” “among our number.” “The Tanukis, the gremlins.” “The poltergeists, the Pucks.” “Many more, many names for the Shine.” “We cannot be expected” “to keep every one straight.”

  “The Allamagoosalum,” seethed the cop, his fists clenched. “Do you know where the Allamagoosalum is now?”

  “In existence.” “Somewhere.” “Not here.”

  Sol shook his head angrily and tossed the bag through the air. It smacked against the wall, fell to the floor and lay there untouched. Nathaniel could feel the greedy longing of the demons. “There,” the cop barked. “Your payment for doing what you are sworn to do.” He spun on his heel and took long strides toward the entrance.

  “We wrote you a poem, policeman.” “A bit of poesy for your journey.”

  The karma policeman waved his hand dismissively. “Come on, Nathaniel,” he said.

  The Shine began speaking before he could reply, though, each line of the poem recited from a different location:

  “The sun shall set” “and never rise.”

  “The karma policeman” “hides his lies.”

  “Who pays the cost” “when the debt comes due?”

  “The poor little Cipher,” “he hasn’t a clue.”

  Nathaniel whirled on Sol, suddenly furious. Even the Shine knew something he didn’t, and it was the final straw. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but the karma policeman was gone, and he heard the door back to his own world slam shut.

  “The children of Loki,” spoke the Shine, “hope you enjoyed yourself as much as we did, little Cipher.”

  The cavern erupted in raucous, tittering laughter and Nathaniel fled, sprinting up the passage and back through the portal, the world spinning to meet his running feet as he raced to the car, opened the door, and threw himself in. The karma policeman was slumped in the passenger seat, his head in his hands. The rain crashed against the roof of the car.

  “Sol,” Nathaniel whispered, surprised at how cold and deadly the voice issuing from his throat sounded, “I want to know the truth. I want to know what you’ve been holding back from me.”

  The cop remained silent for a moment. “You cannot trust the Shine, Nathaniel. They are tricksters. They lie for their own pleasure.”

  “Yeah, but I bet you could still probably teach them a thing or two about it.” And he remembered, suddenly, remembered the question Sol had never answered in Elysium: “Where did it come from? Where did the Allamagoosalum come from?”

  Sol said nothing.

  Nathaniel stared at him, waited as long as he could control himself, then slammed one palm against the steering wheel. The car horn beeped woefully. “Fine,” he spat, turned on the car and threw the gear shift into reverse.

  Sol’s hand fell on top of his wrist, and he froze. The seraph’s skin was hot, his grip simultaneously tentative and insistent. “It was me,” the karma policeman whispered. “I am the cause of all of this.” He paused, turned away so that he would not have to look Nathaniel in the eye. “I created the Allamagoosalum.”

  Chapter XII

  Nathaniel stared at the karma policeman. The downpour roared on the car roof, and now knives of lightning sliced through the maelstrom, followed quickly by echoing explosions of thunder. The wind rocked the car back and forth.

  Sol reburied his head in his hands, covering his face. He had let his defenses down, willingly or not, and his essence shone through, a burst of sunlight amidst the dark, encroaching gray of the storm. He was incandescent, and Nathaniel came to a realization: Heaven, what Sol sometimes called the Silver City, would be full of these wondrous beings, and none of them would be cloaked there, as they were on this world. Such a sight would be beyond words, like simultaneously seeing an entire blizzard and every one of the million little snowflakes that whirled in its winds.

  He looked away, out through the window. He was confused, overwhelmed. His anger had abated, but he could feel it hovering, waiting to swoop back in as soon as he understood how Sol could have created the Allamagoosalum. Innocent people were dead, and his life had been irrevocably changed. He carried around the karma of the victims like a parasite, sucking away at his life. The Allamagoosalum was a monster, and how could an angel be responsible for it?

  “Sol,” he began slowly, measuring his words like ingredients in a precise recipe. “What. The hell. Are you talking about?”

  The karma policeman straightened in his seat and ran his hands up and over his face and through his hair. “You don’t understand how I could have created it,” he said at last, echoing Nathaniel’s own thoughts. “I created it through my actions. I did not do it purposefully, but without me, it would not exist.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything, though. How did this happen?”

  The karma policeman was quiet for several moments. A fork of lightning split the sky above and illuminated his features in stark black and white like a panel from a comic book. “That,” he replied at last, “is a very long story.”

  “Well dammit, Sol, you didn’t think about maybe telling it during those long, awkward silences we had?”

  The karma policeman didn’t respond, stared straight ahead and pursed his lips.

  “What I really don’t understand is why I still don’t know. This is like the zillionth time we’ve had this argument.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Then what’s the issue? Come on, man, I’m trying to help you, I’m trying to be your Cipher, but you’ve got to work with me. Where did the Allamagoosalum come from?”

  “Its origin…the story is very personal to me. It is a story I never intended to tell.”

  “Well, you’d better get used to the idea, because when we get back to my apartment, I want it told.” Nathaniel reversed onto the road, shifted into drive, and headed toward home.

  The return trip took longer. Wind blasted the side of the car, shoving it toward the shoulder or center line in alternating gusts, forcing Nathaniel to sit hunched over the steering wheel, peering out into the deluge. The wipers were a blur across the windshield. The car trembled like a frightened animal as the sky ripped itself apart with thunder and lightning.

  “Thor,” muttered the karma policeman.

  “Hmm?” asked Nathaniel. His attention was focused on preventing the car from veering off the slick road, and he wasn’t even sure he’d heard Sol speak.

  “Thor. One of the Norse gods.”

  “Right, uh-huh. What about him?”

  “He must have been drinking last night. This is a storm of only his caliber.”

  “Oh.” A pause, then, “Wait, drinking?”

  The seraph nodded. “Mead. In the past, on mornings after Thor had indulged, he would create great tempests upon the earth.”

  Nathaniel considered this. “I thought you said there were no gods, only the Source.”

  The cop shook his head and turned on the defrosters, which Nathaniel had been too preoccupied to do. “No, there are many, many gods. All the gods that were ever worshipped are real. They are
aspects of the Source.” He paused and turned the music up a bit. It was a local station playing classical, something by Brandenburg. The karma policeman listened for a moment, then continued. “What you think of as God, what is really the Christian God, is not the Source. It is simply one of the ways the Source makes itself known. The being you know as God is no more or less valid than Thor, or Zeus, or Jurojin, or any other for that matter. They are all just different faces of a single entity, like facets of a diamond,” he whispered.

  “Huh.” On the radio, Brandenburg finished and Nathaniel glanced at his visor, where his CD holder was, picked out an Our Raccoon album, put it in. A girl’s voice poured from the speakers, singing sweetly over the sound of a xylophone. “I always thought it was silly that people used to believe in so many different gods.”

  “If you can believe that there’s one omnipotent being out there, is it so unlikely that there might be others? That would be a very lonely existence.”

  “I guess. I never thought about it like that.”

  “Sometimes,” whispered Sol, “aspects that have mostly been forgotten, save for in stories and legends, reappear. Like seashells buried and then uncovered by the ocean’s waves. This storm reminds me of those Thor used to create.”

  “Back with the Shine, with that bag of ashes, didn’t you say something about Valhalla? That’s Norse, too, right?”

  The karma policeman nodded. “Long ago, there was a war between the Norse and Greek pantheons. It was a short, bloody war, as the wars of the gods generally are, and the first attack was against Valhalla, Odin’s fortress. The Greeks razed the stronghold, burnt it until there was nothing left but cinders and ash. Much of it blew away, but the karma police gathered what was left and divided it among themselves to use as leverage. The Shine believe that if they can retrieve enough of Valhalla’s ashes, they can recreate it and redeem themselves. It has put them in the palms of our hands.” He paused, considered. “More or less. It gives us some level of control over them, for we have what they most desire, and the children of Loki are not known for their strength of will.”