An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (48 page)

“I—it didn’t do that when I wore it. Maybe the necklace has some special affinity for you.”

“Maybe it likes women born under the House of Ephraim.”

“Are you?”

“Oh, that’s what my father used to say, but I never quite believed it.”

“Well, maybe that is why the globe casts that brilliant aura when you wear it.”

“I’m not sure that makes me comfortable.”

“Oh, don’t be worried. I’m sure it’s quite safe. Mil … You wouldn’t have gotten it if it weren’t.”

“Mil …? Milcom, what?” She watched the red climb his cheeks, as though he’d ineptly revealed a secret and now silently chastised himself for it.

“What I meant is that God watches over us. I’m sure He wouldn’t let something like that hurt you.”

“I don’t trust gods very much. Particularly when it comes to protecting me from harm.”

“God loves us, Rachel. He spends enormous amounts of time traveling around the universe trying to get our future worked out.”

“Does He?”

“Oh, yes. Every time I see Him lately, He looks worn out to the point of exhaustion.”

“He comes to you physically?”

“Usually. Though sometimes I just hear his voice or feel his power.”

“What does He look like?”

His chin tipped and his eyes fixed reverently on the frescoed dome. Rachel followed his gaze upward to the crystalline god soaring through the blackness of space. Tiny pinpoints of light twinkled like a glimmering net around him.

“Like that?”

He nodded, heaving an expressive sigh, as though Milcom’s image touched him deeply.

“How often does He come to you?”

“Not as often as He used to. He’s very busy, you see.” Lines appeared around his eyes, betraying some inner struggle. Finally, he straightened in his chair and swallowed hard. “Rachel, there’s something else I must tell you.”

“About the necklace?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“Milcom came to see me last night.” Utter seriousness pierced his voice. He swirled his wine nervously, gazing at her from beneath his lashes.

“What did He say?”

“He said I can’t let you go back to the caves of the Desert Fathers—ever.”

She recoiled as though someone had bashed her in the stomach with a blunt beam. He knew about the Desert Fathers? Knew she’d been there? What else did he know? That they’d planned to overthrow his government?
That she was supposed to
…? She squeezed the fingers around her goblet hard to keep them from trembling. “Why?”

“Because you’d be in danger there. I—I don’t understand how exactly. He didn’t say. But He commanded me to keep you here until He came for you.”

“Came for me?”

“He said when the time arrived, He’d show you the way to the River of Fire.” He tilted his head in confusion. “Do you know where that is?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll show you. He’s shown me many places and things I’d have never believed possible.”

She nodded once, trying desperately to keep her breathing even. A river of fire and a blue globe powered by some mysterious energy source? “Adorn, what do you know of the Desert Fathers?”

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Oh, not very much. Just that they’re part of a secret religious sect and hide in the caves of the desert.”

“Do you know anyone there?” She tried to sound detached, just mildly curious, but she felt unable to breathe as she waited for the answer.

“No, not directly, at least I don’t think so. Though sometimes, one of their monks comes into the palace—”

“What for?” Terror wound like fire through her veins. Did Jeremiel know that
someone
in the Desert Fathers’ group had ties to the palace?

“Mostly to see some of our servants, who are family, I presume. I don’t really know, but I think I talked to him once and he seemed nice enough.

“You know they believe in Epagael?”

“I know.”

“Why haven’t you tried to destroy them.”

He smiled curiously, frowning. “Why would I do that?”

“Because they won’t convert.”

“In time, they will,” he said gently, nodding confidently to himself. “When Milcom decides to bring them into the fold.”

“What do you mean?” She felt as though a chasm had opened inside and she teetered on the edge, staring down into eternal darkness. Sounds from the square paralyzed her: night birds flapping their wings and tearing at dead flesh. Babies choking on their own tears. Muffled moans of people who’d never rise from beneath the terrible tangle of dead.

“Why …” she moaned and stifled her voice, forcing a swallow down her constricted throat.

“What is it, Rachel?”

“I—I don’t …”

“Tell me and I’ll fix it,” he whispered imploringly, reaching across the table to tenderly clutch the hand knotted into a fist in her lap. Holding it tightly, he repeated very softly. “Tell me? I’ll make it better. If I can.”

She stared breathlessly at him. Who was this timid man with the innocent blue eyes? A Mashiah who preferred to be surrounded by moldering cups and dirty sheets? Could this be the same tyrant who’d slaughtered her people by the thousands for refusing to give up their trust in an ancient god?

“Why do you punish some and not others?”

In shame, he squeezed her hand and let it go, turning to frown at the flickering candle on the table. “You mean the rebels you organized?” A hurt timbre shook his voice.

“Yes.”

“Sometimes people have to be set back on the right track, and it isn’t always painless. We—”

“You murdered thousands!”

He turned sharply, eyes darting over her face. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t … don’t play games with me, Adom. You ordered the deaths of thousands of the Old Believers. My family and friends!” In the back of her mind, Jeremiel’s words wailed like a siren:
To secure your legitimacy, everything you’ve ever believed in must be disavowed … Everyone you’ve ever believed in must be abandoned.
Dear God, what had she just done?

His face slackened, mouth hanging slightly ajar. Fear touched his eyes. “I remember you saying something like that in the temple. But I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never order such a thing. Oh, I might sentence a rebel to work the salt mines, or plow one of the city farms, but I’d never sentence anyone to death.”

The discussion had gone too far. She decided to follow her instincts. “I saw them die—
I was with them, for God’s sake.!
” she shouted and slammed a fist into the table. Her glass of wine rocked to spill across the shiny wood. “In the square a month ago. Ornias came in the
samael
and told us to witness
your
power, then he ordered the marines to fire into the crowd.” Tears rose in her eyes and a sob caught in her throat.

“Rachel,” he whispered in terrible fear. His face contorted. “I was locked in consultation with Milcom that entire week. I knew nothing about … But I can’t believe it.”

“You did it! Don’t try and deceive me!”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you!”

She lifted her chin and examined him like an eagle circling a mouse, hatred and anguish plain on her face. He gazed at her pleadingly, anxious lungs puffing his chest in shallow breaths.

“Rachel, I would never do such a thing.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t …
Please,
tell me every detail of what’s happened the past few weeks?”

In a flood, she recounted the beatings, rapes, raids, confiscations, the horrors of living under his rule. As she spoke, his face blanched more and more until he looked like a sickly apparition.

When she’d finished, she sat still, staring at his downcast eyes. He clamped his trembling jaw tightly. She wiped tears from her cheeks. Had she been mistaken? Had all her efforts at murder been directed at the wrong man? She felt numb and half-drowned by the implications pouring over her dazed mind. Ornias had always been the one present when the orders were carried out. What if Adom hadn’t known? If Ornias were the true demon?

He gazed at her feebly. “If you thought me such a monster, why did you come to the palace?”

“To beg you to stop.”

He fiddled nervously with the fringe of beads draping over his broad chest. “Consider it stopped. I’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise you.”

Lies! All lies!
Despair and confusion rose like a tidal wave to crash over her. Yet his every expression reeked of honesty. Anguish rose in a sob. She jerked her hands up to cover her face.

“Rachel,” his soft voice begged. After a few moments, she heard him rise from his chair and felt a timid hand on her shoulder. “Rachel? Please, look at me.”

She mustered her courage and dropped her hands, meeting his frightened eyes. He knelt on the floor beside her, the soft wavering light accentuating the hollows of his smooth cheeks.

“Adom, what about Ornias? Could he have acted without your knowledge?”

He lowered his gaze. “If so, why didn’t Milcom tell me? He always tells me.”

“Maybe He didn’t know, either?”

“God knows everything.”

“Why wouldn’t He want to tell you?”

“Maybe He feared I’d do something stupid. Sometimes I do.” Ashamed, he glanced up at her, then got to his feet to pace thoughtfully.

“Why would Ornias command that the Old Believers be wiped out?”

“I don’t know. But he’s always saying his methods of containing the rebellion are ‘clean.’ I never questioned what he meant by that. The outside world is his jurisdiction, you see. I handle the spiritual affairs and he handles the mundane ones.”

“He’s handled them all right,” she said in a savage voice. “People on the far side of the city are still running in terror from his marines.”

Numbly, she watched the candles throw his tall form in multiple shadows across the towering pink arches. Every line of his wounded face said he truly hadn’t known.
But what difference did that make now? Ornias was obviously the true power of Horeb. Could Adom do anything to stop the orders for more mass murders that the High Councilman had already given?

“Rachel, are you still hungry?”

She shook her head, too upset and empty to eat.

“Could you … Would you walk with me a while in the garden? Perhaps if you tell me what’s been happening these past few months on your side of the city, I’ll be able to understand better.”

She got unsteadily to her feet. “Yes, I—I’d like to.” Though she hadn’t the vaguest idea what good it would do and discussing the horrors would be a lance in her soul. “Let me get my cloak. I’ll meet you—”

“No, here,” he said hurriedly and went quickly to his own closet, pulling a magnificent ivory cloak from the hanger. Amethysts studded the wide collar and sleeves, sparkling as he held it up. “Please, take mine.”

“Thank you.”

Rushing back with the garment, he wrapped it around her shoulders and with an unthinking intimacy, thoughtfully fastened the collar and the top two buttons. Not meeting her eyes, he asked softly, “Will you be warm enough?”

She looked down. The cloak spread behind her in sculpted waves of the purest velvet. “I’ll ruin the hem in the dewsoaked grass.”

“I don’t care.”

Pulling out an ebony velvet cloak for himself, he swirled it over his shoulders. “Come. We’ll cancel dinner on our way past the kitchen.”

Sybil sat on the brown rug in Avel’s personal chamber. The blaze in the fireplace crackled behind her, warming her back. He stood by his sleeping mat, searching through a box for a book on ancient fairy tales. She waited impatiently, tying and untying her shoes.

“Avel?”

“Hmm?” he said without looking up.

“Someday I’m going to have a funny necklace.”

He found the book he’d been hunting for and came back to her. Sitting down cross-legged beside her, he put it in her lap. “There you go.
Grimlin’s Tales.
You’ll love them.”

“Have you ever seen a necklace that looks like a lustreglobe, Avel?”

He cocked his head, frowning. “No, but it sounds like the infamous
Mea.
Where did you hear about it?”

She smoothed her fingers over the colorful cover of the book. In the picture a boy and girl played beside a stream. “Oh, I had a dream about it last night. My mom will give it to me when I get old enough.”

“I pray you’re right. That means there’s still a
Mea
in existence.”

“What does the palace look like, Avel? In my dream I saw my mom there, wearing the necklace.”

“I’m sorry, Sybil. I’ve never been in the palace. I don’t know.”

“I think it has pink walls and big statues.”

He drew up his knees and folded his long arms around them as he watched her closely. “From what I’ve heard, that’s right. What else did you dream?”

“Oh,” she said shyly, feeling strange telling him about one of her “funny” dreams. “That was mostly it.”