An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (18 page)

“Dear God,” Rathanial whispered tightly. “What …”

Jeremiel’s hand went to the pistol dangling from his belt. Pulling it, he slipped out to the spiral staircase and eased up the steps.

A second scream followed, a woman crying out in horror, and footfalls thundered, as though someone stumbled frantically through the blackness.

“Sarah?” Jeremiel shouted and his voice echoed a hundred times as he ran, one hand braced against the wall to guide him through the pitch blackness. “Sarah!” He took a remembered right, then a left.

Other voices stirred in the corridors. The rattle of booted feet striking stone erupted from somewhere up above.

“Sarah?”

“Here,” a weak voice answered and Jeremiel whirled.

“Where?”

“Over here, against the wall.”

Jeremiel followed her voice, one hand extended in front of him, bumping stone after stone. Finally, he heard her hard breathing and knelt. Reaching, he searched the cool air until his fingers landed on her face and she jumped. Gently, comfortingly, he stroked her cheek. “It’s all right, Sarah.” Her skin felt cold, bitterly cold, beneath his fingers. “Was it you who cried out?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Did you—”

“There’s something terrible in this corridor. I’ve never seen anything like it. And it came at me!”

“What? What was it? Could you …”

He stopped as the glare from a dozen candles blazed farther up the corridor. A buzz of voices drifted to them. People in multicolored robes crowded the narrow space, questioning looks on their taut faces. In the renewed light, he could make out Sarah’s horror-widened eyes fixed on the corner, and he followed her gaze.

It stood there,
a terrible darkness in the shape of a man, watching.

“Blessed Epagael,” Jeremiel whispered, barely audible. He turned his pistol on the “listener.” So much for his distance limitation theory. “Who are you? What do you want?”

People gasped, suddenly unsteady lamps flickering wildly over the room. The shape disappeared, or blended into the other shadows. Jeremiel wasn’t certain. Reaching over, he gripped Sarah’s arm and helped her to her feet.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get to the surface where there’s light.”

“Yes, let’s hurry.” She ripped away from him and shouldered through the crowd, running back up the corridor. He followed, keeping pace, listening to the hushed voices echoing behind them. A minute later, it occurred to him he hadn’t seen Rathanial in that crowd and the knowledge slapped him brutally. He spun, grabbing a lamp from one of those following, and raced back toward Zadok’s private sanctum, calling, “Rathanial? Rathanial!”

As he lunged down the spiral staircase, he heard a soft clink. A vague sound like glass against stone, and he stopped dead midway down. “Rathanial?”

No voice answered. Swallowing convulsively, he descended the final steps and walked into the small cave. Lifting his lamp high, he saw the old man lying beneath the niche in the wall where the wine bottles sat. Now, though, those bottles lay in a broken array, glass and pewter goblets scattered clear across the room. Jeremiel could see no injuries, but one of Rathanial’s hands stretched out and scratches marred the sandy floor as if he’d been groping to find something.

“Father?” He quickly went to Rathanial and knelt, turning the old man over. A weak groan came from his lips and his eyelids fluttered. “What happened?”

“The
Mea Shearim,”
Rathanial rasped. “He … took it.”

“Who?”

“Something that came … out of the darkness.” Rathanial tried to sit up, but fell weakly back to the floor, a hand to his head.

Jeremiel fearfully examined the shadows as he fingered the smooth trigger of his pistol. Had the “listener” descended the stairs to the Sanctum? Standing, he moved slowly, carrying the light around the cave, vanquishing each shadow. He started to suck in a relieved breath as he neared the door, but a subtle movement caught his eye. The darkness near the door seemed to ripple for an instant. He jerked up his lamp, throwing a glare across the entryway. Fear struck him like a fist and he stepped backward. Behind him, Rathanial gasped.

The velvet blackness hugged the walls as it silently slithered away.

CHAPTER 10

A dark whirlwind swirled around Zadok. Being in the “eye” had always prickled the hair on the back of his neck, but this time it seemed especially frightening, as though an evil force lurked close by, watching, hoping he’d fail. Soft, indistinct voices bombarded him from all sides, their clarity muffled as though originating from a great distance. He took a deep breath and trudged blindly up the tunnel toward the faint graying that wavered in the distance.

“Curious,” he mumbled to himself, feeling a little like a lost wayfarer. “Always before, the glow of the
Mea
lit my path. Now I’ve got nothing.”

A face flashed in the whirling darkness; he stumbled backward, breathing hard. The blonde woman shook a fist, raging in an unknown voice, eyes sparkling like amber jewels. Zadok clutched the rough wool fabric over his breast and forced a swallow down his throat. He’d seen a thousand different faces in his trips to Epagael. Why did they frighten him so this time?

“Because you’ve nothing but their light to guide your steps, you old fool.” A tremor of tormented regret touched him and he lowered his eyes to the gyrating blackness beneath his feet. “Well,” he sighed. “This will be the last trip, so use whatever’s available to get where you’re going.” He lifted his face to squint at the grayness in the distance. “Sedriel?” he shouted the name of the angel who guarded the gate to the first heaven. “You arrogant handmaiden of Aktariel, it’s me. Zadok! I’m coming to see you again. Get ready to open that gate!”

No answer came, but Zadok knew the giant beast heard. He and Sedriel had played this game over a hundred times, baiting each other, bantering unmercifully. Of all the gatekeepers, Sedriel was the most unabashedly haughty, like a field hand suddenly elevated to the position of crew fore-man. Zadok always wanted to slap the superior expression off the winged creature’s face, but wisely relented when he reconsidered the beast’s enormous size and power.

To his right, the figure of a woman with long black hair appeared. She scrambled on her hands and knees, tears streaking her face. “Epagael!” she screamed. “Milcom! Let me go home? Please, I beg you. My little girl needs me. Don’t take me away yet!”

Sedriel faded to the back of Zadok’s mind as an iron band constricted around his heart, memories of his first trip through the timeless tunnel coming back. He’d raced around in circles, screaming his head off, terrified. Then he’d noticed the light ahead, and followed it.

“Epagael!” the woman sobbed. “I believe …
I believe!
I’m sorry I ever doubted.” She covered her face with her hands. “Let me go home.”

“Follow the light,” Zadok urged softly, pointing ahead. “That’s the way to God.”

She seemed to hear, cocking her head and searching the blackness blindly for him. “Who are you?”

“An experienced friend.” Zadok reached out a hand to stroke her dark hair comfortingly, but she vanished into the void. Only a deeper swirl of darkness marked where she’d stood. He closed his hand on air, then jerked his gaze ahead as another figure glowed to life, a tall man swinging a sword. Zadok watched in silence for a few moments as the warrior carved the darkness.

“Stop wasting time, you spineless old numbskull,” Zadok chastised himself. “The whole galaxy needs to know the will of Epagael. Why are you standing here like a coward? The only way to get to the Veil is to keep walking.” He ran a tired hand over his bald head and pursed his lips anxiously, talking intimately to himself. “Course, we both know why you’re delaying. The worst is yet to come.”

Heaving a halting sigh, he looked sideways at the gray patch. It slid closer, bearing down on him. “I’m coming,” he muttered. “Don’t rush me, Sedriel! I’m—”

“Zadok?” a beautiful heavenly voice chimed. “Is that you?”

Zadok scowled, putting hands on his bony hips. “I told you it was me. Have you gone deaf in the past three years? Or just senile?”

“Ah, Zadok,” Sedriel’s laughter boomed through the black tunnel. “How I’ve missed you. Come. Come, you pusillanimous mortal. You insignificant wretch born from a putrid white drop. Come and let me—”

“I’m coming! Blast you, you flaming beast.” Zadok plodded up the tunnel, watching as the grayness brightened into a brilliant spot of gold.

Stark moonlight streamed through the loft window to frost Sybil’s mahogany hair with silver. Standing on her knees in the dry golden straw, she anxiously crushed the hem of her blue robe with tiny fingers. Around them, a dilapidated plank barn spread, beams dangling by a thread from the wounded roof. Starlight fell through foot-wide gaps, lighting the pitchforks and horse tack still littering the stalls below. The scents of animal dung and aged leather clung to the air.

“Mommy, what do you see? Are they coming after us?”

“I don’t see them yet.” Rachel edged closer to the window, gazing over the dead fields that bordered the derelict farm. In the distance, Seir sparkled like an overturned chest of pirate plunder. Gold and white diamonds twinkled on the edges of the brilliant ruby blaze that lit the center of the city. At the sight of the roaring flames, her heart soared … and ached. How many had died? Had she killed the friends who’d played with her in her yard when she was a child? The cousins who’d vehemently cautioned her against falling in love with Shadrach, a known “rabble-rouser?” The old people who’d glared hatefully and spat at her when she’d dared suggest the Mashiah was not the promised Redeemer they’d awaited all their lives? Rachel clenched a fist tightly. She’d never intended to kill anyone … never. But sometimes, death couldn’t be avoided.

“Who used to live at this farm, Mommy?”

Rachel pushed the thoughts of the dead from her mind. “I think their names were Mahn.”

“Where did they go?”

“They probably left when the drought killed all their animals. Or maybe they were plague victims.”

Sybil hesitated, staring up forlornly. “Or maybe the Mashiah came to kill them because they still believed in Epagael?”

Rachel turned to meet her daughter’s anguished gaze. She hadn’t the energy or inclination to make up a quaint comforting story. Besides, Sybil’s stern face said she wouldn’t believe it anyway. “Maybe.”

Sybil contemplatively picked a piece of straw out of her brown curls before asking, “Mommy? The Mashiah will try harder to kill us now, won’t he?”

Hearing the fear in that frail voice, Rachel rolled over and reached out for her daughter. Sybil quickly crawled into the circle of her mother’s arms. “Won’t he, Mommy?”

Rachel smoothed the tangles from Sybil’s pretty face. “I’m going to treat you like a big girl, okay?”

Sybil nodded, a swallow bobbing in her throat. “That means yes, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. I think we’ve got another hour, maybe, before the Mashiah sends out the
samaels
to find us.” Just the thought of the horrifying black ships sent a chill up her spine. She’d only the most basic idea what the devices could do. Shadrach had patiently explained as much as he knew to her, but no one knew very much. Could they track them even in the caves? She glanced at Sybil’s hopeful face, praying her daughter wouldn’t ask that question.

“Can’t we go away and hide in the mountains? You said before that he couldn’t find us if we—”

“We’re going to try, baby.” Rachel kissed Sybil’s forehead and hugged her close. The feel of the tiny hands patting her back comforted like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. She let herself drown in the feeling for a few moments before saying, “Sybil, I want you to do something for me. Can you try?”

“What is it?”

“Remember your grandmother’s middle name?”

Sybil frowned, gaze darting over the rotting boards of the barn. “No, I—”

“Mekilta. Can you say it?”

“Mekilta.”

Rachel took a deep breath of the grass-scented air and let her eyes rest on the splinters of moonlight piercing the broken roof over her head. “If anything happens, Sybil, and we’re separated, I want you to—”

“But we won’t get separated, Mommy,” she whispered imploringly. “You won’t let them get me!”

“No, no, sweetheart, I won’t. But if something happens. Say … the Mashiah captures me. I want you to run back into town and stop at the first house you see and pound on the door. When the people answer, you tell them you’re Sybil
Mekilta,
all right? Can you remember not to say Eloel?”

“I can remember, but I want to be with you. Even if the Mashiah—”

“After you tell the people you’re Sybil Mekilta, you say your mommy and daddy died in the plague and you need a new home, you understand?”

Tears glimmered in her daughter’s eyes and her mouth trembled. She twined fingers in Rachel’s hair and tugged absently. “Mommy, I don’t—”

“Do you understand?”

Sybil put both hands over her mouth and started to cry, the soft sobs like a mewing kitten. “Mommy …” she said in a choking voice. “Where’s Daddy? Why can’t I go and live with Daddy if the Mashiah gets you?”