“You are more beautiful than I imagined,” he said, and her cheeks grew hot.
“Why are you chained?” she said.
“For the crime of giving knowledge without wisdom. Some believe that knowledge should be sequestered away, that knowledge is dangerous. It can be dangerous, that is certain, but only to those in power. To those who are slaves, knowledge is freedom.”
“Who chained you?”
“A malach called Raphael.”
“A bystander?”
“An angel.”
“Is an angel a type of demon?”
“The most dangerous kind.”
Caleb stepped forward. “Enough chatter. Time is short, brother.”
Azazel blinked. A tear rolled down his cheek into the folds of gray. “I never thought I’d say this, but I will miss this place.”
He closed his eyes. Then he groaned as if under a great internal struggle. His voice echoed from unseen walls, greatly amplified. His cheeks grew red, and she felt a blast of heat from him as if she stood before a furnace. A blister appeared on his forehead above his left eye and began to grow. From under the tangle of hair rose a small curving horn, like a ram’s. As it grew it made sounds like tearing leather and chattering stones. Rainbows twirled angrily around its length. The horn spiraled out of his head, until it was twice as large as her arm.
He opened his eyes. The color had drained from them. They were as gray as his beard. His face had withered, and he looked like an old man.
“Take your tools,” he said. His voice had become frail, aged. “Cut free this horn. All of my power is contained within it. My life is in your hands now.”
Trembling, she took a deep breath. She leaned in and took an exploratory chip at the horn’s base. It was as hard as granite.
“I trust the Gu won’t cut off my nose.”
It took nine hard raps to free the horn, and he winced with each one. She placed the tools on a small stone pedestal and lifted the heavy horn. As she lifted it, its immense power seemed to flow into her arm, up her shoulder. When it reached her head she gasped.
“There,” he said, with a brittle sigh. “It is done. You hold in your hands the Horn of Azazel, all of my power. You hold in your hands our fate.”
“I will not betray you,” Caleb said. “I will come back for you, brother.”
“So you vow,” Azazel said. “But we shall see. Now go, and let me rest. I will sleep the sleep of eons.”
“Brother, wait, you still need to teach me the spell to create the Merkavah.”
“I won’t be teaching you,” said Azazel.
“But without the spell all this is moot!”
“Brother, I have given Rana the spell.”
“You did what?”
Rana searched her memories and there it was. A figure of ten circles connected by twenty-two lines. The sephirot, the Tree of Life. She knew it intimately, now. She had seen it before. In a cave, somewhere. She had a vision of an old woman, her greasy hair hanging to her shoulder, weeping on the floor of a candlelit prison. The vision terrified her. But Rana couldn’t remember who this woman was.
Syllables of some ancient tongue were fresh on her lips. Hebrew, the language that Daniel had spoken of on the DanBaer cliffs. They had gone there for something she couldn’t seem to remember now.
“But why Rana?” Caleb said.
“So I can guarantee that Rana builds this new world and not you.”
Caleb scowled. “Conniving to the last.”
“Did you expect anything less?”
“And what about Daniel Fisher, the Lamed Vavnik. He has your curse. Can you undo that too?”
“My, brother, you ask for much. Use the Horn. It has the power to heal him and much more besides.”
“Good,” Caleb said. “We need to get back to the surface. I hope there is another way besides your pathetic Baast.”
“Behind you are eleven chambers. Enter the one framed with the tallest arch. My servant Chialdra lives there. Show her my Horn, and she will obey you till the end of time.”
“The end of time is hours from now,” Caleb said.
The mention of Chialdra’s name didn’t scare Rana. And why should it? With this new power she wielded, she could do anything. What was a demon bird compared to the power to build worlds?
“I owe you much brother,” Caleb said.
Azazel closed his eyes. “Yes, Ashey, you do.” His slow breaths sounded like long-dead spirits sighing in abandoned halls. Rana felt sorry for him, forced to dwell here for all eternity. She squeezed the Horn in her hands and knew that it contained the power to create a universe.
And she alone held it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Daniel stood on the edge of the chasm and peered down into the dark. The Abyssal of Lost Hope was immense. It was at least a mile to the other side, and its edge twisted a crooked course into the bordering mountains, as if a great hand had chiseled the planet in two here. A hot wind blew up from the depths like an old man’s fevered breath. He couldn’t see the bottom, and he shivered as he stepped back from the ledge.
Caleb had chosen this spot to perform the spell for good reason. The yellow sands were flat, devoid of stones. There were five Mikulalim, four priests, and him. That made ten.
Nine rabbis can’t make a minyan but ten shoemakers can.
He helped them draw the sephirot in the sands. Ten wide circles, the ten divine emanations. Keter, Chokmah, Binah, Chesed, Gevurah, Tiferet, Netsach, Hod, Yesod, Malchut. He sensed their power as he drew each one. He showed them how to connect the sephirot with twenty-two lines, one for each letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Though the ambient light was weak, the sephirot seemed to glow.
Elyam corrected a mistake in the sephirot, and Daniel said to him, “You know the Tree of Life?”
“Intimately,” Elyam said. “All Bedu magic are permutations of it.”
Daniel carefully taught each man his portion of the spell and hoped he remembered the parts correctly. The Black Guide’s spell had confused him. But these men were adept learners. Magic came easily to them, Bedu and Mikulal alike.
“From whom did you learn this spell?” Elyam said.
“Marul taught it to me.”
“Who?”
Had even their memories of her become dust? “A woman who tried to be a god.” He walked to the Abyssal edge and Elyam followed. “Now she isn’t even a memory.”
Elyam kicked sand over the edge and watched it fall. “Will this be our fate too?” he said. “To tumble forever into the Abyss?”
Havig joined them, and his expression was dour. Solemnly, he said, “The Lamed Vav will sustain us, as they always have.”
“‘He will slake your thirst in parched places, and give strength to your bones,’” Elyam said. “‘You shall be like a watered garden, like a spring whose waters do not fail.’”
“I’ve heard that before,” Daniel said.
Baasha, the priest with one brown and one green eye, approached them and said, “‘A man from your midst shall rebuild the ancient ruins. He shall restore foundations laid long ago.’”
The wheezy priest Ahazia said, “‘And he shall be called Repairer of the Fallen Walls, Restorer of Lanes for Habitation.’”
“That’s from Isaiah,” Daniel said. “I remember it now.”
“It is Yeshayahu,” said Elyam, “from the Fourth Book of Tobai.”
“What does the source matter?” Baasha said. “Truth is truth.”
“But is it truth?” said Elyam. “We’ve studied the holy books. They promised salvation for the righteous, but it has brought us only ruin. Daniel, will you repair the fallen walls? Will you restore the foundations laid long ago?”
What could he say to that? “I will try.”
Elyam closed his eyes. “As must we all. This artifact that holds a demon’s power, you’ve no idea its shape or size?”
Daniel shook his head. “Marul said it might be a necklace, or an amulet, or a ring. Something physical.”
“Who is Marul?” said Havig.
Only moments before, Havig had mentioned her name. She was slipping from their minds like sand through fingers. Would he forget her too? And if so, what did that mean for the spell? “We have to get this object from Caleb,” he said.
“And how do we do that?” said Zimri. “Do you slide on the ring? Clasp the necklace? Is there an incantation? A gesture? Do we use pyromancy? Chronomancy? Astrology? Do we have to wait for an alignment of the stars?”
They all looked expectantly at Daniel.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I have no idea how these things work.”
The boy shook his head and glanced at his father. “And this is the one who will save the Cosmos?”
“I’m doing my best,” Daniel said. “I didn’t choose this path.”
“None of us chose this path, Pillar,” said Zimri. “Nevertheless, it is laid out before us. Will you leads us into the abyss, or into heaven?”
The boy was right. He needed to lead them into confidence, not doubts, no matter his own thoughts. He straightened himself. “Havig, what’s the extent of Caleb’s power over you? Have you tested its limits? Could you lie to him?”
“Lie, no. But obfuscate, perhaps.”
“What if you asked him to hold the artifact for safekeeping?”
“If he senses something is awry and orders me to speak, I must tell him what I know.”
“Then we won’t give him the time to think. Zimri, you must ask Caleb as many questions as you can to keep him off balance.”
“I suppose I can do that,” the boy said.
“All of you must do the same,” Daniel said. “Do your best to distract Caleb, so he doesn’t notice what we’re doing. Elyam, tell Caleb you knew enough about this Merkavah spell to prepare the Tree of Life on the sands. He might even thank you for your forethought.”
“Yes,” Elyam said. “That’s good. Very good!”
“Then this is our plan,” Daniel said. “Does everyone know what they need to do?”
They all nodded, but none looked overly optimistic.
Daniel recited the names of the Lamed Vav to himself. Paula Baumgarten, Sunil Pranadchandr, Maya Dorje, Pandate Romsaitong, Baaba Lankandia. Daniel Fisher. “After I’ve seen to the safety of the Pillars,” he said, “I’ll find a way back to Gehinnom. I’ll find a way to help the Bedu and the Mikulalim. This won’t be the last time you see me.”
“You’re a good man,” Elyam said, putting his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Men like you are far too rare.”
Daniel sensed the desperation in Elyam’s voice, a despair echoed in Havig’s gaze. All of them shared the look, the same great hope that their lot would improve, that their forsaken world could be made into something beautiful. And Daniel would be the one to save them. He had seen this look in the eyes of the homeless on Earth, the desperate who begged for help. They looked at him then and now as if he were a god, with the power of life and death.
But I’m no savior, he thought. I’m just someone who tries to help others. And perhaps that was all a Lamed Vavnik ever was.
Elyam gazed at the brightening sky. The eastern mountains glimmered, as if a fire burned behind them. “Even this bleak place has beauty,” Elyam said. “We take each breath for granted. We forget the splendor of things. It’s only when confronted with our end do we see the value in the trivial.” He withdrew his foot from his sandal. “The feeling of toes in sand.” He looked at Zimri. “Sharing morning tea with my son.” He turned east. “The majesty of a sunrise.”
A thousand shades of blue belted the sky, brightening to orange as they extended eastward, toward the approaching sun. He gazed at the Tree of Life in the sand, each circle a divine aspect of creation.
How strange, Daniel thought, to stand on the cusp of eternity.
“Look!” Ahazia shouted, sharply wheezing. “What in Goddess’s name is that?” Everyone turned. Deep in the southern valley a dusty cloud was forming, and within its swirling murk a thousand horrid shapes marched closer. A moment later the rumble came, like a stampede, whose volume steadily grew.
——
Rana and Caleb crossed the cavernous chamber, leaving Azazel to his slumber. As they approached the great archways that framed the enormous shadowed halls, her mind considered their weight distribution, the mathematical solutions to their design. But even with all her new knowledge, their structure defied explanation. By all accounts their arrangement was impossible.
She stared in awe as they headed for the tallest arch.
She clasped the Horn of Azazel and its power thundered through her. She felt as if she were being refashioned from granite, the hardest stone, made invincible. If she had been confident about her plan before, now she had become intrepid. Gehinnom was in ruin. Its kingdoms shattered. But she would make a new world, one brimming with food, wealth, and most of all love, because why shouldn’t this world overflow with love too?
And isn’t lovemaking, she thought, the ultimate act of creation? Two bodies joining to form a new life?
They crossed under the arch and she grew flush. The distant walls were lost in shadow. She and Caleb were, for the moment, alone. She turned to him, and his eyes were bright as moons. “Caleb,” she said, her voice vibrating with energy, “I . . .”
He moved toward her. “What is it, Rana?”
She pushed him against the wall, and he let her move him. For the first time, she felt more powerful than him. His eyes, once domineering, seemed to cower from her, and only now did she glimpse the being under his stony external shell. Caleb, at heart, was a frightened boy, spurned by his mother—the Creator—cast into darkness, forever searching for a path back to the light.
“Why did you choose me to build your new world?” she said.
“Because you are magnificent,” he said.
“I don’t fear you anymore.”
“I never wanted you to.”
She pressed her lips to his, a test. He seemed shocked at first, but then he pressed back with a force that surprised her. His lips were warm, soft, probing, and gentle. He was shivering. They both were. She pulled back to see his face. His pupils had dilated into caverns.
She freed him from his Bedu robe. He helped her out of hers. Naked, she pressed him to the ground. He lay on his back, staring up at her. A melody came like sweet wine to her lips, and she was overcome with an urge to sing. And as she did she swept his mind away, obliterated him through music.
In this new world, she thought, you will be a lamb. Harmless and docile. She focused her gaze, her music upon him. The Horn, still in her hand, amplified her song and her power. You will help others and not harm them, she thought as she sang. You will be a force for good.
Music flowed from her, washing his will away.
He was hard as she mounted him, and she was as slippery as oil. How good it felt to be filled. She moaned and arched her spine. His eyes rolled back into his head. He reached for her, tried to pull her toward him, but she pressed him down. He would not command her ever again. She lifted the Horn of Azazel high as the acoustics of the enormous chamber turned her song into a symphony. The Pedestal of Lamentation had nothing on this.
Her voice woke the sleeping centuries to wakefulness. She rode his shuddering body, not permitting him release. Palaces of pleasure filled her, and she lost herself in bliss. It was too much for him, and with a scream his dam broke. A sky of light flooded her vision.
Ecstasy consumed her. I am a goddess! she thought. The pleasure came and came and came, until she didn’t recognize herself within it anymore.
After what felt like a long time, she became aware of her panting. Her vision returned. There were tears on his cheeks. She collapsed onto his chest in a blissful haze, shuddering, fluid dripping from her. She wouldn’t spoil the moment with words. She only wanted to sustain this feeling forever.
Something shuffled behind them. A large creature shambled across the stone floor. She jumped off of Caleb as an enormous black eagle li
mped into the light. Its topaz eyes blinked and considered them as it moved closer.
Chialdra, the demon bird, wheezed as she came for them, beak spread wide. “I heard such beautiful music,” cawed Chialdra. She sniffed, cocked her head. “And I said to myself, ‘I know this voice that sweetens this dead air with empyrean sounds.’”
Naked, they both stood as Chialdra spread her wings.
“The Crooner!” Chialdra screeched. “How do you still live? How did you survive my sandstorm? And you, demon, with your prick still twitching like a morning worm, I know you. We’ve met before, but your shape has changed.”
“I’m sorry about your leg,” said Caleb, his voice hoarse as if he had just awakened from slumber. Perhaps he had, in a way. “But you would have hurt Rana, and I couldn’t allow that.”
“You are the mongrel who did this to me?” Chialdra said. Her leg was covered in suppurating scabs. “I vowed to destroy you. How is it that you arrived in my den? Does my master know you are here?” Chialdra spread her wings and opened her mouth to reveal hundreds of sharp teeth.
Rana lifted the Horn of Azazel and shouted, “Be still, Chialdra! This is the Horn of Azazel, which he has given us.”
Chialdra’s eyes focused on the Horn as Rana’s voice echoed through the unseen halls. Chialdra closed her wings and turned her head, as if terrified of the Horn.
“Take us to the surface,” Rana said, power coursing through her.
Chialdra turned and offered them a wing to climb upon. “Demeaned, crippled, left to fester,” she said. “What a foul lot I have!”
Caleb handed Rana her robe and began to dress himself. “Your lot will change,” he said. “A new kingdom will rise from the ashes. You can come with us, if you wish.” He stepped onto Chialdra’s wing and offered Rana a hand.
It was firm and warm as she took it. They climbed onto Chialdra’s shoulders. Caleb grabbed a tuft of feathers, and Rana crossed her arms around his waist, the Horn locked in her grasp between them.
“And what will be different in this new kingdom?” Chialdra said. “I will be a slave under a different master.”
“I will give you what all creatures ultimately want.”
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