An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (47 page)

“To ask him not to hurt us?”

“Yes, that and other things.”

He reached up and patted her hair, then nodded quickly, seeing how tired she looked. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, Mikael. More than anything in the world.” She smiled down at him and stroked his dark hair like she used to. Obediently, he rolled to his stomach and closed his eyes.

A little while later, he heard his mother rise and tiptoe to the candle, blowing it out before she left. Mikael opened his eyes and stared into the cold darkness, thinking about Indra’s net and the sparkling web of
Meas
that used to fill the skies like tiny stars.

“Aktariel’s the thief, Mama,” he whispered to the darkness. “If he has all the
Meas
that lead to God, maybe he can close all the gates. Then he can tell people anything he wants and nobody will be able to ask God if his stories are true.”

A stab of fear tormented him. Anxiously, he gazed heavenward. “Epagael? What will you do when nobody can come see you anymore? Will you be lonely?”

Suddenly he ached desperately inside himself. He’d been very lonely these past weeks, crying into his pillow at night, and it tortured him to imagine anyone else feeling the same way. Especially God. God had lots of other hard things to do, like taking care of the universe. He didn’t need to be lonely, too.

Mikael blinked at the ebony night. His neck prickled and he shivered. Was God calling again? Calling and calling and no one in the universe could answer?

Tears welled in his eyes. “What will you do, God? I’m afraid.”

CHAPTER 27

Wind moaned faintly through the candlelit arches of the palace, penetrating cracks around windows to chill Rachel’s skin. She walked slowly down the marble hallway, noting the gleam of the gold threads in the rich carpets. Why were the passageways on this floor always empty? Were the servants forbidden entry to certain sections? Or just the Mashiah’s private section?

Her steps echoed hollowly as she stepped off the rugs and onto the stone floor to turn a corner. Before her stretched a long hallway, brightly lit by the flickering lamps that lined the walls. Rose agate statues of the saints adorned niches in the marble, stony eyes watching her coldly.

She stopped, sucking in a halting breath. Adom’s bedchamber lay behind that final door gleaming golden at the termination of the corridor.
Come to dinner in my room,
he’d invited.
We’ll talk of Milcom and Horeb.

“Milcom and Horeb?” she whispered to herself, sensing her feet going cold, heart pounding. Was that all he wanted tonight? Her memories glossed over the chamber he’d prepared for her. Filled with magnificent gowns, scented bath soaps and bejewled combs and brushes, it seemed he curried her for his own special needs. And she played the game like a professional courtesan, selecting,
for his pleasure,
to wear a gorgeous flame-colored gown. Made of luminescent taffeta, the billowing sleeves and low-cut bodice glimmered with amber beads, as though drips of resin had fallen and glued themselves to the fabric. Handfuls of diamonds sparkled like ice crystals in the thick waves of raven hair hanging to her waist.

“And if he wants more than talk?”

The possibility had been rotting in her mind for days, yet still she’d made no decisions regarding it, preferring to deny the reality until the time came.

Girding herself as though for a final battle, she strode quickly toward his door. Her hand trembled as she lifted it to knock. Lowering it, she wiped her clammy palm on the skirt.
He hasn’t hurt you, has he? In fact, he’s like a stranger, not at all the Mashiah who’s haunted your dreams for years.
Lifting her hand again, she quickly knocked, calling softly, “Adorn?”

A patter of steps sounded within and in only a moment he opened the door wide and smiled, eyes going over her admiringly. “You look beautiful. Please come in. Dinner will be here in half an hour.”

She stepped across the threshold and felt her heart throb painfully. The chamber spread sixty feet across, resembling nothing so much as the great baroque cathedrals of legend. Pink marble arches rose in dramatic brilliance along every wall, creating countless niches of shadow and light where desks and tables piled high with toppled stacks of books nestled. Overhead, in the glorious trompe-l’oeil fresco of the dome, a golden crystalline god soared, radiant, through a star-studded black heaven.

Her mouth opened as she took another step gingerly across the plush red and gold carpet, whispering in awe, “Mashiah …” but stopping when her own voice reverberated so ethereally in her rib cage that she felt her knees go weak. It took her breath away, as though the structure were built on top of the highest Horebian peak and she couldn’t quite fill her lungs with air.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” he asked in a soft contralto.

“Beyond anything I could have imagined.”

“They tell me some Terran architect designed it a thousand years ago for one of the original Horebian kings. Edom, somebody or other—a real rogue as I understand it. I never paid much attention. Supposedly there are hundreds of secret passageways twining throughout the palace, just in case Edom had to escape quickly.”

“From a much-deserved retaliation, no doubt.”

“I suspect so.”

She turned to him, gazing up. Dressed in a coffee colored satin robe fringed across the chest with strings of opals, his blond hair shimmered like sunshine on snow.

“I can now understand why you speak so softly most of the time,” she whispered and listened to her voice echo hauntingly.

He smiled, his whole pure soul revealed in his blue eyes. She felt buffeted by that gaze, as though he’d crept inside her and pressed her very soul against his,
Charismatic … so charismatic.

“I suppose living here does do things to my behavior,” he said and with a gentle hand, he guided her across the carpet to a table and chairs huddled in front of two enormous open windows. The flame of the candle lamp on the table wavered in the cool breeze that flooded the room, rustling the papers cluttering his desk.

Pulling out a chair for her, he asked. “May I get you a glass of wine. We have some very good alizarins or—”

“Alizarin is fine, thank you,” she responded, letting herself drop easily to the chair.

He bowed and went to a tall carved cabinet that looked very much like a reliquary. When he pulled back the double doors, she saw the lines of dusty brandy and wine bottles. Crystal decanters and goblets lined a lower shelf.

While he gathered them, she examined the room more carefully and found herself frowning, confused. To her right a huge brass bed sprawled, the crimson spread hastily tugged up over the pillows. Beneath the edges of the spread, old cups of liquid sat half-hidden, moldering. As she peered closer, she noticed a velvet thick green culture creeping up over the lip of one glass to drool down the side.

She gave him a curious sideways glance as he came back and set two glasses and a bottle of wine on the table.

“Is something wrong?”

“Adorn, don’t you ever let anyone clean this place?”

A blush crept into his cheeks and he smiled awkwardly, lifting one of his broad shoulders. “Not if I can talk them out of it.”

“You have a hundred servants in the palace. Don’t you trust them?”

“Oh, I trust them, It’s just that … well, you see, I can never find any of my books once they’ve cleaned.” He pointed shyly to a crammed marble bookcase cut into the wall. Gold engraved leather bindings gleamed. “They always put them back and it takes me hours to hunt them down again.”

“But you could let them in just to clean up dishes and make the bed.”

“I suppose,” he said in embarrassment and poured their crystal goblets full of wine. “But they’d change the sheets every day and I …”

He squirmed like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Pulling his chair closer to her, he sat down gracefully. His bushy blond brows drew together and he pursed his lips uncomfortably.
A curious man, so innocent, so frail. Like a child, his manner makes me want to protect him from life’s harshness. Remember the square!

“You don’t want them to change the sheets?”

“It’s not that—exactly. It’s just that in my position, I’m alone most of the time, locked here in the palace—for my own good,” he hastily clarified.

“What does that have to do with the sheets.”

“I have some personal quirks, I guess.”

“You like dirty sheets?”

He glanced painfully up at her, a boy afraid of punishment. “I like coming to bed at night and—and—smelling … human scents on the sheets.” In a quick flood as though he feared he’d lose his courage, he continued, “I think I’d go mad if I came back after a long day and smelled only soap. I never get to be close to people, you see. My world is sterile. And I need to feel human—at least in my own bedchamber.”

She’d started to smile at his puerile fears, but the smile ran away from her face as his meaning dawned. Loneliness tormented him. And she knew about loneliness. After Shadrach’s death, she thought for a time her heart would break with the weight of it. Were it not for Sybil, she might have gone mad herself. “Being a god on a pedestal must be very difficult. I can understand your need to just be a man with yourself.”

“Sometimes I feel almost as though there’s nothing warm in the world. I find myself empty and aching and I feel terrible, until …”

“Until you come home to dirty sheets?”

He smiled timidly. “Yes. They make me feel better.”

“I understand.” Her mind drifted painfully to the pleasant, comforting scent of Shadrach’s side of the bed. When she napped during the day, she always slept on his side, letting his scent wrap her, promising safety and love. She could understand now, if a person had no one else, even his own scent would be comforting—reminding him he was indeed human and, if nothing else, he had himself.

“Do you understand? Really?”

“Yes.” She lifted her crystal goblet, watching the golden light spark from the maroon surface.

“Mostly, I have to try very hard to be perfect, but here in my room I can relax.”

“Yes, and retreat to that place inside that always listens.”

“Listens,” he murmured and gazed up in a kindly way, “and tells you it’s okay to have moldy cups of tea under your bed.”

Despite herself and the prickle of danger that tormented her stomach, she laughed. He joined her, looking down bashfully. She sipped her wine, relishing the rich earthy flavor as she thought about that place inside. She knew it well, had gilded it with iron bars and mirrors so she could strip herself naked and glare at her soul in privacy. An unbreachable sanctuary, it represented the only truly safe place in the universe.

A gust of wind whistled through the windows, slapping at the candle and setting her flame-colored sleeves to dancing. He looked up and she caught his gaze and held it. For a long time, he remained still, his childish expression deepening into that of a man. A deep vulnerability glistened in his eyes.

“I have a gift for you,” he whispered suddenly.

“What?”

“Let me get it.” He sprang gracefully to his feet and trotted across the floor, pulling a small box from his dresser drawer. Smiling, he ran to bring it back. “It’s very rare.” He gave her a sweeping bow like some medieval knight and gently laid it in her hands.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

She glanced warily from the carved box to Adom’s delighted expression. He sat on the edge of his chair, waiting in barely endurable excitement.

“Open it!”

“All right.” Rachel pulled up on the lid. The box made a soft velvet-against-wood scratching as she opened it. She cocked her head strangely, staring at the blue ball on the gold chain. “It’s beautiful. But what is it?”

“A necklace.”

“I can see that, Adom. What’s it made of?”

He blinked, smiling as he shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Where did you get it?”

His smile faded and he stared uncomfortably at her boots. “That’s a secret.” He quickly went on, “But you must wear it.”

She lifted it out of the box by the chain and held it up to the candlelight. A very curious object, white froth, like that of turbulent waves, undulated across the surface. It seemed, as well, to have an inner source of light, not a reflected one.

“You don’t know what it is?”

“No, but don’t you like it? I thought it was very interesting.”

“Yes, it is Adom. But it … I’m not sure what to think about it.”

He reached for the chain and she released it. Then he leaned forward to slip it around her neck. Rachel shuddered when the blue globe came to rest against her bare chest. Warmth oozed from it.

“You can’t touch the globe with your hands,” he instructed patiently, but an uncertain expression pinched his face. “At least, I don’t think you can. That’s what I was told.”

“Why can’t I touch it with my hands?”

“I don’t know, really.”

“Why is it so bright?” She looked down to where it rested against her olive skin, glowing brighter by the second. A small fear trickled through her. She felt almost as though it were alive, feeding off her own energy.