Chris's scream echoed out over the sinister desert, bathed in the light of the moon.
Valhalla was expecting the scream. She had already dealt with guilt, and knew that what she wanted was no crime. Only a caprice. She was entitled to cultivate her caprices--her angel had taught her that such things took no one away from God, or from the sacred task each person had to perform in their life.
She remembered the first time she had seen Chris, at the luncheonette. A shiver had coursed through her body, and strange intuitions--intuitions she was unable to understand--had taken hold of her. The same thing must have happened to her, she thought.
Paulo? She had completed her mission with him. And, although he didn't know it, the price she had charged was high--as they had traveled through the desert, she had learned many rituals that J. used only with his disciples. He had told her everything.
She also desired him as a man. Not for what he was, but for what he knew. A caprice, and her angel forgave capriciousness.
She looked again at Chris, and thought, This is my tenth round. I too need to change. This woman is an instrument of the angels.
Never taking her eyes from Chris, the Valkyrie said, "The Ritual That Demolishes Rituals. May God tell us what our characters should be!"
She had accepted the challenge. Her moment for growth had arrived.
The two women began to walk around the circumference of an imaginary circle, like cowboys of the old West before a gunfight. Not a sound could be heard--it was as if time had stopped.
The other Valkyries understood what was happening because they were all women, accustomed to fighting for love. And they would do so through to the ultimate consequences, using every trick and artifice. They would do so for love, the justification for their lives and their dreams.
Chris's character began to emerge. She donned the leather outfit, and tied the kerchief around her head. Between her breasts shone the medallion of the archangel Michael. She had dressed herself as a strong character, as the woman she admired and would like to be: She was Valhalla.
Chris gestured with her head, and the two stood still. Valhalla felt as though she were standing before a mirror.
Looking at Chris, she could see herself. She knew the arts of war by heart, but had forgotten the lessons of love. She knew the five rules of victory, and had slept with every man she desired, but she had forgotten the art of love.
She regarded herself as reflected by this other person; she had enough power to defeat her. But her own character was emerging, taking form, and this character, although it was also possessed of sufficient power, was not used to this type of battle.
She had transformed herself into a woman in love, who marched with her man, carrying his sword when necessary, and protecting him from all danger. She was a strong woman, although she appeared to be a weak one. She was a person who walked the path of love, regarding it as the only possible road to wisdom. A path where mysteries were revealed through surrender and forgiveness. She was seeing it with such clarity!
Valhalla had assumed the character of Chris.
And Chris saw herself, reflected in the other.
Chris began to walk slowly toward the precipice. Valhalla did the same, and both approached the abyss. A fall from there would be fatal. But they were women who would recognize no limits. Chris stopped at the very edge, allowing time for Valhalla to do so, as well.
The floor of the desert was thirty feet below, and the moon was thousands of miles above. Between the moon and the desert floor, two women confronted each other.
"He is my man. Don't covet him merely out of capriciousness. You don't love him," Chris said.
Valhalla didn't respond.
"I'm going to take one more step," Chris continued. "I'll survive. I'm a courageous woman."
"I'll do it with you," answered Valhalla.
"Don't. You know about love now. It's a huge world, and you will have to spend the rest of your life trying to understand it."
"I will step back if you will. You know about your strength now. Your horizon now extends to mountains, valleys, and deserts. Your soul has grown large, and will continue to grow. You've discovered your courage, and that's enough."
"Enough, if what I taught you is sufficient to pay the price you were going to charge me."
A long silence. Then the Valkyrie walked over to Chris.
And kissed her.
"I accept that as the price," she said. "Thank you for what you have taught me."
Chris removed the watch from her wrist. It was all she had to offer.
"Thank you for what you taught me, too," she said. "Now I know about my strength. I would never have learned about it, though, unless I had come to know a strange, beautiful, powerful woman."
With great tenderness, she placed the watch on Valhalla's wrist.
THE SUN SHONE DOWN ON DEATH VALLEY. THE Valkyries tied their kerchiefs around their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed.
Valhalla approached the couple. "You cannot go with us. You have to talk to your angel."
"There's one thing left," Paulo said. "The bet."
"Bets and pacts are made with the angels. Or with the devils."
"I still don't know how to see my angel," he answered.
"You have already broken a pact. You have already accepted forgiveness. The bet you must make with your angel."
The other women's motorcycles roared. She placed the kerchief across her face, mounted her bike, and turned to Chris.
"I will always be a part of you," Chris said. "And you will always be a part of me."
Valhalla removed a glove and threw it to Chris. Then she revved her engine and the cycles sped away, leaving behind a gigantic cloud of dust.
A MAN AND A WOMAN WERE TRAVELING ACROSS THE desert. On some days, they stopped at cities with thousands of inhabitants, and on others, in towns with just one motel, a restaurant, and a gas station. They kept to themselves--and each afternoon they walked out through the rocks and the sand, feeling as if they had returned to the place where the first star was about to be born. And there, they talked with their angels.
They heard voices, gave advice to one another, and remembered things that seemed to have been completely forgotten sometime in the past.
She had completed her communication with the protection and wisdom of her angel, and was now gazing at the desert sunset.
He sat there, waiting. He wanted his angel to descend and appear in blazing glory. He had done everything right, and now he had simply to wait.
He waited one, two, three hours. He rose only when night had completely fallen; he found his wife, and they returned to the city.
They had dinner, and returned to the hotel. She went to bed and pretended to sleep, while he stared into space.
She got out of bed in the middle of the night, and went to where he sat, asking him to come to bed. She said that she was afraid of sleeping alone because of a bad dream. He lay down beside her, quietly.
"You are already communicating with your angel," he had grown used to saying at such times. "I've heard you speaking when you are channeling. You say things you would never say in ordinary life. Wise things. Your angel is here."
He caressed her, but continued to lie there in silence. She asked herself if his sadness was really because of the angel, or perhaps had to do with some lost love.
This question remained locked inside.
Paulo was thinking about the woman who had left, but that wasn't what made him disconsolate. Time was passing, and soon he would have to return to his own country. He would meet again with the man who had taught him that angels exist.
That man, Paulo imagined, will tell me that I did enough. That I broke a pact that needed to be broken, that I accepted forgiveness that I should have accepted long ago. Yes, that man will continue to teach me about the path to wisdom and love, and I will get closer and closer to my angel. I'll speak with my angel every day, giving thanks for protection and asking for help. And that man will tell me
that it is sufficient.
Yes, because J. had taught him from the beginning that there are frontiers. That it was necessary to go as far as possible--but that there were certain times when one had to accept the mystery, and understand that each person had his own gift. Some knew how to cure, others possessed words of wisdom, while others conversed with spirits. It was through the sum of such gifts that God could demonstrate his glory, using humankind as his instrument. The gates to paradise would be open to those who had resolved that they would pass through them. The world was in the hands of those who had the courage to dream--and to realize their dreams.
Each to their own talent. Each to their own gift.
But none of that consoled Paulo. He knew that Gene had seen his angel. That Valhalla had seen her angel. That many others had written books and stories and reports telling of their meetings with their angels.
And he had not been able to see his own.
IN SIX MORE DAYS, THEY WOULD HAVE TO LEAVE THE desert. They stopped in a small city called Ajo, where most of the inhabitants were elderly. It was a place that had known its moments of glory--when the mine there had brought jobs, prosperity, and hope to the inhabitants. But, for some reason--unknown to any of them--the company had sold its houses to the employees and closed the mine.
Paulo and Chris sat in a restaurant, drinking coffee and waiting for the cool evening to arrive. An old woman asked if she could sit with them.
"All of our children have gone away," she told them. "No one is left except the old-timers. Some day, the entire city will disappear, and all our work, everything we built, will no longer mean a thing."
It had been a long time since anyone had even passed through the place. The old woman was happy to have someone to talk to.
"People come here, build, and hope that what they are doing is important," she continued. "But overnight, they find that they are demanding more of the Earth than it has to give. So, they abandon everything and move on, without thinking about the fact that they have involved others in their dream--others who, weaker than they, have to stay behind. Like with the ghost towns out there in the desert."
Maybe that's what's happening to me, Paulo thought. I brought myself here, and I've abandoned myself.
He recalled that once an animal trainer had told him how he was able to keep his elephants under control. The animals, as infants, were bound by chains to a log. They would try to escape, but could not. They tried throughout their entire infancy, but the log was stronger than they were.
So they became accustomed to captivity. And when they were huge and strong, all the trainer had to do was place the chain around one of their legs and anchor it anywhere--even to a twig--and they would not attempt to escape. They were prisoners of their past.
The long hours of daylight seemed to have no end. The sky caught fire, the Earth baked, and they had to wait, wait, wait--until the color of the desert changed again to softer tones of pink. That was when he could leave the city, try his channeling, and once again await the appearance of his angel.
"Someone once said that the earth produces enough to satisfy needs, but not enough to satisfy greed," the old woman continued.
"Do you believe in angels?" Paulo asked her.
The woman was astonished at the question. But that was all that Paulo wanted to talk about.
"When you're old, and death isn't too far off, you begin to believe in anything," she said. "But I don't know if I believe in angels."
"They exist."
"Have you ever seen one?" There was a mixture of incredulity and hope in her eyes.
"I talk with my guardian angel."
"Does your angel have wings?"
It was the question everyone asked. Yet he had forgotten to ask it of Valhalla.
"I don't know. I haven't seen my angel yet."
The woman considered whether she should get up and leave. The solitude of the desert made some people strange. But maybe this man was joking with her, just passing the time.
She wanted to ask where the couple came from, and what they were doing in a place like Ajo. She hadn't been able to identify their strange accent.
Maybe they're from Mexico, she thought. But they didn't look like Mexicans. She would ask when the opportunity arose.
"I don't know if you two are fooling around with me," she said, "but, as I said, I'm getting close to death. I suppose I could last another five or ten years. Maybe even twenty. But at my age, you certainly realize you're going to die."
"I know that I'm going to die, too," Chris said.
"No, not like an old person does. For you, it's a remote idea. It might happen some day. For us, it's something that could happen tomorrow. That's why many elderly people spend the time remaining to them looking only in one direction: the past. It's not that they're so fond of their memories, but they know that looking in that direction they won't see anything to be feared.
"Very few old people look to the future, and I'm one of them. When we look into the future, we see what it holds for us: death."
Paulo didn't say anything. You can't say anything new about awareness of death to those who practice magic, but he knew the woman would leave the table if she knew that he was a magus.
"That's why I'd like to believe that you both are serious. That angels really exist."
"Death is an angel," Paulo said. "I have seen it twice in this incarnation, but very briefly. There wasn't enough time to see its face. But I know people who have seen, and I know others that were oppressed by Death, and later told me about it. They said that Death has a handsome face, and a gentle touch."
The old woman stared at Paulo. She wanted to believe him.
"Does Death have wings?"
"This angel is made of light," he answered. "When the moment comes, Death assumes the form that is easiest for you to deal with."
The old woman thought about that. Then she stood up.
"I'm not afraid anymore. I have prayed, and asked that the angel of death have wings when it comes to me. My heart tells me that my wish will be granted."
She kissed them both. It was no longer important to her where they came from.
"It was my angel that sent you both. Thank you so much."
Paulo remembered Gene. He too had been an angel's instrument. Thinking of Gene, Paulo realized that he and Chris had also served as the instruments of an angel.
AT SUNSET, THEY WENT TO A MOUNTAIN NOT FAR FROM AJO. They sat facing the east, waiting for the first star to appear. When that occurred, they would initiate their channeling activity.
They called this process Contemplation of the Angel. It was the first ceremony they had created after the Ritual That Demolishes Rituals had swept the others away.
"I never asked," Chris said as they waited. "Why it is that you want to see your angel?"
"Well, you've already explained to me a number of times that it didn't matter at all to you."
His voice had a sarcastic tone. She pretended not to notice.
"Okay. But it's important for you. Can you tell me why?"
"I've already explained that. The day of our meeting with Valhalla."
"You don't need a miracle," she insisted. "You're just being capricious."
"There's nothing capricious in the spiritual world. Either you accept it, or you don't."
"So? Haven't you accepted this, your world? Or was everything you said a lie?"
She must be thinking of that story in the mine, Paulo thought. It was a difficult question to answer, but he was bound to try.
"I've already witnessed a number of miracles," he began. "Many miracles. You and I have even witnessed some together. We watched J. create openings in the clouds, fill the darkness with light, move objects from one place to another.
"You've seen me read people's minds, cause the wind to blow, perform rituals involving power. I've seen magic function many times in my life--both for evil and for good. I have no doubts about it."
He paused. "But we have also become used to miracles
. And we always want to see others. Faith is a difficult conquest, and it requires daily combat in order to be maintained."
It was time for the star to appear, and he had to end his explanation. But Chris interrupted.
"It's been that way with our marriage, too," she said. "And I'm exhausted."
"I don't understand. I'm speaking about the spiritual world."
"The only reason I'm able to understand what you're saying is because I know your love," she said. "We've been together for a long time. But after the first two years of joy and passion, every day began to be a challenge for me. It's been very difficult to keep the flames of our love alive."
She regretted having brought up the subject--but now she was going to see it through.
"Once you told me that the world was divided into the farmers, who love the Earth and the harvest, and the hunters, who love the dark forests and conquest. You said I was a farmer, like J. That I walked the path of wisdom, achieved through contemplation. And you said I was married to a hunter."
Her thoughts were pushing their way out, and she couldn't stop herself. She was afraid the star might appear before she had finished.
"And I am married to a hunter. I know that, and its been very difficult being married to you! You're like Valhalla, like the Valkyries. They never rest. They deal only in the strong emotions of the hunt, of taking risks. Of the darkness of night and the taking of prisoners. At the beginning, I didn't think I'd be able to live with that. I, who was looking for a life like everybody else's, married to a magus! A magus whose world is governed by laws I don't even know--a person who feels he is alive only when he is facing challenges."
She looked into his eyes.
"Isn't J. a much more powerful magus than you are?"
"Much wiser," Paulo answered. "Much more experienced. He follows the path of the farmer, and it is on that path that he finds his power. I'll be able to achieve my power only by following the path of the hunter."
"Well then, why did he accept you as a disciple?"
Paulo laughed. "For the same reason that you chose me as a husband. Because we're different from one another."
"Valhalla, you, and all your friends think only in terms of the Conspiracy. Nothing else is important--you're all fixated on this business of changes, of a new world to come. I believe in that new world, too--but, God, does it have to be this way?"