Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “You can tell me why you seem in such a good mood. Something happen?”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Thinking never puts me in a good mood,” Ellen moaned, only half joking.

  “Agreed,” he replied. “Except when I’m thinking about you.”

  Ellen sat up and took his hand. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

  “Careful, Kohai,” Captain Volk said. “Don’t let their sizes fool you. Little yetzers are almost as dangerous as the full-grown ones.”

  Volk and I were in Ellen Veetal’s office. The captain had just driven out a clutch of smallish yetzers from Ellen and Chauncey. The loathsome creatures were young and stood only about thigh-high on the average, but they were spry and vicious looking.

  He had forced them out using ketoret, a special incense made from nataph, onycha, perfumed galbanum, pure frankincense, myrrh and other secret ingredients. The recipe had been passed down through the ages by the line of malachim from which Captains Cyrus and Volk had descended.10

  Note 10: Ketoret is described in the books of Exodus and Leviticus in the Bible. The Kohanim Priests burned it in the days of the holy Mishkan [the Tabernacle], and at the Beit HaMikdash, or Holy Temple, in Jerusalem. According to the Talmud, the ketoret was offered twice daily—once at the morning offering and once following the afternoon offering. Its fragrance was so heavenly that it was forbidden to be burned for pleasure, which is why Captain Volk and I wore masks. Yetzers, which hated anything that was good or holy, found the stuff revolting.

  The ketoret acted upon the yetzers like a fumigator did pests and vermin. Unlike fumigation, however, the ketoret didn’t kill yetzers. It just drove them into the open, and really pissed them off.

  The little varmints scampered around Ellen Veetal’s office like rabid hyenas, yipping and snarling, spitting and cursing. Volk had laid down a lazurite circle so that they couldn’t get to us. Those that tried to cross the threshold were instantly paralyzed. I had fun booting their stunned butts across the room.

  “Do you think that Captain Perseus and Lieutenant Jason knew all these yetzers were in them?” I asked.

  “No. The Academy’s demon gauge isn’t sensitive enough. It can only detect certain species, and only if full-grown. The Academy doesn’t possess a technology that can come close to ketoret. It’s a little messy, but effective. And they certainly missed that bugger there.”

  Captain Volk pointed to a six-foot-long, glistening black, snake-like yetzer that was curled around Ellen Veetal’s feet. It had yellow eyes, long fangs, and the pincers of an earwig. Its evil peepers were observing us with contempt.

  “We didn’t learn about that thing in the Academy,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Clueless Yetzer. You don’t see many of them. Not because there aren’t many, but because they have a way of burrowing below the other yetzers, deep into the subconscious, using the other fiends as cover. Too often, a cupid will kill some yetzers and think he finished the job, when all he did was kill the ones he detected, leaving the Clueless Yetzer to continue its work unmolested.”

  “How dangerous is it?”

  “To us or to them?”

  “Both.”

  “See those fangs?” Volk said. “We have no antitoxin for the poison they contain. If it bites you, you go insane. For the humans, the Clueless Yetzer allows a person to stay in a perpetual state of self-deception. No amount of facts or evidence can ever persuade the person of what his eyes or ears are telling him. When a human is possessed by a Clueless Yetzer, he or she is gripped by unceasing cognitive dissonance. The person will find a way to justify or rationalize anything that contradicts what the person desires to be true.”

  “Heck, that would explain the actions of most of the human world these days,” I said. “Ironic, isn’t it, that these two are trained psychologists, and yet they are unaware of their own cognitive dissonance, one of the most extensively studied theories in social psychology?”

  “Ironic, but typical,” Volk said. “They may well detect it in others, but rarely in themselves. In fact, because of the social bubble they live in; academicians, intellectuals, and the so-called educated classes—they are particularly susceptible to the self-delusion this yetzer perpetuates. This one is relatively small. I’ve seen Clueless Yetzers over thirty feet long in places like Harvard, Yale, and Berkeley. Spend a day at the UN or in most media newsrooms, and you’d think you had stumbled into hell’s own viper pit. The Clueless Yetzer’s power for self-deception makes it one of the most dangerous of all the yetzers.”

  “How is it that the Academy could overlook such a powerful yetzer? It’s as if they are possessed by Clueless Yetzers themselves. But that’s impossible, right Captain?”

  “If you mean can yetzers possess a cupid, the answer is no, they can’t. Despite our fallen nature, a yetzer can’t survive in such holy altitudes. It would be incinerated, like a meteor or asteroid that passes too close to the sun.

  “No,” he continued, “the problem over at the Academy isn’t cognitive dissonance: it’s historical amnesia, which in the Academy’s case looks a lot like arrogance. Captain Cyrus and I once tried to educate the professors and top brass there about both Clueless Yetzers and ketoret, but they weren’t interested. It’s all a numbers game with them, and hunting down Clueless Yetzers takes time and effort. When we mentioned where ketoret came from, they laughed us out of the room.”

  “I’m confused, Captain. Yetzers work to prevent matches. But it’s almost as if you’re saying they want this one to go through.”

  “Yes, and no,” Volk said. “Remember, the Clueless Yetzer hides beneath the others. The other yetzers usually don’t even know he’s there. See the way they are looking at him?”

  Volk pointed around the room, and indeed all the other yetzers seemed to have one wary eye on the Clueless Yetzer, and the other on us.

  “They’d tear him to shreds if they weren’t so baffled by him,” he continued. “They want to stop the match. That’s what they do. But Clueless isn’t so clueless. He wants the match to go through. He knows this relationship is doomed, and that a failed match can do far more harm than a match that never took place. Now he can’t do his thing because he’s outnumbered by yetzers who won’t let him get in the way of them doing theirs. Yellow Eyes was hoping that a cupid would take out the competition for him. See the way he’s swaying side to side, hissing at us with that ugly forked tongue of his? We blew his cover, so now he’s one pissed-off yetzer.”

  I said, “Why wouldn’t the Clueless Yetzer just inform the others of what is going on? You know, let them in on what he knows?”

  “Yetzers don’t reason, and they have no free will. A tiger is a tiger, a shark is a shark, and a yetzer is a yetzer. It exists to oppose. What’s unique about a Clueless Yetzer is that its powers of self-deception are such that it can lead a person to a match as long as it is a bad one. But, in the final analysis, who knows what really goes on in a yetzer’s head? It’s such a dark, malignant place, we’re probably better off not knowing.”

  “Okay, but what was Captain Cyrus’s excuse?” I asked, still unable to make sense of the situation. “How come he didn’t test the couple for Clueless Yetzers? Why didn’t he light some ketoret under them?”

  “Eventually he did. He flushed them out. But because he was convinced that Ellen Veetal was the Swerver of the generation, he left them alone. If she was indeed the Swerver, she would have to defeat her yetzers on her own. His meddling would have ended any chance of the Swerver fulfilling her destiny. And because of how quickly the world is falling apart, the captain believed no generation afterwards would merit another Swerver.”

  “The last Swerver,” I said.

  “Possibly, yes.”

  At this point, the Clueless Yetzer, which was eerily watching us the whole while, let out a demonic hiss.

  “That’s right, pal,” I shouted at the yetzer. “We’re on to you!”
>
  The yetzer responded with another hiss, and then darted right for me. It stopped just in front of the lazurite circle and rose up on its tail and hissed some more. It’s malevolent yellow eyes latched onto my own. Volk quickly clamped his hand over my face, blocking my vision.

  “I forgot to mention that its bite isn’t the only weapon it possesses,” Volk said. “If it gets close enough to you, it can hypnotize you with those mustard-colored peepers of his. Another few seconds and you would have stepped out of this circle convinced that he was just a harmless little pet. A few seconds after that, you’d have become a raving lunatic, and a few seconds after that, I’d have had to put you down like a rabid dog.”

  “Gotcha,” I said, the heebie-jeebies running up and down my arms and legs. “Sooo, what do we do?”

  “Put on your sunglasses.”

  “That’s it? That’s enough?”

  “It is if you brought the right pair.”

  “I only have one pair—the pair Captain Cyrus awarded me after having memorized the entire Tanach [Bible]. The mirrored… Oh, I get it. The mirrored sunglasses. Yetzer here would see his own reflection and…and, what?”

  “Put them on and find out.”

  I did. The yetzer screeched and somersaulted backwards through the air. It landed with a thud, and then slithered back around Ellen Veetal’s feet.

  “Holy mackerel, Captain. If you weren’t here, I’d be dead!”

  “Moral of the story?”

  “Never doubt you?”

  Volk patted my head. “Good boy.”

  “So now what do we do?”

  “We take them all out,” he replied coolly.

  “Huh? But what about the Swerver? If we battle them, we disqualify the woman. We will have interfered with a Swerver.”

  “We have no choice. It’s lose-lose for us. Unlike Captain Cyrus, we aren’t gonna get a second chance to follow orders. Besides, if we don’t finish this, either someone else will or Clueless here will. One way or another, this match is getting made.”

  “But, Captain, we’ll be known forever as the slayers of mankind’s last Swerver!”

  “If there is any history left to be recorded, yes, I suppose we will. Are you ready?”

  I unsheathed my ruby-edged wakizashi short sword. “I’d better be,” I said, noting the way the yetzers were crowding around us.

  “Follow my cue,” Volk said. He bent over and scooped up a handful of lazurite from the circle. He threw it into the throng of yetzers, momentarily blinding them. Then, an obsidian tomahawk in each hand, he let out a mighty war cry and leaped somersaulting into the pack of frenzied and deadly yetzers. I followed with my own war cry and joined him. “Wattaaah…!”

  Carl yelped, and tail between his legs, leaped onto Ellen Veetal’s lap.

  “Carl!” Ellen said. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I think he knows,” Chauncey said.

  “Knows what?”

  “What I’m about to say.”

  Ellen chuckled and cupped Carl’s furry head in her hands. Carl’s panicky eyes were darting left and right, up and down.

  “You hear that, Carl?” she said. “Professor Matterson thinks you’re psychic.”

  Carl whimpered and hid his head under Ellen’s armpit.

  “So, Professor, what does Carl know that I don’t?”

  “That…that…”

  “Yes…?”

  Matterson hooked a finger into his collar and loosened his tie. “Is it a little hot in here, or is it just me?”

  “It is a little hot, yes. As you were saying…?”

  “Marry me, Ellen.”

  Ellen lifted up the dog’s head. “Don’t worry, Carl. You’ll always be my favorite.” She kissed him on the snout.

  “Is that a yes?”

  Ellen smiled. “Yes, Professor Matterson, that is a yes.”

  “Kohai, are you okay?”

  I yanked my short sword from the belly of a woolly, pike-toothed Fault-finding Yetzer. A thick, yellow glob of pus dripped onto the floor. “I think so.”

  “What happened to your leg?”

  I looked down and saw my bloody, tattered pant leg. I pointed to the dismembered parts of a Commitment Yetzer. “That Commitment Yetzer over there … there … there … and there, got in a lucky swipe with one of its claws. It’s just a scratch. No big deal.”

  “Any wound from a yetzer is a big deal. Put this on it—now.” He tossed me a coin-sized jar.

  I unscrewed the top and stuck my finger into the clear green gel. “Where’s Clueless?” I asked as I rubbed the ointment into the wound. It tingled.

  Volk nodded towards the door. The mock poster of X-Files’ FBI Agents Maulder and Scully pointing at each other’s heads with the words ‘The Truth is in Here’ underneath, now had a six-foot long Clueless Yetzer hanging from the center of it, a crystal dagger in its open mouth. It’s freaky, yellow eyes continued to glare at us as its body made final protests of indignation. It almost seemed to be saying, ‘Too late, suckers!’

  I whipped a sapphire-tipped, six-pointed tungsten shuriken at the beast and nailed it just below its ugly head. Its severed body hit the floor with a thud. The yetzer’s creepy eyes mushroomed in shock, and then closed forever.

  “Been practicing I see,” Captain Volk said, impressed. “Okay, we’re through here. Let’s whirl on home.”

  “What about them?” I asked, speaking of Ellen Veetal and Chauncey Matterson.

  “I suppose we’ll be seeing them at their wedding,” Volk said.

  “No potion-tipped arrows or anything?”

  “No need. He has already proposed.”

  “So, it’s done,” I said. “Over.”

  “The woman’s swerving days, anyway.”

  “What’s left for us, Captain Volk?”

  “What do you think?”

  “To continue my training,” I said resolutely.

  He nodded. “More and harder than ever, Kohai. You’re gonna need it.”

  34

  Memory Lane

  A plaid throw-blanket over him, Cyrus sat bolt upright on a leather sofa. He looked around the room for a clue to where he was. The stuffed leather chairs and sofa, oak coffee table, and brick fireplace said he was in someone’s den. Three exits led from the room. He gathered that the home was old but recently renovated.

  Cyrus stood and felt momentarily dizzy and not his usual spry and limber self, which made him wonder if he hadn’t been passed out on that sofa for a while. A glance towards the bay windows and their white, diaphanous curtains told him it was early afternoon. He recalled having been in jail in the morning, and although he had no recollection how he had got to the house, he figured that he couldn’t have been there more than six hours. He was ravenously hungry, and had to pee something fierce.

  First things first.

  He found his boots on the floor at the foot of the sofa, put them on, and headed towards the back of the house. Passing through the hallway, he noted the pictures on the wall. Now Cyrus knew where he was.

  At the end of the hall was a bathroom. He took care of business, washed his hands and face, and stepped back into the hall, where he uttered a short blessing.

  “There you are,” said a petite brunette at the other end of the hall. “Breakfast?”

  “Isn’t it one-forty-three in the afternoon?” Cyrus replied.

  The woman checked her watch and arched a surprised eyebrow. “Exactly,” she said. “But you missed a few meals, so I thought we’d start from the beginning.”

  “A few?” He made his way toward the woman.

  “Seven, actually.”

  “No kidding? People eat a lot around here, I guess.”

  The woman chuckled. “You’ve been passed out for two days, Mr. Cyrus.”

  “Two days? Really?”

  The woman nodded. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay…I think.” Cyrus put out his hand. “Thank you, Sara.”

  She scrunched her pretty doe eyes in bewilde
rment. “How do you know my name?”

  “I, ah, saw it on the wedding cake on that picture there.” He turned and pointed to a collage of framed wedding photos that hung on the hallway wall.

  “Oh…well, aren’t you a clever one, Mr. Cyrus. Come, you must be starving.”

  Sara led him into the kitchen and told him to take a seat at the table. He picked a chair with a view of the backyard and it’s green grass and large elm tree.

  Cyrus observed the tree with interest… Ulmus americana. Division: Magnoliophyta. Class: Magnoliopsida. Order: Urticales. Family: Ulmaceae. Genus: Ulmus. The tree is hermaphroditic, capable of self-pollination. The flowers are small, purple-brown, and apetalous. The fruit is a flat samara with a circular wing surrounding the single, 4–5 mm seed…

  Whoa!

  Cyrus cleared his throat and said, “You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you. We bought it about five years ago, a year after Sam and I were married. It was a fixer-upper, and we’re still up fixing it every weekend.” She smiled. “Bacon and eggs okay?”

  “Scrambled, thank you. But please hold the bacon.”

  “Wheat or rye toast?”

  “Rye, please.”

  “Hash browns?”

  “Sure, if it’s no trouble. You were a waitress once, weren’t you?”

  Sara cracked the first of three eggs into a bowl. “You can tell, huh?”

  “Is that how you met your husband?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes, a matter of fact. What made you guess that?”

  “Just a hunch. Police officers are often creatures of habit. I figure that he was a regular, and over time, you two hit it off.”

  “Well, let’s just say that it wasn’t long before I realized that it couldn’t have been the lousy food he was coming in for.”

  “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. It was your smile, and how you always saved his favorite booth and had the morning paper and a cup of coffee waiting for him.”

  “Mr. Cyrus,” Sara Jeffreys said, turning to him as she whipped the eggs. “That picture was not hanging in the hallway. I see that you and my husband talked about quite a bit in your short friendship. Sam said you were amnesic, but clearly you are now cured of that. So, would you like to tell me what happened in that jail cell?”