Merkabah Rider: The Mensch With No Name by Edward M. Erdelac Read Free Book Online Page B

lowered his arms.
    “Do
you know Ketev Meriri, Rider?”
    Ketev
Meriri. The name meant ‘bitter destruction.’ It was a reference to Deuteronomy
32—“The wasting of hunger and the devouring of the fiery bolt, and bitter
destruction; and the teeth of beasts will I send upon them, with the venom of
crawling things of the dust.”
    According
to midrash , Ketev Meriri was a demon.
    “Eight
times you have heard him speak this morning!” Mazzamauriello went on. “Eight
times he has looked down upon you! Rare and wonderful is he not? He was forged
by Lucifer himself, and was used in the First Rebellion to shatter the shields
of the archangels! Go back in your shack and wait! He will call you!”
    “Is
he crazy?” Baines gibbered when the Rider came back into the picket shack.
“What was all that he was goin’ on about?”
    The
Rider thought for a moment. There was no way to cross the open land and get to
the cannon without being blasted to pieces by it. But his astral form could
pass unmolested to the hogback in the Yenne Velt. What do when he got there
though? If the artillerists had been human, he could simply blow a hole in
their will with his ethereal pistol and possess them long enough to shove the
cannon off the ridge or douse it in water. But the shedim had no souls. He had
never attempted to possess one before and had no idea if it were even possible.
It was likely they were warded against him by their knowledge of his true name.
Lilith might have prepared them in that way somehow. But shedim were bound to
the physical world. Though resilient here, they were powerless to affect the
higher planes. Maybe that was another weakness he could exploit.
    Then
there was Mazzamauriello’s claim that the gun had been forged by Lucifer. If
that was so (and the supernal accuracy it had demonstrated thus far seemed to
bear that out), then this earthly cannon on the ridge was only a physical
container for it. It truly existed in the Yenne Velt, and might have powers
there that he could not expect.
    Nevertheless,
the cannon was the key.
    He
turned to Gersh and clapped his hand on the big man’s shoulder, rousing him
from his gloom.
    “Gersh,
come with me.”
    Gersh
nodded dully and stood.
    “Where
are you going?” Sheardown called after them.
    The
Rider picked his way to the shack where the Colonel and Purdee were huddled.
The sun was hot on his back, rising high now.
    He
ducked inside.
    The
Colonel was sitting quietly as Purdee gingerly picked splinters from the side
of his face.
    “Tell
me you got some idea on how to get out of this,” the Colonel said.
    “I
do, but you’re going to have to trust me.”
    “You’ve
played us all fair so far, ‘cept….,” he shrugged, “for attracting these
bloodthirsty sonsofbitches here in the first place. Let’s hear it.”
    “I
might be able to knock out that cannon. Stay put and
don’t show yourselves.”
    “You
can’t get across that open space,” Purdee said.
    “Just
let me worry about that,” the Rider said. “I’m going to take Gersh with me.”
    “Good
luck,” said the Colonel.
    The
Rider and Gersh ducked back outside as the cannon thumped on the ridge and
dropped a shrill round onto the saloon. Most of the structure was blown to
fluttering, burning paper and sticks. The roof collapsed as one wall
disappeared. The place was a lean-to now.
    The
Rider stared. Maybe lightning wouldn’t strike twice. He led Gersh into the
smoking wreckage.
    The
back wall and the bar were gone, as was half the right wall. The ceiling sagged
so low that one of the cable spool tables was all that supported it, but the
wall with the broken piano and the entrance remained. It was just enough
shelter to be secluded from the sun.
    The
Rider kicked aside the crates and cleared a spot in the darkest corner of the
room.
    “What’re
we doing here?” Gersh asked, bewildered.
    “This
is going to be hard for you to understand, Gersh” the Rider said. “I can stop
the cannon, but in