King of Shards

by Matthew Kressel

  “Hide?” the voice said, now beside Caleb. “How can we hide when there is nothing to conceal? You see us as we are. It is you who hide flesh under clothes, organs under flesh, secrets under all. You adorn yourselves with layers of concealment.”

  “I’ve had enough of riddles!” Rana said. She would give this dreadful Jeen a taste of its sorely needed life. She would show these creatures who their master really was.

  And then she sang.

  As the first note left her lips, twelve tornadoes of ash formed around the palanquin, twisting into the sky. The wind wrestled with the funnels, trying to tear them apart. But Rana sang on, and the wind abated, admitting defeat. Marul opened her eyes and stared at the stars. The Mikulalim’s mouths hung open. Daniel and Caleb’s pupils grew as wide as cities. She felt as if she had been struck like a bell; her body rung.

  Suddenly exhausted—she had been through much today—she ended her song. Her body buzzed. Her hair stood on end. The black desert quickly subdued and devoured her last note. Everyone blinked and awoke. And when the winds abated, and the tornadoes blew away, twelve naked and hairless figures encircled them. Their bodies were basalt-colored, gray-white, and lacking any sexual organs. Their enormous eyes were black as oil and reflectionless. The last of Rana’s abrasions had blown away with her music. Her skin was fully healed.

  The creature closest to Rana grimaced as it examined its hand, as if the notion of form was repugnant to it.

  “What perversion in hell are you?” Havig said to the figure.

  The creature let its arm drift back to its side. The movement seemed hollow of will, making the hair stand on the back of Rana’s neck.

  “We are the no-things of the desert beyond form,” it said. “We are the sunderers of cities and the demise of civilizations. We have been called annihilation, destruction, death, entropy. But we have no name. For who remains to name us?” It turned to Rana, affixing its hideous black eyes on her. “Your music has weaved us into flesh and form.”

  Havig said, “So that we can see you as we tear your flesh apart!” He slashed at the no-thing and his blade plunged deep into its shoulder. But the no-thing didn’t bleed. Instead it considered the wound as one might consider a mote of dust. It exhaled, a sound of ancient cities crumbling to dust.

  Havig yanked his sword out of its shoulder and struck again, but this time his blade shattered into a thousand pieces. He gasped and tossed the hilt to the ground.

  The no-thing turned to Rana and said, “We knew a minstrel like you, once. She sang one of our brothers into form.”

  Rana gazed into its lightless eyes and felt as if she were looking at all of history spread across eternity, her life but one infinitesimal point along an endless plane.

  “Cities are futile constructions, where humans hedge against eternity. Our brother followed this minstrel to one such city and tried to dwell in the world of form with her. He had forgotten that all is forever empty. So we reminded him. We erased her city from existence. And we erased the minstrel too. We hoped he would return to us, but his mind was poisoned with form. Now he wanders the desert beyond the Jeen, pining for his lost world. We cannot abide your kind. You are a curse that must be erased.”

  It reached for Rana, and she screamed, but Caleb yanked her away before it could touch her. “Being of emptiness,” Caleb said, “I am Ashmedai, King of Demonkind.”

  “Names are pointless. All is dust.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Tales are lofted on the wind. We know of your reign on the Klippoth of Sheol, where twin suns burn in a fractured sky. We know how demonkind once bowed down to you. And we know how your rule has come to an end, as all things end. But we follow no kings and have no master except emptiness.” It reached for Rana again, and Caleb pulled her further away.

  “I can give you wealth beyond imagining!” he said. “My storehouses are renowned across all the Shards for the volume of their gold.”

  “Wealth is useless to us. We have nothing and we need nothing.”

  “And what about power? I can give you power beyond your conceptions.”

  “Power is transient. Even the brilliance of an exploding star fades.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “We want only peace. Peace and silence.” The creatures moved closer, surrounding them.

  “Then let us leave in peace!” Caleb said. “Everyone, into the palanquin!”

  “You have already disturbed us,” the creature said. “You have made impressions in the sand. They must be smoothed.” It reached for Caleb.

  “Wait!” Caleb said, retreating. “If you destroy us then you will disturb your stillness even more. We are trying to save Gehinnom from destruction. If we fail, you’ll tumble in a tumultuous chaos for eons!”

  “We know of your quest and of the coming catastrophe. We have no interest in it, because eventually all shall come to rest again.”

  “Eventually?” Caleb said, exasperated. “After trillions of years! Would your people give up your peace now to suffer eons of torment?”

  A brisk wind kicked up and faded, and the eaves of the palanquin babbled like muttering crones. The no-things paused, considering.

  “No,” it said. “We would not. But you have disturbed us. We cannot let you pass without recompense. To restore our peace, one among you must be erased.”

  A shiver trickled down Rana’s spine. Erased?

  Havig threw open the palanquin doors. “My lord, take one of the Bedu.” The priests huddled in the back, terrified.

  “They will not suffice,” the no-thing said. “They make but a ripple in the waters of history. Their world-lines are small.”

  “World-lines?” Havig said.

  “Footprints in sand,” the no-thing said. “Impressions beings of form leave.”

  “And how do you erase them?” Havig said.

  “Whatever we touch is erased from this world. It will be as if they never were. And all their works shall become dust.”

  “Everything they’ve ever done?” Daniel said.

  “Every imprint shall be smoothed. Every crease in time made flat.”

  Daniel stepped forward. Rana sensed something awful was about to happen as Daniel said, “Then take Marul! Erase her! This woman, here.”

  “Daniel!” Rana said.

  “She’s the root of our problems,” Daniel said. “If she vanishes, all her sins will be undone.” He faced Rana and said, “Rana, your parents, Azru, the other Lamed Vav. Everything begins and ends with Marul. We can undo all her damage.”

  “Is this true?” Rana said, her heart pounding like an army at the city gates. She loathed herself as she said, “Would my parents come back if Marul was erased?”

  “No,” Marul said, shaking her head. She climbed to her feet. “What is sundered cannot be made whole. What has been given cannot be taken back. I would be erased from this world, but the damage I’ve done would linger. Mashit will still know the names. The dead will still be dead. The only difference will be that I will fade from your memories like ripples in a pond, until it’s as if I’ve never existed.”

  “You know us well,” the no-thing said.

  Marul stood, a disheveled, gray, broken thing. “A long time ago I came to the Jeen, seeking the no-things. I wanted to learn how to manipulate the flow of time. You let me come and go in peace then. Why not let us go again now?”

  “No. You had two twins with you,” the no-thing said. “A boy and girl, the bastard children of a powerful king, who had hidden these children from his queen, because she would have killed them for fear they might one day usurp his throne. From city to city he shuffled these children, until you promised him you would take them to the safest of hiding places. You offered their histories to us, and in return we told you the secret of the now and the endless.”

  Marul hung her head and looked ill. “Dear Goddess, I don’t remember them.”

  “Not even their father remembers them.”

  Marul trembled. “I�
�ve caused so much suffering.”

  “All existence is suffering,” the no-thing said.

  “No,” she said, turning to Rana. “Sometimes existence is beautiful.” She stepped toward the no-thing. “You can touch me. I offer my history to you.”

  “No!” Caleb said. “Without you, we cannot get back to Earth!”

  “Who else but me?” Marul said.

  “Havig!” Caleb ordered. “Give yourself to them, now!”

  Havig gave Caleb a bitter, mournful look. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, my lord.” He stepped toward the no-thing, but Marul leaped in front of him. Rana screamed, Caleb jumped for her, but they were too late. Marul touched the no-thing’s shoulder.

  “Marul!” Rana shrieked.

  Marul gasped, grabbed her hand, and stepped back.

  Caleb shouted, “You stupid witch!”

  Marul held her hand, and stumbled backwards. Everyone backed away from her, as if she might erase them too.

  “It is done,” the no-thing said. “Her histories have already begun to unravel. By dawn it shall be as if she never was. The price paid, we will leave you in peace.”

  That’s it? Rana thought. Just one touch to unravel a lifetime? Even a life as long and knotted as Marul’s? Rana reeled at the horror of it.

  The twelve no-things backed away. With each step, flesh from their bodies flaked off like wax shavings. They blew away in the wind, until there was nothing left but sand and stars.

  Marul looked queasy. She put a hand to her belly. Rana helped her sit on the palanquin’s doorway. Marul’s hands were frigid in her own.

  “Water!” Rana shouted.

  Havig gave her a bladder.

  Marul took a few tentative sips and coughed.

  “Slow,” Rana said. “Slow.”

  Marul touched a cold finger to Rana’s cheek. “My Little Plum,” Marul said. “This place is full of death, but you! You are so full of life.” She ran a hand through Rana’s hair. “You’ve no idea how beautiful you are right now. You have stars in your hair.”

  “Marul,” Rana said, trying not to cry. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I should have.”

  They entwined their fingers together, as they did so many times on their twilight walks through the city.

  “You stupid, selfish witch!” Caleb spat. “You’ve doomed us all. Again!”

  “Stop whining,” said Marul. “Azazel will show you how to build a Merkavah, and much more besides. You only needed me because you didn’t want to ask him.”

  “My brother is a great unknown. It would not surprise me if he’d let the Cosmos die just to spite me.”

  “It’s all one big happy demon family,” Marul sneered.

  “Everyone,” Caleb said, “into the palanquin! We’re leaving now!”

  As everyone climbed inside, Rana said to Marul, “I won’t ever forget you!”

  “Yes, Rana, you will.”

  “But I’m Gu. I overflow with the force of life. Maybe I can save you.”

  Marul smiled. “Look at you! How you cry out to the void, ‘I am here!’ But you must let me go, before the universe yanks me from you.”

  They climbed in with the others, and though the air was rancid with sweat and blood, she preferred the interior to the yawning gulf of the Jeen.

  Havig had left a space for Marul in the circle, but she shook her head. “I’d be more hindrance than help. I’m too weak now.”

  Instead Marul sat with Rana against the wall, and they held hands. Daniel sat on the other side. Perhaps he had been right—maybe Marul deserved to die—but she could not look him in the eyes. The priests, eager to flee the Jeen, joined hands with the Mikulalim, and the palanquin rose again. Soon they were speeding over the black desert.

  Caleb said, “Faster! Fly faster! Our witch will vanish before dawn.”

  “We’re flying as fast as we can, my lord,” said Havig.

  Rana twirled her fingers in Marul’s gray hair. It was covered with so much grease it looked black. “Your hair used to be as brown as tea,” she said. “One day you came to my house with a head of gray hair.”

  “I was traveling in the spiritual realms,” Marul said. “I got too close to the Pardes, the Heavenly Orchard. Its guard Kaspiel nearly obliterated my soul. Rana, I’ll tell you, there are far worse fates than gray hair.”

  “Do you remember that night we walked up Ramswool Row and a one-eyed thief tried to rob us?”

  “I held out my hand and told him his mother had asked me to give him what I held inside it. But there was nothing in my hand.”

  “But he dropped his knife anyway,” Rana said, “and ran away sobbing.”

  “I wonder what he thought I held.”

  “Do you remember the morning when I walked into my studio and found you staring into a chunk of blue glass. Inside were thousands of tiny dancing people. I hadn’t seen you in months and the first thing you said was, ‘Rana, come look into another universe!’”

  “Yes,” Marul said. “Delightful people, those Enuus, but cook they cannot!”

  “Do you remember how you made the sun turn green for my tenth birthday?”

  “It was your twelfth, because I brought you twelve pink diamonds.”

  Rana’s stomach turned, because Marul was right. How could such a memory disappear? Where had it gone? She closed her eyes and tried to recall every moment with Marul, how sunlight had played across Marul’s eyes one morning, the honey-wine smell of her clothes, the way she put finger to lip and looked to the sky when she pondered. She would not let the universe rob these memories from her. Not now, not ever.

  A brass finial had broken off the Holy Corpus and was rolling about the floor. Rana picked it up, turned it over in her hands, and set her gaze on the slats of wood lining the walls.

  They were far too empty.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Rana and Marul reviewed a lifetime of shared memories, and Daniel listened to every word. Eventually the women fell quiet, their minds lost in the past. Rana had been nervously scratching words into the floor with a shiny metal object for a while now.

  The Mikulalim sat with closed eyes, and Caleb stared out the translucent walls. The Bedu seemed nervous, tired. But the boy priest, Zimri, was giving Daniel angry, accusing looks.

  Marul gasped and said. “What’s that, there? In the east?”

  Everyone opened their eyes and looked, when the moving sands slowed to a crawl. The winds stopped. Everyone froze, eyes unblinking, still as mannequins.

  “At last,” Marul said. “Now we can speak.” Her voice was muffled, close. Her palms were clasped just as they had been in the Bedu tent.

  “What the hell?” Daniel said. “You stopped time again?”

  Marul nodded and gave him a wan smile. “The no-things taught me mastery over time, and now they’ve taken the last of my time from me. Daniel, I’m a plucked note that fades.”

  Why would she want to speak with him, alone? Revenge, perhaps, for what he’d done? He got to his feet. “Marul, I had to choose you. You brought this on everyone.”

  “Calm yourself, Daniel. I would’ve made the same choice if I were in your shoes. Well, in fact, I did.”

  Caleb was frozen in a grimace, holding his belly, and Zimri was staring-daggers at where Daniel had been sitting. Rana was frozen too, but the Gu seemed more alive than any other, like a plant, imperceptibly turning toward the light. “Then why are we here?” Daniel said.

  “Because I wish to tell you a secret.”

  “A secret?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Daniel. The secret. Who the Lamed Vav are, and how you can return to Earth without Caleb or Azazel.”

  “Without them?”

  “You’ve seen Caleb’s nature, Daniel. He may want to save the Earth as much as you, but he has no qualms about killing to achieve his goals. And you were right. I’ve been no better. But you must believe me when I say I wish to cause no more harm.”

  “And you must unde
rstand how difficult it is to trust anything you say now.”

  “You have to trust me, Daniel. The future depends on it. I will teach you how make a Merkavah to travel across the Great Deep to Earth.”

  “I’m no magician.”

  “Aren’t you? Your presence sustains worlds, and that’s more magical than anything I’ve ever done. And anyway, the spell is not complex, just exacting. I’ll teach it to you.”

  “Now?”

  “When else? I’ll be dust before dawn. I’m using the last of my energy to cast this spell. We have twenty minutes here, maybe less.”

  “You want me to go back to Earth, alone?”

  “You can hide the other Lamed Vav. I’ll give you their names. After, you can return to the Shards and help them too, if that’s your wish.”

  He considered her. Quick, wise, conniving. She must have been formidable in her day. “How did you find the Lamed Vav in the first place?”

  “Simple,” she said. “I cheated.”

  “You cheated?”

  “I stole their names.”

  “Stole? From whom?”

  “Who else? Our Creator.”

  “God?”

  She beamed proudly, and even though she’d be dead in hours, she seemed decades younger. He saw glimmers of the beautiful, dangerous woman she once had been.

  “You stole the names from God? How the hell did you do that?”

  “When you’ve lived as many lives as I have, what at first blush seems impossible proves later only to be extremely difficult.”

  “But God? How did you steal the names from God?”

  “I was deep into the heavenly realms—worlds of spirit—evading angels who guard primordial secrets. I made my way, gate by gate, into the Pardes, the Heavenly Orchard, where the secret of secrets is kept. I found a list, whereupon thirty-six names were written. I had memorized only six when the angel Kaspiel found me and nearly obliterated my soul.”

  “And that’s when you returned with gray hair?”

  She nodded. “And that’s when I returned with gray hair.”

  “So you never had all thirty-six names?”

  “No, but Mashit and Caleb think I do. That lie has kept me alive. But come, Daniel, our time is short. Let me teach you how to build a Merkavah. Let me tell you the names of the Lamed Vav. Ready yourself.”