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

by Justin Bloch

  And so Nathaniel had died by her hand, and her brother had fallen in spite of it.

  “I never should have done it, I should have known it wouldn’t work and left it for someone else,” she sobbed. She glimpsed Nathaniel’s face wherever she went, haunting her. Illusions. Ghosts in her imagination.

  “I’d do anything to bring him back,” she whispered. Her lips were wet with her tears and she could taste the salt on them as she spoke. “To hold him once more. To tell him I’m sorry for what I did and try to explain why. He was a good person. He would have wanted to save Sol, if he could.”

  Her companion stood up from his place beside her and stepped into her lap. He curled up there, then looked into her face and meowed softly.

  “Yeah,” Nova responded, petting the cat gently. “I know you miss him too, Robber.”

  Chapter XXV

  The winds raced across the Elysian Fields, bending the long grasses in rippling quick waves. Weeping willow tendrils whipped back and forth in the gusts, and flowers touched the ground for the first time since they had broken through it. Birds stayed perched safely among the branches or snuggled deeply into nests, heads tucked under wings. The winds pushed and shoved their way across the land.

  A fallen angel had come to Elysium.

  He moved across the fields like one possessed, as if he knew only one thing and that was to go forward. Since leaving the Spiral, he had not wandered one step from his true course. He was going to the ring valley of Limbo, and though the wind seemed intent on barring him from his destination, he would not be swayed. His trials were near their end. He would not be kept from his vengeance any longer.

  He looked subtly different. The light had gone out of his eyes, but it was more than that; the difference was nothing a finger could be put on, nothing specific like a change of hair color, a gain of weight, a lack of halo. Features examined individually seemed completely normal, but as a whole, the seraph had changed. Looking at him now was like looking at a doppelganger, perfectly identical but wrong in some minute way. But of course, that way was really not so minute at all.

  Like Lucifer, like Luna, like any number of angels before him, like any number that would come after him, he had fallen. Such was the burden of duty, such was the curse of free will. He had made his decision. He would never again set eyes on the Silver City, never again watch the sun drop beneath the Shimmering Sea. He was no longer a karma policeman. He wished that it were not so, that he could have completed this mad play as the angel he was when it began, but he could live with it. He would not have to live with it for long.

  Nathaniel’s death occupied more of his mind than he would have liked. He had known that Nathaniel would have to die, just as the Ciphers before him had, had thought that killing him would be a simple task when it came down to it. Though he was sworn to protect them in their struggles toward Paradise, Sol had seen enough of the cruelty of Residents to not mourn the loss of a single one.

  He had thought so, anyway. The reality had turned out to be something different because of Stella. And so he had to make a choice, and he made it. He could not bear to murder the person who had saved his daughter from a second death. He had thrown away his straight razor. He had chosen to renounce Heaven and fall.

  And now he grieved, for both his daughter and his friend. In his mind, he begged both of them for their forgiveness. He was not sure how they could ever give it to him.

  But he was sure that he would make those responsible pay.

  His quest would take him to his end. He would take Luna’s life, she who had taken so much from him. He knew that the Morningstar would never allow him to leave his realm alive, but it meant nothing to Sol. It was so much smoke and dust. Stella was what mattered. Luna was what mattered. He had made his choice and now he meant to see it through.

  He climbed the final hill and halted at the top. The bottom of his long, dark jacket, unbuttoned all the way down, caught in the wind and was pulled with it, flapping beside him in the crisp current of air.

  Sol of the seraphim stood on the cusp of the ring valley and looked down upon his bride, the Gatekeeper Bertha.

  On another world, Nova raced toward the Glass Palace. She knew that Sol must be on the Library by now, and that time was short, and her panicked heart urged her on faster.

  It was her conversation with Robber Baron that had given her the idea. Sitting in Love Park, watching the children and the fountain, her mind had cast back to those long talks with Sol in the pocket parks. His frustration with the Residents, his fury over Bertha’s intended execution. And it had come to her, the solution, her one chance. She’d returned Robber to Nathaniel’s apartment and bridged immediately to the Silver City.

  The sun beamed down from its apex in the sky, bright and lemon yellow. Nova was nearing the palace, and she could see the towering pillar with its twinkling stained glass cap.

  “Oh please don’t let it be too late,” she murmured. She was an angel and beautiful by nature, but now, as it always did in times of stress, her true radiance shone through. Spots of color blushed her cheeks, and her Maya blue eyes glittered. She was gorgeous, ravishing, ethereal. Even here in Heaven, where beauty was the status quo, she was a vision, a creature of light.

  The smooth blue walls of the Glass Palace burst into view, the massive doors yawning wide and welcoming. Clouds of dust rose in the places where her feet touched the ground, and a distracted cherub was bowled over when he strayed unknowingly into her path. Nova called a hasty apology over her shoulder but did not slow her step. Time was a thief that was stealing her brother. She had only one chance to save him: her boon.

  She shot through the double doors and began to follow the inward-turning spiral, keeping toward the middle of the corridor to avoid pedestrians. The drawback of the curving passage was that she had a very limited sight line; several times she had to swerve to keep from crashing into someone. Citizens, who were generally not prone to swearing, did so clumsily, shaking their fists at her back as she dashed by.

  Nova sprinted through the last bit of the corridor, her arms pumping at her sides, her feet barely touching the floor between her long strides. Things were coming to a head. She had no way of knowing that for sure but knew it just the same, could feel it deep in the base of her skull. Her chance to make an impact was slipping by her like sand through spread fingers.

  She came to a skidding halt before the red door, her feet sliding on the slick glass floor. She stared at it, breathing hard. She knew that she was wasting precious moments by lingering here, but she needed to get herself under some kind of control, no matter how tenuous. Things had a way of twisting when the Source was involved, especially when concerning its gifts. It had happened to Sol when he saved Bertha, then was given responsibility for her life. A Resident had said that the Source did not play dice with the universe, and this was true, but the Source did seem to enjoy a little fun at the universe’s expense.

  Nova pushed the red door open and stepped into the throne room.

  Bertha saw him, standing at the top of the hill. She did not move from her spot reclining beside the rock. Her long hair flew loose around her in the wind and the sheer fabric of her gown rippled. She had been facing his direction when he crested the hill and did not seem at all surprised to see him.

  He started down toward her, his hands swinging slightly by his sides. The grasses bent under the fallen angel’s steps and sprung back as he passed, only to be caught once more by the wind and shoved in another direction. Bertha watched him approach without comment, rising to her feet when he reached the bottom of the hill.

  She was stunning, but in a cold, hard way that he didn’t care for. Even after all this time he could still hear her song whispering through his head, drawing him to her. Her face, which from the top of the hill had seemed expressionless, was now possessed of a fierce joy. There was life in her eyes like Sol couldn’t remember seeing since before their daughter had died.

  He stopped when he was a few paces from her.
They stood that way for several moments, neither speaking, simply regarding each other. These two, who had once shared a marriage and created a life, now awkward and speechless before each other.

  “The Allamagoosalum is slain,” said Sol at last in his hushed voice.

  “You’ve done it, then,” she answered, grinning. “It’s over.” She let out a joyful cry and rushed to him, hugging him tight to her body.

  His arms slipped up and around her waist, and he laid his head on her shoulder. He could not remember the last time he had held her. Her windswept hair tickled his cheek and nose, but he did not move. He squeezed her in his arms and fought to keep from crying. “It’s not over, not yet,” he whispered, his lips barely moving as he spoke.

  “What did you say?” she asked. He could still hear the happiness in her voice and it tore his heart in two.

  “It’s not over yet,” he repeated, louder this time.

  The Gatekeeper drew back, holding him at arms’ length. Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean it’s not over? The Allamagoosalum is dead. And you killed Nathaniel?”

  He winced, lowered his eyes. “Nathaniel is dead.”

  “Then it’s over.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Bertha cocked her head to one side and released him from her grasp, stepped away. “Sol, what’s wrong?” she asked. “You look strange.”

  He said nothing, only gazed at the lush grass beneath his feet.

  “Sol, tell me what’s going on, I don’t understand,” she pleaded.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and did not look up. To his guilty mind, Bertha sounded almost pleased that something was wrong. He loved her still, even after all these long years, and he would not speak until he knew that he could say what he had to without choking up.

  It didn’t come to that, though. Bertha moved another step away from him and he heard her inhale sharply. “You’ve fallen,” she whispered, and then again, as if trying to convince herself. “You’ve fallen.”

  He nodded slightly and moved his hands from behind to in front of him, staring down at them. He could not summon the strength to look at her and tell her the rest. He could still hear pleasure in her lovely, lilting voice.

  “Oh, Sol.”

  He was silent for another moment. “I could not bring myself to kill Nathaniel. I disobeyed divine law.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He raised his eyes and, after an unsteady moment, locked them with the Gatekeeper’s. “I’m going to finish this. And I want you to help me, Bertha.”

  She gave him a confused stare. “What are you talking about?

  He took a step toward her and took one of her hands in his own. “Stella—” His voice cracked and he was forced to start over. “Stella should still be alive. That boy wouldn’t have killed her, wouldn’t even have come near her, if he wasn’t pushed.”

  “Pushed?”

  “Pushed toward her, Bertha. Luna pushed him toward her. And now I mean to kill her and avenge our daughter.” He paused, carefully surveying the Gatekeeper’s face. It showed nothing, no grief, no anger, no fury. Not even any shock. “I want you to come with me.”

  KARMA POLICEWOMAN, YOU ARE WELCOME HERE.

  “Thank you,” Nova answered, her voice infinitesimal compared to that of the Voice. She rolled through the ritual phrases of respect. “I have come to seek an audience with you.”

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

  She hesitated. The vast emptiness of the void surrounded her, black and infinite. She had never liked it here; she was a policewoman and had an inherent distrust of dark places, even when the dark place in question was the safest location in all the worlds. “My brother intends to descend to Hell.”

  THE FALLEN ANGEL SOL. YES.

  “He intends to kill another of your angels. Luna.”

  YES. THESE ARE THINGS OF WHICH I AM ALREADY AWARE.

  She fell silent for several moments before the emotion burst forth from her, her fists curled into tight little balls. “I don’t want him to go!” she cried out suddenly. “If he goes, he’ll be slaughtered! And I love him, I don’t want him to die!”

  A moment of quiet.

  THEN YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE TAKEN THE CHOICE FROM HIM.

  Nova’s lips parted and she began to speak, but the words caught in her throat. The Source had taken a tack completely different from what she had expected and caught her off guard. “What…what do you mean?”

  SOL HAD A CHOICE TO KILL OR NOT KILL THE CIPHER. YOU TOOK THAT CHOICE AWAY FROM HIM WHEN YOU KILLED NATHANIEL VALENTINE.

  “But he’d made his decision,” she shouted. “He couldn’t bring himself to kill Nathaniel.”

  MINDS CAN BE CHANGED, SERAPH.

  “I don’t see what that has to do with him going to Hell,” she snapped. She knew that she was speaking too harshly, not showing the respect she should, but was helpless to stop herself. Her head burst with the guilt of it. She could have convinced him. Maybe she could have convinced him. Instead, she had forced his fall.

  JUST AS A FALLEN ANGEL MAY NOT ENTER HEAVEN, NOVA, ONE WHO HAS NOT FALLEN MAY NOT ENTER HELL.

  She gaped at the void. Her mouth moved as if she was trying to speak, but no words found their way past her lips. She had given him the key to the gates of Hell. She said nothing for a long time, struggling to come to grips with what she had done.

  The silence strung out and Nova floated. She did not know how long it was before she spoke again, but it took the Voice a moment to answer, as if the Source had turned its mind to other things while it waited for her.

  “I have come to ask you for my boon,” she said. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, ran her fingers over one cheek. They came away wet and she looked at them oddly. She hadn’t realized she was crying.

  THIS IS A GIFT OF A SINGULAR NATURE, NOVA. ARE YOU SURE OF WHAT YOU WOULD ASK?

  “Yes. I would ask that you restore your grace upon my brother, the angel Sol, so that he cannot descend to Hell.”

  YOUR BROTHER MAY YET BE DISSUADED FROM HIS COURSE WITHOUT MY AID, SERAPH. ARE YOU CERTAIN THAT YOU WOULD NOT ASK FOR SOMETHING ELSE?

  Nova began to tell him that no, she knew what she wanted, and then she remembered lying in bed with Nathaniel the night before his death, his body pressed securely against her own. She remembered his crooked smile and the brush of his hand over hers and the way his cheeks had flushed when she’d given him the scarf and the kiss. And she realized that there was something else that she desired from the Source.

  “I…I don’t understand,” the Gatekeeper murmured.

  Sol squeezed her hand. “The boy who killed our daughter was never supposed to be anywhere near her, not according to his own plan for the attack. But midway through, something called to him and he changed course and went right to the classroom where Stella was hiding, hit her with the gun, shot her friend, and then left. That’s when I caught him.” He said this last with a savagery that seemed out of place in his calm voice. “It was Luna, Bertha. She tried to kill you, and when she couldn’t, she vowed revenge. And she took it on our daughter. On Stella, our little girl.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asked. She looked completely bewildered.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you any more.”

  “No, it can’t be.”

  Sol put his hands gently on her shoulders. There was a new light in his eyes. “It can be. It is. And I want you to come with me to Hell to set things right.”

  She looked at him blankly for several seconds, then took a step away, back toward the massive black stone. “I can’t just…just leave, Sol. I’m needed, to guard Limbo, to keep watch over it.”

  “Bertha, no one has ever made an assault on Limbo. There wouldn’t be any point to it. There wasn’t even a Gatekeeper until you came along. Nothing of any consequence has ever happened here.”

  “But I’ve accomplished so much. There’s no way I could come with you, Limbo needs me.” Her words rushed from be
tween her lips like water through a broken dyke. Her head flicked from side to side exactly as it had when he caught her singing on the night they met.

  “No, Bertha,” Sol retorted. He was becoming annoyed with her refusals. “Limbo does not need you. I, I need you.”

  Her eyes went dark as hurricane clouds and she locked her gaze on him. “You need me? You, Sol? You caged me here and forgot about me. You stripped me of the sea. You took everything I had known and abandoned me here, and now you need me? No. No.”

  The karma policeman’s mouth became a thin, tight line. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it all the way to Luna without your voice, Bertha. I’m sorry for what I did to you, but this was our daughter. Our Stella. Would you not avenge her death?”

  Bertha began to speak, but before she could, a very strange thing happened: someone tumbled out of the great black stone and collapsed onto the ground.

  It floated in the dark, alone, or so it thought.

  “No no no, this isn’t right at all, not at all. Something is terribly amiss,” said a voice in the blackness. It was male, nasally, uptight, and its owner seemed to be fiddling around with something that was making an awful lot of clicking noises. “Here, here,” the voice said, rustling some papers. “What’s your SIN?”

  It supposed that the voice must be talking to it since there was no one else around. “Can you be more specific about which sin?” it asked, surprising itself. It hadn’t been aware that it could speak.

  The voice let out a labored sigh. “Not sin,” it explained. “S-I-N. Your Soul Identification Number. What is it?”

  It was still in the dark on the SIN. It wished that the voice would turn on a light. “My number is 57575,” it answered, astonishing itself again, and even more so this time. If it hadn’t realized that it could talk, it hadn’t had the slightest clue that it knew what its SIN was.