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

by Justin Bloch

  “Just as I thought,” said the voice, more to himself than anyone else, and with an unmistakable note of glee.

  A light switched on and it found itself in what seemed to be an office. Bland, gray-walled cubicles filled the space. Soft, wooden clicking noises came from every small workspace.

  “I’m afraid there’s been some kind of terrible mistake, 57575,” the voice said, sounding rather delighted about it.

  57575 turned, as much as it was possible for a faintly luminescent cloud of consciousness to turn. The owner of the voice was sitting cross-legged on the floor behind a remarkably short desk, looking quite smug. His face was plain and thin, with no sign of stubble on his cheeks. His neatly trimmed hair had been parted razor-straight on the left side and he wore a pair of wire-framed glasses. His khaki slacks were immaculately pressed, his white dress shirt crisp under a navy blazer. A pocket square jutted from the breast of his jacket. Capping off the whole ensemble was a bright red bow tie.

  “What kind of mistake?” 57575 asked.

  “Oh, one that’s going to take quite a bit of sorting out,” answered the man joyfully. “You see, you’re not supposed to be here. Not yet, anyway. Someone somewhere has bungled.” He paused, then added in a breathy voice, “It’s absolutely wonderful.”

  The man (57575 noticed that the fellow’s ridiculously organized desk had a little placard on it that read “Mr. Tally”) reached behind him and plucked something off of a shelf, and 57575 realized what all of the clicking noises were: abacuses. Mr. Tally began to push colored beads back and forth on his own, muttering to himself as he did the figures in his head. 57575 floated and watched.

  “Oh my goodness,” he said. He paused to jot a few numbers down on a notepad, the right edge of which was perfectly aligned with the desk edge. His handwriting was fussy, fastidious, consisting of tall, thin, painstakingly rendered characters. He shifted a few more beads, thought for a moment, shifted a few more, then looked back up at 57575. He was grinning. “You’re much too early.”

  “What does that mean?” it asked.

  Mr. Tally set his abacus down in the center of his desk, laying it so that its sides were parallel to the sides of the blotter on which it sat. “It seems you were dispatched too soon. Apparently someone with quite a bit of power put a claim on you. Then, someone else took it into her head that you needed to die, so you ended up here prematurely. These things do happen sometimes, luckily.”

  57575 realized that it didn’t know where the ‘here’ Mr. Tally had mentioned was and said so.

  “Hmm,” commented the neat little man. “I would have thought you would have asked that straightaway if you didn’t know.” He sighed, obviously put out by having to deal with such ignorance. “You’re in Limbo, 57575, and much too soon. I’m the Divinor that’s been assigned to your case.”

  “Is there any way to fix that?” it asked.

  Mr. Tally brightened visibly. “Oh, yes indeed! We can straighten everything out. It’s just a matter of filling out some paperwork.”

  57575 thought about telling the man that it had actually been asking about changing caseworkers but decided against it.

  Mr. Tally grabbed a clipboard excitedly and turned back to 57575. “We’ll have to complete quite a few forms,” he said, sounding jubilant as he rifled the edges of an inch-thick stack of papers on the clipboard. “Most of them have to do with past life experience, karmic allotment, wrongful death explanations, that sort of thing. There’s one in there that requires you to list all sins and salvations you’ve committed in your past five lives, that one’s a doozy, although I see you were a new soul in your previous life. We can probably disregard that one.” He frowned, disappointed, then brightened up, speaking with awed reverence. “The final document is the most important, though: Form 879A - Request For A Formal Incarnation Of A Previous Body.”

  “Is there any way to speed this along?” it asked.

  Mr. Tally looked aghast. “Oh, I should certainly hope not.”

  Nova rushed through the park, running as quickly as she could. She wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed while she was in the throne room, but she knew she had precious little of it left to get to Sol before it was too late. She had hoped that the Source would deliver her directly to him, but as soon as her boon was granted, she had found herself once more standing in the azure halls of the Glass Palace, her back to the bright red door. She had tried to open it, meaning to return and ask to be taken to Sol, but found it locked. So she started to run.

  There was a Spiral on the edge of the city, different from any other in that it could be traveled in only a single direction, away from the Silver City. She would use it to get to the Elysian Fields in hopes that Sol and Bertha had not yet left the ring valley. If she was too late and they had already gone…well, there was only one path to Hell from the Library that would be accessible to both Sol and Bertha, and the Spiral could take Nova to it as well.

  She raced through the city, flashing past block after block. She could not afford to lose any time now. She made turns and cut through alleys automatically. She had been a Citizen for thousands upon thousands of years and she knew the city well.

  The Spiral loomed up and into her view, pleasantly light gray. The bar of blue that corkscrewed up the length of the tower glowed in the bright midday sun. Next to the Spiral, a small, unobtrusive cranberry door was set into the wall that surrounded the Silver City, the door to the shifting lands.

  Nova made for the dark wood door of the Spiral, shooting through it with such force that it slammed against the inside wall of the tower, rebounded, and crashed closed again. The karma policewoman barely noticed as she rocketed up the twisting stairs, keeping close to the center and taking them three and four at a time. She moved as no human could ever hope to. She was driven and she would not be slowed.

  When she reached the top, horror took hold of her heart. Her treacherous mind whispered that she was already too late, much too late, that her brother was already gone. She exploded into Elysium, let go of her inhibitions and blurred toward the valley. The distance disappeared beneath her feet, and then she was there, at the top of the hill, looking down toward the black stone. Her heart gave a tremendous leap of joy.

  Her brother was still there, still alive, and she could see even from where she stood that the Source had done what she had asked.

  And then she noticed something that couldn’t possibly be, not unless the Source had granted her the boon of her brother’s returned grace and her heart’s wish:

  Nathaniel had come back to life.

  Mr. Tally swiveled around in his chair and faced 57575. Every form had been signed in triplicate; documents had been notarized; carbon copies had been made; i’s had been dotted, t’s crossed. The whole bloody mess had been filed precisely according to protocol. Mr. Tally seemed about as pleased as he could be without his bow tie beginning to spin like a helicopter’s rotor.

  “Well, that’s that then, and a job well done,” he said happily. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but you won’t have one until whenever you’re ushered out of Limbo.”

  57575 inhaled sharply, or would have if it had lungs. It hadn’t realized there’d be a wait. It could remember its past life now and was anxious to get back to it. “And when will that be?”

  Mr. Tally removed a calendar from one drawer of his desk, paged through it while counting off days on his fingers, set it aside, took a pocket-watch from an inside pocket and gave it a calculating stare. “Oh, I’d have to say any minute now,” he surmised. He replaced the watch in his blazer. “Although you’re welcome to stay and observe my next case, if you’d like. It’s a politician from your previous world. Should be quite a bit of fun.”

  57575 left as quickly as possible.

  Nathaniel staggered out of the rock and crumpled to the ground. He coughed twice as his lungs once more began to take in air. He pushed himself up on his arms, then tried to gain his feet. He could see someone standing near him, but his vision was
blurry and he wasn’t immediately sure who it was. He stood, wobbled, and caught his balance, his arms held out on either side of him.

  Sol and Bertha gaped at him. Neither had moved since he had come through the stone. Neither seemed to have any idea what was going on or what they should do about it.

  Nathaniel tried to tell them he was okay, but what came out was a garbled mess of consonants, and he only managed to get a vowel out toward the end when he was attempting to say “fine,” and that was the “e,” which was unhelpfully silent. His eyes had cleared enough now that he could see who it was standing before him. He took a step toward them and stumbled, his arms pinwheeling on either side of him.

  “Nathaniel!” Sol cried, and that broke their paralysis and they each grabbed one of his arms

  (a woman with black hair and a red scabbard.) (a woman with dark hair, standing beside

  the giant black stone.)

  and steadied him.

  Nathaniel shook them off and spoke again, now with more success. “Nuh, M’m fine,” he mumbled. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the images of Luna he had stolen from Sol’s and Bertha’s minds, then paused. Something…something wasn’t right about them.

  “How is this possible?” the karma policeman asked, confused. “How…” He trailed off, simply staring.

  Nathaniel raised his right hand and spread his index finger and thumb, stretching the web of skin where the tiny scar was. “Pstlence,” he muttered, his voice almost entirely returned. He felt Sol take his hand and run a finger over the raised flesh, but his mind was elsewhere and he didn’t even notice the flood of images he stole from the seraph. He was too busy trying to make sense of the difference in the first set of images. His mind did not want to admit what it meant.

  Nathaniel turned his gaze away from the dumbstruck angel and toward Bertha, who was considering him warily.

  Nova watched from her place at the top of the hill, confused. Nathaniel seemed furious for some reason, fists clenched, barely controlling himself. Sol had Bertha by the shoulders, and something was wrong, very wrong, but Nova was still too stunned by the presence of Nathaniel to react. He stood just behind Sol’s shoulder, solid, real, returned to life, returned to her. She could not take her eyes off of him, could not make herself start down into the valley.

  When her brother burst into flames, however, her paralysis broke.

  Nathaniel met the Gatekeeper’s gaze. His cheeks were hot with anger. He had been plucked from his life, had his world upended, been beaten, been killed. He would never be able to go back to ignorance, would never be able to regain what he’d lost. He was furious.

  He had realized what was wrong with the images of Luna.

  “How did you know her?” he seethed.

  One of the dark-haired women wasn’t Luna.

  Bertha cocked her head to one side. “Know who?” she asked. One corner of her mouth ticked up in an almost-smile, as if she thought the Cipher might be making a joke.

  One of the dark-haired women was the vissika he had known as Vi.

  Nathaniel’s heart hammered in his chest. “The spider-demon,” he spat, and jabbed a finger into her shoulder. “The one that attacked me. How did you know her?”

  The Gatekeeper’s posture became suddenly stiff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You do,” he insisted, and took a step toward her. “Tell me how you knew her.”

  He made to jab her once more, but she caught his wrist in one quick hand, twisted it backward. Nathaniel barely felt the pain, watched instead as Bertha met Vi. The encounter was at the forefront of the Siren’s mind, and Nathaniel had no trouble seeing it.

  “You set it up,” he said quietly. He could see it all, hear it all. “You told Vi that the karma police wouldn’t come, that the Divinors said I was beyond karma.”

  Bertha released his wrist. “You can’t know that,” she returned. Her jaw was clenched, the muscles there standing out in hard cords.

  Nathaniel came back to himself. He’d been like a piece of meat to them, worse even, a piece of statuary. Everything about him had changed because of those moments. He advanced on the Siren and the karma policeman caught him, pushed him away.

  Sol turned to Bertha. “Is this true?” he asked. She made no reply, did not look at him, and he took a step toward her. “Tell me,” he said. “Is it true?”

  Nathaniel’s body shook with barely controlled anger. He could not make himself stop thinking about what the Siren had done. Vi hadn’t trusted Bertha, wasn’t going to go through with it, even with all of Bertha’s pleading. And then the Siren had convinced her with the most potent ability at her disposal: a song.

  And, Nathaniel realized with growing horror and rage, he recognized that song.

  He surged forward, fists clenched, not thinking, but Sol yanked him away again before he could reach her.

  “What are you doing?” the karma policeman demanded.

  “It was her!” Nathaniel yelled. “It wasn’t Luna, it was Bertha!”

  Sol recoiled, eyes wide. Bertha took a step backward, her face gone dirty red like rust. “What?” the seraph asked. His voice was like dry branches snapping sharply underfoot. “What did you say?”

  Nathaniel lunged again, pointing at the Siren, but Sol caught him. “It was her,” he barked, “not Luna. She’s the one who sent Raymond after Stella. She sang to him, just like she sang to the vissika.”

  Bertha laughed wildly, clapped her hands together. “The time in Limbo has warped you,” she said.

  “I heard you,” Nathaniel retorted. “I heard you sing to the vissika, and I heard the song still in Raymond’s mind as he died, and it was the same goddamned song. You used them, you aimed them both like weapons.”

  Her laughter died, her face went dark. “You can’t know that,” she snapped. When Sol turned to her, she feigned a smile, cooed, “Surely you can’t believe him, detective. It’s a fairytale. Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Is it true?” the karma policeman whispered. His straight razor was in his hand, and he thumbed it open. She didn’t respond, and he went on. “You knew how much I loved Stella. You knew that I would kill anyone who harmed her. Did you make me create the Allamagoosalum, Bertha? Is it true?”

  She said nothing. She trembled with fury.

  “Is it true?” Sol demanded. “Is it true, Inhabitant?”

  Her eyes flashed like lightning strikes on the ocean. “Inhabitant?” she shrieked. “That’s all I am to you, just another Inhabitant?”

  He grabbed her shoulders, shook her. “Is it true?” he shouted.

  “Yes!” she cried, broke free from his hold and stumbled back away from him. “The angels stole everything from me! They stole my family, my sisters, my mothers, and what they couldn’t steal, you did! You imprisoned me here in this place that used to be a desert. A desert,” she seethed, drawing the word out into an epithet, “away from the sea, where I belong, left me to rot here, and when I saw my chance for retribution, I took it. I planned it all, the marriage, the baby. I saw how much you loved that girl, loved her more than anything, and I stole her, and I watched your heart crush like a handful of rotten berries. It never occurred to me that you would fall, but it’s the perfect end. I always knew you were weak.”

  She smiled then, like a shark, put one palm against the karma policeman’s cheek. “I told the Allamagoosalum to kill them all again and sent the vissika after the Cipher because once wasn’t enough,” she breathed. “I wanted to see you lose her all over again.” She cackled and raked her fingernails down the karma policeman’s face, digging bloody furrows. She sucked in a breath and opened her mouth to sing.

  Sol exploded. The flames rolled furiously around him, blew the Cipher and Siren backward with the force; Nathaniel landed on the soft earth of Elysium, but the Gatekeeper struck the black stone and slumped into a sitting position, her back against the rock.

  The seraph stood motionless for the briefest of moments, and then another explosion of
flame erupted around him as he screamed at the fallen form of the Gatekeeper. The fire reacted with his rage, became his voice, roared along with him. His straight razor was gone, replaced by a spear made from flame. His wings were burning madly gold against the cerulean sky, and the karma policeman spread them and crossed the distance to Bertha in the air.

  He grabbed the Gatekeeper roughly by the shoulder, yanked her to her feet, pinned her to the stone with the tip of his spear. She raised her eyes to look at him, and in them there was fear, and comprehension. The flame of Sol’s body drew into itself, became the deep scarlet red of a coal in the heart of a fire.

  “You have interfered in the karmic path of a Resident. You have murdered our daughter,” Sol whispered. “There can be no penance. I am divorced of you, Siren.”

  The seraph thrust the spear forward, into her breast. The point drove through her body and pierced the rock behind, and there was the sound of thunder as the stone cracked and split up the middle. Bertha shrieked and threw her head back, her eyes bulging. The seraph screamed with her, his wings spread, his body burning fully once more, white hot and bright. He twisted the spear and the Gatekeeper’s cry was choked off. Her body went slack.

  Nathaniel watched, stunned, as Nova appeared, placed her hands on her brother’s shoulders. Sol didn’t react, simply gripped the spear and stared at the husk of his wife.

  Nova shook his shoulder and leaned close to her brother’s ear, whispering something Nathaniel could not hear. After a moment, the fire seemed to calm somewhat. Nova continued to speak, and as Nathaniel watched, the flames subsided and disappeared, leaving Sol in his usual form. The spear disappeared, and Bertha’s body slumped to the ground.

  The karma policeman gazed at the corpse of the Gatekeeper, his eyes like embers. His straight razor slipped from his hand and he turned and wrapped his arms around his sister. After a moment, he began to weep.