An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (19 page)

Rachel squeezed her eyes closed and felt a single tear roll down her cheek. Somewhere in the past few days her own unbearable anguish had faded to resigned acceptance. She’d forgotten her daughter didn’t know the truth. But even if she’d remembered, she soothed herself, there’d been no time to discuss Shadrach’s death. And now … now it seemed the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do in her life.

“Mommy? Mommy, it’s okay.” Rachel felt the girl’s hand brush away the tear on her cheek, then arms went around her neck. “Daddy’s hiding somewhere. I know he is. I had a dream that Daddy was in an old basement eating soup. He couldn’t come to us because he was sick, but hell get well, Mommy. And then he’ll—”

“Sybil,” Rachel whispered unsteadily. “Mommy needs you to be brave. Can you?”

Moonlight washed Sybil’s face as she looked up and swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Rachel steeled herself, trying not to let memories overwhelm her. “You remember when the bad men came into the temple during the Sighet celebration?”

Sybil shuddered involuntarily and silence draped like a shroud around them. Rachel fought to keep her composure while she gathered the right words.

“Is … is Daddy all right? Mommy …?”

Rachel sat up and her arms went around Sybil blindly, her own grief choking her. “No.”

“Did the Mashiah’s soldiers hurt Daddy?”

“Daddy’s dead, baby.” Pain struck her anew and she wept. Shoulders heaving, tears dropped to soak her daughter’s hair.

“No, Mommy,” Sybil insisted, wiping a hand beneath her running nose. Dirt streaked her face like soot. “He’s alive. I saw him in my dream. He’s—”

“He’s
dead,
baby!”

“You’ll see, Mommy,” Sybil whispered calmly. “Really—”

“Don’t,” Rachel gritted through her tears. “I don’t know how I know, Sybil. But I know. I feel a hollow space in my soul where he used to be. He’s gone.”
And Ornias said so.

“Don’t cry, Mommy.” Sybil tiptoed to bring her cheek comfortingly against her mother’s and with one hand stroked the back of Rachel’s hair. “Don’t cry. Even if Daddy were dead, we see him again in heaven.”

Rachel held the girl in a grip that made breathing difficult, her mind examining the long years ahead. She could tell Sybil was humoring her. The little girl didn’t believe. Was her young mind experiencing wound shock? Dear God, when the gates burst wide and the truth dawned, how would the child react? How could she herself survive without Shadrach’s strength and tenderness? When he’d gone, he’d taken the joy from her life. And heaven? God had turned all her dreams to dust. If she lived as long as God himself, she would never forget those days in the square when the violet lances murdered her faith forever.

Rachel opened her eyes, pulling back to look reassuringly at her daughter. “You’re right, baby. Daddy will be waiting for us in heaven.”

Sybil nodded and squared her tiny shoulders as though single-handedly ready to carry the unbearable burden. Kissing Rachel’s wet cheeks, she whispered, “Come on, Mommy. Let’s go hide in the mountains. They won’t find us. We can kill grass hens with rocks, like Daddy showed us, ‘member?”

“I remember.” Spring days and picnics in the mountains floated through her mind, making her ache so terribly she worried that she couldn’t bear it.

“And we can gather the radi roots that grow around the waterholes, that way we’ll get our vegetables. Okay, Mommy?”

“Yes … okay.”

“Let’s go now. Can we? We have to go soon, before the Mashiah sends out the black ships to find us.”

Rachel gazed longingly out the window. Wisps of cloud drifted through the leaden sky above the jagged peaks, glowing like polished pewter. As the moon slowly sank, the black shadow of the mountains wandered prodigally across the desert, snuffing the glimmer of sage and thorny radi bushes. From this vantage the peaks seemed so close she could reach out and touch the cold stone. But she knew the foothills were five miles away and the safety of the caves at least ten.

“First we’ll go down to the farmhouse and see if the people who used to live here left any food in the cupboards. Then we’ll—”

“I’ll help, Mommy. We can make baskets out of our hems to carry things.” Sybil scrambled on hands and knees over the tawny straw, heading for the ladder.

Rachel followed sluggishly, heart thudding dully in her chest.

Dawn’s pearlescent gleam reflected from the mist twining through the vines and trees, spawning a shimmering veil in the icy cold.

Jeremiel shivered slightly as he stepped to the mouth of the cave and braced a shoulder against the gritty stone. The sky shone a dull putty color, rain gently sprinkling the forest. Pine boughs rustled in the cool breeze, their pungent fragrance mixing with the scent of damp earth.

His dread had lightened some, replaced by a terrible weariness that made all things seem blessedly unreal. “A relic of the damned,” he murmured lest he delude himself. “Not a reprieve.”

Or maybe his exhaustion prevented him from seeing anything that didn’t wear the brand of despair. For two months he’d been living out a precarious charade, laying battle plans for his troops, speaking to people only when absolutely necessary, retreating tensely to his cabin at night, knowing in an hour he’d jerk awake in the darkness, sweat pouring from his body. His officers knew enough to leave him alone, thank God. He could not have borne any attempts at sympathy, not and maintained the hard practical exterior his forces needed. Perhaps this new lassitude heralded an easing of the pain, an understanding and acceptance of what had happened?

“Acceptance?” he whispered to himself. Even if the brutal anguish eased, would that ever come?

“From the look on your face,” Rathanial said softly from somewhere behind him, “I’d say you’re deeply worried. Is your concern for Horeb?”

Jeremiel took a breath and said through a long exhalation, “No, just thinking in general.”

“About what?” The old man strolled forward to stand next to him in the cave entry. His tan robe looked freshly washed and smelled of smoke, as though it had been dried over an open fire. His white hair and beard were transformed to a slate gray in the sullen light. “Forgive me, but you looked as though you were having a serious conversation with death.”

“Umm, did I?”

“Yes, I’ve seen that same look from soldiers on the battlefield, weary to the point of having lost hope.” He turned sharp eyes on Jeremiel. “You’re not feeling that way, are you? I know you’ve fought many hard battles in recent months.”

“I’m fine.” He held the old man’s gaze, his own face dark and impassive. Rathanial’s narrow shoulders stiffened, as though sensing more than he should have. Silently, he cursed himself. Was his fragility so obvious?

“Jeremiel, the road ahead is a very difficult one. If you’re not feeling—up to it—then I think perhaps we should wait until—”

“I’m more than capable of doing
anything
that needs to be done to save our people on Horeb.”

Rathanial folded his arms and jerked a disbelieving nod. “I know you’ve always been reliable in the past, Jeremiel. But each of us goes through periods of disorientation. I’d understand if you wanted to wait.”

“Don’t push me, Rathanial. I said I’m all right.” He heard the chilling tone invade his voice, but didn’t care. Why was the old man so persistent? Damn it! Did he know about Syene? The questioning of his abilities only made him more determined to get to Horeb.
Did Rathanial know that?

“All right. Well, let’s discuss our plans.”

“We’ll take separate ships.” Jeremiel said, glad to be discussing something safe like strategy.

Rathanial shook his head. “What? Why? I’d anticipated we’d go together.”

“Separate ships will increase our chances that at least one of us will get through. Have you made arrangements?”

“Yes, a small shuttle will pick me up tomorrow. It’s all arranged. I’d—I’d thought you’d be coming with me?”

“No.”

“Do you have transportation?”

“Not arranged.”

“Jeremiel,” Rathanial said hesitantly. “I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks. Especially when you’re not …” At Jeremiel’s hard look, the old man stopped. “Perhaps I should contact my people and get them to send another ship? It will only take a few days.”

“That would arouse suspicion. Don’t be concerned about me. I will, in all probability, get to Horeb before you do.” An ironic smile touched his face.

Rathanial’s withered lips pursed. He shifted his gaze to the opal mist twining among the trees. The clouds on the northern horizon glowed with a lining of fallow gold from the rising sun. “Well, if you say so. I’ll meet you there, then.”

“Tell me how to find your secret caves?”

As Rathanial related the instructions, pain lanced Jeremiel’s breast. Another battle would be waged for the good of the people, more lives wasted in what increasingly seemed a futile war to preserve Gamant heritage.

“… and you must remember, the panel is beneath an overhanging ridge of tan sandstone.”

“I’ll remember.”

“You may have to get down on your back and reach to find it. It’s not obvious if you’ve never …”

Was culture worth the blood it cost? There’d been a time in his life when such a question would have enraged him. He’d believed then they should fight to their last breath to preserve the Old Ways, but now …? Especially on Horeb, where Gamants would die on both sides of the war? “Culture” spread talons like an amorphous, bloodthirsty monster. A caged beast, it demanded more and more from its feeders. And just now, he felt as though the beast’s grasping claws were tightening around his throat. He wanted to bolt and run.

From the deepest corners of his mind, he heard his father calling and saw again the snow swirling around the man as he stamped his feet and entered their house on Tikkun. A thirteen-year-old Jeremiel ran barefooted across the floor to hug him around the waist. “How was it, Papa?” The meeting had been critical.

Patting him gently, Menachem Baruch unwrapped the blue and white prayer shawl from his shoulders and folded it, kissing the fabric softly. “Not good, my son,” he said weakly.

“Why? What happened?”

“We … we haven’t any strength left. There’s no money. There’s no hope. Everyone is confused about the future.” Placidly, he walked over to deposit his shawl into its special box in the closet. Turning back, he whispered, “Old Ruth is sick. We didn’t have enough people to make decisions.”

“Papa! You couldn’t form a minyan? Not even ten came? Not even
ten?”

His father appeared preoccupied, concentrating on straightening his threadbare black suit, tearful eyes shielded by drooping lids. “In the old days there were so many Gamants on Tikkun you couldn’t count them.” He raised a strong hand, a carpenter’s hand, and waved it through the air. “When you walked down the streets, people patted each other affectionately. And on Shabbat, the whole planet grew still. Not even the wind stirred outside the houses. Candles glowed up and down the streets. Sacred singing rose like the blessing hand of God, winding between buildings, climbing through every window.” He focused hollowly on the floor. “Not even ten. I—I guess it won’t be long now until there’s no use going at all.”

“No use? Papa, don’t talk like that! Don’t ever—”

“Jeremiel? Jere—”

“I’m listening, Rathanial.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose, blocking the memory. Turning, he leaned his back against the cold stone and met the old man’s gaze squarely. “I expect to be there by the end of the week. Will that be soon enough?”

Rathanial eyed him uncomfortably. “Sooner than I’d expect from anyone else. Anyone human at least. But your inhuman feats are legendary.”

Jeremiel felt no confidence at the praise. “Will you notify your people that I may arrive before you do?”

“Yes, they’ll be waiting.”

“Good.”

Rathanial’s brows drew together and he paused awkwardly. “Uh, Jeremiel, can I ask … I don’t mean to pry, but you’re not planning on doing anything illegal to get to Horeb, are you? I mean, you wouldn’t take chances like stealing—”

“Depends.”

The old man glanced up, distressed. “Well, it’s your business, of course. But if you choose that ‘method,’ be aware that galactic marines are swarming all over Kayan. They’ve declared a state of emergency in Capitol. We assume you’re the target. The spaceport is heavily guarded.”

“I appreciate that news. Is there anything else?”

“No. I thought that would be enough.”

“Have a safe trip, Rathanial.”

The religious elder bowed. “May the blessings of Epagael accompany you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Rathanial briefly embraced Jeremiel before turning to stride into the darkness of the cavern. Jeremiel listened to his retreating footfalls before gazing back to the watery forests of Kayan. The clouds had parted, leaving a peephole for the sun. A bar of gold shot through the heavens, flashing from the wings of soaring birds.

Unrolling the hood from his collar, he flipped it over his head and stepped out of the cave. He’d have to be on his way soon. But first he wanted to walk in the mist until it soaked him through, lanced his bones. Maybe when his flesh felt as cold as his soul, he’d be able to think straight again.
He damned well had to have his abilities back by the time he got to Horeb.