An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (42 page)

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured softly. “Come. Let me take you inside where it’s warm and we’ll talk.”

Rachel looked away to the lattice shadows dappling the dead grass. From a parchment dry throat, she forced the words, “Thank you, Mashiah.”

He steered her through the garden with its looming shadows and up the pink marble steps. “I have a room prepared for you. I hope it meets your requirements. If not, tell me and I’ll remedy the ills immediately. It may take weeks of discussions before I can show you the Truths of Milcom. I want you to be absolutely comfortable during that time.”

She stared at him, understanding dawning like the blow of a fist. He wanted the cage to be gilded to her liking. And that’s what it was, a cage, a prison—until she converted … or the attack came and she could gain freedom, either through his death or hers. Curious, she thought, that she’d never considered such a possibility. She’d spent days contemplating all the terrible compromises she might have to make to convince him to
let
her stay until that fateful day. Now, it stood brutally clear that he planned on keeping her until he felt her “fit” for release among the masses.

He closed the huge doors with a clang and she flinched. The magnificence of his wealth and power spread before her, the plush carpets and arching ceilings. Gold inlay in the walls shimmered with fiery gleam in the soft candlelight, forming a maze of geometric patterns. And she had the horrifying feeling that things half-seen prowled the shadows, lurking, watching, waiting for his personal signal to stir to life. To bolster her failing courage, she concentrated on the echoes of Jeremiel’s confident assurance, “You’ll live … You’ll live … You’ll live.”

“Rachel, I want you and me to be happy together.” He dropped his gaze shyly and Rachel noticed the flush of mottled crimson staining his cheeks. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Adom,” she said and physically forced herself to smile as she lightly touched his arm. “I know what you meant.”

He gave her a timid and grateful smile, tenderly patting the fingers resting on his forearm. “I’d hoped you would.”

As he patiently led her down the long hall, her strength ebbed, her stomach cramped and dizziness overwhelmed her. She had to clutch at his blue velvet sleeve to keep from staggering.

Jeremiel folded his arms tensely as he walked back toward the heart of the Desert Fathers’ sanctuary. The lamps carried by the monks ahead of him flooded the walls with light, showing every crack and irregularity in the red stone. Rathanial strolled beside him, silent, elderly head bowed.

“She can do it. I know she can,” the old man murmured tautly. “She must. For the survival of Horeb and all Gamant civilization.”

Jeremiel frowned, unsure what the latter meant. Rathanial wasn’t going to push the idea of Tartarus as the Antimashiah again, was he? He wasn’t sure he could bear it just now, not when his stomach roiled painfully at letting Rachel out of his sight. “She’s important, Rathanial, but I hardly think our entire culture depends on her.”

“I haven’t told you everything, Jeremiel. I couldn’t while she was close.” He looked up remorsefully. “I couldn’t risk you revealing even an inkling to Rachel. So I held back some critical—”

“What critical details?”

They crossed a bridge and the pleasant scent of wet sandstone rose up like incense to fill the air. Cool moisture caressed his face.

“We’ve had word, you see.”

The hesitation made Jeremiel’s blood run cold. “Word?”

“Word from Tikkun and Kayan and—” He waved a hand. “And a dozen other Gamant planets. The Mashiah has sent evangelists to our brethren, to preach the truth of Milcom and condemn Epagael and the old ways. From what little we’ve heard, thousands are converting. You know how it is. Everyone wants to believe the true Mashiah has finally arrived to save us. Especially in these terrible times when the Magistrates are—”

“Yes, I know very well what the Magistrates are doing,” he responded darkly, images of a hundred ravaged planets rising like smoke to twine through his mind. “Rathanial, are you trying to tell me the Mashiah is massing an army? That he plans on carrying his religious movement to the stars?”

“From the scant information I have, I’d say that’s a good guess.”

“So, his power base extends far more broadly than we’d ever have thought.”

“Far more,” Rathanial breathed tiredly. “And, Jeremiel, I’m afraid I’ve worse news yet.” He looked up and Jeremiel saw the gravity of his expression.

“What?”

“There are reliable sources in the palace who report Ornias, the High Councilman, suspects we’re mounting forces against him and has made secret overtures to the Magistrates.”

“I seriously doubt Slothen would be interested in puny religious bickering.”

“There’s a Magisterial battle cruiser in orbit around Horeb right now and I understand the captain, a Cole Tahn, has been down to converse with Ornias.”

“Tahn?” A dark dread numbed Jeremiel. Whirling images of Syene’s—death—tangled with his rationality, smothering it. It stunned him that he could even now say that word in his mind, making the formal acknowledgment that she’d never again smile away his fears, never again touch him guardedly beneath a strategy table to ease his anxiety, never again gaze at him through the vulnerability of loving eyes.

“Yes. You know him?”

“Only from experience fighting against him. He’s a brilliant commander.”

“Oh,” Rathanial muttered and his tone rang with anguish, as though he tasted defeat already on his tongue.

“It’s not as bad as you think. Even if Ornias were to arrange some sort of alliance, we can beat Tahn. I’ll need to contact my forces, of course. But Tahn has weaknesses,” he offered encouragingly, then searched his memories seeking a shred of data to support that statement—finding none. The only reason he and his troops had escaped the trap Tahn laid around the planet of Silmar was through the feeblest of devices. He squeezed his eyes closed, unable to bear the thought. Why had he allowed Syene to use herself as bait? Why had he waited so long to go in after her? But he knew the answer to the last question. He’d trusted Neil Dannon, trusted him like a brother. The debacle was his own fault. Neil had been dropping clues for weeks that he’d gone over: a missed meeting here, a lame excuse there,
a change in his eyes.

Jeremiel dropped his arms to hang limply at his sides, feeling as though someone had bludgeoned him. He’d just sent Rachel into a position equally as dangerous as the one Syene had faced. But Syene had been an experienced, shrewd combat veteran. Rachel …

“Rathanial, let’s finish discussing this over dinner tonight. I have to hurry and get my things together.” He started down the hall, but the old man’s voice stopped him.

“Jeremiel, don’t be so hasty. You have at least three or four days before you have to leave.”

“No. I’m going in tomorrow.”

Rathanial’s eyes widened, mouth hanging ajar. “But that’s not wise. We need to give Rachel a few days alone with the Mashiah. If you go in immediately, they’ll become suspicious. It’s too risky!”

“I’m going in tomorrow,” he said with finality and shouldered through the monks, grabbing the closest lamp, before sprinting down the hall.

A black pit of despair had opened inside him, draining all life from the world. From that pit a silent voice screamed that even now, though she’d just left, he might be too late.

Just as he’d been at Akiba.

CHAPTER 24

A dream. Nothing but a dream. Yet still the blind breathless terror stalked him as he ran through the stormy streets of Silmar. The foreign architecture and spiny trees struck him again like bits of nightmare. The Akiba oaks dotting the empty spaces between opaque botanical and habitation domes drooped mournfully under the weight of snow, flailing white down with every gust of the icy wind. Ahead of him, the apartment building where Syene had been for ten hours rose over the next hill like a spear ready to slash his belly. He charged headlong for it.

“Jeremiel! We’ve got to get out of here!” Rudy Kopal yelled, firing blindly into the surging mass of soldiers that suddenly seemed to engorge the streets. They poured from dark doorways, clutching rifles as they ran, blending with the civilian crowd who fled, gasping in terror, from the ruined section of the city.

“Get out of here, Rudy!” he commanded, hitting the icy grass on his stomach and pulling himself over the next hill on his elbows. Sheltered by the trunk of a towering oak, he scanned the building with his scope.

A mother with five children scrambled up the hill in front of him, dragging sheets burdened with belongings. The little girl gripped her mother’s torn gray skirt, sobbing. Jeremiel could see the blood clotting the blouse to her side and running in streaks down the front of her pants. Wounded. It sickened him. When had things gone so wrong? What had he missed? Something, something critical. If Syene had been able to delay the major only another hour, this would never have happened. Clearly … she hadn’t.

Kopal hit the ground beside him, panting, rifle trained on the building below. “Jeremiel, for God’s sake, she knew what she was doing! She’s bought us time. We can get everybody still alive out if we go now! But it’s got to be now.
You hear me?”

He twisted to stare at his friend and saw familiar gray eyes boring into him, wild with fear. Blood streaked Rudy’s olive skin, matting his dark hair to his temples and spattering his beige battle suit.

“I gave you a direct order, Kopal!” Jeremiel shouted roughly. “Get out of here!” Getting to his feet he raced down the hill, jumping the fence that surrounded the apartment complex and shouldering between terrified people who flooded out the main entrance.

Behind him, a burst of fire squealed and he whirled. Rudy dove through the door, crawling around frantic civilian feet. He motioned urgently with his rifle. “Go, I’ll cover the entry. But they’re coming fast, Jeremiel.
Hurry!”

He spun, taking the stairs to the third floor three at a time, heart jamming against his ribs. Reaching the top landing, he kicked open the door and struck the floor rolling, coming up to see a barrenly empty white hallway. If the government had evacuated and everyone else could run … An iron band constricted around his chest.

He lunged to his feet and bolted for the last door on the right, shouting
“Syene?”

He bashed a boot against the door and stood back, waiting for ambush, expecting it. But no fire came, no sound. Only the horrified shrieks of the crowd eddying through the streets outside penetrated the silence of the room.

He darted inside, rifle ready, and quickly surveyed the overturned furniture, broken glass and blood splashed carpet. A fierce battle had ensued. Had she … had she made it out? Was she even now waiting for him somewhere beyond the perimeter of the city? Momentary hope flashed and he gasped a deep breath, then raced through the kitchen and down a long hall, searching.

In the last room … he found her.

She lay naked, sprawled across the bed, hands extended limply out the open window. Had she been so desperate she’d meant to jump from the third floor? He could tell from the fluid stains running down the insides of her thighs what they’d used her for.

His legs went weak as he took in the massive spray of blood that soaked the bed and splattered the walls. He forced his feet to move. Reaching for her, he gently turned her over and saw her blasted chest rise and fall.
Alive!

“Syene,” he murmured gently. “Hold on. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

As he got his arms beneath her to lift her, she groaned. Her dark eyes flickered open and a faint smile touched her lips as she saw him. “Love you,” she whispered, barely audible. “Knew … knew you’d come.”

“Save your strength, we’ve—”

“No,” she said and shook her head weakly. Blood-matted locks of long brown hair fell over his arm. “No use. Listen …” She twined weak fingers in his black sleeve and seemed to be mustering her failing energy. “Dannon …”

Knowing Magisterial soldiers loomed just outside, he ignored her words, lifting her like a child and carrying her across the room, and down the long hall toward the door.

“Jere … Jeremiel. Dannon … Tahn. Betrayed … us. He was … was here. Half hour ago.”

“I’ll kill him, Syene.
I swear.”

She went suddenly stiff, and he jerked his gaze to her body as the convulsions hit. She writhed in his arms, forcing him to drop to his knees and lay her on the cold floor.

Agony slashed his heart, tears burning his eyes.
A dream. It’s only a dream. She’s been dead for months.

“Jeremiel?” Rudy’s frantic voice yelled and he heard the terrible edge of fear in it. “Jeremiel, come on!” Pounding steps echoed down the hall and his friend came to a sudden halt when he saw Syene slumped on the floor, her beautiful face twisted in a mask of pain.

Jeremiel gathered her in his arms, pulling her tightly to his chest. Through her bloody hair, he murmured, “I need you, Syene. Don’t leave me.” But she was already gone. He felt the press of her dead weight against his trembling arms.

Rudy gave him ten seconds to mourn, then gripped his arm and roughly …

“Mister Baruch?” a sobbing little girl’s voice penetrated his terror, coming from some great distance. “Are you awake?”