The 12th Commandment


 Contents
 
 Title Page
 Copyright Notice
 Dedication
 Map
 Epigraphs
 Book One
 
 In No Time
 Mourning in Ohio
 Slack Pitch
 The Caves
 Onset of Danger
 Ankara
 Esparamos a Ti
 The Caves (Redux)
 In the Voice of the Prophet (I)
 Coupling
 Assignment
 Real Dragons
 The Real Threat of Dragons
 In the Voice of the Prophet (II)
 The Sheep Meadow
 Nature Abhors
 Book Two
 
 The Afterlife of Stars
 Clash of the Uniformed
 In Prison
 Decisions Decisions Decisions
 Raccoon Break-in
 In the Voice of the Prophet (III)
 Free Prophet
 Book Three
 
 The Lifting of the Sparks
 Aftervision
 In the Voice of the Prophet (IV)
 Maimonides Wasn’t a Phlebotomist
 Flies Buzzing Around Your Eyes
 The Sun in the Firmament
 Budding Realization
 Something Revealed
 The Sin Offering
 A Growing Concern
 The Last Philosopher
 Establishment Clause
 Some Kind of Miracle
 Return to the Husks
 Words of the Prophet Hidden in Your Pocket
 The Supernal Present
 The Last Husks
 Acknowledgments
 Also by Daniel Torday
 About the Author
 Newsletter Sign-up
 Copyright
 
 
 
 Guide
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Book One
 In No Time
 Acknowledgments
 Contents
 Copyright
 
 
 
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 Begin Reading
 Table of Contents
 About the Author
 Copyright Page
 
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 To Erin, Abby, and Delia, my loves
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 We lay there, face to face, and held hands under water. I looked up at the sky. It was all you could see. I thought about God.
 —JAMES M. CAIN, THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE
 Commandment 12: It is not a sin in the eyes of God to kill a maamin who reveals the secrets of his religion. Hate these traitors. Even kill him, if he is dangerous to the maaminim.
 —FROM THE EIGHTEEN COMMANDMENTS OF THE DÖNME
 
 
 
 BOOK ONE
 
 
 
 
 IN NO TIME
 
 The afternoon he arrives in Central Ohio for Gram’s funeral, Ezekiel Leger is stuck in a van heading east on I-70 amid heavy snow. Snow falls lightly over Manhattan. Snow inundates Ohio. Zeke walks out of the Columbus airport to the rental car place, only to discover that the rental car has been rented elsewhere. He will have to take a shuttle van to Mt. Izmir, where later in the day he will have access to the same car.
 “You’ll be able to pick a sedan up there in no time,” the man at the counter says. He is not apologetic.
 Zeke walks back curbside to await his shuttle. He stands under a concrete overhang. Snow blows sideways in chunks the size and glint of airborne mica. Wafers bearing the body of someone’s Lord. Not Zeke’s Lord. Zeke does not himself yet believe in the Lord Almighty.
 The shuttle arrives, and six departing passengers board it. By the time it reaches State Route 36 heading northeast into the rural hinterland, snow has piled on asphalt. Snow falls and keeps falling. Cows lie in fields upon their forelegs as if at worship. Singular barns flake red paint. Roofs sag long past childbearing, silos and wet green fields of wilted long-dead soy and corn. Zeke leans forward to talk to the woman in the seat in front of him. She does not respond, pretends as if he is not there to begin with. He texts his two old college friends who will be at the funeral, waits for the gray ellipses of acknowledgment to appear on his screen, but they do not appear.
 While he is looking down,