by Justin Bloch
He broke through the misty boundary and felt the crisp kiss of dew on his face. Within was a swirling tunnel of watercolor clouds, vermilion and lapis lazuli and a thousand other lush shades, racing past, curving around him. He had never experienced color before this moment, he realized, not like this, at its most pure and primal. He stretched out one hand into a honeydew runner of vapor, left a long furrow in its surface, his skin tingling with cold. Icterine sparks jumped around his fingers.
To the right of him the nebula glowed intense aquamarine, and a star was there, near the edge, a newborn burning with a vivid fury that was hard to look at or away from. All fires burn, he thought crazily, the magnificence of it all overwhelming him. Star light, star bright, tiny star that’s born tonight, will your flames rage higher, maybe? All fires burn, little baby.
There was a pressure on his left wrist, he realized belatedly, and when he turned, his breath caught in his throat. He was not simply flying through the nebula, it seemed, he was being pulled through, and the creature that was pulling him, his guide, was on fire.
More than that: it was fire.
The guide was the size and shape of a human, but every line of its nude body was etched in red-gold flame. Nathaniel was slightly behind and above it, and he couldn’t tell whether it was male or female, or even if there was such a thing as sex for such a creature as this. Two massive, fiery wings beat above Nathaniel’s head, each a wild inferno propelling them through the nebula. The guide gave off no heat, was utterly silent as it burned beside him, almost as if it didn’t exist, as if it were a hallucination. But Nathaniel could feel the power radiating out from it, a righteous, dangerous, barely contained power that eclipsed even the majesty of the nebula. The guide was beautiful, and terrible, and terrifying, and Nathaniel hoped that there was nothing like it on the world beside his own, because what could stand against such a creature?
The nebula abruptly disappeared behind them and Nathaniel tore his eyes away from the guide to steal a last glance at the clouds sweeping over him, glowing deep scarlet and quickly receding. And then they were gone, a sparkling dot on the horizon, as the blackness of the void swallowed them again. The guide still burned beside him for a few moments before it too was enveloped. Nathaniel floated alone. The wait was shorter this time.
The void shuddered and the world became.
Chapter III
The sudden reappearance of the ground beneath Nathaniel’s feet brought with it all of the miseries he had experienced as the policeman uprooted him from his world. He doubled over, dropped to his knees. Each and every one of the cells of his body felt like it was in a slightly wrong position, as if they had all do-si-do’ed with their neighbor. It was a curious sensation, not at all pleasant, and one Nathaniel could have lived without.
After a few moments, he wobbled to his feet. His knees were still weak, and he supported himself against the thin, rough trunk of a sapling as he took in his surroundings, squinting in the dying light of the day. He and the policeman were in a forest, in a small, circular clearing. The ground was covered in pine needles and a plush, springy moss. The trees around them, mostly cloaked in the shadows of early night, seemed inconceivably old, as if their bark would crumble to dust at the merest touch. They crowded in, hulking black silhouettes pressing close, longing to reclaim the open ground of the clearing. The dark canopy curving above was thick enough to obscure the sky, and long streamers of Spanish moss hung like tattered curtains. The last embers of dusk were fading and the woods around them were silent, as if whatever dwelled there was deeply asleep and had been for a very long time. No birds called, no breeze stirred the leaves.
“What was that?” Nathaniel asked, speaking just above a whisper. Anything more than that seemed obscene. “The bridge?”
The karma policeman eyed him curiously. “You remember the bridge?”
“Yeah, why?” He stopped looking around. It was too dark to tell much of anything about where they were, other than a spooky forest. Nathaniel half-expected creepers of mist to steal across the ground as, in the distance, the Wolfman howled.
“The minds of low creatures are not capable of remembering it,” Sol responded. “It is called the shelter space. It is the gap between the worlds, an umbilical connecting this one to yours.” He paused, his lips pressed in a tight line, then added, “It is not meant for human eyes.”
“It wasn’t really a nebula, then?” Nathaniel said, disappointed. Logic had told him that it wasn’t, but some part of him had been enchanted by the idea. Plus, logic had begun to play a much less active role in his life.
“No,” replied Sol, then shook his head in disgust. “You should not have seen any of it.” His gaze combed the trees and low bushes, then shot back to Nathaniel, his eyes narrow, bright slits. “What else did you see?”
“Nothing.” He spoke on instinct, prodded by the venomous look on the cop’s face. He wondered why Sol didn’t want him to know about the guide, then realized with surprise that the karma policeman was jealous. Sol didn’t think Nathaniel deserved the honor of seeing the wonders between the worlds, and didn’t understand why it had been given to him. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked quickly, nodding his head at the body on the ground. Nothing like a corpse for changing the subject.
The policeman regarded him for a moment more, then turned his attention to the spider-demon. He shrugged. “Toss her in the brush over there. There isn’t much I can do with her,” he said, stooping. He lifted the vissika, carried her to the edge of the clearing, and heaved her into the forest. There was a sickening, meaty thump as she landed.
“So, where are we?”
“I’m not sure,” answered Sol, running his hand up one smooth cheek. “I think it may be the Fainted Wood.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure? I thought this was where you came from.”
“I never said that,” the cop growled. “But I suppose you would know where you were if you were just deposited in some random location on your world?”
“Well, I mean, no, but. . .how can you not know where we are?” Nathaniel could hear the soft tint of fear coloring his voice and hated it, but he couldn’t help it. He was only now beginning to fully comprehend what dangers he had agreed to when he said that he would come to this world with this man whom he knew nothing about. And how was he supposed to get back? He was pretty sure bouncing between the worlds was not something you could just figure out. This went beyond a simple lack of foresight and common sense. This was complete stupidity.
“Bridging is very imprecise,” Sol said, apparently unconcerned with Nathaniel’s fright. “When you bridge from this world to yours, you can go wherever you like. But coming here is trickier. With great concentration, we can arrive at a location close to the one we desire, but any little thing can disrupt the bridge. Such as having to worry about a Resident.”
“Hmm,” replied Nathaniel.
“It doesn’t matter.” Irritation had filtered into his tone. “There are ways to move quickly on this world.” He reached inside his long, dark jacket and rummaged in one of the pockets, withdrawing a small, cloth sachet.
“What’s that?”
“Be quiet, Resident,” the karma policeman snapped. “You ask too many questions and I need to concentrate.” He walked to the center of the clearing, then turned once in a slow circle, scrutinizing the tree line. Full dark had fallen now, and the woods were a dark barrier surrounding them. “Sit down,” he commanded and Nathaniel did. The cop carefully opened the sachet, then held out one hand palm up, tipping the packet so that a fine, shimmering dust poured out of it. When it was empty, he replaced the sachet in his jacket.
“What’s th—” Nathaniel began.
The karma policeman hissed him quiet, then closed his eyes and began breathing deeply. He licked the tip of his index finger and held it up in the air. Nathaniel could feel no movement of the air around them, but Sol waited nonetheless. After almost fifteen seconds he inhaled sharply, raised the powder
in his cupped hand and blew on it, rotating at the center of the clearing as he did.
The dust exploded off of his palm and floated around the karma policeman in a twinkling cloud. Luminous particles made smooth, sinuous lines around his head like the contrails of infinitesimal airplanes. Sol stood perfectly still, moving only his eyes, and Nathaniel watched in wonder as the cloud began to move through the air, condensing to the left of the tall policeman. It glittered and enthralled, a miniature Milky Way in the clearing. Sol turned very slowly, clearly trying not to disturb the sparkling cloud. When he faced it full on, he drew in a deep breath and blew once more. The dust rushed away from him as if it had been struck by a gale wind, heading off into the shadowed woods.
After a moment, in a reverential whisper, Nathaniel asked, “What was that?”
“A compass of sorts. It will show us the way to the nearest Spiral,” answered Sol. The annoyance was gone from his soft voice. He crouched low to the ground and spoke again when he saw Nathaniel open his mouth to pose the inevitable question. “Spirals are gateways to other parts of this world. They are scattered across the land to make travel easier. There’s one in your world too, in an underground station in London.” He pointed in the direction that he had blown the dust. The ground looked like it was covered with thousands of tiny, silver lightning bugs. “There, see the way the ground is glistening there? It’s laid a path for us to follow.”
“How far away is it?”
“It’s probably at the Cathedral,” he said, not bothering to elaborate about what the Cathedral was and pushing on before Nathaniel could ask. “Not far. Let’s go. I want to get out of this forest as soon as we can.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” There was a precarious cold to the cop’s tone, like an icicle poised to fall, and Nathaniel’s wariness returned.
“I don’t know.” The policeman surveyed the trees bordering the clearing. “But I don’t like it. There are no animals here, not even birds, and this place should be teeming with life. Something has gone wrong. Or is still going wrong.”
Nathaniel cast nervous glances in all directions. “Let’s go then.”
They had been walking for over two hours in silence. Sol seemed lost in his thoughts, and Nathaniel was content to leave him undisturbed. The forest remained unchanged, except for one area where the path had led them by a deep stream, the water glassy and dark like obsidian. Nathaniel’s thirst had been awoken by the brook, but after studying the water for a few moments, the karma policeman pronounced it unsafe. Nathaniel gazed at the stream longingly, almost able to taste its cool, clean flavor in his mouth. The water seemed to beckon him closer. Sol drew a slim flask of tepid water from his jacket and handed it to Nathaniel without a word, then pressed on, keeping to the fairy dust trail.
Nathaniel turned to follow, but caught a movement on the smooth surface of the water and whirled around, searching the trees above the brook. He could see nothing in the dim moonlight. If there was something up there, he would not be able to pick it out of the heavy shadows and dark leaves. It unsettled him, though. Sol had said that there were things on this world that would want to do him harm. The forest was eerie enough as it was without the specter of unseen stalkers.
He hastened to catch up with Sol, and they continued on along the glittering path. As less moonlight made it through the canopy, the dust seemed to sparkle all the more brightly, and this made Nathaniel feel a little better. It called up pleasant recollections of Tinkerbell’s pixie dust and his memories of the story in which it had made children fly. This at least provided him with a mental security blanket, despite the fact that he could not dispel the feeling that they were being watched.
He climbed over a fallen tree, a handful of rotten bark breaking away in his grip. He groaned and rubbed his hand on his pants. “Where are we going, Sol?” he asked as they pushed through a thick screen of bushes.
“I told you already,” the cop replied, a note of exasperation in his voice. “The Spiral.”
“No, I mean, where are we really going? Where does the Spiral go?”
“Oh.” The policeman said nothing for so long that Nathaniel had begun to think he wasn’t going to answer. In front of Nathaniel, he passed through heavy undergrowth like a wraith through a room packed with partygoers. Finally, “The Spiral goes where we want it to go. But we are taking it to see Bertha the Gatekeeper. She will be able to tell us if you are the Cipher.”
“Who’s she?”
“A long, long time ago, Bertha was the custodian of the Pearly Gates, but when Peter ascended, he took her place and she was given guardianship of the entrance to Limbo.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth to speak, stopped, cocked his head to one side, and mentally replayed what the policeman had said. “Wait. The Pearly Gates? The ones that lead to Heaven?”
“Yes. Do you know any others?” Sol asked, and Nathaniel detected a rare hint of humor in the karma policeman’s tone.
“No, but. . .so, you’re telling me that Heaven is real?” His attention elsewhere, he tripped over an upraised tree root and went to his knees. The damp earth made cold, dark circles on his pants. He pulled himself to his feet, annoyed that the karma policeman hadn’t made any effort to help him, then had a second revelation: “God is real?”
“There is no God,” Sol pronounced, then paused. “At least not as you think of God. But all of this,” and here the policeman motioned to the trees and the sky and, Nathaniel supposed, the world as a whole, “is not here by accident. The true force of creation is called the Source.”
“The Source,” Nathaniel murmured. “Huh.” He mulled over what Sol had said for a few minutes, his feet whispering over the carpet of fallen pine needles. When Nathaniel was a child, he had attended church with his parents only once every few months; beyond that they hadn’t been very religious. He had gone to a Catholic high school where he’d had a different religion class every year, and he had learned a great deal about Catholicism. But none of it had awoken anything within him, and he had gradually developed into an agnostic. But now he knew that there was a God. What did that make him? Not a believer, that implied faith and you didn’t need faith if you knew for certain. Confused, he decided. It made him confused.
As they made their way toward the Spiral the forest grew thicker, as did Nathaniel’s anxiety. Shadows deepened and became pits among the trees. The air had grown cooler as the night wore on, and he zipped up his hoodie, glad that he had it, and buried his hands in his pockets. “How will Bertha be able to tell whether I’m the Cipher or not?” he asked.
Sol was quiet for a moment, his gaze bowed to the ground. “It’s hard to express. It will be easier if I start with karma itself, I think.” He paused again, gathering his thoughts. “A person is born already possessing karma based on his previous lives. In his current life, all thoughts and actions accumulate karma as well.”
“I always thought you just got one chance.”
“Residents are weak, base creatures. If you weren’t given a better chance at Heaven, you’d never have any chance at all,” the karma policeman bit. He halted, his jaw set, his body rigid, seemed on the verge of saying more, then pressed forward. “During your life, you must try to balance your karma with ‘skillful actions’ and ‘unskillful actions.’ When you die, if you have reached such a balance, your soul ascends to Heaven. If not, it goes to Limbo, where it will wait to be reborn.”
“So, that means. . .” Nathaniel hesitated, fell silent, tried to process what Sol had just explained. “What you’re saying is that getting to Heaven isn’t just about being a good person. It’s about being a balanced person.”
“All things balance,” the policeman responded automatically.
“And that means doing good things and bad. Skillful and unskillful.”
“Yes,” Sol nodded. “There is no wisdom without both good and evil. Although your race seems much more comfortable with evil.”
Nathaniel frowned, considered commenting and decided against it. Whateve
r the karma policeman had against Residents, it was perhaps better left unsaid. “So karma is really just some elaborate accounting system?”
“In a way. There is much more to it, but in its simplest form, yes, I suppose it is.”
“All right.” Nathaniel wondered where Hell fit into it all, but that was a question for another time. There were more personal issues at stake. “So back to Bertha.”
“Because she is the guardian of Limbo, Bertha is able to tell what karma a Resident was born with, and what karma they have accrued.”
“Oh.” Nathaniel bent a branch out of his way, letting it snap back into place once he had passed. The sharp rattle of its leaves was like the scatter of dry bones tossed across a fortune teller’s table. “Have you ever met her?”
“Bertha and I have known each other for a very long time,” the policeman said. When he continued, his voice had dropped. “It was I who suggested to the Source that she stand watch over Limbo when she was ousted by Peter.”
“You must be pretty old then.”
“I am ancient.”
“Why would the Source take your advice?”
The karma policeman said nothing, but he said it tensely.
“What, are you like an angel or something?” Nathaniel asked, and laughed.
Sol remained silent, cutting forward through the trees, and Nathaniel stopped laughing, stopped walking. The policeman came to a halt, paused, then turned to face him.
“You’re an angel,” Nathaniel breathed, astonished. And on the heels of that, another piece falling into place: “The guide, in the shelter space. . .that was you, wasn’t it?” He thought back to his religion classes in high school, trying to remember the choirs of angels. There were the virtues, the cherubim, the dominions. Which was the one that burned? “The seraphim,” he said after a moment. “You’re a seraph. I’m right, aren’t I? You’re an angel.”
Sol spoke, his voice a whisper. “I am a karma policeman.”