An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (5 page)

“Papa?” Zadok’s eldest daughter smiled and waved as she saw them approaching. A tall woman with long black hair and huge brown eyes, her silver robe fluttered in the wind. Her husband Mark and others stood clustered around her, smiling.

“My pride overflows,” he praised, striding forward to gently stroke her cheek. Ezarin had risen through the ranks to the esteemed position of Rev, memorizing the precious ancient texts that had survived the holocausts of the past.

She lovingly kissed his bald head, then extended a hand to an old woman standing slightly behind her. “Papa, you remember Cousin Shoshi Mekilta?”

Zadok squinted at her. Hunched with age, the woman had straw colored hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. Her nose stuck out like a sharp dart point. “Elma’s daughter?”

“Of course, you old fool,” the woman growled.

“My Lord. I thought you were dead.”

Shoshi’s brittle cackle echoed from the cliffs. “You mean you hoped. I still haven’t forgotten the time you cheated me out of my life’s savings.”

“You have a memory like the government. That was two hundred years ago.”

She shook a crooked finger at him. “I don’t forget easily. I’m a—”

“And thirty notes were your life’s savings? You obviously didn’t plan on living this long.”

When Shoshi’s face puckered hostilely, Ezarin quickly said, “Excuse me, Cousin Shoshi. Papa? You must sing tonight.”

He grimaced at the interruption. He’d been enjoying bantering with Shoshi. “I’m too old to sing.”

“He’s too old to do
anything,”
Shoshi added and snickered when Zadok’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re an old maid. How would know you what a man of my years is capable of!”

“Papa!” Ezarin blurted, suppressing a laugh. “Samual is ill. Someone must take his place.”

“You have a lovely voice.”

“You told me my voice sounded like cats screeching.”

“And the last time you talked me into singing, half the congregation mysteriously went home early. I’m not going to embarrass myself—”

“I think I was at that ceremony,” Shoshi sighed grimly. “Don’t make him sing.”

“I’m not going to sing!” he declared defensively. “Where’s Hector?”

“His voice isn’t as rich as yours.”

“Ah, so he’s here. He’ll sing for Samual,” Zadok declared and perfunctorily straightened the lapels of his black suit, ignoring her as though the discussion were closed.

Ezarin crossed her arms and squinted at him. “You’re as hardheaded as a—”

“A rock,” Shoshi said helpfully. “He has the brains of a rock.”

“And you’re a dictator just like your mother,” Zadok spoke to Ezarin, ignoring his cousin. But at the mention of his beloved Nelda, his wrath and discomfort faded.
Nelda.
He squeezed his eyes closed, heart thudding dully in his chest. A brave and high-spirited woman, she’d been captured by galactic marines in the last Gamant Revolt, then raped and tortured for days before being thrown unceremoniously on his doorstep, her abdomen torn to reveal gangrenous intestines. He’d held her in his arms for four hours before she died.

“Papa,” Ezarin comforted softly, seeing the path of his thoughts. “Mama wouldn’t want you to—”

“Oh, I’m … I’m not, really.”

They stood in awkward silence a moment, then Mikael wrapped an arm around Zadok’s leg. “Let’s go see Rev Bahir, Grandfather. I want to hear about Jekutiel.”

“Yes, it’s time, isn’t it?”

Mikael nodded.

Turning back to Ezarin, he clarified, “You find Hector and tell him I said he’s to sing for Samual.”

“All right, Papa,” Ezarin said and laughed. Her long hair danced in the cool wind sweeping down the canyon. “I’ll find him. Go on, I’ll meet you inside.”

“I’m relieved,” Shoshi exclaimed.

Zadok scowled at her, then winked warmly at Ezarin before leading his grandson through the rounded cave entrance. A hundred and forty-four candles glowed in the candelabras dotting the cinnamon walls of the temple. They cast flickering shadows over the fifty-foot-high ceiling. Lines of stone benches filled the huge room, creating a center aisle which led to a raised triangular altar two hundred feet ahead. The stone floors were strewn haphazardly with dozens of ancient rugs. Worn now with age, the brilliant colors had faded. People filed endlessly into the temple to take seats, their hushed conversations creating a pleasant hum.

Zadok guided Mikael to an aisle seat in the back. “Can you see?”

The boy leaned sideways to gaze up the aisle, then nodded vigorously. “Yes, this is a good seat.”

“Wonderful. I want you to remember this day. This is the thousand year celebration of the freeing of our people.” Mikael nodded and Zadok wrapped an arm lovingly over the boy’s tiny shoulders and hugged him.

Ezarin entered and sat snugly beside them, face glowing.

A hush fell over the temple as Rev Bahir walked to take his place at the altar. Dressed in a long black robe Adorned with silver fringes, he looked regal. A bowlegged, grizzled little man with a long kinky beard and raven hair, Bahir had a broad toothy smile. A huge golden triangle hung suspended from the chain around his neck. After clearing his throat several times to gain silence, he extended a hand to the worshipers.

“Good people, we come together this Shabbat night to celebrate the freeing of our People from the terrible tyranny of Edom Middoth who stole our forebears from their homes on distant Earth and carried them off to be slaves.”

The crowd responded, “Let the name of the Lord be blessed this time forth and forever more.”

“We come to praise the name of Jekutiel, the Cassopian queen who liberated our ancestors a thousand years ago, who gave them food and healed the terrible wounds inflicted by Middoth’s brutal followers.” Bahir’s voice increased in volume to boom through the rocky temple.

“Let the name of Jekutiel be blessed forever and to all eternity.”

“May her name be praised and extolled, exalted and honored as the great tool of Epagael. The tool that conquered wickedness.” Bahir raised a fist and it cast a huge dark shadow against the wall behind him, wavering in the candlelight. “It was Jekutiel who destroyed Aktariel’s evil emissary, Middoth.”

A shiver played along Zadok’s spine, a shiver of memories, of ancient stories, a longing that this feeling of community might last forever. He stole glances at the people around him. Their faces gleamed with faith and reverence, particularly Ezarin’s.

“He who makes peace in the high places, may he make peace for us and for all Gamants. Amayne.”

At the mention of Aktariel, Mikael’s breathing quickened. Zadok patted him gently on the back. Leaning down, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Aktariel’s a wicked angel who fell from heaven.”

“Yes, very wicked. He comes to deceive and destroy us.”

Mikael shifted positions, getting on his knees so he could get closer to Zadok’s face. “And he’ll send another emissary, won’t he, Grandfather? Like Middoth. He’ll come and—”

“No.” Zadok frowned. Where could the child have gotten such a notion? He’d have to check on those Shabbat Boker religious teachers and their lessons. “No, don’t worry. Middoth was the last, Mikael. The old books tell us that now the true Mashiah will come to rescue us from the brutality of the Galactic Magistrates.”

“But I think maybe Aktariel himself might come, Grandfather. What if—”

“Shhh.” Zadok stroked his dark hair, but the boy’s words wrought a pang from his heart. “Don’t think such things, Mikael. God would not punish us so.”

“But what if it’s a final test?”

“We’ve had too many tests already, Grandson. Surely Epagael knows our faith by now.”

Mikael dropped his gaze, confusion on his face. “But maybe not.”

“Believe me. You don’t have to worry. Remember, I’ve talked to Epagael and He never mentioned—”

“I had a dream last night, Grandfather. In it Aktariel swooped down and …”

A shuffling of feet came from the cave entrance outside and a man entered the temple. The gold stitching of his long robe reflected the light, glistening as if he were sprinkled with filaments of fire. His white hair and closely cropped beard accented his pointed nose. The stranger’s eyes searched the temple meticulously, going over each candle-lit section of the crowded pews. As he turned, Zadok recognized him.

“Rathanial?” he called softly, waving a withered hand.

“Zadok, thank God.” Sliding in beside Ezarin, Rathanial formed his hands into the sacred triangle of greeting, which Zadok matched.

“Old friend, how good to see you at this celebration. It’s been so long—”

“Zadok, we must talk immediately.” Fear stained his withered face, a hard glitter in his black eyes. “A new Mashiah has arisen on Horeb and we’re—”

“Another false prophet?” Ezarin quipped sarcastically. “They always start wars. I think they should all be hanged.” Standing up, she slid out in front of Rathanial. “Excuse me, I have a grand entrance to make.”

Zadok smiled warmly, watching her leave. “Getting back to your subject, Rathanial. Do I take it things are not well on Horeb?”

Rathanial exhaled heavily. “Not well at all. The new Mashiah is gaining popularity. The planet is under siege from within. We’ve—”

“Under siege?”

“Yes, a rebel faction has arisen and—”

Rev Bahir’s voice rose suddenly, repeating for the third time, “I will sing unto the Eternal for he hath manifested loving kindness unto me!”

Zadok held up a hand to halt Rathanial’s recitation and looked toward the door. The words were Ezarin’s cue to begin the Psalm of Thanksgiving. Where was she?

Bahir scratched his beard and leaned sideways to peer out the cave entrance. All eyes followed his, waiting. A din of whispering voices filled the temple.

“Excuse me,” Zadok said, and slid out to the aisle.

“Zadok,” Rathanial said tightly. “We must talk now, this can’t wait—”

“In just a moment,” he said apologetically, then called to Mikael’s mother, “Sarah?” His youngest daughter stood near the front of the temple. She turned and Zadok prompted: “Jubilate unto the Eternal all regions of the galaxy. Serve the Eternal in gladness …” He motioned for her to continue the Psalm. A plump young woman with a round face and black hair, she instantly picked up Ezarin’s part, “Come into his presence with joyous song. Know that the Eternal is God …”

Zadok strolled out of the temple. Above the peaks, the third moon rose through a layer of mist, casting a milky light on the tall pines. “Ezarin?” he called softly. “Ezarin?”

When no answer came, he walked farther out into the darkness. A bitter chill rode the wind, each gust like a knife through his thin suit. Where could she have gone? It wasn’t like her to miss any part of a major ceremony. Even when sick, she’d pull herself out of bed just long enough to say or sing her part. She was a good girl, more like her mother than Sarah, with those slanting brown eyes and crooked smile.

Zadok stopped. A dark patch marred the dirt trail, glowing blackly in the moonlight. For one short instant it was as though the moon had ducked behind a cloud, leaving the world in pitch blackness. The fresh green grass looked sickly, the new leaves of spring dotting the trees like autumn’s final fading remnants.

He knelt to touch it. His fingers came back warm and red.

“Ezarin!”

He clamped hands over his eyes as images of another Sighet day overwhelmed him—his mother’s funeral. He stood once more at the graveside, fingers twined securely with his father’s. The old man’s tears dripped in a steady silent stream down his chin to trickle coolly onto Zadok’s arm. “Blessed art thou the Eternal,” he kept sobbing.

Yosef, Zadok’s brother, pushed closer to him, whispering, “Aunt Selah says Grandmother died the same way.” But Zadok had been too young to understand. Though he’d gone with the search party, he’d been too far back to see his mother when they’d found her. And no one had told him how she’d died, only that she had and he needed to lay out his finest suit and fast. He’d spent three agonizing days learning the Mourner’s Kedis. The words were difficult for him: “Magnified and sanctified be his great name in the world.”

A night bird cawed in the forest. He jerked to look and saw a gray weabit hop beneath a bush, fur shimmering in the ghostly light. He stood starkly still for a moment, then the muscles of his withered jaw quivered and he began running back down the path toward the habitation caves.

“Ezarin?
Ezarin, answer me!”

CHAPTER 3

…
when a widow reigns over the whole world and throws gold and silver into the wondrous brine and casts the bronze and iron of ephemeral men into the sea, then all the elements of the universe will be bereft. When God who dwells in the sky rolls up the heaven as a scroll… an undying cataract of raging fire will flow, and burn earth, burn sea, and melt the heavenly vault…

The Sibylline Oracles: Book III

Date: 163 B.C. Old Earth Standard

Rachel leaned her head tiredly against the stone wall and stared vacantly at a bird soaring on the wind currents overhead. Beneath her drawn up knees, hidden and shaded by her sweat-stained blue robe, Sybil lay in a deep sleep. Rachel let her leaden arm drop to gently pat the little girl’s exposed toes. The furnace temperatures of the afternoon, rather than lessening with the coming of evening, changed to a stagnant smothering heat that sapped what little strength they had left.