Page 69 of The Maiden and Her Monster
“Nimrah, you are my life’s creation. You are…” he shook his head, “the closest thing to family I have left. I could not kill you. Even though they wanted me to, I could not.”
“I could have helped. You made me to protect the Yahad, yet you would not let me do that. All I have been created for…”
A tear pricked the Maharal’s eye. It glimmered as it fell slowly down his cheek.
He settled his wrist on the back of Nimrah’s neck in a fatherly embrace.
She turned her face away from him, but still leaned into his touch, like even her anger could not keep her from her master.
“You know that would have not been fair. I am the tree’s creator.
I gave it life. I am the one who made her holy.
I am the one who turned her into something worse.
And it is about time I made things right.
Now that you have someone,” he said, eyes darting to Malka.
“Ordobav will be in good hands under your watchful gaze and the support you will have to build a better future for the Yahad. I am not needed as I once was.”
“What are you saying?” Nimrah’s voice cracked on the question.
“No one has done what I have, Nimrah. No one has created holy life—life made by Kefesh. But that also means no one has to bear the consequences for taking that holy life away, except for me. If I destroy the Great Oak tree, I can end this. I have the power to end this, Nimrah.”
An uncomfortable realization speared through Malka’s chest. How many Eskraven lives could have been saved if the Maharal had made his sacrifice earlier? He had always known what needed to be done, yet he chose instead to live while Mavetéh feasted on the women of her village.
“I never could get myself to do it,” the Maharal continued, “knowing the state of the kingdom and its tumultuous future for the Yahad. I could not abandon them. I knew I was a beacon of hope for people, and I could not let Sévren tear their hope away like he attempted by imprisoning me. For you see, either he would have to keep me alive or make me a martyr like Ev ? en. And either way, the Yahad would have hope.”
“They need you now. They still need hope,” Nimrah begged.
“Ah, but that’s the thing about the Yahad and hope.
We have always had to have it. I think we are more used to hanging on to it than many are led to believe.
To be a Yahad and practice our religion is inherently hopeful, that one day, our people will be free.
That one day, a sign from Yohev will come. ”
To Malka, he said, “I’ll forever be sorry for the pain my selfishness has put you through. And I do not expect you to forgive me. I only ask that you forgive her.”
Despite her frustration, Malka couldn’t deny him this last request. She had placed the blame on Nimrah for too long. A blame she had never deserved.
“One more thing, Malka, if you’ll allow me.
” His eyes gleamed. “Kefesh is a delicate thing, but I have seen no one command it with such hope as you do. With such a soul that you have. Even before you knew how to name it, the earth was bending for you. Come closer, child, for there is a secret I must share with you. A secret Yohev whispered to me. A secret you will carry with you until you find someone else who will carry on Their name in the hearts of our people.”
Malka stood close to him, their cloaks brushing in the blowing wind, like every part of them shared the same secret.
Malka closed her eyes, and tilted her head to the sky, as the name filled her ears and her soul.
Her hands buzzed, and she let the wind press into her skin.
Like Abayda the Mystic, she could’ve sworn she heard Yohev’s voice as the wind blew through her hair, lapping at her ears like a prayer of its own.
The Maharal said something else, so low Malka could have missed it in the intensity of the moment.
“Take care of each other,” he said. She pressed a smile into his cheek as he embraced her, and he understood her promise. When they pulled away from each other, Nimrah’s back was turned, silhouetted by the moon as she watched the stars from beyond the roof.
“You have your duty and I have mine, Nimrah. Let me right my wrongs.”
“What if it does not work?” Nimrah pressed. “What if you die for nothing?”
The Maharal sighed and breathed in the crisp air.
He let his eyes remain closed for a minute, like a dying man reveling in the simplicity of living.
“When I created you, I felt a buzzing in my hands, a drumming in my ears. It felt right to me, like Yohev had whispered Their approval. And I feel it now, as I make this decision. I think it is what the world needs. What Yohev is granting me.”
Malka stretched her own hands, wondering if that could be the reason for the tingling in her palms, which came to her before she performed Kefesh. And what she had felt again before she freed Nimrah with her magic after being dormant for so long.
In the end, they watched for hours from the tower of the synagogue as the Maharal of Valón, a myth that had become a man, became a myth again as he let his shadow disappear into Mavetéh.
Mavetéh welcomed him, and Malka swore she saw two shadows like arms grasping at him, until his gray beard and blue robes were wrapped in their blackness.
When it was done, the rustling of the trees calmed, and the murky blackness between the slits in the leaves faded into a sultry blue.
Malka felt it instantly, the reprieve she had craved so desperately.
When Mavetéh no longer needed to be named as a warning.
She could not help but cry until her vision was blurred with tears.
Until the sun rose from beyond the trees and the woods glistened with a hazy orange glow. Until at last, she recognized it again.
Kratzka ?ujana.