“Poseidon is only revered in the tiniest of villages, and you wouldn’t be here if the Dark One of Helios were behind the tridents. Shiva’s never been one to announce his intent. He tends to wait and then overact in nasty ways.”
“Your thoughts are similar to mine,” said Corvyn.
“If … if what you say turns out to be true in the other Houses of the Decalivre, it would suggest that a power is building to declare itself the One True God of Heaven.”
“That is exactly what I fear.” Corvyn’s words were totally without deception or evasion.
Siduri rose just before the door to the public room opened and a couple entered. “I wish you well, ancient of shadows.”
“Thank you.” Corvyn handed her his card.
She scanned it and then showed him the amount on the scanner, an amount equivalent to the most expensive prices of high cuisine in Helios or anywhere else in Heaven. Corvyn added a fifty percent gratuity, then approved it.
“Thank you,” Siduri replied.
“It’s been my pleasure.” And for Corvyn, it had been indeed. He stood and inclined his head. “Do take care, Siduri. I’d like to find you here in the future.”
“That is up to you, I believe.” Her smile was not quite impish. “May the light not extinguish your shadow.”
“Thank you.” Corvyn could not resist smiling in return before he made his way out to the electrobike to continue his journey.
Always, Heaven’s purest light
shadows Raven’s every flight.
13
Corvyn spent that night in Galilee, little more than a fishing village, unsurprisingly, since it lay within the lands claimed by the Judaics, and not within the lands of the Paulists or the followers of Jaweau the White, or even of the Poetics. The Sea of Galilee was, as had been its namesake, a large lake, one more than three times the size of the original, some thirty milles long and twenty wide, and likely with better fishing, if fewer storms. He left early the next morning because it would take him until late afternoon to reach the outskirts of Yerusalem.
Yerusalem, like its original namesake, was not located on the River Jordan but some milles east of it, unlike the namesake, which had been to the west of the original River Jordan. But then, Heaven did not always provide the expected. One expectation—or rather the result of that expectation—Corvyn fervently did not wish to see fulfilled. That potentially disastrous expectation would be most unlikely to be fulfilled, or even supported, in Yerusalem, since it was the only House of the Decalivre that had no head, no grand rabbi, not even a successor to the legendary Maimonides. There was no overriding Sanhedrinic council, and each of the branches of Judaism had its own version of the halakha.
All this led Corvyn to wonder whether he would discover anything at all of use during his visit, and what impact, if any, the black-flaming trident had in that holy city.
By early afternoon, he neared the road to Jericho, less than ten milles from the river. The air was definitely warmer and drier than in Nauvoo, and olive groves grew seemingly on every third hill. There were also lemon trees, but those tended to be inside walled gardens close to the houses. The road to Jericho and on to Yerusalem remained one of smooth, impermeable, and almost eternal tan stone.
Corvyn turned onto it and, within a hundred meters, had to ride around a cart pulled by a donkey led by a youth in a brown thobe who did not even look up as Corvyn passed. Neither did the donkey.
After another two hours, Corvyn slowed the electrobike at the crest of a hill where he could look out over Yerusalem, then guided the electrobike to the side of the road before stopping. From there he studied the city that filled the entire valley below, in the center of which was the Temple, to be precise, the Third Temple.
The Third Temple occupied a raised square on the Temple Mount, but then, every one of the previous incarnations of the Third Temple had been on a flattened hill called a mount. The Temple itself was of white marble and shining bronze, theoretically similar in appearance to the Second Temple, but not employing gold, because that would have been heretical for reasons that had never been clear to Corvyn.
Even from the hillcrest some ten milles from the Temple and the center of Yerusalem, Corvyn could sense the interplay of currents of power, very different from Nauvoo, Los Santos, or Marcion, where all the currents centered on the head of that House, or Helios, where all currents, especially those around DeNoir’s villa, were muted. But then, he knew the reasons for that. He decided to head for the quarter of the city closest to the Temple where that interplay appeared to be the greatest.
In time, he entered a yellow brick building with an air of history and the name of the King David. The concierge looked at Corvyn with initial skepticism, which vanished as he accepted Corvyn’s card.
“You will be staying how long, sir?”
“Two nights.” That might or might not be, but Corvyn suspected that what he needed to do in Yerusalem might be even less straightforward than it had been elsewhere.
“I can give you a suite on the sixth floor, sir. If you don’t mind not having a Temple view.”
“That will be acceptable.”
“You’re fortunate it’s not Passover, Pentecost, or even Tabernacles. You know, we even get Poetics and Saints for the Feast of Tabernacles.”
“Many of them?”
“Around ten thousand, sometimes more,” replied the concierge. “Not all at the King David, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You have a vehicle?”
“Merely an electrobike for local transportation.”
“Ah, yes.” The concierge returned Corvyn’s card with a second one. “The suite pass will open any bike locker that’s not taken. Once you open that locker only your pass will unlock it.” He paused. “You know, the lockers at the base of the Temple Mount are not that secure.”
“That does not surprise me. Thank you.”
Corvyn dealt with the bike, extracted his cases, and carried them to the lift that transported him to the sixth floor. Even before he stepped into the sitting room of the suite, he knew that someone of power awaited him, and took appropriate precautions.
The power who stood by the window was both tall and of extreme beauty, of the type once called androgynous, with golden curly hair and deep gray eyes that seemed sad. The angel wore a white shimmering thobe, but displayed no wings, although Corvyn believed the angel could have, if ever the necessity arose.
He did not recognize this particular angel, but that was scarcely surprising. While he knew the ranks of the Judaic angels and their names, there were no descriptions available, or rather, since they could take on a variety of guises, only the patterns of their powers revealed their identity. Corvyn had never needed to make himself more than casually acquainted with any, and that left him at a certain disadvantage.
“Which dark one are you?” The voice was musical, but neither particularly masculine nor feminine.
“You must know by now, if you’re already here,” replied Corvyn.
“Your card tracks to Helios, and the depths of your shadows rival those of the Dark Hegemon. Since Lucian DeNoir, as he prefers to be called, at least occasionally, is not known to travel widely, it would appear that you are the shadow raven, otherwise known as—”
“There’s no need to go there. That was many lives ago.”
The angel’s laugh was like wedding bells at a wake.
“I’m merely visiting Yerusalem. What is your interest in me?”
“Neither the raven nor DeNoir merely exist, or merely visit, and nothing is the same after either passes.”
Under the circumstances that might yet occur, Corvyn certainly hoped that matters would change as a result of his travels. “That remains to be seen.”
“There is enough difficulty here with the present dark one.”
“Samael, you mean?”
“Is there any other in Yerusalem? Until you arrived, that is.”
“What do you want, then?”
“There’s more than one kind of togetherness,” replied Corvyn. “Should I call you Sandalphon or Sandalphel?”
“Does it matter? I am what I am.”
“Only for convenience.”
“Since most would prefer Sandalphon, call me Sandalphel, if you need a name at all.”
“What do you want of me?” Corvyn emphasized the last two words slightly.
“I can compel nothing. That is not my nature. I would request that you consider just how your dark chaos will affect Yerusalem and all of Heaven.”
“I have already considered that. From what I’ve seen, my not traveling will be far worse than what my travels may bring.”
“Did you believe that in the time of the golden ring? When the others of power were not enough to hold Metatron’s Cube together and the Second Home was consumed in fire?”
“I did not travel far enough then. Would that I could have.”
“Metatron did not record that you were absent.”
And as the recording angel, Metatron would know. “Acting from within was not sufficient. It seldom is. We’re too often blinded by what we wish to see, or how we wish to see it.”
“For what has come of your shadows…”
“For what has come from what was later laid under my shadows,” corrected Corvyn. “Not that my inability was not a great fault. I acknowledge that fault.”
“I cannot console you for that, nor will I.”
“Nor should you.”
Sandalphel shimmered more brightly, then vanished amid the light, as Corvyn did amid the shadows.
Metatron, the highest of the angels of the ancient deity, had reputedly not spoken to any entity not a power since the first Fall, the one so long ago, long before the destruction of Eden Earth, the Fall obliquely mentioned by Sandalphel, yet Metatron and Sandalphel were greatly troubled by Samael? That did not bode well. Was there an unseen connection to the creator of the tridents?
For all that, Corvyn was hungry, and Heaven would not fall in the immediate future if he sought out a good meal. Not yet, in any event.
Rainbow of the distant past, white star,
Raven alone sees all things as they are.
14
Corvyn slept later than he had planned and woke troubled by vague dreams he could not recall, but such dreams were far better than those he could remember. Far better. In time, after he had roused himself, refreshed his person, dressed, and eaten, he called up the aether, not even to observe either the poetess or the singer, but to ascertain that they were not near Yerusalem, which they were not.
That task accomplished, he walked out onto the streets of Yerusalem and made his way, as any visitor might have done, toward the Temple Mount, not that he would be admitted to the Temple as an unbeliever, but as a visitor whose purchases would contribute to the well-being of Yerusalem, his presence near the Temple would not be unwelcome.
He knew that the trident would not have been burned into the innermost and sacred chamber designed for the Ark of the Covenant, because that chamber was the most sacred, and totally empty, reflecting the loss or destruction of the Ark millennia in the past. At the thought of a sacred and empty chamber, he smiled fleetingly, if with wry amusement.
As he neared the walls surrounding the Temple Mount, he sensed the representative emptiness of the Temple, as well as the currents of power manifested by the remaining angels of the Almighty, one in particular, whose presence did not surprise him, but whose absence would have. Cloaked in shadows, Corvyn let the currents of power guide him to where the trident had been burned into the white marble of the Temple—on the wall just inside the Temple proper.
Beneath that black-flamed image stood a group of rabbis, largely but not exclusively in white robes with white caps, all of whom were engaged in a discussion about the black-flamed trident emblazoned into the white marble above them. What surprised Corvyn was not that there had been a discussion, but that it was continuing, given how long it had been since the trident appeared.
Still cloaked in shadows, Corvyn listened.
“… when Herod placed the Roman eagle over the gate of the Second Temple, there was a revolt…”
“That was a symbol of temporal authority over the supremacy of the Almighty, and all revolted for that reason, not because there was any Talmudic conflict … or question of faith…”
“In Maimonides’ treatment of Attributes, he states that faith is not a mere attitude of mind, or an innate state of consciousness. Nor is it immediate comprehension of intuitive knowledge, which is but mysticism, but rather the positive intellectual certainty arrived at after a process of ratiocinative reasoning. Ratiocinative reasoning suggests that neither the Almighty nor one of his angels would place a symbol such as a trident inside the entrance to the Temple. Therefore, the placement of this symbol must be from a temporal source here in Heaven, and from one attempting to assert spiritual primacy through temporal means—”
“That is not how Maimonides applies to this abomination. That trident can only be an attribute of the person, power, or being that created it and placed it here. As an attribute, it is not only a symbol, but a part of that power which placed it here, and by following that attribute, one should be able to discover that principality or power.”
“Exactly how do you propose to follow that attribute to its creator?”
“That is a matter of technology and mechanics. Isn’t that your specialty?”
“If it’s beyond technology, it’s yours. As Maimonides said, descriptions of metaphysical phenomena are beyond human comprehension, which comprehension is limited because the majority of people can only recognize physical bodies…”
Corvyn eased away, doubting that he would find anything resembling such a drawn-out discussion in other venues where the trident had appeared. While the number three had certain meanings for the Judaics, Corvyn was not aware of a particular Judaic meaning for the trident, but then he certainly had had little to do with the Judaics, except through what aspects of their faith had been incorporated into the beliefs of the Paulists and the white ones of Jaweau.
He was about to make his way from the Temple when he sensed a strengthening of a particular dark power, one of those whom he suspected might well be interested in his presence in Yerusalem. And that dark power was within the vacant Holy of Holies, which was also a mockery of sorts, even if not recognized by the Judaics.
Corvyn shrugged and made his way there through the shadows.
A figure with black-edged wings of otherwise heavenly aspect awaited him, an angel who could be none other than Samael. Corvyn had not expected otherwise in the vacant space that would never see the Ark of the Covenant for which it was designed, which, in an abstruse way, represented a testament to the triumph of faith over reality, while demonstrating its futility.
“Who sent you?” asked Corvyn, knowing the question was meaningless, but not wishing to impart any information first.
“You know that question is without meaning.”
“I was being polite. Inquiries have meanings beyond the mere words, as you well know. How is Lilith these days?”
“Tempting, as you also know.”
Corvyn waited.
“Your presence here, given that your usual abode lies a considerable distance from here, suggests you are pursuing something or merely stirring up trouble.”
“Merely?” questioned Corvyn mildly.
The black-edged wings fluttered slightly as Samael offered an amused laugh.
“I’ve always wondered if you were the one who actually cast the golden apple onto the banquet table in the Halls of Olympus…”
“Why would I have concerned myself with that?” asked the dark angel. “I had no concern with deities who were but the personification of excessive adolescent fantasies.”
“Because it led to war, and war, or the threat of war, particularly when involved with seducti
on and beauty, has always increased your power.”
“In the past, you also received certain … benefits.”
While that was not true, Corvyn ignored the implications and said, “You would call them that.”
“And you?”
“Curses, but that was in another country, and those goddesses have long since … descended.”
“Your language is always … precise. I notice that you are traveling in a most pedestrian fashion, hardly suited to an aerial spirit. One might think that you were attempting to avoid the scrutiny of the hegemons … except traveling in a manner unbecoming an aerial being creates a certain harmonic dissonance that, in the end, creates more notice.”
Just in the end. “Only if someone happens to be looking.”
“You aren’t that far below notice, spirit of the raven.”
“Nor are you, Samael. Was the trident I just observed sent to the Temple … or to you?”
“Poseidon’s long gone.”
“Drowned in the sea of space and the culture of information and explanation, no doubt,” replied Corvyn.
“Which should have happened to you, by all rights.”
“Except that the bright shiny bits of knowledge that I’ve found and hoarded, and then disbursed, have their use.” As do deep-rooted archetypes. “As does the educated religious group democracy of your Judaics—”
“They’re not mine.”
“Then why are you here, in the Holy of Holies? Or is your presence here merely a mockery of the beliefs that sustain you? Your strength and presence are a testimony to that unacknowledged religious democracy.”
“I’d prefer another word to the abomination called democracy, which always degenerates into the rule of those with the most votes, the principal question being what items are being used to purchase those votes. The chosen people at least require logic in their theology.”
Corvyn kept his amusement to himself at Samael’s defense of the Judaics and pressed harder. “Except that logic applied to questionable premises results in questionable logic and unpleasant results.”
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