An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (14 page)

He listened, pressing his ear close to the wood. No sound came from within. “Blast it,” he cursed under his breath. “You haven’t gone back to that godforsaken prayer room again, have you?”

Irritated, he knocked louder, this time shouting, “Adom? Are you in there?”

“Oh!” a soft confused voice answered from within. “Yes, Ornias. I’m coming.”

He squeezed the bridge of his nose, heaving an annoyed sigh and muttering, “I’m so glad, Mashiah. I feared you’d vanished into the Pit again.”

The door opened and Adom stared questioningly at him. “I… Did I call for you?”

“Yes, Adom. Shassy brought me the message that you were out of conference with Milcom and wanted to see me.” He narrowed his eyes, irritated, though he didn’t know why. Adom did this to him constantly.

“Oh, well, come in.” The Mashiah pulled the door wide and left it ajar as he strolled contemplatively across the floor, a hand rubbing his smooth chin. “I wonder why I…”

Ornias entered and closed the door behind him, scrutinizing Adom. The man looked bitterly tired. Dark circles glowed beneath his vulnerable eyes, and his pale blond hair hung in greasy strands that draped across his chest. His green robe seemed the only thing about him that was fresh. He usually looked like he’d been worked over by a boxer when he finished “talking” with Milcom, but this time appeared worse than before.

“Are you all right?”

“Hmmm?” Adom turned halfway around, staring at him quizzically. “What did you say?”

Ornias exhaled heavily, striding across the room to put a hand at the Mashiah’s back and guide him to the plush crimson velvet chairs positioned in front of the window. “Sit down, Adom. I’ll get you some brandy.”

“Oh, all right. Thank you.”

Ornias strolled to the liquor cabinet and peered through the glass doors at the bottles inside. Making his selection of a hundred-year-old cognac from Orillas Seven, he pulled at the latch and retrieved it, then scooped up two glasses on his way back to drop into the chair across from Adom.

“How is Milcom?” he asked idly as he unwrapped the stopper and blew the dust from the bottle.

“God is worried.”

“Is He? About what? Something we’ve done?” Ornias smelled the rich aroma of the liquor before pouring the glasses full of the copper colored ambrosia.

“No, it’s not us. It’s the universe. The fabric is torn somewhere.”

Ornias gave him an annoyed look.
Please God, not more of this drivel. Spare me!
“Indeed? I assume that’s bad?”

“Yes … I—I think so.”

With his boot, Ornias pulled out another chair and propped his feet on the seat, leaning back and sipping his drink. Discussing Adom’s delusions always bored him, but it kept the Mashiah happy and, consequently, couldn’t be helped. But worst of all, he hated the conversations about the new “tears” in the universe. They seemed to come so frequently of late, he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to slit his own wrists.

“What does that mean? A ‘tear’ in the fabric?” he inquired for the thousandth time.

“Oh, it—it refers to the growing singularity patterns. Though I’m not sure I understand it, really. Milcom says that as more appear, the vortices are stretching further, like huge tornadoes, sucking up everything in their paths.”

“Really? How interesting.” Ornias sighed gruffly and gazed out the window. From where he lounged, he could see the merchants’ district of Seir. People stood before shop displays, peering in at new clothing, baked goods, or furniture. He smiled. Without him, Horeb would have none of those things. It’d still be a backward wasteland without trading partners. Still, he despised the place. The ignorance of the people and squalor of the planet had begun to soil his self-image. But things were shaping up. It wouldn’t be long now until the Magistrates gave him whatever he desired.

“How have things been going here?” Adom asked, blinking owlishly.

“Oh, nothing you need to worry about. I had to issue some more proclamations against violence and—um—discipline a few recalcitrants. Nothing important.”

“Ah … good.”

“I’ve been worried about you. Milcom kept you for over a week. Did you realize that?”

Adom nodded, brow furrowing. He picked up his cognac and tasted it pensively. “He needed to talk to me. We’re going to have severe problems in the near future.”

“Because of the singularity patterns?”

“Partly. But mostly because the rebels here are mounting a major attack against us.”

Ornias set his glass down on the carved table with a sharp clink. Not that he believed this Milcom business, but Adom had been surprisingly correct in his predictions over the past three years. “Like what?”

Adom gazed up at him through sober blue eyes. “He wouldn’t tell me for certain. Only that we have to double the number of guards around the new temple and palace. Milcom says there will be attempts to destroy both. We have to be prepared.”

Ornias swallowed nervously, taking a potent swig from his glass. “I’ll take care of it immediately.”

“And God said you must stop giving the marines so much power, Ornias. They’re abusing it.”

He glanced up, disconcerted. A small spot of anxiety swelled in his chest. Adom knew nothing about his attempts to squelch the rebellion that threatened to burst the planet at its seams. “To what are you referring?”

“Well … I don’t know for sure. But Milcom said to tell you you’re being an asinine idiot.”

“Did he?” He drummed his fingers on his leg. “Well.”

“Oh, don’t feel bad. God wasn’t being mean. He thought you needed some guidance.”

“I see.”

Adom smiled. “I knew you would.” Then with manic briskness, he leapt from his chair and cocked his head as though listening to someone. Running across the room for the door, he called over his shoulder, “Well, I need to go and check on the flowers in the gardens. So if you’ll excuse me—”

“Adorn! Sit down! Finish telling me about the rebels and their plots!”

“The rebels?” He stopped, walking backward a few paces.

Ornias squeezed his eyes closed, asking through gritted teeth, “You said Milcom wanted us to double the guards. Did he also tell you when we might expect the first attack?”

Adom blinked as though he hadn’t the vaguest idea what Ornias was talking about. “Attack? Oh! … Oh, no … He didn’t.” He whirled and headed for the door again.

“Have a nice trip to the garden, Adom.”

“Thank you. Don’t you want to come? The Silmar hyacinths are
lovely
this time of year.”

“Yes, I know. But I have things to do.”

Adom smiled broadly. “All right. I’ll see you later, then.” He opened the door and exited into the hall, leaving it so wide that Ornias could see out the hall windows to the vast red desert beyond. Whirlwinds of dust bobbed across the plain, partially obscuring the rocky plateaus in the distance.

Finishing his glass of cognac, he shook his head and poured himself another. Adom always acted a little “strange” after visiting with God, disoriented and aloof, but he usually came back to normal—at least normal for Adom—in a few hours. This period of lunacy was lasting much longer than usual. But then Adom’s sojourn with Milcom had lasted longer than usual, too. Perhaps he should have expected this.

Downing his second glass, Ornias stood and perfunctorily smoothed the wrinkles from his damson silk sleeves. “Still, I swear he’s getting worse every day.”

Dust whirled in ruddy plumes throughout Seir, sizzling against the windowpanes of the tiny boxlike houses that lined the dirt streets near the Mashiah’s magnificent palace. On the horizon, drifting clouds glowed a polished carnelian.

Rachel, Sybil, Talo, and Colin stood hidden, watching the long lines of worshipers file into the new Temple of Milcom. Set on a hillside in the center of Seir, the hexagonal structure rose two hundred feet into the dry air, gleaming golden in the dusty haze of sunset. The building’s main feature, an enormous glass dome which the architects called the Vault of Heaven, reflected the sun’s blaze, creating a great bloody smear against the sky.

Her heart tightened as she logged the number of guards. “They must have tripled their forces around the temple.”

“Doesn’t matter. Talo and I, we set everything up night before last.”

Rachel nodded, noting the faithful who crowded to get inside. Friends. Relatives. “Enemies. Traitors who stood by and watched us slaughtered.”

“Tonight,” Colin whispered savagely, his pointed face twisted by a cruel smile, “they initiate the structure, consecrate it to Milcom.” Wind whistled through the alley, stirring the gray rags he wore.

“Shoah … shoah … the end of all,” Talo moaned and put his hand over his withered face.

Rachel bowed her head. She felt a fatigue so deep consciousness could not probe it. Time and events had telescoped, jumbled like a nightmare that had no reality or reason.

“We fight for what is rightly ours,” Colin spat.

“But can’t we wait until it’s empty? Then—”

“Go home, Talo,” Rachel murmured, studying the thick bandage around his waist. It bulged from beneath his brown robe. He was lucky to be alive. The marine’s shot had just missed his kidney. Still weak, his abilities and endurance were unreliable. “The finale is already staged. We can do this without you.”

“No. I—I fight for Epagael, too. Blessed be the name of the True God.”

As the sun dipped lower, light penetrated between the narrow bungalows to land on their faces in slashes of dusty coral. Rachel shuddered. The twilight breeze wore the frosty cloak of winter.

“Mommy,” Sybil murmured fearfully, looking from one adult to the next. “I’m cold. Let’s go home. Can’t we just go home? I don’t want to go into the Mashiah’s temple.”

Rachel straightened her borrowed peach-colored robe. The Kayan silk glistened in the fading light, the beads around her hem and collar shimmering like tiny crystal tears. Lifting her veil and fixing it to cover her face, she knelt and did the same with Sybil’s sky blue veil. Her daughter looked at her in utter terror.

“Mom, why do we have to do this? If everything is already set up, why do we have to go inside?” She gripped Rachel’s shoulders frantically.

“We just do. We won’t be there for long. I promise. You remember what I told you?”

“You mean that I can’t talk?”

“That’s right. You just pretend to be shy, all right?”

“But … Mom … Please, we can kill him from out here. We don’t have to—”

“Hush, darling. We’re going in.”

As she rose, Talo gripped her arm tightly. His withered face was pinched with worry. “Why are you doing this? It’s dangerous for you to be inside.”

Rachel shook off his hand, holding his eyes with her own. “
I want to see his face.”

“If not for yourself, think of your little girl. What if you get caught in the stampeding crowd?”

“We’ll be all right.”

“What’s that word mean, Mommy?” Sybil whispered. Brown curls peeked from beneath her veil. “Stampede?”

“It means people will run.”

“Over us?”

“No, don’t worry, baby. We’ll be standing in the very back of the temple, so we can get out first if people panic.”

Sybil shoved trembling hands into the pockets of her robe and stared at the ground.

Talo clenched his hand into a hard fist. “But you can’t always be certain—”

“Nothing is ever certain.”

He regarded her in strained silence. The moment stretched uneasily and it took all of Rachel’s strength to control the sick sense of foreboding that gnawed at her vitals.

“Are you ready, Sybil?”

“I guess so, Mom.” She heaved a halting exhale and squared her tiny shoulders in anticipation.

“That’s my brave girl.” Rachel squeezed her hand and looked a final time at Colin. “You know what you have to do?”

His eyes gleamed savagely “Yes. Talo and me, we can do it.”

“Good. When it’s over, I’ll meet you at the old burnedout bakery.”

Both men nodded, Talo licking his lips and glancing anxiously at Sybil. His gray beard quaked as he formed his hands into the sacred triangle. “May Epagael protect you.”

“And you,” Rachel responded mechanically. She led Sybil down the street, carefully selecting a point in the line of worshipers where she recognized no one. They casually blended in and Rachel pulled her daughter closer. Robes of fuchsia and maroon, saffron and emerald dotted the line. When the wind changed directions, the scent of exotic perfume nearly overwhelmed them. A sign of tremendous wealth, the excess labeled the wearer part of the Mashiah’s inner circle. Hatred swelled so suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She clenched her hands into fists to still the rising tide of insane emotion. Her glance darted hawkishly through the crowd searching for the wearer.

As they slowly moved toward the huge wooden doors, strains of music wafted out to them. Sweet and high, the notes touched some deep part of Rachel’s tormented soul, soothing it, stroking like the tender hand of a lover.

Sybil’s young body went rigid as the interior of the temple became visible. In a sudden motion, she stopped, stared up pleadingly and lunged backward, trying to get away. Rachel gripped her hand tighter, struggling to keep Sybil in line.