[18]
Nevaeh pushed her palm against her forehead, willing her headache to go away. “Creed, listen,” she said, without looking at him, “it’s never bothered you before.”
“It does now.”
The sadness she detected in his voice surprised her. Until moments ago, his words had been sharp with defiance and anger. She realized his face had softened; his eyes were pleading. She glanced at Ben, sitting behind his big desk, a book open in front of him. His finger was still pressed against a passage he had quoted a minute before. And he went after the man of Israel into the chamber, and thrust both of them through, the man of Israel, and the woman through her belly. So the plague was stayed from the children of Israel.
Creed hadn’t wanted to hear it-or any argument against his opinion-and now Nevaeh didn’t want to hear him.
He spoke anyway: “It’s one thing to mete out justice to a criminal, but this… this plan… There will be too many innocents.”
“‘Now kill all the boys,’” Ben said, “ ‘And kill every woman-’ ”
Creed slapped his hand on the desk. “Stop quoting Scripture to me,” he said. “I know it as well as you do.” He sighed and said quietly, “That was then… this is now.”
Ben leaned back in his chair and rubbed his goatee. “What’s changed?” he said. “Did God?”
“Yes!” Creed said and paused. “No.”
Nevaeh said, “‘All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’ ”
“That doesn’t give you the right to kill them, not like this,” Creed said. “Everyone deserves a chance.”
Nevaeh tilted her head. “At what?”
“Salvation,” Creed said. “Redemption.”
“Do we?”
Creed blinked. “Yes.”
“Then where is it?” Nevaeh snapped. “Where is it, Creed? How long do we have to wait?”
“That’s another issue,” Ben said. His deep voice and crisp diction imbued the words with authority. “Right now we’re addressing Creed’s concerns regarding our plan.”
“We’re not addressing anything,” Nevaeh said, waving a dismissive hand at Creed. “It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
“Creed,” Ben said patiently, “when God’s people crossed the Jordan into Canaan, they cleansed the land of the pagans living there. Everyone: men, women, and children.”
Nevaeh said, “They were directed by God to do so.”
“Where’s our directive?” Creed demanded. It’d been a point of contention among them for centuries: just how did God communicate with his children once burning bushes and pillars of fire fell out of vogue?
“It’s come through prayers,” Nevaeh said, “dreams.”
“Inspired by you and your desires,” Creed asked, “or his?”
“He paves our way,” Nevaeh said. “We listen when he foils our efforts… and when he aids them.”
“You can’t say that because God allows it, he wants it.”
Ben said, “Our actions have always been consistent with his revealed word.”
“As you interpret it,” Creed said. “The people of Canaan would have corrupted the Israelites, seduced God’s people into worshipping false gods, acting like pagans.”
Ben spread his hands. “And you’re saying the ways of the modern world don’t?”
“You can’t rid the world of blasphemous influences,” Creed said. “Trying to is just pointless… and cruel.”
Ben tapped the Bible in front of him. “More than cleansing Canaan of bad influences, the destruction of those towns was symbolic, a sign for everyone who came after-everyone who reads the Bible now or who ever did-that God demands loyalty, and death will come to everyone who betrays his will.”
“So you’re planning the destruction of an entire city to prove a point? To try to teach religion to a world that won’t listen?”
Ben sighed. He lowered his face into his hands. Finally he said, “Yes.”
“That’s just wrong,” Creed said. “It turns us into the very criminals we’ve been trying to rid the world of.”
“Round and round,” Nevaeh said, heading for the door. “Chat about it all you want. We resolved this a long time ago.” She strode into the dark corridor, feeling the eyeless sockets of the skulls watching her. “We have a precedent for this,” she called back. “A divine precedent.”
[19]
Nevaeh stormed past her own room and stopped before reaching the next one. The heavy wooden door was open, allowing light, music, and the children’s voices to spill out. Their laughter and playful banter calmed her, reminded her not to take everything so seriously.
She took a deep breath, stepped into the entrance, and leaned against the doorframe. It was a big space, lighted by two bare bulbs whose wires had been tacked to the stone ceiling. Two beds-plump with blankets and pillows-and two dressers were situated on opposite ends. Heavy wooden chests of varying shapes and sizes ran the length of the back wall. Stuffed with toys, they nevertheless failed to hold the children’s collection, which was piled against the chests and walls, scattered around the room: dolls and pull toys; board games and puzzles; containers of Play-Doh, Silly Putty, Legos, Erector Sets. It looked like a missile had struck a toy store.
The left side of the room was Jordan’s, and its walls marked his territory as clearly as a dog claimed a backyard: a slingshot; BB, Airsoft, and paintball guns; an oak dartboard so pocked and pitted that it was concave, its markings long gone. Posters displaying hot-dogging skateboarders, exotic sports cars, sharks. If a glance didn’t tell you the age and gender of the occupant, you didn’t know eleven-year-old boys.
Conversely, the right side was all little girl: stuffed animals, princess gowns, children’s purses and daypacks with monogrammed names. Small shelves held snow globes, frilly dressed dolls, and porcelain figurines. Posters depicted cartoon characters, Disney princesses, and teddy bears posed in a variety of human activities.
A large area rug-in a gender-neutral lemon-filled the center of the room.
Crouching atop a chest, Jordan was aligning an army of wooden Roman soldiers, each a foot tall, in bowling- pin formation. Toby sat against the wall by the entrance, tossing a beanbag in the air and catching it.
Nevaeh nudged him with her foot. “Why aren’t you practicing?”
“Sebastian’s goofing around with the simulator. Like this song?”
Nevaeh listened. It was a ballad, “Forever Young,” the version by Meatloaf. “Funny,” she said, without any humor.
Toby just grinned.
Jordan balanced the last soldier, then raised his arm. “Go!” he said. Toby chucked the beanbag, and half of the soldiers scattered across the floor.
“Five! Ha!” Jordan said. “That’s…” He wiggled his fingers, calculating. “Thirty-two. If you don’t get nine on the next throw, I win.” He tossed the beanbag back to Toby and began resetting the centurions.
“I’ll get in on this,” Nevaeh said. “My dao says you don’t get nine, Toby.” He’d had his eye on the ancient Han-era sword for some time.
Toby squinted up at her. “Seriously? Against what?”
She smiled. “The obol.”
He laid his palm over his thigh, where she knew he could feel the medallion in his pants pocket. “No way,” he said.
She shrugged. “A punch, then.”
“I’m not going to punch you, Nev.”
“You won’t have to.” She could tell he didn’t like her confidence in his failure.
“All right, then. Start thinking about which arm you want numb for a week.” He hardened his jaw and eyed the targets, which Jordan was still arranging. Jordan’s hand bumped one, causing three to tumble.
