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

by Justin Bloch

  She grinned at him. “You’ve made up your mind, then?” she asked. There was a smile on his face that warmed her heart, despite her costume.

  “Yes,” he said. “I will use my boon to save her. It’s the right thing to do. She deserves better than what Luna intends to give her.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded, still smiling.

  “You’d better go then. Once the party has finally ended, there’s apt to be quite a line of Citizens wanting to pay their respects to the Son.”

  They stood in unison. Nova plucked an errant thread from her brother’s shoulder and tossed it into the air, letting the wind take it where it would. He straightened his long jacket and ran a hand over his short, white-blond hair. “Thank you for your help,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. You’d have given it to me if our positions were reversed.”

  He lingered a moment more, smiling at her, then turned and headed for the Glass Palace and the throne of the Source. Nova looked after him for a moment, then turned and walked the opposite way, leaving a trail of frost behind her and snow flurries before her, an ice queen spreading winter to the world.

  The party, though it had died down some, was still going strong when he arrived at the Glass Palace. Paper lanterns, glowing warmly, had been hung in the trees surrounding the clearing before the Palace, the light hazy and magical. In the middle of the clearing was a dance floor and, suspended above it, an intricate, dazzling crystal chandelier, twinkling like an entire dense galaxy of stars, its chain, attached to nothing, leading infinitely up into the ecru dawn sky. Surrounding the chandelier were concentric circles of levitating candles, each tiny orange flame dancing in time with the music. Angels in elaborate costumes twirled on the dance floor; chatted while nibbling hors d’oeuvres; sipped punch from champagne flutes; waltzed in long, gorgeous gowns of silk and tulle. The colors were extraordinary, the pure essence of color distilled in fabric, sharp enough to tickle every sense. Cherry, jade, ginger, prima, lovelle, amethyst. The angels moved together as one across the dance floor, the tints of their costumes blurring like some gorgeous, iridescent oil slick.

  The karma policeman kept to the fringes, moving swiftly and keeping trees between himself and anyone’s line of sight whenever possible. He didn’t want to be seen, especially after he had been absent for so much of the celebration. Although he led a solitary life, there were still angels he called friends who would want him to share in the merriment.

  He slipped in through the mammoth double doors of the Glass Palace, made his way along the curving corridors, his hands in his pockets, his heels clicking loudly. On the walls he could see distorted, ghostly reflections of himself. He wondered if he was alone in the Palace.

  The building had only a single, long hall that spiraled inward from the door toward the center of the Palace and the Source. Shorter passages branched off at regular intervals, and there were many rooms along the hall, but those wishing to find an audience with the Source had only to continue along the main way as it spun toward the throne.

  Sol turned the last curve and found himself staring at the small door set in the wall where the hall ended. It was simple and unadorned with any special marking, just a regular door. It was made of bright red glass and stood out against the sea of blue like the bloom of a rose floating in the middle of a lake. It was left unguarded at all times. The Source required no protection.

  The karma policeman stood before it with trepidation. He was having second thoughts about whether he really wanted to do this now that he was actually here. He put his hand on the doorknob and kept it there, motionless, unsure. The chorus of the sea chantey Bertha had sung played through his mind, achingly beautiful even in memory, and he could not bear to let that voice be silenced. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepped into the throne room.

  The world vanished. There were suddenly no walls, no floor, no light, no Glass Palace. He floated in a void that always reminded him of the void before the shelter space. On many occasions he had wondered if it really was the same void. The world was an unworld, black and nothing.

  He waited. He could feel the Source’s presence pulsing all around him. He cleared his mind of thought and allowed himself to float. The Source had worlds to watch over and it would attend to its servant when it was able.

  Time had no meaning in the void, and eventually the Voice spoke. It was the same Voice as that of the Son, but more encompassing. While the Son had radiated love, the Voice of the Source spoke with power and infinite authority as well.

  KARMA POLICEMAN, YOU ARE WELCOME HERE.

  “Thank you. I have come to seek an audience with you.”

  IT IS GRANTED. UNBURDEN YOURSELF, SOL OF THE SERAPHIM.

  “Bertha the Gatekeeper is going to be put to death by the Emerald. I would ask that you stop it.”

  LUNA HAS MADE HER CHOICE, A CHOICE THAT WAS SET LONG AGO. WHY DO YOU ASK THIS OF ME? WHAT IS THE SIREN TO YOU?

  “She is…I don’t think she should be punished when she deserves to be rewarded. She has been your faithful servant, no less so than the angels, than myself or even Luna.” The Source remained silent, and after a moment, Sol realized that a simple plea would not save Bertha. This, then, was his final chance, his last opportunity to change his mind. He tried to cast away his doubts and press on. “If you will not intercede, then I would ask you for my boon.”

  THIS IS A WEIGHTY THING THAT YOU DESIRE, AND ONE OF A SINGULAR NATURE. I WOULD NOT SEE YOU WASTE THIS GIFT. ARE YOU SURE OF WHAT YOU WOULD ASK?

  “Yes. I know what I want.” His whispering voice sounded thin and insubstantial against the overwhelming Voice. Misgivings would not stop slipping across his mind.

  I CANNOT UNDO WHAT IS DONE, SOL. ONCE IT HAS BEEN GIVEN, YOU MAY NOT RESCIND. I WOULD ASK THAT YOU BE CERTAIN.

  But any desire he had to keep his boon for himself was a selfish one, and he knew it. He had a chance to save a life, and Siren or no, Bertha had earned her life. “I am certain.”

  THEN ASK YOUR BOON, KARMA POLICEMAN.

  “I ask that Bertha the Gatekeeper be spared her execution at the hands of the Emerald.”

  THEN IT IS DONE, SOL. YOUR REQUEST IS GRANTED. BERTHA’S LIFE SHALL BE SPARED.

  “Thank you. My deepest thanks.” A wave of relief swept over the karma policeman. Bertha would live and Luna would be denied her sick pleasure. He could go and find Bertha now and tell—

  WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE WITH THE SIREN?

  Sol’s train of thought stopped. He didn’t know what the Source meant and said so.

  YOU HAVE GIVEN HER LIFE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR IT AND NOW YOU MUST DIRECT IT. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE WITH HER?

  His mind was caught fast for several seconds, locked up by the enormity of the Source’s words. It was a task of a magnitude he’d never had to deal with before. He could do any number of things for Bertha. He could give her complete freedom to walk wherever she chose, be it Heaven, Earth, or the world beside it. He could give her a life within her so that she could continue the line of Sirens. He could give her an island of her own, surrounded on all sides by glittering, aquamarine water.

  “I know what I wish,” he said, thinking back to their first conversation.

  THEN SPEAK, SERAPH.

  “I want her to be given the keeping of Limbo. She felt privileged to be worthy of your faith and proud of her responsibility to the Pearly Gates. Make her the Gatekeeper of Limbo.”

  There was a pause, and when the Voice spoke, Sol thought he could detect a note of hesitation in it. But that was impossible, not from the Source, who knew all time from beginning to end.

  SO BE IT. BERTHA WILL ONCE MORE BE GATEKEEPER. THIS AUDIENCE IS CONCLUDED. FARE THEE WELL, KARMA POLICEMAN. ALL THINGS BALANCE.

  “All things balance,” Sol echoed and suddenly the world surrounded him once more. He stood in the cerulean hall of the Glass Palace, facing away from the red door. He smiled and began to follow the exiting curve of the blue passage. He would fi
nd Bertha, and together, they could join the celebration going on outside.

  Chapter XVI

  But Sol did not find the Gatekeeper then, nor did he find her on the subsequent days following the grand gala. Lucifer had redoubled his efforts on Earth, inciting Inhabitants to interfere in any and every way possible, and the karma police were kept unceasingly busy. And so Bertha did not make more than brief cameos in Sol’s mind. It seemed as if, upon every return to the Silver City, he was called away once more.

  The warm press of summer slid away from the Silver City and autumn rushed in. The trees seemed to catch fire and burn like seraphim, and fallen leaves pinwheeling through the streets were tiny embers caught in the wind. The breeze began teething, jackets became more prevalent, scarves appeared around throats. Every other hand held a steaming hot chocolate. The steps of the Citizens crackled loudly as they made their way through parks carpeted with fallen leaves. Autumn was upon Paradise, with winter just over the horizon, and the city slowed its frantic summer pace and began to relax and settle in for the cooler months.

  Seven weeks after Sol had given the keeping of Limbo to Bertha, he found himself with a few hours free before dawn and decided to visit her at last. The day was clear and crisp when he stepped outside of his home, his long, dark jacket buttoned to the throat. Bertha’s song twined through his thoughts, and because it wasn’t possible to bridge either into or out of Elysium, he made his way to the Spiral on the edge of the city.

  Unlike Heaven, the Library was in the full bloom of spring, and birds sang joyfully and swooped from tree to tree. The karma policeman unbuttoned his jacket and stretched. A squirrel was skittering through the branches of a weeping willow, and Sol watched for a moment, then set off across the fields toward Bertha.

  He strolled beneath the pale blue arc of the sky, through the high grasses and among the weeping willows. Thin clouds rolled by above him like white caps across the face of the ocean. He reached the ring-hill that surrounded the entrance to Limbo without realizing it. His mind had been wandering, and he was surprised to find he had covered so much ground. But there it was ahead of him, a sharp uprising of the rolling land, higher than any of the hills around it. He stood where he was for a moment, watched the grass bend in the wind, watched the shadows of the clouds crawl across the ground, watched bumblebees hover between flowers. Eventually, he pressed on to the hill and up it, where he paused again, looking down upon the Gatekeeper.

  He could tell immediately that something was wrong. She was lying on the ground beside the huge black stone, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms clasped around them like a frightened child. Her eyes were open too wide, her long hair a mangrove forest around her head. She was shivering wildly despite being curled up in a warm pool of sunlight. Sol jerked toward her, wanting to help, then caught himself, unsure. If something was wrong, the karma police would have known: they protected karma, and thus Limbo and the Gatekeeper of Limbo.

  He picked his way down the hill, scrutinizing her. She did not react to his approach, even though he was in her sight line, only trembled and, now that he had a better view of her, mouthed phantom, voiceless words. He was nearly upon her, one tentative hand reached out toward her shoulder, when her eyes blinked into focus. Things happened very quickly then, both of them reacting on simple instinct.

  The instant the Gatekeeper’s vision locked on him, she was up on her feet and backing away, moving with a speed that surprised him. She opened her mouth and let out a single long, loud note, piercingly high-pitched. Sol dropped heavily to his knees, both hands covering his ears. She sang and sang, and his face contorted in pain, became almost unrecognizable in its ugliness. Bertha stepped forward, toward the fallen policeman, and changed her pitch. The note became the world, became the stars, became the universe, and Sol felt as if his skull were cracking with the horrendous power of it. His vision failed and his thoughts were obliterated. There was nothing but the note, the note and the agony.

  His survival instincts took over and one hand fell away from his head and dipped into a pocket which it had visited countless times and could find whether there was a rational mind guiding it or not. His hand drew the straight razor and flicked it open with one deft motion, and prepared for the work it knew so well.

  Sol’s legs pistoned him forward and he slashed at the sound of the song, his world a blind blackness, but the blade connected with nothing and his hand guided the gleaming razor lower, and there was purchase this time, and the note wavered, wobbled, and shattered.

  The karma policeman slumped to the ground and felt something fall beside him. There was a shrill, tinny ringing in his ears, and he was breathing hard. His vision began to clear, and he sat up, rubbed his eyes. Bertha lay on her side in the grass beside him, unmoving, and he panicked, terrified he had killed her, dropped the straight razor and rolled her onto her back. For a moment his fear was so great that he actually saw the red line across her throat and a great black wave of guilt rushed through him. But he blinked and the line was gone, and her eyes were open, teary, glaring at him. There was a small cut, about an inch long, under the left, dotted with beads of blood. She was not dead. He pursed his lips, realized he hadn’t been breathing, let himself exhale.

  “Angel,” she spit like a cobra. “I could kill you with a single note if it wouldn’t bring down all the fury of…” She paused, cocked her head to one side. “Sol? Is that you?”

  He saw the anger drain out of her face and warm color rush into it as she recognized him, and when he nodded, she pounced on him, bowling him over backwards, and hugged him tightly.

  “Oh, I’m so happy to see you,” she squealed after a few moments, releasing him from her grip. “It’s been so long, I’ve thought of you so often.”

  The karma policeman smiled, flattered. “You’ve been on my mind as well.”

  “But why did you wait so long to come? It’s been so long, I haven’t seen anyone in so long, I’d given up hope,” she said, the words spilling out of her mouth. Then, with no segue, as if she had already forgotten what she’d just said, “How are you, detective? How have you been?”

  “I’m fine,” he replied. “Everything is fine. What do you mean you’d given up hope, though? It’s only been a few weeks since we last saw each other.”

  She furrowed her brow. A stiff breeze cut across the ring valley and ruffled the karma policeman’s jacket around him, but left the Gatekeeper’s snarled hair unmoved. “Weeks?” she asked. “It’s been far longer than weeks. It’s been fifty years since we last saw each other.”

  He returned her confused look with one of his own before everything clicked into place and he realized that he had neglected to include one factor, the most important one, in his decisions to put off his visit to Limbo: each day in Heaven was nearly an entire year on this world. He had let seven weeks slip by without visiting, and half of a century had passed on the Library.

  “Oh no,” he said, his voice barely audible. Every vacant moment he’d had since the Son’s ascension, every afternoon he’d wandered a park or visited with Nova, had been weeks, months for Bertha. “I forgot about the time difference. I’m sorry, I would have come sooner.”

  She laughed, but it sounded fragile as a soap bubble. “It’s okay. I’ve just been very lonely, that’s all. The only visitors I’ve had other than you have been a few vissika that have a web nearby in a willow thicket.”

  “You haven’t had any other company?”

  “No,” she said, drawing the tiny word out for several slow seconds. Her face went slack and she fell silent, staring off into the distance, and the karma policeman was about to say something when she continued. “No matter. If people don’t want to come see the Gatekeeper of Limbo, I suppose I can’t make them. I certainly would if I could.” She laughed her peculiar laugh again, ignorant of Sol’s unease. Her eyes flicked back and forth like caged swallows during migration season. “Anyway, it’s nice here. Very peaceful, beautiful weather almost always.”

  The k
arma policeman regarded Bertha carefully. “Are you all right, Bertha? Do you feel okay?”

  She looked at him with a queer expression on her face, as if she couldn’t fathom what he was talking about but didn’t like it all the same. “Yes, I’m fine. Why?” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice became sly, defensive. “Why do you want to know, detective?”

  Sol put his hands up, holding the palms out to her. “I was just curious. I wanted to know how you’re adjusting to your new position.”

  “Well it isn’t new anymore, is it?” she sniped.

  “No. No, I suppose not.”

  She eyed him warily, frowning. She swiped at her face where he had cut her and left a red smear across her cheek. “It’s much different than the Pearly Gates,” she began eventually. “I don’t greet anyone here. People die and their souls are just in Limbo, there’s no gate for them to pass through. Only the living require my services. Just after the time when I took over, a cherub came to visit Limbo, and he talked with me a little, so that was nice. That was about…oh, forty-five years ago or so. And it feels good to still have the responsibility of looking after a realm, and I am vigilant, even if no one has tried to attack it the entire time I’ve been here.”