Simantov

by Asaf Ashery

  “Maybe something cold,” Mazzy said. “Cola?”

  Her reaction threw the Athaliah even more than the blood flowing from the faucet. Mazzy’s eyes looked cold, almost indifferent. It was that elusive quality, seen yet unseen, harsh yet gentle, encompassing and evaporating, the ability to reject the irrelevancies life throws your way and focus on the heart of the matter. Without calling it by name.

  Mazzy took advantage of the Athaliah’s confusion to knock her completely off balance. It was time to reveal another detail from her encounter with Barak, something that had become clear after her talk with Libby. Another piece of the puzzle. Mazzy asked innocently, “What happens if the Gate of Heaven opens?”

  The Athaliah was not easily surprised, Mazzy knew, so she was doubly satisfied when she saw her recoil. But Lilith’s Daughter quickly recovered.

  “If the Gate of Heaven opens, it means we will disappear. Either the last of us will die trying to stop it or, when the Gate opens, everything we have accomplished here over hundreds of years will be obliterated. They will not tolerate our presence, a constant reminder of their failure during their period of exile. They will wipe out any trace of The Order. It’s not just us here, it’s everyone. Imagine a world without women in politics, education, business, or communication. An entire world of homemakers without aspirations or opportunities.”

  “It’s not going to happen. This is the modern world. It’s not something that can simply…”

  “It can. Simply. Bear in mind that The Order is responsible for seventy percent of the positions of power held by women. We are not always present, but we always set a precedent, we made it legitimate, we were behind the politics, the impetus, the connections. One of our Order was always the trailblazer. In one way or another we were behind Deborah the prophetess, Madame Curie, Mary Shelley, Virginia Woolf, Golda Meir…”

  “Alexandria Ocasio Cortez?” Mazzy cut in.

  “No, not her. She did it herself,” said the Athaliah.

  “Your whole establishment will disappear if the Gate of Heaven is opened?” asked Mazzy.

  “There is no connection between the superior world and Kedem. There was only one Genesis. Everything that contradicts it must disappear.”

  “I don’t have much time, so I’ll explain to you how this is going to work. You will tell me everything you know about the time and place when the Gate of Heaven will open, and I will tell you how we plan to rescue the women from the ceremony.”

  “I don’t know what Libby told you, but we had no intention of rescuing them. We want to stop the ceremony. These women become trivial when you look at everything that’s at stake. Every war has its objectives, and we must strive to attain ours. The women know the score.”

  “Even Karina? And Estie?”

  “A Lilith’s Daughter does not choose to be one. She is born a Lilith’s Daughter. It has its advantages and disadvantages. They are rank and file. Their job is to delay their death for the sake of the Order. The rest is not important; it is just an item in the archive of history.”

  “And their rescue won’t change the picture? Don’t the Nephilim need them for their ceremony?”

  “They do, but they need them alive. From the Order’s perspective, it makes no difference if the Gate doesn’t open and the kidnapped women die, or if we manage to stop the ceremony before any of them is sacrificed.”

  “My only mission is to find them, preferably alive.”

  “So we’ll do what we have to do, and you’ll do what you see fit.”

  The Athaliah faked a conciliatory smile and invited Mazzy to her chamber. The negotiation was coming to an end.

  “All the signs, observations and testimonies point to the Jabbok Crossing as the site of the opening.”

  Mazzy wondered if that was a place she should recognize or just a symbolic location. But there were more pressing issues.

  “When?”

  The Athaliah had regained the ability to surprise. “Tomorrow.”

  The simplicity with which the Athaliah uttered the statement shook Mazzy. This was an eventuality she was not prepared for. She was seething, though she wasn’t sure if it was childish rage at the ever-changing rules that made victory almost impossible, or a reasonable, adult rage stemming from important information that had been kept from her. She opened her mouth and the question slipped from her tongue.

  “I thought the ceremony was synchronized with the counting of the Omer. There are eleven days to Shavuot, when Heaven’s supposed to open, so why is it tomorrow?”

  “You are using the wrong calendar. You’re looking in the wrong places and listening to a man, to this Elisha,” the Athaliah said disdainfully. “The solar calendar has three hundred sixty-five days, and it is based on the revolution of the Earth around the Sun. It is not the calendar used in antiquity, and it certainly is not the one used by the order of the Nephilim. The lunar calendar, on the other hand, has three hundred fifty-four or five days and is based on the revolution of the Moon around the Earth. Even the men who controlled time knew that they needed to balance it. But even then, we inserted a mark unbeknownst to them, and they were obliged to add a month – seven times in every nineteen-year cycle, in order to reach the necessary balance. The fact that nineteen equals Eve according to the calculations and gematrias of men only helped us insert a little irony. Seven is always a stronger number. Our number and theirs.”

  This sounded almost logical. If Mazzy hadn’t been so furious, she might have found it amusing. The next question shot from her mouth.

  “So why didn’t you bother to tell me all this before?”

  The Athaliah seemed to muster all the authority and condescension still left in her enfeebled position.

  “Until now you were not relevant. The fact that the information reached you surprises me, but I will get it from you. I believe it and I believe you and I don’t have many options.”

  She really had no choice. Mazzy knew that she was holding the trump card, the method of obtaining the names. Even before entering the room, Mazzy had known what would happen. Anger and guilt made way for a new feeling. Something primordial and archaic. Revenge. She was going to fight back, to restore some control over her own fate.

  “So what is this grand plan that’s going to change everything?”

  Mazzy went to the maps, examined them and then began to make her own plan, explaining in a confident, majestic, commanding voice. The voice was Rachel’s; the hands were Mazal’s.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The remains of Barakiel’s corpse radiated somber grandeur as it lay on the shiny surface of an oak table. All that was left of his brutal majesty were broken bones, charred tissue, and black feathers hanging from a single wing like some apocalyptic foliage of an Indian summer.

  Yariv scrutinized the broken figure. The shins had been shattered from the fall, or perhaps by the explosion. The pelvis was completely burned, leaving unanswered the question that led Yariv’s eyes toward the groin area. Going up the torso, he examined the collarbone and the remnants of the remaining black wing.

  It still had feathers stuck to it, clinging to the bone, like hair on a wig. One of the feathers appeared to have been detached a long time ago.

  Yariv rummaged in his pocket. The black feather was still there in a sealed evidence bag. He took it out, absentmindedly, almost unaware.

  In the general madness and confusion, he needed a fulcrum, something comprehensible. He already knew that the powers were not matched. They had never been equal. He knew his contribution was small, but he had to try. He looked at the Naphil’s remains, longing for the days of yore and for the sights that a human eye could not hope to fathom.

  He took the feather and tried to insert it in the wing. It fit. He realized that any of their feathers would probably fit, but he wanted this to be the one. This one would make sense, give meaning to his efforts. He was reminded of something Rozolio had said to him ages ago, when Yariv asked why he used a certain approach when examining the scene of
a crime.

  Rozolio had the smile of a mystic.

  “Biton, one day you’ll be an excellent detective. But first you have to realize that the world we live in is a little more complex than you think and not everything is logical or just. Eventually, even if you solve this particular case, tomorrow there’ll be another one. You can’t win alone, possibly not even with the help of others. In the final analysis, whatever we do makes no difference, and this is precisely why the only thing that does matter is what we do do. So just pick a direction and follow it.”

  With all the craziness that surrounded him, with Mazzy, the Nephilim, Lilith’s Daughters and the Gate of Heaven, Yariv decided to go back to basics. It might not help, but it wouldn’t hurt. He put the feather back in the plastic bag, covered Barakiel’s cadaver and strode toward the exit.

  THE EIGHTH GATE

  MAJESTY

  THE FORTIETH DAY

  FIVE WEEKS AND FIVE DAYS OF THE COUNTING OF THE OMER

  “And he was afraid and said, how dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

  GENESIS 28:17

  A thick layer of crushed carobs covered the hill, emitting a strong stench in the air. Brown crescents kept falling from above, making a swooshing sound. Hundreds of ravens circled in the sky, and the ground bore scorch marks of two parallel lines and what were unmistakably horses’ hooves.

  Tiny comets of bluish flame and rings of smoke rose from those marks on the ground.

  At the edge of this smoking pathway stood the chariot, Mighty Flame, resplendent in its chimera of supernatural fire. The taut reins glowed red hot and shook in the wind.

  Four proud stallions stamped the ground, their muscles glimmered yellow, orange and red. Their manes shook and smoke poured from their nostrils. At their side and oblivious to the heat, stood a figure clad in black, with long flowing hair, holding a staff in one hand while the other rummaged in the pockets of his tattered cloak.

  Finding what he was looking for, the figure pulled out an object dripping blood and gave it to the closest horse. The animal took it with a fiery tongue and a smell of charred flesh filled the air. The other horses neighed in protest. Elijah laughed.

  His ravens flew overhead in widening circles, their shadows covered the gathering angels and Lilith’s Daughters, whose camps were now facing each other.

  As was his habit, Elijah hummed a song in his thick, tarry voice.

  “In the country I love, the almond tree blooms. In the country I love, we are waiting for a guest. Seven maidens, seven mothers, seven brides at the gate.”

  Elijah twirled his almond wood staff like a drum majorette. On a nearby hill, in a semi-circle, were seven figures all bound and tethered to an improvised altar: the little girl, the judge’s daughter, the actress, the lawyer, the doula, Libby and the professor. Elijah waited for her majesty the detective and his highness the chief inspector. His ageless self formed the top of the Kabbalistic tree when he hovered in his fiery chariot, twirling his staff.

  Three Nephilim soared down from the hill where the seven pillars stood.

  “We have walked to and fro through the Earth and behold, all the Earth sitteth still and is at rest,” Shamhazai said as he stood facing him. Elijah stopped twirling his staff.

  “It’s about to start.”

  “Are you planning to stay? To take part?”

  “I am a messenger, not an angel. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair. They will be busy trying to survive.”

  Elijah pointed his staff straight at Shamhazai’s face, a few centimeters from his perfect eye, halting the motion with a swoosh, like an ancient warrior.

  “What seest thou?”

  “I see the rod of an almond tree.”

  Elijah smiled and, all at once, his staff became a branch that sprouted fresh buds with pristine white crowns and pale pink seeds. The seeds soon became green almonds before all too quickly maturing into brown nuts. The smile was reciprocated. Elijah complimented his colleague.

  “You have well discerned.”

  Darkness descended on the world and Elijah’s face shone. Five pillars of light reached up from the hill opposite the mountain; the wait was over. The wanderer took out a ram’s horn from his belt and began to blow. A mighty sound came from above, and the heavens opened a crack. Thunder and lightning accompanied this display until dark clouds rolled slowly toward the mountain. Elijah’s horn blared louder and louder. The Earth shook and the smoke ascended from the mountain as from a furnace.

  The two camps began to march toward each other and no peace was present on Earth. The curtain began to open on high. Elijah withdrew the ram’s horn from his lips, but the sound carried on. He watched the unfolding scene to see what would transpire, who would prevail. One more thing was left for him to do. He returned to his chariot, cracked his whip and soared heavenward, his lips reciting the verses of the seventy-two letters of the sacred name.

  “And the angel of God, which went before the camp of Israel, removed and went behind them, and the pillar of the cloud went from before their face, and stood behind them. And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and the camp of Israel, and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light by night to these; so that the one came not near the other all the night. And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and the Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided.”

  The wind suddenly became a gale, the clouds parted, and the barred, sealed Gate of Heaven was revealed. Elijah and Mighty Flame circled in the air and made toward the mountain with the seven pillars.

  Two Nephilim, standing guard over the fettered Lilith’s Daughters, spread their wings like cherubim, whipped out their slaughtering knives and with practiced, coordinated motion slashed their victims’ femoral veins. The entire mountain blazed. Blood, fire, and pillars of smoke. From between the bars of the Gate of Heaven appeared two burnished rods, like playground slides, descending into the center of the mountain. As soon as the blazing rods touched the ground, they gave off sparks and flashes like tender buds. The buds became boughs, the boughs became branches, and tongues of fire leapt one toward the other, creating rungs and stairs leading back to Heaven. The two long rods swayed like flags in the wind, to and from the pillars of the world. An enormous conflagration seemed to consume everything in sight, casting a pall on the horrific battle about to begin at the foot of the ladder.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Now that they saw the blazing ladder on the horizon, the smoking bonfires, and the Nephilim flying reconnaissance missions over the valley, the detectives folded the maps with rustling dexterity.

  No need for maps on a dead end street.

  Without being asked, and contrary to her driving habits, Mazzy slowed the SUV. They were sliding down one hill and up another, closing the distance between themselves and the hill with the fiery ladder.

  “Why here, of all places?” asked Yariv.

  From the back seat, Elisha inserted his face between the shoulders of the passengers in the front seat. Larissa, at his side, silently shuffled her cards, trying to calm her nerves. She picked up a single card, a tower on a rocky crag with its battlements in the sky. The tower had been hit by lightning and was aflame. Two figures, a man and a woman, were falling from the tower, crashing into a dark abyss. Larissa didn’t even bother to interpret the card for the others. No one spoke; even the motor was still, as if not to disturb the silence that pervaded the valley and the ravines.

  Elisha answered the question that hung in the air.

  “This must be the place. Here Jacob fought with the angel, closing a circle not just for himself but also for Adam, since the patriarch Jacob is his Tikkun, his spiritual restoration. The fallen angels, too, are seeking Tikkun.”

  “Aren’t angels supposed to be good by definition?” asked Izzy.

  “Angels are emissaries to this world. The Holy Zohar talks of good and evil as at
tributes of the Divine Entity. When Jacob went to meet Esau, his evil twin, he actually encountered a part of himself – a place of both good and evil. At the end of that momentous night of decision, Jacob conquered himself. He contended with people and with angels and overcame them. Only then was his name changed to Israel. Both the man and the angel were born anew. They are the good and the evil, which are both necessary in the world.”

  “Except that if the Gate of Heaven is opened, they won’t be in the world, and the world won’t be the same anymore,” said Mazzy.

  In an attempt to hold on to something concrete, Izzy fished out the two smooth green stones from her bag. Larissa, sitting next to the aura reader, suddenly pronounced, “The eclipse at last,” in her rasping accent, rolling her tongue over the L’s.

  Mazzy lifted her eyes to the place where what remained of the sun was just a pale circle in the darkness: a celestial retina, reminding one and all that observant eyes were up there, watching both the good and the evil.

  The day changed into night, a night different from all other nights.

  A night that was no night and no day, stillness and ear-splitting noise, and the surrounding hills and the mountain like sparks of light, igniting and turning off.

  Mazzy gunned the engine and they sped down the hill in a cloud of white dust. When they arrived at the appointed hill, they left the car at the bottom and climbed on foot. The guards of the Order of Lilith’s Daughters made way for them; only Na’ama, who was in charge of Mazzy’s security, stayed with the group.

  “The moment you finish and Elisha begins, we shall begin,” she told Mazzy.

  “It won’t take long. The eclipse will soon be over.”

  “I’m very impressed with your strategy and with your determination,” Na’ama said, “but if you’re thinking only of saving rank and file members, you’ll end up with more casualties.”